Hope to Lie (DeSantos Book 2) Read online

  ...like it’s a bad thing.

  Vi turned purple. “This is what you slept with? The help?”

  Her father shushed her, but it didn’t work.

  “Her fucking hair is blue.”

  “His favorite color,” Alexis said to Vianne, who took two steps toward Alexis before getting captured by her father.

  Chris held up one finger. “Before we go, Mr. Hammond, I’ll be talking to Ellis on Monday. We’ll set up a time for you to meet with him when I call on Tuesday.” Then he turned on his heel and motioned to Alexis they were leaving.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hammond. Bye, Vi,” Alexis managed to get out before moving to catch up with Chris.

  “Bitch,” Vi spat at her back. Chris stopped in his tracks. He took a long breath in and then turned back on Vi, who was still restrained by her father.

  “Chris, it’s okay.” Alexis put her hand on his chest. She’d maneuvered in front of him.

  He covered it with his own. Then he did something totally unexpected. He leaned in and kissed Alexis on the lips.

  Books by A.R. Case

  DeSantos trilogy:

  Dead in the Water

  Hope to Lie

  Book 3 coming soon

  Destroyers Series:

  Down in Blood

  Dreams in the Dark

  Book 3 releasing in 2020

  Available in Kindle e-book and print on Amazon.

  DeSantos Trilogy – Book 2

  A.R. Case

  Hope to Lie

  Published by A.R. Case

  Copyright 2019 by A.R. Case

  ISBN 9781707590001 (paperback)

  ASIN B081B9CJDQ (e-Book)

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or places are coincidental.

  Hope to Lie

  Contents

  Chapter 1 — Gucci suitcases

  Chapter 2 — Blue

  Chapter 3 — Whitehead

  Chapter 4 — Truth or Lies

  Chapter 5 — The Cave

  Chapter 6 — Verify

  Chapter 7 — Ghost

  Chapter 8 — Family

  Chapter 9 — Ice Sculpture

  Chapter 10 — A Prince of a guy

  Chapter 11 — Shoes

  Chapter 12 — All cranked up

  Chapter 13 — Celebration

  Chapter 14 — Territory

  Chapter 15 — A gold mine

  Chapter 16 — Pawn

  Chapter 17 — VIP

  Chapter 18 — Plans

  Chapter 19 — Dogs

  Chapter 20 — Magnets

  Chapter 21 — Secrets

  Chapter 22 — Possessions

  Chapter 23 — Paying debts

  Chapter 24 — Good cop

  Chapter 25 — A long story

  Chapter 1 — Gucci suitcases

  Atlantic City

  There were three Gucci suitcases lined up in the hallway. Chris DeSantos stepped between them and the door, which was still open, to avoid being barreled over by Vianne’s roommate. His on-again, off-again girlfriend was at the top of the stairs. He could see Vi was pissed.

  “You’re late.” Her voice held a note of scorn.

  “I’m right on time.” Lord knows if he’d arrived earlier, he would have to wait longer for her to finish packing, or getting ready, or something. So arriving exactly at 7:30 wasn’t late.

  Vi breezed past him, the frown on her face turned into a scowl directed at him. She was half-dressed in a short black tunic that showed her ass cheeks and thong as it flared out.

  “Where are your pants?” His voice was lost into the void as she disappeared into the downstairs bathroom.

  “I’m not wearing pants to Chi’s birthday bash.” Her muffled voice came from inside along with some clinks and at least one clatter of something being dropped.

  “You don’t even know Chi that well.” Hell, Chris didn’t know the artist who was having a big soiree in New York City. It was an “it” event. If you were in their inner circle, you got an invite. If not, you read about it the next day in society blogs Chris couldn’t give a rat’s ass about.

  Problem was, a crowded party was not in his plans for the start of his long-anticipated weekend retreat. He’d booked a swanky vacation home about as far south as you could get along the coast and still be within the civilized sections of New Jersey. It was supposed to be a getaway for him, and luxurious enough with predelivered catered meals guaranteed to appease Vi’s tastes. Lastly, it was his birthday. He invited her to go with him on the odd hope she’d actually be a girlfriend and help him celebrate turning a God-awful forty years old.

  “And, we’re going to the rental tonight.” Not north to a damned party for someone else, and an even more damned expensive stay in Manhattan.

  She paused on the way past him to the stairs, make-up kit in hand. It matched the bags at his feet, and while it was only half as big, it was much larger than the more sensible clutch bag his cousin carted her numerous pencils, lotions, and other gunk in. Lisa was high maintenance, or so he’d thought until he met Vianne. Of course, Lisa was the same as he was, third-generation Italian-American and one generation of separation from outlaw bikers. This pedigree made him heir to criminal enterprises that were better left in the past.

  Vianne, in contrast, was Money with a capital M. Her mother was Old Money, capital O and M. Her father, a casino executive and one of Chris’s best accounts, was New Money. Again, with capitals for emphasis because the figures deserved respect. Despite the money his father had squirreled away, it wouldn’t ever come close to the type of money Vi’s father moved.

  When Vianne thrust herself upon him a year and a half ago, it wasn’t really an option to say no. If Chris had, he ran the risk of offending her father. He did try at first. But what Vi wanted, she got. And what she wanted was a biker-looking bad boy complete with tattoos strategically placed to be hidden under dress clothes, and only as long as he cleaned up well.

  She didn’t know the first thing about bikers, or tattoos, or bad boys.

  He let it slide because Chris gave up that lifestyle at eighteen. He traded it for goals, bills, responsibility, physical therapy, pain, and did he mention bills?

  Vi made it fun for a while, but her drama got old. Shit like changing his plans and not caring he shelled out a lot of money for them. Worse were the expectations that he’d shell out even more money to go along with her plans. Last week, she made last-minute restaurant changes. And three weeks before, it was trading a quiet night at his place for dancing at a club.

  He was done. The year had been shit, with people tightening their belts, downsizing on almost every budget, and worse, limiting new construction which bode ill for his sign company. Advertising and building were his bedfellows. Take them away and he was insolvent. It wasn’t dire yet, but he couldn’t keep throwing money away. A wise move would be diversify before it was too late.

  She glared at him. “I’m going to New York.”

  “Yeah?” He glared right back.

  “Yes, Mr. Broody. Daddy sent a car unless you insist on driving.”

  “Daddy put up for the hotel, too?”

  She waved a hand. “Psh. We’re staying with my cousin. It’ll be a party for you.”

  That was not going to go well. Vi’s cousin was trouble. A former model, former student, former a lot of things. But one thing she wasn’t was responsible. If V
i was spoiled, her cousin was a terror. “You bringing extra money for the coke?”

  “Oh, fuck off with your high and mighty shit. Nothing wrong with a little fun now and then. Besides, it’s not coke, and it’s practically legal.”

  “In what country, Colombia?”

  “Don’t be rude.”

  That was her answer to just about everything he did. She retreated back up the stairs to collect something else “essential” for a weekend stay.

  “I’ll let myself out.” He didn’t say it as loud as he wanted to, but a mumbled response from upstairs proved she heard him.

  He set the latch to lock behind him and gave one of the overpriced suitcases a soft kick before pulling the door shut on his ass.

  The steps were getting icy and the rain had changed to a mix of snow and shit that didn’t bode well for driving. The temperature was dropping since the sun set over an hour ago. His steal of a used Mercedes coupe sat on the street getting iced. Maybe he should beg his brother for his beast of a truck. Chris shook off the thought. He never asked Tony for shit. Never would, if he could help it. Little brothers came to older brothers for help, not the other way around. The one time his brother stepped up was the same day he’d been left to bleed out on the street.

  A black town car pulled up to the curb as he pulled away.

  “Good riddance,” he said out loud in the comfort of his car.

  She’d spend all weekend doing God knows what and call him on Wednesday if she hadn’t hooked some rich trust fund heir apparent. Chris knew he was a temporary boyfriend, the bad boy who had just enough “success” to be acceptable to Daddy. Mother, on the other hand, didn’t like him at all. Vi was a lot like her mother. One of these days, she’d dump his ass with no regrets.

  That was fine with him. However, Vi had to call it off first so he could save face with his account. Life didn’t get any less full of shit as you scrabbled up the rungs, just different shit which had to be put up with.

  An hour and a half into what should have been less than an hour’s drive, he was rethinking his life choices. The rental was less than a mile away, but some numb-nuts almost ran him off the road. The van going north slid sideways as it accelerated from the stoplight. He’d seen it coming and tossed his car in reverse to push the tail of his sports car into the parking lane. Just in time, too. The van’s back bumper missed his front by inches.

  Chris craned his neck to see the diminishing taillights swerve some more before disappearing into the fog.

  Snow, ice, fog. The mid-December blizzard was hitting hard. Down here, the wintry mix of wet, slippery crap was piling up. He secretly hoped Vi was stuck in some three-star motel near nowhere. Or better yet, stuck in a drift with the driver, freezing in the tiny outfit she called a dress.

  He inched along, vowing to kiss the ground when he got to his destination. Well, maybe not kiss the ground, but start a warm fire in the fireplace and sip some damn good whiskey in a toast to safety.

  ~~~~~~~

  A half-hour earlier, miles south

  “What do you mean the gig’s been canceled?” Dylan White slurred his words. Alexis cringed.

  “Just what I said, canceled. If we don’t have a full band and the bar has no customers, we don’t get paid.”

  “That’s bullshit.” He started to stand up from the barstool where he’d spent the last hour drinking his ass off while Alexis called the other band members trying to find out their ETA. It was time to admit defeat when the drummer told her he was turning around. Some asshole spun out in front of him, clipping his front bumper. Unfortunately for her, Dylan wasn’t cut from the same sensible cloth as the other guys. Doubly unfortunate was his propensity to drink, a lot.

  “Don’t worry, they comped the food and your drinks, but that’s the last one. Bar’s closed.” She was only being half helpful by pointing at his current drink. In her heart, it sounded much more sarcastic.

  “Well fuck them. We’ll get back to AC in time to set up at The Cave and score some tips.”

  “Hand me the keys.”

  “What the fuck, Al?”

  “You’re drunk.” Again.

  “So? You don’t have a license. Fuck off.”

  The bartender took Dylan’s drink. “We’re closing.” He looked at Alexis. “You got a place to stay? It’s getting bad out there.”

  No, she didn’t. When the gig was over, she’d been hoping to crash at the keyboardist’s house. His wife was nice and didn’t give her funny looks like the drummer’s wife. “Is there a motel nearby?”

  “South, about a mile.”

  She nodded and collected her gear, including the three-hundred-dollar mic and in-ear monitor kit she’d bought herself as an early Christmas present. Her laptop and launchpad were packed in her padded bag along with a change of clothes and a couple power bars. Hell, there was more than that in the bag. Old habits die hard, and her lifestyle didn’t exactly warrant giving up a one-stop, all-purpose duffel bag that held almost all her life’s possessions. She had more clothes at Dylan’s place, and she irrationally hoped he would come to his senses and continue to let her stay on as a roommate rather than charging in sex.

  Despite his hippie parentage, Dylan was a piece of shit. All the grace of his name, the lifestyle his parents had provided and still provided, meant nothing. He played a mean bass, though. That’s why the band kept him. He had the sound equipment, too, courtesy of those same parents. They supported his “career” playing cover tunes at every dive on the Jersey coast. He had what it took to create his own music, at least in skill, but not in drive or imagination. That was Alexis’s domain. She’d hooked up with the group because the guys were solid, the gigs paid regular money, and she was never asked to provide a social security number or ID to collect cash. Not that she was on the run or anything, just not ready to go back to being plain old Mary Alexander from Pennsylvania coal country. She was fake, from her dyed hair to her last name, Canens. It was the way she liked it.

  The lights went out on the bar sign and she inhaled the very last ghosts of the empty bar before going outside. In moments like these, she sensed the echoes of all the bands who had been there before. Some good, some bad. But all of them left their energy. The vibrancy drew her back for more, every time. The stage, currently hidden in the shadows, was her home and her love. When she had to leave, it waited for her. She knew it was the one place she could always count on.

  Dylan threw his stuff in the van and still didn’t give her the keys.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to get to the motel?”

  “What motel?”

  “The one that’s about a mile south of here .” She pulled up the address on her phone. The app was draining her already low battery. “Here.” She pointed to the blue route on her phone.

  “We’re not wasting money at no damn motel.” He eyed her. “Unless you’ve decided you’re going to start putting out again?”

  No question, he was an utter shit, she thought. “Not happening.”

  “Fine. Be a prude. No motel.”

  “But it’s snowing.”

  Dylan looked out the windshield and turned the wipers on. “Raining. It’s fine.”

  “There’s ice on the sidewalk already.”

  He shrugged and threw the minivan he’d been awarded via parental donation into gear. “Roads are fine.”

  Alexis took extra care to make certain her seatbelt was buckled and her precious bag safely lodged between the seats where it could get tossed around the least. “You still should let me drive.”

  “And you get in an accident with no license, and I can’t get insurance to pay me back on this fucking piece of shit? No.”

  The cold of the van’s inside became almost as bad as the cold outside. Alexis braced herself for a long, angry, silent ride home.

  They wound up the coast. They had just crossed a second, horribl
y slippery bridge and were passing through a particularly nice residential neighborhood when the van’s tires started slipping. It went sideways, clipping a mailbox and taking out a shrub alongside the road. Dylan tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. “Whew. That was fun, huh?”

  “No.”

  “It speaks.”

  “You know, you’re an ass.”

  He slammed on the brakes, causing the van to turn completely sideways on the road. “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, get the fuck out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re an ungrateful bitch. My band, my car, none of it is fucking good enough. You breeze in like a fucking know-it-all and take over shit — my shit — and think you can run it like you’re the fucking queen. From your constant nagging to play fewer covers, to the way you boss around the other guys about how to play, it’s fucking old. Well newsflash, little girl, you ain’t shit. Covers make the money, your fucking songs won’t ever make it big, and they suck. So get the fuck out.”

  Alexis blinked. “But…”

  “But nothing. Get out before I throw you out and then pawn your shit.”

  She grabbed her bag. “Fine. I’d be safer freezing to death than riding with your stupid drunk ass!”

  The door didn’t slam like she’d planned because she slipped on the icy road as she tried to push it closed. The van took off, spinning dangerously close to her and her bag. Luckily, she dragged her belongings with her onto the grassy bank next to the road as Dylan drove away.

  Her ass was wet where it landed in the solitary, non-snow-filled puddle that filled the hollow at the bottom of the slope.

  She dug out her phone. Three percent battery. The navigation app had drained away almost all the life. Closing it and pulling up the rideshare app she had installed, she searched for a nearby car.

  There was a message on the app warning of longer than normal wait times and major delays, not to mention higher prices due to the weather. She didn’t have the money budgeted to cover the expensive trip. “Fucking great.”

  She looked up and down the road. No one was out. This end of the beach town was deserted, or so it seemed.