Trust No One Read online

  Trust No One

  By Velvet Vaughn

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 Velvet Vaughn

  ISBN: 978-0-9861652-3-8

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit Velvet's website at: www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage HERE.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my fabulous sister, Kristy. Thank you for your unwavering support! I love you!

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Wednesday, September 15

  A tense silence swept over the assembled crowd.

  Senator Aaron Hofstra staggered to a microphone attached to a hastily-constructed podium in front of his offices on Dearborn Street in downtown Chicago, Illinois. His hand trembled uncontrollably as he dabbed at his eyes. Wrinkles creased the normally-pristine suit jacket hanging limply on his lean frame. His salt and pepper hair was mussed. Flash bulbs exploded at a near-frantic pace but he didn’t blink. Reporters and photographers jockeyed for position, shouldering through a throng of colleagues and spectators for a better vantage point, held back by the outstretched hands and brutal glares of several security guards.

  Those closest to the dais winced at the loud squeal the microphone emitted when the senator leaned close. Hofstra, functioning solely on autopilot, didn’t even flinch. "My wife is missing," he choked out. "And she is seven months pregnant."

  Although the multitude knew this information already, it didn’t stop the collective gasp as the senator voiced the words with a ragged tremor rattling his voice.

  He roughly cleared his throat. "She's been missing for four days now and I haven't been contacted…no ransom, nothing." He straightened to his full five-ten height and peered directly into the nearest camera. "Please, whoever is doing this, whoever has her, I am begging you to let her go. Let my wife and unborn child come home to me."

  Finally the emotional toll was too much and he broke down, weeping openly as an aide wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Whatever it is you want, please just let me know. I will do anything to have my wife back…anything," he sobbed.

  "That’s enough," the aide barked, blocking the camera with his hand before focusing his attention on the senator. Medical personnel rushed to his side, one easing him to a stretcher as another attached an oxygen mask to his face. Cameras heartlessly continued to roll, capturing the senator’s very personal, very emotional breakdown.

  Chapter One

  Friday, September 17

  Kendall Buckley whipped her rental car into a parking space, yanked the keys from the ignition and grabbed the strap of her purse as she leapt out the door. Thanks to plane trouble on the tarmac at LaGuardia, and then Friday evening rush hour traffic, she was over an hour late meeting her friends for dinner.

  They would think she stood them up for the fourth straight year.

  Reaching back inside the car, she snatched a baseball cap from the seat, shoved it on and pulled her hair—which was flat and sweaty, thanks to those long hours inside a stuffy, airless fuselage—through the opening. Then she wound it into a knot and tucked the ends through the band securing her ponytail. She usually wore glasses only for reading but she used the travel time to prepare for her upcoming interview with Senator Hofstra. Adjusting the chunky square black frames, she dashed for the elevator. She really wanted to jump in the shower and rinse off the sweat and plane stench but she was already pushing it time-wise. Thankfully the restaurant Bridget chose was casual.

  Tapping her foot impatiently as the elevator slowly ascended, she mentally checked items off her list of topics to discuss with the senator. She wanted to be fully prepared when the cameras started rolling. This was the big one, the interview she had been waiting for her whole career. Her producer even finagled a deal to broadcast the show in prime time across the country. Goosebumps erupted along her arms. She still couldn't believe it.

  The elevator finally reached the lobby and the doors swished open. She dodged an overzealous toddler who crowded in before she could exit and the boorish mother who didn’t even seem to notice anyone else in her realm as she chirped loudly into her cell phone. Kendall stifled a laugh at the look of horror on the mother’s face as the little boy gleefully stabbed every button on the panel. Stepping out, she searched through the throng of milling people for the restaurant, finally spying the sign down a broad hallway.

  A wave of nostalgia hit her as she spotted her three friends chatting and laughing at a table, oblivious to the stares from the other patrons. They drew attention whenever they were together. Eyes followed them as they passed, as much for their diversity as their looks. Bridget Mann was an Irish beauty with her flowing red hair, creamy complexion and sparkling green eyes. Stefani Sinclair was the token gorgeous blue-eyed blonde of the group. Tall, willowy, with a million-dollar smile showcased against flawless mocha skin and elegant cheekbones, Kiki Bell was simply dazzling. Kendall was the exotic one: silky black hair, light tan skin thanks to her one-fourth Latina heritage on her father’s side, and pale blue eyes, courtesy of her one-fourth Scandinavian on her mother’s side of the tree.

  The girls met their first year at Northwestern on the freshman pep squad. Over the next four years, they lived, cheered, partied together and became as close as sisters. After graduation, they shared an apartment when all four made the professional squad for the Chicago Cougars football team. One of the advantages of cheering for the Cougars was the opportunity to model for everything from charity calendars to swimsuit magazines, and all four girls worked steadily. The extra income paid for graduate school and Kendall earned her Master's in communications. She worked for a local cable channel as a features reporter during the off-season, but soon realized she'd never be taken seriously if she continued to cheer and model, especially when the producer insisted on including shots of her in a bikini in the opening credits. Figuring the local viewers would never see her as anything but a cheerleader, she accepted a job in Topeka, hoping a change of scenery meant more serious stories. She hated to be the first of the quartet to leave the nest, but she needed to make the move if she hoped to advance her career.

  It wasn’t long after she left for Kansas that the rest of the group followed her lead and went their separate ways. Kiki moved home to Dallas to be close to her ailing mot
her. Bridget took a modeling job in Miami. Only Stefani stayed in Chicago. They tried to meet once a year for the first few years to catch up but then Kendall accepted a job in Denver and couldn’t make it back. The first year broke her heart, the second was mildly upsetting. By the third year she didn’t even feel guilty anymore. Amazing how the passage of time made missing their sacred get-togethers easier.

  Her career took an unexpected turn when a producer for a news station in New York caught her report on the homeless, a piece that earned her a Journalism Excellence award nomination. He called the next day and offered her a job in Manhattan, and the rest as they say, was history. She was busier than ever.

  The demands of her new job meant ignoring reminders from her friends about their annual get-together. But four days ago, Stef left an urgent message, her voice sounding both odd and frightened. "Please," she begged, "it's a matter of life or death. You're the only person I can talk to, and I can't do it over the phone." Though the four had lived together, she and Stef always shared a room and everything from their clothing to their deepest, darkest secrets and most treasured dreams. At one time, she had been closer to Stef than anyone else in the world besides her mom.

  Still, she gently refused, pleading a stifling workload until the story of Senator Hofstra’s missing wife broke. She'd just secured the interview this morning so she packed her bags and booked a flight. She couldn't get in touch with Stefani, but managed to catch Bridget between flights. Bridget gave her the name of the restaurant and the time the girls were meeting. Kiki and Stefani didn't know she was coming. She asked Bridget to keep it a surprise.

  The waiter escorted her to the table, but she stood back while the girls signed autographs for a busboy who recognized them. They'd all been featured on a hugely popular Cougars poster that sold out in minutes a few years ago. While she waited, she catalogued all the changes in her friends over the past three years. Kiki’s hair was shorter and streaked with red, Bridget’s hair was longer and if possible, she looked even thinner. With dark smudges beneath her eyes and a pinched expression on her face, Stef looked distant, distracted. Kiki and Bridget didn’t seem to notice she wasn’t joining in on their laughter.

  Just then, Stef looked up and gasped, the look of pure relief washing over her face sucker-punching Kendall. Why hadn't she made time for her friends? Squeals erupted when Kiki and then Bridget noticed her and soon she was enveloped in hugs, laughter and the comfort of old memories.

  #

  Kiki slid a card into the slot and pushed the door open when the light blinked green. She kicked off her heels as she entered the suite Stefani booked for their weekend get-together.

  "I’m calling room service and ordering champagne," Bridget announced, picking up the receiver. "We're celebrating the fact that Princess Kendall deigned us with her presence this year."

  Kendall swiped a pillow from the bed and flung it at Bridget’s head. She batted it away, laughing as she spoke into the phone.

  "I can't believe you came." Kiki gave her a fierce hug. "I was beginning to worry we'd never see you again."

  "I'm sorry I couldn't get away the last few years," Kendall said truthfully. "I was so focused on my career, I lost sight of my priorities."

  "It wasn't the same without you." Bridget grabbed her hands and tugged her to sit on the bed. "We missed you. Fill us in on what's happening in your life. New York! I can't believe you live in Manhattan. I bet it's amazing. Do you live in the City? And the men! So many to choose from, you must have to beat them away with a stick. Have you seen any good shows on Broadway? When can we come to visit?"

  Kendall grinned at Bridget's effusive questions as they stirred fond memories. Bridget was inquisitive by nature, always asking questions faster than they could be answered.

  "Let's change and go out," Kiki suggested, jumping to her feet. "We can talk and drink and dance and catch up." She pulled Kendall up for another quick embrace. "Promise you won't blow us off again. Life's too short to lose track of the people that mean the most to you."

  Tears sprang to Kendall's eyes as she returned the hug. Again she regretted not making time to visit with her friends each year. What did a couple of vacation days matter in the long run? When she was old and gray, she wouldn't remember the story she covered on who made the best marinara sauce, but she would remember the times spent with dear friends.

  As Kiki and Bridget scurried to change, Kendall announced, "I left my suitcase in the rental," not adding that she did so on purpose. She hoped to have a few minutes alone with Stefani to find out what was bothering her troubled friend. "Stef, you want to go with me?" She placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Stefani gasped at the contact and spun around. The cell phone she had been frantically punching numbers on fell from her grip and clattered to the floor. "I-I’m sorry," she stammered.

  Concern for Stef ratcheted up a notch and Kendall studied her worriedly. "Here, let me get that for you." She crouched down to gather the fallen item but didn’t see it anywhere. Lifting the edge of the cover, she spotted it under the bed. "Your phone looks in one piece." She tried reaching for it and of course it slid all the way to the middle. Thankfully, housekeeping did an outstanding job and there were no dust bunnies or multi-legged critters hiding in the dark. Wedging herself below the frame, she finally fingered the phone when a sharp rap sounded on the door.

  "That was fast," Bridget trilled, swinging the door open.

  Muffled pops and stilted gasps resonated through the room. Curious at the unusual sounds, Kendall started to scoot out when Stefani slammed to the floor in front of her, her head bouncing with a sickening thud. Stef's mouth was rounded in shock, eyes wide, vacant, staring directly at her. It took a minute for Kendall’s brain to register what she was seeing. Blood trickled from the corner of Stefani’s mouth, a growing pool spreading beneath her body.

  "Oh, God," she gasped silently.

  "Start searching," a deep voice ordered. "And hurry."

  Kendall jerked back, shoving herself into the deepest shadows beneath the bed. Stefani’s cell was clutched in her fist. She punched in 911 but waited to hit send. If the killers heard the operator’s voice, her hiding place would be exposed. She had no doubt they'd turn their guns on her.

  Time passed in slow motion. Sounds were muted and heavy. Bags were ripped open, material torn, the contents strewn haphazardly. Curse words were peppered about. A thin trail of Stef’s crimson blood rolled slowly along the wooden floor, inching its way closer and closer. She followed the progress in fascinated horror.

  Kendall tensed when a booted foot callously jostled Stefani, sending her sprawling to her back. A hand reached down and pawed through the spilled contents of her purse. With a reporter’s eye, she noted the jagged, puckered scar encircling the wrist and the thin, blunt fingers. Suddenly those fingers reached for the edge of the comforter and lifted. Kendall’s heart stopped, her breath jammed in her throat.

  "Shit, the elevator. Someone’s coming. Let’s get out of here."

  As quickly as the hand appeared, it vanished. Heavy footsteps thumped across the floor and out the door. Kendall remained paralyzed, her breath billowing in and out now that she allowed herself to breathe again.

  A loud scream galvanized her into action. Shuffling out from under the bed, she sprung to her feet. Her knees buckled and her stomach rolled as she viewed the carnage. Bridget lay in a heap by the door, surrounded by a puddle of blood. Kiki was draped across a bed, her arms wide, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, her face frozen in a death mask of shock. And Stefani rested at her feet. Her three college roommates. All dead.

  Kendall barely made it to the bathroom in time. Every bit of her dinner came up until there was nothing left. With a shaky hand, she flushed the toilet, swiped a wash cloth from the vanity and ran it under cold water to rinse her mouth and face.

  Oh God, who would do this? Who would gun down three women in a luxury hotel in the middle of Chicago? And why?

  She lunged for the to
ilet again.

  Once her stomach settled enough for her to move, she steeled her nerves and ventured back into the room. The door was propped open by a room service cart laden with bottles of champagne. A sob rose in her throat but she tamped it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose it.

  Retrieving the phone from her pocket to call for help, she shoved the cart out of the way and dashed into the hall. She slammed into a man wearing a suit. Somewhere in her foggy mind it registered that he was wearing a badge clipped to his belt.

  "Thank God you're–"

  "Stay back, ma’am," he ordered as he withdrew a weapon from a holster and rushed inside. He didn’t have to tell her twice. If she went back inside, she would crumple to the floor in agony.

  She chanced a peek to see him snap on a pair of latex gloves and check Bridget for a pulse, his eyes scanning the room the entire time. He walked back to her, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. A baseball cap with CPD embroidered on the front was pulled low over his forehead. "You with room service? You call it in?"

  Kendall shook her head. "Those are m-my friends…" Her voice broke.

  The man’s brows slammed together. "Friends? You weren’t in the room with them." Before she could answer, a crowd of curious onlookers began to gather in the hallway. The cop’s expression turned grim. "Come with me," he ordered, his voice dangerously low. He clasped her upper arm and dragged her down the corridor, away from the growing mob of spectators.

  "Wait," she cried, trying to dig in her heels. "I can’t leave them. Where are you taking me?"

  "Where do you think? You're a suspect."

  Kendall gaped at him in horror. "S-suspect? But they're my friends."

  "So you say," he growled, bypassing the elevators to haul her into the emergency exit stairwell. The florescent lights allowed her to see him for the first time. She tried reading the name on his badge but she couldn't quite make it out. He was obviously a cop…he carried a gun clipped to his belt and a bulky walkie-talkie. His hat was pulled too low on his head and dark glasses blocked his eyes. When he caught her looking, he shoved her in front of him. Then she felt the unmistakable poke of a firearm.