“Well then you’ll be putting that anti-bacterial cream somewhere other than your hands, won’t you?”
She laughed. “I suppose I will. Do you think anyone will notice if I just wear a full-body condom instead of a leather miniskirt?”
It was my turn to laugh, and it felt good. “Girlfriend, I think if you show up in a leather miniskirt half the men at the party will drop dead of heart attacks.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Give me some credit. With my legs, I’d kill off at least three quarters of them.”
“And the other twenty-five percent are obviously gay.”
I felt her grin through the phone. “Exactly.”
“Well, if it helps you decide, I’m wearing a red dress so short my coochie will be probably be waving hello to everyone.”
Grace said drily, “You always were a class act.”
“It’s not my fault! Nico sent over a personal shopper from some boutique in Beverly Hills whose clients must all be hookers and trannies. I’ve never seen such an abundance of stretchy, shiny, tiny dresses.”
“Did you get the clear heels?”
I snorted. “Clear heels? Are you kidding me?”
“Kat, if you’re going to work the hooker look, you’ve got to go all the way. You can’t show up in ballet flats with your coochie hanging out of your dress. We don’t want to send mixed messages.”
“Clear heels are for strippers, dummy. Thigh-high pleather boots, now those are full-on hooker wear.”
She paused. “Ugh. Did you see the movie Kinky Boots? Because I’m getting this really awful visual right now.”
“Worse than the nun’s snatch visual?”
“Okay. I think this conversation has continued long enough. What time should I meet you there?”
“Nico said he’d send a car for you. They’ll pick you up at eight.”
Grace made a small, indistinct noise. “Did he now? Isn’t that gentlemanly of him.”
Smiling, I had to shake my head. Grace was the only person I knew who could convey disdain, pleasure, irritation, gratitude, and about a dozen other conflicting emotions, all in under ten words. “Love you, Gracie.”
“Love you, too, Kat. See you tonight.”
“Can’t wait.”
“And Kat?”
I cocked my head, arrested by the new, urgent tone of her voice. “Yeah?”
With quiet conviction, she said, “If you’re happy, I am, too. No matter what.” Then she hung up before I could say another word.
The afternoon passed quickly. I busied myself with list making and obsessing, trying to figure out how I’d get my house back in shape before leaving for Europe with the band. I only had a week in between the kickoff party and the flight out, and was a little panicked at the thought of leaving without everything being back in order. If I was going to be gone for two whole months, I needed to know I wasn’t leaving a mess behind.
I’d already arranged to have my upcoming jobs covered by a girl I’d worked with before, another makeup artist I trusted to take care of my clients, and not steal them from me. She was thrilled to have the extra work, and I was happy with the arrangement as well. I definitely wanted to continue working when I came home. After Nico and I were married, I planned on working, too.
I just hadn’t told him that yet.
Since we’d made love the day before, he’d been in a strangely quiet mood. Honestly, I hadn’t felt much like talking, either, with the black cloud of Michael hanging over our heads. But I sensed Nico’s quietness wasn’t only about Michael. Something else was bothering him.
Something big. Or bad.
Or both.
He’d risen early, before me, and had since been prowling around the house like a caged bear, checking windows, locking and relocking doors. The security code on the alarm had been reset, and he’d hired twenty-four-hour guards to roam the property in addition to installing more video cameras, but he still wasn’t satisfied I was safe.
Hence his having clothes brought to the house, instead of allowing me to go out shopping. Hence his standing over me scowling, Barney and cops in tow, as I retrieved important files and documents from my place, groaning in distress at the mess.
Hence his insistence on being glued to my side like a barnacle.
That barnacle was now rooted against me in the backseat of the Escalade, his big hand wrapped tightly around mine. We were cruising down Sunset Boulevard, Barney driving, on our way to the party at the House of Blues. It was dusk, and the sky outside glowed orange and purple in the deepening twilight.
“You’re quiet,” I said, squeezing Nico’s hand.
He glanced at me. Wearing his trademark painted-on jeans and black T-shirt under a leather jacket, his dark hair in finger-combed disarray, a thin leather cord around his neck and a silver ring on his left thumb, he looked sexy as hell . . . and distracted.
“How’re you doin’, Kat?”
His soft question took me by surprise. As did the serious look on his face. “I’m okay. As well as can be expected under the circumstances, I guess.”
He studied me, sweeping his thumb back and forth across my knuckles. “No second thoughts? Not regrettin’ meetin’ me?”
There was an underlying subtext there. Some tension ran through his words. It made me nervous. “Why? Are you regretting meeting me?”
His stare pierced me. “That’s not an answer.”
“Neither is that.”
In the front seat, Barney reached to turn up the volume on the radio. He was trying to give us some privacy, but it wouldn’t work. He was sitting too close.
Nico looked away and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I easily recognized as one of frustration. He didn’t push for another answer, and I wasn’t much in the mood for conversation, so we spent the rest of the ride in tense silence.
It felt shitty.
When we pulled off Sunset onto the side street where the entrance to the House of Blues’s parking lot was located, I felt even shittier.
A line of police cars blocked traffic from the street from below. Uniformed officers conferred in small groups along the sidewalk. Burly bouncers checked guest names off a list before cars were allowed to enter the parking lot, and a host of security guards wandered up and down the block with flashlights and walkie-talkies. A crowd had gathered beyond the line of police cars, hoping for a glimpse of their favorite band, and even more bystanders watched from across the street. Everywhere lurked men with cameras.
A scream went up from the crowd when we exited the car. They recognized Nico.
“What?” he asked, watching my face carefully.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” I muttered, shooting a glance over my shoulder.
Nico’s face turned a shade darker than it had been in the car. He tugged on my hand, and we went inside.
“Oh my God, they’re amazing!” shrieked Chloe above the blare of the music. She and I, along with Grace and Eric, stood in the wings offstage as we watched Bad Habit rock the House. Nico was so fucking sexy, strutting and stomping his way around the stage, thrusting his hips as he played his guitar, singing with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, sweat dripping down his brow. The music hall only held about fifteen hundred people, but he sang as if there were a hundred and fifty thousand screaming out his name.
Even Grace was transfixed. She stared at the band, blinking rapidly, her hand at her throat.
Bad Habit finished the song with a hammering drum solo, and the room erupted in deafening screams and applause. Nico laughed, pumping his fist in the air. I caught his eye as he turned away from the mike and smiled. He grinned back at me and winked.
Fanning herself, Grace said, “I don’t know about you ladies, but all that testosterone has strangely made me need to pee. I’m off to the loo.”
“I’ll come with.” Chloe gave Eric a kiss on the cheek. Adorably, he blushed.
“The three of you need an armed chaperone,” he said, eyeing our outfits in alarm
. “You’re in danger of causing a riot on the way to the ladies’ room.”
Chloe wore a pale green, sleeveless minidress that complemented her golden tan and hair to perfection. I wore one of Nico’s Beverly Hills boutique dresses, a tight, crotch-grazing number in fire-engine red, with heels to match. Grace wore the killer leather mini, as promised, paired with a glittery purple camisole top, and was attracting a lot of attention. Contrasted with her vivid hair and pale skin, the purple was incredible. I’d even seen a few girls send her admiring glances.
“Puh!” Grace waved her hand. “Thanks for the offer, Eric, but I won’t have you following us around and ruining my chances of finding a hot roadie I can do the nasty with tonight and never see again.”
“Grace!” Chloe was scandalized. The thought of a one-night stand was about as shocking to her as the thought of murder. It was just one of those things a lady didn’t do.
Grace rolled her eyes. “I didn’t wear this skirt for nothing, Chloe. I’m fishing for a man tonight, and this is what you call bait. Now off with you, Eric, we’ll be back in five. Or Kat and your girlfriend will. If I go missing, don’t come looking for me.”
I think Eric was too distracted by Grace calling Chloe his girlfriend to protest. He wore a dazed smile as we left, his gaze glued to her retreating back. The band launched into another song, and we took the private elevator to the top floor.
The ladies’ room upstairs was in the private club. Decorated by someone with a fetish for red velvet and gilt, it looked like something out of a nineteenth-century bordello. The incense that burned in a little jar in one corner was probably meant to cover the smell of bleach, which it didn’t.
I wondered if Grace had been right about the toilet seats.
“I have to admit,” said Grace, leaning over the sink and staring into the mirror while applying lipstick, “watching Bad Habit play live has given me a much better understanding of how people become enamored with musicians. They practically oozed sex. It was very powerful, if I do say so myself. Almost mesmerizing.”
“You’ve never seen a band play live before?” asked Chloe from inside the stall. The toilet flushed, and she came out to wash her hands. “How is that possible?”
For a moment, Grace froze, her hand to her mouth. Then she looked down, slowly recapped her lipstick, and put it back into her clutch. Quietly, she said, “I don’t actually know if I’ve seen a band live before. I just know I haven’t in the past twelve years.”
“Oh crap.” Chloe’s voice and expression reflected her regret over her choice of words. She laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I always forget.”
Another bad choice of words, but at least Grace had the, well . . . grace to smile. “Me, too. And don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough to worry about with your new man and his little, ahem, problem.”
Apparently Chloe had also told Grace about her dissatisfaction with Eric’s overly enthusiastic kissing style. I hadn’t heard an update since my little talk with Eric the day before. “Yeah, how’s that going, Lo? Last time we talked you were thinking of breaking up with him.”
Chloe blushed even deeper than Eric had minutes before. “You guys, I have no idea what’s gotten into him, but it’s like he’s taken lessons or something. I mean, all of a sudden the prehensile tongue is gone, and he’s, like, gentle. As a lamb.”
“Awesome!” I said a little too loudly. Grace looked at me strangely. “I mean, he’s such a great guy, Chloe. I really think the two of you are the perfect couple.”
“Really?” she asked shyly. “Because I think you and Nico are the perfect couple.”
“Oh dear God,” muttered Grace, fluffing her hair. She spun from the mirror and looked down her nose at us. “All right, you two, enough of that. I’ll gain five pounds just from breathing in all the sugar in the air. Can we please go back downstairs now so I can find my own Prince Charming and not have to listen to you two hens clucking over your roosters?”
“I’m pretty sure you’d scare the crap out of Prince Charming,” Chloe said, smiling.
“And his horse,” I added.
“Shut up,” Grace said good-naturedly. “Even though you’re probably right. I can’t see myself with a man who wears white gloves and epaulets.”
She and Chloe moved to the door, their steps muffled on the thick, blood-red carpet. Chloe asked, “What’s an epaulet?”
Grace sighed.
Noticing I was hanging back, Chloe asked, “You coming?”
“I think I’ll hide out in here for a few minutes longer.” Feeling a headache coming on, I sank into the red velvet chair beside the row of sinks. “Big parties were never my thing.”
Grace was concerned. “Are you feeling okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, just . . . need a few minutes alone, maybe. These past few weeks have been insane.”
Standing near the door of the ladies’ room, Grace narrowed her eyes at me. She was about to say something when Chloe beat her to it.
“We’ll be outside when you’re ready, okay? At that bar we passed on the way in. Then if you want we can go back downstairs and watch the band from the balcony. It’ll give you a different angle to ogle your man from.”
I smiled. “Deal.”
Before Grace could protest, Chloe dragged her from the room, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I dropped my head into my hands and contemplated the rug.
I hadn’t admitted it to Nico, but I was worried about the tour. What would life on the road be like? What if I hated it? What if I got homesick? It seemed both exciting and terrifying. And what was going on in Nico’s head the past few days? Why had he been so remote?
What about Michael?
The more I thought about everything, the more my head began to spin, and the more distracted I became. Which was why I didn’t hear anything when the door opened and closed. I only looked up when I heard the lock on the handle turn with a sharp snick.
The man in the doorway smiled at me. It was the most frightening thing I’d ever seen.
“Fancy meeting you here,” said Michael as he stepped into the room.
Heart pounding, I sucked in a breath and leapt to my feet. As Michael stepped closer, I backed away on shaking legs.
“How did you get in here?” I whispered, terrified.
The expression on his face was indescribable. His eyes held the flat killer gaze of a shark. Even his smile was shark-like. “You mean, how did I evade all the security and police Nico hired to try to keep you safe tonight? I came in with the dinner crowd last night.” His smile grew wider. “And never left.”
The realization that he’d been lying in wait for me like a patient predator stalking its prey since yesterday made my skin crawl and my blood run cold. I backed up another few steps until I hit the wall. I couldn’t go any farther. I inhaled a breath, readying a scream.
“Scream and I’ll make you regret it,” he snapped.
My shaking hands curled to fists at my sides. My mind flew in a million scattered directions. “What do you want, Michael?”
He cocked his head. His eyes roved hungrily over me. I shuddered, which made him laugh. “I’m many things, but a rapist isn’t one of them, Kat. Your virtue is safe with me.”
“But my house apparently wasn’t!”
His laugh settled into a chuckle. His similarity in physical looks to Nico was truly eerie. They were even dressed the same: boots, jeans, and a black leather jacket. I wondered if it was coincidence or just another weird fetish, like standing outside a darkened bedroom and watching his brother sleep.
“That was just to get your attention. Take down that smug self-confidence of yours a notch. I see it worked.”
There was a deafening roar in my ears. I wasn’t sure which I wanted to do more, run or lunge at him and gouge his eyes out. “What do you want?”
The smile faded from Michael’s face. His gaze turned haunted. “Amy. I want Amy back.”
Something about the way he said it, some odd inflection i
n his tone, rang an alarm bell in the back of my mind. The way he spoke her name was perversely possessive. “I can’t do anything about that, Michael. No one can.”
His throat worked. His voice came in a low, choked rasp. “I loved her.”
What the hell is he talking about? What the hell does he want? “I know you did—”
“No you don’t!” Michael shouted suddenly. His face flushed with color. “I told you at the wake: you don’t know anything!”
I flinched. Fear screamed along my nerve endings, scraped cold fingernails down my back. Every sense honed. His rage was so palpable I almost tasted it. I held myself perfectly still as Michael struggled to get himself under control, flexing his hands open and closed over and over, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths.
He said, “I loved her. I was in love with her. And she loved me. We were more than just brother and sister, Kat. We were everything to each other. We were best friends.” His voice cracked. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He whispered, “We were lovers.”
I gasped, feeling sick and shocked and repulsed, all at once.
“She tried to fight it. That’s why she ran away with Juan Carlos; she thought another man would make a difference. She thought distance would make a difference.” He laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound in the quiet room. “And boy, did it. But not in the way she thought. Three years, she whored for him, locked up like a bird in a cage. And when the day came that some filthy john passed out on top of her with his cell phone in his shirt pocket, who do you think she called? Me. She called me. Because I was the only one who ever really loved her, Kat. And she knew it. She knew I’d do anything to get her away from him. Anything.”
With growing horror, I remembered what Nico had told me about the phone call Avery made to him from Brazil, when she said she was coming home. He had said he knew Juan Carlos was dead . . . and he thought his sister had something to do with it.
“It was you,” I whispered. Goose bumps broke out all over my arms. “You killed Juan Carlos.”
Like a cornered animal, Michael bared his teeth. “You’re goddamn right I killed him! She told me where to find her and I hunted down that bastard and killed him like the insect that he was! Then I brought her back, and Nico barely even noticed I’d been gone, he was so wrapped up in his own bullshit!” His voice gentled, became stroking and strange. “So Avery and I were together again, only this time both of us knew it was for good. It was meant to be. And we were happy.”
Sweet as Sin Page 28