Page 70 of Fake Dark Vows
“So, what happens now? I mean, you’re not going to stay married, are you?”
“We’ll get it annulled when everything settles down, and then I’ll never have to see him again.”
Jess goes quiet again. “How does he feel about it?”
“I don’t know.” I thought I did, but then his reaction over breakfast caught me unawares.
“Don’t you think you should ask him?”
“Maybe.”
“And people always thought you were the sensible one. Look, Rose,” Jess says, “you need to keep your head together, okay? Don’t let him get to you.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good girl. And lay off the champagne.”
I smile as I end the call and peer back inside our sumptuous room. I can’t even begin to imagine how much this trip must’ve cost with first-class flights too, but Brandon takes it all in his stride. He wasn’t even impressed by the gondola. How is this so commonplace that he barely notices his surroundings?
I go back inside to get the sunblock from the bathroom, and spot Brandon’s pants and shirt tossed casually over the arm of the plush couch. Getting his laundry done by the laundry fairy must be something else he doesn’t need to consider. I’m about to walk past when I notice one of his devices on the coffee table.
Did he forget to take it?
I move closer and stare at the Apple logo on the front. He never mentioned Idaho until today, not that I expect him to discuss business with me. But it must be important to drag him away from our engagement trip.
Without thinking, I power up the device and find the lock screen. I wonder what his password would be. I don’t want to pry into Weiss Petroleum’s finances, I only want to find out what’s going on in Idaho. I try several combinations of his name, his parents’ names, and add various number sequences, but no luck. I try Bweiss and his date of birth, and still nothing.
Then I think of Kelly and type in her name with trembling fingers.
Three attempts later and I’m in.
The iPad Pro opens directly onto Brandon’s emails, and I sit down heavily on the couch and read the one that he left open. It’s from Sam, the guy who came to Ruby Island to speak to him. I read the information gleaned from CCTV footage at a warehouse in America Falls and my hand instinctively reaches for my throat.
CHAPTER 23
Brandon
“Business trip?” the cab driver asks through the rearview.
“Something like that.” I barely make eye contact, just enough to glimpse the scar zigzagging through his left eyebrow.
I peer out of the passenger window at the Vegas strip. The pyramids, the neon signs luring tourists into the casinos, the waterfalls and billboards, each one bigger and bolder than the last, vying for attention. I understand the attraction. It’s contagious, the noise, the glitter, the promise of a fortune to be won. But only in small doses.
Rose doesn’t belong here. She belongs in a garden filled with wildflowers or on a pink sandy beach sipping coconut water through a straw.
“Staying long?” the driver asks.
“A few days.” He isn’t getting the hint that I’m in no mood for small talk.
The trip to Idaho was unsuccessful. In fact, that’s an understatement. It was eye opening but in all the wrong ways.
The warehouse with the CCTV footage that Sam’s contact had supposedly hacked into was a derelict building standing on the brink of a sheer cliff. The windows were filthy with years’ worth of grime, and whatever containers Sam claimed they were storing inside were gone. One entrance, locked. Getting in through the back would’ve involved either scaling the cliff or winching down from above, neither of which I was warned about or prepared for.
Sam is avoiding my calls.
He’d been adamant that the CCTV footage was authentic, so adamant that neither of us had considered the very real possibility that he’d been duped. The Russos had contacts. Admittedly, not all of them were in this country, but strings are strings, no matter where the puppet master sits.
After the conversation with Rose over breakfast, I was still determined to make the trip to Idaho worthwhile. Aiming for the top of the fountain of local knowledge—taxi drivers—I hailed a cab, asked the driver to take me to the Russo residence, and tried calling Sam again. Nothing.