by Roxy Sloane
"I guess?"
He raises an eyebrow. "You're not sure?"
"Art isn't something I know a lot about," I admit, feeling totally uncultured.
“I just purchased a new piece,” Xavier says, lifting something from the crate. “Tell me what you think.”
He sets the painting on a console, leaning against the wall, then stands back to look at it.
The image is a portrait, a woman lounging on a bed, draped in sheets. The artist painted in shades of deep reds and grays, and I can almost feel the sensuous desire in every stroke.
“I like it,” I say, still feeling out of my depth.
“It’s not my usual style,” Xavier says, still staring at it. “But there’s something about the energy, the sense of passion…” He reaches out and slowly traces the line of the brushstrokes with his fingertip just above the paintings surface, down along the woman’s shoulder and her back.
I shiver, suddenly imagining what it would be like to have his finger tracing me, stroking my bare skin. “You can see how much the artist wants her,” I say, without thinking. “It’s like a love letter.”
“Yes. A seduction.” Xavier turns, and the look in his eyes makes me wonder if he can see how turned on I am right now.
I clear my throat. “I should get back.” My voice is faint.
“So soon? But we’re just getting to know each other.” He strolls closer, still looking cool and composed.
I take a shallow breath. “There’s not much to know,” I swallow.
“I beg to differ.” Xavier stops, just inches away. “You know, I can usually read people like a book, but you’re a mystery to me, Nicole.” His voice caresses my name, and I start to feel light-headed. What is it about this man? His charisma could melt steel from fifty feet away.
“I’m no mystery,” I insist. “I’m just here to do my job and keep the guests happy.”
He raises that eyebrow again, looking amused and sexy as hell. I realize too late how that sounds.
“Not, happy, you know, I mean, satisfied.” Shit, that’s worse. “I want to be professional.”
“Of course,” Xavier agrees, his lips still curled in a devilish smile. “Wait one second,” he says, pausing, “You have…” he gestures to my face.
I reach up, my cheeks burning now. Bad enough that I’ve been making inadvertent sexual innuendos, but apparently I’ve been doing it with dirt smeared on my cheek or something?
But before I can rub it away, Xavier closes the distance between us. He lifts his hand to my cheek, and softly touches his fingertip to my skin.
Shivers course through me.
His eyes are dark on mine. Searching.
I lean into his touch, my heart racing.
Xavier gives me a molten smile, then lifts his finger. “An eyelash,” he murmurs throatily. “Now make a wish.”
Fuck me.
The words appear in my mind, but I bite them back just in time. What the hell am I doing? I’m shocked by how much I want him; how my body responds to his magnetic presence.
He’s waiting, his hand still poised just inches away from my mouth. I make my wish, then blow the lash away, but somehow with his eyes on me the gesture feels intimate.
Sensual.
A promise of more to come.
"I have to get back," I repeat.
"Nicole—"
"They're expecting me." I cut him off, then hurry through the villa and out the front door. I close it behind me, and I sink back against the wall, letting the cool breeze dampen some of the heat that's taken me over.
Remember your mission, I remind myself. Remember the wish you just made: to find out what happened to Eli. No distractions – no matter how hot and sexy.
#
To get my mind off of Xavier, I vow to throw myself into finding information about my brother. I call Eli's ex-girlfriend for like the millionth time. No answer. I leave a voicemail, just like the other dozen I’ve already left.
“Hi, it’s Nikki, Eli’s sister. Look, I’m in town, I just want to talk. Call me, please.”
I hang up with a sigh. She's the only one who could understand how much I miss him. But she hasn't responded to my calls or messages. I checked online and everything seems fine: she’s hanging out with friends, posting selfies at parties, so she’s ignoring me for a reason.
I just hope the reason isn’t that she wants to forget her drug-dealing dead ex.
With Hailey working a double shift, I need to get out of the apartment. I'm definitely not in the right mindset to check out clubs though. A couple drinks in me and I might find myself making a midnight delivery to Xavier’s villa…
I remember his hot stare and shiver. He barely had to touch me, and I was ready for him to take me right there on the marble floor.
No.
I stop myself before the fantasy can take over. I grab my purse and climb into my beat-up old car. It took me across seven states to get here, and I can only pray there’s some life in her yet. I check an address online and hit the road, driving across the city in the sizzling Miami heat.
My destination is a squat stucco office complex across town: the Miami-Dade medical examiner’s office.
Aka, the morgue.
I park out front and head inside, bracing myself. This was where they brought Eli, where they did the autopsy, where his body lay until we could fly him home. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I’m relieved to find it’s just a regular office building up front: light and airy, with a main reception desk manned by a bored-looking girl playing a game on her phone.
“Hi, I need to talk to...” I check my notes for the name of the examiner who performed Eli’s autopsy, “Dr. Cruz?”
She waves me back without looking up. Huh. That was easy.
I head down the hallway, checking the nameplates outside the offices until I find Dr. Cruz’s. The door is open, so I knock as I step inside—nearly barreling into a guy on his way out.
“Woah, sorry,” I apologize. He’s in his thirties, maybe, wearing a white lab coat and glasses, heading towards the elevator. He doesn’t even stop to glance at me. “Wait,” I call, catching up. “Are you Dr. Cruz?”
“Yup,” he says, stepping into the elevator. “Interns report on the second floor.”
“No, I’m not—” The doors are closing, so I jump in with him. “I wanted to ask a few questions about my brother. He died here in Miami.”
"I'm sorry, I do a lot of autopsies.” Dr. Cruz looks distracted. The elevator moves downward, and he checks his phone.
“It was six months ago. Eli Scott. A car wreck?”
I think I see a flicker of recognition on his face, but he just shrugs. “Like I said, I see a lot of bodies come through here. Are you sure I was even the one who did the autopsy?”
I open my mouth to reply but he’s already exiting the elevator.
“Wait,” I call again, following him out into the basement. It's cold down here, packed with old filing cabinets and hallways, and I wish I had brought something to cover up my tank top and shorts.
He stops, sighing. "Look, I'm sorry for your loss, but I really don't have time right now."
“Then I’ll come back,” I tell him. “Every day, until you do have time. I can wait.” I fold my arms, like I’m not going to budge from this hallway until he gives me answers.
And I won’t.
Dr. Cruz clearly sees the determination on my face, because he sighs again. “Fine, I’ll get the file. Scott, you said?”
“Yes!” My spirits lift. “It was January. A car wreck.”
“Wait here.”
Dr. Cruz heads for a file room at the end of the hall. I take a seat at a desk nearby and wait, my relief quickly giving way to nerves. I never had to deal with any of this stuff: all I have is a piece of paper with the official cause of death.
Dr. Cruz returns with a file and sits opposite. He flips through it without showing me, but I catch glimpses of a charred body and burned-out car.
Bile ris
es in my throat.
"Your brother, you said?”
I nod.
“It was pretty straightforward, nothing irregular here. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“How did he die, exactly?” I hate asking, but I need to know.
He exhales. “I’m guessing internal bleeding, damage to the organs.”
I frown. “You guess?”
He pauses. “The body was…burned. In the fire. We only identified him through the dental records.”
My parents told me they hadn't been asked to identify Eli when they flew out, but I didn't realize this was the reason.
Then I realize what he’s saying. I feel sick. “So he still might have been alive when… When the fire…” I have to stop. It’s too much.
“It’s highly unlikely,” Dr. Cruz says, as if that’s what passes as reassurance. “From the police notes from the scene, the crash impact would have killed him instantly, or at least knocked him unconscious.”
It’s not exactly good news, but I’ll take it.
I swallow the lump in my throat and ask, "Do they know what caused the crash?"
He closes the file. "The report says that he lost control and hit a pylon. Then car caught fire."
"Were there…were there any signs of foul play?” I ask, desperate for anything. “Problems with the car, or anyone else involved?"
"No."
He sounds so certain that I look up. "Nothing? Are you sure?"
He gets to his feet, avoiding my gaze. “I should really get back to work.”
"No,” I block him. “What aren't you telling me? Please." My voice breaks. “I have to know.”
He finally softens. "Look, I’m sure your brother was a great guy and all, but the police notes say, this was a drug case. I see it all the time, guys get high, start to think the laws of physics don’t apply. They lose control, wind up wrapped around a pole somewhere.”
“They’re wrong,” I shake my head. “I’ve heard this before, but it’s not true. Eli never took drugs, not like that.”
“It’s in the file, sweetheart.” The doctor shrugs. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Sometimes, there aren’t any answers. The best thing you can do now is let his memory rest in peace. Second guessing how he lived and died will eat you up inside and keep you from living your life."
He gives me a nod, then starts walking away. I slump back, defeated. What do I do now?
Dr. Cruz heads back into the file room, then emerges a moment later, talking on his cell. He’s turned away from me, heading deeper into the basement, until he turns a corner and disappears from sight. I start walking toward the elevator.
Wait. He didn’t lock the door.
I quickly dash down the hall and test the handle on the file room. It opens without resistance. Yes! I step inside, and quickly look around. I need to see Eli’s file for myself. The room is packed with file cabinets, but there’s one in the corner that’s still propped open.
I pull it all the way open and rifle through the files. I keep my ears open for footsteps, my heart in my throat. I can’t believe I’m sneaking around like this, but something doesn’t add up. Why were the police so quick to write off Eli’s death as drug-related? Why didn’t Dr. Cruz mention any traces of drugs found during the autopsy?
I find the file Dr. Cruz was just looking at and yank it out. I open it, forcing myself to scan past the terrible crime scene photos and find the police report.
Accidental death… Out of control… Witnesses reported fire…
There’s nothing I haven’t already heard. Then I see it: down at the bottom of the page, a handwritten note scribbled and almost impossible to read.
Drugs? El Jefe. Victim known courier. Check ASAP for DEA.
El Jefe?
I type it in my phone. It’s Spanish for ‘the boss.’ DEA means the Drug Enforcement Agency.
According to this note, my brother was a trafficker for some kind of drug ring. That’s why nobody looked into the death that hard, they figured it was just another criminal, burned up getting high on his own supply.
But that’s impossible. I know my brother, and he would never get involved with drugs. So why do the police think he was? And who the hell is this El Jefe?
I shiver, quickly replacing the file and sneaking back out of the room. As I make my way to the exit, my mind is racing. I knew there was something weird about his death, and now I’m certain. The more I find out, the more questions I have to chase down answers to.
But I’m going to find out the truth. I owe it to Eli, and myself.
Chapter Four
Xavier didn't order room service the next day. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Luckily I have today and tomorrow off, so I won't have to worry about running into him. Maybe all this distance will clear my head a bit. Remind me of why I need to stay focused.
Hailey went home to visit her family, so I'm on my own for the weekend. And weekends in Miami are made for clubbing. I decide to head back to Club Ultra wearing the most fabulous dress I have, a dark green wrap dress that I got on clearance at Saks. I use a sea salt spray to add some beachy waves to my hair and put on some cranberry gloss and dark mascara. Then all that's left is to slip on some black heels and a necklace that hits just above the v-neck of the dress. If the V.I.P. guys don't notice me tonight, I'll have to assume they're too intimidated to talk to me.
I get to the club about fifteen minutes before it opens. The bouncer from the other night recognizes me and asks about Hailey before letting me in early. Only a few others have received the same treatment, so it's the perfect time to talk to the bartenders. I see one I didn't get to talk to the other night and arrange myself on a stool. Not so easy in a dress and heels, but I manage.
"What's your poison, gorgeous?"
I can tell by the tone of his voice that it's a compliment, not a line. "What's your specialty?"
"Well, I make a serious hurricane, but you don't look like a hurricane girl. You need something sophisticated to go with your look. Like a Manhattan. Or a martini. A real martini."
"Martini it is. Just a little dirty."
He winks at me. "It wouldn't be fun if it wasn't a little dirty."
I grin and shake my head. I can tell why this guy was so popular the other night.
When he comes back, I hand him much more than the drink costs. "Can I ask you a question?"
He glances down at the bills. "Sure, I've got some time before the masses enter."
"Do you remember a bouncer who worked here a while back named Eli? He's a friend of mine, and I haven't seen him around in a while. Just trying to see if someone knows if he's still around."
"Yeah, Eli's a cool dude. He hasn't worked here for almost a year, maybe? I'm not sure. Time flies when you've got all this." He holds his arms out wide and grins. "He worked as a bodyguard for this guy Eduardo sometimes. Made deliveries for him too, I guess. I'd hear him on the phone talking about taking a package for the boss."
Deliveries? This is exactly what I didn’t want to hear. I try not to let my disappointment show and give him a smile. "Does Eduardo still hang around?"
"Oh yeah. He's here pretty much every night. You'll recognize him because he'll be the only guy in a $2,000 suit and scuffed up cowboy boots. He's got horses or something."
"So they call him the boss, huh? Isn't that like El Jefe?"
I huff out a laugh but stop short when I see the color drain from the bartender's face.
"Don't say that name," he whispers. "Especially here."
"I don't understand—"
"Look, you seem pretty cool, so listen to me. I keep my head down and get my tips and look the other way. But everyone knows that El Jefe is connected to the club somehow. Silent partner or something. The club's just a way to put a legitimate face on things. Who knows what he's running through here."
"Who is he?"
The bartender’s eyes dart around the room but he just shakes his head. "No idea."
>
"Could Eduardo be—"
He shakes his head. "No. He's number two. No one knows who's the big boss."
Even though he's already whispering, he leans across the bar and says "Be careful, gorgeous. These guys are not to be messed with, and I don't want something happening to you because of something I said."
#
I don't have to wait very long before Eduardo shows up. I recognize him right away as one of the men from the V.I.P. group Kayla was hanging out with. I'd been right about my speculation as to who those guys were.
He breaks off from the rest to head to one of the bars while they go behind the V.I.P. curtain. At the bar, he has a conversation with the female bartender, and she sets a shot glass and a bottle of very expensive silver tequila in front of him. It's so expensive that I've never even tasted it. I watch as he pours and downs three shots in a row before I sit next to him.
"It can't be that bad, sweetie." I put an effect on my voice meant to charm. It's time to go all out and I’m surprised at how easy it comes.
He arches an eyebrow at me. "What do you mean?"
I nod to the tequila. "There are only two reasons to take tequila shots like that, and neither reason is a good one."
He laughs without humor in it but then relents and gives up a half-smile. "It hasn't been the best day."
"Ah, I see. So we're in the ‘drowning our sorrows’ phase." I pause, letting him study me for a moment. "The least you can do if you're downing shots is do it properly. Where's your lime and salt?" I flash a flirty grin, hoping he doesn’t notice how nervous I am. Every instinct in my body is telling me to run, but I have to see this through. I have to do this. For Eli.
"Maybe you want to join me?" he asks.
"Well, why not? Why would I drink alone when I have a handsome, well-dressed man with fancy tequila wanting to share?"
"You think I'm handsome?" He grins a little sheepishly and looks away for a split second. And that’s when I know I've got him. That slight crack of insecurity in his macho, tough guy shell. I can use this. I'm now supremely grateful for all the psychology classes I took before I put college on hold. My heart is still pounding in my chest, but my nerves are starting to ease.
