by Jordan Dane
“Thanks. That’s the look I was going for.”
He’d almost forgotten that Simone called him Gabriel. She was one of the few people that could get away with it. In fact, the way she said his full name, he’d given serious thought to losing his nickname for good.
“Is this business or pleasure?” She rolled her eyes and patted a hand over her heart. “Please…please tell me this is for pleasure. I would show you to my private quarters and keep you all to myself. That is, unless you’d prefer more than one woman.”
“No man in his right mind would consider another woman, not with you around.” He grinned. “But no, I’m here on business.”
Simone came from old money. Her indulgent French father had built her a lavish estate outside Chicago to carry on her obsessions in private—and on a different continent. Under normal circumstances, Cronan would never have met Simone Moreau, but an unnatural death was never a normal circumstance.
Simone’s younger sister had been found brutally murdered in a room at the estate, the victim of a murder suicide. A volatile affair with a local boy had turned deadly after the sister refused to see him again. The boy slipped through estate security during the night, before Simone beefed up her defense measures, and made his way to the girl’s bedroom. He’d stabbed her in a fit of rage before he slit his wrists and bled out on her bed beside the body.
Gabe conducted the investigation. The sensational crime scene and the sexual nature of Simone’s enterprise could have turned into media frenzy. But Cronan made sure none of his investigation got leaked to the press after the ME made his ruling, and Simone had been very grateful. That had been over five years ago, before he got partnered with Angel.
“I came to see if you recognize this person,” he said.
She took the photo he offered her and looked at it. Cronan had seen the many emotions of Simone Moreau. From that experience, he knew that she had recognized Olivia Davenport’s face. Her expression had changed, very slightly, but enough for him to see it.
“What is this about, Gabriel?” She handed back his photo.
Simone played it cagey. He knew that as proprietor, she would be fiercely loyal to her clientele and wouldn’t have revealed anything unless he gave her a compelling reason to do so.
“She was murdered, and I’m investigating her death.” He thought about how much to tell her, but decided honesty would go a long way with Simone. “We found BDSM gear at her home. Was she a client of yours?”
It took her a moment to answer.
“I may have seen her here a time or two. But I would not consider her a regular, if any of my clients could be called regular.” She smiled. “Guests pay a fee to belong. Once they are here, we do not track them. What they do is private.”
“Do you remember if she was with anyone?”
“Not that I recall, but as you have seen, I have many diversions in my home. A person could get lost here.” Simone hesitated and narrowed her eyes. “Maybe once I saw her with a young man, but I could not be certain. Many of the guests wear masks or hoods.”
“Was the guy blind?”
“That much, I could not tell you, mon amour. I’m sorry, Gabriel.”
He grinned. “You can make it up to me by telling me what she was into. Can you tell me that?”
“As I recall, she loved her fantasies. She was no subtle flower, that one. But like I said, she was not a regular.” She leaned closer. “But for you, I would ask my people. Perhaps one of them would know more. Would you allow me to have that photo?”
“Sure.” He gave her the picture of Olivia. “I’d appreciate it if you’d check with your staff. Thanks.”
“Is that all, Gabriel?”
Before he answered, she reached for his inner thigh and ran her fingernails up his leg. Simone knew how to touch a man, and after his body reacted, he stopped her. When he grabbed her hand, she didn’t glance at him. Simone stared straight ahead, but he saw she smiled even in the dim glow coming from the stage.
“You are irresistible, mon amour. And I always want what I cannot have.” She turned toward him, and her gaze trailed down his body. “But if you ever allow me, I will personally see to your pleasure. I promise you will not forget me. Not every erotic adventure is about pain and humiliation. My hope is that one day…you will allow me to show you, Gabriel.”
Cronan still felt Simone’s hand on his thigh, even after she’d removed it—a touch that had sent chills over his body. Her low throaty voice nearly gave him a hard on. He couldn’t imagine giving complete control to this woman, but if he ever did, he had a feeling Simone would be like popcorn.
One taste wouldn’t be enough.
“You make it hard to…” He never finished. Simone leaned closer and touched a finger to his lips.
“Do not finish.” She smiled and winked. “You make it hard. That would be a good thing for you to remember. N’est-ce pas?”
“More like impossible to forget.” He grabbed her fingers and kissed them. “Thanks, Simone. Call me if you come up with anything new on Olivia Davenport.” He handed her a card.
Cronan got up from his seat and was escorted out by the beefy guy in the tux. But before he left the theatre, he looked over his shoulder. Simone Moreau was still watching him with those provocative eyes and her wicked smile.
Cronan wasn’t psychic, but he did have a strong feeling that another shower was in his future. A cold one.
***
Bogart’s Wine Bar – Downtown Chicago
“Olivia had needs I couldn’t—” Ethan lowered his head and stared at the floor. “I suppose I had suspicions, because I knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with…just me.”
Angel knew it had taken guts for him to admit that.
“But you never suspected anyone in particular?” she asked. “I mean, did you have any idea who she might have been with?”
“No. And more to the point, I didn’t want to know.” He sighed and lifted his head. “But I wasn’t much better. I took what I wanted, too. Maybe Olivia was more honest than I was.”
He’d obviously given his relationship with Olivia a lot of thought. Her murder hadn’t been the first time he’d questioned his reason for being with her.
“But you’d only been dating six months. I think you have to put things in perspective and stop being so hard on yourself.”
He thought about what she’d said and smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. Thanks for saying that. I do have a tendency toward being my own whipping boy.”
The irony of him referring to a ‘whipping boy’ was not missed on Angel.
“I can’t believe she’s gone. Before I came over here, I’d fallen asleep. Have you ever awakened with a start, like there was something really important you should’ve done?” A distant sadness clouded his eyes. “I woke up, and for a split second I believed everything was okay. But then I remembered, and I felt sick, like there was something I could have done differently. That’s why I didn’t want to stay home tonight…alone. Unlike a sighted person, my eyes can’t distract my mind. I can’t turn it off except when I sleep…and that’s not likely.”
Angel knew that feeling. For a very long time after her husband’s death, every time she opened her eyes in the morning, she stared into a bedroom that had been hers and Manny’s. Memories of their lives together haunted and comforted her in a strange bittersweet torture. Time had dulled the sick regret, but Ethan’s words made that sensation fresh in her mind.
“I can understand that.” She didn’t explain how she knew. “It won’t be easy. Every day will have new challenges. There will be times you swear you can’t make it another day, but then you do.”
He stared in her direction for a long moment without saying anything, as if he could see her.
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words took her by surprise.
“Sorry. For what?”
“You lost someone, too.” He brushed his hand against hers and left it there, touching her skin. “You don’t have to te
ll me. It’s enough to know you understand.”
His beautiful eyes watered, and he took a fraying breath. Angel fought the urge to reach for his hand.
“Looks like our food’s coming,” she said, thankful for the distraction. “It smells great in here. I’m starved.”
“Yes. I am, too.” He smiled, and the quiet commiseration between them vanished.
After the waitress had served the appetizers and left them alone, Ethan asked Angel to describe the arrangement on the plate. Since she was unfamiliar with the menu, she took great pains to identify each item and sounded like someone off Food TV. Ethan looked amused.
“Actually I’ve eaten here before, but if you could tell me where each appetizer is in relation to the hands of a clock, that would be helpful. I wouldn’t want to OD on wasabi or bite into a pepper thinking it’s a pickle.”
“Yeah, good point.”
After she described the food arranged on the platter, Ethan shared more about his relationship with Olivia. He told her about what he knew of her friends. With his blindness, he would have been forced to rely on Olivia’s sight and her willingness to share what she saw. Sad to say, given Olivia’s apparent cruel streak, Angel wasn’t sure she could trust Ethan’s limited version of what had happened between them. Any woman who would openly flirt in front of her blind lover was someone hard to respect. The more he shared, the more Angel found it hard to stay objective when it came to Olivia’s sense of right and wrong.
“Truth is, I’ve never had a lot of luck with women. Not really.” He shrugged. “I spent years dealing with my blindness and the rest of the time, I rehearsed for performances or spent hours with a private tutor. There wasn’t much time for dating.”
He reached for another pancetta wrapped shrimp, took a bite, and wiped his hands and mouth with his napkin. Angel thought about taking the last one, but she left it for him.
“I don’t know. You look like the kind of guy women would flock to.” She grinned. “I bet you had to beat them off with a stick.”
“Well, perhaps not a stick. More of a cane, actually.”
When he patted his folded cane with his hand, her cheeks turned hot.
“Oh…I didn’t mean it like that.”
He laughed.
“I know you didn’t. Sorry, I couldn’t resist, but being blind does have its disadvantages.” He took a sip of his wine. “I’ve never told anyone this story, but I hit on a woman once at a shopping mall when I was a teenager. I wanted to try my best pick-up lines on an older, more experienced woman. Mind you, I can blame my brazen behavior on being young and completely moronic when it came to the opposite sex.”
The alcohol had loosened both their inhibitions. Angel had almost forgotten that Ethan was still a suspect. Almost.
“Can’t we all.” She raised an eyebrow. “So what did you say?”
“I told her that I really do love women for their personalities.” He grinned. “And if she ever caught me with a Playboy Magazine, I could honestly say that I only read the magazine for its articles.”
Angel chuckled. Ethan Chandler was utterly charming, in a quiet, disarming way.
“I can see how you would have been a real hit with the ladies, Ethan. But your blindness might have its perks, too. Just think. No one will ever ask you, ‘Honey, does this dress make my butt look too big?’”
“Ah, good one. I’ll have to remember that.”
She smiled. “So what happened with this woman from the mall, the one you hit on?”
“Well, when she didn’t tell me what a tool I was, I thought I was doing pretty well. It wasn’t until later that I learned the truth.” He dropped his chin and placed a hand over his heart, pretending to look sad.
“Oh no, was she married?”
“No. A saleswoman tapped me on my shoulder and told me I was talking to a mannequin.”
“Oh, damn. You got me.” She laughed aloud. “You made that up.”
“Maybe a little.” He chuckled. “But it’s great to hear you laugh.”
She could say the same. Unfortunately, Ethan’s amusement didn’t last long.
“The truth is, I haven’t gotten much smarter about women. I loved Livie much more than she ever cared for me.” He stared straight through her, into a place where only he could see. “She needed a whole man, not me. I probably was more of a novelty for her. Her latest toy. So if you find that she had someone else in her life besides me, that wouldn’t exactly surprise me. Don’t feel like you have to spare my feelings. You’ve been kind to try, but it’s really not necessary.”
The room faded away, and the sound of the piano had become nothing but white noise. He had let her see into his vulnerability as a blind man, insecure with women. She didn’t know what to say except—
“I’m sorry, Ethan.”
Ethan Chandler wasn’t what she had expected. There was an underlying sadness to him. He’d become an accomplished violinist with a level of talent few would achieve in a lifetime, and he’d been blessed with a career that countless others would never know.
Yet with all he had, he would always be alone. His blindness had distinguished him from his peers and brought him recognition, but it also set him apart in a way she found hard to relate to. Until now, she had taken her sight for granted. Imagining Ethan’s world, even with the accolades he’d achieved, made her sad.
But even more compelling, Angel recognized his aloofness—his utter acceptance of being alone in life—because it reminded her of someone else.
Her partner, Gabe Cronan. Apparently handicaps came in all shapes and sizes.
***
Two Hours Later
“No, I insist. Let me walk you to your car,” Ethan said. He grabbed his folded cane and latched onto Angel’s arm. They walked through the front door of Bogart’s, and he followed her to the parking lot, adding, “Chicago can be dangerous after dark.”
“But Ethan, I’m a cop. I carry a weapon.”
“Yes, I know. I meant these streets were dangerous for me.” When she laughed aloud, he squeezed her arm and said, “I could get addicted to your laugh, you know.”
“I haven’t laughed like this…well, it’s been a while.” Angel smiled. Before he asked what she’d meant, she insisted, “I’ll drive you back to your building, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I accept. Thank you,” he said. “But you’ll have to drop me a few blocks down. With the reporters out front, I’ll have to sneak into the building the way Rachel taught me.”
Bogart’s wasn’t far from Ethan’s place. After Angel pulled her vehicle to the curb down the street from his building, she felt the urge to thank him, but their meeting hadn’t been a date. If their time together could be called anything, it would be an interview, with Ethan being a suspect and her being the cop investigating his girlfriend’s murder. That little dose of reality put things in perspective for her.
“Good night, Ethan. Call me if you think of anything else.”
“Yes, I certainly will.” He turned toward her before he got out, looking at her yet not seeing her. “Before I forget, I brought you tickets for my Saturday performance and a couple of backstage passes. If you have other plans or don’t care for the music, I will understand. I just wanted to thank you for…your discretion. I appreciate the privacy.”
He handed her the tickets, and she smiled.
“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do this.”
“No, but I wanted to. Good night, Angelica,” he said as he got out of her vehicle. She thought to correct his use of her full first name, but she liked the sound of him saying it.
Angel watched him walk down the street with his cane and make it into his building before she drove away. This time of night, without traffic, it only took her forty minutes to drive back to her house. On the way home, she thought about what she’d learned of Ethan and Olivia. Olivia Davenport had been a complex woman. Angel had a feeling that finding her killer would be complicated, too.
The leads she’
d gotten from Ethan could be pursued in the morning, and they’d be easily explained to her partner once she made headway. They’d already learned the name Bryce Peterson from an answering machine. Knowing Peterson was Ethan’s friend, and a potential candidate for Olivia’s kinky sex-capades, would not be a leap she’d have to explain to Gabe. How she’d arrived at her suspicion would seem a natural progression.
Her partner would never have to find out about her late night trip downtown. Yet why had she taken a risk to keep her meeting with the violinist a secret from her partner? Her only explanation—for risking Gabe’s trust in her—was that she had a definite attraction toward Ethan Chandler.
Was that a good enough excuse?
Since Manny died, she’d lost a piece of her that would never be replaced. Thinking of a future without him always scared her, even still. But tonight felt like a step in the right direction to reclaim her life. She wanted to hold onto it, at least until tomorrow morning.
But as she pulled into the driveway of her small bungalow in the suburbs north of downtown, she spotted a familiar vehicle parked on her curb. Gabe’s Crown Vic.
“What the hell…”
She locked her car and reached for her weapon as a precaution before she approached his vehicle. She saw a silhouette of a man slumped in the front seat. Angel held up her gun and approached from the rear. When she got close, she peered through the driver’s window. By the dim light off a street lamp, she saw her partner behind the wheel. He had his head resting on his jacket wedged against the window.
Gabe had fallen asleep waiting for her to come home.
He hadn’t been to her house since Manny’s funeral, even though she’d invited him on more than one occasion. It had been Manny’s house, and she understood his reason for dodging her invitations. Nothing had been the same since her husband died, but it was odd Gabe chose to make an appearance at this hour. Whatever brought him here must be important.
Angel wasn’t sure she wanted to know his reason for coming.