by Julie Chase
“Yeah? How about when the DJ at Bourbon Cowboy tried to bribe me with one lousy drink to ride the mechanical bull?”
Chase stopped moving and feigned seriousness. “You slid right off. Worst show ever.”
I fell against his side in laughter. Puffs of powdered sugar lifted into the air. “I couldn’t get my knees apart in this dress. I had to ride side saddle.”
“That wasn’t a ride. That was like a sliding board. Bull powered on. Lacy slid off.” He tossed his cup in a trash bin. “Where should we go next?”
“Home. I have a ton of work to do, and I need to get out of this dress. Are you okay to drive?”
“Me? I’m fine. I nursed the same hurricane all over town. You’re the one who fell off a bull,” he snorted, “in a wedding gown.”
I laughed too. Then I followed him in search of his car, wherever we’d left it.
Chapter Sixteen
Furry Godmother’s tip for double-dating: Invite a friend.
I made a fresh pot of coffee when I got home and settled on the couch with Penelope. Chase walked me to the door like a gentleman, then headed home, wherever that was. A tinge of guilt pinched my chest. I hadn’t even asked about his new place or offered to come by with a housewarming gift. If I didn’t act soon, Mom and her crew would be around to revoke my southern woman card. “We have to think of the perfect gift,” I told Penelope, stroking her soft fur. “Something that will make up for my delay.” I held a small embellishments container in front of us. “I’m going to do something, and I don’t want you to freak out.” I opened the lid to my feather bin, and tiny bits of fluff floated out. Penelope rolled off me on high alert, ears perked, tail sweeping gracefully, watching for where the floater would land.
I adjusted my T-shirt and pulled the box onto my lap in her absence. My skin was still warm from a shower. “I’m going to make accessories for my peacock line,” I explained. “I want the pieces ready in time for Mardi Gras, so you can’t eat my feathers.”
I stitched a few plumes into a stretchy sequin headband and tugged the accessory onto Penelope’s head.
She went rigid. Ears flat.
“It’s beautiful.”
She dove headfirst into the cushions and pawed it off.
I selected a handful of long, straight feathers from the bin and resealed the lid. I got busy attaching feathers to other headbands while Penelope kneaded hers to death on the cushion beside me.
Busy hands were good for the brain. I did some halfhearted Internet searches for Shannon and Annie, typing sporadically with one hand and scanning the results, most of which I’d already read. We hadn’t managed to catch Shannon tonight, but I had plans to arrive on his doorstep in the morning. I skimmed though articles on Annie’s nasty divorce and a few covering who-made-it-first disputes between her and other designers. Photos of Dylan Latherope were plentiful and deceiving. He looked downright poised on the screen. In reality, he seemed like a guy on the edge. I glanced at my drawn curtains. Where was he tonight?
“The memorial.” I searched for coverage of the public memorial Bryce had mentioned was taking place today and found loads of coverage. Articles, photos, videos. I grabbed another set of feathers to sew while I watched some amateur footage taken at the event. Soft piano music tinkled in the background, nearly swallowed by the murmur of a thousand voices. A giant painting of Annie graced the rear wall of her Manhattan studio. A sea of people dressed in black carried champagne flutes and tiny plates with them through the space.
“You know who I don’t see?” I asked Penelope.
She dove off the couch and pounced on a feather.
“Dylan Latherope. If he didn’t fly home for the memorial, he could still be here playing cat-man.” I tapped a finger on my cell phone, itching to call Jack and ask if he learned anything more from the man who’d seen someone dressed as a cat leaving the animal shelter, but it was almost two in the morning. I’d have to wait.
The video continued as I attached feather after feather to several headbands. Nothing much happened. The person behind the camera was more interested in the celebrities in attendance than Annie. “No one even gave a speech,” the cameraman complained. “No one said anything about Annie Lane. That’s messed up.”
I agreed.
“I know,” a woman’s voice answered. I tuned in more closely. I’d assumed the cameraman was alone. “Where was her family?” the woman asked. “I wonder if she even knew any of those people.”
The video ended. I watched it again, this time wondering along with the voice, where was Annie’s family?
I opened a new search engine and looked for the most recent articles on Annie’s family. Nothing. Stories of her death, but no press statements or personal interviews. Strange. I ditched the feathers to type with both hands and tried variations of the search. A few old articles surfaced with photos of Annie and her parents from my high school days. An article written in the late 1990s featured Annie at her college graduation, and another showed her at a national design competition in 2001. A young boy frowned at his feet in the photo. I squinted at the tiny script beneath. The Goodman Family. “Oh, my goodness.” I’d completely forgotten that she’d changed her name when she started her label. “Annie Lane was born Annie Goodman.” I switched gears and searched Annie Goodman.
There were an astounding number of people with that name, but perseverance won again. “Gotcha,” I bragged to my laptop. Annie was featured in our local paper while still in high school. Her family was interviewed. Mom, Dad, Annie, and her little brother, Ryan. Once I had his name, I was able to find evidence of him in New Orleans, Nashville, and a number of other cities. I scrolled through his social media feeds, picking up momentum when the location tags changed recently from California to New Orleans. I enlarged his profile picture and slapped the couch. “Yes!” I grabbed my phone and flipped through the pictures I’d taken of Gideon’s stalker wall. “It’s him!” The unknown man carrying those boxes marked with Xs was Annie’s brother. So where the heck had he been hiding and why?
I snagged my phone and jumped off the couch to pace. My best thinking happened when I was in motion. I dialed Chase.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he answered on the first ring.
I stopped pacing. “Did I wake you?”
“Do you need me?” he countered.
I chewed my lip, debating. “Actually I’m looking into Annie’s life online. Are you still interested?”
An engine revved in the background. “You have no idea.”
Chase pulled into my drive a few minutes later looking like he’d had a full night’s sleep and a photo shoot before his arrival. I was in cotton shorts and a Salvador Dali T-shirt.
I opened the door and pulled him inside. Without thinking, I hugged him. “Thanks for coming.” I reset the alarm. “This has been a really weird week, and I think I just found something interesting.” I unloaded four and a half days of nightmares on him while he cuddled Penelope and teased her with feathers. Then I handed him my phone and laptop and explained my newest discovery.
“So you think her brother’s in town and what? Hiding?”
“Why else wouldn’t he have turned up by now if he’s here?” Better yet, why had he been so pointedly absent during her rise to fame?
Chase turned to face me on the couch. “Why would he hide? That reeks of guilt.” He cocked a knee on the cushion between us. “If you go see him, take me with you. This guy’s huge.” In case I hadn’t realized, Chase gave my phone back to show me. Ryan’s picture was on the screen. His massive biceps threatened his straining shirt sleeves. He wasn’t tall or lean like Chase and Jack. Ryan was built like a brick, broad everywhere, and none of it was fat.
“Okay.” I probably couldn’t outrun him if he was a lunatic, and I certainly couldn’t fight him. “Agreed.”
Chase set my laptop aside and pointed a stretchy headband at me like a rubber band, ready to shoot. “What are these? Garters?”
I laughed. “No. They’re headbands.
Can you sew?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, what good are you?”
He grabbed my feet and pulled them onto his lap. “Remember that time you rode a mechanical bull?”
I laughed. “Like it was tonight.”
He curled warm hands around my bare calves. “You should probably get some sleep.”
“No.” I pulled my feet back. “You just got here. Don’t leave so soon.”
He tugged the throw from my couch over his shoulders. “I wasn’t planning on it. I know better than to think you’d lead a madman to your parents’ house, and I doubt I can talk you into coming home with me, so I’ll just hang here with Penny.” He stroked Penelope from her ears to the tip of her tail.
I rolled my eyes, unwilling to argue. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” His green eyes smoldered, inches from mine.
Conflict roared in my chest.
“Are you thinking about kissing me?” he asked cheerfully.
“Yes,” I sighed. “You’re well aware of the effect you have on women.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “I only care about the effect I have on one.”
Heat flooded my face, neck, and chest. My only serious boyfriend had quickly become an ex-fiancé who nearly ruined my life. It’d only been eight months since I learned that Pete the Cheat’s plan to marry me was based on his secret knowledge of my parents’ money and that he’d had a whole other life going with a woman from his hospital throughout our engagement. He’d betrayed me in every way possible just this year, and I wasn’t over it. I was a mess who clearly couldn’t be trusted to make romantic decisions without an intervention from the Dalai Lama or Magic 8 Ball or someone. Not to mention my parents adored Chase, and our families were tightly connected. He wasn’t someone to play house with. “I can’t kiss you.”
His smile widened. “I can wait.”
“Aren’t you going to ask why or try to change my mind?”
He squeezed my hand. “I know why, and I could change your mind if I wanted.”
“So confident.” So right.
He curved a long arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his chest, stretching the knitted throw over our bodies on the couch. “Lie here with me. I’ll be the big spoon.”
I cracked up and bounced to my feet. “I am not spooning with you, Chase Hawthorne.”
“I love when you use my full name.”
“I know.” I pulled the lamp string and left him in the dim light of my laptop. “Now get some sleep, and I’ll thank you tomorrow by making breakfast.” I scooted around the corner to my room, still smiling.
“What if I get scared during the night?” he called.
“Don’t make me lock my bedroom door.”
I climbed into bed feeling ten years younger.
* * *
I woke to the sounds of Motown. I puttered down the hall, half-dazed, hair frizzed, and leaned against the kitchen doorway.
Chase spun and sang off-key to the Jackson Five as he fried eggs and bacon on my stove, shirtless. I squinted at the delightful sight. His hair stood in every direction. His face pinched tight as he reached for notes that were impossible to most men postpuberty and pushed a spatula through a piping-hot skillet.
I rubbed sleep from my eyes and smiled. His jacket and dress shirt hung over a barstool at my island. His tie lay in a heap, like the cherry on top.
The song ended. Chase dialed down the volume and stared across the room at me. “Did I wake you?”
“No, but I’m glad I didn’t miss the morning performance.” I padded to the coffeepot and poured a cup. “I think the deal was that I would make you breakfast.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, bacon and eggs max out my skills in the kitchen. Might as well show off while I can. Hey.” He pressed his palms to the countertop and leveled me with a curious stare. “Do you know most people don’t buy bacon in five-pound packs?”
I laughed into my coffee. “It’s for a new pupcake recipe.”
He relaxed a little. “That’s a relief. I thought I should probably take you directly to the coronary care unit after breakfast otherwise.”
I ran a hand though my wild bed-head hair and groaned. “Men aren’t supposed to see a lady in this condition. You’re ruining my smoke and mirrors.”
He shrugged. “I shouldn’t make bacon without a shirt, but stuff happens. No one wants a grease stain on Armani.”
The doorbell rang.
I set my coffee on the counter.
Chase wiped his hands on a dish towel. “I’ve got it.”
Well, if it were the cat-man, Chase had better odds against him than I did. If it were anyone else, they could thank me later for the view. I grabbed my coffee and climbed onto a barstool to wake up.
“This is awkward,” Chase said.
Jack entered my kitchen with Chase on his heels.
“Ah!” I jumped off the stool and ran for my room, splashing coffee everywhere. I pressed my back to the door and contemplated jumping out the window. I dove in front of my mirror and died a little when I saw my reflection. I raked a brush through ratty hair and wrangled the unaffected mass into a ponytail, then jerked a teal dress over my head and fastened a wide red belt around my middle. My reflection had improved minimally, but there were still sleep marks on my cheek and remnants of last night’s mascara under one eye. I scrubbed a powder puff over my whole face, swiped my lips with gloss and my lashes with mascara, then groaned in frustration. There was nothing left to do without a shower and proper blowout.
I jerked my chin high and reentered the kitchen. The men stared at one another, then at me.
Chase had tossed his jacket onto a hook by the back door and threaded his arms into his shirt. His tie hung around his neck like a scarf, freeing the stool beside me. He dished breakfast onto three plates. “Detective Oliver brought you a café au lait from Café Du Monde.”
I cracked the lid on the disposable cup and inhaled the sweet scent. “Thank you.” Tendrils of steam climbed into the turbulent air. “You’re out and about early.” I smiled at Jack and pinched a piece of bacon between my fingers. “Everything okay?” I tried not to be distracted by the pulsing muscle in his jaw.
A bizarre electricity crackled around him.
Chase took the seat on my left and dug into his eggs, as if this wasn’t the strangest situation he’d been in. “How was the competition last night?”
For a moment, I wondered if the question had double meaning.
Jack turned frosty eyes on Chase. “Is that the suit you had on at dinner? Where did the two of you go?”
I set my bacon down. “We went to the French Quarter. I texted you. You didn’t get it? The emoticons were drinks, a river, and a church. The Mississippi. St. Louis Cathedral.”
He dragged his cold gaze back to me. He didn’t get it.
Chase leaned on the island, looking around me to Jack. “We were following Shannon Martin’s Instagram. Lacy wanted to talk to him while his guard was down, but we never caught up with him, so we came back here.”
Jack’s chest rose and fell in steady breaths. His expressionless face gave nothing away, but he seemed a little peeved.
I fidgeted. “Shannon was Annie’s protégé.”
“I know who Shannon is.”
I bristled. “Did you know Annie’s brother, Ryan Goodman, is in town and that he’s the one in the pictures from Gideon’s office? He was the guy carrying those boxes.”
Jack’s eyes widened a fraction before returning to slits and refocusing on Chase. “How much has she told you about what’s going on?”
Chase tipped his head left and right, weighing his response. “I don’t know. Everything?” He looked at me for confirmation.
Jack expelled a huge amount of air and headed for the door.
I shoved another piece of bacon in my mouth.
Chapter Seventeen
Furry Godmother suggests: When in doubt, talk it out.
“Wait!” I chased Jack ont
o the porch. “Stop. I needed someone to talk to about all this, okay? It’s a lot for me to deal with. Stalkers and killers might be your normal, but this is scary for me.” I’d never dealt with the emotional aftermath of being mugged in Arlington before moving home to New Orleans, where I was promptly abducted by a lunatic who thought I’d stolen his diamonds. My anxiety levels were astronomical. I needed to know Jack understood. I’d been seeing a nice therapist since the summer, but it had only been four months, and frankly, I wasn’t making great progress.
Jack slowed.
“Hey.” I smacked his hand. “Stop.”
He turned on me and gave the house a long look. “I came to make sure you’re okay. You’re obviously doing extremely well this morning, so I’m going to get to work. Enjoy your bacon.”
“My bacon? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his stubborn head. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ll leave you to it.”
I snapped my hand out and caught his wrist. “Jack. Wait. Have I done something wrong?”
He faced off with me, jaw clenched.
“Are you angry that Chase stayed here last night or that I can’t seem to stop looking into Annie’s murder?”
He crossed his arms, blank cop expression firmly in place. “Both.”
My heart thumped impossibly harder. Both. “Okay. I get that, but—”
“Do you?” he interrupted. “Do you get it?”
I stumbled mentally over the hurt in his tone. Jack was jealous. Why? Unless he was jealous romantically. Which made no sense. Jack had never given any indication he considered me as more than a friend and an occasional pain in his backside. I was mostly a citizen he’d sworn to protect, who got herself in a lot of hot water. Nothing I did should matter to him as long as it was legal. I lifted my gaze to Jack’s ghostly blues. “No,” I admitted, “but will you please come back inside and talk to me? You must have five minutes to spare. You’re already here. At least finish your coffee.”
He didn’t move.
