by G. K. Parks
“We have a partial out of state plate. Mark’s expanded the search, but he thinks the plates were stolen or expired. This bastard connects to Don Klassi’s case, but we don’t know how. He could be working with the grifter, or he could be connected to Don.”
Martin squinted. “What can I do?”
“The same as me. Nothing.”
“But it bothers you that this prick is out there.”
“Yeah, but what am I supposed to do? Freak out and hide away from the world?” Martin didn’t answer immediately, so I continued. “Been there, done that. Honestly, that scares me more than whatever asshole is hiding in the shadows.” I saw the look that came over him. “You want me to hide.”
“That’s not it. I don’t want you to be afraid.” He licked his lips. “Selfishly, I hoped you’d take a break. Too many close calls in a short amount of time is worrisome. The last time that happened, things didn’t end well for us.”
“It’s different this time. The situation is different. I’m different. Please believe that.”
He outlined my ear with his pointer finger. “Just don’t disappear on me or push me away again. My heart can’t take it, Alex. And I see the writing on the wall. The way you’re obsessing over this case. The way you dash out of here. The late nights. This is how it always starts.”
“You’re wrong. I’m just busy. I’m not hiding.” I stroked his jaw. “I promise I won’t leave you.”
He grabbed my hand, his thumb tracing the diamond engagement ring that I forgot to take off. “Why are you still wearing this?”
“It’s Cross’s stupid ring. I couldn’t get it off.”
Martin flicked on the light in order to see it better. “Mine’s bigger.”
“Size doesn’t matter.”
“Trust me, Alex. Size matters. The width, the height, the weight.”
The double entendre was not lost on me. “You sound sure of yourself.”
“I’ve been around. I hear things.”
“Women aren’t obsessed with size.”
“Less fortunate women would disagree.” Since I dismissed his attempt at a serious conversation, he was ready to play. He gave the ring a dismissive look. “Since size doesn’t matter to you, what does?”
“Taste.” I crinkled my nose playfully. “Personal preference.”
He grinned mischievously, his green eyes teasing me. “I have exquisite taste. Some might even say I’m downright delicious. And I damn well better be your personal preference.” He held my hand gently in his. “Can I try to take it off?”
I nodded, and he took my finger between his lips, working his tongue around the band before latching his teeth around the metal and gently tugging the ring past my knuckle. He released my finger from his mouth and slid the ring the rest of the way off. He wiped it on his shirt and held the diamond up to the light for a more careful examination.
“Like I said, mine’s bigger. The clarity and cut are better. And the color too.” For the briefest moment, he considered pulling my engagement ring out of the dresser drawer but decided against it.
When we broke up, I gave him back his ring. But Martin knew the truth; I wasn’t ready. We weren’t ready. Proposing again, especially now, would do nothing more than prove he feared I’d pull another vanishing act. He said he trusted me, but I knew he had doubts. It was rare that people changed, but Martin had faith in me. Or so he said.
Normally, he’d try to tighten the reins, which would cause me to freak and pull away even harder. But I’d grown. I wasn’t going to disappear, regardless of how hairy a case got.
“Here,” he held out Cross’s ring, “just don’t drop it. It’s so small that you’ll never be able to find it.”
“I don’t call two carats small.”
“And you said size didn’t matter. Ha.”
We stared at each other for a long time. Neither of us could go back to sleep. My mind was turning around Noah and ways of keeping him at bay until Cross tracked his account information. And Martin was trying to figure out what I was thinking. At six a.m., he shut off the alarm.
“Get dressed,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
I took a quick shower and threw on something I could wear to meet Noah later. I didn’t know what Martin wanted to show me, but since he had to be at work by eight, we didn’t have a lot of time.
His driver picked us up outside the building, and Martin kept me distracted so I wouldn’t pay too much attention to where we were going. When the car turned onto the private road, I knew where we were. My posture stiffened. Marcal drove the car into the garage and parked in the usual spot at the end of the row.
“We won’t be long,” Martin said. His expression was tight. He was afraid I would bolt or breakdown. To be honest, so was I. “Come inside. I need to grab something upstairs.”
I stepped out of the car and into the familiar surroundings. It felt the same and yet so different. We moved through the garage, past his home gym. The boxing ring remained in the center with his free weights against the wall. I stared longingly at his treadmill and punching bag, remembering the hours I spent on both of them.
We took the stairs up to the second level. The living room looked the same, and I wandered into the kitchen. “You still have that sadistic coffeemaker.”
He laughed. “The one you bought is under the cabinet. Do you want to make some coffee?”
“Are you trying to ply me with caffeine?”
“Is it working?”
I grinned. “You think you’re so smart.”
“That’s because I am.” He went to the back staircase. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”
While I waited for the coffee to brew, I wandered through the kitchen and living room. This used to be my home. I remembered vividly standing on the doorstep; Martin refused to let me inside. He kicked me out. Now he brought me back. He wanted to know my opinion on selling the house, but it was his house. It wasn’t my call.
A lot happened in this house. The first time we kissed. The first time we hooked up. The first time I told him I loved him. I moved down the hallway, wanting to see what had become of the guest suite he’d converted into my workspace. At one point, my furniture had been moved inside, but that was before. He probably turned it back into a guestroom.
I pushed open the door and stopped in my tracks. It looked like a war zone. A golf club was propped against the wall. The furniture, Martin’s expensive furniture, was practically obliterated. Even the walls were destroyed. Drywall and dust covered the surfaces, and I examined the nearest hole. What the hell happened here?
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Martin said. “I wanted to explain first.”
Understanding nearly knocked me to the floor. “You did this.” My gaze swept the destruction, seeing the anger and pain that motivated it.
“I hope you know I would never hurt you. This was a moment of weakness. It happened after you left me. I just…I forgot. I woke up one night, wanting it to be a nightmare. When I opened the door, I thought I’d find your things. But they were gone. You were gone. I just lost it.”
I stared at him. “I caused this.”
“Alex,” he reached for me, but I stepped back, “sweetheart, please.” He looked embarrassed and ashamed.
“My god.” I moved to the golf club, which was dented and mangled. It was covered in a layer of dust, just like everything else. Realization hit hard. Why did it take me so long to have this epiphany? I should have known. He said it so easily and so often, but I didn’t believe it because I spent my life broken. He was James Martin. He was worshipped, wanted, desired. He chose me, but I never comprehended the depth of his love until now. Even when we were broken up, I didn’t see this. He showed me the civilized, tamed version. But this was raw emotion. He had a capacity for violence, though he rarely exhibited it. I should have been appalled or afraid. A normal woman would have been, but I understood the rage and the anguish. For the first time since I met James Martin, I realized we were
both fully invested in each other. One couldn’t live without the other; we would merely exist. “You did this?” I repeated, overwhelmed.
“I was drunk and lost. I missed you. It was stupid, but I just…I didn’t care.” He waited anxiously for me to say something. To make this better or worse. To convey some kind of emotion. “Say something,” he begged.
“Fix the walls.” My circuits were so overloaded that I couldn’t think to say anything else. I wasn’t good at processing emotions or reacting to them, but I finally knew the truth. He needed me as much as I needed him. We were on an even keel. I could trust him not to hurt me again because it would kill him.
He just stared at me, dumbfounded. “Yeah, okay.”
He gave me space, afraid the property damage had done irreparable harm to not just the walls but to us too. We didn’t speak much the rest of the morning. We barely talked about the floorplans and photographs he wanted to show me for the other homes he was considering. We were both too frazzled.
When he dropped me off at work, I saw the confusion in his eyes. He had no idea what I was thinking. I wanted to reassure him, but I couldn’t condense my thoughts into words. I grabbed his face and kissed him. Once the shock wore off, I’d tell him what he wanted to hear. I’d tell him everything he wanted to hear.
Twenty-one
“Alex, are you okay?” Noah asked.
I blinked. “You’re risking so much, and you don’t even know me. I didn’t think good people still existed, and then I met you.”
“Hey, what’s going on? You know you can tell me anything.”
“Conrad called this morning to ask how the showing went. He wanted to know how many pieces we sold. We talked mostly about business. His accountant authorized the transfer, so I guess he must have bought my story about the delayed checks, but he had a few other questions.”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“It isn’t that. I’m just afraid he knows something’s up. He’s always been great at reading me. What if he knows what I’m about to do? What if he set a trap?”
Noah put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Easy there. He doesn’t know.” But I saw the calculated look in Noah’s eyes. “Would you feel better if we postpone?”
“We can’t wait. We normally have the paintings delivered within three days and pay the artist within five.” It was important the delay be Noah’s idea. I just had to manipulate him into making that decision.
“So we can wait a couple more days, if you want.” He stared at me. “Whatever you think is best. He’s your husband. You know him better than anyone.”
I snorted. “That’ll be the day.” I forced my mind to stay away from thoughts of Martin. “What do you think?”
Noah glanced at his watch. “I have to get back to work, but how about I swing by afterward and we figure this out?”
“That sounds good.”
“You’ll be here?”
“I should be. If I’m not at the desk, I’ll be painting in the back.”
Noah leaned closer and kissed my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
After he was gone, I sent a text to Cross. Noah might rabbit. The point wasn’t to spook him, just delay him, but I wasn’t sure how confident he was that Alexandra Scott wouldn’t chicken out or tip off her husband. My phone beeped, and I read the message. Lucien wanted to wait and see how this plays out.
Cross was close to locating the funds. His forensic accountants and financial experts discovered where the five grand was deposited. Noah liked to do things old school and used a Swiss bank account. However, Cross was having difficulty determining if this was Noah’s only account or if there were others. He was tracking the transfers but had been inundated with red tape. My boss would get access, even though his methods probably violated international law. But that wasn’t my problem. My job was to stop Noah from skipping town until after we reclaimed Don’s money, so I had to play my part and see this through.
Since I had several hours to kill, I replayed the last two weeks. Reaching for the phone, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to get an update on Heathcliff’s progress and offer to hand over my client as soon as Cross Security was paid. I was halfway through dialing when the alarm blared. I dropped my phone on the desk and swiveled around to check the security system. The side and rear doors didn’t show a breach, but the motion sensors picked up movement in the main showroom.
Tucking my gun at the small of my back, I got up from the desk and entered the gallery showroom. There was only one way into the room. There were no exterior doors or windows. I checked the sensors for cracks or signs of tampering, but they were intact. The laser grid was active, but no one was inside.
After checking each of the art displays to make sure the pressure sensors weren’t acting up, I went back to my desk and reset the system. It must have been a glitch. I rifled through the desk drawers for the user manual. According to the troubleshooting section, there could be dust on one of the sensors or the power fluctuated.
“Stupid security system,” I muttered. The warning sounded again, and I flipped through the surveillance feed. No one was inside the room. I gave the glass doors a dirty look and turned off the motion sensors.
Just to be on the safe side, I checked upstairs and the studio in the back. Nothing had been disturbed. When I returned to the main room, I checked the exterior cameras and took a peek outside.
Finding nothing out of place, I went back inside. Out of sheer paranoia, I rewound the recorded footage and watched it play through. No one approached from the outside, and I was the only person inside. Maybe the gallery had a mouse.
Returning to what I had been doing before the interruption, I called Heathcliff and left a message. With little else to do, I keyed in a news search on the CryptSpec shooting. The press always took photos, normally after the fact, but someone might have caught sight of the red car near the scene of the crime. I was in the midst of dialing Heathcliff a second time when Noah called back. He only left four hours ago. It was too soon for him to be calling, unless something went wrong.
“Hello?”
“Alex,” he sounded out of breath, “I’ve been thinking. If Conrad’s suspicious, it might be best if you transfer the money now while you still can. If he locks you out of the account, you’ll be stuck. I won’t be able to do anything to help you.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” I sighed. Noah had reached the wrong conclusion. He was supposed to insist we wait, not move up the timeframe. I didn’t expect him to be this desperate. He shouldn’t need the money, unless he couldn’t get to Klassi’s right away and planned to skip town immediately. Had Cross’s tracker been discovered? Had Noah grown suspicious of me?
“Are we doing this?” he asked. “Never mind, I’m parking now. I’ll see you in a sec.” Noah ran up the front steps, shooting a glance behind him before stepping inside. He looked pale and sweaty, as if he’d just outrun an alligator. He mopped the sweat off his brow with his pocket square and glanced back at the front door.
“What’s wrong?” I got to my feet. My hand lingered outside the drawer where I’d stowed my nine millimeter.
“I had visions of Conrad storming in here with the police and having you removed from the premises.”
“My husband isn’t that dramatic.” I gave Noah a wary look. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. The air conditioner in my car stopped working, and I’ve been sitting in traffic for the last forty-five minutes. According to the weatherman, today is the hottest day of the year.”
“Shouldn’t you be at the office?”
“My four o’clock appointment cancelled at the last minute.” He looked around. “Would you mind getting me some water?”
I didn’t want to leave him alone in the main room, particularly after I’d spent most of my time researching Gifford’s murder and hadn’t cleared my browser history. “Why don’t you grab something from the fridge while I lock up? It’s always cooler in there, and we can talk.”
As soon as he was out of sight, I checked the surveillance feed, but no one was lurking outside. Everything appeared just like it had the last time I looked. I locked the front door, flipped the sign to closed, and followed Noah into the studio.
Noah paced back and forth. He already consumed half a bottle of water. He looked nervous. He was anxious to get this done.
“What’s going on?”
He smiled, doing his best to convince me he was relaxed. “You tell me.” He stopped in front of my painting. “Do you want to lose all of this?” He put the water down. “That’s what’s going to happen if you don’t stand up for yourself.”
“I know. I’m just afraid. What we’re planning is illegal. I don’t want to get caught and go to jail.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was desperation. He was determined to get the money. He wasn’t willing to wait any longer. “You won’t. The money technically belongs to you and Conrad. Worst case scenario, Conrad finds out and goes to the cops. As long as the artist gets paid, you haven’t committed any crimes. And honestly, even if you didn’t pay the artist for his paintings, that’s civil, not criminal. You wouldn’t go to jail, just to court.”
“You’re a lawyer now?”
He snorted. “I’ve sat through enough business law lectures to grasp the ins and outs of things.”
“Excuse me for not knowing that. I never had any reason to. I don’t do things like this. I’m a good girl.” He gave me a look, but he didn’t voice what was on his mind. “Why the hell are you so pushy all of a sudden?” I challenged.
He blew out a breath, put his water down, and approached me. “I’m tired of this. I had a terrible day at work. One of my clients went ballistic over something stupid. My boss chewed me out. And I found myself wondering what’s the point. You do what you love. I do what I do to get paid. I want to chase my passion too.” He leaned in. His nose brushed against mine. I waited just a moment, practically feeling his lips on mine, before turning my head. He exhaled against my cheek. “I want this for you. For us.”