I smile at this greeting as Mark is so far from sunshine, it’s not even funny.
“Yes. Yes. Probably about eleven. Right.” He disconnects and slides his phone in his pocket. “He’s the biggest control freak you will ever know. No matter how many times I tell him the plan, he confirms the plan at least two more times.”
“He’s a control freak?” I challenge.
His lips quirk. “You think I’m a control freak?”
“I know you are.”
“Baby, what we do in bed and what we do out, are two different things. That’s about escape, trust, and pleasure. Outside of that, I’ll protect you. I’ll do that with no apologies, and most likely overbearing stubbornness, but outside of those things, no. I hope like hell that’s not how I’m coming off.”
“I’m only teasing you, and you can have control in bed,” I say, “most of the time.”
“Is that right?”
“It is,” I assure him.
“I’d test you on that if I didn’t have to go. One more thing.” He pauses. “Alexander.”
“He showed up,” I say quickly. “I didn’t call him. I wouldn’t play those kinds of games, Kace.”
“I know that, Aria. He’s a problem.”
“What happened between you two?”
“That,” he says, “is a story I will tell you, just not now. I have to go. But I will. Just know this. I would not warn you if I didn’t have a damn good reason.” He kisses my injured hand. “And be careful. Don’t overdo it today. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Text me or call me if you need anything at all. I will answer.” He starts to stand, and I catch his hand, smiling as I do.
“Before you walk out of the door.” I run my fingers through his hair, “your hair is wild right now.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Good. Then everyone will know that you keep running your fingers through it.” He kisses my knuckles. “See you soon, baby.” He pushes to his feet, and without a look in the mirror, he exits the bathroom.
Now I’m alone again, but there is a difference between being alone and being alone. I am no longer alone. I’d consider that a positive except for one thing. I haven’t talked to Kace about the dangers of being a Stradivari. Or being close to one.
CHAPTER NINE
With the thought of danger comes the thought of Gio. I haven’t checked my phone in forever. Hopping to my feet, I speed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where I find my phone is lying on the nightstand. I snatch it up to discover it’s connected to the charger. I don’t remember doing that, which means Kace did it for me. Only, I don’t remember him doing it either. The blank spot bothers me but then, I remind myself, I was drugged. Of course, I don’t remember.
Dismissing the issue as nothing, I perch on the edge of the bed, check my call log, and discover a missed call from an unknown caller. I don’t get many unknown callers, except of course the one at Kace’s event, and I check my messages to find there is, in fact, a message. I hit the playback button but there’s nothing but static recorded. Brows furrowed, I’m bothered by the call which is probably nothing, much like me not remembering my phone on the charger.
I’d like to believe the caller was Gio, but Gio doesn’t accept defeat. He’d call back the minute he got my voicemail, well, unless of course, he couldn’t call back and he thought the message went through. Still, it feels “off” for lack of a better word. I check the time of the garbled message. It was at three in the morning. That’s not a client. That’s not a telemarketer. I change my mind—it had to have been Gio.
Or Sofia which is more disconcerting than a missed call from Gio. What, is she’s trying to tell me something is wrong with him? Or worse, that he’s dead?
Pushing to my feet, I start to pace, confused now, unsure what to think. I dial Gio and the call, once again, lands in voicemail. Is he in trouble? My gut says yes and that’s actually good news. If he’s in trouble, he’s not dead—not yet, at least. Sureness firms inside me. We’re bonded Gio and I. I would know if he was dead. That was him who tried to call me.
Comforted by this certainty, but more determined than ever to find him, to get him the help I have to assume he needs, I head to the bathroom. First things first, I set out to inspect the injury I don’t have time for. The wound is nicely stitched, though quite large and throbbing. Thankfully I’m allowed to get it wet, so I force myself to ignore the ugliness of it that is starting to freak me out, and head to the shower.
Once I’m under the water, my mind starts racing. Kace offered to help me hunt for Gio, but a) I don’t want to take his money and b) is that even a safe option? In response to those questions, my mind starts ticking off more questions: am I putting Kace in danger just by being close to him? Despite Kace’s good intentions, could his people at Walker Security potentially be after a big payoff I might represent?
The water runs cold and I am chilled when I grab a towel. I am also without an answer to one of those questions. With some struggles, thanks to my injured hand and laden arm, I dress in black slacks, a red silk blouse, and my new black heels. I’ve decided I need to just have an honest conversation with Kace about me, my family, and the danger we present. In the meantime, the business attire is for a reason. I will not let him pay my way to find my brother—okay I might let him help, but I will pay him back. Time is too critical where Gio’s safety is concerned for me not to allow him to help, no matter how much that kills me.
A few minutes later, I’m in the kitchen with a pot of coffee brewing when I spy the box on the counter with the Jerry’s Bakery logo. I open the lid and find a dozen or more delicious-looking iced cookies. I’m immediately reminded of my promise to text Jenny, but Kace didn’t give me her number. I shoot him a text instead: Can I get Jenny’s number to text her?
While I wait for his reply, I fill a coffee cup, pour in white mocha creamer, and dare to make my breakfast the breakfast of champions: a pink iced sugar cookie. I’ve almost finished it off, promising myself I will not indulge in another when Kace replies to my text with nothing but a phone number. I frown with the cold reply and inhale on a pinch in my chest.
“I will not read into this,” I promise myself. “I will not read into this.” I stare at the message again and repeat, “I will not read into this.”
Almost as if he heard me, my cell phone rings with Kace on the caller ID. Nervous energy thrums through me as I answer and say, “Hey.”
“Hey, baby. Sorry to be slow to reply. I was in the shower. Traffic was hell. It took me forever to get home.”
“Are you going to make your meeting on time?”
“Not even close. I had to call the donor, who is thankfully fighting with his ‘bitch of an ex-wife,’ his description not mine, and was running late as well.”
“Well then,” I say. “That’s something, I guess.”
He laughs that low, rough, wonderful laugh of his that is both masculine and musical, as crazy as that might sound to someone else. “Yes, it is.”
“Is she a bitch?”
“I haven’t met her and thank God for it. I don’t need to be in the middle of that fly trap.” He changes the subject. “Before I forget, I missed a call from Jenny, but she left me a message to check on you. I haven’t had time to call her back, so the minute you text her, expect her to call you instead. You okay with that?”
“Of course,” I say, “Why wouldn’t I be? I loved her when I met her, and I owe her a thank you.”
“Good. Just making sure. I won’t call her back right now then. Can you tell her that I’m headed to my meeting now?”
“Yes, of course,” I say again, the idea that I’m passing messages to his family speaking of just how real this thing with me and Kace has become. “I’ll text her right after we hang up,” I add.
“Perfect.” He hesitates. “And, Aria?”
My heart flutters with the expectation that pause has obviously, but intentionally, created. “Yes, Kace?”
“Save me a cookie.”
I laugh. “I don’t make any promises. There are only a dozen or less now, actually.”
He laughs, too, and we say a short goodbye. I sip my coffee, the warmth of the liquid, and that intimate exchange with Kace, warming me. I’ve never in my life been a real couple with anyone, but that has changed. We’re together, me and Kace. We’re not just together, he’s a light in the suffocating darkness of years on the run.
I steal a bite of another cookie and then text Jenny: Kace is headed into a meeting. This is Aria. I’m eating cookies for breakfast. I’m on the mend and need the gym for sure! Thank you for the wonderful soup, bread, and cookies. Message sent, I glance at the clock that now reads nine AM. Eager to get to work, I exit my apartment and head downstairs, but I make it to the last step and freeze with a shiver of unease. A second later, my nostrils flare with a sweet scent, something floral, almost like perfume. I ease further into the hallway leading to mine and Gio’s offices. “Hello?” I call out.
The creak of wood, of an old building settling, is the only reply. I inhale and the scent is lighter now. Maybe it’s not even real. Maybe it’s my imagination? A bit tentatively, I walk to my office door and peek inside, to find it peaceful. Turning toward Gio’s office, the thundering of my pulse is instant, and for no good reason. I actually tiptoe in that direction, glance around the entryway, and then with sharp disappointment, discover that he’s not here.
I knew he wasn’t here, I chide myself. Like he’d just show up after all this time, and get to work, without saying a word to me.
Shifting back into the hallway, I inhale, and the smell is gone, which has me really doubting myself and this silly unease. Regardless, I need to put my mind at rest. I hurry forward, facing my fears and rushing through the rows of books and collectibles in the store, to find it all clear. Just to be safe, I check the front door and find it locked. Kace even figured out how to re-arm the security system when he left. Clearly, I’m losing my mind. I turn and scan the store. No one is here. Still, I walk behind the front desk with the intent of checking the security feed. I’ve just keyed the computer to life when my cellphone rings with Jenny’s number.
I settle onto a stool and answer her call. “Morning, Jenny.”
“How are you, Aria?” she asks, her voice warm with an offer of friendship and support.
“I’m much better, thanks to you and Kace. I’m convinced the soup, bread, and cookies took away my pain.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t Kace’s kisses,” she teases.
My cheeks burn with the unexpected brazen remark from his godmother, of all people. “The delicious dumplings,” I say. “Absolutely it was the dumplings.”’
She laughs a sweet laugh. “I’m sure it was. How did you cut your hand?”
“A piece of wood in a drawer at Kace’s place.”
“He had wood sticking out? That boy. What was he thinking?”
“Don’t be too hard on him. It’s in his vault so it’s not like many people go in there.”
“Wait. What? He let you in his vault?” She doesn’t give me time to reply. “Well, now that answers any questions I have about how serious you two are.”
Serious? I think. Are we serious? “We’re dating,” I say. “We’re not getting married.” It’s out before I can stop it. Married? Good grief, where did that come from?
“Yet,” she says, and while my mouth hangs open at her fast reply, she adds, “Kace hasn’t dated in a very long time. I’m eager to get to know the woman who brought him back around. You two need to come by and have dinner. When can you fit us in?”
He hasn’t dated in a long time. I’m having a hard time getting past those words, but manage a reply of, “I’m quite sure seeing you and Jerry is never ‘fitting you in.’ He loves you two. That is obvious.”
“As we do him, but you didn’t answer the question about when you can see us. I’ll just decide for you. I’m pushy like that, but I promise to pay for your forgiveness in cookies. Sunday brunch. We have a favorite spot. Kace knows it. Tell him I insist. Eleven o’clock.”
“As long as you’re paying in cookies,” I laugh. “I’ll tell him.”
“Fabulous. And if you want more soup, I can drop it by late afternoon. I’d love to check out your collectibles.”
“You are welcome here any time and I’d enjoy visiting, but I’m headed to Kace’s place later today.”
“An excellent reason to turn me down. Feel better, honey.”
After a brief goodbye, we disconnect and I wonder about that comment she’d made, about me bringing Kace back around. Back around from what? His parents’ death? That was years ago though, and it just doesn’t seem right. He wasn’t close to them, but our conversation from this morning comes back to me. Some of that past you won’t like. In fact, I’m certain you’ll want to run away, he’d said.
I wonder if that comment has anything to do with why he hasn’t dated. I wonder so many things about Kace August.
Forcing my attention back to the security system, and the issues at hand, I haven’t had time to even hit a computer key when the actual security system buzzes and I jolt as the front door opens.
CHAPTER TEN
Pushing off my stool, no weapon readily available, I turn to the front door, holding my breath. To my utter shock and relief, Nancy, who is supposed to be on vacation, enters the storefront, her long brown hair wind-blown, her pale cheeks pinched pink from the wind, and two cups of coffee in her hands. “Morning,” she greets. “I brought you coffee.”
I pant out another breath of relief, inspecting her perfectly prepped make-up that says she’s here to work. “I thought you were on vacation?”
“Okay, that was like two weeks ago, Aria. You’re scaring me right now. Obviously with Gio gone, you’re overwhelmed and it’s a good thing I’m here.”
I gave her the time off to keep her safe, and clearly not enough, I think, before I say, “I just thought I gave you more time off. Were you here earlier this morning?”
“Yes,” she says, joining me behind the counter, and handing me my coffee. “I came by about half an hour ago to check the messages and decided to go and grab a coffee.”
I’d be comforted by this announcement except she’s standing close to me now, and she smells like roses. It’s a delicate, subtle smell, not the same sharp, sweet smell that had greeted me earlier. I accept the cup. “White mocha,” she declares as I do, and her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. What happened to your hand?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, “but I’m fine. You need to go home.”
“Not with your hand all bandaged up. No. Absolutely not. Now,” she says, pulling up a stool. “Tell me the story. How’d you get hurt?”
I know Nancy. Once her jaw is set hard, there’s no getting her to budge. She’s not leaving and if Gio’s alive, and I believe he is, I could also use her help generating revenue anyway. I concede and offer her the short version of my mishap. “I cut it on a piece of wood that might have had a nail in it.” I change the subject. “Was the security system on when you arrived?”
“Yes,” she says. “Why?”
“I just wasn’t sure I put it on.” I indicated my hand. “I wasn’t exactly myself.” As expected, this leads to more questions about my hand, but it avoids topics of safety and security, as I’d hoped. We chit-chat for a few minutes and I get her started calling around to hunt down bottles of wine before I head back upstairs to grab my MacBook that I’d forgotten up there. Once inside my apartment, I pause and inhale, looking for that sweet scent I’d smelled downstairs, but find nothing.
Returning back downstairs, I find no hint of that smell and once I’m in my office behind my desk, I can’t seem to dismiss it as my imagination. I pull up the security feed and start tabbing through it. To my surprise, there’s a random three minutes blacked out at seven AM, which could be when Kace left but that feels too early, though I never checked the time. Seven just doesn’t feel right
, though, and why would Kace blackout the feed? Confused and concerned, I tab further into the feed and find Kace leaving at nearly eight. Maybe the blackout was a power outage. This building is old.
Nancy buzzes me with a client call I take, followed by another, but I never stop tabbing through the feed.
I’ve just finished a promising call with a lead on high-dollar wine when the feed catches my eye again. I straighten, a chill running down my spine. There’s another dead spot in the security feed, for three minutes again, but the timestamp is what sets me on edge. I grab my cell and check the time of the missed call. Three-eleven. I then check the time of the dead spot on the security feed. Three-eighteen.
A chill runs down my spine. Was someone here when that call was made? I swallow hard, thinking of the perfume I’d smelled. Could it have been Sofia?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two hours later, those missing spots on the camera footage still taunt me, even with my work in full gear. I’ve located a treasure for a client, a set of antique clocks she’s been pining for, and while it’s only a five-thousand-dollar commission, it’s a start. Unfortunately, the wine hunting is going slower than I’d hoped. I’ve found small jewels here or there, but nothing that will appeal to buyers like Ed and Alexander. I need a prize bottle to attract those kinds of high caliber collectors, and to ensure a pricey commission. And this is important to me now not just for the singular urgent need for a big commission. It also seems logical and smart to approach Ed about a retainer to replace the one Alexander offered me and that’s my plan. A deal with Alexander is not a good idea and as panicked as I am in some ways, I’m not a rash decision kind of person. The problem is, Gio is not me. He would make a rash decision. He’s seen the carrot and bitten it before he realized it had its own teeth.
About noon, Nancy sets a takeout container and plasticware in front of me. “Surprise. I ordered you lunch. I opted for your favorite mac n’ cheese from Cindy’s Diner, since it requires only one hand to eat.”
A Wicked Song Page 6
