Prince of the Playhouse: A MM, Coming Out, Secret Identity, Theater Romance (Love in Laguna Book 3)

by Tara Lain

  Ru burst out laughing. Charles might not say much, but he made it count. “I like to cook too, sir. Maybe we can swap recipes?”

  Pamela shook her head. “Not before I see my new outfit. I’m very excited.”

  Ru led them into the dining room. “How about I get us some iced tea, and then I’ll bring the drawings.”

  Gray pulled out the dining room chair for his mother. “That’s okay. I’ll get the tea. You be creative.”

  Pamela looked up at her son with what could only be described as an appraising expression. “Thank you, dear. No sweetener for me. You remember that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ru, I’ve never been able to understand the concept of sweet tea. Gray took us for a driving tour of the south last year, and I had to practically beg to get a plain old glass of tea.”

  Charles said, “I’ll just take water.”

  “How about a beer, Mr. Ansonfield? It’s way past noon, and you’re not driving.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Ru watched Gray make himself at home in the kitchen. Better come up with a good story. Ru shrugged a shoulder. “Gray and I have worked together so much lately, he knows the house as well as I do.” Pamela gave him a look. What did she see? “I’ll get those drawings.”

  Ru headed back to his home office/work room and grabbed the sketches. Funny, he hadn’t expected to like Gray’s parents so much. Hell, with his life, he barely let himself think about parents. But he felt so happy for Gray, having such great people in his life. No wonder he put so much stock in their opinions and views. Bet he can tell them he’s gay. They’ll understand. He sighed. Gray’s decision. Hell, if you had that kind of love, you wouldn’t want to risk it either.

  All the glasses were on the table by the time he got back. He sat next to Pamela and held the sketches against his chest. “You ready?”

  “Yes!” She clapped her hands together.

  “You sure?”

  “Torturer.”

  “Okay.” He flipped the drawings on the table. “Ta-da!”

  “Oh my gosh.”

  “Here is the jacket.” He showed the jacket, tailored to just below the waist, over a high-necked blouse. “You have a lovely long waist and long neck, so this jacket will work with lots of things.” He showed the pants. “Like these slacks, which can be dressed up for evening or down for daytime.” He pointed to another drawing. “Or this slim skirt.”

  “This is so beautiful.”

  “I’ve also designed a few accessories, like these belts and waist ties, to give the outfits a different look.”

  “I’m amazed.”

  He grinned at her. “Then we’ll go shopping for ready-to-wear and create a whole wardrobe for you.” He glanced at Gray. “We won’t take your famous son, because he’ll cause a riot in Bloomingdale’s, but we will take his credit card.”

  Gray leaned back in his chair. “That’s okay. Dad and I will watch the game.”

  Ru pressed a hand to his chest. “How manly of you. What game?”

  “Who knows? But there’s always some kind of game on.”

  He snorted and turned to Pamela. “Actually, I have some of the pieces ready to try on at Shazam any time you want to.”

  “Oh, could I?” She looked at Gray.

  “Of course.”

  Ru stood. “Is Chris still in the alley?”

  “I think so.” Gray nodded.

  “Hang on, I’ll check.” Ru walked into the living room, glanced through the sheer curtains—and froze. Cops. Holy shit, cops! One of them was Johns, coming toward the house with his hand on his weapon.

  He ran back to the dining room. “Gray, quick. Get your folks out the back door. Hurry.”

  “What’s wrong?” He grabbed Ru’s forearms.

  “That cop who hates me is on his way in with a bunch of others, and they don’t look happy. Come on, hurry. If they find you here, the press will be all over it. Not good.”

  Charles frowned. “What’s going on here?”

  Pamela looked at him levelly. “Ru, are you in trouble?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. But you need to move fast.”

  Gray pulled on his mother, and the three of them escaped into the kitchen. Ru closed the little-used door. The knocking didn’t sound friendly. Wham. Wham.

  “Mr. Maitland. Open up.”

  Shit, he wanted to run. But where? A cop looked in the windows. He had to respond before they went around back. Ru waved at the cop with a smile.

  He opened the door. “Yes, Officer? What’s wrong?”

  “Rupert Maitland, aka Roberto Morales, you’re wanted for questioning.”

  “Wait, what?” He finally understood what they meant when they said “your blood runs cold.” “Questioning about what?”

  Johns raised a lip. “Murder.” He grabbed Ru’s arm and pulled him out the door.

  The limo moved very slowly out of the alley and turned away from Ru’s house. Gray grabbed his cell phone.

  His mother hung on his arm. “Gray, what’s happening? Why is Ru in trouble with the police? Did you hear that officer say murder? My Lord!”

  “I don’t completely know, Mom. There was an incident about a week ago where I was, uh, running lines with Ru, and a guy tried to rob us with a gun.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Ru actually took him out. But the police kept asking if Ru knew this dude from a gang or something. I honestly don’t know what’s going on.”

  His dad leaned forward. “They called him Roberto something. Is Rupert Maitland not his name?”

  “I thought it was. Jesus.” He wiped a hand over his head. “I’ve gotta make a call.” He dialed and got voice mail. Damn! He hung up and dialed again. “Benson.”

  “Hey, Gray, how are your folks?”

  “Fine. Listen. I need to get my lawyer over to the Laguna Beach police department—now!”

  “What? Why?”

  “Ru’s in trouble. He’s going to need representation.”

  “What the fuck? This is bad, Gray. After all the hoopla about you two being business partners, this is not going to look good. What did he do?”

  “Nothing, you asshole. And if you want your damned job in an hour, you better get the lawyer to the police department now.” He hung up.

  One second later the phone rang. He answered. “Yeah, hi, Mitch.”

  “Sorry I missed the call.”

  Gray explained.

  “So you need a criminal litigator, right?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “I’ll send Fred Arthur, okay?”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  Chris pulled into the back of the hotel. Gray kept giving Mitch the few details he had as he escorted his parents to his suite. Benson and Courtney stood waiting outside his door. At least they weren’t inside this time.

  He opened the door, and everyone followed him in. Jesus, he wanted to go to the police department. Well, he kind of did. Explaining shit to the press would be hell—especially since he didn’t know anything.

  He fell back on the sofa in the sitting room while everyone else spread out on chairs and his mother sat next to him on the couch.

  Benson faced him. “I gather you got hold of Mitch. I tried, Gray. Honest.”

  “He called me. He has a litigator heading over there now.”

  “What in the hell is going on?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  Here he was again, back in this fucking interrogation room. Ru sat straight in his chair.

  “Mr. Maitland, is it true that your real name is Roberto Morales?” The police chief seemed to want to do this questioning herself. Johns just sat at the table like a dark cloud.

  “No, ma’am. I had my name legally changed to Rupert Maitland three years ago.”

  “May I ask why?”

  He frowned. “I have no connection to my family or my family name. Why not?”

  “I notice you didn’t choose a new Hispanic name.”

&
nbsp; He sighed and let them hear it. “I’m only half Hispanic. It happens that my father was Mexican, and I got his name at birth. My mother’s maiden name was Maitland. I picked that. I have as much claim to it as the other name.”

  “And your mother is—”

  “Dead, as I’m sure you already know.”

  “Your father?”

  “Died of a gunshot four years ago.”

  “So you’re an orphan.”

  “I pretty much always was. So what’s your point?” Don’t get angry. That’s what they want.

  “Just that you grew up on the streets of Compton.”

  “Yes, and I got myself out. Now I’m a taxpaying citizen of the city of Laguna Beach.”

  “Mr. Morales, uh, Maitland, when did you join the ADs?”

  There it was. “Kids in my neighborhood were usually recruited about the age of twelve, but I didn’t move there until I was sixteen. I never officially became a member of the gang.” Exactly.

  “What did recruitment involve?”

  A voice came from the door of the room. “Don’t answer that.” A tall, redheaded man, probably in his midthirties, walked into the room. “I’m Fred Arthur, Mr. Maitland’s attorney.”

  “My what?”

  “Mr. Maitland won’t be answering any questions until I’ve had a chance to speak with him and have received some notification from you of the nature of this interrogation.” He looked at the police chief and Johns. “Are you holding him?”

  The chief said, “He’s a person of interest in an ongoing investigation of a crime that was never solved.”

  “How old is this investigation?”

  “Eight years.”

  “So my client was a juvenile?”

  “Yes, but he may have been an accessory to murder, in which case he’d be tried as an adult.”

  Ru leaped forward on his seat. “Accessory to murder? Where the hell did you come up with that?”

  Arthur crossed around the table and put a hand on Ru’s arm. “We’re going to find out.” He looked at the chief. “Where can I speak with my client privately and undisturbed?”

  She frowned. “Officer Johns will show you to a private room.”

  Arthur nodded at Johns. “Will you please take Ru there now while I speak with Chief Kincaid?”

  Johns practically spit on the floor, he looked so pissed, but he got up and walked to the door. “Come on.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow at Johns’s obvious dislike. “See you in a minute, Mr. Maitland.” Yes, that was probably a warning to Johns not to take out his stick and use it on Ru.

  As they walked out, Arthur was saying, “What was the date of this alleged murder?”

  Jesus, how could life have gotten this fucked-up?

  Gray pressed the phone tight to his ear. Had he heard right? “Accessory to murder? That means he participated in the event in some way?” He glanced up at Benson, Courtney, and his parents, all staring at him intently.

  Fred Arthur’s voice sounded grim. “Yes, they say he drove the car for the men who committed this murder when Rupert was sixteen years old.”

  “He was a kid.”

  “Yes, but murder could easily get him tried as an adult.”

  “What does Ru say?”

  “He doesn’t remember the exact date. That’s a problem. He says he did drive the men in question to another individual’s house around that time. He says they later told him that they had robbed the man. That would make him an accessory after the fact, meaning he had no knowledge of the crime in advance or while it was being committed. Apparently the perpetrators used that threat as a way of keeping him silent about the robbery.”

  “But what about the murder?”

  “He says he has no knowledge of the murder, either before or after the event, although he did read in the papers that a murder was committed. I’ll be frank, Mr. Anson. Ru was an AD, an Angel del Diablo. Or more specifically was trying to be one when he got funded by a mentor and went away to school. They are mean motherfuckers. Some of them could easily have committed murder and made a sixteen-year-old drive for them.”

  “But he says it didn’t happen.” His heart sat somewhere around his knees.

  “Yes, but it’s going to be tough to prove. Apparently Ru’s made an enemy of some drug dealer who was with a rival gang at the time. I guess Ru got his younger brother sent to jail. This guy’s trying to prove Ru drove that car, and Ru can’t remember shit. Sorry.”

  “No, no, I appreciate your honesty. Whatever he needs. Just let me know, okay? Can you keep him out of jail?”

  “Obviously he’s been in the area for eight years since the event. I don’t see how they can claim he’s a flight risk. But we need someone who can prove he wasn’t in that car.”

  “Have you got an investigator you use?”

  “Yeah, but we’re talking about the ADs, man. They don’t spill anything to anyone, especially a lawyer.”

  “Give it a try. I don’t care how many people it takes. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell Ru I said—” He glanced at the room full of people staring at him. “—I’m thinking about him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He clicked off. Shit, talk about feeling helpless.

  Benson and Courtney spoke quietly together from their two chairs. When Gray hung up, Benson looked at him. “We’re working on a statement. We need to get something out there fast. That you’re deeply concerned about your business partner, have nothing but respect for the fine officers of Laguna Beach. Shit like that.”

  Gray’s mom flashed Benson a look. Not sure what it meant.

  Gray nodded. “Do not put out one word until I see it, is that clear? I’m not making any paeans of praise for those assholes in blue, understand?”

  “Yes, sure, Gray.”

  “Will everyone excuse me? I’m going to rest for a few minutes. I need to do some thinking.”

  His mother stood. “That’s an excellent idea, dear. We’re going to do the same. Shall we go, Charles?” She started walking out of the suite, and his father stepped up behind her.

  Benson said, “We have to do damage control on this, Gray. This is a giant barrel of snakes. Some of the press are already rumoring that your business partner is some other kind of partner, and now he’s a goddamned accessory to murder. This is bullshit. We need distance, you hear me? Distance. Come on, Courtney. We can work in my suite.”

  Gray blew out a breath and looked up. His parents still stood in the entry, staring back at Benson. They come to visit me for once and get embroiled in this whole mess. Damn.

  Everybody filed out in a row. Gray locked the door, walked into his bedroom, and threw himself on the bed. He felt like he’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Hell, he thought he felt weird? What must Ru feel like? Scared? Alone?

  But what if Ru had done it? What if he really drove some gangbangers to a murder? Jesus, who was Rupert Maitland, really?

  He rolled on his side. Obviously Ru lied to him. Well, not lied, exactly. Gray had never asked, “Are you a gangbanger?” But lots of sins of omission had gone down. Would Ru ever have told him? Would he finally have explained the tattoo and confessed about his background? I’ll never know now.

  He closed his eyes.

  Ru sat on the yellow couch. “Thanks for getting me out.”

  Fred perched on the chair across from Ru. “Just stay put, okay? You can go to work, but otherwise, don’t leave the area. Be calm and spend your time trying to recreate that week, okay?”

  “If I can prove I only drove them to a robbery and didn’t know it at the time, you think they’ll let me off?”

  “Probably, but no guarantees. You were a juvenile. Accessory to robbery after the fact shouldn’t be enough to get you tried as an adult.”

  “They don’t seem to know about the robbery at all.”

  “Right. And I don’t want you volunteering that information until we know what’s going down, clear?”

&nbs
p; “Yes.”

  “Good.” He stood.

  Ru nodded. “I’ll find some way to pay you back.”

  “I’m well paid. Take up your concerns with Gray. By the way, he said to tell you he’s thinking about you.”

  Ru swallowed and nodded. Fred opened the door to a barrage of reporters shouting questions. “No comment.” As he walked away, Ru heard Fred’s phone ringing.

  He slammed the door, locked it tight, double-checked the curtains, and dragged himself into his bedroom. He undressed and then fell on the bed. Thinking about me. Damn. What does that mean? That he’s thinking what a lying, miserable asshole I am? Someone who helps murderers?

  Okay, he couldn’t obsess about Gray. He had to think about that day eight years ago when Pedro, Pop Rock, and Quattro had told him he’d get to practice driving by taking them over to Junior Hernandez’s place. Jesus, he’d been excited. All those guys were big in the ADs. The fact that they’d asked him to help them gave him a thrill. He’d ferried them over, leaning back with his arm on the console to show them what a big man and cool driver he was.

  They’d been in there for, like, fifteen minutes, then came out running and told him to get out of there fast. Had he been suspicious? Fuck yeah. But he didn’t know anything until the next day, when Pedro told him he was an accessory to robbery, so if he got any ideas about being disloyal, they could send him away for a long time.

  Man, he’d been pissed. Before that he’d felt like a real AD, trusted and trustworthy. Then the fact that they’d set him up to command his loyalty made him want to turn the fuckers in. That day had been a decision point. When Bernardo suggested he get out of the ADs and go to school, he’d been open. But what day was the robbery? Sometime later he heard that Hernandez got dead, but he didn’t put the two things together. Was it possible the guys he drove had killed Hernandez? Could it have happened then? Shit!

  His phone rang, and he grabbed for it. Oh, Shaz. Jesus. “Hi, darling.”

  “Don’t ‘hi darling’ me. What the flaming fuck is going on? You’re all over the news, and not in a good way. Where are you? Do you need a lawyer? Why in hell didn’t you call me?”

  “I would have, but by the time I realized I was in real trouble, Gray had sent a lawyer and I was up to my ass in allegations.”