Despite myself, I grin.
"So what are you going to do?"
I shake my head. "Honestly, I don't know. I mean, all she's done so far is send me a purse full of pictures."
"She's up to something," Cass says darkly.
"Not exactly news," I say. "I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"How's Jackson?"
"Holding his temper in check."
"That's something," she says, and we clink glasses in girlfriend solidarity.
When we finish our drinks, she suggests we walk back to her place. "We can chill on the back porch. And Siobhan gets off work soon. I know she'd love to see you."
I want to get home to Jackson and the kids, but I haven't seen Siobhan in ages, so I agree. We settle the bill, then head out, talking about nothing in particular as we hit the street. I'm grateful, because for the first time all day, the photos aren't at the forefront of my mind.
"I feel like I'm breaking a marriage code," I joke. "Me, off drinking. And Jackson stuck at home with the kids."
Cass rolls her eyes. "Don't even pretend like you don't want to be right there with him. I know I'm sloppy seconds. I can deal. I'm not developing a complex. I'm not--"
I expect something biting and funny. Instead, she goes silent, squeezing my hand hard.
"Cass--" Her name is a protest, and I start to yank my hand free. Then I see her face--and the direction she's looking.
My car. My little Nissan I've had forever, that never did anything to anybody, is covered in black splotches of paint. And all four tires are brutally slashed.
Bile rushes up my throat and I rip my hand free before being violently ill in the street.
"Syl!" Cass holds me, then yells a vulgarity at a pedestrian who's decided to stop and stare. "Come on," she says, starting to hurry me away.
I fight back, digging in my heels.
"Dammit, Syl. Come to the shop." She gestures toward Totally Tattoo. "You don't need to stay out here and torture yourself."
"Note," I say. "Get the note."
At first she just looks confused. Then her face clears as she notices what I'd seen early on. A manila envelope under the windshield with big block letters on the outside: Sylvia.
With a sound that is almost a snarl, Cass snatches the note, then clutches it so tightly her knuckles are white. She takes my elbow and we hurry to the shop. It's closed now, but she takes us in through the back, and I plunk myself down on the ratty sofa that's been in the business office since her dad owned the place.
"I don't want to read it," I say.
"I think you have to." Her voice is full of distaste.
I nod. "I know. But will you--I mean, can you read it out loud?"
She makes a face, but nods, then uses a letter opener to slowly rip the edge of the envelope open. After that, she turns it upside down and shakes it, sending a page of notebook paper ripped from a spiral drifting to the ground.
She picks it up with a tissue, and I roll my eyes. "We don't need to worry about fingerprints," I point out. "We know who did it."
"You can never be too careful," she retorts.
I shrug. At this point, I don't even want to know what the note says, much less think about why we'd want to preserve fingerprints. But when she waits just a little too long to start reading, I snap, "Oh, go on, already," then close my eyes as this newest blow comes.
"Tuesday," Cass says in a tight, clear voice. "Four p.m. Five-hundred thousand to the account below. Or by Wednesday, you'll be the newest internet sensation." She exhales loudly as she looks up at me. "And there are wiring instructions on the bottom," she adds, then lashes out with, "Bitch."
I keep my eyes closed as I count to ten. I feel alternatively hot and cold, and I have to keep pushing back the overwhelming sensation to just take off running, not stopping until I'm all the way back to the Palisades and safe in Jackson's arms.
Jackson. Oh, god, Jackson.
I want him so desperately it's a physical need, but I force it back. I can handle this. I can be strong.
I swallow, then nod to myself. I've got this.
I meet Cass's eyes, my hand extended. "Let me see." She passes it to me, along with a fresh tissue. I ignore it and tug the paper free with my fingertips.
I skim it, my stomach churning. The idea of paying half a million in blackmail makes me sick. But the idea of having those photos out in the wild cuts even deeper. Forget the simple fact that I don't want my privacy invaded, I also don't want to slide backward, falling down into a dark, emotional quagmire again. Yes, I have Jackson now, and he will always catch me when I fall, but I don't want to be in the position in the first place. And it pisses me off to realize that I'm still so damned fragile.
Cass takes my hand. "It's going to be okay."
"Is it?" A sudden shudder cuts through me. "The thought that those pictures might get out--that she'll profit if they don't--"
I realize that my hand is going numb, and when I look down, I see that Cass is clutching my wrist so tight that her knuckles are white. "You have to go to the police," she says. "This is malicious. She vandalized your car. Christ, she used a knife. Next time she might use it on you."
I shake my head. "No. No police."
"Syl! You have to--"
"No." My voice is more shrill than I'd intended, and I draw a breath trying to calm down. "Don't you get it? Once the police are involved, there are eyes all over it. It's not a question of if the photos will leak, but when." My words are harsh, but for the first time, I realize that it's anger, not fear. I'm pissed. Royally and totally pissed that this woman has so much power over me because I was a victim. And now here I am, a victim once again.
"It's fucked," I say calmly. "But I'm not going to the police." I draw a breath. "I kno
w what I have to do."
Her brows knit into a V over her nose. "Are you going to kill her?" she deadpans, and despite myself, I burst out laughing.
"That's why I love you," I say. "But no."
She makes a face. "Too bad. Of course, Jackson might." She's teasing, but there's a hint of worry beneath it, and I nod in understanding. And fear.
After all, he'd almost pounded Wyatt on nothing more than a suspicion. And while I might enjoy watching Mila get the shit kicked out of her, losing his temper might mean destroying our family. Because Jackson's already been arrested for assault once, and I doubt they'll accept a plea the second time around.
Frankly, I don't want my kids only knowing their daddy from behind a glass visitor's window.
Cass is studying my face. "You don't really think he'd--"
"No," I say quickly, though I wish I were more certain. "He wouldn't hurt a woman. Not even a bitch like Mila." But what if she baits him? His temper is famous. What if she goads him because she wants him to hit her? Because she wants to fuck with us?
The possibility makes me twitchy.
"So what are you going to do?" Cass asks.
I suck in a breath. "I'm going to go talk to her. I'm going to make her understand that her perfect little world will come to a screeching halt if she releases those photos. Because I'm married to a powerful man who's the brother of an even more powerful man. And if those pictures see the light of day, I will happily, enthusiastically, and with complete and total joy, sic them both on her and tell them to do their worst."
I grimace. "Or I might just chicken out and pay." Because threats aren't a sure thing, and she might decide to brave their wrath and release the pictures anyway.
Cass nods slowly, obviously considering my words. "Well, I guess you'll decide when you decide. You'll probably have an idea of how well the threat plan will work when you're in a room with her, up close and personal with the crazy bitch."
"That's what I figure."
"But you know you can't go alone."
I tilt my head. "I appreciate the offer, but you're not going with me."
"Not me, though I'll come in a heartbeat if you need me there. I'm talking about Jackson. Threaten her with your husband and brother-in-law's power, and he needs to be there. Pay her, and you need to tell him. Because I think one of the rules of marriage goes something like 'Thou shalt not spend half-a-million dollars without telling thouest spouse.'"