Blood Score

by Jordan Dane

  “Did I hear you right, that you’re a neighbor to Ethan Chandler?” she asked.

  “Yes. He lives next door. We pass each other in the hallway sometimes.”

  “And you didn’t know the man who stopped you back there?”

  “No and I wouldn’t care to. He’s rude and pushy.” McFarland dabbed under his chin with his hankie. “Can I go now?”

  Angel had no reason to detain McFarland. She’d run his name by Gabe and would do a background check.

  “Yes. Have a good evening, sir.”

  Tim McFarland pushed his way through the crowd, and Angel lost sight of him as she heard her name called.

  “Angel. I’ve cleared you. Show your pass and come through.” Gabe waved to her from the front of the line, but after she got past the gatekeepers and a smug Rachel Blevins, she stopped in front of Bryce Peterson.

  “That testosterone flare-up looked like you two had history. What’s the story?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I hate people who say they know Ethan and expect special treatment. That’s all.”

  Angel didn’t bother to point out the irony of Bryce’s own words.

  “The guy’s his neighbor,” she said. “Maybe he does know him.”

  “He’s not on the list,” he argued with a dose of surly. “Rachel said no one gets past these guys if they aren’t on the list.”

  Angel turned her attention on the publicist. “You looked as if you enjoyed your front row seat.”

  “Leave her out of this.” Bryce came to Rachel’s rescue without hesitating. “She’s only looking out for Ethan.”

  Rachel didn’t bother coming to her own defense. She didn’t have to. She only shrugged and smiled, but Angel wasn’t buying any of it. Bryce had downplayed his beef with McFarland. It looked personal, and the fact that the man lived next door to Ethan had put the neighbor on her list of suspects—a list with Bryce and Rachel’s names on it. They hadn’t been ruled out, in her mind.

  “I lost my temper,” he added. “That’s all.”

  “You losing your cool, Bryce? Hard to imagine.” Angel let it go—for now—but not before glaring at Rachel for her part in adding fuel to the fire of Bryce’s temper. Her manipulative move came way too easy.

  ***

  When Joaquin Salazar fixed his eyes on Rachel, she noticed. His sexy good looks were amplified in a tuxedo, but his dark eyes were the best feature in his arsenal. He pulled her aside with a touch of his hand on her elbow, but the way he stared at her held her where she stood.

  “That scene between Bryce and Ethan’s neighbor, it looked as if you enjoyed it.” He kept his voice low. “Don’t try to deny it. You strike me as a woman who likes to be in control. I like that.”

  “Do you have a point, Joaquin?”

  “Only an observation.” He let his gaze trail down to her lips. “Bryce is a hot head and he’s in rehab. That can’t be good for Ethan’s reputation, yet you know how to pull his strings when it matters. I like that, too.”

  “Ethan considers Bryce a friend. Nothing I can do, except look after Ethan’s best interest.”

  Joaquin crooked his lip into a lazy smile.

  “Who do you think killed Olivia?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Someone did. And with Bryce’s temper, anything could happen. If he did it, and the cops try to link the killing to Ethan, that won’t be good for our boy’s stellar reputation.”

  Rachel crossed her arms and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what happened to Olivia. What are you getting at?”

  “My benefactor, Evelyn, wouldn’t want to see Ethan harmed in this. If there is anything I can do to help you, please…call me. I can be very discreet. No one has to know. Not even Evelyn.”

  Joaquin reached for her hand and kissed it, not taking his eyes off her. He didn’t wait for her reply before he drifted into the crowd, and she lost him.

  Rachel clenched her teeth.

  ***

  After Angel joined her partner, Gabe escorted her through the backstage. Ethan’s dressing room had bodies to the rafters—all of them talking and drinking champagne—with dozens of roses that filled the air with a heady floral scent. A cluster of people across the ample room gave Angel a clue of where Ethan could be found.

  “It’s that woman detective,” Rachel said as she caught up to Angel and stepped around her to touch her client’s arm.

  “Angelica. Good of you to come.” Ethan’s face lit up with a strained smile. “Please…someone get her a glass of champagne.”

  Before she had a chance to decline the alcohol, a man shoved a crystal flute of champagne into her hand.

  “Angelica?” When Gabe whispered in her ear, Angel nudged him with an elbow before she inched closer to Ethan.

  “Your performance, it was…breathtaking.” Standing next to the violinist, Angel struggled for words. “I’ve never—”

  “He is truly one of a kind.”

  Ethan smiled and blushed as an older woman with silver hair interrupted Angel. Dazzling in shiny couture and dripping in diamonds, the woman kissed his cheek and left her mark of bright red lipstick.

  “Drink, darling,” she said to Angel as she raised her glass toward Ethan. “It’s not every day that you’re graced by such an angelic presence.”

  “Don’t be so quick with the halo, Evelyn,” Ethan said. “I’m not feeling very worthy these days.”

  Angel caught a glimpse of the sadness she’d seen the day she first met the violinist, after he’d found out about Olivia. He’d put on a show and for the sake of everyone in his dressing room, he still had his game face on.

  “Who was that horrid man trying to barge through the backstage line?” Evelyn asked, turning to Rachel.

  “Apparently he’s a neighbor of Ethan’s,” Rachel said. “He’s a bit obsessed, if you ask me. Bryce was only being a good friend to our boy here.”

  “You can fill me in later. I love juicy gossip.” The older woman raised her glass to the publicist and winked.

  The wealthy woman was accompanied by the same young Latino man dressed in a tux who had taken an interest in McFarland’s attempt to get backstage. The woman didn’t have the sensitivity to pick up on Ethan’s dark mood. Being the center of attention, she carried on as if nothing bad had happened to him. Even if Angel could get Ethan’s attention now, the dowager and her escort dominated the crowd surrounding the violinist, distracting the musician with their abrasive behavior and the familiar way they both touched him. Angel backed off.

  Ethan must have known them well.

  “Detectives, I’d like you to meet Ethan’s agent, Harrison Reeves.”

  At the sound of Rachel’s voice, Angel turned as the publicist made introductions and a distinguished looking man in a navy suit stepped forward, not bothering to offer his hand.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Detectives. Taking in a concert? I thought closing this case would take priority.” The tall man with gray at his temples glared in judgment.

  “We’re here at the request of Ms. Blevins,” Gabe intervened. “Otherwise I’d be bowling. League night.”

  “Is that intended to be funny?”

  “Only if you’ve seen me bowl.”

  Angel rolled her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reeves. Did you know Olivia?”

  With a stern face, Reeves glanced toward Ethan and made sure his client looked distracted before he answered.

  “Yes, I knew her.”

  When Reeves didn’t say anything more, Angel noticed the grimace that flashed across his face at the mention of Olivia Davenport’s name.

  “But you didn’t approve of Ethan’s choice in girlfriends.” She furrowed her brow. “Why?”

  When the agent tightened his jaw, she wasn’t sure he’d answer.

  “That girl was a scandal in the making. Despite outward appearances and her family’s pedigree, Olivia had no discretion. Ethan could have done better.” Reeves heaved a disapproving sigh and added, “If you’ll
excuse me.”

  When the agent cut a path through the crowd and disappeared, Rachel shrugged and shook her head. “He wasn’t a fan. And Harrison’s very protective of his cash cow.”

  “Sounds like you have a dose of bovine envy,” Gabe mumbled under his breath to Angel.

  “What?” Rachel cocked her head.

  “Nothing. Does Ethan need that much protecting?” Gabe asked the publicist. “I mean, between you and Mr. Warmth, I’d say that’s overkill for one blind fiddle player. You two ever disagree on what’s best for him?”

  Before Rachel answered, a woman’s voice nabbed Angel’s attention.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  The older woman, who smelled of cash and had been with Ethan, broke through the crowd waggling her finger at Gabe. She sidled next to him with her boy toy on her arm.

  “I never forget a handsome man, especially one with delicious bruises on his face. You were at Simone Moreau’s place the other night,” the woman said. “I sat behind you two in the theatre. Simone is very picky about who she invites to her bed. You must be very special.”

  “Simone Moreau,” Angel whispered to her partner. “Isn’t she—”

  Angel never got to finish. When she looked at her partner, Gabe stared at the woman and the young Hispanic guy until recognition registered on his face. With it came a rare splash of color. Gabe blushed.

  “You remember him, don’t you, Joaquin?” the woman said with a wicked smile. “He’s the one I said would make a scrumptious seven course meal.”

  The guy in the tuxedo chuckled with their inside joke. “And I said I’d stay for dessert.”

  Rachel stepped in with an amused look on her face.

  “This is Evelyn Carmichael, Detectives. She’s a generous patron of the arts and Ethan’s number one fan. Her escort is Joaquin Salazar.” Without mercy, the publicist stared at Gabe and twisted the knife. “How do you know each other again?”

  ***

  All eyes were on him, even Angel’s.

  Cronan suspected most of the cops on the force knew Simone Moreau by reputation. Even without the high-profile murder that took place on her estate, Simone and her exotic sexploits had earned her well-deserved notoriety within CPD, despite her desire for discretion.

  “I worked a case at the Moreau estate. That’s how I know Simone. That’s it,” he explained.

  Evelyn Carmichael and her mansickle looked at him as if he were a porterhouse with a side of garlic mashed potatoes. Rachel Blevins raised an eyebrow, and Bryce Peterson glared, but Angel had his attention. She clenched her jaw and did her best to remain unreadable, except for the palpable tension he felt between them.

  “What?” He shrugged. “Simone is a…friend.”

  No doubt his partner had figured out he had carried on the investigation without her. Although she had done the same by meeting with Chandler on the sly, they had enough history with the problem of him going rogue, that he knew she wouldn’t let this one slide. Even if it made sense that Moreau might have insight on the vic’s preference for bedroom acrobatics and sex toys, Angel would be pissed for different reasons.

  “Can we be friends, too?” Evelyn Carmichael didn’t know when to quit.

  Cronan didn’t answer her.

  He vaguely remembered the woman from Simone’s. When she mentioned the theatre, a gong went off in his brain. He’d been so focused on talking to Simone—doing his best to ignore the mind blowing glimpses of sexual deviancy in every corner of the Moreau mansion—that it took a moment for the gray-haired woman’s face to register.

  Someone else within Ethan’s tight circle of protectors and fans had a connection to Simone Moreau, a coincidence he didn’t like. But for tonight, the damage had been done with his partner. Cronan didn’t have to be a mind reader to see that the rift between them had split wide open.

  It showed on Angel’s face.

  ***

  Hours Later

  By the time Angel got home, close to midnight, she felt exhausted. Relying on the dim glow of a lamp in her living room that operated on a timer, she walked through the front door and didn’t bother to flip on any more lights. Shadows suited her mood. She kicked off her heels and tossed her shawl over the back of a chair before she headed for her dark kitchen.

  Her answering machine blinked and beeped a signal, flashing a red digital number that told her she had three messages. She had a pretty good idea who had called—the same guy who had left voice mail on her cell. After she hadn’t replied, he had probably resorted to hitting her home phone, something he never would’ve done before tonight.

  She punched the button for message number one.

  ‘Angel, it’s me. Why did you leave without talking? Call me.’

  Gabe’s low voice felt more intimate in the dark. Angel shut her eyes as she grappled with the strange tangle of feelings that had grown more intense since the start of this case. Or maybe she’d been in denial about when everything had begun. After a deep breath, she opened her eyes again and hit the button for message number two.

  ‘Don’t do this, Angel. Please. Call me.’

  Again, no name, but she knew who had left the message. With the tone to Gabe’s voice, she knew any conversation they’d have wouldn’t be partner to partner. It would be about something personal. She didn’t have the strength to deal with it tonight.

  But when she punched up the last message, it kicked like a punch to the gut.

  ‘Why do you still have Manny’s voice on your machine?’

  She’d forgotten about that outgoing message, and Gabe had reminded her. His intention had been a repeat of what he’d told her before when he saw Manny’s cap still hanging on her coat rack and the inflated beach ball behind her couch that still held her dead husband’s breath. Her partner—a guy who had been like a brother to her Manny—had made his point again that she needed to move on with her life.

  Damn it, Gabe.

  Angel knew he had a point. Her life had stopped when Manny died. She functioned and life went on, but somewhere she had lost the peaks to her mountains. Only the valleys remained. Manny’s voice on her answering machine had been one more thing she couldn’t part with. After her husband died, she’d heard the message by accident. She’d called home trying to reach her mother who had come for a visit. But when the call rolled into voice mail, the shock of hearing Manny’s voice on the recording nearly dropped her to her knees.

  After that, she didn’t have the heart to delete it. She used the excuse that she didn’t want to forget Manny’s voice and played that recording over and over, listening to every word he said. She would picture his face—especially the expression that carried a hint of the little boy he used to be—and then she would imagine the glint in his eyes that had been anything but childish.

  But ever since she’d met Ethan Chandler and felt the pull of attraction to the handsome and ethereal violinist, for the first time she had a glimmer of hope that she could have a future with love in it. Maybe that feeling didn’t have as much to do with Ethan as her need to believe she could be happy again and not be anchored to the past. Before now her life had been about the job. She’d buried her needs as a woman because those feelings smacked of betrayal to Manny’s memory.

  Her sudden attraction to Ethan was too fresh, too new even to her. If she had a hard time grasping her feelings, how did she expect Gabe to understand? With her partner loving Manny like family, he posed a different obstacle to her moving on. If anything, Gabe would be the last person she’d want to share her feelings with.

  But she’d been avoiding an even harsher truth—one that dealt with her alone—a gut wrenching reality that made her stomach clench. Angel had to admit she had strong feelings about Gabe visiting Simone Moreau—emotions that had nothing to do with the job or Gabe’s investigative tactics as a partner. She hadn’t dealt with those feelings because before tonight, she hadn’t realized she had a problem.

  An undeniable pang of jealousy had been the real reason she’d lef
t the symphony center without talking to Gabe. It confused her, made her feel out of control. It would have been simple to blame her partner’s tunnel vision and his impulsive detective’s instincts for her irritation—an old familiar argument whenever he pursued aspects of any case without her—but deep in her bones she knew it had been more than that.

  She hated imagining Gabe with Simone. Hated it.

  Even though Gabe had met the Moreau woman on a case before Angel had become his partner, why couldn’t she accept that part of his past and let it go? Angel had seen pictures of Simone Moreau. She looked exotic, mysterious, and apparently she oozed sensuality from every pore, according to what other guys on the force had said. The woman had the physical perfection of Angelina Jolie with a French accent and the sensuous mystique of every man’s fantasy.

  In truth, Gabe’s visit to Simone bothered her more than it should have—and it had nothing to do with the case.

  “Damn it, Angel. Why’d you have to go there?”

  She deleted Gabe’s messages. All of them. After pouring a stiff shot of Vodka, she gulped it down as she stood in her kitchen and played Manny’s recorded voice in the dark.

  Only this time she pictured Gabe’s fierce blue eyes staring back at her.

  ***

  Outside Chicago

  1:10 AM

  Angel didn’t have to call Cronan back for him to get the message loud and clear. Her silence said it all. He’d pissed her off. Although he wasn’t exactly clueless on why, he hated the awkwardness of the rift between them. He’d made the distance between them worse.

  He got her point. They were partners, not solo artists. Why couldn’t he get that through his thick skull? But he had valid reasons for going to Simone, too. His judgment had not been flawed. The only reason he second guessed what he’d done had been the feelings he hid from Angel—feelings he had for her since before she met Manny.

  When Angel took off without saying anything after the concert, her unexpected move had left him holding the bag. That wasn’t like her.

  Reporters had already camped outside the civic center and were waiting to pounce on a sound bite from Ethan. When the lead detective appeared at the side of the musician, the media jumped all over that. Cronan knew the chief would expect an ass to chew on top of the latest news of the investigation on Monday morning, first thing. He could provide the ass, but new developments would be slim pickings.