Her Husband's Murder, page 6
Emma wondered how much Trevor had to pay, and where he even looked, to find what he found on her.
Five months before the wedding, 1 p.m.
“Mrs. Pierce, Paula just called me from downstairs. There’s someone here to see you,” the voice boomed from her desk phone. It was her assistant Tyler. Well, he was the floor’s assistant, not just hers. Not yet. “His name is Trevor Vaughn. I don’t see an appointment with him on your calendar. Can she send him up?”
Emma looked up from her manuscript to the picture of Bianca on her desk, then up to the ceiling in recollection. Trevor Vaughn? Oh! Trevor! Fiona’s boyfriend! She looked at her watch; it was one p.m., a half an hour before her marketing meeting. Emma pressed the button on her phone to reply.
“Sure, Tyler. I’ll be right out.”
She waited a few minutes before she stood and exited her cubicle and strode down the beige hallway to reception, where she indeed found Trevor, dressed in all black, sitting on one of their plush couches, their newest bestselling thriller from the coffee table in front of him in his hand. He waved it in front of her upon her approach.
“You like these types of books? Where secrets and lies destroy families?” he asked slowly.
Emma chuckled. “I’m more of a romance girl myself.”
“Ah.” It was a statement. “Shall we take a walk?”
She looked at her watch again. “I have a meeting in a half hour. What are you doing here?”
He picked up a large manila envelope that was next to him. “I need to talk to you about something. I think we should grab a coffee. You don’t want to do this here.”
“Do what?”
“How’s that place downstairs? Bean Addiction? Good espresso? I can use an espresso.”
Emma’s stomach warbled at his tone and his dismissal of her agenda for the day. However, he was already walking briskly ahead of her and placed his hand into the closing elevator door where some coworkers stood, so she went in, and he followed. The only noise came through the blaring headphones of a young bike messenger with a love of Eminem. There was no small talk, just people shifting around, getting on or off at designated floors, and getting more cramped and hotter than outside’s ninety-plus temperature. Very hot, even for the end of June. Leaving the building was no relief as the air was thick and humid, constricting her chest even more.
Trevor opened the door to the coffee shop for her, his hand too familiar on her lower back. As they waited in line, she breathed in the coffee smell. It reminded her of her childhood in Portugal, when she and Cassandra would visit the coffee shops with their parents. They’d always gotten the whole beans, and then ground them in the kitchen themselves before brewing. French press was their favorite.
She lifted her thick hair off her neck in an attempt to cool down, and felt a soft breeze prickling her skin. Yet, it didn’t have the arctic chill of the air conditioner, and when she turned, she was startled to discover Trevor blowing lightly on the back of her neck. Uncomfortable, she moved away and dropped her hair. He winked, then he ordered for both of them while she stayed silent.
Once settled with two espressos—a single for her, a double for him—she quizzed him.
“I thought we’d see you guys at brunch on Sunday. What’s with the secret visit?” She sipped her espresso—too bitter. She would’ve preferred a cappuccino, but there was something in Trevor’s insistence that made her just want to get this over with.
He swallowed his sip and cleared his throat. “Well, I’m proposing to Fiona on Sunday at brunch.”
Emma let out a yelp so filled with volume and happiness that other patrons turned to look. “Oh my God! She’s going to be thrilled!”
Trevor’s head tilted ear to shoulder, ear to shoulder, like a boxer working out the kinks. When he stopped, they locked eyes. “Good Lord, Emma, you really are gorgeous.”
Her stomach sank to the bottom of her abdomen. It wasn’t a compliment; it was sleazy, especially after the inappropriate touching. How dare he mention proposing to Fiona and then stare her down like his prized pig? She lowered her eyes to her cup. “Thank you,” she said and took a sip.
“Don’t look down. Look at me. Those eyes are something. Mesmerizing.”
Emma had been hearing about the beauty of her big green eyes her whole life. Her mother, sister, and a few of her cousins in Portugal had really light green eyes. So did Bianca. It must’ve been in the bloodline. It was always the first thing people noticed about her. But those big eyes only had room for Ethan. She thought she might tear up right in front of Trevor—she was beyond uncomfortable.
“So, you’re proposing to Fiona! That’s great news.” She changed the subject.
“Oh. Yeah. Right, right,” he said and snapped back into it. “Well, I think she’s been having some second thoughts about our relationship lately.”
Emma and Fiona had spoken on the phone a couple times since the sudden move to Miami. Yes, it was true—Fiona had expressed some concern, and thought she rushed into it too quickly and realized she gave up her friends and her job for a guy she barely knew. Emma thought that Fiona let herself get wrapped up in the fact that this gorgeous man paid attention to her at all; Fiona had been toying with moving back North after only a month.
“Oh no,” Emma said. Fiona would be so upset if she didn’t get her happy ending. But it was also Fiona’s happiness that mattered to Emma, and she didn’t know Trevor all that well. By the way he was acting, she thought he was a bit of a slime ball. Emma wondered if the proposal would make a difference to Fiona at all. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
“Yeah. Oh no,” he mocked. “Anyway, you’re going to convince her to say yes. You’re going to be so excited and so shocked and so thrilled, that if she comes to you with any concerns, you’re going to brush them under the rug and talk me up.”
“Excuse me?” Who did this guy think he was? He couldn’t threaten her.
He tapped on the envelope that he’d been carrying, which he now placed on the table in front of him. “Guess what I found out?”
She placed the small paper cup down and again looked at her watch. “I don’t have time for this. Why are you playing games?”
“Games? I’m playing games. I see.” He pushed the envelope toward her. “Go ahead. Look inside.”
With a huff, Emma tore the envelope open and pulled out pictures. Five of them. Five different outfits. Five different places. All different, yet remarkably the same. The blood drained from her face before she spoke.
“He doesn’t know,” she whispered, her eyes closed. Her lips trembled, holding back her sob.
His was a smirk. “I know. I’m sure you want to keep it that way.”
12
DUTCH
Two days before the wedding, 2:30 p.m.
“Pardon me guys, I think we have a damsel in distress,” Dutch said with a laugh and pointed at a desperate Emma, whose eyes were squinting through the crowd, clearly looking for someone. He excused himself from Fiona’s brother Jesse and his boyfriend Hector. He picked up his drink, a gin and tonic, and the ice rattled as he made his way across the room. He didn’t expect so many people here this early—immediate family and close friends, sure, but there had to be at least fifty guests already enjoying drinks and passed appetizers.
The only one missing was Roger. And to hell with him anyway.
Still, it bothered him. Dutch had known the guy almost twenty years. He wondered how everyone else felt at his absence, but he wouldn’t dare utter Roger’s name. His friends banished Roger on their own—Dutch would never tell anyone who to be friends with, but he was glad they all stuck with him after that mess.
“What’s up Em?” he asked after he pushed through the crowd to his friends.
“We need pictures and video. James Cameron is on location, so you’re all we’ve got,” Emma said, her brows raised with hope.
“Yeah, man! I’ll direct,” he said as he looked around for the nearest cocktail table to rest his drink on as the girls gathered around, waiting for their big moment. Dutch was a natural director, and always wanted everything documented when they were in party situations with their friends. It had proven to be hilarious watching old videos years later.
It was also the catalyst that could ruin his life. One of his videos was sitting in a police closet somewhere, now marked “evidence.”
Fiona beamed at Dutch. “I still think it’s so awesome that you guys are his groomsmen. It really means a lot to me, to have you all in my wedding. Well, I guess not all of you.” Her eyes glazed over before she collected herself, clearly still sad about what Roger did, causing him to be removed from the wedding party and the wedding itself. They’d dated briefly freshman year of college and remained friendly ever since, until Roger made his feelings clear about the engagement. “Your support isn’t going unnoticed.”
Dutch was unsteady inside, his stomach grumbling and his head becoming light. His support came with strings. He hated it. He gave a crooked smile and a curt nod, and then he waved his phone around. Fiona stood in the middle of Allie and Emma, her white dress mimicking a wedding gown—she’d mentioned to them that everything she planned to wear all weekend would be white.
Dutch made the best of the situation and took pictures on the latest iPhone, the one with the amazing camera. All the girls knew they would be hashtagged with #ThreeDaysOfFun, and Dutch documented everything. Then he switched to video and spoke with a heavy French accent making a mockery of their show while directing, “Vat eez dis? Give me sexy. Give me bored. Give me love!” Their expressions changed at his direction.
“Wow, you’re good at that.” Trevor’s voice crawled up Dutch’s spine from behind. “Maybe you should direct videos full time. With those all-American looks and those people you know in LA, you wouldn’t have a problem.”
Videos. LA. Dutch could never forget what Trevor said to him.
“I knew her.”
His words still stung like battery acid every time he’d thought about it. Dutch’s smile disappeared, and he stopped the video. “I think I have enough for now. We’ll get more tonight at the welcome dinner,” Dutch said dryly, picked up his now watered-down drink, and made his way over to the bar for a refill without turning to acknowledge Trevor.
As Dutch walked away, his legs were unsteady, and he felt his knees buckle. He’d had a couple drinks already, but he also knew he wasn’t drunk. The rage started five months ago and had only increased as time went on. Tick tock, tick tock—he was almost off the hook. He hoped. He had to get through the wedding, even if he’d handed Fiona a life sentence with Trevor.
Five months before the wedding, 3 p.m.
It was the end of June, a hot as hell day in the city. After basketball practice with one of his little brothers that he mentored, Dutch looked at his cell phone and saw a missed call from a strange number. He yanked his shirt off the ground and wiped the sweat off his neck and had a sip of bottled water as he listened to his voicemail. The call came in at one-thirty. It was Trevor, Fiona’s boyfriend. He explained that he got Dutch’s number from Fiona’s phone and needed to speak with him.
Even though they’d only moved away to Miami a month before, Fiona and Trevor flew into New York to visit her mother for the weekend and to grab some of her stuff that she’d left behind. They were all having brunch together on Sunday before the couple flew back to Florida Sunday night.
On his walk back to his penthouse, he dialed Trevor’s number.
“Dutch. Glad you called back,” Trevor answered. Curt. All business.
“Hey, Trevor. Is everything okay?”
“Well, that depends on your definition of okay.”
Dutch’s heart sank. “Oh God. Is it Fiona? Did something happen?”
Dutch stopped in his tracks, causing a lady walking a dog to bump into him and tell him to watch where he was going, as she walked around him with disdain. The little Yorkie on the leash turned around and yelped a high-pitched bark in agreement. Dutch was on a quiet stretch of Tribeca, away from the construction and the beeping horns, and he swore Trevor laughed.
“I think you should come to my hotel. I have something to show you. Trust me, you’ll want to see it, and you’ll want to keep it to yourself. The W in Midtown. The room is in my name. They’ll call up to let you in. And don’t say a word about this meeting to anyone. But you’d better come now.”
The call disconnected, and Dutch stared, bewildered, at his phone. What the hell was that about? What could Trevor possibly have to show Dutch? And why was he so angry and insistent? Was it about his father? He stayed in his sweaty clothes and grabbed a cab.
Dutch looked out of place in the W in basketball shorts and a dark gray T-shirt that was stained with sweat down the middle, but still waited patiently to talk to the man in the suit behind the counter who called to let Trevor know he had a visitor. The man nodded as he hung up the phone and sent him up to the twelfth floor.
The door opened as soon as Dutch knocked, which made him think that Trevor was literally waiting behind it. Trevor offered no smile, no handshake—all he did was open it and walk away, leaving Dutch to follow him in. He got a bad feeling as he sat down on the couch in front of a pile of manila envelopes. His instinct usually didn’t betray him.
“So,” Trevor started, “I’m going to propose to Fiona on Sunday at brunch. I came up here to get her Uncle John’s permission, since he’s the man of the family now. He’s practically raised her since her father passed. I had breakfast with him this morning and of course he said yes.”
Dutch breathed a sigh of relief. His paranoia was unfounded.
“Wow, Trevor, that’s great news. Congratulations!”
“But,” Trevor said in a way that showed domination, “I’ve decided since all of you guys have been so close for so long—you, Ethan, Roger, and Veejay—that I’m going to ask you all to be my groomsmen at the wedding. You’re going to stand up next to me and say nice things about me because I’m telling you to. I’m not asking you to. You’ll make sure Fiona says yes, too. She’s expressed some doubts about our relationship. I won’t accept it.”
Dutch blinked quickly and studied Trevor’s face to see if it was a joke. He didn’t know him all that well. Dutch could count on one hand the number of times they’d hung out in the five months since they’d met. If Trevor had wanted Dutch to be a groomsman, he’d do it for Fiona, anyway—but he didn’t do well with threats.
“Excuse me?” Dutch stood up. He stood a good four inches over Trevor, and he was going to let him know that he wouldn’t be intimidated. “I don’t know where you get off—”
“Sit down.”
Who does this guy think he is? “Screw you, Trevor.”
“Don’t you want to see what’s on the flash drive?” Trevor never stood, and never raised his voice. He wore a smirk fit for a gangster, pushing it closer to the edge of the table. “Go ahead, Dietrich.” Dutch flinched at the use of his first name. “Stick this in the laptop and press play.”
Dutch was all thumbs as he fumbled with the flash drive, and his fingers trembled as he inserted it into the laptop. When what he was looking at became clear, he squinted, and then his mouth dropped open.
“Wait, wait. Keep watching. It’s a greatest hits reel,” Trevor said.
Dutch looked away. He remembered the party. He remembered what was about to happen.
“I said watch.”
“Stop it.” Dutch knew he was dead meat. Why make it worse? “Turn it off.”
“Nah.” Instead, Trevor tapped a few buttons and opened another file folder on the flash drive.
The one with the crime scene photos.
“Enough!” Dutch shut the laptop with a clap and sat back down, the sweat gathering on his back like he’d just run a half marathon. “What do you want, Trevor?”
“Now we’re talking.” He rubbed his hands together like a disgusting fly and Dutch wished he had a swatter. Despite the growing anxiety, Dutch was still floored at Trevor’s next words. “You’re going to pay for that, you motherfucker. I knew her. She was my girlfriend. And I’ve spent the past ten years watching you, making sure I get what I want.”
What? Had Trevor been stalking Dutch this whole time? Ever since he…
Trevor cut into Dutch’s worst memory. “Well, you’ve presented me with this terrific opportunity, finally. Finally, I find out that you have someone in your life who can be useful to me. So, this is what’s going to happen, Dietrich. You’re going to talk me up to Fiona no matter what you hear about me. If she has doubts, you’ll settle her mind. When I present the ring, you’ll smile. If not, this stuff is going to the press, like it should’ve when it happened. Daddy won’t be able to buy back your reputation.”
He couldn’t wrap his head around what Trevor had said. She was my girlfriend. Trevor must’ve been the relationship Kelsey broke off to be with Dutch. That was before—
Shit.
Dutch had worked too hard to become a pillar of the community since that fateful day. He was a champion of the underprivileged. He assumed he could volunteer his way back into God’s good graces. He’d been trying like hell. Forgiveness never came, but he kept trying. He’d keep trying.
“It was an accident,” Dutch whispered, and the tears came.
“Sure didn’t look like one, you asshole. Now, as I was saying…”
Dutch half tuned out as Trevor went on about how Dutch was to make sure that Fiona would accept his proposal—no matter what. That, or his days of freedom would come to an end. It dawned on him that Trevor wasn’t randomly in his life, nor Fiona’s. No, this was all Dutch’s doing. And Fiona was about to be screwed forever because of his own shameful secrets.
