Beneath the Truth

by Meghan March

  “Look, I’ll deal with him when I feel like it.”

  It was obvious from the finality underlying Ari’s words that the subject was closed. Heath didn’t look like he agreed, but he kept his mouth shut and didn’t say anything else.

  Ari’s fingers flew across the screen as she tapped out a text in response before shoving her phone in the side pocket of her purse, where Heath must have snatched it when the text chime came through.

  “I think I need another drink. What about you two?” Ari grabbed the bottle and sloshed a measure of whiskey into all three of our glasses, but didn’t wait for me or Heath before tossing hers back.

  If a text from this jerk-off had her swigging whiskey like that, the first chance I got, I planned to ask Heath for his full name so I could run him through all my databases.

  Heath’s a cop. He would have already done that, I reminded myself. Except his detective skills had never been quite as good as mine. We were talking about Ari here, which meant a second look wasn’t going to hurt.

  Besides, even though Heath wasn’t a top-grade detective, which was why he worked in internal affairs, his gut was solid and that was all I needed to know. Open season on Carlos was coming up.

  8

  Ariel

  Three sheets to the wind wasn’t my normal state when leaving a bar, but when Heath laid off the Carlos issue, he launched into a trip down memory lane. It might have only been a year since he’d seen Rhett, but apparently that was sufficient time to require a rehashing of their High School Greatest Hits, or so I liked to refer to all their legendary exploits that got more impressive every time Heath told the stories.

  After a second bottle of whiskey, I fumbled for my phone and dialed Carver.

  “Yes, Ms. Sampson?”

  “I think I need a ride soon. Probably a good idea.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course. I’ll be there in under five minutes.”

  “Thank you, Carver.” Both men were looking at me when I hung up. “What?”

  “Who’s Carver?” Rhett asked with heat in his green eyes that I would have loved to attribute to jealousy, but even I wasn’t that intoxicated.

  “My driver while I’m in town. He came highly recommended.”

  Rhett let out a whistle. “Fancy. Someone’s come a long way from selling computer advice to the neighbors.”

  It was the truth, but not something I focused on. My bank balance didn’t have anything to do with what kind of person I was, just how good I was at making money.

  “Whatever.” I surveyed them both. “You both want a ride?”

  Rhett stood, gripping the table to keep himself from wobbling. “I’m not driving.” He jerked his head at Heath. “Him either.”

  “No shit,” my brother shot back.

  I hooked my purse over my shoulder and the three of us made our way toward the door. One of the guys at the bar mumbled something under his breath as we passed, and Heath stopped in midstride.

  “What did you say?”

  The guy’s expression hardened. “Didn’t say shit.”

  “Thought I heard you say something rude about my little sister here.”

  The barfly’s eyes widened. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My mistake.”

  Heath yanked his badge from his pocket and held it in front of the man’s face. “Damn right, that’s your mistake. Watch how the fuck you talk about women next time.”

  I pushed open the door to see headlight beams cut through the darkness outside as Carver pulled up. “Oh-kay. Time to go now. Our ride’s here.”

  I linked my arms through Heath’s and Rhett’s and dragged them both toward the door, using my heels as leverage.

  Both men followed me, one spouting off another threat to the random guy at the bar, and the other silent, his bicep flexing beneath my hand.

  Good Lord, I was right. Rhett did have to stuff his arms into that suit.

  Carver had already opened the back door of the car, and his eyes widened when he saw me dragging two grown men out of Molly’s. He released the handle and stepped toward me, his hand going to his shoulder holster.

  “Ms. Sampson, can I be of assistance?”

  His tone carried an air of lethal calmness that I recognized. I had a specific phrase I could speak to let him know I was in danger.

  “No danger, Carver. Just my idiot brother picking a fight over nothing, and I’ve never been quite sure what this one’s problem is.” I jerked my head toward Rhett. “That’d require a lot more thought.”

  Rhett tugged out of my hold at my sarcastic comment, and I wobbled on my heels. Carver took a step toward me, probably intending to keep me from falling on my face or ass in the muck coating the streets of the French Quarter, but Rhett beat him to it, catching me around the waist with both big hands.

  “Careful, Red. I don’t think you want to swim in this sludge.”

  Rather than focus on the fact that Rhett was touching me, I lifted my gaze over his head. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I took in the brick buildings with rusty wrought-iron balconies, the thick white molding with peeling paint, and the neon lights coming from Bourbon Street that never went dark.

  “Ma’am, are you sure you’re okay?”

  My gaze cut back to Carver. “I’m fine. We’re getting in. I swear. There might have been a little more whiskey involved tonight than was advisable.”

  “Yes, ma’am. As long as you’re safe.”

  I pulled away from Rhett’s grip, telling myself I couldn’t feel the outline of his hand burning through the sheer sleeve of my dress.

  Once we were in the back of the car, with me sandwiched between Rhett and Heath, Carver maneuvered us away from the bar.

  “Were you going for a gun?” Rhett asked Carver. “Because I’ve seen that move before. And if I’d been carrying . . .”

  Carver’s gaze lifted from the street to the rearview mirror to meet Rhett’s and mine in the backseat. “Ma’am . . .”

  That was my cue to explain the situation or end the conversation so Carver didn’t have to violate the confidentiality agreement that came with providing services to someone like me.

  I shrugged. “Cab drivers carry guns. Why shouldn’t he?”

  Carver’s attention went back to the road, but Rhett leaned closer, pressing our bodies together from shoulder to knee.

  Why is he so damned hot? Is he running a fever? There’s no way his body temperature is 98.6.

  And, of course, thinking of ninety-eight degrees reminded me of the band by the same name and their cheesy love songs I used to listen to while I signed my name Ariel Hennessy.

  Let’s hope Dad burned those journals I left behind.

  An elbow bumped into my ribs from Rhett’s direction. When I didn’t look at him, he reached out and gripped my chin, forcing my attention to him.

  “Was that necessary?” I asked, my jaw working against the calluses on his fingertips.

  “Your eyebrow twitched. I don’t believe you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Still waiting for those to fall out of your head from rolling them so damn hard.”

  “Hasn’t happened yet, and I’ve perfected my eye-rolling technique since you last saw me.”

  “It was perfect then. Just like the rest of you.”

  I stiffened, and his hand dropped immediately. Did he really just say that? Rhett looked just as surprised by the comment as I felt. His gaze shot over my shoulder, but a soft snore came from Heath’s direction.

  Rhett cleared his throat. “Tell me about the security guy. Why do you need one?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

  “You’ve always been my business.”

  I snorted out a laugh. It wasn’t very attractive, and all I could hope was I didn’t accidentally land a stray booger on Rhett’s hand.

  He frowned. “What’s so funny? I stood up for you all the time when we were in school. I think our history entitles me to a little leeway here.”

  When
I was fifteen and a boy from my class broke into my locker and jammed it full of Nerds, rumor had it that Rhett clotheslined him during football practice and almost broke his collarbone. So he wasn’t wrong.

  I didn’t want to tell him the truth, but since Rhett was a human lie detector where I was concerned, it was the least complicated solution. “Let’s just say that once upon a time, someone I fired thought it would be fun to pose as a cab driver and kidnap me when I got in the car.”

  Heat flared in Rhett’s eyes, flame-hot and furious. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why didn’t I hear about this?”

  “Because I didn’t tell anyone.”

  His nostrils flared. “What did you say?”

  “I. Didn’t. Tell. Anyone.”

  “Are you insane?”

  I shook my head, starting to get pissed. “No. I made a calculated decision that the drama it would evoke wouldn’t be worth the hassle, so I told Heath I was hiring security out of a generalized concern, and he bought it. No one gives me the third degree about my decisions anymore, and no one else can tell when I’m lying.”

  “You need to be more careful.”

  My gaze darted to the mirror to find Carver splitting his attention between us and the road.

  I jerked my head in his direction. “I’m being careful, hence the driver with a gun and hand-to-hand combat skills.”

  “Who the hell are you, and what happened to Ariel?”

  I laughed in disbelief. “She grew up and made a boatload of money when no one was paying attention.”

  Apparently, I didn’t regulate my tone appropriately because Heath jerked against my side.

  “What? What’s going on? What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing. We’re taking you home.”

  I rattled off his address to Carver, who had cleared the traffic in the Quarter. Gentilly wasn’t all that far geographically from the estate I was renting on Lake Pontchartrain, but it was light years away in economic terms. The middle-class families in the neighborhood where I grew up would go for a Sunday drive by posh weekend places like mine and wonder what it was like to live that life.

  But I didn’t have to wonder anymore. It was my life.

  As we closed in on Heath’s house, only a half mile or so away from where Rhett’s parents’ home exploded days before, Heath shook off some of his drunken stupor and spoke to Rhett.

  “Dude, I’m sorry. My dad took the pullout in the den. I don’t have a spare bed for you.”

  Rhett cursed under his breath. “My shit’s at my hotel anyway. I can grab a cab over there.”

  Heath leaned on me, shoving me tighter against Rhett’s side. “Nah, dude. That’s too big of a pain. Go stay with Flounder. She’s probably got like seventeen bedrooms in that mansion she’s staying in. If Dad wasn’t so against change, I would’ve insisted he stay with her.”

  Rhett stiffened. “It’s fine. I’ll take a cab back downtown to the hotel.”

  “Ari, tell him you don’t mind, or this stubborn asshole is going to be standing in front of my house waiting for a cab for a half hour.”

  What could I say except, “You can stay at my place. I have plenty of extra room.”

  I took Rhett’s grunt for an affirmative answer, but he remained stiff for the rest of the ride, even after we dropped Heath off at his place and I slid over to the spot he’d vacated.

  Carver checked the backseat, and for the first time, I wondered why I didn’t insist on sitting in the front instead of being squashed between Rhett and Heath.

  Oh, wait, that’s right. I was close to my former crush who smells like fantasies and dreams, and my brain stopped functioning normally. Silly me.

  When Carver pulled up to my house’s fenced entrance moments later, he punched in the code. Rhett watched with interest as the gate slid open to reveal the well-lit colossus of a house.

  Carver parked in the garage and opened the door for me to step out. Rhett opened his own door and followed us silently into the house.

  “Do you require anything else this evening, Ms. Sampson?”

  I shook my head. “No, thank you. Have a good night.”

  Carver retreated to the garage where he stayed in one of the two apartments above the eight-stalled monstrosity. Heath exaggerated when he said this place had seventeen bedrooms. There were only twelve, including the two garage apartments.

  “You have changed. A lot.”

  Rhett’s voice came from behind me as I walked into the kitchen and dropped my purse on the counter.

  I wrestled with that comment. It was true to a certain extent, but I wasn’t about to get into a drunken introspective discussion.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” I answered simply.

  “Ms. Sampson, is there anything else you require this evening?” Rhett’s attempt at mimicking Carver’s tone came off sounding hollow.

  I spun on my heel. “At least I’m taking precautions and not being stupid. Because if I weren’t, I’m sure you’d be lecturing me about my personal safety right now instead.”

  Surprisingly, a deep chuckle filled the room as Rhett’s whole body shook with laughter. “Fuck, you’re probably right. I’m sorry, Red. It’s been a shit day, topping off a shit week, a shit month, and a shit year. It’s not personal. I’m just being a dick.”

  At the word dick, it took everything I had to keep my eyes from dropping to his crotch. Again.

  Instead, I plastered a sincere smile on my face. “You get a pass, hotshot. I’m sorry. I wish . . . I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish I could turn back time and fix it all for you before it went wrong.”

  His chin dropped to his chest, hiding his eyes. He lifted it after a few beats. “I believe you. Out of every person I know, you’re one of the few who would move heaven and earth to save me from that.”

  For long moments, we both stood frozen in my kitchen, staring at each other. I didn’t know how to respond, but Rhett saved me by turning to survey the house.

  “So, which of the seventeen bedrooms do I get?”

  I knew what I wanted to say.

  Mine.

  But we both knew that would never happen.

  9

  Rhett

  You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now when it came to drinking, but last night it was either tip too many back with my friends, or drown myself alone in shame, regret, and whiskey. There was plenty of time for that, though. I’d be carrying this with me for years to come.

  I rolled over on crisp white sheets I didn’t recognize, my head pounding and my mouth dry. Where the hell am I?

  I cracked open my eyes, hoping like hell there was no stranger beside me, but it was empty. Not even a wild red mane of hair on the pillow.

  Where the hell did that thought come from?

  I knew better than to let myself think about things that would never happen. Ari was so high above me, she might as well be in a different stratosphere now.

  Wait a minute. For as long as I could remember, I’d told myself Ari was off-limits because she was my best friend’s little sister. When had my thinking changed?

  Last night. When I finally saw her as more than Heath’s sister.

  My mother’s voice echoed in my head. “Life is passing you by while you sit on the sidelines. You’re better than that. Figure out what you want and go after it.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out I wanted Ariel Sampson. But what the hell was I going to do about it?

  I rolled out of bed slowly, stretching as I went. It felt like a group of street kids had used my head for a drum on a street corner in the Quarter instead of a five-gallon bucket.

  Going out last night had been a mistake, not because of the hangover, but because of everything else it shifted.

  I should have stayed at my hotel. But I hadn’t. And now I couldn’t get the picture of Ari’s hair spread across my pillow out of my head.

  Turning away from the bed, I walked into the massive attached ba
throom. Probably nicer than any I’d ever seen, but all I cared about was the new toothbrush on a tray between the double sinks.

  After ridding myself of the gutter-sludge taste in my mouth, I used one of the glasses to drink a half gallon of water before opting for a shower. The steam killed the headache, and I finally felt like a functioning human again.

  I pulled on my jeans, wishing they were sweats instead, and walked out in the hallway. I was hoping my nose would lead me toward the scent of coffee or breakfast, but no such luck. Instead of finding the kitchen like I intended, I got lost in the maze of hallways and heard a thump coming from one of the rooms on the back side of the house. I approached the door and heard a grunt and a groan followed by a moan.

  I froze two feet away.

  What the fuck?

  Another thump and a groan.

  No way. Ari was not having sex in there. Not in this house while I was here.

  Because if anyone was having sex with her in this house, then goddammit, it was going to be me.

  I froze, realizing I’d made a decision this morning that changed a hell of a lot. Now that I knew what I wanted and was going after it, no one was going to get in my way.

  Especially not . . . who the hell was in there with her? If Ari’s boyfriend showed up last night . . . No. Not after the way she acted when Heath talked about him. She said she was done.

  Then I heard her grunt again, and with my ear practically pressed to the door, it sounded more like a noise caused by frustration rather than pleasure.

  I shoved open the thick wooden door and burst inside—to find a full gym and Ari on her back, struggling against a much larger man, her face twisted.

  Oh, hell no. No one puts their hands on her. He was going to die.

  Rushing forward, I didn’t think. I reached for the first weapon I could find, a dumbbell. I poised to strike.

  Ari flipped the much larger man onto his back, keeping hold of his arm in a classic arm-bar submission move. “Tap, dammit!”

  Her face red from exertion, Ari widened her eyes when they locked on me. Through labored breaths, she said, “What the hell are you going to do with that?”