by Brandi Evans
"This is Main Street," she said as Scott spoke hushed tones into his wrist. "I'm sure it doesn't seem like much compared to Dallas but—"
"It's gorgeous." I loved my home, but the quaint charm here? I had no words. How could Max have left this behind? But even as the question formed, I knew the answer. He hadn't left it behind; he'd been running away from something. Hell, he was running still.
On the left, as we approached, three black SUVs pulled away from the curb, and in a nearly choreographed move, our caravan pulled into the vacated spaces. Max's security was already on the scene, and they'd checked out the area. Then, as a bonus, they'd saved us parking spots.
I'd known Max had sent a team ahead. He'd told me while I'd been getting dressed. Part of me knew he'd hoped knowing would reassure me, but the other part of me thought he'd been trying to reassure himself.
There's no proof Théo's here, I reminded myself. None whatsoever. Max's mom had been sick for a long time. Her death was a terrible and tragic event, one of many that had happened to her over her lifetime, but there was no evidence of foul play.
So why did I know deep in my bones he was here? Maybe not here in town at this moment but somewhere close by.
Scott opened Karen's door, and she stepped out. I, on the other hand, didn't move. I'd suddenly lost the ability to use my legs.
Shit.
Fuck.
Karen looked back at me. Concern played over her face, but almost as quickly, understanding bloomed. "I'll be two shakes, darling," she said. "You can wait here, and then, we'll head to the spa."
I could stay right here, in this bulletproof fortress on wheels, but that would be letting Théo win.
You wanted to come with Karen, I reminded myself. You can do this. You can fucking do this!
I was stronger than Théo Roux, and it was about time I proved that.
"No," I said after another hesitation. "I'm going."
Bracing a hand on the seat and pushing until my legs cooperated, I scooted toward the door. My legs were still a little uncooperative, but I managed to push to my feet.
As soon as I was beside her, Karen looped her arm through mine and smiled, and I knew she knew how hard that had been for me.
Staying arm in arm, we headed for a storefront with a rock façade. Not many people milled about, and I was thankful. It'd be harder for Théo to blend into a sparse crowd. Thank god this wasn't the peak of tourist season.
Karen had traded her paint-splattered outfit for an off-the-shoulder burgundy top, white slacks and black ankle boots. Her hair hung in long ringlets down her back. My outfit, on the other hand, was about as basic as an outfit could be: jeans, a striped t-shirt and a pair of Chucks. Standing next to her, I was invisible, which was fine by me. After the fiasco with Giselle and my relationship with Max going public in the most tabloid kind of way possible, invisibility was a blessing.
A brown awning covered a storefront with a plank of weatherworn wood. Written on the plank in a flowing script was the store name: Creative Sundries. The sign looked hand-painted. Three small tables sat in the shade cast by the awning. A man with a laptop sat at the table to the right of us. A couple sat huddled together at the table farthest from the man; the pair leaned close and held hands, two forgotten mugs of something still steaming between them.
"Creative Sundries' owner runs the café next-door," Karen said as if sensing my forming need. "If you want, we can stop in for a latte before we go to the spa."
"Of course, I want!" Me and coffee… it was a love affair almost as rich and intense as the one I shared with Max.
"Yeah, I figured." She winked, her smile as stunning as the English countryside. "The owner also runs the art studio that takes up the entire top floor. I got my start painting here when I was eleven, and I kept painting here until Garrett and I moved into our home. I love my studio there! I can't imagine painting anywhere else now."
I'd seen her home studio before we'd left. Located along the side of the house adjacent to the patio where the four of us had shared breakfast, her studio faced the shoreline and had an inspiring view of the ocean. Who could have asked for more?
"I love y'all's house," I told her for the dozenth time. "In a lot of ways, it reminds me of Max's house. I think it's the way it incorporates nature into the design."
"Well, darling, there's a reason for that. The house used to be Max's, but when he moved to the States, he gifted it to Garrett and me. At first, we said no, but Max was insistent. And as I'm sure you've noticed, when that man gets something in his head—"
"There's no stopping him." I paused, fighting to keep my face neutral. "No, I hadn't noticed."
Her laughter danced in the air as she pulled the door open. The jingle of a bell signaled our arrival and drew the attention of the white-haired man behind the counter. He wore a pair of khakis and a pale blue polo beneath a paint-splattered apron that looked as if it had been collecting stains longer than I'd been alive.
The white-haired man turned from his customer and smiled in our direction. "I'll be with you in a moment, Karen."
"No need, Mr. Corbyn. I'm just here for paint. I'll be in and out in two shakes."
Mr. Corbyn nodded in acknowledgment and returned his attention to his customer, a man with graying at his temples.
Karen and I weaved through haphazard aisles. Actually, I wasn't sure "aisle" accurately described the store's setup. Aisle-like probably worked better. Series after series of displays simply gave the illusion of rows.
Each display was a work of art in itself. Larger pieces—paintings, statues, pottery, there was even a piece of wood carved into a mermaid—had been paired with smaller pieces. Mesmerized, I lingered over each display. I'd made it about halfway through the space when a particular painting arrested my attention.
A gilded frame enveloped the canvas, perfectly matching the golden skin of the nude man splayed across a boulder. Well, naked save for the single swath of material stretched over him, just large enough to cover what needed to be covered. He made me think of a Greek god, powerful and commanding. His face was cast mostly in shadow, but there was something familiar about his face, his body.
I read the placard next to the frame: Modern God by Karen Lanyon.
Karen had painted this? With that knowledge, something snapped into place, and I gasped. My hands jumped to cover my mouth as I turned to Karen, looked back at the painting, then looked back at her.
I spoke through the hands still covering my mouth. "Oh my god, is that… Max?"
"I painted this after our first night together." Wistfulness touched her lips as she turned to her painting. "I paint to burn off energy, and damn, if I didn't need to paint after being with Max. It wasn't like I had to paint after meeting Garrett, though. You should see the vast number of portraits I've done of him over the years."
I had no words.
"Max knows about this," she added quickly. "In case you're worried. It's not for sale or anything. It's just a display of my work. He said he was proud of it."
"It's excellent," I agreed. "I doubt anyone except us would ever be able to tell it was him."
"That's the reason he ultimately agreed. For being such a hard ass, Maxwell Penn can be surprisingly sweet."
I couldn't help but laugh. Partly because it was true and partly because of her delivery. Karen Lanyon was positivity adorable.
"It's hard to put into words," Karen continued, "but there was something about that night with Max that I felt bone deep, so I put it to canvas."
Though not making physical contact, she traced the shadow she'd painted over his face.
"I'd been enamored by him, but I also knew he didn't feel the same for me. I told myself it was okay, that it was enough, even though part of me knew it wouldn't be. But every time he called and asked if I wanted to meet up, I kept saying yes." She turned to me. "I'm sorry. If this is too hard for you to hear, I'll—"
"No, please… keep going." Granted, hearing someone I considered a friend talking about
the time she got together with my lover was undoubtedly strange, but it wasn't too strange. I was still getting a handle on their long-time friendship, and this would likely help.
"One night, I'd agreed to meet Max at the pub again, but he was running late. I was sitting there, trying to convince myself to leave and let go of Max altogether. It was healthier, I'd told myself, and I'd just about talked myself into it when this enormous giant of a man pulled a chair up next to my table. He doesn't sit at my table, though, which I thought was really weird. He was quiet for a moment, and I just stared dumbfounded at him. Then, he took a swig of the beer in his hands and turned to me. He had this fierce look in his eyes and said, 'If you'd like, I could go kick his ass.'"
There was nothing wistful about the smile curving her lips now. This smile radiated pure joy and love.
Realization hit. "Garrett," I murmured. "And you were at the Drunken Goat."
"Garrett." Her husband's name rolled off her tongue like a prayer. "I stumbled through some sort of response. I can't even remember what I said anymore, something along the lines of 'Kick whose ass?' And he said, in his deep, serious voice, 'Whoever the hell stood you up and made you look so fucking sad.' I swear I fell in love with him in that exact moment. After assuring him the ass kicking was entirely unnecessary, I invited him to sit, and we just kept talking. He was so funny and so adorable that I—"
I laughed but immediately stifled it.
"What?" Karen leveled a critical gaze on me.
"Garrett is a lot of things, but I'd never classify him as adorable. Sexy? Yeah. A little bit scary? Yeah. Intimidating as all get out? Double yeah. He's this big giant teddy bear wrapped in barbed wire—"
Now, it was her turn to laugh. "Oh my god! A teddy bear? Garrett? Just wait until I tell him that. I'll be lucky if I don't become a widow as my husband collapses in front of me and dies in a fit of laughter!"
With that, she tugged me away from the painting and into the back of the store. The dimly lit room carried none of the glam and sophistication of the front. This was all substance and no style, and Karen seemed to be right at home.
"So, what happened next?" I asked when she reached for a bucket containing tubes of paint. "Did you call Max to cancel the date?"
"I was about to when he walked in. I kinda freaked! Max and I hadn't been exclusive—he'd made sure to note that upfront—but I just didn't know how he'd respond. I was prepared for anything—except for them to get up and embrace. I'd thought maybe I'd had an aneurysm or something." She grabbed a tube of blue and a tube of white before slipping the case back into place. "The guy I was hoping I'd get to see again hugging the guy I was kind of dating. It was so surreal, but then, we all three sat down and started talking. The next thing I knew, I was in bed with both of them, and my world changed forever."
"Was it weird for you, too?" I asked as she grabbed yet another tub. The night the pair had caught me in their web of sex wasn't something a girl forgot. "It was hella weird for me. Not during but later, when I woke up and Garrett was gone. It was just Max and me alone for the first time since he'd kissed me. I feared Max would think I was some worthless whore for sleeping with both of them, that I was okay for a fuck but not a relationship."
It was also the night I'd learned about Garrett and Karen's non-traditional relationship. Max had told me Karen had been the first woman they'd shared and that she was still very dear to him; it had been precisely what I'd needed to hear. He probably hadn't realized he'd been doing it, but he'd eased my panic. No, he hadn't thought I was worthless at all.
"That pretty much sums up how it was with me, only Max was gone, and Garrett was still naked in my bed. And naked in my bed was pretty much where he stayed the rest of the weekend. At first, I felt exactly how you described. What did he think of me and all that? But he was amazing. He told me about his friendship with Max and made absolutely no qualms about who he was. He laid it all out on the line: his disbelief in physical monogamy but steadfast belief in emotional monogamy. He point-blank asked if that was something I'd be okay with."
"And I'm guessing you were?"
"Not at first, but he made it sound so normal that I agreed to give it a try. On the inside, I was thinking this red-hot fire between us would probably fizzle in a week or so. I mean, it had to, right? But here we are, nearly twenty years later, and he still makes me burn for him."
"It's beautiful how much y'all love each other." I hesitated a moment before continuing. "Is it hard sharing him with other women?"
The first time Garrett, Max and I were together, I hadn't known Garrett was married. I about flipped out. I believe my thoughts revolved around me, a hand-basket and an express trip to hell.
"I thought it would be," she admitted as she turned to me. "But somewhere along the way, I realized I was only sharing a tiny part of him with others, and it's not even his best part—although, let's be honest, it's a damn fine part!"
She'd get no argument from me, but saying that aloud felt weird.
"I have something no other woman will ever have," she continued. "I have his heart, his mind, and his soul. It doesn't matter what women he sleeps with so long as he comes home to me and shares everything he is with me. Besides, my husband has amazing taste in women. You and I are prime examples."
I chuckled. "Do you think they set you up that night at the Drunken Goat?" I asked.
She looped her arm through mine again, and we headed back the way we'd come. "They swear up and down they didn't, but even if they did, I'd consider what I have now well worth the deception. I have a wonderfully passionate husband and one of the dearest friends I could ask for in Max. And now, I have you, too. You three are my family."
Could it be possible to love this woman more?
I seriously doubted it.
We arrived at the checkout counter as Mr. Corbyn was saying goodbye to the man with the graying at the temples.
Mr. Corbyn beamed in our direction. "Hello, Karen. It's been too long."
The pair exchanged a quick hug.
"I know, I know. Lots of family emergencies, so there's been very little time to actually paint. Oh, speaking of family…" Karen motioned toward me. "This's Breanne Jennings. She's as close to a sister as a girl can have."
Tears pressed against my eyes. Sister.
"Lovely to meet you, Ms. Jennings." Recognition crossed his face. "Jennings… name rings a bell. Have you been here before?"
Karen answered for me. "Bree's from America. This is her first visit to the island."
Mr. Corbyn snapped his fingers. "The American. That's it. I remember now." He began rummaging around under the counter, and I took a step toward Karen. "A man gave me something a few weeks back, said you'd be stopping by and that I should give it to you."
I looked at Karen, back to Mr. Corbyn.
The man produced an envelope from beneath the counter and held it out to me, and the floor dropped out from beneath me. Panic raced through me, overriding every thought but those to fight.
Written in an unfamiliar script across the front of the envelope were two very familiar words.
Ma Chère.
Chapter 6
The sound tearing from my lips didn't sound human. It was a primordial cry, the screech of ancient warriors as they charged into a battle they knew they'd never win.
I stumbled back, trying to remember what I should do, how I should protect myself. I tried recalling my long-time jujitsu instructor's wisdom, but my mind was a blizzard of terror.
"Ms. Jennings!"
The deep bass voice cut through my fear, and before I'd put voice with face, Max's head of security burst into view, ferocious and savage. He was bracketed by two more men as big and imposing as he, one white and one with caramel skin. Behind them, a stout woman brought up the rear. She was a boxy brunette with a fierce bite to her jaw.
The four surrounded Karen and me, their backs to us, creating a barrier as their gazes surveyed the surroundings. With no immediate threat to battle, they closed rank
s wordlessly, and Scott stepped in front of me.
"Ms. Jennings, what happened?" His voice held neither accusation nor annoyance, only concern.
I pointed to the letter Mr. Corbyn had clutched to his chest. The old man looked confused and more than a bit horrified by the scene, but he offered no argument when Scott took the envelope.
When those two terrifying words were again face up, realization filtered over Scott's features. "We need to get you both out of here now."
I didn't argue.
Scott spoke into his wrist as he took charge of me, and the man with the caramel skin took charge of Karen. They bracketed us as we exited the building.
Outside, four other security personnel met us, and the six of them ushered us promptly into the middle of the three SUVs idling at the curb.
"Let's roll," Scott said to the driver when everyone was inside, and our caravan shot onto the lazy street.
I breathed in an immense sigh of relief.
Karen took my hand, and I held tight to her. I tried to focus, but my thoughts darted around like a pinball machine on tilt. Théo had been at Creative Sundries. Had he been there today, yesterday, or even this week? Didn't matter. He'd been there. More terrifyingly, he'd known I'd be there. He'd known because he'd drawn Max and me here.
He'd murdered Isabelle Penn to get us here.
God, I was gonna be sick.
I squeezed Karen's hand tighter, but when I spoke, I directed my question to Scott. "What does the letter say?"
"I haven't opened it, ma'am."
"Let me see it," I demanded. "It was left for me. I need to know what it says."
He shook his head. "We need to get this to the police. They need to process it for evidence and—"
"Let. Me. See. It." My words weren't harsh, but they were resolute.
He was quiet as we rounded the curve leading to Karen and Garrett's home.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, "but I have my orders."
Max was pacing the driveway when we pulled in. I'd barely gotten my seatbelt unfastened when he yanked my door open and dragged me into his arms.