by G. K. Parks
“I can’t.”
“Sure, you can.”
I wrapped my arms around him, relieved when he returned the embrace without wincing. At least his shoulder didn’t hurt. “Stop.” Tears welled in my eyes, but they weren’t for me. They were for him. “I can’t do this right now. Not after that.”
“L.A.?”
“Martin, you just dropped a bomb on me. You wanted to talk, so talk. I’m listening.”
He worked the muscles in his jaw. “I said what I had to. It’s over. We don’t have to talk about it ever again.”
Clearly, I hadn’t cornered the market on noncommunication. “I’m sorry about your dad, that you had to go through that.” It explained so much about his work ethic, drive, and sexual history. That was why he worried so much about me. “I’ll never leave you, not like that. I promise. I never meant to make you think that. I’m not suicidal. You can read my psych evals.”
“I know.” But he didn’t, or he wouldn’t have stood up in front of a room full of strangers and said what he did. A few minutes later, the car lurched to a stop. Martin peered out the window. “We’re here.”
“Where?” Maybe he changed his mind about getting a drink. I could crawl into a bottle right about now.
He brushed a stray tear off my cheek. “You’ll see.” He opened the car door, and I stepped out and stared at the sign.
“Tell me they serve liquor.”
“Nope. Just ice cream.”
On autopilot, I followed Martin inside. The bright colors and sweet scent did nothing to cheer me up. From what I could tell, the vibrant atmosphere had only made Martin sadder. When we made it to the front of the line, he ordered a jumbo banana split with chocolate sprinkles and extra maraschino cherries. Then we took a seat at a tiny booth in the back corner.
Even though we’d made fun of couples who sat on the same side of the table, he sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Why did you bring us here?” I asked.
“When I was a kid, my parents used to take me here whenever I had a bad day. We’d get a banana split to share and talk about whatever had me bummed—a bad test grade, not winning a swim competition, a girl turning me down for the school dance.”
“That last one never happened.”
“It did. Vanessa Hamilton, seventh grade.” He stared across the room, seeing it the way he had as a child.
“Tell me about them. Or him. You rarely talk about him.”
“Y’know, I’ve never told anyone about my dad before. My lawyers advised me not to discuss it or question the findings. The life insurance wouldn’t have paid out, and it would have turned into tabloid fodder if it was ruled a suicide.”
“Is that why you felt compelled to share it with a room full of strangers?”
“I wasn’t telling them what happened.” Martin turned in the booth to face me. “The only person I was talking to was you.” He toyed with a strand of my hair. “I understand a little of what you’re going through. You shouldn’t blame yourself, but you have to reach that conclusion on your own. So I’ll pick you up after meetings or go with you or hold you while you cry yourself to sleep. Whatever you need me to do. I just wanted you to know that.”
That’s when the tears fell, and I buried my face in his shirt, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “Damn you.”
When the waitress came, he thanked her. After offering me a spoon, which I declined, he took a few bites. “Is the person who keyed your car the same one who put the bruises on your back?”
“I fell down the stairs,” I said. “I didn’t lie about that. But someone pushed me. Well, kicked me. Maybe that’s why my chest hurts so much. I’m not sure if it’s the same guy, but everything indicates it is.” I’d have to remember to tell building security to notify us if any cops showed up.
“And this connects to Lucien?”
“Yes. I found some things today which indicate he’s being framed.”
“By the person who said he warned you?”
“Probably.”
Martin finished another spoonful and asked for a container so we could take the rest home. “Is that why Heathcliff couldn’t make the meeting?” She came back with four cardboard cartons, and he handed her a hefty tip for her trouble.
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay.” That eased Martin’s nerves. “Let’s go home.”
By the time we arrived, I’d come to several conclusions. Martin was suffering too. He had been the entire time.
“The reason you worry about me not coming home is because of your dad. That’s why you went through that rough patch after I’d been abducted,” I said. “It all stems from that.”
Martin popped open one of the lids and grabbed a spoon, letting me know he didn’t want to discuss this topic any further. “Probably.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He dug out a piece of banana. “Because you’d say you’d never hurt yourself.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Not intentionally, but we both know you run into danger, not away from it. And when shit goes wrong, you run faster.” He stuck the spoon in the container and pushed it toward me. He tugged the wedding band off his finger and read the inscription. “But you’ll always find your way back, so I’m not worried.”
“Then what was tonight about?”
He didn’t say anything, but his green eyes spoke volumes. He’d done it for a reason. I just wasn’t sure what that was. “You should have some of this. It’s really good.”
“That’s it? End of discussion?”
“Yep.”
“Remember this moment the next time you badger me about not telling you something.”
“Like how someone keyed your car?”
Grabbing the container, I scooped up a spoonful of ice cream and took a bite. It wasn’t vodka or rum, but it dulled the ache in my chest. Perhaps the cold would numb my insides completely if I ate enough of it. After a few more bites, I put the container down. It wasn’t working. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” He studied my face carefully. “Were you in a fight?”
“A minor altercation with a garbage man. The police, FBI, and Cross Security are all over this. It’s being handled.” As if to prove my point, I took off my shoulder holster and gun and placed them on the counter. “What time’s your flight?”
“Six a.m.” He exhaled. “Do you need to pack?”
“I can’t go with you.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.” I nipped at his earlobe. “You have work to do, and so do I.”
“We agreed work doesn’t come first.”
“It doesn’t.” I looped my arms around his neck.
“Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
“Yes.” I licked the ice cream off his spoon before kissing him. “Y’know, the ice cream was a good idea, but I know something else that’ll make us feel better. Are you game?”
Passion ignited in his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be in the mood.”
“It’s either that or we can work our way through your liquor cabinet. I’ll let you decide.”
Thirty
Martin nuzzled my shoulder, causing me to giggle. “Are you okay?”
“Shouldn’t you have asked me that an hour ago?” I pulled the covers up, turning around in order to kiss him.
He pulled back, a satisfied smile on his face. “We were too busy for words an hour ago. I meant are you okay with me leaving?”
“It’s work. You have to go. I have plenty of things to keep me busy.” Thoughts of Cross behind bars came to mind. “Cross is the one you should worry about.”
“Let’s not discuss him right now.” He kissed along my collarbone and up the column of my neck.
Closing my eyes, I snuggled closer to him. He pressed his lips against mine before shifting away from me. “Where are you going, handsome?”
“I have to get ready. Marcal will be here in forty-five minutes to pick me up.”
The clock taunte
d me from the nightstand. “What time are you meeting your potential new partner?”
“Noon, L.A. time.”
“With a six hour flight—”
“It’s more like seven.”
“But with the time difference, it’s only four. That means you don’t have to leave until eight.” I traced the lines of his ribs and gave him my best bedroom eyes. “It’s your jet. It leaves when you want.”
“Temptress.” He hovered over me, supporting his weight on his forearms and brushing my hair out of my face. “Are you sure you can’t come with me?”
“You know I can’t.”
He touched the tip of his nose to mine. “I’ll call you tonight, once I get settled at the hotel.”
“You’re not going there first?” I reluctantly allowed him to pull away and climb out of bed.
“It depends on what time I land. I have to stop by the L.A. branch of MT before meeting the potential investor for lunch. The sales director set this up, so I’d like him to brief me on the situation and go over tactics. I don’t want to walk into the negotiation cold.”
“In that case, come back to bed. It’s nice and warm right here.”
He laughed, watching my eyelids flutter. “I love you. Now get some sleep.”
“But you’re leaving.”
“I’ll wake you up before I go.”
Closing my eyes, I rolled over onto his pillow and fell into oblivion. The floor beside the bed creaked as Martin dragged his suitcase behind him. He left it outside our bedroom before coming back to kiss me goodbye.
“Be careful,” I said.
“You too, sweetheart. Stay away from the crazies.”
“I’ll try.”
“After Marcal takes me to the airport, he’ll go grocery shopping. I’ll tell him to be quiet and not to wake you. Would you like him to take your car to the body shop?”
“No, I’ll do that myself.”
We said our goodbyes, and Martin headed for the door. I was asleep before he even left.
A little while later, I heard a noise in the kitchen. Marcal, I thought. The cabinets opened and closed, followed by the fridge. The coffeemaker beeped, indicating it’d just been turned on. Marcal didn’t normally make coffee. But it had been an early morning. He might have needed the pick-me-up.
But his footsteps didn’t sound quite right. The soft thuds on the hardwood floors could only be made by designer Italian leather. Perhaps Martin forgot something or decided to take a later flight. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the bedroom. I smiled, wondering if Martin’s lunch meeting got pushed to dinner instead. Either way, I should get up and find out what was going on.
Pulling on his shirt, which had been draped over a chair, I stepped out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchenette. I just turned the corner when the barrel of my gun stopped me in my tracks.
Lucien Cross sat at the counter, the gun aimed in my direction while he checked the sights. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”
“How did you get in here?” I took half a step back, my hands at shoulder height. “Building security should have notified me.”
“Take it easy.” Cross concentrated on lining the shot up perfectly. My backup was in the nightstand. I wouldn’t make it to the bedroom before he shot me.
“Are you freaking insane? The neighbors will report gunfire.”
Cross lowered the gun. “I’m not going to shoot you, Alex. Jeez. You act like I broke in to kill you. Building security let me in.”
“Why? No one’s allowed in or out without being on the list, and even then, the doorman will call up to the apartment to announce a visitor.” Cross wasn’t on the list. He shouldn’t be here.
“You’re forgetting something.” He loaded my gun, then changed his mind, ejected the clip, and cleared the chamber. “After that incident with the arsonist, Cross Security signed a contract with the building manager to assess risks and safety. I told him I stopped by this morning to perform an equipment check.”
“That doesn’t explain how you got into my apartment or why you’re here.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I edged backward, aware of the gun at his hip. Even if my nine millimeter was unloaded, his wasn’t. He’d been pissed about Jade. Was he really going to make good on that threat? Or had I read the entire situation wrong? Was Lucien Cross a killer? “You were in desperate need of caffeine and every shop and store in the city ran out of coffee?”
“You could use better locks. And your sights are off. A hair to the right, I’d say.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
“There are more important things for you to get on, like finding Knox’s killer.” Reaching over, he picked up a scrap of paper. “But apparently you were too busy getting on something else last night.”
My face flushed, realizing Martin had left me a note. “That is none of your business.” A sick thought wormed its way through me. “Where’s Martin?”
He cocked a surprised eyebrow at me. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” He flipped the note over. “It doesn’t say. But he refers to you as a goddess. Want to see?” I remained frozen in place, aware of his right hand, resting inches from his holster. He glanced down; vicious amusement danced in his eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”
“You threatened me.”
“Do you honestly think I came here to kill you and decided to make myself some coffee while I waited?” Slowly, he removed the gun from his hip and placed it on the counter beside mine. He held up his palms. “I won’t hurt you, Alex. It wounds me to learn you think so little of me. From what Lt. Moretti said earlier this morning, I thought you finally believed me. You found photos indicating someone’s framing me, or have you forgotten?”
Moving closer, I snatched his gun off the counter, unloaded it, and placed it out of reach. “You broke in and pointed a gun at me. What do you expect?”
He ignored the question. “The cops trashed my place. They tore everything apart. I’m surprised they didn’t slash my mattress while they were at it. The office isn’t much better. Almeada warned me to stay away from there. That bastard Knox really fucked up my life. It’s a good thing he’s dead, or I’d kill him.”
“And you wonder why I’m nervous around you.”
“I didn’t do it,” he snapped. “I take it you told the cops about my trip to the bank.”
“I didn’t have a choice. They found a photo in Knox’s apartment. We have a lot to discuss.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He turned his gaze to the fridge. “Do you mind if I eat while we talk? I haven’t had anything in days.”
“They didn’t feed you?”
“Poison probably.” He stared at the box of cereal on the counter. “May I?”
“Help yourself.”
He opened a few of the cabinets until he found a bowl, poured some cereal into it, and opened the fridge. “Do you have anything besides creamer and 2%?”
“No.”
“It’ll do.” He poured the milk into the bowl and grabbed a spoon from the dish rack. His eyes raked up and down my body. “You must have worked up an appetite. Want to join me?” He chomped down on the cereal, polishing off the entire bowl in a matter of seconds before going back for more. “James never struck me as a chocolatey marshmallow cereal guy.”
“The cereal’s mine.”
Lucien shoveled a spoonful into his mouth. “That makes sense. He strikes me as more of a bran flakes or shredded wheat kind of guy.” He eyed the boxes of sugary cereals lined up on the counter, which Marcal had bought for me. “Do you do the grocery shopping? Is that what makes you a goddess?”
It was a good thing he unloaded my gun, or I would have shot him. Picking up the note Martin left, I blushed a little at what he’d written. “This is private. You had no right.”
“Like you calling Jade?”
“I get it. You wanted to embarrass me. Congratulations, mission accomplished. Are we even now?”
“I suppose.�
� He continued to wolf down the cereal. When he finished, he picked up the bowl and drank the chocolate milk. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sighed. “Before coming here, I spoke to Justin. Do you have any idea who attacked you?”
“The techs pulled a cubic zirconia chip out of one of the deeper scratches. It could have broken off of someone’s ring.”
“The asshole’s sending a message by using a ring to threaten you.”
“Lucien—” I stopped myself, unsure if I should continue.
He scrutinized me and cleared his throat, his gaze resting on the tops of my thighs, reminding me I was wearing nothing but one of Martin’s shirts. “You have every reason to be nervous, Alex. You were shot not that long ago. I shouldn’t have barged in here and startled you. For that, I apologize. I’m just not sure what to do. The cops found an apartment that belonged to Knox. Someone’s been staying there. They’ve ruled me out since I’ve never been there, but they still don’t know who it could be. Do you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure?” He snorted. “Oh, I get it. You’re not sure if you should trust me.”
“I saw the look on your face when the police came to arrest you. That’s the look of a guilty man.”
“Hardly.” Cross inhaled an uneasy breath. “I’ll say it one last time. I didn’t kill Knox.”
“Did you hire someone to do it for you?”
He pressed his lips together, his hand going through his hair. “No, I did not.”
“The gun that killed him was found in your armored SUV. You let the security teams use that for high risk clients. The gun could belong to one of them, if it’s not yours.”
“Cross Security does not offer wet work as one of our many services.” He fought to remain calm. “I find it troubling the gun was found in that SUV. Only someone with access to vehicle registrations would know that’s my car, not the company’s. How exactly does a murder weapon find its way into my trunk? Knox’s killer has to be close, unless the police are doctoring evidence. Have you verified the ballistics reports yet?”
“I haven’t seen them.”
“That’ll be one of the first things Almeada asks for.” He reached for his phone and sent a text. “Someone’s framing me. Don’t the photos prove it? The same person must know you’re looking into it. That’s why he threatened you too.”