Scorching Desire (The Trinity Masters)

by Lila Dubois

  Their gazes met, but Marco looked away. Back in the kitchen, he started assembling sandwiches.

  “Marco.”

  He didn’t acknowledge Damon.

  “Marco.” Damon grabbed him and forced him to turn. “What the hell?”

  “What?” Marco tried to hide his anger.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re jealous.”

  Marco jerked open the fridge door and stared into the white depths. He didn’t know what he was looking for.

  “Marco, you can’t be jealous of Tasha and I being together—that will kill our relationship before it starts. We all have to accept there will be times when the other two will have sex. We can’t be together all the time.”

  “That’s not why I’m jealous,” he ground out.

  “Why then?”

  “She trusts you. She doesn’t trust me.”

  Marco was tired and a little drunk. In the sober light of day he wouldn’t have admitted to such unflattering feelings, but right now he was angry and upset and couldn’t hold that in. Slamming the fridge closed, he looked at his friend.

  “I’m the one who protected her first, not you. I never wanted her hurt, and you were okay with it. I’m the one she should want comforting her.”

  Damon’s shock was clear on his face before it morphed to anger. “I see. So who was I going to be in our trinity? The asshole she couldn’t stand? Do you expect us to both love you and only you?”

  Marco swallowed. Is that what he’d expected?

  “Fuck you, Marco.” Damon left the kitchen and the guest bedroom door slammed a moment later.

  Marco took a tumbler from the counter and flung it across the room. The shattering of crystal didn’t make him feel better.

  *****

  Damon jerked awake, sitting bolt upright. It felt like he’d only been asleep for a few hours, and he wasn’t sure why he was awake now.

  “Damon, you need to go.”

  Tasha appeared from the shadows. She was dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, her hair back in a ponytail.

  “What happened?” he asked, struggling to process what was going on. It wasn’t yet seven and he had been asleep for less than three hours.

  “Nothing. I should have told you last night, you need to go home.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You need to go back to L.A. Today. Go out to dinner tonight. You need to be seen.”

  “Tasha…I just got to sleep.”

  “I packed your bag and booked you a flight. The cab will be here in twenty minutes.”

  “Why?” he groaned.

  “Because if you’re in L.A. then you can’t be here murdering someone tonight.”

  With that, she turned and walked out of the room.

  *****

  An hour later, Damon was at O’Hare Airport, yawning as he went through security. He collapsed into a chair in the first-class lounge. He hadn’t gotten to ask Tasha who she thought was getting murdered and hadn’t had a chance to tell her about what Marco had said last night.

  He was still pissed at his friend, though he knew better than to hold something said after a long, emotional day against Marco.

  When he was on board, he tossed a blanket over himself, begged the flight attendant to let him sleep, and finally got some rest. He dreamed of them—Tasha and Marco. It started off sexy but quickly morphed into a nightmare that ended with him standing over Tasha’s dead body.

  *****

  At one, Tasha finished her Pilates routine and rose to her feet. She was still a bit sore and the belt marks had darkened to purple. She’d have to make sure Marco didn’t see them.

  He’d been sleeping on the couch when she woke Damon up and hustled him to the airport.

  She went in search of water, but as soon as she left the guest bedroom she heard it—the first strains of music. Captivated, she went to the living room and curled up on the couch to listen.

  He was beautiful when he played. As she watched his face, she realized that they had more in common than she’d thought—he had no choice but to live the music, to embody the sadness and joy in the notes. When he finished, he bowed his head, looking weary. That she understood. She knew exactly how hard it could be to take on extra emotions.

  She applauded softly and he looked up.

  “Tasha.” He nodded stiffly.

  “That was beautiful.”

  “I have rehearsal with the CSO—Chicago Symphony Orchestra—this week. I’m going in to practice the solo piece tonight.”

  Tasha frowned. “Is this a new part of your schedule?”

  “No.”

  She filed that away—whoever had his phone would be able to see the rehearsals on his calendar, meaning that it could be used against him. “I’m sorry I took your bed last night.”

  Marco laid the bow to the strings and drew forth a low, ominous note. “I saw you together last night. You and Damon.”

  Tasha studied his profile. “Are you angry because he touched me? I know you love him.”

  “No. I’m angry because you wanted him and not me.”

  Tasha was shocked. He was jealous because she’d been with Damon, not because Damon had been with her? “But you love him,” she said.

  “I do. And I want you. I thought you and I…I thought there was something between us, and I hate myself for destroying it last night.”

  “You didn’t destroy anything.”

  “How could I not have? You were hurt and exhausted. We kept you strapped to a damned cross for hours and yet the minute we were alone all I could think about was touching you, having you touch me.”

  “And why is that wrong?”

  “Because I don’t want to be like other men to you. I’m your husband.” Marco put aside the cello, came to her and dropped to his knees. He took her hands in his. “I wanted to be the first one you loved. I know that’s terrible, but that’s what I wanted.”

  “You want me to love you?” Tasha’s heart swelled and tears pricked her eyes

  “Yes. Desperately.”

  “I’m so scared of falling in love with both of you. I don’t know how to do this.” Her voice wavered and she had to stop and bite her lip to fight back the tears. “Last night I was tired, and instead of telling you that, I turned my heart and mind off. I became what I’d only pretended to be up until that point—the perfect little slave girl.”

  “And I pushed you to that.” Marco laid his head on her lap. “Forgive me.”

  Tasha let out a little sob. “Marco.”

  He rose, sat on the couch and cradled her against him. “I can be a selfish, conceited ass.”

  “And I can be a lot of things.”

  “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He kissed her softly. “It’s a good thing we have Damon.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m the one who needs to apologize, and not just to you. I was an ass to Damon.”

  “He’ll forgive you.”

  “And will you?”

  “Only if you forgive me.”

  “Of course, beautiful.” He kissed her softly.

  Desire unfolded in her belly. Tasha pulled back. She wished there was time, but there wasn’t. “I have to go.”

  “Where?” he asked, gaze hooded.

  “I need to figure out what’s going on. I think I can end this today. What time does your rehearsal finish?”

  “Nine.”

  “Stay there. Keep other people with you if you can.”

  His gaze searched her face. “Alibi?”

  “Yes.” She slid reluctantly out of his arms.

  “Tasha?”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep yourself safe. Whatever happens we’ll deal with it. I’d rather do some jail time than see you get hurt.”

  “That’s very sweet.” She smiled. “It’s also very stupid. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

  Marco roared with
laughter as she left the living room to get dressed. Tasha was smiling as she pulled on a black body-armor suit.

  ~~~~

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tasha started on the roof of the club and then canvassed the area, moving in a spiral pattern. She’d put on jeans and a jacket and easily blended in with the late afternoon crowd on the streets. When she was done, she went back to the beginning and started again, each time identifying potential crime scenes.

  If she was right, the failure of the blackmail scheme had caused the person behind it to up the ante. There was security footage of Marco and Damon in the alley last night meeting with a woman with dark hair. If a woman matching that was found dead, they would be suspects. The blackmail attempt and the video would come out in the investigation and Marco’s travel to Las Vegas to look for her would seem sinister.

  The email asking them to return to this area was an effort to get eyewitnesses who could place them around the body. Tasha was assuming that the murder would take place sometime today, and the video footage from the alley last night would have the date stamp changed. She suspected the plan had been to get Marco and Damon to chase the girl. When they caught up with her they’d find themselves standing over a still-warm dead body. The fact that Marco and Damon hadn’t chased after the decoy, and then were heavily alibied in the club, meant the plan must have changed.

  She’d gotten Damon out of harm’s way—he was safely in L.A., and that meant that the security footage wouldn’t work as a smoking gun for him, but it would establish that Marco and Damon knew the woman—even if only Marco had killed her. Even if Marco wasn’t charged, the scandal of him being a person of interest might destroy both him and Damon.

  For the next seven hours, Tasha roamed the city, checking the locations she’d identified earlier. It was nine fifteen. If they had access to Marco’s schedule they’d assume he was done by now, meaning if anything was going to happen tonight it would be now.

  Tasha slipped through the lobby of an office building, using a connecting door to enter the structure next door, then finally climbing fifteen flights of stairs to reach the roof and her chosen vantage point. There were two possibilities she could see from here.

  A dark-haired man walked out of a shadowed doorway. He wore a suit and his head was bent. From a distance, his build and haircut were similar enough to Marco’s that someone could mistakenly think it was him.

  After a quick spike of adrenaline, Tasha forced herself to calm down. Cold settled around her like a cloak. Using the roofs and fire escapes as a highway, she went down half a block before dropping to street level. There was an alley that ran behind all the buildings on that side of the street. Tasha’s feet were practically silent on the concrete and she slipped between the dumpsters.

  The body was still warm. Dark hair blended with the shadows, but the face was undeniably that of the redhead. The dye job was recent—they’d forgotten to do her eyebrows, which were a pale red-gold.

  There were four stab wounds across her belly just below her breasts. There was relatively little blood—she’d suffocated from punctured lungs. It was a bad way to die. Tasha had to accept that if she hadn’t taken a long way around to get here the girl might still be alive.

  She put latex gloves on over the leather ones she already wore and took a tiny flashlight from her pocket and used it to scan the area around the body. Marco’s tie was a few feet away and speckled with blood. Tasha tucked it into her pocket. Checking the woman’s coat, she found a few blond hairs—Damon’s hair—that the decoy had grabbed last night. Inside the dead woman’s coat pocket, she found a phone, which was undoubtedly Marco’s.

  She checked the scene again. The murder weapon was gone.

  It was possible they’d gotten hold of a knife Marco had touched, but it was more than likely the real murder weapon was going to be planted on Marco’s person or amongst his belongings. Tasha made her way back down the alley, using a service entrance to a hotel kitchen to escape unseen.

  It was a race against time. She had to find that knife and make sure it couldn’t be tied to Marco. The most obvious choice was the condo, followed by the Symphony Center. If she were the one planting the knife where would she go?

  If she got this wrong, Marco’s life could be over.

  Tasha took off running.

  *****

  Marco’s fingers flew over the strings. His focus was absolute. The first-chair violinist stood with her eyes closed, her simple jeans and sweater nothing like the long black velvet gowns she wore for concerts. But it didn’t matter what she wore, or what he wore. All that mattered was the music. Marco had stayed because of Tasha’s instruction, and if she hadn’t made the demand, he wouldn’t be sitting on the nearly empty stage improvising with the first chair violinist. Music was his home, a place where he was grounded. He’d needed this.

  Vivian’s fingers were flying as she changed key and tempo. Marco followed her lead. On and on their song went. It didn’t ever have to end.

  There was a screech as the bow slid down the strings of the violin.

  Marco looked up. “Vivian? You okay?”

  “What’s going on?” Using her bow as a pointer, she indicated stage right. Two guards were running while shouting into walkie-talkies.

  Marco wasn’t sure what to do and he was keenly aware of Tasha’s instructions to make sure there was someone with him. Before he could decide if he wanted to investigate, the CSO manager hustled onstage.

  “Marco, Vivian. You’re both okay?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone broke in—actually, she broke in to your dressing room, Marco. One of the tech crew heard something and they found her when they went to check. We’re calling the police.”

  “Her?” Marco rested his cello in its stand. “Where is she?”

  Together, he and the manager hustled backstage, Vivian trailing behind them. Marco, as a guest—though he played with the CSO so much he was practically a member—had his own dressing room. Vivian and the conductor did also. The dressing rooms were down a short hall that contained the ticketing office and the electrical room.

  Two security guards were dragging a figure out of his dressing room. “Careful, there’s blood on her,” one warned.

  Marco’s heart stopped when he saw who they held. Tasha was wearing a skin-tight black suit and her right hand was covered in blood.

  “Wait.” Marco rushed forward, brushing past the manager. “Leave her alone.”

  “Do you know her?” the manager asked.

  Marco met Tasha’s gaze. She shook her head slightly, but Marco ignored it. He wouldn’t let them carry her to jail. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  “You should have told me that there was someone stalking you.” The manager looked worried. “I would have added more security.”

  Marco forced a laugh. “Stalking? Hardly. This is my girlfriend.”

  All eyes swiveled to him.

  “Your girlfriend?” Vivian asked.

  “Yes, this is my girlfriend…Natasha. She gets a bit pissed when I miss dinner reservations.” Marco hoped he didn’t sound as stupid as he felt. This was the lamest cover story in the world.

  Tasha’s eyes widened for a second, then she jerked free of the guards and threw her hands in the air. “You!” She pointed a bloody finger at Marco. “You think you can ignore me? Your music is more important?” She suddenly had a thick Russian accent. “Do you see this? I bleed for you. I cut myself coming to see you, but you are too busy, you do not even give them my name.”

  “Uh, Marco, are you sure she’s not…uh.” The manager was trying to find a polite way of asking if she was sane.

  “She’s a model,” Marco blurted out. In his experience, the craziest ones were always models.

  Tasha picked up this new piece and ran with it. “And you see what I’ve done?” She motioned to the all-black suit. “There’s blood on it and dust. This is a new piece from Proenza Schouler. What will I tell Lazaro when he sees it? I wor
e it for you.” Tasha ran her hands slowly down her sides, drawing everyone’s attention to her body. “But you prefer the curves of the cello.” She sneered. “I will find a man who appreciates me.” She turned to the security guard who only minutes ago had been dragging her out. “You. You wish to fuck me?”

  “Uh…”

  Marco was biting his tongue to keep from laughing, but now it was time for him to do his part. Two could play the crazy card.

  He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward. “I am the only man you’ll fuck. And you will wait for me, always.”

  He cupped her head, wrapped an arm around her back and kissed her.

  Someone cleared his throat, but Marco didn’t stop. When he did eventually break the kiss, Tasha was panting. Only a guard, the manager and Vivian remained.

  “An actual girlfriend?” Vivian asked. “Good for you, Marco. You need someone in your life.” She touched the head of her bow to his shoulder. “I’ll wait for opening night for proper introductions.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” The manager was looking at Tasha nervously.

  She cuddled against Marco’s side. “Lyubov moya, I’m sorry. But you know you cannot keep me waiting.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pout and trailed her hands down his belly. She slipped her fingers under the waistband of his pants. Marco jerked in surprise. The manager and guard were both riveted.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” The words were strangled as Marco tugged her hand out of his pants. “Can someone bring me my cello?” Marco herded Tasha to his dressing room. She was cooing at him in what sounded like Russian while she plucked at his clothing.

  The instant the door closed, her face went blank and hard. “Lock the door and get the bag out of a garbage can.”

  “Tasha, what’s going on?”

  “Later.”

  Marco looked around his dressing room—everything seemed fine, except that his instrument case was open on the floor. A black coat lay in a heap on the floor, but it didn’t look like the one Tasha had left in.

  She knelt beside his cello case, peering at the black velvet lining. “The bag,” she snapped.