by Paula Cox
“I’ll take you home.” He held out a hand, which she took, then helped pull her upright.
Liana hated feeling so fragile. She hadn’t even known the deceased. But she’d also never seen a dead body before—and she certainly had never watched someone die. She kept replaying those horrifying moments in her mind. It had seemed to take years, but at the same time, it took no time at all. She had never thought before how fragile life could be. It rattled her to the core.
“If we take the M train, it goes right to my apartment,” Liana said.
Cliff shook his head. “I’ve got a car.”
“But... how?” They’d driven there in a cop car. She was left to assume that somebody was picking him up since Cliff evidently didn’t feel the need to answer.
Sure enough, there was a black town car waiting outside for them. The driver was dressed in a suit and a little cap, and he opened the back door for them as they approached. Liana stared in awe. She didn’t think she’d ever been in a car this nice before. Who the hell was this guy?
Cliff held her hand as she slipped inside, and Liana quite pathetically had to make herself let go. This stone of a man was her only comfort right now. He might not have been the best at comforting, but that was completely understandable considering his friend had just died. She saw Michael die again and suppressed another sob. That was the last thing Cliff needed.
The car began to move, and the driver prompted her for an address before closing the partition between them. Then it was just the rumbling road and silence. Liana struggled to find words to say, but none of them seemed quite right.
Quite surprisingly, Cliff spoke first. “I’m going to need you not to go anywhere,” he said.
“I won’t,” she replied. “I already told the police that.”
His eyes seemed darker than normal. “I’m not the police. I’m telling you not to leave the city. Try not to go too far from your home and work, if possible.”
Liana gulped. “Is that a warning or a threat?”
His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. “It’s a suggestion,” he said. “But a stern one. I want to keep an eye on you.”
“I told you,” she insisted. “I didn’t…” She couldn’t even say the word kill. How could he think she’d done it?
In a shockingly tender gesture, Cliff grabbed her hand in his. He didn’t squeeze or move it in any way; he simply held it gently. It was like seeing a ferocious bear carry an egg, which was a ridiculous simile, but the only thing that came to Liana’s mind.
“I don’t think you killed him,” he said. “I just don’t know what to make of tonight. Humor me.”
She nodded. “I suppose I could do that.”
Cliff’s hand was cool and rough. His callouses seemed to indicate his life was not as gentle as the fancy car and the expensive suit would otherwise have Liana believe. She was intrigued by him. It was the kind of intrigue that she worried could easily slip into obsession. Who was this dark stranger? What did he do? Why were people killing people near him? And what the hell was he thinking? It was probably vain to be so worried about what he made of her, but Liana wasn’t used to being so irritated. He was a wall of ice, and the pathetic romantic in her wanted to be the one to melt a little Liana sized hole in it. It wasn’t even that she wanted him to want her, necessarily. She just wanted him to let her in. She wanted to know him.
“What’s your schedule for the next few days?” Cliff asked.
“I work during the evening tomorrow through Thursday,” she said. “Friday night I’m playing at Rick’s Jazz Club.”
This, apparently, caught his interest. He looked her up and down. “You’re a singer?”
She nodded. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “You’re the kind of pretty girl Rick would put on stage.”
Liana wasn’t sure whether to be offended or complimented. She opted for offended since she’d worked hard to get where she was, and it was annoying to have someone belittle her work by implying she’d made it as far as she had by her good looks.
Liana pulled her hand back, resting it in her lap. If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn she saw a tiny flicker of amusement on Cliff’s face. But it was gone before it had even really started, and the silence in the car grew heavy.
“I’ll come see you perform,” he said.
Liana looked out the tinted window. All she could see were flashes of color and light, as well as beads of moisture streaming past. It had started to rain, though it was too light for her to hear it on the roof of the car.
“Why would you do that?” Liana asked. Her voice came out more bitter than she’d intended.
“I’ve been looking to invest in a nightclub. But I want to build it around a specific act.”
She snorted, not even bothering to hide her irritation now. “But I’m just a pretty face, remember?”
His fingers jerked her chin around until she was staring into the steely depths of his eyes. “I’d put my money on being more than that, Liana,” he said. His voice was like smoldering velvet. “I’m not a man who believes in coincidence.”
She stared back, confused. By then, though, they’d already reached the front of her apartment building. The driver announced their arrival, and Liana jerked out of Cliff’s hold. It wasn’t fair how much power he had over her. If he’d wanted to, he probably could have kept her there forever. He wouldn’t have even needed to restrain her—just that look in his eyes would do it.
A moment later, her door opened. The driver held it, an umbrella extended overtop.
Cliff reached over and undid her seatbelt. “Until next time, Liana,” he said. “Keep the jacket for now. There’s a business card with my number on it in the pocket.”
Dismissed, Liana shuffled out of the back of the car. The driver pressed the handle of the umbrella into her palm, and when she looked at him in confusion merely said, “Keep it.”
So many party favors.
Then the car was gone, and Liana was glad for the umbrella. Not because of the rain, which was too light to really be a bother to her, but because if it wasn't for the object clutched in her hand, she might have thought the whole night was just a bad dream.
Chapter 4
The next morning, Liana marched straight over to the coat rack by her front door as soon as she woke up. And there it was—the small, black umbrella. Just where she’d left it. So none of it had been a dream. She was mostly upset by this fact, but also—quite frustratingly—relieved.
Cliff was the kind of guy her subconscious would dream up for her. Handsome and cold like a statue, with a beating heart hidden somewhere underneath all the layers of granite. And impossible to read, too. All of that combined was the perfect combination of things to drive her crazy.
Damien had sent her several texts last night after she and Cliff left together, but she didn’t receive any of them until she thought to check as she made her first cup of coffee. Her phone—as per company policy—had been set to silent and stowed away while she worked.
She answered the texts with reassurances that the scary dude from the wedding hadn’t taken her off to quietly murder her, and that she would indeed be at work that evening. Then she set her phone on the table and walked into the living room to indulge in some mindless TV.
Liana liked living alone most of the time, but she missed having a roommate to come home to and decompress about her day with. She could call Janelle, a longtime friend in the entertainment industry, but Janelle would worry about her stress affecting her voice. Since she was in PR and had been trying to get Janelle bigger contracts, hearing about something affecting her star was the last thing she needed. Her old roommate, Denise, had moved upstate with her husband after their nuptials a couple of months ago.
Liana wondered if she should get a cat. Her landlord likely wouldn’t allow such a thing, but she supposed she could always hide it. No. That was dumb. She was so lonely that she was considering getting a secret cat? What the hell was wrong with her?
Liana downed her coffee and stepped over to the corner of her room that she dubbed her “studio.” It wasn’t anything to shake a stick at—a desk for her laptop, a microphone, and her keyboard—but it was enough for her. She sat down in front of the keyboard and began practicing her set list for Rick’s.
Then she remembered who else would be in the crowd that night.
Somehow, the thought of Cliff watching her sing was more nerve-wracking than the thought of talent scouts being there. At least she could pretend they weren’t there. She doubted she’d ever be able to do the same with Cliff. He had a way of imposing his presence without even saying anything. When he was there, he was there. And it made her anxious.
Nevertheless, she was a performer. This was what she did. She put on a brave face and got into her groove. As long as she could do that, she would be golden. Nothing could get to her once she was in her performing state of mind. Rick had hired a pianist for the evening. It was as Cliff said—Rick wanted her up front and center, wearing a pretty dress and singing pretty songs for the club’s patrons. She liked it that way too if she were being honest. She loved playing the piano, but she also loved being center stage and center of the action.
After practicing her set twice, Liana showered and changed to go to the grocery store. Her stomach felt pitted with hunger, but she had little in her fridge besides milk and something old and moldy that she worried would soon grow legs. Denise would have said she worked too hard, and that she needed to spend more time taking care of herself. But Denise wasn’t there.
The moment she stepped out the front door of her building, Liana’s blood turned to ice in her veins. And it had nothing to do with the cold.
***
Cliff should not have spent as much time thinking about Liana as he did. All of his attention—every ounce of it—should have been focused on finding out who Lando was and what point he had to prove. Liana was a distraction, a curiosity. And he couldn’t get her out of his damn head.
He was convinced this was how men went insane.
But there was work to be done.
The problem with finding a murderer was that it was hard to come up with a list of suspects without any physical evidence or motive. Cliff assumed the killer had some sort of beef with him, but in truth, he didn’t know. But Michael hadn’t had enemies. He wasn’t even involved in the Mafia. He’d only been at a wedding as a friend of the couple’s, and most people in that room didn’t even know who he was.
He should have been safe. Michael should have lived a long and happy life. But he had been denied this most basic right.
Cliff was going through the guest list of the wedding, provided to him by the groom. Poor bastard. Unsurprisingly, there was no variation of the name Lando present on the list. He was a ghost. The cops hadn’t pulled any prints off the bottle, other than Michael and Liana’s. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. One moment, Michael was laughing and drinking. The next, he was dying in Cliff’s arms.
It was frustrating as hell.
Cliff had been up all night trying to piece something together to help the investigation, but he’d come up with nothing. He’d called everyone he knew, even waking up people who would normally break a person’s neck for doing so. It didn’t matter to him. He wasn’t scared of anybody, and he wasn’t going to wait for his answers. But he’d gotten nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. It seemed like the only viable option left was to go through his enemies one by one and interrogate them. But shit, as a Mafia enforcer, he had a lot of enemies.
Tired and angry, Cliff finally rose from his study and made his way up to his room. He was still wearing his white shirt, though he’d left his jacket with Liana. It was another reason to see her again if nothing else. He wished he didn’t want to see her again so badly. It was inconvenient for him to have any attachments, especially in light of recent events. He had no proof that Michael’s death had been meant as a message, but he knew in his gut that it was.
Liana would be safer if he stayed away. But he didn’t know if he could.
Just remembering the way she’d held to him so tightly, smelling of jasmine and burnt honey, made his cock twitch with pleasure. He’d known how much shit a girl like her could bring, and he’d been hard on her because of it. And she’d done the unthinkable—she had gotten mad.
Nobody got angry with Cliff Aurello. It just wasn’t done. But her young friend at the wedding had stared him down, too. He’d let that go because the kid was practically in diapers still. But when Liana had snatched her hand out of his and made her snide remark, Cliff had wanted to kiss her for it, not punish her. And she’d been right to get mad, too. He just hadn’t expected it.
He stripped off at the foot of his bed, not bothering to fold his clothes or even throw them in the hamper. He dropped them where he stood, stretching and trying to work out the kink in his neck. The sheets felt like heaven against his naked body. He wondered what Liana would feel like against his naked body. His cock twitched again.
He needed to stop thinking about this girl.
Easier said than done, though, especially when he was in bed. Picturing her there with him was only too easy.
His phone began to ring from somewhere in his room, but the sound was muffled. His pocket. His phone was still in his pocket. He considered ignoring it but then remembered slipping his card to Liana the night before. What if it was her? What if she was in trouble? Groaning, Cliff pushed himself out of bed and over to where he’d dropped his pants. He pulled out his phone and answered it without bothering to look at the number. He’d committed to answering it now. If it was anybody but Liana, he could just hang up.
“Hello?”
“Cliff…” A sob. A feminine sob. It was Liana.
Cliff grabbed fresh clothes out of his drawers and began hastily pulling them on. “Liana, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
She sniffed. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I am such a wimp.”
“Liana,” he said, his voice sterner this time. “What is it?”
“It’s just that somebody left a bottle of champagne on my stoop,” she said. “And it’s the same brand as the one at the wedding. I’m sorry for calling... I didn’t know who else—”
“Liana, listen to me.” Cliff was only missing a shirt now. He wrenched a t-shirt over his head, walking out of the room without even properly buttoning his jeans. “Get inside your apartment and stay there. Do not touch the bottle.”
“But what if somebody takes it and drinks it!” she protested. “It could be poisoned.”
Just as he had thought, the killer was trying to take out Liana too. Or was he? Surely the killer knew she would recognize the brand on the bottle and the suspicious nature of such a random gift, and know not to drink it. Maybe it was a message. Maybe it wasn’t from the killer after all. Perhaps it was meant for somebody else.
“There are other people in your building,” Cliff said. He shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers and slammed the front door on his way out, not even bothering to lock it. Even the bums in his neighborhood knew better than to break into the townhouse on the corner.
“Yeah,” she replied. “There are teenagers who live around here, too. I’m taking the bottle inside.”
“Don’t touch the bottle!” Cliff wrenched open the door of his black Lincoln and slammed it closed. As the engine thrummed to life, the Bluetooth in the car took over the call.
“I’m going to use a tea towel. Relax.”
“I said not to fucking touch it, Liana.”
“I’m not going to put other people at risk!” she cried. “I’m on the stoop. I’m picking up the bottle.”
“I don’t care about other people!” Cliff seethed. “Don’t pick up the—”
She hung up. Liana hung up on him.
Cliff slammed the gas pedal to the floor and roared down the street. He couldn’t believe she fucking hung up on him. Nobody hung up on Cliff. Not even any of the Mafia connections he had called in the middle of the night had
hung up on him. And yet Liana… He was going to kill her.
Chapter 5
“I told you not to pick up the bottle!” Cliff roared.
Liana did her best not to shrink back into the dining room chair. She sat forward, back straight, eyes hard and full of righteous indignation. “This bottle is probably poisoned, Cliff,” she replied calmly. “I would have never forgiven myself if someone had drank from it and died.”
“And I would have never for—” He stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath, knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair opposite to her. She wondered if it would break. If it did, would he pay for a new one? She wanted to believe he would, but then again he would likely just say it was her fault.
“Did you wash your hands afterward?”