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Rochelle is busy tapping her phone screen. “Are you sure? He looks like a lawyer to me.” She flips the screen around to show me the website of one Josh Vanson, JD. A picture of Alex in a business suit and looking very lawyer-y is positioned at the top of the site.
Christ. I rub my forehead, feeling as if I’ve been sucked into an alternate universe. Alex coded a redirect link for the real Vanson’s website. But of course he did.
My mother waves her hand. “But what he told me about what happened with this revenge job of yours—”
“You believed him,” I supply for her, to make the confession easier.
She pulls her linen wrap around her shoulders. “I won’t lie, Blakely.” A dead silence follows, underscoring the blank.
I nod slowly. “Right. I’m leaving now.”
Rochelle bounds up and snags my arm, pulling me to a stop under the pergola. “You once told meno killingwas rule number one.” She releases my arm to remove her glasses, her weathered eyes finding mine. “I don’t know what happened between you and that dead man, but I know the girl you are. Whatever took place, that piece of shit probably had it coming. And neither me nor your mother are going to allow you to throw your life away over some…man.”
She spits the word like it tastes bad in her mouth. I suppose it does, considering her seething hatred for her ex-husband.
I glance at my mother, at the woman who I have never been able to form a connection with. Not all her fault, as I was born without the capability. I’m sure at one point, she may have even tried.
She stands to join us. I see a rare tremble in her lips not caused by an injection. “We’ll make it go away,” she says, as she touches my arm. “I may not be able to fathom all the details, but I know my daughter. Whatever has happened, we’ll make it go away.”
An even rarer feeling presses against my chest, the weight causing my eyes to burn and an ache to clog my throat. The sudden onset of this new emotion induces a moment of panic, and I have to look away to conceal the moisture in my eyes.
“How can you make it go away?” I say to her, blinking a few times before I can meet her gaze again. “You can’t buy innocence.”
Her painted eyebrows wing up. “Blakely, you’re still very naïve when it comes to money. You can buy innocence, and you can even buy guilt.”
I shake my head, confused. “I don’t understand…” I let my thoughts trail off as the steely resolve in my mother’s eyes issue a threat.
“I’m sure whoever is truly at fault for this heinous crime will be found soon.” She links her arm through Rochelle’s for support. “Then this whole mess will be behind us.”
And like that, Vanessa Vaughn is at the pinnacle of the food chain once again.
Rochelle raises her champagne glass in mock toast. “To the unlucky bastard. May he roast in hell.”
My head spins as a startling revelation becomes clear. Alex’s plan to frame Brewster. By bringing my mother in on it, he’s forcing my hand. He’s made her a culprit, which means I have no choice but to go along with his scheme.
In order to protect her, I have to get her away from here. From me, from Alex. From serial killers and dangerous criminals. “Mom, this is insane talk. Why don’t you go on a cruise with Rochelle instead?”
She scoffs. “Listen here, Blakely. Who do you think handled your father’s business and his connections? You think luncheons and cocktails built half of New York?” She steps close to me and lowers her voice. “My daughter will not be destroyed because of some crooked, raping financial adviser.”
My breathing shallows, a buzz hums in my ears, muting the sounds of the city. The severe coolness in her green gaze sends a chill over my skin. How does she know so much about Ericson?
“Listen to your mother, honey,” Rochelle says, breaking into my disturbed thoughts. “This city talks. Money knows money. Let us protect you.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, but I’m only half listening as I catalog the events of this morning. Alex didn’t have time to reveal the whole situation to my mother. Ericson Daverns had a reputation—one my mother was apprised of, but not through her network of trophy wives.
“You knew who my clients were,” I say to her, the implication heavy in my tone. “You…had access to them. You kept tabs on them.”
She lifts her chin, clears the fringe of bangs from her forehead. “It’s a mother’s job to make sure her child is protected. Whether she appreciates it or not.”
I glance at Rochelle, then back to my mother, stunned. “The past six weeks, you’ve known? And you didn’t say a word to me?”
A flash of guilt settles in the makeup creases of my mother’s features before she expertly smiles the expression away. “Would you have told me the truth?” she demands. “Had your lawyer not contacted me—”
“He’s not my lawyer,” I snap.
“You have never once accepted my offer of help,” she continues, undeterred. “Had…whoever-that-man-is not contacted me today, you would’ve made a grave mistake, Blakely. The whole situation was already handled.”
“How?”
