A Twisted Love Story(75)

Karen smiles a little. Wes may get out on bail, but he won’t be back at work. Siphon isn’t going to let him in the office now that he’s all over the news. Not right on the heels of Tanner Duncan.

Tonight is a much bigger victory than her colleagues realize.



* * *



—

Ivy didn’t intend to follow Karen; she wasn’t even looking for her. She had been waiting in front of the police station, thinking—hoping—she would catch Wes walking out after paying his bail. Assuming he got bail. She still hadn’t heard anything about that. Instead, Karen was the one who walked out of the building.

It was the smile. Ivy couldn’t stand seeing that woman smile.

She followed Karen away from the police station and then to a bar. Ivy had never been to the Parkside Tavern and didn’t plan to go, given how many cop cars were out front. She stays in her own car, down the street a little, and surfs through her phone, looking for information about how to post a bond. It surprises her that this can be done twenty-four hours a day, but first the bail amount has to be set.

She thinks about calling Wes’s lawyer but doesn’t, assuming he wouldn’t answer her questions anyway. She then thinks about calling her own lawyer but doubts he would pick up the phone at eight o’clock on a Friday night.

Helpless. That’s how she feels, and it isn’t an emotion she is comfortable with. Or familiar with, for that matter, because there’s always something you can do. Like sit in front of a bar waiting for Karen to come out. Somehow, this has to be useful.

When Karen finally does leave the bar, Ivy follows her again. All the way to her house on Nightingale Lane. Ivy passes by as Karen pulls into the carport, and she keeps going, wondering where to head next.

Not home. That will just make her mind spin again.

She could call Heath, but he would just try to get into her head again about Wes. This would become another reason for him to try and convince her that Wes isn’t worth it. Heath has no idea what Wes is doing for her right now, that he’s in jail but it should be her. He probably wouldn’t believe it if she told him.

Ivy turns up the music and keeps driving, circling her way back to the police station, because there’s nowhere else she can think to go.

When her phone rings, she almost hits the curb trying to answer it.

Wes.

No hello. No greeting. She doesn’t bother.

“Where are you?”

“Home,” he says. “I just got home.”





62




Wes never hears Ivy knock, because she doesn’t. She flies into his house and runs straight for the living room.

“Here,” he calls out from the kitchen. The first thing he did when he returned home was eat. He has just finished putting his dishes in the sink when she barrels through his door. The house is still a mess; he hasn’t bothered putting it back in order yet.

Ivy appears in the doorway, her clothes disheveled, her hair wild. She runs to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since being arrested.

“I’m sorry about Vegas,” he says.

“Forget Vegas. How are you? What happened?”

He starts to tell her about the bail, which was high enough that he needed to put up his house as collateral to get out. Until he was arrested, he never realized how many things it would ruin. His career. His finances. His reputation.

And he wasn’t even driving the damn car. She was.

“If not for the bail,” he says, “I would’ve been out hours ago, but my lawyer had to arrange everything and get the bond and—”

“What’s that?” Ivy is pointing at his ankle.

“That’s the other part of my release,” he says. “I have to wear an ankle monitor.”

“You’re joking.”

“Clearly not.” Wes sighs and sits back down at the table. The number of problems that have piled up today is just starting to hit him. “I can only go to work and home. Except I lost my job.”

“They fired you?”

“Technically, an unpaid leave of absence. For now. The message was waiting for me when I got out.”

“Bastards.” Ivy pulls a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard. She pours two glasses, adds ice, and returns to the table. “They’re just cowards. You’ll find a better job.”

Someday, maybe. But he won’t be able to look for a job at all until the ankle monitor is off. And he can move out of this town.

Ivy wraps her arms around him again, except this time it feels more desperate. Even she can’t spin his newfound fame as a murder suspect into anything good. Ivy leads him into the living room, and they get settled on the couch. More comfortable but not exactly comforting.

Ivy stands and picks up a bit, stacking things on the floor in the corner.

“My lawyer said reporters might show up here,” he says.

“Screw them.”

He tries to smile but fails. “Seriously, you might want to go.”

“Come stay with me.”

“Can’t.” He points to the ankle monitor. “Not allowed.”

Ivy leans over and inspects it, touching his leg as she turns to see it from every angle. “Doesn’t look hard to remove.”