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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: BIG PICTURE
“You were following him that night,” the lawyer snapped into his phone at the well-recommended investigator. Angry more at himself than Marcus, he sat hunched in the chair he’d tied Max to the night before. “Explain to me how you don’t know how he got those photos.”
He was angry. Pissed that nothing seemed to make sense this morning. Not this case. Not his work. Not fucking Max Wells.
He’d been stewing all day since he’d woken up at 6:30 this morning to find her already gone. No longer sweetly naked and curled up with him on the comfortable black leather couch he kept in his office. Not in the office at all. Her things and her car gone.
No note.
No goodbye.
Just gone.
His teeth set on edge.
“He didn’t take the pictures.” Marcus’s calm voice bringing him back to the present. “There’s no way he did. He wasn’t even in the area at the time. He was in his brownstone all night. He’s got someone else working with or for him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet,” the detective admitted grudgingly. “I’m looking into other members in his church, but none of the leads have panned out. We’re also looking into the restaurant staff. Maybe they’ve been getting a little off-books overtime.”
“Call me the instant you have something concrete.” The counselor pressed his fingers against his temple. “I want proof.” He hung up before he flicked through his email, skimming through the various messages.
He had people tracking Wayne’s every electronic move. What he searched. What he bought. What he received.
Wayne had been busy. Buying spy cams and bugs and all sorts of Bond-esque gear. After scrutinizing Wayne’s online banking, he could see that the man had spent a significant amount of money at a home improvement store, enough for paint and tools to trash Hallie’s store.
It was incriminating, to be sure. But it wasn’t enough. Not only could he not use any of it in court—should it come to that—having been obtained...creatively but, without something like a corresponding bug in hand to corroborate the implications, it was also all circumstantial. After all, all Wayne needed to say was that he was looking into updating his restaurant’s security system but that he decided against those particular items and tossed them.
They needed more to take Wayne down.
He didn’t want to go to Max or Hallie with piddling evidence. He wanted to say definitively that he’d gotten Wayne. He wanted to promise that Wayne would never bother either of them ever again.
Especially Max.
He’d done this to her. By sending Wayne’s wife the pictures of him with the sex worker. He should have seen this coming, should have known that Wayne would retaliate.
He just hadn’t thought Wayne would drag anyone else into this. Especially not Max. She—even more than Pip or Lynn or Sara—had so much to lose by this because she so rarely lost. He hated to see her weakened by this. He so admired her strength, her fire, her fight, that it bothered him—tortured him—to see her brought low by this.
By him.
He had to fix this. Had to make it right. Had to give her back her fire. He owed her that much.
He wanted to give her more.
“Sir?” Elin said into the office intercom. “Sir?”
“Yes?” he answered.
“You’ll want to turn on the local news now,” she told him. “Ms. Wells is making an announcement.”
He turned on his television, clicking through the channels until he saw Max on the screen. Perfectly polished from her coiffed red curls to her professionally tailored suit, Max presented a poised, impressive front.
“This kind of discrimination is unacceptable in this day in age.” Standing in front of Hallie’s shop, microphone in hand, she made a great face for the cause, made stronger by the bustling volunteers surrounding her. “Hallie Hannings is a beautiful talent and a great addition to this neighborhood. But, if Lionel Wayne and his followers have their way, no one will ever see it.”
The screen shifted to previously filmed shots panning over protesters holding signs calling Hallie a “Jezebel.” Other signs warned of the effects such a smut-seller would have on children, turning sons into sex-fiends and daughters into whores. Others still ominously proclaimed that she and her ilk marked the breakdown of family values and societal morals.
Ridiculous.
Max’s voice continued over the feed. “They want to run her out of town simply for the crime of being a woman with a dream.”
The show cut back to the trusted yet perky blond anchor who announced, “And now, in our studio, we have Mr. Lionel Wayne, head of the campaign protesting the opening of Bits ‘n’ Pieces, and his wife, Mrs. Eliza Wayne. Mr. Wayne, please explain why you’re so against Ms. Hannings’s boutique.”
“Thank you for having us, Wendy.” Wayne, impeccably groomed, gave the camera a devastating smile, a charming skin over a snake. His wife, a prim-looking woman, sat tight-lipped but supportive next to him.
“We’ve nothing against anyone, man or woman, pursuing their entrepreneurial dreams,” Wayne said directly into the camera, “after all, I myself am a businessman. But I’m also a husband and a father first. And our neighborhood is full of family-friendly shops and restaurants. My restaurant alone does most of its business with families with children of all ages. And we feel that an adult-oriented sex shop just doesn’t fit in with our ideals and goals for our neighborhood.”
“It’s not a sex shop,” Max pointed out, causing the camera to cut over to her. “Bits ‘n’ Pieces is a high-end lingerie boutique, filled with exquisite, exclusive creations for women with discerning tastes.” Again, they cut over to stock footage of large-chain lingerie stores in the neighborhood. “As you can see, mere blocks from Hallie Hannings’s boutique, these so-called ill-fitting stores have already come into this neighborhood without a blink of an eye. No one protested when they set up shop. What makes Bits ‘n’ Pieces so special?”
The camera came back to her. “Look back at the protesters’ signs. They aren’t attacking Hallie as a business owner. They’re attacking her as a woman. How dare she, as a woman, sell anything remotely sexual to other women? How dare she, as a woman, encourage other women to embrace and enjoy their sensuality? What a threat Hallelujah Hannings must pose to the women of their neighborhood. I can certainly see why Lionel Wayne and the good men following him might be scared.”
The lawyer sat back in his office chair and smiled, beaming with such pride as he watched her speak.
Wayne straightened. “I am scared, Wendy. Scared for my daughter and son, though they’re both fully grown and were raised with strong values. But my niece and nephew are both under the age of twelve and still very impressionable. And I’m terrified by the message that woman’s store is selling them.” He shook his head sorrowfully and took his wife’s hand, patting it comfortingly, more for his audience than the frowning woman shaking her head disapprovingly.
“What about you, Mrs. Wayne,” the anchor asked, “what are your thoughts?”
Eliza Wayne bit her lip and looked at her husband who nodded encouragingly at her. She took a deep breath. “I’ve seen her website, Wendy. She doesn’t just sell undergarments. She sells sex toys and bondage gear. Lubricants and chemical stimulants. It’s hard enough to try to instill good morals in our children these days without it invading our neighborhoods.”
Her husband added, “And I know for a fact that Ms. Hannings is involved with—is receiving funding and support from—Donovan’s, a known purveyor of sexual deviance and vice. She herself is a member of that club and is often seen there in attendance with questionable parties.”
“Donovan’s,” Max admitted, “has been unbelievably generous to Hallie’s cause. Providing not only financial contributions, but also lending storage space during construction, as well as calling its members en masse to volunteer. It, like her, is a pillar of this city with a social conscience that should be applauded. As for sexual deviancy or indecency, both Donovan’s and Hallie have broken no laws. And the questionable party Mr. Wayne is referring to is Rachel Haut, owner of Haut Coffee Cafe and Hallie Hannings’s girlfriend. The very idea that any of them have anything to hide or be ashamed of is not only outdated, Mr. Wayne, but offensive.”
Max straightened her shoulders. “And as for her shop’s wares, as I said, Hallie’s shop stands as a champion of female-empowered sexuality, in all its many and varied forms. There is nothing wrong with any of the items sold in her store. In fact, many of them have opened and improved the sexual lives and health of innumerable women everywhere. And, the fact of the matter is,” she continued, “if a man opened the same shop in the same space, no one would think twice. Because a man selling women ways to better attract other men is perfectly acceptable—as a country and a people, we’ll make them rich off of that—but a woman selling those same women confidence and empowerment...” She shrugged. “For that, we grab protest signs and injunctions like pitchforks and torches.”
Remote in hand, the counselor sat back, smug with satisfaction, when the camera cut back to the studio. “I have to ask, Ms. Wells, why are you in this fight?” Wendy asked. “You’re a senior editor at Elysia Publishing with no prior connection to the neighborhood or Miss Hannings. What’s in this for you?”
Max nodded. “I’m a professional woman who’s been lucky enough to have had great mentors—men and women who’ve put themselves out there to help me get where I am today. They picked up the fight for me; I owe it to them and to future professional women out there to do the same.” The screen showed a picture of her company’s logo. “And Elysia Publishing has made a name for itself advocating female empowerment, fulfilling women’s fantasies in every respect. The minute we heard about Hallie’s plight, we took arms. Because if we don’t all stand up and fight for women like Hallie Hannings, who will?”
Wendy thanked both guests, mentioning where people can go to find out more about both sides before segueing to the next story.
Even before he turned off the television, the counselor was reaching for the intercom. “Get Max on the phone,” he said to Elin.
The brazen publisher had been amazing. Cool. Confident. Eloquent and educated. The perfect spokesperson.
“Her line is busy, sir,” Elin came back. “I’ve tried twice now, but it just goes straight to voicemail.”
He sighed. Of course. She’d just laid out a call to arms to every socially conscious feminist out there. Of course her line was jammed. “Keep trying, Elin. I need to speak with her. Now.”
He was so proud of her. So damned pleased and honored to even know a woman as brave as Max.
But a part of him still worried. Going on that show like she did, challenging Wayne head-on, was like painting a target on her back. If she thought the pictures he’d sent were the worst Wayne was capable of, he was sure they were both about to find out that was wrong.
Wayne would come after her. Would include her even more in his vendetta. Max may very well have done Hallie a favor at the expense of herself.
He logged online. He doubted her email would work any better, but he had to warn her. Writing a quick and urgent message for her to contact him as soon as she could, he sent it off with a fired click of impatience.
She hadn’t even asked him. Hadn’t consulted with him at all before she’d snuck out of his office this morning, before she’d unilaterally decided to go on that show. She’d just charged—guns blazing—without caution or care.
He’d thought they were working together. Thought she trusted him to take care of this.
“Call on line three,” Elin announced.
“Is it Max?”
“No,” she said. “It’s Mrs. Valdez-Richards.”
He paused.
Kat?
Why was Kat calling him? “I’ll take it.” He answered the transfer, “Kat?”
“Hey.” She sounded less than happy. “Did you see Max’s appearance?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I just saw it.”
“I’ve tried calling her at the office. I’ve tried her cell. Every line is busy,” she said. “I knew that she was planning to do something drastic about Wayne, but...” She huffed. “I’m worried about her. What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Knowing Wayne and the level of escalation he’s taken so far, it’ll be bad.”
“I want to help,” she said. “If my friend is ready to lay everything on the line for this, I want to be there with her. What can I do?”
He thought about it for a moment. “You know that, if you do, he’ll likely come after you and Peter, and you both have much darker secrets and much deeper closets than Max or Hallie.”
“She’s my best friend,” she said. “I owe her. Whatever the cost. And, if I don’t stand up and fight for her, who will?” Then she scoffed. “Besides...let him. I won’t be made to feel ashamed of something that I love. Wayne is the one in the wrong here; let him be ashamed.”
He sat back in his chair and sighed. A call to arms, indeed.
“Do you still post on Peter’s website?” he asked, knowing that since she’d been published and since Peter’s business had begun to grow, neither of them had much time for SyncKink.com, Peter’s kinky social network site, anymore.
“Not in a while. Why?”
“I think,” he said, still forming a plan in his mind, “I might have a way to get the message out, to create a more unified source for our cause.”
“By using SyncKink as a homepage for Hallie,” Kat finished for him. “That’s brilliant. We could post pictures and have volunteers share stories. I could write day-to-day updates of where all the money and manpower are going and how far we have left to go. We could link all the contributing businesses and organizations. We could even set up a digital donation fund, where people can donate straight through the site. Brilliant! I’ll call Peter and Jeri and get this set up.”
After promising her that he would send her links to all the people, businesses, and organizations he’d contacted about Hallie, they hung up.
So Max was amassing her army, forming a formidable offense.
But he knew that wouldn’t stop Wayne.
They hadn’t heard the last from him. He’d see Max’s little impromptu press conference as the thrown gauntlet. The start of the war.
And they would need a solid defense.
Picking up the phone, he got to work.
WANT MORE?
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