A Twisted Love Story(32)

Like the fact that Ivy once worked at the Fine Line gentlemen’s club. Her name had popped up when Karen searched through the court records to see if Ivy had ever been sued or had sued someone. She had not. But six years ago, the Fine Line had declared bankruptcy. According to the club’s court filing, Ivy had been an employee who worked for four hours. She was never paid and never worked there again.

The one night she worked at the club was the same night her car was stolen.

Ivy had called the police almost a full day after her car had gone missing. According to her statement, she thought Wes had borrowed it. She reported it stolen after realizing he hadn’t.

That case isn’t one of Karen’s, either, and she has even less business asking about it. But after being a cop for so many years, there is one thing Karen knows to be a fact.

There are no coincidences.





28




Wes pretends not to watch Karen get in her car and drive away from the funeral home. He doesn’t say a word about the bomb she just dropped.

“Want to grab a cup of coffee?” Ivy says. She has that We need to talk tone.

“Can’t. I have to go back to work.”

Long pause.

“Okay,” she says. “I guess I should do the same thing.”

Her voice is normal, even relaxed, and so is the expression on her face. She picks a piece of lint off the collar of his jacket. But he can feel her anger. It radiates off her like heat from the kitchen when she burns something.

No, he didn’t tell her Karen had come to see him a few days ago. Damn right he didn’t.

“I’ll call you later.” He leans over to kiss her. Cheek, not lips.

Wes leaves her standing in front of the funeral home and heads to his car. Doesn’t look back, either. She has her own car. Ivy can get herself to work, if that’s where she’s going. Maybe she is lying, maybe she isn’t. Right now, he doesn’t care.

He drives away, cranking the music up as he pulls out of the parking lot. Ivy came to the funeral, yes. Showed up and said, “I’m here,” like she wanted a gold star.

Aggravating, to be sure. But not why he’s angry.

Ivy has conveniently forgotten that this mess with Karen is because of her. He wouldn’t have to answer questions about their past if Ivy hadn’t lost her mind. Because even for them, this was way too far.

Faking a stalker was bad enough. Calling the police and offering up his name was on another level. Now he has a stalker of his own: Karen. Of all the women in the world, a detective. Wes’s mistake was not being angrier about this in the first place.

For the past day, all he has done is think about that night. That car. Like he doesn’t have a hundred other things he should be thinking about. The worst part is, it should’ve been nothing. A footnote to their story, not a chapter. And definitely not a whole section.



* * *



—

Wes is still thinking about it when he pulls into the Siphon parking lot. He turns down the music and sits in his car, taking a minute to calm down, clear his head.

He’s not the only one back at work. Those who did go to the funeral are not heading to the bars to get drunk; they’re at the office. Marcus pulls into the spot next to him. They nod and walk toward the door. No chatting about the Warriors today.

When they get up to the third floor, to the sales department, the first person he sees is Abigail Wright. Technically, she is Ian’s assistant. But since she used to be in the sales department, she has been temporarily reassigned until they find a replacement for Bianca.

Abigail nods at him. Stunning is the only word to describe her. Born to be on the cover of magazines but ended up an executive assistant—something Wes and the rest of the team have never understood.

Wes takes a deep breath, trying to shove aside the pain in his head. He likes Abigail, has known her since he started at Siphon. She is brutally efficient, professional, and she never loses her cool.

Except for that day Ivy almost destroyed his office.

He sits down at his desk, feeling about ten years older than he did yesterday. Filled with aches and pains, mostly on the inside and completely self-inflicted. He picks up his phone and scrolls through the address book.

Stella.

They’ve exchanged a few texts, a couple of interactions on social media, but he hasn’t spoken to her in a while. Hasn’t seen her in forever. Wes takes a deep breath and calls before he loses his nerve. She answers on the second ring.

“A middle-of-the-day call? This can’t be good,” she says.

“It isn’t.”

Stella sighs. He hears a door close. “You’re lucky I have a few minutes. I’m a busy woman.”

“I know that, too.” He stalls a little, trying to decide how much to tell her. “But maybe Ivy has gone too far this time.”

He can almost hear her eyebrows rise. “You’ve got my attention. Speak.”

Wes tells her the story. The stalking Ivy faked, calling the police, the detective showing up at his office. All the result of trying to get his attention. He is careful to sidestep around the real reason Karen is still questioning him. Not even Stella knows about that.

“Most people would avoid a woman who calls the police on them,” she says, “but what did you do?”

He doesn’t answer.