Chapter Twenty-Four
Ally watched Vincent flee to his room. She turned to Trey, hugging herself. The pain in her eyes ripped him open as surely as if she’d gone at him with a machete.
“Son of a bitch.” She tightened her grip on herself, her nails now digging into her bare arms. “I thought…” Her voice trailed off, returning with a hoarse anger. “I thought it was something like getting you fired from a job or selling you inferior merchandise, stealing your girlfriend or… God, I never considered…” She drew a ragged breath. “I asked you not to tell, and that’s on me, my decision. But this… I had no idea.” She made a noise, a strangled cry. “You’re accusing him of killing a man. Running him down, running both of you down and leaving you in the street to die.”
“Yes.” It was all he could say.
Ally pressed one hand to her forehead. “I never…” She looked at him with dark, sad eyes. “Everything you’ve done for the last week, it all led up to this moment. Confronting him, showing him those photographs and demanding an answer. You didn’t care about anything else, anyone else—this was all about getting to see him, wasn’t it?” She drew a sharp breath. “You didn’t give a crap about me or Sheldon Construction or any of those people we talked to, the workers on the construction site and the hospital nurses. All a cover to get to Vincent, all of it fake. You used me.”
A void opened up inside him, a black hole swallowing up his heart and soul. “You have to listen to me. I wasn’t sure it was Vincent until now, until I saw him in person. When I spotted the birthmark on his arm in that picture you showed us… It’s the one I’ve been searching for. Five years.”
“Dylan. Jessie. They were in on this, too. All of it.” She snapped the words like an invisible whip, flaying the skin from his body.
“Yes. But this…” He shook his head. “Jessie did her job; she brought him back. When Dylan put me and the others on the job, it was the real deal. Don’t be mad at them. They know I’ve been searching for a man with this mark on his arm since I…” He bit off the rest of the sentence. “Since I came to work at the club.” He felt like he had rocks in his mouth, garbling his speech until it was undecipherable. “I had to know if he remembered running over Nick and driving off, laughing, into the night.”
“And now that you’ve met him? Are you happy?”
“I…” He paused, mind spinning.
“He doesn’t remember you. Do you have anything, other than your memory of the accident?” She wiped at the air. “If you have solid evidence, why aren’t the cops here? Why aren’t you having him arrested?”
“It’s complicated.” He gripped the thin cardboard of the file folder. “What I have… It wouldn’t be admissible in court. I was hoping he’d remember, that he’d want to do the right thing. Take responsibility for his actions.” The sour taste in his mouth increased, burning his tongue. “I thought he’d step up and be a man when confronted with the reality of what he’d done.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you think that? If you believe he’s the man who ran you and your friend down, what in God’s name did you expect him to do? Drop on his knees and beg for forgiveness? Volunteer to go to the police station and turn himself in?”
Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage. “I hoped he’d have some regret, some burning in his soul.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “When you kill someone, it stays with you. No matter if it’s justified or not, whether you’re wearing a uniform or not, it’s there.” He glanced at the closed door leading to Vincent’s suite. “I guess I thought he’d want to get that off his heart.”
“Well, he didn’t. Because he didn’t do it.” She stared at the folder in his hand. “The information on the nightclub, on the car. Did you collect this when I brought you back here?” Her cheeks turned scarlet, her hands trembling. “Is that why you suggested going into his laptop? When I gave you permission to go into our database, did you go deeper than you said, dig this out of our private family files?” Her voice rose, almost to a shout. “Did you play me to get what you wanted?”
“No. God, no.” He shook his head. “I never… I’ve got my own resources. I did my own search once I had his name.” He swallowed hard, unable to draw a full breath from the pressure building inside him. “I promise you, I didn’t go any further into your computer system than needed to verify the embezzlement. That was real. He was stealing from you. Your own people proved it. I didn’t make anything up.”
“I can’t…” She pressed her hand to her stomach. “You believe he hit you. That he killed your friend.” She sat on the couch and closed her eyes. “My God…”
“Ally…”
“Get out.” Her whisper tore at his insides.
“Let me explain.”
“Get the hell out,” she shouted, pointing at the door. “Out.”
He retrieved his duffel bag, stuffing the file back inside.
She stared at the coffee table, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Ally,” he tried again.
“No. Don’t say anything. Just go.”
He walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Trey stumbled down the hall and into the elevator, his mind numb.
All he’d wanted was justice.
His mouth went dry as he jabbed at the button, ordering the elevator to the lobby.
He knew she’d be upset. She’d thought he wanted Vincent for some lesser offense, something a hell of a lot lighter than vehicular manslaughter. Now he’d knocked down the walls around her world, and she’d never be able to see Vincent in the same light again. Or Trey.
The elevator moved in silence, his reflection in the metal panels warped and twisted.
The lobby was almost empty as he rushed through to the front doors.
He needed to get back to the club and fast.
The doorman didn’t give him a second look, obviously used to dealing with confused and unhappy men rushing out of the hotel first thing in the morning. He whistled for a cab as Trey stood there, unable to stop the recent encounter with Vincent from running over and over in his memory.
He couldn’t think about how to deal with Ally, not with the invisible wounds still raw and bleeding. Not yet.
Not when all he saw in his mind’s eye was Vincent looking at the picture without even flinching. Staring at him with not even a bit of recognition, nothing but anger and resentment at Trey for poking a hole in his perfect world. Looking nothing but indignant when confronted with the results of his rampant alcoholism.
Trey wasn’t sure what he’d wanted out of their confrontation. Vincent offering an apology, or asking how to make amends. Or maybe an angry, defiant man who bragged about getting away with murder.
He’d gotten neither.
Instead, he’d faced down a drunken, belligerent jerk who didn’t remember one of the worst days of Trey’s life and didn’t care.
A sense of failure flowed through his body, draining the last of the happiness left from the previous night.
The cab pulled up, and the doorman opened the door, tipping his cap as Trey got inside.
The driver waited for instructions. Trey forced the words out. “The Devil’s Playground.”
The cab dropped him back at the nightclub, the driver leaving with a smile and a wave of his hand.
Trey went around the back door, where fresh produce was being delivered to the kitchen. Wyatt grinned as he picked up a tray of fresh lettuce and put it on the cart. Finn nodded, balancing a load of tomatoes and cucumbers.
Trey forced a smile and passed on by, leaving them behind.
He went through the kitchen and out across the dance floor to the bar, picking out a glass and pouring himself a stiff drink of whiskey. Faith, the bartender, put down her clipboard and stared at him.
“Put it on my tab.” He grabbed the bottle and headed to his office.
His sanctuary.
He wasn’t even into his second drink when the door opened.
Dylan pushed the duffel bag out of the way with his foot before sitting in the lone chair, propping his feet up on the computer desk.
Trey stayed silent.
“Jessie says Vincent Sheldon is an asshole. Patrick’s going to have a hard time getting the smell out of the back of her car.” He shook his head. “Might be easier to run it out into the desert and set it afire.”
Trey stared at him.
Dylan didn’t take the hint. “She noted you seemed to have gotten close with Ally Sheldon as well. Very close.”
An invisible bell went off in Trey’s head, signaling the end of his patience.
“Get out.” He gestured at the door. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
Dylan stood up, shaking his head. “What did you think she was going to say? I’m glad you helped me cover for my idiot brother until I got him back. Now thanks for revealing him as a monster?”
“Get. Out.” Trey ground his teeth. “Last warning.”
Dylan leaned over the desk, his eyes narrowed. “You want to punch me, let’s take it to the ring. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you, Trey. I’m still sorry.” He went to the doorway and looked over his shoulder, eying the bottle. “One’s fine. Don’t try to get a second.”
He shut the door before Trey had a chance to answer.
The framed picture on the desk stared at him.
“Fuck.” Trey rubbed his temples. “What the hell did I do, Nick? What the blazing hell did I do?”
The smiling man refused to answer.