Dial A for Addison Page 6

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “You gonna finally grow a backbone and kiss my brother, Dylan?”

  That killed my laugh. I chewed my bite and swallowed it. “I just got out of jail. Can we please discuss my complete and total lack of game later?” Like never. I was so over this topic, I would cut my tongue out if I thought it would get me out of rehashing it.

  “Seriously, Dylan, how long do you expect him to wait for you?”

  Nope, we were clearly doing this now. I took a drink, buying myself time to think. “I don’t expect him to wait for me, Addison. But I don’t expect him to be my sugar daddy either.”

  “Nobody thinks that but you. Why are you so hung up on money?”

  “I’m not!” I defended. And I definitely wasn’t the only one who thought he’d be my sugar daddy. “I don’t even have any money to be hung up on, Addison.”

  “And nobody cares about that, but you. Seriously, who cares that you’re broke?”

  “Yep, I’m broke. Thanks for pointing that out, Addison. Like I didn’t already know. Super sweet of you.”

  She laughed. “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what, Addison?”

  “Using my name after every frickin’ sentence because you’re mad at me.”

  I glared at her, going over the entire conversation in my mind. Yep, she was right.

  “You know Asher bailed you out of jail, right?”

  “I knew it was one of you, but it’s not like I’m going to run or anything, so he’ll get most of it back, and I’ll find a way to pay him back for the fees they keep.”

  Addison frowned. She got up and poured herself a glass of wine, offering me one. I shook my head, unsure if my stomach could handle it. When she sat back down, she asked, “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How will you pay him back? You have no job. Your apartment is trashed. You have nothing of value to sell. What will you do?” She sipped her wine, watching me.

  I kind of wanted to grab her glass and dump the damn wine over her head. Why was she being so mean? “I don’t know. I’ll find another job, and in the meanwhile I’ll go sell plasma or eggs or something.”

  “I’m so sure.” She sighed. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to be a bitch, I’m trying to point out that you have people who love you and want to help you. It’s not a bad thing. Do you know why the judge let you out on bail?”

  “Yeah, I get it, already, Addison.” I threw my hands in the air. “Asher’s a great lawyer and he worked hard and then paid the bail.”

  “And… when I went to your apartment to get your stuff, two thugs broke in and were looking for something. I hid in the kitchen and recorded their bizarre conversation. They didn’t come out and say who killed Kirk, but they did give away enough for the judge to let you out on bail.”

  “You did that?” I asked, my blood pressure spiking. “The recording Asher played during bond court was from you? I thought it was police surveillance or something. Addison, what the hell were you thinking?” I stood, thinking of all the ways they could have hurt her. “You could have been killed! You shouldn’t have gone there alone.”

  She snorted. “And you shouldn’t live there alone. If you were living here, they never could have framed you. They wouldn’t have made it past my security system. But you’re too damn stubborn to accept anyone’s help.” She stood, taking her glass of wine with her. “Asher and I have both humored you, waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass, but apparently it’s stuck so far up there not even jail could dislodge it.”

  Addison always spoke her mind. It was one of the things I loved most about her. Usually. But right then it hurt… a lot. Shock and outrage coursed through my veins, but I was too beaten and tired to defend myself. Besides, I knew she was right.

  Her eyes glistened, making me feel even more like crap. “Dylan, you’re my best friend. I can help you… and it hurts that you won’t let me.”

  I lowered my head. “I am letting you help me.”

  “Now. And only because you’re out of options and have no choice.” She set her wine on the table and walked around to hug me. “But you need to let Ash help you, too.”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

  “Crazy-stubborn-independent?” she provided.

  My lips tugged up into a smile. “Something like that.”

  “Well that shit has to stop because if my brother gets tired of waiting for you and marries some money-chasing harpy, I’m going to cut you. I love you, but I’ll make you bleed.”

  “Aww, you say the sweetest things.” I squeezed her shoulders. But then I seriously considered her words. What if Asher did give up on me and find someone else? Just thinking about it made my chest hurt. “Do you think he will?”

  “Get sick of waiting?”

  I nodded, unable to even voice the possibility.

  “If I thought it would make any difference whatsoever, I’d tell you yes, he’ll get sick of waiting.” Addison sighed. “But I know him. He won’t. He’s dated, what? Two girls, and those lasted less than a year because neither of them were you. He loves you, dummy, and if you’d just give him a chance to prove it, you’d see that.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Ohmigod, Dylan, you seriously need to pull—wait... what?”

  “Fine,” I conceded.

  “Fine, as in…?” she asked, gesturing for me to finish the sentence.

  I sat back at the table with a grunt. “Fine, I will drop my guard and explore this thing between me and Asher.”

  “Without waiting until you’ve achieved some imaginary status that you think will make you worthy?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”

  She stared me down, looking hopeful, but still skeptical. “You promise?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  “Swear on those ugly boots you love so much!”

  “Ohmigod, do I have to write it in blood?” I asked.

  Addison squealed and began dancing around the room. I dropped my head to the table (over and over again) when she started singing about kissing in a tree or some shit like that. In the end, I decided against further brain damage and did the dishes. I needed something to do with my hands so I wasn’t tempted to wrap them around her irritating throat.

  Addison

  TUESDAY, JUST BEFORE noon, my doorbell rang and I glanced at Dylan, who shrugged. I checked the peephole and dropped my head to the door, dragging in several deep breaths.

  “Who is it?” Dylan called.

  I rushed into the living room. “It’s Jake!” I squeaked in horror, glancing in the mirror to gauge how much work I needed to do. “You get it. I need to fix my hair.”

  “Jake... as in Detective Parker?” Dylan eyed the door like it might spontaneously combust.

  “The one and tasty.” I tugged a few stray hairs into place and decided I needed a brush.

  She retreated a step. “What if he’s here to take me back to jail?”

  I ran into my bathroom and grabbed the first brush I saw. “He’s alone. He probably would have brought backup if he was planning to take you in.”

  “Addie—”

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll get my gun as soon as I finish my hair.” I started wrestling my hair into submission, spritzing something to add shine on it.

  “You’ll get your gun? What are we, Thelma and Louise?”

  “Please, Dylan.”

  Dylan groaned. “Your priorities suck.”

  The doorbell sounded again

  “Just get the door!”

  “‘Get the door,’ she says. ‘The big bad wolf is pretty,’ she says,” Dylan muttered.

  I giggled, dabbing concealer under my eyes before heading for my closet. I was currently wearing sweats and a shelf-cami and, quite frankly, I looked like a homeless person. Not exactly how I planned to greet the man who would father my children one day (and in the meantime, work my body the way it deserved).

  I changed into a p
air of my favorite jeans, which were comfortable and did amazing things for my butt. I chose a cream sweater that often slid off one shoulder and, since I was too busty to forgo a bra, I grabbed one of my nude colored La Perla’s. I also texted my brother to let him know, in case Jake really was here for Dylan. After fluffing out my hair again, I took a deep breath and walked back out to the living room.

  The air seemed a bit tense as Dylan and Jake stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island, a paper bag between them. Despite Dylan’s rigid posture, Jake seemed relaxed, all sexy and delicious in dark blue jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and black motorcycle boots, leaning against the bar and looking very much like he belonged in my house.

  “Hey,” I said. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

  Dylan snorted, but didn’t expose my lie as she gestured toward the bag. “Jake brought lunch. Wasn’t that… nice?” The nervous pitch of her voice told me nice wasn’t necessarily the word she wanted to use.

  “Sorry to show up unannounced,” he said, facing me with a smile. I swallowed convulsively. “But I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I wanted to bring a peace offering.”

  “A peace offering?” Well that was nice.

  “Yeah.” He opened the bag and set wrapped sandwiches before him and Dylan before sliding me a salad. “It’s a grilled chicken and strawberry with balsamic.”

  “From Whole Foods?” I asked, intrigued.

  He nodded, handing me a fork and a napkin. “Your brother told me it was your favorite.”

  That was also really sweet. “It is. Thank you.”

  Dylan read the sticker on her sandwich and blushed. “Apparently Asher told you my favorite too. Thanks.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started pushing buttons, no doubt thanking Asher as well.

  I grabbed plates and napkins from the cabinet and carried them to the table. Dylan set her sandwich on a plate and sat, still staring at her phone.

  “Have a seat, Detective Parker.”

  “Jake, please,” he said, and joined us at the table.

  I popped open my salad container. “So why did you bring us peace offerings again?”

  “I wanted to apologize and explain something.” Jake frowned. “Because of my job, I see some messed up shit sometimes. I can’t always afford to give people the benefit of the doubt. But at the same time, I never want to alienate a suspect, or their family and friends, and make them feel like they can’t bring evidence to me.”

  Now I got it. “This is about the recording.”

  “Yes. I need you to know I am on the side of the law. Always. And if you have evidence that can help in Ms. James’s case, I need to know about it.”

  Thinking over how I should respond, I took a bite of my salad and chewed while I filtered my thoughts. “You’re right, I probably should have given you the recording. In my defense, I was planning to give it to you, but then you accused me of hiding evidence that would incriminate Dylan, and it kind of pissed me off.”

  I glanced at Dylan, who took a bite of her sandwich and gave me her “Right on, Addie, you go girl” look... or at least that’s what I imagined her thinking since she was too busy eating (in between glancing at her screen) to comment. Apparently, solidarity flew out the window when cute boys brought us food.

  “You still should have given it to me,” Jake insisted.

  “Well, you jumping to conclusions didn’t exactly make me feel like I could trust you with something important to prove her innocence.”

  He stiffened. “I’d never tamper with evidence to make someone appear guilty, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “You’re the king of jumping to conclusions, aren’t you?” I accused.

  “Blowfish,” Dylan whispered, then smiled at something on her phone.

  I rolled my eyes and softened my tone. “All I’m saying, Detective Parker, is I don’t know you, and you seemed way too ready to convict my friend.”

  Jake bristled, but I watched him school his features before he said, “The police force doesn’t convict. We gather information.”

  Dylan glanced up from her phone long enough to say, “Great peace offering. Thanks.” Then she grabbed her plate and headed to the kitchen before adding, “By the way, Detective Parker also came by to check on the detail, Addie.”

  “Detail?” I asked. When her retreating back didn’t comment, I turned my question to Jake. “What detail?”

  He frowned. “Your brother didn’t tell you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “I have officers watching your apartment around the clock.”

  “Um, why?”

  He unwrapped his sandwich and studied it like it was the most complex meal in the world. “Because I heard the recording.”

  Sensing there was more to his story, I waited for him to continue.

  “And I was strongly encouraged to put a man on your apartment. The perps clearly didn’t find what they were after, and if they get word that Dylan’s staying with you there’s a chance they could come looking for it here.”

  “So my dad made a call. Got it.”

  He nodded. “Also the autopsy report came back. Kirk Miller’s cause of death wasn’t the knife wound.”

  “Wait, what?” Dylan asked.

  “It appears he suffered from a stroke before he was stabbed.”

  “Wow.” Dylan blew out a breath. “Kirk was always so skittish, but a stroke? That’s just… wow.”

  “And someone went through a lot of trouble to put your knife in him,” Jake said.

  Dylan shuddered. “They must have broken into my apartment while I was sleeping.”

  He nodded. “Which brings me to these.” He pulled out what looked like key fobs for cars, handing us each one. “If you get into any trouble, press this button, and it will ring both my cell phone and dispatch. You’ll have an open line. You won’t be able to hear anyone on the other end, but we’ll be able to hear you, so give as much information about what’s happening as you can. Also, we’ll be able to track you.”

  “That sounds invasive,” I said, eyeing the device.

  “No, it sounds protective. The department is a little too busy to be watching your every move. We’ll only track you if you activate it.”

  “This is all so... I don’t know... cloak and dagger,” Dylan said, attaching the fob to her keyring. “When do we get the watches that shoot laser beams?”

  I nodded, grabbing my keys and attaching mine. “Seriously.”

  “That equipment is above my pay grade. I’m hopin’ you won’t even need to use these,” Jake said.

  “Oh, I wanted to ask if you found Dylan’s computer?” I asked.

  “My computer’s not missing,” Dylan said.

  “What?” Jake and I asked at the same time.

  “One of my gamer friends has it because it’s acting weird. He’s fixing it for me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I was searching your apartment for it.”

  She shrugged. “You didn’t ask. And you shouldn’t have been in my apartment alone. I’m still upset with you about that.”

  “Me too,” Jake said. “So, Addison, you sent us on a wild goose chase to find a non-missing computer?”

  He sounded mad, which pissed me off. “How was I supposed to know that it wasn’t missing? She’s a nerd... she lives and dies by her stupid wars of warcraft warring game!”

  “World of Warcraft was years ago, Addie. I’ve played like twenty games since that one. I don’t know why you can’t get past it.”

  “I couldn’t care less what you do in your virtual word, Dylan. You know that. My only stipulation is that if you start LARPing, you and I are finished.”

  “Which is why I keep my costumes in a locker at the bus station.”

  “Ohmigod, you’re ridiculous,” I said in (only slight) exasperation.

  “Back to the recording.” Jake pulled his notepad and a pen from a pocket. “Dylan, did you recognize the men on it? Their voices? Anything?”

&nb
sp; “No. Like I told Ash, they didn’t sound familiar. And by the way, it creeps me out to no end that strange men were in my apartment. Especially while my best friend was there.” She shot me a dirty look. I ignored her and took another bite of my salad.

  “They were looking for something. Could it have been your laptop?” Jake asked. “Is there something on it that could lead to the murderer?”

  “Not likely. I use it mostly for gaming.” Dylan walked to the fridge and got out three waters, offering one to each of us before taking a swig of hers. “Although… that stupid spreadsheet.”

  “The one you were fired over?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Kirk had been keeping me super busy with menial crap like making coffee runs and getting him lunch, and I didn’t have enough time to get all his expenses added, so I took it home and worked on it. There was a copy on the laptop.”

  “Was?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah. I deleted it when I was done.”

  “Would anyone else have known about the laptop?” he asked.

  Dylan shrugged. “Probably. Lots of people took their laptops into work. It wasn’t forbidden or anything.”

  “So this spreadsheet is the only thing you had from work—or connected with Mr. Miller—that you have in your possession?” Jake asked.

  “That I can think of, yeah.” Dylan nodded.

  I could see where Jake was going with his line of questioning so I jumped in. “Did anyone see you with your laptop the day you were fired?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Dylan said. “Kirk and the security guard… the Russian one. The security guard stood by the door and Kirk helped me pack up my stuff. Kirk was breathing down my neck like I was gonna steal the company stapler or something. Oh Kirk’s assistant, Michelle was also there. She said good-bye to me on the way out.”

  Jake scribbled down a couple of notes. “And where did you say the laptop is now?”

  “At a friend’s house. He wiped the hard drive and is adding more memory to it.”

  “Does your friend have a name?” Jake asked.

  “He sure does.”

  “What is it?” he pressed.

  “Why do you want to know? So you and ten of your closest friends can show up on his doorstep and scare the crap out of him? Sorry, but I’m not that kind of friend. I’ll call him and find out when I can pick it up, and then you can look it over. I’m telling you, he wiped the hard drive, though.”