Caught in the Frame Read online

  Just about to power down her laptop, an errant thought struck Chloe. She checked her watch; Lila and Javier were occupied with couples-only wedding tasks, so she had at least an extra half hour to herself, and decided to put it to good use.

  What’s your end game, Hannah Frank?

  She opened several browser tabs and searched a few keywords related to Hannah Frank, HF Designs, and the scandal that had ejected her from Hollywood’s inner circle.

  If there was one area in which the woman excelled, it was public relations; the entire first two pages of every phrase Chloe searched turned up links to Hannah’s wedding planning website, her Twitter and Facebook accounts, and several newer reports touting her many achievements. Since most people didn’t bother to click any further, prospective clients were likely to miss the scathing articles and reviews that followed. Chloe wasn’t most people; gossip was her bread and butter, so she scoured Hannah’s Facebook page and found even more evidence of a cover-up.

  Her company, HF Designs, had undergone an overhaul; it used to be called Hannah Frank, Inc. Still based out of Los Angeles, the new site merely hinted at celebrity clients, focusing mainly on showcasing Hannah’s exceptional event planning skills. She was obviously focused on rebuilding; Lila LaRue didn’t qualify as a celebrity in most circles, but her vast resources would enable Hannah to display recent work on a Hollywood-worthy wedding. If only she could edge her way into the planning process.

  The question was, why was she ousted in the first place? Sure, celebrities could be fickle, but a scandal of the caliber Lila described had to be based on more than just a minor infraction. With a little more time for research, Chloe was sure she could turn up something juicy—time being the one thing she lacked right now. Switching tactics, Chloe tapped out a hurried email request to Wesley, her editor back in Ponderosa Pines, whose research skills rivaled her own. In a series of short sentences, she told him what she needed, gave him the links to the sites she’d already searched and asked him to do the legwork.

  Lila had a lot going on at the moment; this was something Chloe could do on her own. Well, with a little help from her friends, anyway.

  * * *

  “How much do you love me?” Chloe asked with unusual sweetness.

  EV grimaced and quirked her right eyebrow. “Enough. What do you want?” She sipped a cup of Irish tea, her hair blowing in the cool breeze wafting against the suite’s west-facing balcony as a dazzling sun set over the horizon. In the distance, a brilliant blue lake kissed the shining rays, coloring the sky in pink and purple stripes. EV tore her eyes away from the scene reluctantly, and shot an inquiring look at her friend. Chloe was distracted, barely noticing the picturesque view that lay before her.

  “A small favor. Could you get Lila away from the suite for a few hours around dinner time—distract her so I can have some alone time with Nate.”

  “Seriously? You guys are like bunny rabbits.” She rolled her eyes, but behind her rueful facade she was genuinely happy. EV had never seen Chloe this ecstatic about a man; it was a good look for her. But, for crying out loud, how much alone time did those two need?

  Chloe swatted her arm playfully. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I need to talk to him is all. It’s time I told him my secret. He should at least know what I do for a living—if you can call it that—if we’re going to pursue a real relationship. And I trust him. I just hope he understands why I didn’t say anything before.” Whether she was required to or not, lying was lying, and she knew Nate valued honesty above all other virtues.

  “I’m guessing he’ll get it. I’d be more concerned that he’s pissed about you referring to him as Inspector Hottie all the time.”

  “Yeah, on second thought, maybe I’ll just keep my lips zipped.” Chloe had heard Nate complain about the term of endearment several times, and was mildly ashamed at the fact that she had continued to do so mostly just to irritate him. She figured he deserved it, after letting her believe he was dating a woman who turned out to be a co-worker and friend. Jealousy did not become her, and Chloe’s angry response had set them back even further before Dalton had clued her in on the truth.

  “Well, maybe butter him up a little bit first, then. I’ll take care of your mother.” After Lila’s reaction to the warning about her fiancé, EV wasn’t keen on the idea of spending the evening with the two of them alone. “You’ll owe me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Add it to my bill.” Chloe waved a dismissive hand.

  Chapter 14

  Was it really hacking into the system if he was the one who designed it? Gray area, but when family is on the line, you do whatever it takes. Javier’s fingers flew over his laptop keyboard while he tamped down the twinges his conscience kept throwing at him. Baylee’s last text before silencing her phone said she was in place, so he keyed in the sequence to unlock Remy Vincent’s room remotely, and started the countdown on his watch.

  They’d given themselves a five minute window. Javier pictured Baylee slipping through the door, flipping on the light, rifling through Vincent’s things to find something—anything—that would prove he was the identity thief responsible for framing Tomas and destroying his life.

  Four and a half minutes left.

  He marked the time, starting the countdown to the next stage of the plan. Baylee had one minute to orient herself, then be ready for the room safe to unlock in four, three, two—Javier tapped the enter key. Now she would be pulling open the door, rifling through the contents, and clicking photos of anything she found. He waited the allotted two minutes before reengaging the lock. Two minutes more for her to check the rest of the room and get out.

  Time crawled past while he waited, finger poised to execute the command that would lock the door behind her—all the while knowing that for Baylee, the same five minutes must be whizzing past.

  When the digital timer clicked to zero, Javier pushed the enter key with an unsteady finger. Baylee had agreed to a second foray if this one turned up nothing, but Javier wasn’t sure he could do it again. If this much adrenaline was surging through his veins, how much more would be turning Baylee into a jittery mess?

  Javier spent another five minutes erasing all evidence that Vincent’s lock had been activated from the system. Baylee should have checked back in by now. Cold dread settled into his belly when he pinged her cell and got no response.

  Now what? Should he stay here and prepare to clear the history if she had needed to trigger the lock again, or should he go look for her?

  It was already too late, but Javier had no way of knowing that.

  * * *

  Baylee checked the hallway in both directions, watched the red light on the video camera flicker and go out. To her right, the soft click of the door lock deactivating sounded louder to her ears than it should have. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure the coast was still clear, she slid inside. All the rooms in this section were laid out the same, only the fabric and paint choices differentiated one from another.

  Bathroom to the right, closet to the left. Beyond that, a small seating area took up the left side of the room, with a compact executive workspace in the far corner. A king-sized bed flanked by a pair of nightstands rested along the right hand wall. The nightstand closest to the door contained a small safe. That was the most likely place to find what she was after, but to be thorough, she quickly checked the closet and desk area for a laptop or briefcase that might hold additional evidence.

  Finding neither, she turned to the safe, counted down the seconds until the lock clicked open.

  Javier had been right, this Remy Vincent character really had been behind everything that had happened to turn her husband’s life—and hers, by extension—into a smoking ruin. She spread the documents on the floor, snapped several photos of them, then packed it all back into the safe, being careful to conceal any evidence of the search.

  With thirty seconds to go, Baylee flipped the door that concealed the safe closed, and double-checked that nothing appeared out of place.
Satisfied, she exited the room.

  Adrenaline rushed through her—narrowing her focus to a small point while everything else blurred, quickening the breath in her body—that was the only excuse she had for not noticing Remy standing there. When he called out, “Hey, what are you doing?” She let the juice flow through her and took off at a sprint.

  Remy gave chase; legs longer than hers eating up the distance. Baylee knew she was sunk. Fumbling while she ran, the pulled the SIM card from the camera; her only thought now was to hide the evidence somewhere she could retrieve it later. He was older, out of shape, so she used the last burst of adrenaline to put on some speed and turned the corner with extra space between them. If she could get back to the more populated area of the castle, maybe someone would help her.

  She made it out of the south wing, feet flying down the short staircase that would get her back onto the level of her own room. Turning into the west wing of the castle, she wondered where was everyone? Behind her, his feet pounded toward the stairs; getting louder as he began to close the gap.

  Scanning the area with frantic eyes, she saw only one possible place to hide the SIM card. She lost a few precious seconds, but when it was done, she knew he would never find it.

  The hallway ended in a T. Baylee searched her mind for which direction to take, and that was her fatal mistake. She dodged right, and when the hallway turned left again, found herself racing toward a dead end. There was no way she was going to escape now. She turned to face her fate.

  Behind her, Remy panted out the evidence of his lack of physical fitness. Baylee estimated that if she could get past him, she could make it back to the intersection of the T and double her lead.

  “What were you doing in my room?” Sweat beaded on his brow from the same exertion that reddened his face and shortened his breath.

  Baylee gauged the distance with her eyes, without realizing she had telegraphed her plan. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she launched into a sprint which ended abruptly when he sidestepped to clothesline her. Carpeted, though they were, the heavy stone floors underneath were unyielding, so when Baylee landed, the blow to her head stunned her into complacency. She felt him lift her with more strength than she would have given him credit for, and the world tilted, then grayed to black.

  * * *

  The next clear thought Baylee had was that someone must be driving nails into her skull. She wished they would stop. Temple throbbing, she tried to lift her hand, to press fingers against the pulsing pain, but something was weighing it down. Her eyes fluttered partially open, then closed tightly again. She cataloged the places where she ached. Her head, her neck, her shoulders. Full awareness returned slowly, bringing with it the memory of a desperate flight ending in pain and darkness.

  Remy.

  Her eyes snapped open. With her photographer’s insight into human emotion, she knew the look on his face had been fear rather than anger. That made him more dangerous, because a fearful man will usually go to greater lengths than an angry one. Fully alert now, Baylee absorbed her surroundings. Dust, piles of building materials, a dimly lit light fixture, and the abject lack of noise suggested she was in one of the older, not yet renovated parts of the castle.

  And she was tied up.

  Panic set in, and though each movement tightened her bonds, Baylee couldn’t stop struggling against them. She opened her mouth to scream for help when, from behind her, Remy’s voice made her jump. She’d thought herself alone.

  “Don’t scream, no one will hear you anyway, and I’m not going to hurt you if you cooperate.” Remy’s smarmy face was equally unpleasant as his whiny voice; even if Baylee had no preconceived notion of his repulsiveness, she would have steered clear of the man. How someone so obviously incompetent had managed to wreak so much havoc was beyond her, and she briefly wondered if some kind of deal with the devil had been made.

  She heard footsteps and looked from where he’d placed her—on the floor, tied to a support beam. Remy carried her camera in his hands. “Who are you and why were you spying on me?”

  Should she tell him, and hope he would let her go? Or should she trust Javier to handle the situation and find her? Remy’s next words didn’t help with the decision.

  “Where’s the memory card? Give it to me, or tell me where it is, and I’ll let you go.”

  * * *

  EV knocked on Lila’s door while her busy mind searched for some believable pretense for keeping Lila out of Chloe’s way for and hour or so. A pointed text from Chloe settled the matter:

  Um, forgot about Dalton. Tell me where you’ll be so I can send him to you.

  I’m next door now, not sure yet—was all the answer she had time for before the door flew open.

  “Can I come in? If you have time, I was hoping we could go to dinner in the cafe. Dalton, too.” She looked past Lila to see if Javier was in the room. “I’d love a chance to just visit with you. Talk about old times.”

  “Did Chloe send you here to give Javi the third degree?” Lila was only half right.

  “Can’t I just want to catch up and spend some time with my oldest friend without you picking apart my motives?” Lila cocked her head, searched EV for signs of prevarication and finding none, relented.

  “Fine.” A slight chill still wafted through her voice. “Javi should be back by now.” Lila swung the door the rest of the way open, glanced down the hallway to see him turn the corner at the end of the hall. When he was near enough to hear, she said, “Javi, sweetie, we’re going to dinner with Dalton and EV who, if they know what’s good for them, will not reveal any of my youthful indiscretions.”

  A glance back in the direction from which he’d come and the slowness of his steps spoke of Javier’s reluctance to be pulled away from whatever it was he’d been doing.

  “Though I’d like to hear some of those; regrettably, I have an errand.” Coming up behind EV, Javier’s even teeth gleamed impossibly white in contrast to his olive-hued skin. He laid a hand on Lila’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. The look on his face did not immediately mirror Lila’s shining eyes and foolish grin. Instead, stress wrote lines around his eyes, until she squeezed his hand, and a more genuine smile appeared. That he was hiding something, EV had no doubt, but it wasn’t his true feelings for Lila.

  “Can’t it wait, Dear? I’ve hardly seen you all day.” Lila in full-on persuasive mode was impossible to resist. Torn between the desire to keep looking for Baylee, and the need for everything to seem like business as usual, Javier relented. Maybe she’d had to duck in somewhere to avoid detection, and was just waiting to get clear before texting him.

  “I can delay for a short time,” he allowed, as he followed EV and Lila inside and closed the door behind him. The three of them had just enough time to take a seat before Dalton’s discreet knock halted the conversation and Lila yanked the door open and pulled him in for a welcoming hug.

  “Just remember,” Lila wagged a finger at EV, “Whatever embarrassing stories I have, you were right there beside me.”

  “True, but you were always the one with the best ideas, I was just the gullible follower.” EV pasted an exaggerated look of innocence on her face, but Lila only hooted.

  Dalton snorted. “I was the bystander; you two were forces of nature.”

  “What about that time you stole a bottle of Zellner’s famous strawberry wine and we…” Javier leaned in a little closer to hear the revelation. “Never mind.”

  The four took the stairs down toward the cafe on the second level of the atrium.

  A charming wrought iron, glass-topped table sat in a patch of watery light. To their left, the view out the large expanse of glass showed another misty day, the sky not just threatening rain, but promising it. From what EV could tell, that was most days this time of year.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lila caught sight of a familiar head of curly blond hair. She let out a low, involuntary hiss and locked eyes with Hannah Frank. Camera phone poised, the quick flash netted her a pho
to of nothing but Lila’s most hateful scowl. Another pointed look sent Hannah scurrying toward the cafe exit, her mouth set in a grim, frustrated line. Lila returned her attention to the table; none of her companions had witnessed the exchange, so she shoved irritation aside and focused on the conversation at hand.

  Talk turned to Ponderosa Pines, while EV and Dalton entertained with the story of how Sasquatch hunters had come to visit their small town. Lila nearly busted a gut laughing as EV described Chloe rising like a wild Yeti ghost and giving them the sharp side of her tongue. Javier’s laughter felt a little forced—EV would have sworn he hadn’t heard half the story; too busy looking his phone as though willing it to make some kind of signal.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.” Javier moved away from the table. There was no answer from Baylee, so he typed a quick text message.

  All clear?

  Lila watched him go with barely-masked concern. “What about your parents, are they well? They must be in their early seventies by now. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen them.” She directed at EV.

  “They’re doing fine. Father finally gave in and turned the foundation over to cousin George four years ago, though he still keeps his hand in when he can.”

  Javier bumped into the table on his return. Lila glanced up with concern, but he composed his features into an expression of interest at the current conversation and ignored her silent question.

  “Mother has slowed down, probably because he is a constant distraction, but she continues to produce one or two new pieces every year.” EV spoke to Lila, but remained acutely aware of Javier’s expression.

  Lila turned to Javier, “It’s a family secret, but EV’s mother goes by her maiden name in the art world: Anna Zemaya.”

  “She would be the genius behind the tapestry in your bedroom, correct?”

  Lila nodded. “Her use of color is exceptional.”