Elizabeth of East Hampton (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Will had spent the past eight hours searching every inch of Manhattan, fueled only by pure rage and endless cups of coffee.

It shouldn’t be this hard to find a prick like Tristan. The guy was a creature of habit and lived his life online. His location was tagged in every post. But there had been nothing in the past twenty-four hours. Now it was Monday, and Will couldn’t ignore the feeling that time was slipping through his fingers. On his way back into the city yesterday, he’d had his lawyer call every police precinct in the city until they found Mary, only to learn that her first court appearance was Tuesday morning. The clock was ticking.

Will didn’t panic. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check regardless of the situation, but as he combed the city streets, visiting all of Tristan’s favorite haunts—a high-end hotel on Grand and an underground VIP room in the Lower East Side, a rooftop bar on Thompson—he couldn’t help the anger that burned in his chest. Mary had broken the law in spectacular fashion, but Will also knew there was no way Tristan was completely innocent, either. And while he might not be able to prove it, he could at least make sure Lizzy’s sister didn’t carry all the blame.

Of course, Lizzy had told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want his help, that she didn’t need it. He could have listened, stayed in Montauk and away from this mess. But he would never forget the look on her face when she got that call. The worry and fear and dread that bled through her expression. It had only been there for a split second before she hid it away again, ready to tackle this problem for everyone. But even though he knew she’d try her damnedest, she couldn’t fix this on her own.

But Will could. And if doing so meant she ended up hating him, so be it. He would find a way to apologize. To be happy with whatever she offered him in return, even if it was only scraps. Any piece of her would be enough. Because right now, he was starving.

Then his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

“Hello?” he answered, turning down Spring Street.

“Any luck?” George asked.

“No,” Will replied. He hadn’t planned on telling his friend anything, but he’d happened to call right when Will was leaving Montauk.

“Did you try that old Chelsea hotel with the downstairs—”

“Yes, I’ve been there. I’ve been fucking everywhere.” He stopped on the corner, taking a deep breath to keep his anger in check. “Have you found anything?”

Will had filled George in on Tristan’s history with the Darcy family earlier. He hadn’t wanted to, but he needed help scouring Tristan’s social media accounts, looking for any clues as to where the man might be.

There was a commotion on the other line.

“Hold on a sec,” George replied. Then he paused, and Will could hear Emma in the background before his friend spoke again. “Emma needs Lizzy’s number. She says it’s about the Betrug.”

“The what?” Will replied with annoyance.

“The Betrug?” George left the phone again for a moment, then came back. “From the video, she says.”

Will had no idea what Emma was talking about, and he didn’t have the patience to find out.

“Tell her to call the bakery.”

“She did. Left a message yesterday, but she hasn’t heard back from her yet. What’s her cell number?”

“I don’t have it.”

George paused. “You’re telling me you’re in love with a woman who you have no means of actually contacting.”

Will ignored the comment and started walking again, turning down Broadway. “Isn’t that why social media exists?”

“What, you plan to express your feelings through DMs?”

Will shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. “That’s not the top priority at the moment, George.”

His tone had a hard bite, and he knew George had picked up on it.

“Will—”

“I have to go. Text if you find anything.”

Will hung up and shoved his phone in his back pocket. His gait wide and determined, he weaved along the sidewalks, passing New Yorkers heading home for the night or just starting out. The bright lights of the city made it seem early, but his cell read almost eleven p.m.

“Fuck,” he cursed loudly, the sound buried in the dissonance of beeping cars that rang through downtown traffic. He picked up his pace.

He had made it down to Canal Street when his phone buzzed again. The screen illuminated with two text messages from George.

GEORGE KNIGHTLEY

New post. He’s at the St. Clement Hotel on Nassau St.

GEORGE KNIGHTLEY

Go get that asshole.

Through the glimmering, low light of the luxury hotel bar, Will scanned the room.

The place was packed, but not too loud, with well-dressed Manhattanites and hotel guests lounging in velvet chairs while others socialized at the bar.

That’s when he spotted Tristan sitting at a table in the corner, sipping a martini. His hair was slicked back and his black shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest so it gaped open as he draped an arm around the young woman seated beside him. Her friends flanked them on either side.

Will clenched his jaw and headed over.

It took a moment before Tristan noticed him looming over the table. His expression changed to one of recognition.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my old friend Will Darcy.” His forced smile was wide and insincere. “What a coincidence—”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“How flattering,” Tristan said, then turned to the woman on his side and whispered something in her ear. She threw her head back and laughed before turning to her girlfriends nearby to share the secret. Then Tristan focused his attention back on Will. “What do you want?”

“You had a party recently,” Will said.

“I have a lot of parties.”

“But this one ended with a woman in jail.”

Tristan shrugged. “That’s what happens when you destroy someone’s property, Will. Especially when that property is very expensive.”

Will nodded, considering. “So, was this just another party that got out of control, or did the folks at this music festival in East Hampton finally realize you’re full of shit?”

Tristan laughed. “Hey, I can’t help it if some idiot with a bar decides to pay me without double-checking my references.”

“So the plan was to keep taking the money until he caught on?”

“Give me some credit, Will. I was going to give him some suggestions. Make a few excuses. But that festival was never going to happen. It’s not against the law if he wanted to pay me to eventually tell him that.” The man gave a slight shrug. “It just so happens that this girl gave me the perfect excuse to quit without doing anything at all.”

Will studied him again, looking for a glimmer of the boy he had been friends with so many years ago. “You need to drop the charges.”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because that woman is Elizabeth Bennet’s sister.”

It took a moment for recognition to cross Tristan’s face. A moment for Will to realize that Lizzy was barely a memory to him. His hands became fists at his side.

“Oh, right. The redhead,” Tristan finally said. Then he smiled. “I thought that might make you jealous.”

Will clenched his jaw. “How much?”

Tristan sighed, as if bored. “What?”

“I’m offering to give you money to do nothing, Tristan.” Will angled his head. “You remember how that works, right?”

The woman sitting beside Tristan giggled at something her friend said, leaned in to share it with Tristan, but he pushed her away as he stood. “Let me get this straight: you want to pay me off to get some random chick out of jail, just to impress her sister? There are easier ways to get pussy, Will. Trust me.”

The room went blurry for a brief moment as rage coursed through Will’s body. He had been friends with this man once. He had trusted him, even told his father to trust him, too. Tristan had fooled them all. “How much?”

Tristan watched him, as if waiting for the catch. Will only stared back.

“A hundred thousand,” Tristan finally said.

“Done,” Will said. “I want those charges dropped tonight. When they are, I’ll instruct my lawyer to pay you the full amount. Then you’re never going to step foot in East Hampton again. If you do, I will ruin you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Tristan smiled a little too brightly. A sad imitation of charming.

Before Will could think again, all the tension, all the hatred, all the regret for letting this man hurt the people he loved channeled into his right fist. Will’s hand swung out and hit Tristan right in the nose, hard. Tristan fell backward, stumbling, causing everyone in the bar to stop and stare, snap a picture.

“What the fuck!” Tristan yelled as blood dripped onto his designer shirt. “What was that for?”

“The redhead,” Will said, then headed toward the door. Tristan could clean up his own mess.