by Elise Noble
In the car, Rune opened up a tiny crossbody bag she’d been wearing under her sweater, pricked her finger, and pressed a drop of blood onto a strip of paper sticking out of a digital doohickey.
“It’s a glucose meter,” she explained. “I’m diabetic.”
“Your father told me.”
Ravi twisted from the front seat to look at me. “But perhaps not forever. Rune wants to become a scientist so she can find a cure, right, Einstein?”
“Einstein was a theoretical physicist, not a biochemist. Think Rosalind Franklin, Marie Curie, Alice Ball…”
Now that I’d met Rune, Alaric’s choice of birthday gift—a biography of Peggy Whitson, a biochemist and astronaut—made perfect sense. Ravi? He was giving her sea monkeys, also picked out by Alaric. Which she was just as thrilled with when she unwrapped the box in the restaurant an hour later. For a small teenager, she sure could eat. She’d binged on dough balls, put away more pizza than me, and now she was matching Alaric in the ice cream stakes. We’d sat in a booth, Rune and Ravi on one side and Alaric and me on the other. We weren’t close enough to touch, but I could still feel every move he made. He gave off a weird energy that made me want to slide across the cheap red vinyl until I moulded against him, and no, I hadn’t drunk a single drop of wine. It was all down to magnetism or pheromones or possibly overwhelming stupidity. Certainly I wasn’t the only girl in history to have been attracted to her boss, but I hadn’t even officially started work yet. Not to mention the fact that he’d been a bit of a prick when we first met. Honestly, this was ridiculous.
“Science was never my strong point,” I admitted. “I always preferred the arts and humanities.”
“I dropped most of those last year,” Rune said. “Now I just do geography. Uh, while we’re talking about geography, where am I staying this summer? Are you gonna rent a house again?”
Alaric turned to me. “It looks like we’ve found your first project. I’ll need a short-term rental, three months from June first, maybe four.”
House-hunting? Well, that was something different, but definitely more fun than serving refreshments to Henrietta’s clients. Before I started at the gallery, I used to watch too many of those daytime property shows, and if push came to shove, I could probably make a half-decent attempt at renovating a rundown Italian farmhouse. Several times, I’d tried to convince Piers that it could be a fun project, especially as we could rent the property out for extra income afterwards, but he only ever wanted to stay in five-star hotels or my parents’ villa in the Algarve.
“Whereabouts? London?”
“Rune? Where do you want to go?”
“Wherever you need to be for work. And near some restaurants? If Naz goes on one of his weird diets again, I’ll have to order takeout.”
“So maybe New York? Or a town near DC? Northern Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia…”
“Are your parents still in Germany?” Ravi asked.
“Ja, thank fu— goodness. No bratwurst for me any time soon.”
So, Alaric had family problems too. I should have felt bad for him, but what I actually felt was a weird sense of camaraderie because I wasn’t the only one with screwed-up relatives. And perhaps that was why, after we’d taken Rune back to Ridgeview and dropped Ravi off at a very nice townhouse not too far from my apartment—Judd’s home, apparently—I didn’t argue too much when he said he’d pick me up again that evening.
“Are you sure? My mother’s worse than the CIA when it comes to interrogating people. Or so I’d imagine, anyway. It’s not as if I’ve actually seen a real interrogation, or even met anyone who works for the CIA, but don’t they waterboard people? There was a TV special— I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”
Alaric just smiled. “I’ll be back at six. If you want to thank me, wear fancy shoes.”
Fancy shoes… Of course I could do that, but…why?
CHAPTER 27 - ALARIC
“ARE THESE SHOES fancy enough for you?” Bethany asked.
Fuck yes. Silver strass Louboutins. Red soles, uppers sparkling with crystals, four-inch spike heels. Fifteen hundred bucks a pop. Alaric’s first gift to Emmy had been a similar pair, back when he’d still had access to his trust fund. His gaze rose slowly, taking in slim ankles, toned calves, and the soft drape of Bethany’s knee-length black cocktail dress. Silk? It looked like silk. She hadn’t gone overboard with the jewellery either. Just a pair of diamond stud earrings, a carat or so each. Blonde hair flowed in waves down her back, and she’d fastened one side of it away from her face with a simple silver clip.
He was in trouble.
“On second thought, you should change into ballet flats. Or tennis shoes. Or slippers.”
Her face fell. “What’s wrong with the stilettos?”
“The men at this party won’t be able to keep their eyes to themselves.”
And Alaric didn’t want to get thrown out or arrested.
“Right now, the only man looking at me is you.”
“Yes.”
His gaze settled on her feet again, and he imagined those heels digging into his ass. Felt his dick twitch and forced himself to focus on her face. He’d almost forgotten what this feeling was like—the tumble over the cliff edge, clutching at rocks and branches until he gave in and slid all the way to the bottom. With Emmy, he’d dived head first, only to land in white-water rapids. It’d been one hell of a ride until he got tossed into a fucking whirlpool.
With Bethany, he needed to land on his feet. Couldn’t afford not to. He’d lost everything once, and he wasn’t sure he’d get through it a second time.
“The shoes?” She tilted her head to one side. “You really want me to change them?”
Get your damn dick under control.
“No, keep them on.”
“I’ve hardly ever worn them. My parents gave them to me for my twenty-fifth, and I should’ve sold them, I know I should, but I’d only have got a fraction of what they cost, and…and I like them. So much of the time, I’m in riding boots, and… Listen to me. I’m sure you don’t care.”
Judd always reminded him of the need to vet employees, so Alaric could justify his desire to know every single thing about Bethany as work-related, right? Okay, it was a stretch, but as she hooked her arm through his and headed for the elevator in her apartment building, he just didn’t care. Tomorrow. He’d get back to business tomorrow. Tonight, his role was to play the adoring boyfriend, and like with any job, he’d give the task his all.
He reached out and touched one of the earrings.
“And these?”
“I inherited them from Grandma. My mother would never forgive me if they disappeared in the post-divorce cull. I guess if I got really desperate, I’d have to replace them with paste and pray she never found out. They make good fakes nowadays, don’t they? It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
Unless of course your name was Dyson and you were on a scallop boat off the coast of Virginia. Or at least, he’d claimed the diamonds were fake. Alaric had relived that day more times than he could count, and he still wasn’t sure how that pay-off had gone so wrong. The cash had certainly been swapped, but the stones… What if the real ones had still been in the case? The diamond tester could’ve been rewired to give a false negative, and in the melee, Dyson had taken the case with him when he escaped. Could the counterfeit cash have been a distraction?
Would Alaric ever find out?
He’d been so close to Emerald and then Red After Dark, only to have both of them slip through his fingers. “Frustrated” didn’t even begin to cover it.
“You won’t ever be that desperate.”
“How do you know? I’m basically one vet bill away from disaster.”
“Because you’re part of Sirius now, and we take care of our own.”
Alaric wasn’t rich, not by Emmy’s standards, anyway, but he was comfortable again. Sometimes, he regretted kissing his inheritance goodbye, but his father’s ultimatum—admit he’d stolen the Emerald p
ay-off and take his punishment like a man or be cut off—wasn’t something he could contemplate going along with. Instead, he’d slung a few belongings into a bag, booked a ticket to Cambodia, and headed to the airport with Bancroft McLain’s words echoing in his ears. Stop embarrassing this family. Alaric had been more worried about embarrassing Emmy. The theft had put her in an awkward position, especially after the FBI ruled out the possibility of the switch having taken place in their building and began to whisper about Alaric’s overnight stay at Riverley. Better for him to vanish into the ether with the cloud of suspicion still hanging over him than let the woman he loved become a suspect.
Until he met Judd, Ravi, and Naz, he figured he’d be a beach bum for the rest of his days. He’d had the beard and the long hair and everything. But it had been all too easy to slip back into his old life—into their old lives—and once he felt that surge of adrenaline again…
Bethany’s gasp drew him out of his thoughts.
“The Aston Martin is yours?”
“No, I borrowed it from Emmy.” He gave the parking enforcement officer hurrying towards them a jaunty salute as he opened the passenger door for Bethany. Not that a ticket would be much of an issue. Emmy collected so many parking fines they were a line item in her accounts. One more wouldn’t make much difference. “I don’t stay in one place long enough to justify buying a car at the moment.”
She ran a finger over his lapel as she slid into the seat. “And yet you own a made-to-measure tuxedo.”
“There are three things every man should own, and a well-cut tuxedo is one of them.”
“What are the other two?”
“A good watch.” Alaric’s Breitling had been a gift from Emmy, one of the few possessions he’d kept throughout his travels. “And you don’t want to know the other.”
The switchblade nestled securely at his waist, ready for those little emergencies. Four years had passed since he last killed a man. Unlike Emmy, he didn’t make a habit of it, not anymore. And he was damn picky about the lives he took. Those scruples might have ended his career at the CIA, but at least he could sleep at night. When thoughts of pretty blondes in Louboutins didn’t haunt his dreams, that was. It had been too damn long since he spent quality time with a woman. Or a man, for that matter. He’d been known to dabble.
When Bethany didn’t push for an answer, Alaric relaxed. Emmy would’ve frisked him and found the knife by now, and he’d have returned the favour. The only difference? She’d have been carrying at least two blades. One tucked into her bra, usually, and another at her waist or inner thigh, depending on the cut of her dress. Or perhaps in the heel of her shoe.
Bethany’s only weapon was her smile.
“Tell me more about this party,” Alaric said. “What can I expect?”
“My parents throw half a dozen of these shindigs a year. Father’s birthday is just an excuse, really. The men drink Scotch and boast about the size of their stock portfolios and yachts and mansions, while the women strut around like they’re on a catwalk and gossip about anyone who isn’t within earshot.”
“So basically a dick-measuring contest?”
It reminded him of home. And Bancroft McLain had always been the biggest dick.
Bethany’s cheeks turned delightfully pink. “Something like that.”
“And you mentioned before that you wanted your family to see you hadn’t fallen apart?”
“Exactly. I guess I just want to prove that I haven’t turned into a lonely spinster intent on collecting cats.” She shifted in her seat, turning to face him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Any time. Although for the record, I do like cats.”
That got a chuckle out of her, but no crude joke about him liking pussy too. Another difference between Bethany and Emmy. Bethany’s shoulders dropped an inch as a little of the tension left her, but she was still too stiff. Too full of pent-up stress. Alaric wanted to turn her into warm putty by the end of the evening, purely for her own well-being, of course.
“We’ve got cats at the stables. Piers isn’t keen on animals at all, but he put up with Chaucer because he didn’t live at home.”
“Sounds like a real charmer.”
“Please, don’t remind me. Somehow, he didn’t seem bad at first, and my parents still think he’s wonderful.”
“You mentioned a fiancée?”
“Yes, Andromeda. She’s two years younger than me. I went to primary school with her older brother.”
“Say that again.”
“I went to school with her older brother.”
“No, not that. The name. Andromeda?”
“Her father’s an astronomer.”
“Her father’s a sadist. What’s the brother called?”
“Jupiter, but he changed it to Peter. Andromeda’s an actress, so I guess it’s good to be memorable.”
“She doesn’t call herself Andie?”
“No, she gets quite annoyed if you shorten it.”
Alaric would have to remember that. “And Piers is a dentist, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“We never hire anyone without a background check.”
“Oh.” Her quiet surprise followed by silence said what she didn’t: that she wasn’t happy he’d been poking into her history. But there was no anger, probably because she had nothing to hide apart from a poor choice of husband and a tendency to let her family walk all over her. “Guess you found out I’m quite boring.”
“You just haven’t had your time to shine yet.”
“Are you always this sweet?”
“Depends who I’m talking to.”
Bethany settled back in the seat, watching the London streets go by as they headed south towards Surrey. The Aston wasn’t a city car. Crawling along in first gear was a jerky affair, the V12 a thoroughbred forced to do the job of a carthorse.
Finally, Bethany spoke, her voice softer than before. “Yes, Piers is a cosmetic dentist. Plus he helps to manage his family’s property portfolio, which sounds rather grand compared to the reality. Think student housing rather than mansions.”
“But it’s still profitable.”
“Yes. A little too profitable. I heard him on the phone from time to time, and he wasn’t always nice. Looking back, I realise I should have said something, but…”
“It was difficult when you were depending on him financially.”
“I know. Which is why I want to earn my own money from now on. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.”
Alaric knew that feeling. For years, his father had dangled his inheritance as a carrot while beating him with the proverbial stick. And it was yet another reason he had to lock down any affection he might be developing for Bethany and keep their relationship on a professional footing—she shouldn’t feel beholden to him either.
“You won’t be.” He cleared his throat. “Who do you want me to be tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“What sort of man do you want on your arm?” Alaric switched to a French accent. “A Parisian banker?” Another swap. “Russian oligarch?” This was one area in which moving country every other year as a child had paid dividends. “Hungarian porn star? Apparently, I’m quite good at that one.”
Bethany sounded younger when she laughed. Or perhaps it was just that her ex had piled a decade’s worth of shit onto her?
“Where did you learn all those accents?” she asked.
“I’ve lived in a lot of places.”
“And do you speak the languages too?”
“My Hungarian’s slightly rusty. It’s been a while since I went there. How about an Italian doctor? I’ll jump-start your heart any time, tesoro.”
“Can’t you just be yourself?”
Be himself? That was a rare occurrence nowadays. During his time away, Alaric had grown to embrace his inner chameleon, to hide behind whatever character he’d morphed into that morning. All the masks and borrowed personas acted as a shield between him and his old world, or so Ju
dd said. And he should know—he did exactly the same thing, and his therapist had analysed his proclivities to death.
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”
“Please? If I hadn’t sworn off the dating game, I’d go for Alaric McLain over a Hungarian porn star every time. And I’m not interested in rich men anymore either.”
If Bethany knew the real Alaric, would she still feel the same way? So far, she’d barely scratched his surface, and sometimes, even he didn’t like the man who lurked beneath. But he found he couldn’t deny her.
“Sure thing, my sweet. I’ll just be myself.”
CHAPTER 28 - ALARIC
“WHO’S THIS, BETHIE?”
Bethie? She wasn’t a Bethie. A Beth, maybe, but not a Bethie. Her father of all people should have known that, but the asshole probably spent more time on the golf course than with his daughter. Still, at least he hadn’t called her Saturn or Galaxy or Starburst or something equally ridiculous. Andromeda?
“This is Alaric.”
“Alaric McLain. Good to meet you.”
“And you’re dating my daughter?”
My daughter. He said it as though she belonged to him. Bertram Stafford-Lyons was a man who liked to be in control, and it must irk him to no end that Bethany had stepped out of line.
“We haven’t put a label on it yet.”
But the hand a mere inch above her ass said more than “just friends.” She hadn’t seemed bothered when Alaric put it there. In fact, she’d wrapped an arm around his waist, winked, and muttered, “Just getting into the spirit of things.”
Kill him now. She fit perfectly against his side. An inch shorter than him in those shoes, soft in all the right places.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks,” Bethany said. “I thought it was time I moved on.”
Her glance at Piers and his blonde didn’t go unnoticed. Nobody could have missed Andromeda. Her dress was a skintight sheath of satin in fire-engine red, and she’d worn enough jewellery that anyone short-sighted might mistake her for a chandelier. Then there was the laugh. In Tanzania, Alaric had been fortunate enough to stumble over a clan of wild hyenas, and for a moment, he thought he was back in the Serengeti.