by Nika Rhone
Not that he blamed them.
It didn’t make it any easier to shake hands and wish Theo Beaumont a happy birthday knowing he’d feel the same way about any bastard who touched one of his sisters. When the handshake turned crushing, it was all Rafe could do not to shake it out after Theo finally released him. He met the other man’s hot gaze with a small nod. Message received. Retribution was coming.
The eldest Beaumont son, Richard, wasn’t nearly as subtle. He put his other hand on Rafe’s arm and added a small twist to the handshake that had Rafe breaking out in a cold sweat as pain shot up his arm. Anyone watching would see nothing out of the ordinary. To Rafe, though, it felt like his wrist was about to be ripped from its socket.
“We need to get together real soon.” Richard’s voice was calm and cultured, just like the COO of a major investment firm should sound. But Rafe saw the truth in his furious eyes. He wasn’t inviting him for a round of golf at the country club.
“Name the time and place.” The pain flashed to excruciating before he was freed.
“Count on it.”
At least Lillian seemed oblivious to her brothers’ state of mind. She buzzed like a happy little bee from person to person, gathering hugs and kisses from family and friends. Then she chattered about inconsequential things for a few minutes before zipping off to a new cluster of people to start the whole process all over again. Rafe managed to escape on the pretense of getting something to drink. He claimed a spot against the wall where he could observe without the risk of being caught back up in her social whirlwind.
The woman was exhausting.
Where she got all that energy from, he didn’t have a clue. Not after their earlier activities. He swallowed a groan along with a sip of scotch, his dick twitching at the memory of Lillian’s very talented mouth on it when they’d realized they didn’t have any condoms handy in her studio. Neither of them had wanted to stop long enough to go and get one. They’d gotten creative instead, and holy fuck had his little pixie blown him away. Literally. Rafe hadn’t come that hard or long since before he could remember. If ever.
He’d been afraid he was too rough at the end, but the look Lillian gifted him with as she licked her lips with all the delicate greed of a lazy housecat had been pure smug satisfaction. A look he planned on making sure he saw again later tonight.
If he made it out of the party alive.
“Rafael, I’m so glad you were able to make it.”
Fuck me sideways.
Cursing the fates of bad timing, Rafe pushed away the erotic memories and turned to greet Lillian’s mother, hoping she didn’t have the same psychic powers her sons seemed to have where his dirty thoughts were concerned. “Patricia. Thank you for inviting me.”
“No, thank you.” Her meaning was clear when Rafe followed her gaze to Lillian, who was laughing at something her father said even as she shook her head at him.
Guilt at the ruse they were perpetrating pinched at Rafe. But then, after today, was it really that much of a lie? They might not be in an actual relationship like they’d told Patricia they were, but he and Lillian were…well, more than they’d been the night before, at least. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Patricia looked a little surprised. “I never expected you would. But that’s not what I meant.” She dipped her head toward her daughter. “She’s here, and she’s smiling. It’s like she’s her old self again. So please, whatever it is you’re doing, don’t stop.”
Nearly choking on his drink, Rafe almost missed the wicked twinkle in the light brown eyes that made her look like her imp of a daughter. He wanted to laugh, but settled for a grin. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Rafe. Buddy.” An iron-clawed hand slapped down on his shoulder and squeezed. “Good to see ya.”
Rafe winced under the grip but didn’t try to pull away, not with Patricia watching. “Hey, Pete.”
“Can I talk to you for a sec? Excuse us, Mom.” He didn’t give Rafe time to answer. He used his grip to herd him away and out through the French doors onto the back terrace overlooking the pool. Lit all around with fairy lights, it was currently deserted in deference to the evening chill.
Away from any audience, Rafe shrugged himself out of Pete’s grip and started to turn. “Look, I know—” The fist that slammed into his jaw almost took him off his feet. Surprise let Peter get in a second shot before instinct and training kicked in. Rafe avoided the blow meant for his gut and went into a defensive stance, backing several feet away as he ignored the twinge his leg gave at the sudden movement. “What the fuck man?”
“You sorry son of a bitch.” Peter’s eyes glittered in the dim light. “You touched my sister.”
I did a helluva lot more than touch her. The taunt was on the tip of his tongue, but some sliver of sanity in his rattled brain kept him from voicing it.
“I asked you to watch her, to protect her, not—”
“Be very careful what you say, my friend.” Rafe growled the warning.
“Your friend?” Peter scoffed. “Only scumbags take advantage of someone they’re supposed to be taking care of, and I don’t have scumbags as friends, asshole.”
The accusation stung.
“Well, I didn’t think I had idiots for friends, so it looks like we were both wrong.” Rafe watched the way the other man’s shoulders tensed and knew he was going to attack. The three inches and about twenty pounds Pete had on him didn’t worry Rafe too much. The police academy may have taught them both how to fight well, but the kids in the neighborhood Rafe had grown up in had taught him how to fight dirty. Part of him wanted the chance to get even for the sucker punch that left his jaw throbbing, but somehow his common sense prevailed.
“I don’t want to get into this with you right now, Pete. This is your mother’s house, and she invited me into it. I won’t disrespect her by throwing down with her dumb-ass son, no matter how much he deserves it.”
Pete sneered. “Sure, hide behind my mother’s skirts. That’s mature.”
“Hey, if you want to take this someplace else tomorrow and finish it, I’m more than willing. But you may need to get in line behind your brothers,” he added with a wry grimace, remembering the unspoken promise in their eyes. By the time they each got their piece of him, Rafe wasn’t sure there would be enough left over for Pete.
“Works for me. You just keep your sorry ass out of Lil’s bed in the meantime, and maybe I won’t have to kick it too hard.”
“That’s between me and Lillian.”
Pete’s usually boyish looks twisted into frustrated rage. “You can’t protect her if all you’re thinking with is your dick.”
Something had been off with Pete right from that first sucker punch. Now Rafe had an inkling what it might be. “Something happened with the case.”
“Shit.” Tugging at his short hair, Pete spun away and stalked to the stone balustrade.
Rafe was right behind him. “What?”
“I can’t…” Pete slammed his hands onto the rail. “Shit, I hate this.”
“I can’t protect her if I don’t know from what.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Letting out a long, pent-up breath, Pete turned. “We have a person of interest.”
News to him. “That’s good. Right?” he asked when Pete didn’t agree.
“Not really.” Peter gave him a searching look. “Has my sister mentioned Sean McManus to you?”
The name didn’t ring any bells. “Not that I remember. Why?”
“Yeah, well, you’d remember if she did.” He seemed to debate over his next words. “Short version, he was fired from the security detail here about a year and a half ago, and he might blame Lil for it.”
“What did he get fired for?”
“You’ll have to ask Lil. It’s her story,” Pete said when Rafe snarled at him.
He was getting sick of all the secrecy, but worse, he was forming all kinds of horrible conclusions of his own. “Just tell me this fucker didn’t touch he
r.”
“If he had, he’d be dead, not fired.”
Rafe grunted in satisfaction. “So, you think this McManus might be good for it? Have you brought him in yet?”
“We would if we could find him.” He nodded as Rafe spat out a string of curses. “My sentiments exactly.”
“What made him pop to the top of your list?”
Pete gave a helpless shrug. “We don’t have anyone else.”
Which meant they had nothing. A year-old grudge as motive and no evidence to prove it one way or the other wouldn’t even get them a search warrant, even if they could find this McManus character. It was a desperate Hail Mary to keep the case from going stone cold.
“Fuck.” Rafe winced as he scrubbed at his face, trying to think of their next step. “What about the guy from the gallery? Reynolds?”
“Nothing yet. And I mean nothing. Not even a parking ticket to his name.”
“Nobody’s that squeaky clean.”
“No shit.”
“What about—”
“We know how to do our job, fuckwad.”
“Yeah, I can tell by how much progress you haven’t made so far.” It was an unfair jab, and he knew it. But Rafe’s frustration, not only about the stalled investigation, but at the reminder he wasn’t a part of the “we” that was doing it, made his mouth work before his brain. It was sheer dumb luck that he was able to dodge the fist that swung at his face.
“I warned you, mother—”
“Peter Matthias Beaumont, don’t you dare finish that sentence!”
Chapter Ten
Both men froze at the icy command. Rafe had never heard Patricia Beaumont sound anything but sweet and pleasant. Now, hearing the absolute steel in her voice, he understood how she’d been able to raise three strong-willed boys without having to kill any of them. He turned to see her standing outside the French doors, arms crossed, glaring at the two of them with disapproval.
“You’re in trouble now,” Rafe muttered. He’d seen that same expression on his own mother’s face more than once. It didn’t bode well.
“So are you.” Pete sounded far too amused for a man facing his angry mamá. Then Rafe saw the furious little pixie dressed in green standing to her mother’s right. Oh, he wasn’t just in trouble. He was screwed.
“I can’t believe you’d act this way tonight,” Patricia said, shaking her head. “To start a fight with one of our guests—”
“He’s not a guest,” Pete mumbled.
“—not to mention your friend—”
“He’s not my—oof.” Pete glared at Rafe for the elbow into his ribs.
“Shut it,” Rafe hissed. “You’re just making it worse.”
“—in the middle of your brother’s birthday party. And then using that language!” Patricia propped her hands on her hips. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Pete drew in a breath before blurting out, “He slept with Lil.”
Un-fucking-believable.
Rafe glared at him even as he heard Lillian groan “Oh my God.”
“You do not embarrass your sister that way, dickhead. Sorry, ma’am,” he added to Patricia, who leveled a narrow-eyed look of maternal disapproval on her youngest son. His gaze flicked to Lillian, but she was too busy hiding her face in her hands.
“Peter, first apologize to your sister,” Patricia said.
“But…” He sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. Even if it was the truth,” he added half under his breath.
“You are such a jerk.” Lillian sounded more exasperated than upset, so Rafe decided he didn’t need to pound some manners into her brother. Not right now, anyway.
Later was another story.
Patricia wasn’t as forgiving. She pointed at her son. “I want to talk to you. In private.”
“But, Mom—”
“Right now, mister.” She turned the direction of her finger toward the house. “Move it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Head hanging, Pete followed his mother back inside like a man headed for the gallows. When the door closed behind them, Rafe was left alone on the terrace with Lillian. He eyed her warily.
“How much of that did you—”
“Enough.”
Crap.
“How did you and your mother end up out here, anyway?”
“She came and got me after Pete brought you outside and you didn’t come back in right away. She didn’t want the two of you to spend the whole party ‘talking shop’.”
More like she’d seen the gleam in her youngest son’s eyes when he all but force-marched Rafe away from her, and wanted to head off any bloodshed that might mar the evening. Patricia Beaumont was nobody’s fool.
“For God’s sake, Rafe,” Lillian said, walking toward him. “Couldn’t the two of you take one night off from…oh my God, he hit you!” She touched his jaw, which had faded to a dull ache and almost slipped his mind until she poked at it and brought it roaring back to life. “Does it hurt?”
He hissed and jerked away. “It does now.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Lillian wrung her hands. “What can I do?”
“Besides not poke it again?”
“I said I was sorry,” she snapped.
Despite the pain radiating through his face like a throbbing toothache, Rafe wanted to laugh at her put-upon expression. “Some ice would be good.”
“Ice. Right.” She looked at the house, considered for a moment, then took his hand and tugged him in the opposite direction, down the steps toward the pool. There was no lighting on this far from the house. Guests were clearly expected to stray no farther than the terrace. Despite the darkness, Lillian had no trouble leading him to the pool house.
“Have a seat.” Switching on a table lamp, she indicated the cluster of chairs while she headed for the kitchenette on the other side of the room. There was the sound of drawers opening and closing, then the rattle of ice cubes.
“Here.” Lillian took the chair next to him and pressed the ice-filled towel to his jaw, making him hiss in pain again. She did the same. “Sorry.” Gentling the pressure, her lips thinned into a line of displeasure. “I swear, I am so going to kill him for this. What was he thinking?”
“He was defending your honor.” Rafe didn’t know why he was bothering to throw Pete a bone after the bastard sucker punched him. But it felt important that Lillian know her brother wasn’t a complete jackass.
“He doesn’t need to worry about me or my honor,” Lillian replied, adjusting the makeshift icepack. “Seriously, just because he’s my brother doesn’t give him the right to stick his nose into my personal life.”
Rafe happened to disagree. Brothers had a duty to look out for their sisters. That’s just the way it was. He shrugged. “It’s what brothers do. The other two would have done the same if they could have gotten me alone for a minute.”
“Richard and Theo?” Lillian asked in surprise. “How would they even… Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She rolled her eyes. “Brothers.”
“They love you. And they want to protect you.” Especially from bastards like him.
“Yeah, well, I can take care of myself. Did I hear Pete mention Roman’s name? Did they find out something about him?”
There was a note of anticipatory glee in her tone that told Rafe there was more than a little animosity going on there. His suspicions were confirmed when she looked disappointed at his reply of, “No, nothing.”
“So much for killing two birds with one stone.”
“Care to explain that?”
“No.”
“Lillian…”
She groaned. “Okay, okay. Maybe I was kind of hoping it would turn out to be Roman who damaged my car, because then he could be arrested and Felix would maybe see what kind of a jerk the guy really is and fire his incompetent ass.”
It didn’t take much coaxing to get her talking about all the reasons she thought Roman was a colossal butthead, but it sounded to Rafe like a simple case of two people who ju
st didn’t like each other.
“You don’t believe me either,” Lillian said when her recitation of Roman’s wrongdoings wound down. She sounded depressed, as though she’d expected different from him. “You think I’m being paranoid.”
“I didn’t say that.” But he’d thought it, and that made him feel like a shit.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Her tone said the opposite was true.
“Hey.” Rafe touched her face, bringing it back toward him when she tried to turn away. “It matters.” Yes, her suspicions about Roman going through her notes to try and sabotage her upcoming show were paper-thin at best. But sometimes thin was all you had to work with. Rafe decided he’d make a point of dropping into the gallery sometime soon so he could observe this Roman guy for himself.
Lillian shrugged, but her eyes lost a little of their disappointment. “Besides,” she said, readjusting the ice pack once more, “if it’s not Roman, who else could it be?”
“There is someone else they’re looking at.”
“Oh yeah? Who?”
“Sean McManus.” Shock and shame filled her expression. Rafe cursed first himself, then Peter for not giving him more information so he’d know the right way to proceed. Well, fuck it. He’d already stuck his foot in it, so the only way to go was forward. “Do you remember him?”
“Remember him?” She gave a hollow laugh that made his chest hurt. “He’s kinda hard to forget.”
“Lillian. Querida.” He wanted to pull her into his arms, but something in the stiff, almost brittle, way she was holding herself warned him against it. Taking the towel and putting it on the table, he clasped her hands in his. “What did he do? You can tell me.”
****
You can tell me.
No, she really didn’t think she could.
Rafe chaffed clammy hands that the icepack wasn’t entirely to blame for, while inside her mind, a crazed banshee was running around screaming No, no, no! Her stomach twisted into knots and did a few somersaults looking for a way out of her body.
