Her keeper’s eyebrows rose as he sipped his own drink slowly. “How long is ‘a while’?”
“At least five years that I know of, but I don’t know how many before that. Why are you asking me about GA?” She took a bigger gulp of the burning liquid before hoarsely declaring, “He was the victim! Whatever he did, he didn’t deserve to die that way!”
“Never said he did.” He watched her over the rim of the glass as he took a healthy swig himself, downing half. “You aware of any money issues he’d been having?”
She shook her head and concentrated on the slow erosion of the ice in her tumbler. Why was he asking all this? What the hell did his spending habits have to do with his death? “Do you think he brought this on himself somehow?”
Mack lifted a muscular shoulder, but didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be watching her like her face held the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. “What did you see?”
Not the question she expected, and the image of the mug shot flashed through her mind, bringing with it a roiling sense of nausea. Cassie set the glass down on the table gently, so as not to betray her sudden shakiness. “I…” Her voice dried up in her throat, and she swallowed hard to try again. The man across from her, the one who’d put his life on hold and career on the line for her, had a right to know at least this much. “I went back for my guitar.”
* * *
Mack watched the color slowly migrate down her face to her neck, as she studied the glass in front of her intently. He had wanted to pursue his line of questioning about Clint’s gambling, but opted for the more pressing question. A part of him felt like a bastard for pushing her, but with all he learned from his partner tonight, it was a reasonable question. Any knowledge at this point would serve them both better in the long run instead of him remaining in the dark and her remaining in her head. “The guitar you brought here?”
She gave a single stuttered nod that ruffled her bangs and little else. “I left it backstage. I never do that. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, leaving it there. It was a gift, and I’m usually better about things like that.”
“I’m sure,” he murmured as he sipped his drink. It was all he could do to keep from forcibly dragging the information out of her, but he knew if he continued to push, she’d shut him out entirely.
“I got the guitar,” she stopped and sniffed, picking up the glass and swirling the ice around. “Then I started to pick my way back through the maze of hallways back to the car. We were supposed to have a celebratory dinner before…”
His thoughts went to Ange’s congratulations to the woman across from him. She should have been on top of the world, doing the whirlwind spots on daytime and late night television, shooting her videos, anything but being holed up in the middle of nowhere with a schmuck like him. “Before your newest release?” he filled in, hoping to bring her back on track.
She nodded again and looked straight at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Yeah. Clint was so proud of this album, said it was going to be the one that changed everything for me. Looks like he was right.”
Mack poured another finger or so of whiskey in his glass and did the same for hers. “You saw him die?” It wasn’t a question, regardless of the phrasing. It was the only thing that explained the series of events that brought them into each other’s lives and the haunted look in her eyes.
“It happened so fast,” she whispered into her whiskey. It was several deep breaths later before she continued. “I turned the corner and they were there, just talking. Not yelling, not fighting, nothing, then Clint was on the floor with that guy just standing over him. Once Clint was down, he saw me. His eyes, my god, like shark’s eyes, black, dead. He started toward me a second later, stepping over Clint like he was trash, just a pile of trash in his way.” She finished her whiskey in three gulps and set the glass down on the table forcefully. “I ran, like a coward. I didn’t even check on Clint or anything. I just… I ran.”
Mack was out of his chair before the second sniffle opened up the floodgates, scooping Cassie up and cradling her to him as she sobbed. Fifteen short steps later, they were situated in the formal sitting room on a settee, and he did his best to comfort her. It was wrenching, hearing all the guilt and self-recrimination that held her in thrall on top of the grief for the loss of her friend and mentor. He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, to say the right thing to make her pain lessen, but he’d never been good at being meaningful when it counted, so he kept silent, rocking her and stroking her hair as she cried.
The ebb and flow of the wracking sobs slowed to sniffles and the occasional hiccup, before stopping completely. Her head still on his chest, he listened to her breathing and felt her relax in his arms.
“I’m sorry.”
Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he muttered, “Don’t be. You get to grieve. That’s your right.”
She pulled away from him slightly and looked at his shirt for a moment. “Your shirt’s wet.”
That was, by far, the least of his concerns. The warmth of her in his arms and how much he enjoyed it was number one with a bullet on his list currently. And he was dangerously close to the line, several of them actually, and he needed to get himself together. Like now. He never, ever, got this close to a witness, having witnessed the consequences of that lapse first hand a few years ago, and yet, she remained in his lap with his arms loosely around her back and waist. “It’ll dry.”
His lame joke made her lips curl briefly into an almost-smile. “I didn’t mean…” she trailed off and gestured vaguely at his shirt. It didn’t take a translator to understand the rest of what she wasn’t saying.
He hugged her closer for a second before releasing her to sit next to him on the sofa. “I’d be surprised if it didn’t happen a couple more times. You just had your whole life turned upside down, your friend taken from you in the most brutal way possible. If you didn’t cry, I’d think there was something wrong with you.”
She snorted and swiped her eye with the heel of her hand. “I guess we can’t have that, now, can we?”
Mack nodded solemnly. “It does make sleeping difficult, yes.”
Cassie smiled tremulously and rose from the couch. Her look around the room was obvious to him. “I need to clean up my face.”
He didn’t begrudge her some alone time. Having that kind of emotional outburst was exhausting, something he knew better than he’d ever admit out loud. “I’ll clean up down here. Head upstairs and I’ll check on you before I turn in.”
Cassie nodded and walked to the stairs, pausing as he passed her in the foyer. “Mackenzie.”
He turned with raised eyebrows, curious to know what was on her mind. “Cassandra.”
“Thank you.”
The simple phrase hung between them until he nodded and turned back to the kitchen.
“Don’t mention it.”
He didn’t wait for her reply, attending to the glassware and liquor instead, for no other reason than self-preservation. In a lot of ways, he felt closer to her than he’d been to any woman in a long time—with the exception of his partner—and they hadn’t even been naked. It was a difficult thing for him to process and not really one he wanted to tackle at midnight with whiskey in his system and more available.
“She’s my witness,” he growled to the empty room, though he didn’t really expect or want an answer in return. He knew damn good and well what the correct response should be; he just wasn’t trying to hear it.
* * *
“What do you mean when you say ‘fell off the map’?” Grambling sipped his sparkling water while poring over news sites on the web. Keeping his voice from thundering through his office took all his energy. He didn’t even look up from his computer knowing if he looked away from the screen, he’d be launching the monitor at his investigator, which, while gratifying in the short term, would be difficult to explain in the long term. “He has a cell phone. You’re telling me a grown adult in these United States has actually turne
d off their cell phone for more than the length of a feature film? Is that what I’m hearing, Daviess?”
His designated computer minion, a country boy from Wetumpka, Alabama with surprisingly nimble mind and fingers in addition to his soothingly slow drawl, took a step further in the room, and didn’t flinch under his wrath. He might actually keep this one. “No Facebook profile, no Twitter handle, no presence in social media at all, but not unusual given the secretive nature of the job. His phone GPS pinged last at his house an hour after you met with him and hasn’t moved since.”
“Any movement on his financials?”
“Stagnant.”
That single word caught Grambling’s attention and had him peering at the slender man in the plaid shirt and navy tie over his monitor. “Not even an ATM withdrawal?” He knew Jefferson came from money, unfathomably large amounts of money that made him damn near unimpeachable in terms of bribery, but still, he didn’t strike him as an ‘off the grid’ kind of guy.
Daviess shook his head and adjusted his tie. “Other than right after your meeting with him the other night, not even so much as a Slushie from Circle K. Add that to his empty house which we’ve been monitoring regularly, his truck’s alarming lack of GPS uplinks, and his partner’s solo adventure in Las Vegas, and he’s a ghost.”
And with the lack of news on Cassie beyond press releases of her time in seclusion to grieve and her million-and-a-half album sales, none of what he wanted to know was available to him. His boss, the man who paid him the money he planned to retire on, was going to come unglued. She was the one who could tie him to his hitman and bring down a very large—and highly lucrative—underground business. The mother of all loose ends, and loose ends made his boss livid. Livid Guillermo meant Dead Austin, if he couldn’t find a way to locate Mack and, by extension, Cassandra.
“No one simply disappears, even someone uniquely suited for the task.” Austin pushed away from the desk just far enough to prop his feet up on the corner and cross them at the ankles. Even if he was rapidly becoming terrified of a slow death at the hands of a frighteningly sane man, he was determined it would never show. “Start hunting through his background. There has to be somewhere he would go to ground. Somewhere not obvious…”
“Or conversely, somewhere so obvious it wouldn’t appear reasonable on the surface.” Daviess got the look in his eye of a man on a mission, a trait Grambling liked in the young man. He was like a wind-up toy, just point him in the chosen direction and watch him go. “Friends, family, school acquaintances…”
Liking where the young man was headed with this, Grambling moved back to his search position. “Are you still here?”
Chapter 7
Sunlight was an evil creation designed to drive spikes into her head and wring all the moisture out of her body. Cassie didn’t think she’d been that affected by the whiskey last night, but her sandpaper eyelids begged to disagree. Her hair also expressed its displeasure as she fought with it for ten minutes in the shower. It was that or focus on the closed door on the other side of the bathroom from her own room.
Mack was confusing to her. His protectiveness of her was undeniable, or else she wouldn’t be holed up in these admittedly lush accommodations. But there were other things about him, forbidden things that drew her to him even if it was expressly off limits. Part of her figured it was just a side effect of being emotionally leveled by Clint’s death and separated from her friends. That seemed like a reasonable explanation for her meltdown yesterday, and the comfort he provided to her, but a small part… A small part of her really liked the way it felt when he held her, not that she expected it to continue. She didn’t plan on crying any more in front of him at all, if she could help it. That just wasn’t her.
Fishing her swimsuit out of her suitcase, she decided to get a grip on the rest of her day and hopefully her life, eventually. The white and black polka dotted bikini was a retro throwback and made her feel like a Bond Girl, sexy and sassy, then she threw on some cutoffs, sunglasses, and her flip flops. Guitar and notebook in hand, she headed out to the door to camp by the pool.
The cabana was bright yellow and white stripes, with a circus-type roof and canvas walls. She tied back the doors to reveal another opulent rattan chaise big enough for her and the whole of the backup band, even cushier than the ones poolside, a long table full of towels, and a matching rattan side table. Even in the heat of the day, the shade made it wonderfully cool. The whole setting was relaxing and peaceful, exactly what she needed. Quality time with her notebook and Betsy, the time when she felt the most whole and real.
* * *
Mack had been awake since he heard the water start for the shower. It was early enough in the morning that he let his thoughts drift, unmoored, as he imagined her soaped up and soft, her hair pinned up, showing off her sexy shoulders and back. He could trace the droplets of water sluicing down the line of her jaw, her neck, her chest… It was a dangerous path to wander down, and he knew, but he didn’t intend to meander too far. He was only human, and if he kept himself ruthlessly in check the rest of the time, he could indulge in his harmless little morning fantasy without guilt. Plus, she was grieving, and it took a special kind of asshat to even ponder moving in that direction when she was emotionally compromised.
He made the mistake of stepping into the bathroom not long after Cassie vacated the shower, only to be struck full-on by her spicy cinnamon scent carried on the moist air. His body reacted immediately, and all thoughts of merciless self-control incinerated in front of him. It was going to be a long day.
As much as he probably needed it, he decided to forego the cold shower and to suit up for a swim. It was another benefit to being at his parents’ house, free access to the most scenic pool in the state of Arizona. Mountain views, sunshine, cool water, and iced tea, it made for a perfect day, especially without his family present. Conchita was around somewhere, he knew that when he found makings of flautas chilling in the fridge, a pot of pinto beans soaking on the stove, and a block of manteca on the counter. Every time he came home, she did her level best to put twenty pounds on him. He let her, honestly, because her food was just that good, and the love it represented was even better.
Mack checked his phone, again, for any sign of life from Las Vegas. He knew Ange would call him the moment she had any kind of movement in any direction on the case. She was damn good at the job, and he’d never been more grateful. It was unbelievably difficult to be on this end of the waiting game instead of out kicking in doors and knocking heads together. He much preferred his method.
He was on his way out the door with a sweating glass of tea when he heard the music. It was familiar in the sense that he knew the song, an old one, and an unusual choice for the voice spinning it into gold. Following the sound, he found himself at the cabana. Kicked back in the shade, golden hair held back by her sunglasses, her eyes closed and fingers moving as she laid waste to a Roy Orbison song, Cassie—bare-legged and beatific—appeared angelic.
Transitioning smoothly into some Marshall Tucker, no mean feat by any stretch, she carried on through the first chorus and refrain before he decided to join her in the shade. She jumped a good three feet when the cushion moved under his weight.
“Holy crap, Mackenzie!”
It sounded like ‘holycrapmonkeys!’ accompanied by the most entertaining wide-eyed look he’d ever seen. The laughter he tried to contain had him collapsing over sideways onto the lounger next to her in full-blown guffaws.
Eyes still wide, she set the guitar next to her on the lounge and shoved her bangs out of her face. “You scared the bejesus out of me, Mackenzie!” She gestured to the glass of tea that had been knocked to the ground and was leaking its rapidly evaporating contents onto the concrete. “See? Bejesus, all over the ground!”
Still amused, he leaned down and picked up the glass, secretly glad it didn’t break on impact because Conchita’s reaction would have been less than pleasant, not to mention his phone was still in his hand. “Techn
ically, it was my bejesus and I’m sorry for startling you.”
Her cheeks darkened to a deep rose as she grinned at him shyly and set her guitar in the seat beside her. Again, Mack reminded himself this was not that kind of party, regardless of how cute her little bikini with the polka dots was, or how the pristine white fabric made her skin look that much tanner. Nah, he was good.
“I don’t know why, but I guess I didn’t expect you to be up yet, or out here, or…” her blush darkened as she fumbled through her excuses.
He shrugged and stood, taking his now-empty glass with him. “I just came out for a swim and I heard the music. You didn’t strike me as a Roy Orbison fan.”
He held the glass up as an offer and she nodded. He was back in a flash with another glass full of ice and a pitcher of tea to share. Feeling uncomfortably like Suzy Homemaker, he resumed his perch on the edge of the lounger near her delicate hot-pink toed feet.
“So,” she started as she stirred the ice in her glass with her fingernail, “you figured that because the majority of my fan base is thirteen to fifteen years old, my musical tastes would stop before the mid-nineties?”
The slightly censuring tone of her question had him blushing now, too. “Yeah, well, no, I mean…”
Cassie leaned over with a mischievous smile and laid a cool hand on his arm. “Why don’t you quit before you actually swallow that foot completely? They may be able to save it and reattach it without too much effort.”
This little slip of a woman with a blonde ponytail and sexy little bikini top had rendered him tongue-tied. This was his element! This was where he shone! Stepping forward to get the girl when all others got tangled in their own insecurities, and now… he couldn’t complete a sentence. It’d be galling if she hadn’t been so cute. His eyes fell to the notebook beside her with numerous blue scribbles. “Whatcha up to?” he asked as he reached for it.
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