CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

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CALDER WAITED WHILE Bryce checked her email. Adam had set up a consultation with the private investigator, Dee Wakefield, for two thirty. After a brief sister confab, they decided to meet at Calder's downtown office rather than at home, just in case Ingo Hunter popped up—as he tended to do these days.

Calder and her sisters didn't want to give Hunter even a hint of what they were up to. If Dee Wakefield found nothing to worry about? They would chalk the investigation up to a case of better safe than sorry.

If, as suspected, something nefarious turned up in Hunter's past and/or present? Calder's stomach turned at the prospect. They would deal with Billie, her boyfriend, and the fallout when the time came.

Perched on the edge of a huge mahogany desk, she ran her fingers over the keys of an antique typewriter. A dust catcher, some might say. Inspiration, Bryce countered. And not a speck of dust to be seen.

The entire room was spotless. The opposite of a temperamental artist, Bryce guarded her latest masterpiece with care, not her life. The maids were allowed to clean on a regular schedule. With ample warning. She, laptop in tow, was always careful to be someplace else.

"I don't believe you." Finished, Bryce turned off her iPad.

"Hand to God."

"You and Adam had sex—no cheating—all night long."

"What constitutes cheating?"      

Bryce shrugged.

"I don't know. Battery-powered substitutions. Little blue pills, or the generic equivalent. Tag team."

The image of a professional wrestling match popped into Calder's head. In the center of the ring, a bed. One man. One woman. Observing the action, just outside the ropes, several men ready to tap in if the main man's energy flagged.

Weird. And a bit disturbing.

"Should I worry about the kind of men you date?"

Bryce chuckled.

"Consenting adults, Calder."

"Meaning?"

"If I want to have sex with a dozen firefighters. In full gear. And everyone involved thinks the idea is peachy? Nobody else's business."

"You'd tell me."

"Because, I know you wouldn't judge," Bryce reminded her.

"If you were happy," Calder qualified.

"A dozen firefighters zeroed in on my pleasure? Why wouldn't I be?"

The alone time Bryce spent with her characters, building worlds, scaring the crap out of her readers, wasn't her entire existence. Parties. Ballgames. Drinks with friends. Unless she was deep in a writing frenzy or buried in edits, she rarely turned down an invitation.

Yet, like the rest of the Benedict sisters, Bryce's dating life could be sketchy at best. At the moment, hers was on the downswing.

"I could set you up with—"

"Stop." Bryce ran a hand over her face, her expression horrified. "A setup? Do you honestly think I've sunk so far?"

Calder wondered if her brain had been fried by a night of unbelievable sex. Offer to arrange a date? Impulsive. Crazy. Borderline unforgivable.

"Sorry. Older sister syndrome."

"By fifteen freaking minutes. Always in a rush, you shoved your way to the front of the line."

"I never shove." The idea appalled Calder. "I cajole. Charm. As do you. And Andi."

Grinning, they finished the thought simultaneously.

"Destry shoves."

"She's a pip." Bryce sighed. "I refuse to believe I've run through every decent man in New York. You found one. Why shouldn't I?"

Adam exceeded decent. Right now, their relationship was shiny and new. She didn't know if they would move toward something deeper. She wasn't sure she wanted more.

Fun was fantastic. A jumping-off point to something more—or nothing at all. Why shouldn't she want the same for Bryce?

"I had some news," Bryce said.

Calder let the less than smooth conversation transition pass.

"Well? Tell me."

"My agent received an offer to make The Last Nightmare into a movie. Not, maybe we will, maybe we won't. If I agree to the terms, a green light all the way."

"How? When? Who?" Calder gave Bryce a firm shake. "And why don't you sound half as excited as I do?"

"I want to write the screenplay. The director/producer/control freak isn't keen on the idea. I'm not a proven commodity. Or some such ridiculousness."

"Don't you hold all the power? Tell him—or her—to talk or walk."

"Him. Zach Devlin."

Bryce sneered the name.

Calder was in her sister's corner. Always. Never a question. But holy crap! Zach Devlin. Like a good portion of the world's population, she'd seen every one of his movies. And loved every second. Few and far between, he made stories that entertained, and were loved by critics.

Devlin had the golden touch. However, fangirl or not, Calder wasn't happy with anybody who tried to keep Bryce from what she wanted.

"Meet with him. Prove him wrong."

"My suggestion exactly. Unfortunately, the man is a recluse. He only comes down off his mountain, or out of his cave—wherever—to grace the world with one of his masterpieces. The rest of the time, he's incommunicado."

Incommunicado? Really?

"Highfalutin word."

"Not mine. Here's the email from his assistant." Bryce handed over her phone. "See?"

Ms. Benedict,

Thank you for reaching out to Mr. Devlin. Unfortunately, he will not be in New York in the foreseeable future. As for your offer to come to him? Impossible, I'm afraid. When at home, Mr. Devlin is incommunicado. No exceptions.

Sincerely,

Ricardo Peña

"Yikes." Calder had read warmer junk mail. "Still, Zach Devlin didn't actually write the email."

"Devlin has a reputation as a perfectionist. Unless something's changed, I doubt he'd let even the most trusted assistant send any form of communication without his approval."

"What are you going to do?"

Bryce opened a pretty enamel compact, took a tube of lipstick from the desk drawer, and applied a new coat to her lips. With a snap, she shut the mirror.

"I drew a line in the sand. Either I write the screenplay, or Devlin can look for a different project."

The familiar glint of resolve in Bryce's gray eyes made Calder smile.

"If the fool doesn't give in, his loss."

"My feelings exactly."

"Hey, are you guys ready?" Destry stood by the office door, an impatient look on her face.

"We're coming," Calder assured her.

"Well, hurry up. The ants in Andi's pants are starting to chafe my ass."

Bryce, the writer, hoarded colorful phrases like a miser and her gold. She quickly scribbled down Destry's latest gem.

"If something I said ends up in another of your books, I'll need compensation."

"A hug? A kiss?" Bryce gave Destry both.

"Good thing I'm such a pushover." Destry let out an exaggerated sigh.

Smiling, Calder watched the exchange. None of the Benedict sisters were pushovers. Love and respect. For each other. Some might think the emotions made them vulnerable. Calder knew better. They were stronger together. Always. Forever. Nothing could beat them. Not time. Not space. And especially, not Ingo Hunter.

 

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DEE WAKEFIELD TURNED out to be an impressive woman.

Tall, lanky, with a shock of platinum hair styled into a modified mohawk. Dee sported more tattoos than the naked eye could tally. Up her long legs, down her well-toned arms. Colorful and eye-catching, the varied designs were true works of art.

Calder knew her age to be forty-one. She looked ten years younger.

Black Army boots. Black knee-length cargo pants. Black t-shirt. Her black leather jacket rode the back of her chair. Crisp. Clean. Minimalistic. In other words, like the woman herself, totally badass.

If Calder was a little girl, she would take one look at Dee and think, I want to be just like her. She chuckled to herself. Though grown and completely comfortable in her own skin. A tiny part of the adult Calder wished the same thing.

The five women gathered in the lounge area of Calder's private office. The furniture was stylish yet comfortable. Designed to put visitors at ease. After a round of introductions, Andi, Bryce, and Destry chose the plush blue sofa. Dee picked a chair of contrasting brown. Calder sat in its mate.

Coffee all around. And a tray of jam-filled cookies. Untouched. But they were there if anybody felt the impulse.

"Adam didn't give me the particulars. He's as closed mouth as they come." Dee obviously admired the trait, if her smile was any indication. "You need an investigator. He thinks we'd be a good fit."

Calder had studied up on Dee after Adam emailed an extensive file. She'd sent copies to her sisters. For a good part of the morning, Andi checked out the impressive list of references. Glowing was the best way to describe the responses. Each and every one.

After ten years in Navy intelligence, Dee went on to get a degree in psychology. To help pay her way, she worked security for some heavy-hitter companies. Now a private investigator, her reputation was stellar.

Adam provided Dee's professional qualifications. What they needed was a feel for the woman.

"Does the name Ingo Hunter mean anything to you?"

"We've met." Dee's dark eyes narrowed. "If you need information to help him, you have the wrong woman."

"Not a fan?" Andi asked.

"No."

One word. Circumspect, yet spoken with utter contempt. Calder decided then and there, Dee was the woman they needed. She glanced at her sisters, hoping to gauge their reactions. One look told her Bryce felt the same. Andi would have a million and one more questions, but Calder could see the yes in her eyes. Destry, always a wild card, gave a single affirmative nod.

The Benedict sisters had found their private investigator.

"We want dirt on Hunter. As much as possible. If he's clean—"

"Ingo Hunter was born crooked. Then proceeded to rot from the inside out."

Calder expected heat. Instead, Dee's words dripped with ice.

"He hit on you."

Dee raised an eyebrow as she met Destry's understanding gaze.

"More of a full court press. I'm on quite a few no-hire lists because of Hunter. Luckily, there are enough haters to keep me busy."

Sympathetic, Bryce placed a hand on Dee's.

"He doesn't like when a woman says no."

"Or sends a foot to his gut. If my aim hadn't been off, I'd have sent his balls into his fucking throat."

Destry raised a hell yes fist into the air.

"I knew we were going to be friends."

Surprise lit Dee's eyes. She looked around, the stiffness melting from her spine.

"You too?" she asked them all.

"None of us landed a punch. Unfortunately." Andi's sigh was filled with regret.

"Please tell me you plan to bring Hunter down. If I weren't a greedy soul at heart, I'd offer my services free of charge."

Calder loved Dee's enthusiasm.

"Hunter's destruction would be a bonus, to be sure. Right now, our goal is to discover the reason he's latched on to our mother."

"Little Red Riding Hood let the wolf in the door. We need to know if his intentions are relatively benign. Or does he plan to devour everyone in sight?"

Calder raised her cup to Bryce.

"Nice metaphor."

"Seemed to fit." Bryce shrugged.

Andi explained the situation. With pinpoint focus, Dee asked questions when necessary. Mostly she listened, taking notes.

"I can get started immediately. Adam told you my rates?"

Calder had done her research. Dee wasn't cheap. Above what the average private investigator asked, but comparable with others equal to her qualifications.

"We're good. If you'll messenger over a contract, I'll—"

"Brought two with me. Copy for you, copy for me. All we need is a notary. And a check from you to retain my services. Naturally."

"Naturally."

"Naturally." Calder appreciated a pragmatic woman. She pressed the intercom button on her desk. "Sara?"

"Yes, Ms. Benedict?"

"Will you see if Liv Briscoe has a free minute? If so, have her come to my office right away."

"You have your own notary?" Dee asked.

Smiling, Calder shook her head.

"Liv has an office a few floors down. She used to manage a bank before the interior design bug caught her. Did my office for me." Calder looked around, happy.

"I didn't know what to think when Adam mentioned the name Benedict."

Calder understood why Dee hesitated. She'd dealt with preconceived notions her entire life.

"You expected to find a bunch of spoiled rich girls?"

"I did." Dee met Calder's amused gaze head on. "You aren't what I expected. Rich. Undoubtedly. But you don't strike me as entitled party girls."

"We have our moments."

"I'm happy to help stick a fork in Ingo Hunter's plans. Not that the money isn't a nice bonus."

Dee's laugh was genuine and full bodied.

"I wouldn't believe you if you said otherwise. One thing." Calder sent Dee a speculative look. "If you didn't think we'd mesh, why the meeting? Why waste your time?"

"Adam is a hard man to say no to. And before you ask, we're friends. Nothing more. He's way too pretty for my taste."

Calder had wondered. Dee was a vibrant, attractive woman.

"I wouldn't have blamed him."

Dee looked pleased with the compliment.

"We hit the brother/sister dynamic right away. Which is the real reason I came today."

"What do you mean?"

"Never seen the man so talkative about any woman. Calder this, and Calder that." Dee shook her head. "You have a high-class shine I figured would turn Adam off."

Calder didn't know what to say. Obviously, high-class shine wasn't meant as a compliment. Yet, the words were delivered in a friendly manner, completely without rancor. She braced herself for a further insult, ready to fire back. Dee saved her the trouble.

"Whatever happens between you and Adam, I think you're the real deal, Calder Benedict. Solid, twenty-four-carat gold."