by M. S. Force
I rush up the stairs and through the front door without knocking. Logan is on the sofa watching TV. He looks up at me, seeming confused by the way I came busting into the house.
“Hey, buddy. Where’s your mom?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” I cross the threshold to the kitchen and stop short at the sight of her at the stove, tending to a boiling pot.
She sees me there and smiles at me over her shoulder. “Hey. Where’d you come from?”
Normally, I text her to tell her I’m on my way. I didn’t do that today, and she’s wondering why.
“Where’s your phone?” I ask, even though I can see the shape of it in the back pocket of those drool-worthy cutoff denim shorts that make me want to drop to my knees and bite her sweet ass.
She withdraws it from her back pocket and holds it up. “Right here?”
“Why haven’t you answered it all afternoon? I called you. I texted you, and when you didn’t reply, I asked Hayden to ask Addie where you were. She said you had a doctor’s appointment you didn’t tell me about.” So much for not being a bull in a china shop…
She glances at the phone and then at me. “I don’t have any calls or texts from you.”
“Give it to me.” I take it from her, look at the settings and see that it’s set to airplane mode. “Who put it in airplane mode?”
“Oh no! Maddie was fooling with it in the car earlier. She must’ve done it by accident.”
I switch it out of airplane mode, and the phone goes crazy dinging with texts and voice mails—all of them from me.
She slides her arms around my waist. “I’m so sorry.”
I can’t seem to bring my arms to move, to return the embrace.
“You were worried.”
“That’s a tame word for what I was, especially after I heard you’d been at an oncology appointment without telling me.”
“I’m sorry, Kristian. I feel terrible for worrying you.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing yet. I had all the usual blood work and scans. I won’t hear anything for a few days.”
“Days?” How am I supposed to survive days of uncertainty?
She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “That’s how it goes.”
I want to shake her. How the hell can she be so nonchalant about such a big thing?
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I am not hungry! I don’t want to talk about anything other than whether you are okay, and there’s no fucking way we’re waiting days to find out if you are.”
She smiles up at me, her expression sweet and angelic. “You have to relax. I feel fine, and there’s no reason to believe there’s anything to worry about.”
Every muscle in my body is rigid with tension. “Don’t tell me to relax.”
“Kristian, honey…” She flattens her palms over my chest and slides them up around my neck. “This is my life now. Every three months, I have a complete workup, and then I wait days to hear that everything is okay. You can’t lose your mind every time.”
I notice the bandages covering gauze in the crook of each of her elbows where blood was taken, and an ache explodes in my chest at the visible proof of her ongoing illness.
“I can’t handle this,” I whisper.
“What can’t you handle?”
“Worrying about you this way. I can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I don’t think I can.” To have waited my whole life to find her only to have to worry about losing her… I can’t do it. I break free of her embrace and go out to the deck to get some air. I hear her tell Logan that dinner will be ready soon before the screen door slides shut when she joins me on the deck. Her arms come around me from behind. I want to resist her, but I don’t know how. My emotions are like a category-five hurricane swirling inside me.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t reach me and that you were worried. I’m sorry that my illness is a lot for you to handle.”
Her words snap me out of whatever state I’ve slipped into. I turn to her, hauling her in close to me, mindless of anything but the craving need I have for her. “I don’t give a flying fuck about your illness being a lot for me to handle. I care about you, and I need you to be okay. I need you healthy, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen.”
“Shhh,” she says, her fingers combing through my hair in that soothing gesture that makes me want to weep from the sweetness she gives me without knowing she’s the first person to ever give me that. “It’s still new to you. It’ll take time for you to figure out how to cope with it. I promise that, over time, it’ll become less frightening.”
“No, it won’t.”
“Yes, it will.”
“I’ll never become less frightened about losing you, especially if you sneak off to appointments without telling me or taking me with you.”
She pulls back to look up at me. “You want to go with me?”
“Hell, yes, I want to go with you. I’d much rather do that than sit on my ass wondering what the hell is happening to you.”
“I’ll take you with me next time. I promise.”
Hearing that, I relax. A little.
“I’m sorry you were so upset when you couldn’t reach me.”
“Don’t let Maddie play with your phone anymore. I’ll buy her one of her own to play with.”
“You absolutely will not.”
“Yes, I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
I kiss her to end the argument, but the second her lips connect with mine, I whimper from the sweet relief of being back in her arms.
She kisses me with the same desperation I feel, and little by little, the tension starts to leave my body.
I cling to her, needing her more with every passing second. Surely it’s not healthy or sane to need someone the way I need her. I only end the kiss when the need for air trumps my need for her.
Her lips move over my neck. “I love you so much, Kristian. I’m crazy in love with you. You have to believe me when I tell you it’s going to be okay.”
I soak up her reassurances, but I won’t be able to breathe normally again until we get those fucking test results.
* * *
Every minute of the next few days feels like a year. I can’t get anything done at work, and at night, I make love to her until we’re both completely exhausted. If I love her enough, maybe I can keep anything bad from happening to her. I can’t eat or sleep or do anything other than worry about her and those fucking test results. It’s the twenty-first century, for fuck’s sake. How long does it take to check some blood and review some freaking scans?
If we don’t hear something soon, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.
A knock on the door precedes Lori’s entrance to my office. “Um, there’s an LAPD officer here to see you. A Sergeant Markel? He said you’d know what it’s about.”
As if I’ve been struck by lightning, I can’t move or breathe.
“Kristian?”
A lump the size of Canada has taken up residence in my throat. I swallow hard. If there were any way to escape without talking to him, I’d do it, but there isn’t. “Show him in.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Show him in, Lori.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t ask any more questions. I force air into my lungs as I wait. The original Officer Markel retired a decade ago, so this would be the son who followed his father onto the force. My mind races, wondering what the hell he wants after all this time.
He comes into the office, and I’m struck by the startling resemblance to his father, who looked just like his son does now when I first met him. My body goes through the rote movements of standing, shaking his hand and muttering a greeting. His father pursued my mother’s killer with relentless determination, until mandatory retirement forced him to turn the case over to his son, who’s been far less diligent. I haven’t heard a word from him in five years.
/> “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced.” He sits on the edge of a visitor chair. “But we’ve had a development in your mother’s case.”
The words are like a nuclear bomb detonating in the middle of my life. I can only stare at him, wondering what he’ll say and how it’ll change everything. “What kind of development?”
“We got the guy, Kristian.”
For the second time this week, I feel like a trapdoor has opened beneath me, sending me reeling into free fall.
“You…”
“We got him.”
“How?” It’s been thirty-three years. Why now?
“Have you heard of law enforcement use of familial DNA to solve cold cases?” Before I can reply, he continues. “We ran the DNA from your mother’s autopsy and found a familial match to someone in the system. We’ve spent the last month tracking down that person’s male family members and testing them until we found a match.” Standing, he places eight head shots on my desk, four in each row. “Do you recognize the man who killed your mother in any of these photos?”
I’d know those cold, black eyes anywhere, as well as the scar that slashes through his left eyebrow. I was three years old when I watched from the closet as he killed my mother, but I’ve never forgotten his face. I point to him.
Markel nods. “That’s him. Jorge Muñoz. Does that name mean anything to you?”
I shake my head. I never knew any of their names. “What happens now?”
“He’s been arrested and will be charged today in Superior Court. I need to warn you… This is going to be a big story. We’ve tied him to the unsolved murders of six other prostitutes.”
What he means but doesn’t say is that the whole sordid tale will be made public.
“I tried to keep your name out of it, but as a material witness—”
I have no idea how that sentence ends, because I get up and walk away. I ignore the shout from Lori and the others who try to stop me with questions or routine business things I don’t give a shit about. I rush past the reception desk where Aileen is working and ignore her when she calls my name. Pushing open the door, I take the stairs because I’m not willing to wait for the elevator.
I need to get the fuck out of there before the shit hits the fan and ruins my life all over again.
Chapter 24
What the hell just happened? Where did he go, and why did he take the stairs? He never takes the stairs.
Lori comes running after him. “Where is he?”
“He went down the stairs.”
“What? He never takes the stairs.”
“What happened?”
The police officer who came to the desk asking to speak with Kristian joins us and hears my question. “We caught his mother’s killer.”
Lori and I gasp.
“His mother was killed?” Lori asks.
“Thirty-three years ago,” the cop replies.
“Stop.” I don’t care that he’s a cop. “His personal business is not yours to share.”
The cop scowls at me, apparently unused to people questioning his authority. “His personal business is about to be made public. I came here to give him the courtesy of a heads-up.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling as if I’ve been punched in the gut. “Kristian…”
“Go after him,” Lori says urgently. “Go to him.”
The elevator dings, and Flynn steps into the reception area. Seeing the cop, he says, “What’s going on?”
“Thank you for stopping by,” Lori says to the officer. “We’ll take it from here.”
Giving Flynn a starstruck stare, the officer walks to the elevator. The second the doors close and take him away, Lori tells Flynn what happened.
“We have to find him,” he says to me. “I’ll drive you. Let’s go.”
Grateful for his offer, I grab my phone and purse and follow him to the elevator.
“Let me know what’s going on,” Lori calls after us.
I nod to let her know I heard her and get in the elevator with Flynn.
“I never knew his mother was murdered,” Flynn says. “Did you?”
I nod. “He witnessed it.”
“Oh my God.”
“This will ruin him.”
“We won’t let it.”
I cling to his reassurances as we battle midday traffic on the way to Kristian’s apartment. It takes forty-five minutes to go a few miles, and by the time we pull into his garage, my nerves are totally frayed. He’s not answering calls or texts.
“He isn’t here.”
I scan the lineup of luxury vehicles, trying to figure out which one is missing. I wish I’d paid closer attention. “How do you know?”
“He had the R8 today. It’s not here.” He turns his fancy two-seater around and aims for the garage door, which is still open.
“Where else would he go?”
“I don’t know.” He places a call to Jasper, tells him he’s with me and what’s happened and asks him where to look for Kristian. Because the call is on speaker, I can hear Jasper’s end of the conversation.
“Dear God,” Jasper says.
“Where would he be?”
“Try my place in Malibu. He’s spent time at the guesthouse there. If he wants to hide out, that’d make a good place.”
“We’re on our way.”
“Let me know, will you?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t believe he never told us this.”
“Kinda like we couldn’t believe you never told us you’re a marquess?”
“Touché,” Jasper says with a sigh.
“We all have secrets, Jasper.”
“I guess so.”
“Find Liza,” Flynn says, referring to the Quantum publicist I met at the premiere. “Tell her what’s going on, and let’s figure out how to protect him from the press.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Flynn ends the call and points the car toward Malibu. Though Kristian’s car isn’t in the driveway, we do a full search of Jasper and Ellie’s home anyway, but there’s no sign of him. I’ve never seen Flynn so flustered as he stands on Jasper’s deck, hands on his hips, the picture of frustration.
The breeze off the Pacific makes me shiver, even as the sun beats down on us. “Flynn.”
He turns to me.
“Take me to my place.”
Without a word, he leads the way through Jasper’s house to the driveway, where he holds the door for me and then jumps into the driver’s seat.
I can’t believe I didn’t think to go there first, and I pray that’s where he is. The press would never think to look for him at a small bungalow in Venice Beach. But when we pull onto my street, I don’t see his car.
I’m deflated. I was so sure he’d be here.
Flynn parks in front of my house. “Let’s look anyway.”
He follows me inside, where I check every room but see no sign of him. I’m leaving my bedroom when my gaze lands on the closet door, which is cracked open. I touch the door as my heart begins to pound.
I also remember hiding in the closet when she was killed. He never knew I was there.
“Flynn!”
He comes into the bedroom.
“Take me back to Kristian’s place.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
This can’t be happening. Everyone will know. They’ll pity me. I can’t bear it. I hate to be pitied. I hate the way people look at you when they find out something awful happened to you, long before you had any control over anything.
I’ve put the horror of my mother’s murder deep in the past where it belongs, but now… The bandage has been ripped off, everyone will know, and I can’t stop it. I can’t control it, and that infuriates me.
The LAPD will want the world to know about its detectives closing a thirty-three-year-old cold case, not to mention the other cases tied to the guy who killed my mother. It’ll be a huge story. The voracious Hollywood press will go wild when
they make the connection to me and Quantum. They’ll wallow in every salacious detail of the murdered prostitute who gave birth to one of Hollywood’s most influential producers.
At a time when my company should be focused on the long-awaited release of Insidious, everyone will be putting out fires with my name on them.
I can’t.
I just can’t.
So I do what I used to do then when it got to be too much.
I hide in the only place I feel safe.
I use the key card Kristian gave me to access his penthouse apartment and run straight to the master bedroom closet, ease the door open and glance inside.
He’s not there. I was so sure he would be. I check the other bedrooms while Flynn looks in the study downstairs.
I felt disloyal to Kristian telling Flynn about the closet, but right now the only thing that matters is finding him and wrapping my arms around him to let him know he’s not alone. He’ll never be alone again.
I meet Flynn in the upstairs hallway.
“Anything?” he asks.
Feeling more desperate by the second, I shake my head. “Wait.” The idea comes to me in a flash, and I bolt toward the game room, trying to remember if there’s a closet in there.
There is.
I rest my hand on the handle of the closed door, knowing with a certainty I can’t explain that he’s in there. I glance back at Flynn. “Let me do this alone, okay?”
He nods. “I’ll be downstairs.”
My mouth is dry, my hands are sweaty, and my heart is set to gallop as I open the door and slip inside, my eyes adjusting to the murky darkness. In the far back corner, I see him. His arms are wrapped around his legs, and his head is down, propped on his knees. He doesn’t see me until I put my arms around him.
He startles like a wounded animal that’s been cornered.
“Shhh. It’s me. I’m here, and I’ve got you.” I hold him tighter than I ever have before, calling on strength I didn’t know I had until the man I love needed it.
He tries to get free of me. “I don’t want you here.”
“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Aileen…”
