"Dallas, no. I don't want--"
"Depending on what WORR has on him, we can use it in the interrogation room. But more than that, it's too suspicious if you don't ask. Of course you'd want to know."
"Right. Of course you're right." With a sigh, she closed her eyes.
Gently, he squeezed her hand. "Hey, are you okay?"
A single nod, then a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. "Yes. No. I don't know. I guess I still feel like we're in that cell, and she's watching us. Shining some big spotlight on us. And just like rats in a maze, she's waiting to see how we're going to get out. What our next move is."
And though Dallas didn't say so out loud, he knew exactly what she meant. And he hoped to hell their next move was the right one.
"She ruined our evening, you know." I'm standing in the kitchen looking at the bucket of champagne and thinking about the caviar chilling in the fridge. "Fucking bitch."
Dallas is still in the living room, and he comes toward me with the now-empty bottle of wine. "If the evening is the only thing she takes from us, I'll consider that a victory."
I take the bottle from him and slam it down in the recycler so hard it breaks.
"No," I say, "that's not victory. I want to be rid of her. We need to be rid of her." My phone rings, and my first instinct is to just toss it into a drawer and slam it shut. But then I see that it's Brody.
"Call him back later," Dallas says, but I shake my head. Then I take a breath to calm down and answer the call.
"How's my favorite New York exile?" Brody asks as soon as I pick up.
"Not having the best day, actually."
"Oh, shit." His tone immediately changes. "Did something else happen? Do you have any news about who attacked you? You and Dallas aren't--"
"We're fine," I say, reaching for Dallas and giving his hand a squeeze. "We're about the only thing that is."
"Oh, kiddo, I'm sorry. Bad news about the bitch who put you in the hospital?"
"No news," I say. "But more drama."
"Fuck," he says, his voice heavy with concern. "Something else happened. What?"
"Honestly, I don't want to talk about it. I'll tell you when I see you next. In the meantime, if you go on social media, I'm sure it'll be trending by morning."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry you have to deal with this shit."
"It's definitely not fun. But like I said, I'm shaking it off. Or trying to anyway." I actually shake my arms and head, as if sloughing off the bad shit. "So," I say brightly, "did you just call to check on me?"
"Actually, my timing sucks, but I called for a favor. I was wondering if I could maybe use Dallas's bungalow for the week. Get there tomorrow afternoon sometime?"
Dallas is an investor in The Resort at Cortez, an island vacation destination off the coast of Los Angeles operated by Stark Real Estate Development. And, as an investor, he owns a private bungalow in a gated section.
"Sure. I mean, I should check and make sure he hasn't promised it to anyone, but I don't think there will be a problem. Hang on."
I ask Dallas, and of course he says it's fine, which I relay back to Brody.
"That's great. Thank you, and thank Dallas for me."
"No problem. But what's the occasion? Just looking for a getaway?"
"Pretty much. I just--I just want to surprise Stacey."
I frown, something in his tone worrying me. "Is she okay?"
He chuckles. "I'm not allowed to surprise my wife?"