7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lucy

A aron's smell reminds me of hard and dirty sex – the kind we had when we were dating. Every time I'm next to him, I think about the way his body used to move over mine and the way he sounded when he came next to my ear. Does he still moan into a woman's neck when he finishes inside of her? Would he still grip my throat the way I liked? Aaron was the filthiest talker that I've ever been with. Beck only called me a dirty cunt in bed and made it sound like he was doing me a favor or that I wasn't desirable.

Aaron Dwyer was the only man that ever fucked me dirty but didn't make me feel like I was a pity fuck.

Chills move up my spine every time he touches me on the car ride. There must be something weird about the walls of the club because my hair doesn't stand up on end when he touches me at work. He rests his hand on my thigh on the ride to the gala, and I trace the veins in the back of his hand with my fingertip as he drives. It's the same way I used to ride next to him when we were teens. This time, we're not in Aaron's first car on the way to a date with our friends or sneaking out of the house after midnight for a summer joyride followed by skinny dipping.

He chats about his kids, work, and what he hopes to find out from Murphy tonight. I'm to make small talk while he butters up Murphy to make him comfortable. We're to notice who he talks to at the gala and watch for any envelopes or papers being exchanged, but we shouldn't ask specific questions about any questionable business deals or the mafia. Aaron prefers to have a friendly relationship with Murphy and find out who else he sucks up to and not go in guns blazing.

I check out his profile as he talks. His jaw is stronger than when we dated before. Perhaps it's because he's leaner and more muscular now. His face is more relaxed than when he was young. Like he's on vacation. Is he really that comfortable around me?

I wish I could say the same. Since Beck went missing, I'm nervous when I talk to anyone, especially the police. It's the definition of irony that I have the county sheriff in my life. If there's one thing I want to avoid, it's all this mafia connection bullshit and police entanglement. I don't trust the police as a general rule. When I reported abuse in the past, they glossed over it. Maybe Beck had more connections than I thought.

But here I am with the fucking sheriff. I imagine waking up next to him and going to Home Depot every weekend before tackling some landscaping project together around the house. I fantasize about long, lazy Sundays in a hammock out back with Aaron Dwyer's dog at our feet.

I couldn't say no to him about tonight. Sitting next to him in the front seat of the car, I inhale deeply. I've missed this smell for over a decade, and I want to memorize it in case I never get to sit next to him again.

He prattles on about something cute Ruby said this morning, and my chin quivers with emotion. How did I let him go so easily all those years ago? Why didn't we both fight for our relationship? How did I end up with Beck who is the complete opposite of Aaron?

I am, without a doubt, one hundred percent still in love with Aaron Dwyer, and I will destroy anyone who hurts him without blinking an eye. Shame roils through my stomach at the idea of Aaron finding a nice woman who teaches kindergarten or works as a librarian. That's what he deserves, but I feel sick when I think about him being happy with anyone but me ever again.

We arrive at the convention center and pull into the parking attendant station. Aaron gets out of the car as the valet opens my door. Without hesitation, Aaron's at my side, taking my hand as I get out of the car. "Did I mention you look gorgeous tonight?" he asks.

"You did."

He pats my hand on his arm and smirks like he's the luckiest man in the world. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that before we enter this hornet's nest."

***

"Sheriff Dwyer," a man I recognize as an alderman in our small suburb says immediately as Aaron walks through the door. Aaron stops to talk to the man and shakes his hand as I take in the surroundings. I hope he doesn't get stopped like this every few feet. We'll never learn anything tonight.

The convention center is draped in seafoam green and blue decorations. Decorative turtles hang from the ceiling, and carefully placed lights make the walls look like we're under a lake or river. Light music comes through overhead speakers, and several women and men stand at points around the room. They must be organizers or on some kind of board because they shake hands and greet everyone on the way to the bar or dining room. Waitresses circle the room with glasses of champagne and appetizers. One woman stops in front of me, and I grab a cracker with some type of dip across the top. I let out a chuckle at the thought that we're here to protect turtles and this may be some type of seafood spread, but I close my lips and fight the smile. Maybe it's just a bean dip.

Waiters come and go from a bar area, but there's an open bar where people can also get their own cocktails or beer. I slide my fingers into Aaron's free hand as he finishes speaking with the alderman and greets our mayor. I smile and shake the woman's hand when he introduces us, but I'm too busy trying to find Murphy to focus on the conversation. I know he'll be here. He wouldn't miss a chance to socialize with the area elite.

No Murphy as far as I can see, but he could already be in the dining room or running late. My heart stops as my eyes flick over the bar area.

Standing at the bar with a drink halfway up to his lips is the mafia thug who licked my face. And he's looking right at me.

"Aaron," I whisper, practically hissing. I tug on his hand a little.

"What is it?" he asks, excusing himself from the conversation between the fire chief and an alderwoman by holding up a finger. Something in my voice must tip him off that he needs to listen to me right now.

I face him and smile like nothing is wrong. But this is Aaron. He knows something's wrong because he's known me over half my life. "The man at the bar with the dark hair. He's not a nice man."

Aaron looks over my shoulder and keeps the smile on his face. He doesn't stare or make it obvious he's looking. It's the cop in Aaron, and he's calm and cool about seeing a man staring at me. "The guy practically sneering in our direction? Who is he?"

"He has ties to Beck. That's all I know."

Aaron blinks and shakes his head in disbelief. "Wait. What?"

"I haven't been completely honest about something."

Aaron lightly grabs my elbow, smiles at the people milling around, and pulls me over to a corner, waving away a waitress with a tray of champagne. "What did you not tell me?"

I need to tell him. "Beck owed some people money. They came looking for it a few months ago, which is part of the reason I took the job at the club. I needed fast money. They want me to pay Beck's debt."

Aaron rears back and looks at the ceiling. If we weren't in public, he'd probably run his hands through his hair in frustration. He glances back at the guy at the bar. The man hasn't blinked, and he's not at all intimidated that I'm with the sheriff. "Who is he? Do you have a name?"

I shake my head. "Gangster number one? He has a boss. I don't know names. They didn't exactly tell me their life stories over margaritas and pedicures."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. I can't tell if he's annoyed with me or the piece of shit I married. "Is there anything else I need to know?" he asks. "I really wish you would have told me this already."

"I'm scared, Aaron. They say Beck owes them money."

"Is it possible that Beck borrowed money from the mafia so he could disappear? Money of the kind they loan is enough to buy a new identity and a small place somewhere off the grid."

"I wish I knew. If he did use the money for that, it's pretty shitty to leave me to deal with it. It's another thing I can add to the list to hate him for."

Aaron looks at the floor and looks back at me. "What did they look like?"

I subtly jerk my neck in the direction of the bar. "That guy."

"No, Lucy. What did the other guys look like?"

I bite my lip while Aaron grabs my hand like we're a couple and just having a nice conversation in the corner. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to pull their faces from memory like I'm describing them to a sketch artist. "The boss was late forties, maybe early fifties. Balding with dark hair where he had it. Glasses."

Aaron's eyes widen. "Were there others?"

"Two more, other than the boss and the guy at the bar."

"Describe." His voice is clipped. Impatient. He's on to something.

"The other guys were both early thirties. Maybe late twenties. White. Normal-looking guys. The kind you wouldn't look twice at if you saw them on the street."

Aaron puts his hand on the wall behind me, boxing me in. To anyone else, we look like lovers. He may be doing it to show the guy at the bar that I'm under his protection. He may just be thinking.

"If I show you a picture that you're not supposed to see, would you be able to identify him?"

"I guess."

"Lucy, you can never tell anyone I showed you this. It's evidence." He digs his phone out of his pocket and taps a few things. Turning the picture around, he shows me. "Is he one of them?"

I turn my head and close my eyes. "Fuck, Aaron. You could have warned me."

"Sorry, Lucy. I'm excited. Is he one of them?"

I nod curtly and cover my mouth with my hand at the sight of a decomposing body. I can handle a lot of gore, but I can't stomach decomposition. "He was one of the thugs."

Aaron taps something else on his phone and turns it around. I look away and tentatively squint one eye at it, hoping I don't see another decomposing body. What I find is a picture of the boss man smiling on Aaron's phone in what looks like a driver's license photo. I nod at it. "That's the boss."

"His name is George Cannon. He's the guy I told you about that was sliced up pretty bad and murdered. The younger guy is Justin Hammons. He's also obviously dead. At least you can rest easy that George Cannon isn't concerned about his money anymore."

"So, your dead dude cases are related to Beck and possibly to Murphy? This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I mean, it's nice the boss guy isn't going to come looking for money, but I'm not sure if I'm relieved people involved in this are dying."

Aaron pushes away from the wall and straightens his tie. "It's pretty convenient that thug pirate guy over there is at the same event as Murphy and that Beck owed his dead boss money. Let's go into the dining hall and rub some organized crime elbows."

The dining room is decked out in white linens and matching seatbacks. Large chandeliers are spaced throughout the room and dimmed to create a romantic dinner ambiance. Blue and green accent decorations and napkins are on the table, giving the entire area a wedding under-the-sea vibe. Aaron calmly greets the board members at the door, his hand on my lower back.

Fuck, I like it there. It's comforting while my stomach roils and sweat pools in my armpits. I haven't seen Murphy outside of the club for months, and nerves send alternating currents of heat and chills through my body.

Aaron and I find our seats and Murphy stands as we approach, tilting his head in surprise to see me. The look on his face is almost humorous, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. He knows damn well who Aaron is, and he never expected his stripper cousin by marriage to be on the sheriff's arm.

"What do we have here? Lucy," he says, nodding at me. "Sheriff Dwyer."

Aaron shakes Murphy's outstretched hand, but he also wipes it on his suit pants as we sit down. Aaron shivers like he has a chill. It must be hard for him to eat shit and sit across from a man you want to arrest. I'm impressed Aaron had the ability to make sure Murphy was seated at our table.

Murphy settles into his chair, and my eyes flick to his date. I've never seen her before, but a sex worker knows a sex worker. She's in the industry. There's a hardness in her face, and she looks like she's here under duress…or the promise of payment. She's obviously a hired escort.

Murphy looks respectable in his tuxedo. His dark hair is slicked back with hair gel, and his beard is trimmed. He doesn't always trim it, so it's obvious he made an effort. As I watch, he makes a fist, stares at Aaron, and cracks every knuckle on his hand with a leer. "When did this match happen?" Murphy asks, gesturing at Aaron.

"We dated in high school," Aaron says before I can open my mouth to answer. I'm glad he's going with the truth. It would be hard for me to remember a lie if Murphy ever brings it up at the club. I have enough lies and trash in my life I have to cover in my daily life. Although, there is a weight lifted off my shoulders now that Aaron knows about the money I owe the dead gangsters. "My wife died a year ago, and Lucy and I recently reconnected."

Did we? Something like a warm glow moves from my toes to my breasts. Does Aaron consider us reconnected, or is this all a show?

"I see. Interesting choice for a sheriff."

Aaron meets Murphy's eyes and smiles. It's not a real smile. It's his fake one he only uses when he's trying to keep from punching someone through a wall. I've only seen it on Aaron's face a few times in my life. "Why do you say that, Beckett?"

Murphy shrugs. "You do know she's still technically married to my cousin, right? She's also a stripper."

"And what do you do?" Aaron asks, turning to Murphy's date.

Murphy puts his hand on the woman's shoulder. "Don't answer the sheriff."

Total hooker.

The woman looks between all of us, confused, but Aaron brushes it aside and keeps going. His leg tenses under my hand when I place my hand on his thigh to keep him calm. He ignores it. "If you're referring to the fact that Lucy strips to make ends meet after your cousin left her high and dry without a way to support herself months ago, I already know. I also don't give a shit. Now that that's out of the way, I hope we have a lovely evening. Dinner smells fantastic. I bet the starter isn't turtle soup."

Murphy stares at Aaron for a few moments, but we're joined by the fire chief, the president of the library board, and her husband. Aaron makes small talk with each of them and ignores Murphy. Part of me wonders if Aaron knows that will bother Murphy, and a small smile creases my face as I make small talk with the fire chief's wife when she arrives just before the salads are served.

Dinner is served in courses, and Aaron plays it cool through all of them, ignoring Murphy's stare from across the table. The more Aaron hobnobs with the others at the table, the more Murphy shifts in his seat in agitation. Aaron's clearly stealing Murphy's shining moment to rub elbows with the area's big wigs.

By the time dessert rolls around, Murphy's face is beet red, and he squints across the table at Aaron as he goes out of his way to look happy and relaxed. Aaron's arm is draped over my shoulder, and his warm thumb traces over to my collarbone, sending electric pulses to my clit, even as the guest speaker on stage delivers a heartfelt speech about turtles.

"How is business Murphy?" Aaron finally asks. "Remind me what you do again."

Murphy practically glows that attention is finally on him. "I'm an entrepreneur. I have a couple of tailoring outfits and am an active member in the local motorcycle club."

"Ah, that sounds interesting. Is it a hobby?" Aaron asks, cutting off a piece of his cheesecake.

"I'm the president of the club, so it requires a bit of my time. I'm surprised my cousin by marriage didn't tell you I run the club."

"We don't talk about you," Aaron says in a clipped tone. Seriously, does Murphy think he's the topic of every conversation? "Did you know the man that died recently? George Cannon? I think he was a member of the club, right?"

Murphy's too smart to fall for it. He makes a clicking noise with his mouth. "We didn't have a member by that name, but I read about that in the press. Damn shame. Didn't seem like the motorcycle type."

"Really? You didn't know him? That's so weird." Aaron goes back to his cheesecake.

Murphy leans forward, not blinking. "What's weird?"

"Well, my detective on the case, Coleson, found some evidence that showed a payment from Cannon to your club. My deputy told me about it, but maybe he got the information wrong."

"Obviously. I don't know George Cannon. We don't deal in his kind."

Aaron tilts his head to the side. "What kind is that?"

Murphy sputters a laugh, and it almost sounds evil. Every set of shoulders at the table tenses. "Old. The guy was past our prime member age requirement. All members are under fifty. There's another club we partner with for older riders."

"I didn't say how old he was, and I'm not sure if we released that to the press. So you knew him?"

Murphy takes his cloth napkin off his lap and throws it on the table. "I already said I didn't know him. If the press got his age right, we wouldn't have let him in. I'm sure I saw it in the news. Your deputy and your detective don't have shit right."

Aaron takes a drink of his coffee. "That must be true. My mistake. How is the club doing? Good membership levels? Incidentally, why are there two clubs?"

"It's just the way I do things, Sheriff Dwyer. I'm sure you and Lucy have your…ways." He leers at my tits, completely ignoring his date and her wide eyes. She may be a hooker, but she knows something is up, and she wants nothing to do with it. "Why can't you solve the case of who killed George Cannon? In fact, I think there was another murder recently. Sounds like you don't have control of your county."

"Who's excited for dancing?" I ask, pressing hard on Aaron's thigh under the table. "I need to use the restroom first."

I stand and place my napkin on top of my half-eaten plate of cheesecake. Aaron respectfully stands as I rise from the table. "I'll be back." I lean in closer to Aaron's jaw. "I'm going to walk around and see if I see anything else odd. Try not to kill him while I'm gone."

Taking a deep breath, I walk down a marble staircase to the downstairs ladies' room. Rounding the corner, the breath knocks out of me as I'm pushed against the wall so fast that my vision blurs. I open my mouth to scream, but it's fruitless. A hand that smells like cigarette smoke and raw onions covers my mouth. It's not like anyone would hear me anyway since thunderous applause comes from upstairs as another speaker takes the podium.

"Funny seeing you here, bitch," the voice says. "I nearly shit when I saw you."

I blink twice, clearing my vision, and find the mafia-hired help with his face three inches from mine. I didn't see him at dinner. Was he waiting for me to use the bathroom all night, or did he follow me out of the dining room?

"We need to have a little chat about money." Something cold and sharp is pushed against my pelvic region. "If you value your clit, you'll talk to me like a good little girl."

My stomach roils, and I look around the area for any asset. A vase I could smash over his head. Someone walking nearby.

But everyone is upstairs. The man grabs my elbow and roughly drags me to the corner past the bathroom door and pushes me up against old-fashioned, salmon-colored wallpaper. This is obviously the least cared-for area of the event hall. To anyone passing by, we'd look like lovers making out against a wall.

He digs the knife between my legs, and I yelp. "If anyone comes down here, you'll be quiet. Understand? I know where the artery is."

I nod. Play dumb, Lucy. It's saved you before with them.

He smiles and licks my face again as I cringe from his saliva. "You owe me money."

"I don't have it. I'm a stripper and have to pay the bills."

"You're Beck's wife. You have money."

"Beck wasn't wealthy. He probably borrowed money from you guys and scrimped to pay it back. He's still missing. Take it up with him. If you find him, let him know I want a divorce. I told you I'd try to get you the money, but I have bills to pay."

"Not my problem." He leers down my dress. "But we'll make a deal. I want half of it or this clit you like gets removed. Capiche?"

"I don't even know how to contact you," I say. Maybe I can get some useful information here. Names. Places. If they work for or with Murphy. "Who are you people?"

That earns me a chokehold. He grips my throat tight, and I gasp, inhaling air. "My name is Geoffrey, and that's all you need to know. You know Murphy Beckett, too. I saw you at dinner."

"He's Beck's cousin," I whisper, barely getting the words out.

A tear runs down my face. Aaron. He's upstairs finishing his dessert while this happens. I can't call for help. What I wouldn't give for him to need to use the bathroom right now.

"We know that. We also do business together. I'd hate to have to get him involved to pay us back."

"Us? Your boss is dead," I whimper, and Geoffrey releases me. I gasp for breath and cough a little as I slink down the wall.

"How does a dumb stripper know that?"

"I read the news," I lie. "If your boss is dead, why are you coming after me?"

"Yes, it's unfortunate that my boss died. One of my coworkers, too. May have been a bad accident."

"What kind of accident is that?" I ask the question in a taunting voice, but anger controls my voice now – not common sense.

"Let's just put it this way. There's a new boss in town, and I don't like forgiving my old boss's debts." He pulls back from me a little, still not removing the knife, and I suck in a breath of clean air that doesn't smell like his breath or hands.

"You have one more month for half of what we asked for. I'll find you. If you tell the guy you're with anything about this, we'll come for him too. What's his name? Dwyer? Has two little girls, if I remember right from his campaign."

I grit my teeth, and spit forms in my mouth. I don't dare spit in this guy's face, but I want to. Threatening an innocent woman is cowardly enough. Threatening two little girls is reprehensible. But something about it being Aaron's two girls makes my blood boil. How dare this man threaten to hurt Aaron or anyone he cares about?

I should scream, run, or make a scene, especially since three old ladies about the age of The Golden Girls smile at me as they parade into the bathroom like Geoffrey may simply be my lover and we're having a heated chat. I should ask for help or send one of the silent looks women send to each other when they need assistance with a dickhead.

The knife presses flat into my crotch once they disappear, completely immersed in their conversation. "Are we clear? Remember, not a word, or I'll pay your boyfriend a visit. I may have to check out his girls' school some day during recess. I have connections that would pay a pretty penny for them."

Over my dead body. Which is a distinct possibility with this mess. "I'll get it for you."

And I will. If I have to fuck every patron that comes into the club, I won't let those girls be hurt. I'll get that money, or at least have enough to appease this guy until I can get more. It may be horrible, but I'll spread my legs for Geoffrey to buy more time until I do have the cash. Not one hair on Aaron Dwyer's head will be hurt or even inconvenienced.

Geoffrey pulls the knife away from my crotch and drags his index finger down my face. "Such a sassy little mouth. If I didn't think you'd be the kind to bite my dick off, I'd make you get on your knees to work off a hundred bucks of that debt."

I shiver and clench my thighs to keep from wetting my dress in fear, but I force myself to look at him. If I avert my eyes, he'll know I'm scared of him. Once the debt is paid, he'll keep coming around if he thinks he can. My nostrils flare as I try to control my breath.

He pushes my head back against the wall before backing away. I whimper and rub my head but don't dare move until he's gone and taking the stairs to the main area.

I'm so fucking tired of being afraid of men.