Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(66)
“Oh, for crap’s sake, my fucking brother-in-law. Pause it.”
Skylar paused it.
She watched him thumb a fast reply, and a furious text exchange ensued. Grady mumbled as he tapped.
“Aw, c’mon, you dipshit! No way!”
Skylar said, “Is everything okay?”
Grady’s landline rang.
“Idiot!”
He tossed his cell on the bed, grabbed the landline phone from the nightstand, and entered a code. Skylar knew this unlocked the lobby entrance so a guest could enter.
Grady said, “Sorry. He wasn’t supposed to get here until later.”
“Pretend you’re not here.”
“Can’t. He knows I’m here. Stay out of sight, okay?”
Grady got out of bed and pulled on his pants.
Skylar said, “Don’t sweat it. We can reschedule.”
“No, no, no. It’s cool. He’s just dropping something off.”
Grady pulled on a T-shirt as the doorbell rang, and hurried into the living room. Skylar slid from the bed, and watched him. It was a very long room, and the doorbell rang twice more before Grady reached the door.
His brother-in-law was a pudgy guy in a navy suit with a bucket of fried chicken in his hands. He presented the bucket to Grady with a big smile on his face.
Skylar thought, “What the fuck?”
The brother-in-law pried the lid from the bucket to show Grady the contents. Grady reached inside and lifted out a banded pack of cash. He dug around in the bucket, and Skylar realized he was counting more packs. He kept digging and counting, and Skylar realized the bucket contained many, many packs. Then she understood why Grady was running out of room and what was piling up. Cash.
Grady’s brother-in-law left a few seconds later, and Grady turned toward the bedroom.
Skylar ran to the bed, grabbed her iPad, and called out.
“Is he gone?”
“Yeah. Want something from the kitchen? A bottle of water or something?”
Grady had stopped in the kitchen to stash the bucket.
She noticed his phone on the bed, and wanted to see their texts.
She called back.
“Yes, please. Oh, wait, could I have a diet soda?”
Buying more seconds.
Grady called back.
“Sure.”
“With ice, please!”
Skylar reached for his phone, and quickly read their texts. Her eyes widened, and she felt a blood-burning excitement she never felt during sex.
Skylar grabbed her iPad and snapped a pic of their texts. She scrolled to reveal more of the exchange, snapped a second pic, and a third.
She placed his phone where he’d left it, pulled the sheet over her legs, and queued up the video.
Grady returned with a glass of soda and ice. He didn’t mention the bucket, and neither did she.
He said, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
Skylar smiled.
“No worries. I’ve been thinking about your loft.”
Grady beamed.
“It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”
“Your walls are too empty.”
He looked surprised.
“No way! I love this look.”
“You should have one of my paintings. I’ll paint something special. Just for you.”
She tossed the iPad aside and threw back the sheet.
“Now get in bed.”
He attacked her like an animal, but Skylar barely noticed. She thought about the bucket and the texts. She imagined how she might use these things to make them pay for their cruelty. When she screamed, she felt a rush of incredible power.
He thought it was him, but he wasn’t even there.
48
The recording lasted only eight or nine minutes. Rachel spoke well. Her voice was pleasing and she sounded genuine. Her story ended in sudden silence.
Allie Rice looked ashen. She said one word.
“Slime.”
Josh leaned back.
“One bucket of Kentucky Fried cash, please. What assholes.”
“She saw Horton Tarly deliver the cash.”
“Yes. She was there. She saw it. The next time she went back, she found more cash. The asshole hides cash all over his loft.”
I said, “How many tapes did she make?”
“Tracks. I don’t record on tape.”
“Tracks. How many?”
“Three. She tells about being an escort in one, how she got into it, the people she worked with, that kind of stuff. The third track is about the work she did for Grady. Thirty-four minutes, and it is a killer. What she did, where they went, who met with who and what they talked about. How he used her.”
Allie Rice murmured again.
“Slime.”
Ryan said, “She names names, bro. It’s awesome.”
I frowned at Ryan.
“You knew he was doing this?”
“He called me.”
Josh said, “I didn’t want him involved. Rachel was telling me dangerous things. I thought if—”
He looked at Ryan. Sad.
“Dude.”
Ryan nodded with understanding.
“Dude.”
I interrupted the duding.
“Does she mention Sanford Richter or not?”