Michaels, Skye - Mikaela's Debut [The Black Dahlia Hotel 1] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (7 page)

“No, you’re right. We each have to call our own shots.”

He unfastened the cuffs above her head and carried her, still connected by the most intimate embrace, to the bed. He laid them down on the center of the comforter. He didn’t want to lose the bond a second before he had to. He didn’t know where this emotional vulnerability was coming from, but he knew he needed this connection with Mikaela.

After they had rested for a while, Dillon got up and opened the bottle of champagne. He poured the golden bubbles into two crystal flutes and brought them to the bed. Then he went back for the tray and put it on the bed as well. He handed her a flute and they clinked glasses. “To us, and to the perfect scene and to the perfect way to end it—with a champagne picnic in bed.”

Offices of Court Industries, New York City, Monday morning, December 28, 2015

Morgan watched his beautiful, black-haired, blue-eyed, pregnant wife, Harper, walk into his office and casually pour two cups of coffee from the carafe on his credenza. He knew she was watching him sift through the mail, reports, and miscellaneous items that had piled up on his desk during the Christmas holiday from the corner of her eye. He let her get one of the cups of coffee almost to her mouth before he said, “I hope you aren’t planning to drink that. You know caffeine is not good for the baby.” He lifted one eyebrow, an expression guaranteed to get her goat and take her mind off her coffee craving.

“Ugh. You are so mean. I don’t know why I agreed to put myself through this torture. Morning sickness, big belly, no coffee. It’s not fair.”

“Come here, baby.” When she approached his desk, he let her put down the two cups before he reached out and pulled her into his lap. “I know it’s hard. Were you sick this morning?”

“No. That’s why I wanted the coffee.”

“See? The first trimester is supposed to be the worst for morning sickness. You may be past the worst of it. The bad part is almost over.”

“Ha! The bad part is just beginning.”

“No, it’s not. The fun part is just beginning. I can’t wait to see who pops out of there.” He gently rubbed her small belly, and she all but purred.

“Do you have any news for Jamie Devereau on that mysterious text?”

“I’m waiting for John McGregor to come up and give me a report. I would like to be able to help Jamie out on this. He’s usually the one doing the favors not asking for them.”

“That’s true. He’s a heck of a great guy. Do you know the couple involved?”

“Dillon Cavanaugh and Mikaela Sexton. No. I know he went to school with Jamie and the other Harvard dudes. They just love to give me a raft of shit because I went to MIT and not Harvard. I’d love to be able to solve this thing and rub their noses in it.” He chuckled. “We have a little Cambridge rivalry thing going.”

“That poor woman must be losing her mind over this. I can only imagine waiting every day to see if something is going to pop up on YouTube and ruin your life.”

“Jamie says she has absolutely no memory of the incident and doesn’t know the man. That would suggest the use of a date rape drug.”

“If I can be of any help, let me know. I’m going back to my own office since I can’t get any coffee here.”

“Love you, baby.” He gave her a squeeze and smacked her butt before she scrambled out of his lap.

“Love you more.” She blew him a kiss.

“Not possible.” He smiled at her slightly bigger-than-it-was-three-months-ago butt as she walked out the door. He had to admit he was loving every minute of this experience. Well, almost every minute. Holding her head over the toilet hadn’t been that much fun.

John McGregor knocked on the doorframe. “Boss? Got a minute?”

“Come in, John. What do you have?”

“YouTube is not an easy nut to crack. The team is still working on it.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t Devereau have asked us to crack the Pentagon or something else easy?”

Morgan laughed. “You know Devereau—nothing easy about that guy.”

“Ms. Sexton wasn’t able to give us anything much to work with. She is an only child and apparently very wealthy. Her parents were killed in a plane crash last year, and she was the sole heir of their estate, which was extremely sizable. She doesn’t have any close family—just one cousin who lives in New York that we are going to look into. She had no memory of the incident or the man involved. I am going to run a deep background check on her and see if anything jumps up and bites me.”

“Keep on it, John. I know you’re a little shorthanded due to the holidays. Let me know immediately if you get anything at all.”

* * * *

Maggie Sexton’s apartment in Brooklyn, New York, Monday morning, December 28, 2015

Maggie Sexton sat on the slightly tatty sofa in the front room of her third-floor walk-up apartment. Here it was fifteen years later and she was still in fucking Brooklyn while her cousin, Mikaela Camille Sexton, lived in Greenwich and was featured in magazines and newspaper articles as the society girlfriend of a congressional candidate—and a fucking gorgeous one at that. Mikaela was the head of a charitable foundation for which she took a dollar-a-year salary. She was a paragon of all virtues. It wasn’t fair.

Maggie had had as good an education as Mikaela. She was as good looking as Mikaela. Why had her life gone nowhere? Well, this little caper was going to set her up for life. She couldn’t believe she’d had the foresight, or maybe it was just dumb good luck, not to throw that old video cassette away. She had transferred it to a DVD and uploaded it to her computer and then posted it to YouTube. She would have loved to see Mikaela’s face when she saw her naked butt with the heart-and-roses tattoo riding that dude on the bed in her old apartment.

Now she just had to decide what to do from here. She thought she’d text Mikaela again and demand a cash settlement. She didn’t want to think of it as blackmail. After all, she was entitled to her share of the Sexton fortune.
Just because my dad was a loser doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to my share of the Sexton pie—with ice cream—thank you very much
. Mikaela could well afford to make a contribution to Maggie’s future. How much should she ask for? Maybe three million? No, make that five million. There was probably only going to be one trip to the well, so she had better make it count. She had opened an account at the Bank of Switzerland on Fifth Avenue under the name of a shell corporation. It was ready to receive a deposit. Once she’d had the Bank of Switzerland account, she had been able to open another account at their branch in the Caymans. Once the money was transferred there, it would be gone forever.

* * * *

Mikaela and Dillon were enjoying their week in the sun while they waited for the New Year’s Eve cruise on the
Golden Dolphin
. They had spent their time in bed, in the dungeon, at the pool, and on the beach. It turned out that Mikaela had loved the parasailing. There was no rough takeoff or landing, and she had really felt like she was flying. Despite the fun they were having, the YouTube video was always in the back of her mind like a curse. She would shove it back into its little corner, but it always managed to push up into the forefront of her mind again. Dillon did his best to reassure her that everything would be all right. She hoped and prayed it would, but in the meantime she was making arrangements for her disappearing act should it become necessary.

Mikaela had transferred a large sum of cash into untraceable gift cards that she could use to pay for day-to-day expenses without using credit cards or accessing her accounts. She’d made arrangements for the apartment in San Francisco to be opened and stocked so she wouldn’t have to go out and shop immediately. The title to the apartment was held in the name of a land trust, and did not bear the Sexton name in any way. If the proverbial shit hit the fan, she would be able to lay low for quite a while without having to confront paparazzi every time she left the apartment. She could alter her appearance and be totally off the grid. She knew she would feel like hell for having abandoned Dillon, but she was sure he would be better off if he didn’t have to constantly defend or make excuses for her.

While she waited for the other shoe to drop and for further communication from the blackmailer, she checked YouTube incessantly for another posting showing her face or name. Nothing had surfaced yet. She didn’t know what was worse—waiting for the video to surface or having to confront the aftereffects when it did.

In the meantime, they’d had no news from the Court organization in New York. She hadn’t expected that they would be able to track the text or video. The Internet was a big and dangerous place. She knew they were doing their best to help, but she really didn’t think help would be forthcoming.

* * * *

Maggie Sexton’s apartment in Brooklyn, New York, Tuesday morning, December 29, 2015

Maggie sat at her kitchen table with the prepaid iPhone in front of her. She took a mouthful of the coffee that had gotten cold in the cup. This was it. Should she go ahead? She hadn’t actually done anything illegal yet. If she made a demand for money in exchange for not posting the other video, she would have crossed that line. Of course giving Mikaela a roofie and making the tape in the first place might have also been crossing the line. But that had just been a bad joke, right? Mikaela hadn’t even remembered it the next day. She sat there staring into space. If she had five million dollars in an off-shore account, her life would definitely change. She could quit her crappy job. She could get out of this crappy apartment and say good-bye to the roaches she couldn’t seem to get under control. It was probably true. If there was a nuclear attack on New York City, the only survivors would be the roaches.

Her hand hovered over the send button as she reviewed the text she had composed on the untraceable phone.
If you don’t want 2nd video on YouTube deposit $5m in account number 155867779-0, 127509378721 @ Bank of Switzerland. If $ is not in acct by close of biz Thursday Dec. 31 video will post
. Should she do it? Could she do it?

On the dining terrace at The Black Dahlia Hotel, Fort Lauderdale Beach, Florida, Tuesday morning, December 29, 2015

Dillon and Mikaela were relaxing at the table after enjoying a huge breakfast on the dining terrace. They were planning to spend the morning at the pool getting some sun. This little hotel really was a jewel. He had to talk to Jamie about getting in on the action. Mikaela was just about to reach for the coffee carafe to top off their cups when her phone signaled an incoming text. They both jumped. She looked at him, and her eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Do you want me to get it, babe?”

“Yes. No. Yes. I don’t know.” The text signal continued to chime. Finally, she handed him the phone. He pressed the text icon and the message popped up.

“Son of a bitch. I’m forwarding this to Morgan Court and Jamie.” He quickly accomplished the task.

“Dil, what does it say?” He hesitated. He didn’t want to share this with her, but he had no choice.

“That they will post the second video to YouTube if you don’t deposit five million dollars to an account number at the Bank of Switzerland by close of business on Thursday, December 31.”
He swore. “Are they crazy? Five fucking million dollars? They have to be nuts.”

“Dillon, I can do that if I make the arrangements right now. But the question is should I do it? If I give in and pay will the demands stop, or will they just keep coming back for more? Maybe I should tough it out and tell them to go ahead and post it.”

“I don’t know, Mikaela. It’s a hard call. That is a shitload of money to pay out to a blackmailer with no guarantee that it will solve the problem. Let’s go down to the office and talk to Jamie and Dane.”

“I’m sick to my stomach, Dillon. You go and talk to them. I’m going up to the suite for a couple of minutes.”

“Okay, baby. Try and calm down. I wish I could take my own good advice.”

* * * *

Mikaela’s hands were shaking as she punched the elevator button for their floor.
Shit. This is it. Fish or cut bait
. Should she cut and run? Should she stand and fight? What effect would her decision have on Dillon either way? She could weather a little scandal, but his election campaign might not be able to. And then there was Joe Cavanaugh. If she let this affect Dillon he would never forgive her—and never was a fucking long time over Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners for the rest of her life.

If they had a little more time, the Court Industries security guys might be able to do something. She knew Dillon had sent the text on to them. She opened the door to the suite and walked in. She sat down by the window and began to compose a text of her own.
I don’t know who you are, but you obviously hate me. This is personal. I can feel it. I need more time to get $5m together. All funds are tied up in trusts. I need at least a week. If you post video w/o giving me the opportunity to get the money together we both lose
. Should she send it? Would it help? It might give Court’s people time to find the blackmailer, and it might give her time to make her getaway. She hit
Send
.