Chapter 9CassieLink
Chapter 9
Cassie
“What’s going on? What are you not telling me?”
This side street is narrower than the last one, and I have to watch the road. While I can’t see his expression as he answers, he can’t hide the concern in his voice. “I have a better place to check out, is all.”
“Quinn?” I ask, hoping she’ll back me up.
“Beats me,” is all I get from her.
“Wow,” Lincoln says, sounding extra exasperated with me. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t want to be a private eye.”
“Answer,” is all he gets from me.
“If you must know, I recognized one of the cars in the parking lot. There are some unsavory characters in that pawn shop right now that I’d rather not expose you and poor Quinnie here to.”
“Really?” she says in a disgusted tone.
“There’s an unsavory character in my car,” I say with equal disgust.
I wait for a quip or a smirk but get neither.
And it rattles me how much whoever he saw got to him.
I slow down and glance back at them in time to see Quinn whispering something, her brows raised in a question.
“Quinn? Should I go back? Is he just being a baby?”
Whatever his response is, it has Quinn’s jaw-dropping. “No way.”
“We can’t solve this thing if we’re scared of talking to criminals. Who else is going to know about crimes?” Exasperation leaks through my tone. This case isn’t going to solve itself.
Quinn shakes her head. “One of the guys he saw is an ex, and let’s just say things did not end well.”
If we used your love life as a metric of who to talk to, we’d be out of business.
Still, Quinn looks just as nervous as Lincoln, and she’s been nothing but nice to me, so I keep my thoughts about her romantic conquests to myself.
“Fine, where to now?”
My phone rings as Lincoln gives me another set of long, convoluted directions instead of an address. The caller ID pops up on the dashboard screen, and I go to swipe it away. I do not want to talk to my private investigator with Lincoln in the car.
But this isn’t my car, and the controls are different. Instead of swiping it to voicemail, I accidentally answer.
“Ms. Marie?” comes through the speakers. I cringe at his use of my stage name in front of Lincoln and Quinn. It feels wrong to be called that person when I’m back here.
“Mr. Simpson, now’s not a good...”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish and instead keeps talking.
“It’s turning out to be more difficult than we first anticipated. Getting information out of anyone in this town is nearly impossible.” He sounds hushed like he’s trying not to be heard by someone on his end of the line. “Aside from the people I mentioned earlier, Ms. Farmer and Mr. Rollins, I want to run some more names by you.”
“Um, can we do this another time?” I pay extra attention to remembering Lincoln’s directions and clench my jaw while avoiding eye contact with them as I wait for his response.
“I really think you should hear this now.”
“I…” They’ll be grilling me about him either way; I might as well hear what he has to say. “Okay. Go ahead.
Lincoln taps the back of the passenger seat. “Who is this?” He doesn’t bother to keep his voice low.
“Who is that,” Mr. Simpson says. “Should I go on?”
“Everything’s fine. Continue.”
“No, everything is not fine.” Lincoln raises his voice more. “Who is this?” He’s staring at the screen on the dashboard like he can intimidate Mr. Simpson through it.
“I… Ms. Marie?”
“Ignore him. Please, what do you have for me?”
Lincoln takes a breath as if to protest, and I brake-check him. His cheek hits the back of the passenger seat, and he groans. It’s such a satisfying feeling.
“Mr. Simpson?”
“Ah, yes, um… do you know a Harlan Reed, Beverly Fowler, or Jack Duncan?”
All three sound vaguely familiar, but as I take a moment to place the names, Lincoln uses the silence to grill my private investigator.
“Are you fully licensed?”
“Yes…”
“How many cases do you work per year?”
“Depends.”
“How long have you been in business?”
“Twelve years. Before that, I was a detective with?—”
“Link!” Quinn cuts in, yanking on his sleeve to help control him.
“Do you have any famous clients?” Lincoln asks, ignoring Quinn and my burning hot glare through the rearview.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss my clientele with… who are you?” Mr. Simpson is getting annoyed. His hushed tone is gone, replaced by one of haughty superiority—something he and Lincoln have in common.
“He’s nobody,” I say, interrupting the interrogation. “Just a very old friend from back home.”
“Oh, that’s right. How is your trip going?”
I think back over the past couple of days, and I remember my filthy ripped clothes, the scratch on my rental car, and running into the boy who broke my heart. Not to mention being back in my dad’s office, smelling his cologne on his chair, and seeing my childhood bedroom again. “It’s a lot. I’ll be home in a few days if everything goes well.”
At that, Lincoln falls back into his seat, and I hear Quinn whispering something to him.
I take a deep breath and refocus. “Beverly is a casting director, right?”
“Yeah, she’s attached to the last two projects you didn’t get.”
The words sting and I can’t help but flinch.
Quinn rubs my shoulder. “Need to make a right up here, hon.”
I slow down. Though since the call started, I’ve barely been going the speed limit. “I don’t remember the other two. Who are they?”
There’s the sound of paper rustling. “One, Mr. Reed works as a grip, and Mr. Duncan was the intimacy coordinator for The Force .”
“Really?” How did I work on that show for two years and not know him?
No love scenes , I remind myself.
“Really?” Lincoln huffs from right behind me. I feel him over my shoulder and realize he’s leaning forward again. I would tap the brakes again, but Quinn is also leaning forward to help me with directions. She doesn’t deserve the things I’d like to do to Lincoln Suco.
And what things might that be?
I shrug my shoulder to push Lincoln’s thoughts away, ignoring my inner voice’s valid yet disturbing question.
“What’s this about?” Lincoln asks, his tone getting more irritated by the second. “You hire this guy to do what? Is this about your job? How bad are things?”
“None of your business.”
“Well, I’m gonna make it my business.”
“What did you find out, Mr. Simpson?” I ask loudly.
“He isn’t going to find anything out talking to a grip and a…” Lincoln throws up his hands. I wonder if it’s genuine exasperation or if he doesn’t want to say, ‘intimacy coordinator.’
“I found out,” Mr. Simpson says, fully enunciating the words, “that the story is that you were a diva on set and that you got your roles the old-fashioned way.”
“Old-fashioned way?” It takes me a second to comprehend what he’s saying, but in that second, Lincoln is kind enough to explain.
“He’s saying you slept your way to the top!” He barks out a laugh.
I have to laugh with him because the last coveted role I got was in a hearing aid commercial. “I was hardly at the top.”
And I don’t think I was a diva.
Quinn pats my shoulder, “Left at the light.”
“Who’s spreading these lies?” Lincoln asks for me.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. As I said at the top of our call,” Mr. Simpson answers as if he’s reporting to Lincoln now and not me, “it’s been rather difficult to find people in this town willing to speak about such matters.”
Lincoln makes a deep, grumbling sound in his throat.
“That’s why I was calling to discuss?—”
“Here it goes!” Lincoln groans.
“I’m putting in a lot more time and resources into this case than we first discussed, and I need your confirmation that, if you’re willing to proceed at a higher rate, I can continue. But otherwise?—”
“Come on!” Lincoln voices my opinion rather loudly.
As much as I would love to know who’s spreading lies about me, I don’t have the money to continue this investigation, especially at a higher rate.
“Give me a little time to think,” I say, swatting Lincoln’s hand away from the screen where he’s trying to hang up on Mr. Simpson. “Can I call you back in an hour?”
“Fine,” he replies, his voice low again. “But I have a meeting with a potential witness this evening, so I need to know something soon.”
“Of course. And who is the witness?”
Another rustling of papers. “A Miss Rose Montera.”
“Rosie?” I ask in a gasp.
If there’s anything to be uncovered about what’s going on, Rosie’s the one to ask. She knows everything about everything.
But whose side is she on?
Link
Cassie’s grifter says, “Yes,” through the speaker, and just the sound of his voice makes me want to punch the screen.
“Hang up!”
Quinn grabs my arm to hold me back, and I hiss at her. “You hang it up then. This guy’s a snake!” I say the last part loud enough for him to hear.
“I’ll let you decide,” the snake replies, ignoring me. “Call me ASAP when you have your answer.”
The line goes dead as I’m mocking him. “Call me ASAP when you have your answer,” I say in my best snake-oil voice. “Cassie! What have you gotten yourself into?”
“Red light. What do I do?” She refuses to meet my eye in the mirror.
“I thought we talked about this. If you’re having trouble back home, let me help.” I try to sound angry instead of hurt, but by the way Quinn’s hand moves to my shoulder, I know that didn’t quite come across how I wanted it to. Now, I’m the one looking away in case Cassie looks through the mirror.
“I don’t need your help! Except to tell me which way to turn or give me an address like I asked in the first place!” From her tone, I’m glad I’m all the way in the back seat.
“Obviously, you do need my help. Our help! Right, Quinn?” I nudge her to back me up, but she shrugs and gives me a slow head shake that says she wants no part of this. Then, the little smirk she adds at the end tells me she’s enjoying the show a bit too much.
I return the head shake. I can’t let her get any ideas.
I can’t let myself get any ideas! Maybe this is a good thing. The more Cassie and I fight, the less I notice her sparkling blue-green eyes and the sultry way she says my name when she’s mad.
“Lincoln!”
Yeah, like that.
Whatever she was about to yell at me is drowned out by the squealing of her fancy car’s tires as she does a U-turn.
“What are you doing?”
“If you won’t tell me where I’m going, I’m going back to that pawn shop. One of us has to be willing to solve this case!”
“No!” Quinn and I both yell.
“Cassandra,” Quinn says softly. “We can’t go back there. Not now. Please, trust me.”
“Fine,” Cassie huffs. Then she punches something onto the map, and her navigator tells her where to turn next. It doesn’t take long to realize we’re headed back to the office.
Maybe it’s for the best. We’ll just be on a wild goose chase until I can get back to Goldie’s. But it’s not safe right now for any of us.
Quinn clearly agrees by the way she’s still shaking her head. I can’t believe she dated Big Wayne, and I didn’t know about it. Have I really been that out of touch lately?
Robby’s death hit me hard. No matter how much warning you have, it’s still never enough.
I can’t imagine what it was like for Cassie. Not that she would ever talk about such things with me. As a girl, she had an iron will that could not be broken. And the woman she’s become has only hardened that resolve.
The car skids to a stop at the edge of the office’s parking lot. “Quinn,” Cassie says sweetly, “Thank you for everything you’re trying to do for the company. I hope it’s not too much.” Then, she finally looks at me through the rearview. “Get out. I’ve had enough of this town. I’m going home to fix my life.”
Quinn whispers something I can’t hear in Cassie’s ear and gets out.
I don’t. “Your home is not in New York. It’s here. Your dad?—”
Cassie blasts the horn, drowning out the rest of my plea. Then she gets out, leaving the car running, and comes around to my side. She yanks open my door and grabs my sleeve to pull me out. “Get out!”
I let her pull me but stand with my hand on the door, refusing to move. “Don’t run from this, Cassie.”
Her face turns red, and her eyes narrow. I expect her to yell, ‘Stop calling me that!’ but instead, her lip quivers, and she surprises me with, “Why not?”
I risk putting a hand on her shoulder. The heat radiating off her almost makes me jerk back my hand. She’s practically vibrating. “Whether you want it or not, this is still your home. This…” I gesture toward the office, “This is yours. We could be a great team. We were one today. Come on, you know you want this.”
Something in my words scares me. What exactly am I asking her for?
A partnership, I tell myself. Totally on the up and up .
The way Cassie takes a step back, pulling her shoulder out from under my hand, makes me think it scares her, too.
Definitely, not for the same reason.
Right?
I try to catch her eye, to see the thoughts racing in her mind, but she averts her gaze. Classic obfuscation, and she knows it.
“Mrs. Harper loved you,” I say, offering a subject change from what I can only assume we’re both thinking. I knew Cassie had a crush on me when I started working with Robby. I mean, who wouldn’t? But now, seeing the beautiful young woman she’s become and the war raging behind her eyes, I can’t pretend this is the same schoolgirl infatuation.
And that’s too dangerous.
We can’t both give in to temptation. I have to show her that I can keep this relationship totally professional. “Quinn said she’d work out a payment plan on the loan with the money we make off this job. I could really use your help on this one.”
When Cassie glances at the office door, then back at me, and finally opens her mouth to respond, I realize I’ve been the only one talking this whole time. Everything I heard from her was just what’s been written on her face.
But whatever she’s about to say is lost to chaos as a black sedan pulls up, tinted windows come down, and two gun barrels appear out of the darkness.
I only have time to wrap my arms around her and pull us both into the back seat of her car before bullets start flying. She lands on top of me, and I roll us over until she’s on the floor and I’m covering her.
The sound is deafening, and it goes on for what seems like forever.
The only sensation I have is intense fear that Cassie will be hurt and the knowledge that, even now, she smells amazing.