43. Hells Bells
Hells Bells
Arden
C harlotte bolts to stand. “Yes.”
Charlotte darts to the far wall and takes the handset from Reese when he holds it out. “Hello?”
As she listens, color drains from her face. “Rochelle, stop. Slow down. Say that again.”
She lapses into silence, her head moving in mute denial. When Rochelle apparently pauses to take a breath, Charlotte says, “No . . . This is the worst possible time for . . . He can ’ t do that . . . How could he go over your head? You’re the one in charge. Tell them . . . Don’t you dare . . . You’re not throwing yourself on a sacrificial altar. We’ll figure it out.”
Apparently oblivious to her audience, she paces as far as the coily black cord will allow, then back the other way.
“I know!” Her voice raises in near panic.
Charlotte’s gaze darts to mine. She takes a visible breath, then lowers her pitch. “I’m leaving now . . . It’s fine, Rochelle . . . No. No to Plan B . . . Please wait for me. ”
She visibly works to get her face under control. “Hey, I’m standing here with Arden and a roomful of people. I’m going to say my goodbyes, and I’ll see you when I get there, right? No need to meltdown over guy trouble. I’ll come talk you off the ledge. Love your face, girl.”
She hangs up her phone and looks me in the eyes. “I have to run. How soon until we can get someone out here to pick me up?”
I glance to Brock who holds up all the fingers of both hands. “If it’s an emergency, we can have the fleet here in ten minutes.”
She nods. “Rochelle is going through something. I need to be there for her as soon as I can.”
I frown. “Right now? The press could discover your name at any moment.”
She smiles with her mouth, but her eyebrows are frowning. “It’ll take them time to figure out she’s my friend and even longer to find her address. All I need is for one of your people to drop me off at her house. I’ll give you a call when someone can pick me up.”
I shake my head. “We can bring Rochelle to New York to stay with us.”
She freezes, then speaks slowly. “That’s a fantastic idea, but I’ll need a day or so to convince her.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Charlotte?” I ask.
“Rochelle’s guy problems aren’t something I can share. It’s a bad breakup. That’s all. Listen, can you do me a super big favor?” she asks.
Her face is white, but flags of color burn on her cheekbones. Sweat beads on her forehead.
According to Charlotte, as of last week, Rochelle hasn’t dated anyone in over a year.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Can I leave Bronnie with you for a few days? I need to know she’s—” Her voice cracks. Clearing her throat, she continues, “I’d like to know she’s with you and the boys. With the team.”
“That’s not a favor. It’s a privilege. I’m sending guards with you too,” I say.
Her eyes turn to saucers. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, no.”
”Why not?” I grate. “You’ll need them when the press locate you.”
“I’m not in the mood to argue with you over details,” she says, hand spread wide. “I need to get away from all of this, including people looking over my shoulder every second. Can you give me one last day of privacy before my life becomes a circus sideshow?” she snaps.
I drop my chin. “We’ll distract the press as much as we can to give you more time. One of the women can wear a wig and pretend to be you.”
She steps close and puts her hand on the back of my neck to bring my face down to hers. “Thank you, and don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Of course I’m sure, you silly goose.”
Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte. “Kiss me one last time before you go.”
Let me taste that sweet, lying mouth.
B ronnie stretches her arms up to me. “My legs are tired.”
I lift her. “Hey, baby girl. I'll pick you up anytime you want me to.”
She sighs contentedly. “Okay, they ain’t tired. But your cuddles are good.”
She rests her head on my shoulder, so I turn back to my conversation with Reese.
He scratches the back of his neck. “I think Plan B is the morning after pill. So maybe it is a relationship problem.”
I shake my head. “If this were a normal relationship, and she needed Plan B, it would be a phone call, not this level of crisis. She wouldn't panic about birth control unless Rochelle was”—I stop myself from finishing my sentence because of Bronnie in my arms, but by the look in Reese’s eyes, he’s having the same thought I am.
The idea of what some monster could have done to Rochelle turns my stomach, but it’s entirely plausible.
“I’m going after her,” Reese says abruptly. “I can keep an eye on Charlotte to make sure the press don’t become a problem, and I’ll check on the friend.”
I lift a hand, and he shakes his head.
"I know,” he says. “You told her you’d give her privacy. I didn’t. I’m going as myself. Fire me, if you have to.”
“I’m not firing you,” I say.
“I’ll stay under the radar, and I won’t intrude unless they need me. They’ll never know I was there.”
I eye him speculatively. “This isn’t like you. You always guard me and send someone else to investigate.”
His jaw tightens. “Rochelle’s a sweet girl. If someone did something to her, I’m going to deal with him.”
Reese has only met Rochelle once, at Charlotte’s graduation, when she recognized me in the crowd and introduced herself.
I frown. “Only if that’s what she wants. The legal process could re-victimize her.”
The idea of letting something like that go ignites bone-deep fury inside me, but our legal system is broken when it comes to cases like this. It has to be her decision.
Reese shakes his head. “I’ll deal with him, Arden. No courts. Just me. And you aren’t doing a thing to stop me.”
I used to think being a rule follower gave me the moral high ground. I was “such a good person.”
Charlotte said those words to me the day we met. She wasn’t interested in being the vehicle I used to make myself feel better about who I was. That’s what I did when I let so many of my people die in the Vinucci War because I insisted we never sink to their level. It was their sacrifice, not mine. My boys and parents were safe behind walls and teams of security while I clung to a system that evil men worked around for their own advantage.
When the kids were gone last night, I recognized the difference. I was never noble. I was privileged enough to have never been forced to choose.
“Will you save Aunt ‘Chelle from the bad man in the basement?” Bronnie asks Reese.
Reese and I both freeze before I crane my head to look down into her face.
“What bad man?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I dunno. He’s scary. I’m not allowed to go down there in case he gets me.”
My arms tighten around her little body. “Where, baby?”
“The theater. There’s a bad spiwit in the basement.”
I relax and ease my hold. Superstition. “Don’t be scared. Those are silly ghost stories people like to tell because they think they’re funny.”
“It’s not a good joke if it makes Mommy and Aunt ‘Chelle cry,” Bronnie says.
B ronnie and the boys are in New York with two trusted nannies and a team of guards. I flew into a private airport in Clearfield County, then made the hour-long drive into Blackwater incognito. I’ve been waiting for Reese’s call for longer than I care to think about. He either didn’t have coverage where he was, or he turned his phone off.
From where I stand at the window in the library of my great aunt’s estate, I can make out a light in the cottage at the edge of the woods. Frowning, I glance at the clock. Nearly one in the morning.
My cellphone rings, and I lift it to my ear. “Tell me Charlotte is safe and sound at Rochelle’s house.”
“Ah. No,” Reese says. “Are you sitting? I think you should sit.”
“Say it,” I bite out.
Reese speaks. The sounds travel through the airwaves and strike my eardrums.
I once saw footage of an aircraft carrier dropping anchor. The chains were as thick as a man’s calf, spinning wildly across the deck. It was deafening. Violent. Unstoppable. Then came shocking stillness when it reached the end and. Just. Stopped.
I take a breath.
“She did what?!” I roar.