I silently thank her for not dropping me in the shit as my phone rings again. I reject the call and text him.
We’re okay.
His reply is quick.
You won’t be.
I reach for my forehead and rub away the wrinkles. I’m in now. And I’m not leaving Beau, so we will face their wrath together.
“Where are you going, Beau?” James asks.
“To find Amber. As always, if you’d just let me in where you feel I don’t belong, we might be out of this mess a lot faster.” She hangs up and takes the wheel with both hands, dipping and looking up to an apartment block in the distance.
She looks so determined.
And my nerves go through the roof.
The silence is screaming by the time we pull into the parking garage. I have a dozen missed calls from Danny and as many texts, all quite angry, which means I’m definitely not answering his calls. Beau’s cell, however, hasn’t rung once. Beeped once. Lit up once. James will be tracking her. My husband knows that. He just wants me to know how pissed off he is.
Someone needs to tell him I know. I really, really know.
Beau parks and we both get out. She wanders around the back of the car and opens the trunk, pulling up the lining, revealing a pistol and a vest. Beau takes the pistol and hands over the vest, her jaw tight, waiting for me to argue. I don’t. Ican’t. I accept and slip it on. “I left my purse on the stool.” Why would I be so stupid? Remember my phone but forget my gun?
“Here.” She pulls hers from the back of her jeans and hands it over. “Be careful.”
I look down at my hand holding the pistol, not knowing what to do with it, I have no purse. So I tuck it into the back of my pants as we wander to the elevators on the other side of the garage. There are three. Two serve all floors. One serves only the penthouse. I look at the keypad and then to Beau as she goes to a door to the stairwell and tugs. It doesn’t budge. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking the stairs would be painful anyway.” She steps toward the elevator and punches in six digits into the panel. A red light flashes and Beau curses. “I thought it would be his birthday.” She punches in six more. Another flashing red light. “Damn it.” She proceeds to enter various combinations, and all refuse her entry.
“Beau, you don’t even know if your dad bought this place.” We could be trying to break into a perfect stranger’s home.
Her shoulders drop and she exhales, turning to head back to the car.Thank God.She’s seen sense. But she stops and stills for a moment before looking at it again. “What?” I ask, my eyes batting back and forth between Beau and the keypad. “What is it?”
She approaches and bends, looking at it from every angle before getting her phone out and shining the torch on the shiny metal buttons. “I don’t believe it.” She stands and stares, so hard she might burn a hole through the metal plate. I don’t ask what she doesn’t believe because I know I won’t get an answer, so I wait for her to make her move. Reaching forward, she slowly pushes one button after the other.
A green light blinks and the elevator starts moving. “Oh my God,” I blurt, jumping when Beau releases the safety on her gun. “Oh my God, Beau!” My hands find my head and she moves to the side of the elevator, looking at me like I should do the same, so I do, my heart racing. The doors slide open, and Beau checks if it’s empty.
“Put your phone on silent,” she orders, stepping inside the cart. “In fact, why don’t you just wait in the car for me?”
I laugh and hurry in with her and, of course, she doesn’t fight me. I want to think this arming herself business is all unnecessary. I can’t. I’ve been on the receiving end of Amber’s resentment. That woman has no scruples or boundaries. “What was the code?” I ask.
“The date of my mom’s memorial.”
I swing a stunned expression her way. “What?”
“Fucked up, eh?” She stares forward, a million flecks of hate in her eyes. Just when I thought her dad could not be more of an asshole.
The doors close and we both look up at the dial above the door, watching as it ticks up through the floors at an epically slow rate. And when it dings to announce our arrival to the penthouse, we both inhale and step to the side. I stare into Beau’s dark eyes as the doors slide open, waiting, tense and shaky. It’s quiet, only the drone of electrical appliances breaking the silence. The soft glow of the apartment is a stark contrast to the artificial, blinding lights of the elevator.
Beau swallows and edges to the front and pulls her phone out, getting the camera screen up and turning the image as if she’s about to take a selfie. Then she angles it out, checking the space. She looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing. I hate that she does. I hate that she used to be a cop. But I also appreciate it.
“Nothing,” she finally says, moving out but keeping her gun poised. I follow on a held breath, taking in the uber-modern penthouse as Beau scopes the place.
“Anything?” I whisper, putting my vibrating phone into my back pocket.
She opens a door and looks inside, where a bank of screens displays live footage of the parking garage and the stairwell. “Was your dad security conscious?” I ask.
“I hardly knew my father,” she replies, leaving the door open and wandering deeper into the open space. A kitchen spans the back, and a staircase sweeps up to a mezzanine floor where I can see the top of a headboard.