Chapter 47
Ithought I’d been afraid before Easton arrived. Now that he’s here, taunting his ex while wearing a look that says he’s moments from doing something incredibly brave and stupid, terror squeezes my chest. Ice drops into my stomach.
I have to do something. But what? My aching hands tremble. I shift to keep my slick grip on the saturated rag.
Néstor moans and twitches. Dark red blood washes down his leg. The metallic smell thickens around me.
Madre de Díos. How much longer can Néstor hang on with all this blood loss?
Whatever Easton has planned, I can’t let go of this tourniquet unless absolutely necessary.
Easton finally sees the last person on the roof as Kay Lee steps out from behind the generators. His eyes widen. “Kay Lee?”
She waves at him with a grimace-smile. “Hey, East. Sorry.”
Her voice rises at the end of her sorry in a way that’s more suitable for accidentally stepping on someone’s toe.
Equally casual, Easton shrugs. “What’s a little conspiracy and murder between friends?” Turning his attention back to Cecily, he winks. “Nothing says true love like a bullet to the chest.”
Ay, Díos. Easton has lost his mind.
Cecily bristles. “Why didn’t you stay in L.A. for that meeting?” Her eyes narrow at Easton like he purposefully ruined her plans. “Control of your entire business is at stake.”
Even if Néstor hadn’t told me that someone at FTW is helping to frame Easton, her question would’ve alerted me to an accomplice. How else would she know about the meeting?
Easton catches it, too. Though he smiles widely, I see the tension building in his shoulders. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s working with someone at FTW.”
She laughs. “And, unlike you, I kept it to myself. Learned that kind of silence from my daddy, right, Brian?”
“Your father was the best kind of man,” Brian says. “God rest his soul.”
That the man who’d attacked me, knocked me out, and brought me up here, a man currently holding a gun on Easton, can claim to even know what a “the best kind of man” is feels beyond surreal. It’s like he received entirely different moral operating instructions than me.
“Let me guess who,” Easton says in a voice so casual it could be wearing jeans and a hoodie. “Paul and Putnam are the only two board members with access to the show.” He cocks his head to the side while simultaneously shifting to his right. “Putnam was hired after you left, so that leaves Paul. Was he part of your theft from the beginning?”
“We came to an understanding shortly after I transferred to FTW.” Cecily shrugs. “I wasn’t sleeping with him when we were together,” she adds, as if that’s the biggest issue Easton might have with her conspiracy.
Her possessive gaze dips over him as a smile so gross it should have eight legs crawls across Cecily’s face. “You were more than enough.” She winks at me. “I know you know.”
A shudder of disgust goosebumps down my spine. I hate that she was ever with him. She shouldn’t be in the same zip code as him.
“Should’ve seen it,” Easton says, casual again, stepping sideways again. Those barely perceptible rightward steps raise the hair on the back of my neck. He’s trying to put himself between me and the gun Cecily has pointed at me.
I look toward Brian to see if he notices, but he’s absorbed in Easton and Cecily’s interaction. So is Kay Lee.
Why wouldn’t they be? This confrontation between Easton and Cecily wasn’t supposed to take place. He’s supposed to be in L.A. This is a world’s colliding kind of moment. It’s hard to look away.
Easton flicks his head toward Brian. “First Paul, now this guy. Daddy issues?”
She laughs. “You’re one to talk. Since when do you go for short and fat? The thicker the cushion and all that?”
“Don’t body shame,” Kay Lee objects.
I gape. That punches her morality ticket? I’m pretty sure she’s clinically insane. I don’t make a sound, though. Right now, no one is paying me any attention.
Why would they? They still think I’m tied up.
“Let me guess,” Easton says, taking the final step to block me from Cecily. “After I reported you to the board, you had to sleep with Paul to get him to offer me a two-year hiatus. Once I was gone, he would’ve rescinded the charges or done something to muddy the waters.”
His tone is laced with conspiratorial admiration. She takes the bait, dropping her voice seductively. “Does it hurt knowing that the head of your board fucked your fiancée?”
“Not at all.” His voice is as bland as an unlined piece of white parchment. “Just tell me it wasn’t on my office desk. I eat lunch there.”
At this point, I can only see Cecily’s stiletto feet through Easton’s spread legs. I bite the objection, the terror, back as she takes two hostile steps toward Easton.
“You only fucking ever cared about your company, not me. So, why are you here? Why!?”
Behind his back, Easton motions toward the roof door. He wants me to run? I bite the inside of my cheek. I can’t leave Easton here. I look down at Poor Néstor. He’s so pale. His lips have stopped moving. He has stopped moving. He needs help. He needs a doctor.
But to leave Easton here? And what if Brian notices me going? I know Easton would put himself between me and Brian. But I have to do something.
Laying my head against the metal, I try to appear exhausted, a non-threat, as I carefully shrug my wrists from the last of the rope without disturbing Néstor.
Easton says, “You must’ve been so upset when, instead of taking a two-year hiatus, I agreed to Putnam’s suggestion to do the show.”
“That ridiculous woman.” Her voice rises, her composure slipping. She clears her throat. “Fortunately for us, you announced you’d be hands-off with the production.”
Easton chuckles, a mirthless, dry sound. “Paul insisted the show be held in Puerto Rico.”
“Yes. I knew from your journals how much you thought of Yolanda.” She makes a disparaging sound, as if what Easton wrote in his journals years ago still insults her. “It made sense to set you up for embezzling by using her hotel. A simple mix-up with the paperwork, a switch of hotels, your journals as proof, and once we had La Vida’s routing numbers, along with your passwords, we deposited…”
She should stop talking, but she doesn’t. It’s like… It’s like this conversation with Easton is that important to her. He knows this, knows enough about her, that he’s drawing her out.
The HVAC kicks on with a bang, making it hard for me to hear her from this distance. And Brian too, apparently. He steps closer to them. Though I can barely hear her, I already know the truth. By now, she’s put money into La Vida’s bank account using one of Easton’s accounts.
The pattern of Easton using his girlfriends to steal from the company would be thin but established, and Cecily wouldn’t need much doubt to convince a district attorney or a jury. Not when she’s such a good liar.
“I’m curious,” Easton says, his voice calm, clear, and considered. “If I’d taken the two-year hiatus Paul offered, what would’ve happened after he rescinded your charges? Would you have gone back to stealing from FTW?”
Between Easton’s legs, I can see Cecily shift back. There’s a change in the air around us. Brian tilts his head in curiosity. Kay Lee openly gawks.
Cecily exhales a long-suffering sigh. “I could’ve loved you for a lifetime.”
“You don’t love anyone.”
“That’s a lie.” Her voice drips with hurt and outrage. “The whole reason I did any of this was to save my father’s life.”
She seems so genuine, so upset, that, if I didn’t know better, I’d believe her. A chill slithers down my body.
“I stole the money to pay for his healthcare. We can’t all afford cancer, East. I told you that. I begged you to help. Instead, you had me arrested and let my father die.”
“You stole the money long before he got sick,” Easton says. “And, before that, you stole from your prior employer. Your actions had nothing to do with your dad.”
“Liar!” Kay Lee says. “She was trying to save my uncle’s life and you had her arrested!”
“Uncle?” Easton says.
“We’ll get justice from the heartless bastard,” Brian says, voice choked. “Charity begins at home.”
Easton’s attempt to highlight the truth flat-out failed. Cecily’s act had won them over long ago; she’s that good. No wonder Easton had so many doubts when it came to trusting himself again. Even knowing the truth, I find something in her voice that sounds so genuine. It’s a tug of truthfulness that belies reasoning.
It’s the worst kind of skill. The kind of person who can lie so well that you begin to doubt what you see with your own eyes.
Easton gestures again.
My heart rises into my throat. I begin to shift and move. I have to do something. I judge the distance between me and Brian.
Easton steps forward. “But when Yolanda made the show, you had to alter your plans again.”
“True. Her appearance on the show, though delightful for me, worried Paul. He was sure the investigation into her written confession and subsequent guilt-ridden suicide would be more intense if she was on the show.”
Ice slides down my body on hearing her casually explain the plan to murder me. To them, I don’t matter. I was a pawn for their blind vengeance. Talk about heartless.
“Of course.” Easton’s voice stays eerily calm. “Why would Yolanda steal, why would she kill herself, if she was on the show with an excellent chance of winning millions?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, Paul and Kay Lee took matters into their own hands on that front, bringing Néstor in to do the dirty work. A critical mistake since Parker discovered the vote-tampering.” She sighs, a sound of regret and annoyance. “Perhaps I should’ve tried harder to allay Paul’s fears, but I was busy taking care of my dad. Unlike you, who abandoned your sick father to get laid.”
Pendeja. She knows exactly where to strike him, how best to hurt him.
Easton laughs, low and cynical. “Your dad died last night, and you were obviously already here.” He shakes his head. “Not on a plane. I should’ve thought of it earlier. I knew your family sailed. You were on a boat on the water that night I was on the beach with Yolanda. You used a long-range camera, not a drone.”
“Oh, no. It was a drone.” Her shrill laugh, completely unhinged, puts an exclamation point on her deranged behavior. “We kept an eye on the building, peeked through windows. We have great photos of your dinner that night with Yolanda’s family. And when you both appeared on the beach… You made it so easy to come up with a Plan B.”
My skin crawls. This hasn’t worked out as Cecily wanted. Things are unraveling for her. Parker discovered some kind of vote-tampering. Easton showed up when he should’ve stayed in L.A. Her dad died yesterday, and, despite what she said, she wasn’t there. She’s beyond desperate to make this plan work so she can come out on top and stay out of jail. Which means she is beyond dangerous.
Tying off the too-small tourniquet as best I can, I ease out from around Néstor.
The sound of distant sirens freezes me in place, along with everyone on the roof.
“We have to get back to the boat,” Brian says.
“Fine,” Cecily says. “Plan B. Néstor found out about Yolanda and the money. He tried to bribe Easton. Or, at least, that’s how it’ll look when they find a burner cell with those drone pics in his room. When East wouldn’t pay up, he altered the results of the show. We kill them all and let the authorities sort it out.”
“Will that still work?” Brian asks with a flash of doubt on his face.
“Of course. People love to see oh-so-perfect people like Easton brought down low. But I can’t shoot him. I’ll do her?—”
There’s a crashing sound from the roof door, then pounding footsteps. As machinery buzzes by my head and vibrates through my side, Brian turns, gun raised.
Mateo charges out from the towering equipment with wild hair and eyes.
“No!” I scream, rolling to my feet. Brian shoots.
A thunk thunk of metal. Steam hisses from holes blasted in the equipment, slamming heat into Mateo. He covers his face and lurches back.
“Brian!” Cecily calls, and I whip my head back to see Easton wrestling the gun from Cecily, with Kay Lee clasped to his back like an evil toddler, trying to strangle him.
He wrenches the gun away, flips Kay Lee onto her cousin. They tumble in a tangle to the roof.
Brian aims at Easton.
I’m already running. I thud across the roof and plow into Brian’s legs, shoving him into to the ground.
The impact drives the air from my lungs and sends shards of pain ripping through my torso.
Brian turns in my grasp, kicks his boot heel into my face. Red pain blinds me as my head snaps back. My nose bleeds, my eyes water. I blink away red stars to see his gun inches from my face.
I freeze. My heart pounds in my teeth.
“Drop the fucking gun,” Easton growls with a tone so sharp it could saw a bone in half. “Before I put a bullet through your skull.”
My eyes flick to Easton, who now has his weapon against the top of Brian’s head, pointing straight down.
“Kill her,” Cecily screams. “For my father!”
The HVAC kicks off. The sound of sirens shriek in loud waves across the roof.
“Now,” Easton says.
The scuffling of approaching footsteps sweeps from around corners.
“Fuck,” Brian growls, lowering his gun a beat before four police officers swarm onto the roof.
As the police first arrive, we are all told to put up our hands and comply, but soon—with the help of the security Easton hired—things are sorted out and the police handcuff Cecily, Kay Lee, and Brian.
The moment the police have subdued them and released the rest of us, Easton is there, taking me in his arms.
“Yolanda,” he whispers fiercely, clasping me gently to his chest. He kisses me over and over along my jaw, avoiding the injuries to my bruised face. “Are you okay?”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I lay my head softly against his chest. “You saved me.”
He rests his chin against the top of my head for a brief second before placing a kiss there. “No. You… saved me. You saved my life in every way a person can.”
His hand shakes as he places it under my chin and lifts gently. I stare up into ocean blue eyes, swimming with unshed emotion. “I love you, Yolanda Vasquez. I’ve loved you before I even understood what this feeling was. I fell in love with you during our night, when you offered me kindness and understanding, rescuing me from the harshness of my own judgments.” He smirks, almost regretfully. “It just took me a while to love myself enough to accept that I could love someone like you, someone worlds better than me.”
He bends down and kisses me gently. Heat and awareness and the sheer joy of knowing he loves me sends a thousand feelings of gratitude winging through my chest. He’s alive. We’re alive.
He pulls back from the kiss. Tears wash down my face. I squeeze his waist so tightly my ribs ache, but I don’t care. He’s alive, and he’s mine, and I love him.
“Te amo, Easton. I love you, Easton,” I whisper. “Siempre. Always.”
He rubs his thumb across my tear-stained lips. “Siempre,” he repeats.
We kiss again, a kiss that’s interrupted by the gruff sound of a police officer clearing his throat. Not the most romantic way to profess your love for someone, but at least it happened here, on the roof of La Vida Buena where it all started.