Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A n insistent, annoying buzz jolted Haisley awake.
Scowling, she opened one eye. Her bedroom was as dark as the predawn morning outside. And Nash was no longer beside her. Where had he gone? The clock on her nightstand told her it wasn’t even six a.m.
She touched his pillow. It was cold, suggesting that he’d left her bed a while ago. Was he downstairs making coffee? Or had something driven him away?
Memories of the night before rushed back, bringing a flush of heat to her cheeks and warmth to her heart. They’d both said some incredibly honest things and admitted their long-held feelings, baring their souls along with their bodies. No one could satisfy her like Nash, but last night had been different. Amazing. Afterward, he’d made her feel so special. So cherished. So loved. He’d been everything she’d ever wanted, and she wished it could have lasted forever.
But in the harsh gray before dawn, uncertainty crept in. Had he changed his mind? Where did they stand now?
She stretched, feeling each and every one of the sensual bites and bruises Nash had imprinted on her skin. Two years ago, the sight of his markings had always left her a little breathless and giddy. Her friends had all told her to have her head examined. But she’d reveled in his possessiveness. Last night she’d loved it even more.
The disruptive buzzing that had awakened her sounded again, breaking into her thoughts. Her phone; that’s what had awakened her.
She reached for the device and found a note beneath.
Took Benedict’s burner to Trees. Call me when you wake. I’ll fill you in.
-N
Haisley sighed, torn between lingering in the afterglow and facing reality. Her emotions were a tangled mess—elation at finally being with Nash, fear of what their revelations meant for their future, and a gnawing worry that the secret she kept could unravel everything.
Forcing herself to push all that aside, she opened her phone to text Nash. Social media alerts tagging the Oakfield Mall exploded across her screen.
The first one read: Land developer George Benedict and his wife, Mila, found dead in a suspected murder-suicide.
Shock doused her veins with ice. “Oh, my god…”
Seriously? Was this news report actually real?
The next alert confirmed the first, even more brief and blunt. Lafayette mogul George Benedict’s mansion burns to ground, two bodies recovered.
As soon as she swiped that notification away, another took its place: Police confirm: Benedict dead from self-inflicted gunshot. Woman’s remains, believed to be his wife, found in rubble.
More headlines filled Haisley’s screen. Frantically, she scrolled, trying to piece together this horrible development. Details were still sketchy, but according to police reports, the neighbors called 911 about three thirty this morning after the blaze engulfing the Benedict mansion awakened them. By the time fire trucks rolled up and put out the inferno, nothing was left of the house. The female inside, presumed to be Mila, was found in the master bedroom, burned beyond all recognition. Mr. Benedict’s body was found on a chaise lounge by the pool without a single burn. He clutched a gun in one hand, dead from an apparent gunshot to the head.
Haisley gaped. What had happened to make Mr. Benedict snap?
Last night, a sobbing Mila had nearly spotted her and Nash at the office…then what? Had she gone home and confronted her husband about whatever had upset her? Haisley had sensed tension between them all week and felt sorry for the bubbly woman saddled with the curmudgeonly asswipe. Had they fought? Had it escalated into violence? Had George Benedict been so horrified by whatever he’d done to her that he’d taken his life?
Clutching her phone and trying to stop her head from spinning, Haisley leapt out of bed. What the hell should she do? What could she do?
She opened her messages to text Nash with the news, but her phone buzzed with an incoming call from a number only identified as Oakfield Mall.
“Hello?”
“Haisley Rowe?” asked a frantic female.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name is Julia. I was the assistant to Ben Yuslav, the former manager of Oakfield Mall.”
The girl Ethan had gotten off at her desk with his hand down her panties. “Yes. Mr. Garrison mentioned that he’d…spoken to you after Mr. Yuslav abruptly quit.”
“That’s who gave me your number. Um…the press is beginning to swarm the mall.”
“This early?”
“News is breaking. As soon as I heard, I came to work to see if there was anything I could do. Then the press showed up… They’re asking if anyone representing the mall will make a statement. What’s happened to Mr. Benedict and his wife… It’s terrible. I don’t know what to say or do.”
The poor girl sounded young and panicked. Haisley wasn’t sure she still had a job since her boss was now dead. And who owned the mall now that he was gone? But if the investigation into the disappearances of the five missing women was going to continue, she had to run interference and buy them some time.
But this conversation brought up a possibility Haisley hadn’t considered… If Mr. Benedict was guilty of masterminding the trafficking ring, was he dead because Mila had discovered his crimes and he’d shut her up? That seemed possible. And if Haisley and Nash were ever going to find his victims, they had to pinpoint every clue possible before the police came in and took Benedict’s phone, computer, and personal effects.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Haisley told Julia. “Don’t say anything to the reporters on the record. Just find a place to hold a press conference inside the mall before it opens. I’ll be there no later than eight.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I didn’t know who else to turn to and…”
“You did the right thing, calling me.”
Haisley rang off. Her hands shook as she typed out a quick text to Nash.
OMG, Benedict is dead. Murder-suicide suspected. Social media is exploding. I’m off to the mall to handle press.
His reply came moments later:
I just read about the incident. Be careful. I have bad vibes about this. All Trees and I have managed to get from the burner phone so far is proof Benedict was having an affair. I’ll update you when we know more.
As texts went, it wasn’t romantic, but that was hardly the point now. He was working, just like she was. They’d talk about them later.
Haisley hurriedly dressed, covering her love bites with a high-necked blouse, then rushed to the bathroom. Her reflection startled her. Nash had sweetly washed her hair last night and tucked her in with wet tresses. Now it was a tangled mess, half sticking straight up. She quickly ran a brush through it, wincing at the knots, before twisting it up into a messy bun. Then she slapped on a light face of makeup, focusing on a hasty application of concealer, mascara, and lip gloss. It would have to do.
As she did all that, Haisley tried to think this situation through. Benedict had been having an affair? Mind-blowing. She couldn’t grasp why anyone would willingly sleep with the jackass. Then again, some people would do anything for money, which he’d had in spades. Had Mila found out about his mistress last night? Was that the reason she’d been crying during her midnight visit to the office? Had it caused their following deadly altercation?
That poor woman, offed by the man who had vowed to love, honor, and cherish her forever. Love might only be for the lucky few, but Mila had been among the most unlucky of all.
Haisley sprinted around the house to find her keys. As she brewed a cup of coffee to go, she fired off a message to her fellow CSI sleuth, Jasper, informing him about the awful developments and asked if he would reach out to his Lafayette PD contacts for any additional information.
He didn’t answer right away. Of course anyone who wasn’t up with the sun was still cozy in their bed, catching Zs. But Jasper seemed solid. He’d get back to her. At least she hoped so. She hadn’t talked to him since Tuesday night. She’d been so busy…and wrapped up with Nash. Maybe Jasper had lost interest in the case. Or moved on.
After all, he hadn’t contacted her for nearly four days, either. What was up with that?
Pushing the question aside, Haisley took a deep breath, forcing herself to compartmentalize her feelings and fears so she could focus on the task at hand. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. The women who had been abducted needed her effort and focus before bureaucracy and red tape limited her access to clues.
After finally digging up her keys, Haisley headed for the door, pausing to take one last steadying breath. As she drove to the mall, her mind kept whirling. What could she possibly tell the press about the Benedicts’ untimely end and the fate of the mall when she knew so little herself?
As she pulled into the parking lot, Haisley spotted a small crowd of reporters, photographers, and independent online journalists already gathered near the door. She gripped the steering wheel, steeling herself for the morning ahead. “You can do this.”
She wasn’t convinced…but it was nearly showtime, so she cut the engine and plucked up her phone, cutting off her music.
Before she darkened the device, she spotted a notification about a message from someone in her CSI group.
JasperThePrivateDick: Howdy, stranger. I hope you’re okay. I’ve been a little under the weather. Sorry I disappeared. Feeling better today. I’ll call my retired friend and see if he can get anyone who still works for the force to answer questions.
RedHotSavvySleuth: Glad to hear you’re feeling better. Thanks for any help you can give me. I’m at the mall now. I’m about to give a press conference. After that, I’ll poke around and see if I can find out anything. Maybe people will be more willing to talk now that Mr. Benedict is gone.
JasperThePrivateDick: I don’t think that’s a good idea. That place is dangerous.
RedHotSavvySleuth: It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you later, but all signs point to my boss having been the bad guy. Now that he’s gone, I’m thinking the mall is a lot less dangerous. But I promise I’ll check in.
JasperThePrivateDick: I’ll be waiting. If I don’t hear from you in two hours, I’ll send in the cavalry.
RedHotSavvySleuth: You don’t have to, but thanks for caring enough to worry about me.
Haisley smiled as she dimmed her phone and exited her car, striding toward the mall with purpose. She ignored the cluster of press shouting questions at her.
Inside the entrance, she found Julia pacing nervously. “Ms. Rowe?”
“Just Haisley.” She gave the young brunette a reassuring smile, but the girl still looked rattled.
“Thank God you’re here. Everything has gotten worse.” Julia wrung her hands. “The police have been calling, asking about Mr. Benedict’s recent visits and personnel decisions. The press won’t stop hounding us for information.” She dropped her voice. “And now I hear the FBI is at his house because they suspected him of being behind all the abductions here at the mall.”
Haisley tucked that nugget of information away to share with Nash and Jasper later. But if Mr. Benedict was the FBI’s prime suspect, she and Nash must have pieced things together pretty well.
She placed a comforting hand on Julia’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll handle this. Where did you set up the press conference? Somewhere we can control the situation, I hope.”
“The food court. It’s the biggest open area. Other than employees preparing food in their units, no one will be there. Mall staff already set up a podium and arranged chairs. Should I have security escort the press in?”
A glance at the time on her phone had Haisley nodding. “I’ll get started in fifteen minutes.”
Julia looked as if she wanted to hug her. “Thank you.”
As the woman hustled away, Haisley’s phone buzzed with another text from Nash.
More info on the affair. Benedict’s something on the side is named Clarissa. No last name yet. Be careful what you say to the press. Be careful in general.
Haisley gave him a thumbs-up, but her stomach churned. She made her way to the food court, trying to organize her thoughts into something coherent so she didn’t sound like a babbling idiot…or like someone who knew next to nothing.
At the top of the hour, she took her place behind the podium as the cacophony of incoming press descended. They quickly settled into the assembled chairs, cameras at the ready.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Haisley Rowe, the social media director for Benedict Land Development,” she began, her voice surprisingly steady. “I know you all have questions about the tragic deaths of George and Mila Benedict. At this time, we have very little information beyond what has been reported in the news. Investigations are ongoing, and I can’t comment on those.”
She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “But the Oakfield Mall management and staff, along with the employees of Benedict Land Development, are shocked and saddened by this turn of events. Our thoughts are with the Benedicts’ family and friends, as well as others affected. Those are all the prepared remarks I have. I’ll take questions.”
As Haisley fielded the reporters’ queries, doing her best to deflect those she couldn’t answer, a nagging feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. There was more to this story—much more—and somehow she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. What had caused Mr. Benedict to go off the rails? Had he come back to the office for the loaded Glock in his humidor? Had Mila learned about Clarissa and confronted him? Or had she realized that her husband was the leader of a sex trafficking ring and freaked out?
When Haisley finally ended the press conference, promising updates as more information became available, she felt drained. She retreated to the mall’s management office only to find Julia away from her desk.
Haisley collapsed into the woman’s chair with a heavy sigh as her phone buzzed again—another text from Nash.
Trees got more info off of Benedict’s phone. We need to talk ASAP. I’m on my way to you. You need to see this.
Haisley’s heart started racing. What had they uncovered? A breakthrough? And how deep did this rabbit hole go? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something far bigger—and more sinister—was at work with the Benedicts’ murder-suicide. The events of the past twenty-four hours had left her overwhelmed. Passion, love, death, and shrouded secrets. Whatever Nash had uncovered, it must be serious if he was dropping everything to show her right now.
As Haisley headed back toward the food court, her heels clicked against the generic tile floor. She passed shuttered storefronts that made the mall feel eerily quiet. Only the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant voices of early morning staff broke the silence.
Once she rounded the corner to the food court, she scanned the space. A figure caught her eye. In one hand, he clutched a yellow Caution: Wet Floor sign. With the other, he pulled an industrial cart.
Her pulse quickened. The janitor—the one Abby had described as creepy, who had been conveniently “sick” when Nash tried to interview him earlier in the week—was lingering near the women’s restroom. This might be their chance to fill in some blanks. She glanced at her watch. Nash was on his way. The mall would open soon, making it far less likely the janitor would have time to speak to them later.
It was now or never.
Haisley ducked under the stanchion cordoning off the shadowy hallway and approached the man in the blue jumpsuit.
“Excuse me,” she called out, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.
The man turned, his weathered face impassive. “Ma’am, this area is closed for cleaning.”
“I know. I’m sorry to bother you.” Haisley flashed what she hoped was a disarming smile. “I’m Haisley Rowe. You were scheduled to speak with my…cohort, Nash Scott, earlier this week about some recurring…incidents here at the mall.”
The janitor’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “Yeah. The interview. Um…” He glanced at his watch, then back at Haisley. “I’ve got to get this restroom cleaned before opening. Tell you what? I can make a few minutes to sit down with you and that security guy as soon as I’m done here. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect. I’ll be waiting right there.” She pointed to a cluster of tables that Julia and some of the other mall staff were hurriedly righting.
By the time she turned back, the janitor had disappeared into the women’s restroom, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud.
Haisley blinked. That was an abrupt end to their conversation. Almost rude. Still, despite the disaster of the day and all the unanswered questions she and Nash still had to tackle, this was a step forward.
She pulled her phone from her purse and tapped out a quick message to Nash.
Got the janitor to agree to an interview in a few. Meet us at the food court.
As she darkened her phone to tuck it away, Haisley glanced down the dimly lit hallway that stretched ominously into darkness. A chill ran down her spine. With a jolt, she realized she was standing in the exact spot where all five missing women had been abducted.
Her breath caught in her throat as fear pressed in on her. Mr. Benedict, the likely mastermind, was now dead. It was probably perfectly safe. But standing in this very spot, knowing what had transpired, was beyond terrifying.
Isolation pressed in on her. Usually, when she visited the food court during mall hours, it was a bustling hub of activity. Now it felt like a ghost town. It felt unsafe.
Haisley gripped her phone tighter, her thumb hovering over Nash’s number. Would he think she was overreacting if she called him?
She was still trying to decide when a shuffling behind her made her blood suddenly turn to ice.
* * *
Nash gripped the steering wheel, his thoughts whirling as he sped toward the mall. The information Trees had extracted from Benedict’s burner phone was explosive—details of the trafficking ring, financial records, an unusual symbol he didn’t understand, and most crucially, the passcode to the Rugs Direct Unlimited website. It was the breakthrough they’d been waiting for, but it also meant the danger was far more immediate than either he or Haisley had realized.
The idea of his woman working under the same roof as a dangerous predator like Benedict fucking scared and infuriated him. He was glad Haisley never had to see or speak to the exploitive asshole again. And after last night, despite waking her up twice more in the night to make love to her, he couldn’t wait to touch her again, to hold her and reassure them both.
His phone chimed, breaking into his thoughts. It was a text from Haisley.
Got the janitor to agree to an interview in a few. Meet us at the food court.
A mixture of pride and concern surged through him. Haisley was brilliant, but the janitor had been suspiciously elusive. Nash quickly typed back.
3 minutes out. Be careful.
She didn’t reply. Nash frowned, trying to push down his unease. She was working; she was probably busy. Hell, maybe she was already sitting down with the janitor.
Still, he pressed the accelerator a little harder.
Just over two minutes later, he pulled into the mall parking lot and jogged through the entrance mall employees used, thankfully unmanned. The cavernous mall felt eerily empty. He made a beeline for the food court, his heavy footsteps echoing against the industrial tile.
His apprehension climbed.
Finally, he reached the food court. No sign of Haisley or the janitor.
“Haisley?” Nash called out, his voice breaking the jagged hush. Silence answered him.
Heart rate climbing, Nash pulled out his phone and dialed Haisley’s number. It rang once, twice… Then he heard it. The muffled sound of a ringtone, coming from the hallway near the women’s room.
“No. No. No!” Nash broke into a run, skidding to a stop when he spotted Haisley’s phone laying on the ground, still trilling. Her purse was strewn nearby, its contents spilled across the tile floor.
No Haisley in sight.
“Haisley!” Nash shouted, panic clawing at his throat. He spun in a circle, poked his head into the empty ladies’ room, searching desperately for any clue, any sign of where she might have gone.
A distant sound caught his attention—an engine revving. Nash’s blood ran cold as realization struck. Without hesitation, he sprinted down the darkened hallway and shoved his way through the double doors, into the parking lot.
In the distance, he saw an old brown conversion van speeding across the nearly empty lot—too far away to see the license plate—its tires squealing as it made a sharp turn toward the highway entrance.
Terror washed over him. His blood froze.
“No!” Nash roared, already running. But it was futile. The van was too far away, moving way too fast.
As it disappeared from view, Nash stared after it, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. The magnitude of what had just happened crashed over him like a tidal wave.
Haisley was gone. Taken. And he had been too late to stop it. He hadn’t protected her.
Fuck.
Nash shoved down the terrible mix of fear, rage, and guilt, and leaned into his training.
He pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the keys as he sent out an alert to everyone in EM Security Management. They had mere minutes before the van hit the highway and vanished for good.
Nash hated like hell that he hadn’t had time to update his bosses about this case lately. Hunter Edgington was going to be pissed that he had begun looking into George Benedict without getting the a-okay. He’d been following the leads, but…
God, had their investigation made Haisley a target? And if Benedict was dead…who was pulling the strings?
Nash sprinted back to his vehicle, jaw clenched with grim determination as he climbed in, sped out, and flew down the road to see if he could spot that brown van.
He would find Haisley. He would burn the whole damn trafficking ring to the ground—hell, the world, if he had to—in order to save her. Every second counted. Haisley’s life hung in the balance, and he fucking refused to let her down again.
Nash tried not to think about the odds of finding her alive and unharmed as he jetted down the road…
* * *
Ready for Nash and Haisley’s epic conclusion?
Read on…