Chapter 33
BAILEY
Jenson Investigations is located on the fourth floor of an office building that was once cutting edge but now swims with plastic surgeons and billboard lawyers hungry for car wreck insurance cases.
Zane’s office matches his business card: efficient and organized.
Minimally decorated. Decidedly male. A couch rests next to an accent wall painted in a cool gray tone.
A black-and-white portrait of Mount Rainier draped in a blanket of mist keeps watch over a glass coffee table layered in magazines.
Time and Life and Forbes. No celebrity gossip. No People or Us.
The couch is where I’m seated now. Zane is stationed across from me in a white leather armchair, looking at me in much the same way Ben did yesterday evening when I filled him in on the details of my plan—eyes wide, eyebrows arched.
His reaction is more muted than Ben’s, though, a momentary flicker of surprise before his face returns to normal.
“It’s not possible,” Zane says.
“Why not?”
“This guy’s a pro. He’ll see you coming from a mile away.”
“Not if you help me.”
A shadow of a smile curls over his lips. “I’m not the one who has to sleep with him.”
“I can handle it.” My stomach lurches. I have no idea if I can—the thought of being intimate with the man who killed Ethan and Noah makes me physically sick—but that’s a problem for future Bailey to solve. Right now, I need to focus on getting Zane onboard.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he says. “And even if you could, we’re talking about a man who manipulates women for a living. It’s hard to con a con.”
“Not when they’re rusty. Reed hasn’t done a job in two years, right?”
Zane crosses his arms. “Not that I’m aware of, no.”
“Exactly. He thinks he got away with it. He’s retired.”
“Guys like Reed don’t get rusty, and they don’t stop. He’ll be back at some point.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. According to the file you gave me, he’s been stringing these jobs together for what, close to a decade now? At most he goes dark for a year. That’s it. That’s as much time as he ever takes. Then he’s back at it. He’s never been out this long before.”
“He’s never killed people before.”
I flinch. My people.
“And that right there is why this will never work,” Zane says, taking note of my reaction. “If I can read you, he’ll be able to as well. The second he triggers you it’s over. You aren’t ready for something like this.”
“I can get ready.”
“I seriously doubt it. And even if you could, you’d still have to find a way to connect with him.
A way to give him something none of these other women ever could.
He doesn’t operate like other people. He’s a narcissist. He only loves himself.
And you’re talking about making him fall in love with you. You won’t be able to do that.”
“Yes, I will.”
Zane groans and rubs his temples. “Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me how, then.”
I pull the yearbook photo out of my purse and place it on the coffee table, tap it once. “I become her.”
Zane picks up the photo and studies it. “Taylor White. Why?”
“Because she was important to him.” I retrieve another picture from my purse—this one of Reed and Taylor standing next to a bank of lockers, Reed gazing at her as she laughs—and slide it over. “Look at his face. That’s no act. He’s capable of love.”
Zane studies the photo, rubbing the corners of his lips with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe, but this was a long time ago. It won’t be enough.”
“It will if I pair it with a story. My story.”
Zane sets the picture down, his eyes clicking back to me. “I’m not sure I follow.”
I cross my legs. “You’re right. I won’t be able to hide my emotions.
Not fully. So, I’ll use them. I’ll tell Reed I was in a wreck and I killed someone.
I won’t be able to talk about it without breaking down.
Reed won’t be able to tell me he did the same thing, but he’ll see himself in my story.
It’s why he’ll bond with me. Even a narcissist has feelings. ”
“You sure?” Zane asks. “Remember, this guy pulled a dead girl into the driver’s seat after draining her bank account. And besides, you still haven’t addressed the biggest issue.
“Which is?”
“You. He killed your family. What if he recognizes you?”
I’d considered this. I don’t know if Reed looked into me after the wreck.
If he did, he wouldn’t have found much. Besides a few photos on the corporate website that were deleted after I left Pricewaterhouse, I don’t exist. In my previous life, I was too busy to focus on social media.
I never saw the point of sharing images of what I had for dinner.
But I know there are pictures of me on the Internet.
Old photos from yearbooks. A few pictures of me out with friends.
Shots of me with Ethan and Noah on Ethan’s Facebook page, which Ethan kept private.
Despite my low public profile, it’s likely Reed’s seen me online at least a few times.
But would he recognize me if he saw me in person?
I doubt it. Someone like Reed who makes a career out of ruining other peoples’ lives probably doesn’t spend a lot of time regretting his actions or living in the past. And if for some strange reason he does, I have a plan for that, too.
“He won’t,” I say. “I’ll change my appearance.”
Zane steeples his fingers and places them beneath his chin. “You’ve certainly thought this through, haven’t you?”
“It’s all I’ve thought about. But I can’t do it alone.”
“Well, you won’t be doing it with me,” Zane says. “It’s too risky. And it would take too much work. I have other clients to consider.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I say, my gaze drifting behind him toward the photo sitting on the corner of his desk—a picture of Zane with his arms slung around his kids.
A boy I peg to be close to eighteen and a girl who looks at least ten years younger.
She has sleek black hair and a face like her father’s, although much narrower, the hollows overly pronounced.
And while Zane’s skin is a warm tan, the girl’s is as pale as milk.
I clocked the picture the second I entered Zane’s office along with the stack of medical bills piled in the basket near his computer.
I instantly recognized the Harborview Medical logo in the upper left corner of the topmost envelope.
After the wreck, I’d received plenty of bills from Harborview of my own, though none of them had the red past-due stamp Zane’s has.
And it’s that stamp, along with Zane’s comment from the other day about the cost of health insurance, that I’m banking on to help me change his mind.
“How much would it take?” I ask.
Zane doesn’t hesitate. “More than you can afford.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. How much?”
He taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I don’t know. I’d have to crunch the numbers.”
“Ballpark. I won’t hold you to it.”
His lips curl into a half-grin. “You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that. A million, minimum.”
The number feels like a slap to the face.
I’d expected him to demand a substantial amount, but not seven figures.
I have Ethan’s life insurance settlement, sure—what I haven’t already used, anyway—every dollar of it drenched in blood.
And I have what I’d managed to save for retirement before the crash still sitting in my 401(k).
All in, I can come up with close to six-hundred thousand—so there’s no way I can afford Zane’s number. But I can’t let him know that, either.
“How about five-hundred thousand up front, and another five hundred once we’re done?”
His fingers stop tapping. His gaze sharpens. He says nothing, probably wondering if I’m serious, which I am. I’m not lying. I’ll find a way to get him the money. I can take out a home equity loan if I need to.
I lean in and set my elbows on my knees. “Zane, what’s your daughter’s name?”
He stiffens. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll answer. Finally, he does. “Cora.”
“That’s beautiful. I know you mentioned she’s sick.”
He frowns. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“She’s already part of it. I can see the bills on your desk. I lost my child. Let me help yours. What exactly does she have?”
He tenses, and I can practically hear his spine crack.
I know focusing on his daughter is risky, especially after his warning, but I don’t have a choice; she’s the only leverage I have.
My pulse thumps harder as he continues to stare at me, his eyes shining like bullets.
I can’t tell if he’s actually considering my offer or if he’s seconds away from telling me to get out of his office.
Finally, he reclines in his chair and lets out a long breath. “Have you ever heard of MLD?”
“MLD?”
“Metachromatic leukodystrophy. Cora has this fatty substance accumulating in her brain. We all have it, actually. But hers … it builds up. It doesn’t get eliminated like it does for the rest of us.
It’s slowly strangling her nervous system.
It affects her ability to walk, to communicate.
It diminishes her hearing and sight. The best way I can describe it is like watching someone drown in quicksand, but there’s nothing you can do to help them. ”
“Jesus,” I whisper. “That sounds terrible.”
“It’s awful,” Zane says, his eyes dimming.
“My wife, Maria, and I … we’ve been to so many specialists.
Tried so many treatments, but nothing’s worked.
” A brief tremor runs through his voice.
He pauses then says, “And it’s expensive.
You wouldn’t believe how much the drugs for this disease cost. The procedures. It’s backbreaking.”
“I can only imagine,” I say. “But surely what I’m offering to pay you will help.”
“Not as much as you think.”
I fold my hands and set them in my lap. I don’t know what else to say.
He pushes his tongue against his cheek, his gaze never leaving mine.
A muscle pops near his jaw. His eyes turn to slivers.
“If I were to consider this, and I do mean if, you would have to agree to do it my way. There would have to be no deviation. A guy like Reed is as slippery as they come. If you fuck it up, he’ll bite back.
He won’t play fair. And he won’t only come after you.
He’ll come after me, too. And I refuse to put my family in jeopardy. ”
Something resolves in my chest. For the first time since I lost Ethan and Noah, I feel something other than grief, and something deeper than rage.
For the first time since the day my world exploded in a ball of glass and metal, I have a purpose.
And that purpose has a name: Reed Aldridge.
I can absolutely do what Zane asks. And I will.
I nod. “Understood.”
He leans back in his chair. “One point five, and I’m in.”
My stomach knots. “You just said a million.”
“I said, a million minimum. And you said you wouldn’t hold me to it. One point five. That’s my number.”
I attempt to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat.
It’s unsettling he’s asking for this much cash.
It either means he’s greedy or under severe financial stress.
My guess is the latter based on what he just said about his daughter.
I don’t like it. If there’s one thing I know from my career in tax, it’s that people with a lot of debt will often do unpredictable things.
Sometimes dangerous things. But Zane’s a professional, not to mention the only resource I have who can reasonably help me pull this off.
There’s no doubt I need him. Still, I can’t even swing his first figure, much less this new one.
But there might be a different way I can play this—another option.
I sigh. “I can’t afford that.”
“Then I’m out.”
“Wait,” I say, raising my hand. “Hear me out. I still pay you a million, but you get thirty percent of what I take from Reed. He’s stolen a lot of money from a lot of people. Whatever he has squirreled away will be substantial.”
Zane’s eyes narrow as he considers it. “Fifty.”
“Forty,” I shoot back. “And that’s my final number.
Whatever’s left of Reed’s money won’t change what happened to my family, but it will go a long way in improving the lives of his other victims. It’s a big reason why I’m doing this.
After what he put them through, they deserve as much as they can get.
I won’t budge. If you’re out, I’ll find another way. ”
Zane rubs his chin. His eyes remain locked on mine, as if he’s trying to get a read on my thoughts, wondering if he can push me higher. He can’t. And my bet is he won’t.
After what feels like an hour has passed, Zane finally grunts and gives me a single nod of his head.
“Deal.”