Chapter 15
Tate
The days passed, and much to my relief, Stella kept herself busy in her workroom.
She was finishing Eleanor Harrington’s gown, she’d told me.
I caught glimpses of her through the doorway sometimes, bent over her worktable with her hair piled messily on top of her head, her fingers moving as she placed each bead exactly where it needed to go.
She looked peaceful when she worked. Focused. Like the rest of the world—her mother’s criticism, her father’s indifference, the threat hanging over all of us—simply ceased to exist.
I envied her that escape.
Celeste was around more than usual, which worked in my favor even if it grated on my nerves. Her presence meant I had to maintain professional distance from Stella. No lingering looks. No accidental touches. No moments alone that might lead somewhere neither of us could afford to go.
It was for the best. I kept telling myself that. What had happened in the backyard—the chase, the claiming, the way she’d come apart beneath me—that couldn’t happen again. Not while she was my client. Not while someone was stalking her family.
But God, it was hard to remember that when she walked into a room.
* * *
Saturday arrived, bringing with it the Nevada Victims’ Rights Foundation Annual Gala—a black-tie charity event that the Hayward family apparently attended every year without fail.
I wasn’t thrilled. A crowded ballroom meant unvetted people. The event was being held in one of the major casinos on the Strip, which meant far too many entrances and exits to cover effectively. It was a security nightmare, the kind of scenario that made my skin prickle with unease.
I’d spent the better part of the previous day, Friday, on the phone with Sutton, coordinating coverage.
Noble and Associates was sending a full team in addition to the casino’s own security detail—six men total, positioned throughout the venue, all of them briefed on the Hayward family and the nature of the threat.
The threat that had become increasingly concerning just that week.
Three letters had arrived at Charles’s office. No more photographs of Stella, thank God, probably because she hadn’t been out much. The letters had been the classic cut-and-paste variety, words clipped from magazines and newspapers and arranged into vague, menacing sentences.
You will pay for your crimes.
Justice is coming.
The guilty never escape.
Unfortunately, nothing specific enough to narrow down who might be behind them.
As a prosecutor previously, Charles Hayward had made countless enemies during that time.
People he’d sent to prison. Families he’d torn apart.
Lives he’d ruined in the name of justice—or whatever passed for justice in his world.
After reviewing his defense cases over the years and not finding anything that posed a threat, Sutton decided to compile a list of individuals Charles had once prosecuted who were now out on parole or had served their time.
Over one hundred names. I’d been cross-referencing them against known associates, current addresses, recent activity.
So far, nothing stood out as concerning.
But that didn’t mean the danger wasn’t real.
I’d suggested—strongly—that perhaps the family should consider staying home this weekend. A quiet evening together instead of a public appearance at a high-profile event.
Charles had dismissed the idea immediately.
“I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m cowed,” he said, straightening his cufflinks with the casual arrogance of a man who’d never been truly afraid of anything in his life.
“When people look up to you the way they look up to me, when they see you as a pillar of the community, you can’t show fear or apprehension of any sort. ”
“Sir, it’s not cowardice. It’s common sense.”
“I don’t want anyone to think they can intimidate me.
” His eyes met mine, cool and assessing.
“I’m a defense attorney, Tate. I can’t afford for clients to believe I can be scared into submission.
If I hide away every time someone sends a threatening letter, I might as well hang up my law degree and take up gardening. ”
I understood his point. In a way, I could even admire it—the refusal to let fear dictate his actions, the commitment to maintaining his public image.
There was something almost noble about it.
But surely any father who loved his children would at least keep them out of the line of fire.
Surely he’d have Stella stay behind, safe at home, while he and Celeste made their obligatory appearance.
But no. Stella was coming. Along with her boyfriend, Oliver.
“You’ll stick close to Stella all night?” Charles asked as we waited in the foyer for Stella and her mother to come downstairs so we could head to the gala.
“Of course, sir.”
Charles gave me a nod. “Good. I’m counting on you.”
I didn’t understand how the man could be so protective of his daughter on one hand and yet fail so spectacularly to do what was actually right for her on the other.
He’d hired me to keep her safe. And yet here he was, dragging her to a public event where she’d be exposed and vulnerable, all so he could maintain appearances.
I wondered if he even realized what a man of contradictions he was.
But then Stella came down the stairs, and I forgot how to breathe.
The gown she wore was pale blue, soft and luminous and utterly ethereal. I was pretty certain it was one of her own Stella Original designs. I was starting to recognize her aesthetic in every line and every carefully considered detail.
The bodice was structured but delicate, with a neckline that showcased the graceful slope of her shoulders.
Intricate beadwork cascaded down from the bust like scattered stars, catching the light with every movement.
The skirt flowed from a fitted waist in layers of material that seemed to float around her legs, the fabric so fine it was nearly translucent.
Her hair was swept up in some kind of elegant twist, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Diamond drops glittered at her ears, understated and classic. Her makeup was soft, barely there, just enough to make her blue eyes look enormous and her lips look like something I wanted to taste.
She looked like a goddess. Like something too beautiful to be real. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, I kept my hands at my sides and my expression neutral, but it took every ounce of discipline I possessed not to touch her.
“You look lovely, darling,” Celeste said, appearing behind her daughter. The compliment sounded perfunctory, like something she said because it was expected rather than because she meant it.
“Thank you, Mother.”
Stella turned toward me and I watched the way her gaze dipped down, taking in the Tuxedo I’d rented for the evening before lifting to meet my eyes.
There was an appreciative glimmer there, but I forced myself to give her a small nod, professional and appropriate, before we followed her parents out of the house and into the hired Towncar at the curb.
We arrived at the luxury casino and headed toward the grand ballroom where the gala was being held.
I’d worked events here a few years back, before I joined Noble and Associates, when I was still freelancing and taking whatever jobs came my way.
The casino’s security team was competent and professional.
I recognized a few faces as we entered and nodded at the head of their detail.
“Holland,” he said, falling into step beside me as Stella moved ahead with her parents to find Oliver. “Heard you were coming. Sutton briefed us on the situation.”
“Good. What’s your coverage looking like?”
We discussed entry and exit points and potential blind spots. I kept half my attention on the conversation and half on Stella, tracking her blue gown through the crowd as she made her way toward a tall blonde man in an impeccably tailored tuxedo.
Oliver. Her fake boyfriend. The man who got to touch her in public while I had to pretend I didn’t know exactly how she sounded when she came.
I forced the thought aside and focused on the security briefing.
“Miss Hayward is my priority,” I explained.
“Threats have also been directed at Charles, but his wife, Celeste, and son, Charlie, could be targets as well. We haven’t received any specific warnings about the two of them, but whoever’s behind this seems pretty unpredictable.
” I paused, scanning the room. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep a special eye on the other Haywards. ”
“Even the son?” one of the other guards asked dryly.
I followed his gaze to where Charlie Hayward was holding court near the bar, a glass of champagne in hand, his other arm draped around a pretty redhead in a dark green dress. He was laughing too loudly, behaving like this was a frat party rather than a formal charity event.
The woman was one of his father’s paralegals. Bridget, I thought her name was. I’d seen her photo on the law firm’s website.
“Yes, even him.”
Charlie wasn’t an idiot. He’d graduated from law school, passed the bar, technically knew his way around a courtroom. But watching him now and having learned more about him, I realized he had no idea how much his father had simply handed him. How easy his life was compared to Stella’s.
Everything Charlie had, he’d gotten because Charles had given it to him. The job at the firm. The corner office. The cases that made him look good. The introductions to the right people, the opportunities that fell into his lap like he deserved them.
Meanwhile, Stella had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of independence. Had to justify her choices, defend her career, prove her worth over and over again to parents who refused to acknowledge her talent and success.
The unfairness of it made my jaw clench.