Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and swiped at the mirror. His speckled, foggy reflection stared back. But he wasn’t sure what he saw there. He seemed changed in a way.
After getting dressed, he forwarded the photos of Josie to Moloney, confirming that he’d found her. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins as he beat his fist against the wall in triumph.
All he had left to do was case the place for a couple of days to determine if she had any kind of schedule. He would set his internal clock in sync with hers, trying to connect them in any way possible.
It was always best to make the kill out in public, away from the home. It seemed less personal that way. Though he knew that murder, in any location, was personal. There was always a bigger chance for witnesses out in the open, but Mort never worried. In all his years in the business, he’d perfected the art of being invisible when needed.
Just as Mort walked out the door, his phone buzzed. He checked the ID and smiled.
“You saw the photos?” he asked calmly.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Moloney’s voice sneered. “Don’t kill her. Bring the girl to me alive.” Mort froze, his heart beating against his chest. The silence grew longer between the men. He hated being taken by surprise. It rarely happened. “Is there a problem?” Moloney asked.
“No problem.”
“Good. Ticktock.”
14. Revolution
The movement of one celestial body as it orbits another.
Tristan and Josie sat in the beer garden at New Orleans Creole Cafe. It was a charming place nestled in historic Old Town. Tristan sipped an Abita Turbodog while Josie fought the urge to pull the marker from her bag and tag the seat of her chair. It had been awhile since she’d thrown up a significant piece, and the urge to do so scratched at her.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Tristan asked.
“Going out writing. It’s been awhile.”
Tristan frowned and set his bottle down on the table.
“I hate that you do that,” he said, staring past her.
“I know. It’s not dangerous like you think. I’ve never gotten caught.”
“‘In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught.’”
“Hmm. Who said that?” she asked.
“Hunter S. Thompson. A man so avant-garde that his suicide note was published in Rolling Stone.”
“Wow.”
“I read this book called Engaging Art. It was commissioned as a study, but it’s an interesting read. It talks about how art participation, of any kind, in today’s society will encourage future generations to do so.”
“See? I’m encouraging future generations,” Josie said.
“Encouraging what, though? Vandalism? It also discusses people’s motivations behind their own artistic expression. So what’s your motivation?”
“I don’t know, Tristan. I like the idea that there are permanent parts of me out there. It’s like being able to communicate without having to say anything. You know?”
Tristan nodded and finished off his beer.
“You’re talented. You always have been. You could express that talent in other ways, legal ways. If they catch you, they can link every piece you’ve ever done.”
“Don’t worry so much. It’ll be hard to connect all my work since I changed my writing name a few months ago. I used to sign everything JayBee.”
“And now?” he asked.
Josie looked away, a smile stretching across her lips.
“Bundy.”
Tristan laughed and slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Josie!” Monica called out when she spotted the couple.
She ignored Josie’s groan as they stood to greet her. Monica could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to wrap Josie in a hug and thank her for giving their relationship a chance, but she knew that personal boundaries should not be crossed. Instead, she offered a nervous wave.
“Sorry I’m late. I got held up at the office. I swear, I have to file paperwork every time I take a bathroom break. We like to kill trees apparently. Anyway, you two look great.”
“Thanks,” Tristan answered, though it sounded more like a question.
He took a few seconds to process Monica. Their last meeting had been brief, but he could tell she was what his mother called high-spirited.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Josie asked, scanning the sidewalk.
“Ugh,” Monica grunted. “He can’t make it. Work again. Some big real estate buyout mumbo jumbo. I don’t know. I guess it’s better to be busy, right? Job security and all.”
As much as she hadn’t been looking forward to a date with Monica, Josie had a decent time. It sucked that Rob had to work late. Josie was curious about any man who could tame the unstoppable force of nature known as Monica Templeton. Expectedly, Tristan was a pro at making Monica feel included and comfortable. She rambled on and on about nothing in particular. With Tristan there, Josie found it easier to keep her eye rolling and huffing to a minimum.
Dinner was casual, and after two glasses of wine, Josie found herself less annoyed and more entertained by Monica’s effervescent personality. Tristan didn’t seem to be fazed by her dramatic flair in the least. He was kind and engaging and as charming as ever.
“Well, thanks for a lovely evening,” Monica said.
Josie snorted at her formal statement. Tristan nudged her with his elbow.
“It was a pleasure,” Tristan answered with his special crooked smile.
“Oh good Lord, you’re adorable. You better hold on to this one,” Monica said to Josie before winking and trotting off down the sidewalk.
* * *
Monica hadn’t been ready to head home when dinner was over. She knew Tristan and Josie were eager to be alone, so she said her good night and walked down to a nearby bar for a drink. She sat at the bar and ordered a margarita, the specialty. Monica couldn’t help but smile as she took in the decor around her. The festive colors and music seemed to further encourage her mood. She sent a text to Rob, letting him know where she was. He promised to meet her there soon.
She had been disappointed that he missed dinner, stuck at the office yet again. As happy as Monica was with Rob, she hated that he wasn’t always available to her. She knew he was an executive at a corporate real estate company, but she never asked about his work. It seemed to be the only topic that caused him stress. All she could do was become his distraction. Monica had never been so important to another human being before and she absolutely adored the feeling of being needed.
After assessing the thin crowd, she sipped her drink and watched the bartender mix some fruity concoction and flirt with the tourists.
“Monica?” a familiar voice said from behind her.
She turned to find Evan standing there, eyeing her like prey. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans and a black button-up shirt, looking handsome and a little dangerous. His warm brown eyes sparkled from beneath a baseball cap. Even through his charm, she could sense that his thoughts were anything but pure.
“Evan,” she said, giving him a cautious smile.
He took a seat next to her and ordered a whiskey. Immediately, Monica was racked with guilt just for being in his presence. She wavered between wishing that Rob would show up and wishing that he’d stay away.
“I was in the neighborhood. What are you doing here all alone?”
“My boyfriend had to work late, but he’ll be here any minute,” she said confidently, hoping Evan could not sense her half-truth.
“Good, good. You seem to be in excellent spirits. Did you have a good day?”
“Yep. I just had dinner with a friend and her boyfriend. Well, she doesn’t really consider me a friend, but I think we are closer now. Hopefully, I’ll see her again soon since her boyfriend is going out of town tomorrow. Maybe I’ll stop by and surprise her or something. Oh my God, I’m rambling.”
Monica promptly shut her mouth and motioned for th
e bartender to bring her another drink. She had no idea why she became a blabbering fool around this man. She hadn’t suffered from word vomit like this since she was in high school.
Evan laughed and took a long pull from his drink, enjoying the slow burn of the whiskey down his throat. He leaned in close to her, barely catching the scent of her floral perfume.
“Do I make you nervous, Ms. Templeton?”
“Uh, no, I just—wait, how do you know my last name? I don’t remember mentioning it.”
Monica eyed him suspiciously, suddenly uneasy under his hungry gaze. Evan shifted in his seat and emptied his glass. His eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for an acceptable answer.
“Well, I’m embarrassed to admit that I read it off of your work badge when we met at the coffee shop. I may have found you on Facebook as well. So I know where you work and where you play,” he said, gesturing to the bar, “but where do you live?”
“I think I’ll hold on to that tidbit of information for now,” she joked, feeling a bit more nervous than before.
“Aww, I’m not a bad guy,” he said. “Just for good measure, I’ll tell you where I live. Ocean Beach.”
“I love O.B. Spent a lot of time there when I was a teenager. We used to get there early and spend all day on the beach. We’d eat lunch at Hodad’s and get ice cream before walking over to the tide pools in the afternoon. Good stuff.”
Evan smiled and motioned to the bartender for a new drink.
“Well, hey, you should come over sometime. We could grill and you could help me decorate my new place. I know you’re good at it.”
“How would you know that?” she asked.
“Well, uh, you always look impeccable. I bet that spills over to your home too.”
Monica felt slightly flattered but leery of his words. She took a swig of her drink and smiled at him, playing with the placement of her lips, not wanting him to read too much into her polite smile. Believing that she was overthinking things, she decided to just be pleased by his admiration. It wasn’t often that Monica had male attention.
“So, about this friend who is not a friend but may have become a friend.” He paused, hoping she’d catch on to his teasing. “It’s very considerate of you to spend time with her while the boyfriend’s away.”
“I owe her so much more than that.”
“Hmm, that seems loaded for someone who is barely a friend.”
“It’s complicated,” she answered quickly, finishing her drink.
“Well, I’m all ears if you’re aching to talk.”
“She’s not achin’ for anything from you,” Rob’s harsh voice cut in.
The two spun around to find him scowling down on them. Evan straightened his shoulders, sitting taller on the stool now, while Monica looked meek and a little bit guilty. Darkness clouded Rob’s face, his gaze murderous.
“Rob, you remember Evan, right?” she asked, gesturing to her drinking partner, feigning innocence. He nodded but kept his hands at his sides and his lips pressed together in a harsh line.
“He was just leaving, right?” Rob sneered.
Evan leaned back against the bar, making himself at home.
“Actually, I just got here.”
Fury blurred Rob’s vision as he rushed at the man and pulled him from his seat. His fist twisted Evan’s collar as he held him upright.
“I said, you were just leaving,” Rob’s voice said in an eerily calm tone.
“Rob!” Monica shouted, surprised by his sudden hostility.
He ignored Monica, waiting for Evan’s compliance. With a tight nod, Evan relented. He threw a few bills on the bar and said good night before leaving. Monica didn’t watch him go, more concerned with the seething man seated next to her now.
“Everything okay?” the bartender asked.
“Jameson neat,” Rob said before turning his attention to Monica. “What was he doing here?”
“I swear I just ran into him. I don’t think it was a coincidence, though. He creeps me out.”
Rob nodded stiffly and threw back his drink, motioning for another one instantly. Monica had never seen him this angry before. While it was a bit frightening, it was also incredibly sexy. She almost felt guilty at the lust swirling inside of her.
“Monica, I told you that I don’t trust him. I know it’s just a gut feeling, but I expect you to respect that. I don’t share.”
She was his, in every way, but hearing it come from his lips was somehow empowering. She decided to provoke him even further. The fact that he thought she would stray so easily was starting to piss her off.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad. I was just about to hop on his lap in the middle of this bar before you got here,” Monica taunted. “It was just conversation.”
They left shortly after, Rob driving erratically through the city. He hadn’t spoken a word to her in nearly thirty minutes, and to say it was driving her insane would be an understatement. Once inside her apartment, he flew at her. At first Monica cringed away, unsure of what to expect from his attack, but she knew in her heart that she had no reason to be afraid.
Like a caveman staking his claim, he tore at her clothes while kissing her. What started out as rough and obsessive slowly morphed into slow and sensual, where he placed soft heated kisses against her lips and whispered his apologies against her skin. Their intertwined bodies became a declaration of infatuation and mutual understanding.
Monica fell asleep to the feel of his strong arms and the sound of his loving whispers around her.
* * *
Back at Josie’s apartment, Tristan undressed for bed while Josie washed her face. Tristan had insisted on bringing some things from his place back to hers. So he wrapped her mattress in new clean sheets and stacked pillows at the head. He settled in and started on his book while he waited for her.
“So, you’re leaving in the morning?” Josie asked from the bathroom.
Tristan looked up from his book and eyed her reflection in the mirror. She looked nervous. He wanted to smooth the lines in her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay, but he hated to make unrealistic promises. The last three days had been heavenly. They had existed in their little domestic bubble, behaving as if there weren’t evil plots and assassins out to get them.
“Yeah, I plan on driving eight to ten hours a day, so I should get there by Saturday night.”
Josie stood in the doorway to her bedroom, watching him watch her. She smiled at the sight of Tristan on her mattress with his paperback book and his glasses firmly in place. He fit here with her; she couldn’t imagine anyone else ever doing so.
“Just let me finish this chapter and I’ll get the light,” he mumbled, not looking up from his page.
She crawled in next to him and lay back against the borrowed pillow. Josie loved the new sheets and fluffy pillows. It was a luxury she didn’t even know she missed.
Tristan closed his book and folded his glasses, placing them both on the floor. He turned to Josie and pulled her closer, wanting nothing more than to memorize the feel of her arms wrapped around him. They’d spent so much time together lately, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive time apart.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said into the quiet room, squeezing her tighter. “It’s going to be a long, lonely drive back to Louisiana.”
Josie avoided eye contact and any real emotional declarations.
“Do you think you’ll be able to find out anything? It could be dangerous. I don’t think you should go.”
“I’ll be fine. I have connections there, people who can help.”
Josie nodded, knowing he felt like he had to do this. She wanted to scream and cry and beg him to stay, but she knew her effort would be futile. So instead she sat up and placed kisses on his chest. She brought his forearm across his body and traced the lines of their tree on his skin.
“Is that my old hoodie?” Tristan asked, spying the black article tucked into the corner of the room.
“Yeah. I used to
sleep in it, but it doesn’t smell like you anymore.” Josie took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to kill her building panic. “Please come back to me,” she whispered.
“I promise,” he answered, lifting her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes.
“Promises are only your best intentions,” she reminded him.
For the rest of the night, they alternated between making love and sleeping. Each time he touched her, they would ravage and cling to each other, whispering words of devotion. In the early hours of morning, just before sunrise, Josie woke him one last time. This time, with tears of desperation, she begged him. She didn’t want soft and sweet, she wanted hard, possessive fucking. She longed for her body to remind her of this night with bouts of soreness and aching thighs.
Tristan gave her what she wanted. When she was passed out, he wrapped her in the cool sheets and placed a kiss on her temple. He was exhausted but forced himself to shower.
As the early light tried to push its way through the thick curtain, Tristan stood at the foot of the mattress, watching Josie sleep. Even in her slumber, she called to him. He eyed his packed bag waiting by the door. Tristan summoned his strength and whispered his good-bye. Remembering his old hoodie, he grabbed it and threw it on, knowing that it would be as close as he could get to being wrapped up in Josie.
15. Occultation
The act of one celestial body obscuring another.
Tristan had done some hard things in his life. He’d faced his own demons and those of others. He’d been shot at, threatened, and survived heartbreak, but nothing had been harder than leaving the girl he loved.
In her slumber, her face was no longer stamped with the hardness and doubt like when she was awake. Her lashes cast tiny shadows on her freckled cheeks. Despite the way they turned down into a natural frown, her pouty lips had begged to be kissed. Like some kind of foreshadowed tragedy, Tristan had got this feeling in his gut that he’d never see her again. It’s what made it so hard to leave.
Beautiful Addictions Page 17
