Rooked Read online

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just showed up. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

  Go home, stupid bitch, he thought, unpersuaded by her wasted attempts at puppy dog eyes.

  “It’s late, I’m not sure I’m in the mood, Raina.”

  “I’ve had a really bad day,” she said, anxiously looking over her shoulder back toward the elevators, “and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, and you were the only person I could think of who had any reason to miss me.”

  Miss you? He could have laughed right there in her face at the thought. But the cloudiness plaguing his brain had begun to dissipate, and he decided there may be an upside to inviting her in and playing out their fake romance for one more night. Other than an easy blow job. Unbeknownst to her, he knew exactly why she was so wasted. He had seen the interview with Shirley Stapleton, it was only a matter of time before the entire truth came out. Based on her current inebriated state, maybe she would have more to say that he could use to help Ara. Or at least get back in her good graces.

  Raina bumped into the walls as she walked down the corridor, reaching the wet bar and pouring herself an unnecessary splash of his fifteen-year-old Pappy Van Winkle. Nodding to her in agreement, Raina poured a second fat pour and handed him the glass before falling back onto the sofa with exaggerated exhaustion.

  “Life’s a bitch. Or she’s a bitch, I don’t even know anymore.” She sighed, swirling her glass. “I’m a bitch.”

  Dan’s hands tightened, pressing his prints deep into the tumbler. Having to listen to her nonsense was going to be harder than he thought. He should hate Ara right now, but, of course, he didn’t. He was booked on simple assault charges and probably would get off with a fine if she even pursued it. All in all, the damage would be minimal.

  “She is always ruining everything for me. Making me look like shit. I’m not a shit!”

  He hushed her. Despite his building being advertised as sound proof, it was New York City. The walls vibrated with the lives of your neighbors. “Do you mind enlightening me on who we are talking about?”

  “My stuck-up bitch of a stepsister. The one whose husband was murdered.” Raina’s words were now slurring almost beyond comprehension but she continued, “Who am I kidding, she probably did it. I can’t even say I’d blame her given what she found out about him.”

  Jumping to his feet, Dan caught himself before grabbing Raina by the throat and launching her off the fire escape. He had to be cool.

  “You should be careful with accusations like that. Spitting out lies could damage a lot of people. Yourself included.”

  “Did you see what Shirley freaking Stapleton and her drama horny geek squad did to the interview?” She clearly hadn’t heard a word he said.

  Dan sipped the bourbon, allowing it to linger in his mouth longer than usual as he considered the woman sitting in front of him: narcissistic, self-serving, sleeping her way through her insecurities.

  “Why would I have seen an interview conducted by Shirley Stapleton? Shows like that are meant to stir drama, infuriate the audience. I’m surprised you even agreed to go on.”

  “I don’t know, because I asked you to watch? Arabelle, Barry, they all thought it was a good idea to help Ara. So, of course, what do I do, I agree and play along. Now I am going to be the one that looks like shit.” Spittle leaped from Raina’s lips, spraying Dan. “I probably won’t even be able to leave my goddamn house.” Withdrawing to a childlike pout, she swirled her drink, watching closely as it spun around and around the glass.

  It’s all about you. “People can see through the nonsense.”

  “I had an affair with my sister’s husband, and now he’s dead. People are going to see me for exactly what I am.”

  Playing the part, Dan stepped in between Raina’s spread legs and lifted her chin, smiling as comfortingly as he could stomach. “That is pretty bad,” he said. “But half this city is sleeping with each other. Trust me, people will get over it.”

  “Not when the cheater is a congressman’s son who was murdered! If things had just gone as planned, none of this would have happened, but no, Brad was weak, saw the test, and crumbled to his knees.”

  “What test, Raina? What plan?”

  She gulped back her drink, retching at the burn. Standing, she seesawed to the back bedroom, sloshing what was left of her drink on the comforter as she sat on the bed. Dan rushed over, taking the glass before any more damage could be done to his luxury duvet. “What are you talking about, Raina?”

  “I am talking about you,” she said, awkwardly bopping his nose with her pointer finger. She spread her legs, revealing a sheer black thong, touching herself with the same hand she’d nearly poked his eye out with. “And how you are going to kiss me. Here.” Gently, she massaged herself, moving her tongue to her upper lip. If he wasn’t wasted, this raunchy scene would have been unbearable. Luckily, a night of heavy boozing purged the blood through his veins.

  “Tell me what test first.”

  Laughing. “The pregnancy test. We had a plan, him and me, but then he saw that freaking test in the trash and he caved like a little bitch. And now he’s freaking dead, Ara knows everything, and I’m screwed.” He twirled her around, forcing her face down on the bed. He unbuckled his pants, then lifted her skirt and moved her teaser thong to the left and pushed himself inside her.

  Positive she was guilty of committing more than one heinous betrayal to Ara, Dr. Dan grabbed a fistful of her hair, wrapping it around his hand and wrist, arching her back as he pulled, taking her from behind. Raina was dirty in every sense of the word.

  When they were done, he flattened onto the bed next to her, gasping for air.

  “Glad I came by? Sounded like you needed that.” She moved her head up to the pillow, turning to her back, leaving her skirt disheveled up at her waist.

  Sighing, he moved up to his side of the bed. “You bet. Let me grab you a night cap.”

  Moments later, he returned with a refilled glass, this time with an added shot of Ambien. Not that she needed it. She practically drugged herself prior to her arrival, but he needed her out cold.

  She gulped down the drink in a single shot before snuggling back onto the pillows, her breath deepening to a hum.

  Dan finished the remainder of his own cocktail; liquid courage couldn’t hurt right now. He adjusted her panties and pulled her skirt back down to cover her bare ass.

  Halfway through, he decided she needed to pay for what she did to Ara. First he placed one hand around her throat, pushing slightly, but the stiffness of her neck repulsed him. Growing up in rural America, he was the only child on his street that hated killing bugs. The crunching noise their pathetic frames made when the life was removed made him cringe. Imagining the sensation on a human made his skin crawl.

  Standing back, he wondered why couldn’t she just die on her own, overdose on the cocktail of “I messed up” feel betters? For years, he watched as she infiltrated Ara and Brad’s life. It was calculated and strategic. She clearly wanted to hurt her stepsister and for a smart man, Brad Bugia sure could be stupid. Ara was so innocent, so unaware, never noticing the treachery surrounding her in those she loved.

  Lunging for his feather pillow, Dan pushed down on Raina’s face with all of his strength, but no matter how hard he pushed her stomach continued to rise and fall with life.

  Disgusted, Dan sat back against the wall, head in hands. Apparently, he was a monster, just not the type that could kill. The booze hit him like a lightning bolt, sending him up to the bed. He pushed the pillow off Raina’s face, wrapping an arm around her, he whispered into her ear, “I will make sure you get yours, I promise,” before nodding off into a deep, hazy sleep.

  ***

  Harley sat in the lobby, waiting for the mysterious woman to return from the elevator. The night guard glanced over every five minutes or so, most likely debating whether or not a barely five foot, properly-dressed woman was c
onsidered a threat.

  Harley fed him a line earlier about waiting on a boyfriend, but as the clock ticked, the guard’s suspicions rose.

  “You a rockette?”

  Her questioning look was reciprocated with the security guard’s plump finger pointing at her tapping high heels. She hadn’t noticed the nervous melody prior.

  “Do I look like I’m five ten?” she snarled.

  “I hear the ones on the end of the lines only have to be five six.”

  Moron. “I’m only five foot. Sorry, I’ll stop the tapping.”

  The night guard shrugged and went back to flipping through an outdated Sports Illustrated.

  Harley grabbed her purse and marched to the elevator. This squatty troll wouldn’t stand in her way. Moments later, she used a spare key to enter Dr. Dan’s apartment.

  The spare key he kept at the office was meant for emergencies only but it didn’t stop her from sneaking over when she knew he was out of town. She’d run a bath, pour herself a glass of cheap red he wouldn’t notice opened, and fantasize about a life they would share. A future she was certain of, until a few months ago when the doctor began to distance himself. At first she was nothing short of supportive. Bringing him tea, rubbing his shoulders, letting him take out his stress by having her heartless and hard against his desk. But the tension never left his body, and she was left bitten with abandonment. His heart was bleeding for another, she could tell.

  The television was still blaring, and the lights were all on. The apartment looked more disheveled then she’d seen it before. Stepping out of her heels, she crept toward the bedroom. She closed her eyes tight before pushing open the door to his bedroom. Naked, his arm flung around the mystery woman. Stunned and indignant, anger erupted through Harley’s body.

  In just three small steps, she was standing next to them, watching as their stomachs rose and fell in unison. She kissed her middle finger before brushing it against Dan’s bare arm, watching a few hairs rise on his neck before she slowly turned to leave.

  When she got to the hallway her pace quickened, and by the time she was out of the elevator ,she was in a full on sprint. Racing past the guard, she pushed through the revolving door, the cool air whipping at her face.

  “I love your wild side. Crazy and beautiful go hand in hand,” the doctor used to say as she sat with arms crossed on the couch, guarding herself as she was brought up to do.

  He’d touch her upper thigh and kiss her neck, whispering sweet taunts, how she was free to show him who she wanted to be. Back then he wanted to see her crazy. And now he would.

  CHAPTER 43

  “How could you be so stupid?”

  Ara picked at her cuticles, choosing anything over eye contact with her mother.

  “Answer me, Ara. Is that what you intended when you brought Raina on Shirley Stapleton with you, make our family look like a bunch of hillbillies?”

  “Do I have to remind you that you were there when we made the decision?” Ara knew her mother was furious that her high-paid attorney had a role in masterminding a move she now viewed as such a dreadful mistake.

  “You put a match to some very ugly opinions. They are going to roast your sister over an open flame.” Arabelle shared Raina’s flare for dramatics.

  “Stepsister. Plus, how was I supposed to know Raina would react like that? We’d hardly spoken until you intruded in my business as usual and made me apologize to her. Obviously, she was avoiding me for certain reasons.”

  “You threw her under the bus. There’s not a dusting of truth to that affair between her and Brad; I would have known about it.”

  Ara’s laughter could no longer be contained. Typical of her mother to not see the obvious, turning a blind eye when she wanted. “You would have? How? We hardly even speak. Unless, of course, your little minion Raina would have told you.”

  “You are losing control of this situation. Brad wasn’t perfect, but he was a good partner. Look at what they are saying about him now. You are turning your marriage into tabloid trash.”

  Sometimes it was easier not to fight. “You don’t know anything about our marriage, Mother. You weren’t even sober at the damn ceremony.”

  Arabelle walked to the window, pulling a pack of Marlboro Menthols from her Chanel clutch, a habit Ara thought she’d kicked years ago. Guess drinking isn’t her only vice. “What is wrong with this thing?” she asked, fighting with the window before realizing it could only be opened about an inch.

  “They only open a crack.”

  Her mother looked back blankly.

  “They don’t want you jumping out and knocking out a poor pedestrian on your way down.”

  Mumbling a slew of cuss words under her breath, Arabelle shut the window and walked to the door, stopping before opening it.

  “I am tired of this childish competition between you and her. Peter and I tried to always make the best decisions for both of you. Obviously he is furious with you now, but we always treated you two equally.”

  Ara needed this conversation to be over. “Keep telling yourself that. I’m not apologizing again to her, and I’m sure as hell not going to support her publicly. If that is what you are here for, do us both a favor and save us the time of an argument and leave.”

  Arabelle smirked and turned, leaving her alone in her apartment.

  “Damnit!” Ara screamed out loud, her mother had the worst timing.

  Lane hadn’t answered a call or text from her all day. She was sure after having time to think, he was disgusted with her for sleeping with Dr. Dan. With everything happening with the interview, they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it.

  When her call went to voicemail for the third time, Ara could feel her anxiety building. The last thing she wanted was for Lane to be angry with her. Kicking herself, she wished she’d told him the whole story after he showed up at Dan’s apartment, instead of blindsiding him in front of the detectives. Even though he didn’t have much to say after the interview, he did just make love to her that morning like they never had before . . . . Maybe she was being irrational, but he never went this long without checking in.

  You’ve reached Detective Lane Bene . . .

  Frustrated, she clicked into her text messages. Nothing.

  Desperate pleas alternated in her head: Please don’t hate me, please pick up.

  Lane gave her something Brad never could, selfless love, and now she was at risk of losing it all because of Dr. Dan. Did she really ruin the one good thing that came from this nightmare?

  CHAPTER 44

  Driving across the river and uptown, Maro repeated everything they had on the doctor out loud to Ameno. Any manipulation of a doctor-patient relationship was sickening, but to breach that boundary with a seventeen-year-old girl who’d just lost her father was unfathomable. Sick or not, though, it didn’t prove murder. If they were really going to nail the son of a bitch, they needed something more to build their case on.

  The doctor’s office was quiet for midday. The afternoon time slots typically booked with housewives, fitting their appointments between Pilates and lunch dates. Scanning the empty reception room, Ameno turned the appointment book around so he could read the notes, noting the time had been blocked off. A television on the far wall played the Ellen DeGeneres Show, while a second TV adjacent read the news through closed captioning. The bubbly receptionist was nowhere to be found. Last time they were here, she’d buzzed around like a fly on shit, implementing fake meetings through coded words and phrases so the doctor could excuse himself from their conversation. Maro couldn’t deny the feeling that something was wrong.

  “Should we call for backup?” Ameno said as he reached for his radio.

  “Not yet, let’s just see what we find first.”

  Hernandez’s warning replayed in Maro’s head. By the books, Ben, she had said. The fewer people in the room, the easier it was to cover up any questionable tactics. He went behind the desk, looking for anything that stood out, but everything seemed to be in place.
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  Ameno called out the doctor’s name a few times. The forced air spilling through the vents was the only sound.

  “Let’s check his office,” Maro said, already moving toward the closed door. He knocked three times to no response. Jiggling the handle, the detective discovered it was unlocked and quietly pushed it open.

  Standing in the doorway, the office appeared normal. Everything tucked in place—except for an expensive man’s dress shoe peeking out from behind the desk.

  The detectives rushed over to see a body sprawled on the floor. Maro put two fingers to the neck, which was covered in thick red blood, confirming what they already knew. Dr. Daniel DaVadere was dead.

  The office was completely intact, indicating there had been no struggle. The stab wound to his neck was small, but effective. Based on the intimacy of the crime scene, Maro could guess the doctor knew his killer. More so, that he’d been caught off guard, leaving no time to defend himself.

  “Call it in,” Maro said, grudgingly accepting that a stab wound to Dan’s neck ended his chance at finding out any additional details from the doctor. His first thought would have been suicide, but the lack of weapon nearby made that theory impossible.

  Someone got to the pedophile doc first and the NYPD were going to have a field day. Two Jersey City cops calling in the dead body of an Upper East Side doctor? Any snafu on the case would surely be blamed on “boys across the river not knowing how to handle a big city crime scene.” As expected, as soon as the local cops arrived, Maro and Ameno were pushed back behind crime tape. City detectives pulled them to the side, asking what they’d seen and why they’d wanted to talk to that doctor.

  Maro understood their names would surely only be mentioned if the case went to shit, but didn’t mind the big ol’ boys in blue taking the credit. He was focused on his case back in Jersey. Killing someone midday, in a surprise attack, screamed personal, and he could think of a few people who wanted the doctor dead.