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*
I drive to a park and spend the next half-hour crying again, reliving every detail of that night. It doesn't help. There's one detail I can't reason away, I can't forget, I can't ignore, and that's this: He was upset—because of me—when he left. It didn’t matter if that was fair, or if he had upset me, too. I hurt Cross bad enough to make him climb onto his bike half-drunk, and even if it was his choice, even if he made the wrong one, I was the precipitating event. I was the catalyst. And I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get over it.
Chapter Nine
~HUNTER~
Priscilla is having Libby followed. That means when I follow Libby, I have to be discreet. The last thing I need is Priscilla knowing that I know what she's doing. It would ruin everything. And I’m beginning to think there's really something here.
According to my guy, Priscilla has visited Michael Lockwood twice in the last week. The rumor was she’d fired him in a fit of rage—no one knew what over. So why visit? In the meantime, my bank girl found a Swiss account in Michael’s name with more than $5 million. That’s a lot of money for an unemployed video production tech. How does it connect to Sarabelle? I’m not sure, but I have a terrible suspicion.
In the meantime, I'm fucking Priscilla, and when I have a spare moment, watching Libby’s new watchers. Of course I’m also watching Libby. Like now. I followed her to Napa Valley Involved Rehab, where Cross Carlson enjoyed seven weeks of the best care available before his family moved him to the county shithole. I watch her walk in with a notebook early this morning, greeted at the door by a nurse in pink and purple scrubs. Half an hour later, I see her fly through the door and sink into the grass, sobbing into her hands. I have to cross my arms to keep from opening the door and going to check on her.
Priscilla's spy doesn't follow Libby home, but I do, despite there being no reason for it. I watch until she's in range of Crestwood's security cameras and the driveway guard. I shut my eyes and imagine that warm, sweet hand closing over my cock, and it's all I can do not to bust a load right then in my pants.
Instead I go to the vineyard and jerk off in my bed. When I'm finished, I call Marchant.
I can't tell him about Priscilla's threats, because even March doesn't know about Roxanne, but I can tell him I'm fucking her for information. So I do. I come clean, and then I tell him about how edgy she's seemed lately—I don’t mention the whips.
When I finish, he drops a bomb: "She's also fucking Josh Smith. I'm looking into it."
“Well fuck.” That little bit of info makes my head reel.
“One more thing," March says slowly. "A woman from the FBI came out to the ranch today. She interviewed just about everyone. She said she’s looking into 'several' disappearances. And as far as I could tell, she had the most questions about you."
*
~ELIZABETH~
Arnold is driving me home from a swim at the country club's heated pool, and Crestwood’s porch has finally come into view. Someone is waiting there, and I activate the security system app on my phone to find out who. I pick the porch feed, and immediately recognize Suri’s favorite lilac Vera Wang day dress and stylish flats. She's waving at me. I glance up, smile, then turned back to my phone. I’m reaching to shut the app down when I notice Suri is waving her left hand. I zoom in…
"Holy moly."
I'm out of the car before Arnold stops. I fly up the stairs, and she's beaming, laughing, and then we're both screaming. She shoves her hand into my face and a giant rock winks at me; it's surrounded by tiny fire opals: Suri's favorite.
"Holy crap, Sur, HE DID IT!"
"And he's moving back to Napa!"
"Oh my God you're getting married!" I grab onto her and we're swinging in a circle in front of the rocking chairs, both screaming like lunatics, and suddenly my throat is squeezing like I might cry. But Suri's laughing, and the crying feeling turns into hysterical laughter.
When we finally stop spinning, I'm dizzy and giddy. I grab her left hand and pull her inside, where it's warmer. In the full light I can see how pretty her makeup looks, and I can see the fire opals in her ears, surrounded by tiny diamonds.
Suri beams.
"Sur, how did he do it? I want every single detail right now. I can't believe he finally made the move!" Suri tried her best to act cool about it, but I know that girl, and she's been wanting to marry Adam since our freshman year of college.
She grabs my wrist and tugs me toward the kitchen. "Come in here. I made this tea that has a dash of vodka in it. It's called wedding tea. You're going to love it."
We walk into the kitchen, and, ever the hostess, Suri pulls out a chair for me and then sits herself. The tea is already cooling in crystal glasses beside wedding cookies that look homemade, and I laugh when I realize she's been waiting here for me—almost the whole time I've been at the pool if I'm correct about how long it takes her to make wedding cookies.
"Lizzy, it was perfect. We went to Banana Beau's"—Suri's favorite piano/ice cream bar—and they started playing 'Rhapsody in Blue', and then they brought out this huge cake, and it was a red velvet cake, and I realized that the whole place was empty, and Adam tells me he got a new job." She grins. "All I could think about was how it was going to be in like Bangladesh, and then he says it's a freelance job with several different options, and he says he's thinking San Francisco or Napa, and he slid onto his knee and he reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring!"
I listen to Suri for the next hour, and then we talk weddings. I'm not surprised to find she wants to get married here at Crestwood, with white bows on everything—even the horse's necks.
I'm caught up in her happiness and slightly drunk when we take the elevator to bed.
"Screw toned thighs," Suri giggles.
