A Wicked Song (Brilliance Trilogy Book 2)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “You’re an angel.”

  She grins. “I know.”

  I open the plastic around my spoon. “When are you leaving?”

  “So much love it’s killing me.” She pats on her chest above her heart. “And I’m leaving at the usual time,” she says primly. “Two o’clock.” She doesn’t wait for me to argue. She disappears into the hallway and I sigh. She’s stubborn and I love her. I wish I could do more for her, but right now, keeping her safe is my number one goal.

  I open the lid to my mac n’ cheese which looks like nothing but cheesy wonderful goodness and a million calories. But what the heck. I’ve eaten a cookie for breakfast. Why not pasta for lunch? It’s not like I’m rolling around naked with the hottest man I’ve ever known and want to look good or anything like that. Okay, I am, and I do want to look good, but whoever said skinny tasted better than food was lying. Kace has a gym. I’ll use it, but I’m not skipping my meal.

  I’m three bites in when my phone buzzes with a text where it lies on the desk next to me. I do some maneuvering with my injured hand, manage to punch the appropriate buttons, and find a message from Kace waiting for me. There are two photos of two violins with a message that reads: Charles Francois (pere) violin 1840 and a Lorenzo Carcassi violin 1743. What does it say that I wish you were here to see them with me?

  I’m filled up in the best of ways with those words and set my fork down to reply. After only a moment of hesitation, I dare to type exactly what I feel: I wish I was there, too. I can’t wait to hear you play them. And those violins, while amazing, are not Stradivariuses. They will be worth more once you play them. But then, so is any violin, in my opinion.

  Refusing to worry about a reply I don’t expect, not in the middle of his meeting, I set my phone down and take another bite of my pasta. I’m just about to make that two more bites when another message dings. I hit the button and bring another message from Kace into view, another photo, but this one has me gasping and sitting up straighter. This one is a photo of an extremely rare Stradivarius violin.

  I don’t even think about what I’m doing. I dial Kace. He answers on the first ring. “Why did I know you’d call before I could call you?”

  “Is that the 1685 Le Marquis Doria?” I sound breathless but I can’t help it. I know this violin. My father and I talked about this violin right before he disappeared.

  “Long lost and pined for,” he confirms. “Yes, and color me impressed you knew that from one photo.”

  “It’s a certain design in the wood,” I say quickly. “Is it right there with you? My God, Kace.”

  “It isn’t. My donor said the photo was sent to him with a promise it would soon be auctioned off. Starting bid of ten million.”

  I think of the formula, of our belief that it’s hidden inside one of the long-lost instruments. Could it be this instrument? Did my father talk about this one for a reason beyond admiration? A hint of unease overtakes me at the timing of its appearance but I focus on one thing: a mission I need to fulfill.

  “Can we see it?”

  “I knew you’d want to. I want to. I’m working on it, baby. I promise.”

  “Kace,” I hesitate, but only a moment. “There are reasons—there’s—” My throat goes dry. “If I could see it, just see it, I would be so very grateful.”

  “I know how important each of the Stradivarius instruments are to you. I’ll make it happen, but I have to go. I should be done in a couple of hours, maybe sooner. You okay?”

  “Yes. Good. I’m good. I’m—so many things right now after that photo, actually. I can’t wait to hear about everything.”

  “And I can’t wait to tell you. Holy hell, I’ll say it again. What are you doing to me, woman?” He doesn’t give me time to reply. “See you soon, baby.” He disconnects and I shove away my food. Kace, the violin, Gio—it’s a mix of wonderful and scary that I can hardly manage to process. Could the Marquis really be on the grid again? And if so, why now?

  My cellphone rings and I grab it to find Crystal’s number on the caller ID. I take a deep breath and shove aside thoughts of the violin to offer a friendly greeting. “Hey, Crystal.”

  “Oh my God,” she gushes. “I just heard about your hand from Kace. How are you?”

  My takeaway from her question is twofold: her concern and the fact that Kace has been talking about me. I swear the man’s seducing me when he’s not even here.

  “I’m better,” I reply. “Thank you for checking on me. Kace took good care of me last night.”

  “Kace as a mother hen,” she muses. “Who’d have thunk it?”

  I laugh. “And don’t forget the part where I said he was a very good mother hen, at that.”

  “I knew he had it in him. And you brought it out in him. I can’t wait to hear the story of all of this. In fact, I was going to call and ask you to lunch tomorrow, but if you’re not up to it, I understand.”

  “Of course, I am. I’m working today. I’m fine.”

  “Excellent. I have a lead on some wines, and I convinced Mark that you and I could work out a commission. That way we bypass Alexander, who is going to outbid you.”

  I’m stunned by her offer. “You did that for me?”

  “I did it for both of us.”

  “You lose money if he doesn’t outbid me.”

  “Maybe,” she concedes, “but there is value to new, expanded partnerships and friendships. And I might have another motive.”

  “Motive?” I query.

  “I still want you to consider working through Riptide. Don’t say no. We’ll start with some side deals. And friendship. Noon tomorrow? Can we meet here?”

  “Noon tomorrow,” I confirm. “And yes. We can meet there. And you are the nicest pushy person I’ve ever known.”

  “Mark would agree.” She laughs. “It’s a necessary skill as his wife for all kinds of reasons.”

  We say a short goodbye, and when we disconnect, I consider her push for me to work through Riptide. Perhaps the money she hints at might make it worth considering. Nancy could run the store, or not if I decide it’s not safe. I just don’t know. Maybe I could take her with me to Riptide. All I know for sure is that I have to think about funding our future here. We’ve gotten by rather than thrived for far too long. Besides, I’d like to fund the hunt for Gio, without taking Kace’s money. Kace matters to me, perhaps too much, too soon. Some might say he came into my life at a vulnerable, even convenient time. But just as easily, some might say, I let that happen because I need him.

  And that might just be true. At least, the part where I need him. Kace is becoming necessary, and that has nothing to do with anything but him and me. Us. I hope. Because I’ve decided to trust him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I finish my lunch with Kace on my mind. And thinking of him reminds me to call my gynecologist. By the time I’m sipping my after-meal coffee, the nurse at my doctor’s office is on the phone, and after a few questions, and a hold for her to talk to the doctor, they agree to call me in my first-ever prescription for birth control pills. In a short time, Kace has changed my life in all kinds of big and small ways. And I am changing—a bird with her wings clipped who’s flying for the first time ever. I can feel it happening, and it’s not about Kace. It’s about me. I was suffocating in captivity. I can’t do it anymore.

  Gio couldn’t either.

  And I don’t know where that leads him or where it leads me, but I know it’s too late to look back.

  With that thought, I look forward. I get back to work, determined to make the money to survive and thrive, to hunt for him, to hunt for our destiny and our future, with him. I should never have allowed the divide between us to form. As my mother always said, we are better together than apart. I think of that carrot Gio is chasing and somehow that collides with the promise of viewing the violin Kace has just discovered with his donor. It’s the only violin on the table.

  And now I’m the one with a carrot.

&nb
sp; I reach in my purse and pull out the business card Kace’s agent, Nix, gave us or really he gave it to Kace. Kace gave it to me. On the back is a handwritten name and number: Donelle Bianchini. A man with a Stradivarius violin to sell. A chance to find our family secret in that violin. A chance to make a fortune by selling it after I inspect it. His name is Italian, and this bothers me but if this is shady, it might also lead to my brother.

  I grab my phone and punch in the number. He answers on the first ring. “Ciao,” he answers, hello in Italian.

  “Ciao,” I reply and I shift to Italian. “This is Aria Alard from Accent Collectibles. I understand you have a Stradivarius for sale.”

  “And you heard this from who?”

  I brazenly drop Nix’s name. “Which violin is it?”

  “The Fetzer, a brilliant instrument created in 1695.”

  “You have the Fetzer? It’s long been missing. May I ask how you came upon it?”

  “It’s been a long-hidden jewel in our family.”

  “And you’re parting with it now, why?”

  “My daughter died last year. I have no one left to pass it down to. It needs a proper home. This isn’t about money to me though I expect to be paid well.”

  “What would you like to get for it?”

  “This is a rare find. I believe at auction it could go higher than fifteen million. I might go less if I feel the buyer will love it the way my family has.”

  “I have the perfect buyer.”

  “Would I know this buyer?”

  “Kace August.”

  “The Kace August?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God. Have you heard him play ‘Caprice No. 24’ by Paganini on a Stradivarius?”

  “I have. And he’s brilliant.”

  “The most brilliant violinist who ever lived. To have him even play my violin—I would die a happy man.”

  “When can we see it?”

  “I’m in Italy. Can you come here?”

  Alarm bells ring in my head. “When will you be in the states? Or will you?”

  “I’m far too old for that trip, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll see what I can arrange. Do you have photos you could send me to show Kace?”

  “Of course. Send me your email and I’ll have my attorney forward them.”

  We chat a few more minutes and disconnect. I sit there a moment, pondering the conversation. He wants us to go to Italy. It feels all too convenient. But the Fetzer is a prize, a long-lost prize that I believe he undervalues. I consider calling Kace, but I know he’s with his donor. Instead, I wait for the photos but not without a glance at my ring and the pull of my homeland.

  ***

  It’s nearly two when Nancy pokes her head in my door. “I’m headed out, but there’s a really big, hot man at the front for you.”

  My first thought is Kace, but then she adds, “He’s also kind of scary. He has a scar down his face and he calls himself—”

  “Savage,” I say, fairly certain he must be here to pick me up and take me to Kace’s place. “I know him. He’s a friend.”

  Her eyes go wide and she steps into the doorway. “Wait. What? Are you dating him?”

  “No,” I laugh. “Check his finger. He’s married. I’m not dating him.”

  “He’s a friend? Do people have friends like that man? Do women?”

  “Yes, Nancy, they do.”

  “I guess,” she replies.

  “You’re being silly,” I chide.

  “Is it safe to leave you here with him?”

  “Very,” I say, and there is only a tiny whisper of worry in my mind. I don’t know him well but Kace does, I remind myself. I push to my feet and round my desk. “I’ll walk you out.”

  We exit my office together and walk toward the front. Savage is by the front door, leaning on the wall, casual in jeans and a T-shirt that accent bulging biceps and thighs. “He’s very big,” she whispers conspiratorially.

  "Sometimes God makes ‘em that way,” I laugh.

  “Actually, not often,” she says. “Too bad he’s married.”

  Savage straightens upon our approach to a good six three-ish, by my estimate. “Aria,” he greets. “How’s it popping?”

  “She’s not popcorn,” Nancy says. “Who says popping?”

  Savage eyes her. “Mary Poppins for one.”

  “That’s the corniest joke I’ve ever heard,” Nancy says.

  Savage gives her a deadpan stare. “Who’s joking?”

  I laugh, remembering his big personality to match his big everything else. I also now know why Nancy is single. “I’m popping just fine,” I say. “What’s up Savage?”

  Nancy grimaces. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks me, glancing between me and Savage.

  “I promise not to kill her,” Savage says dryly. “At least, not until I fatten her up for dinner.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Kill her? Dinner? Who says something like that?”

  “Someone who likes his dinner fatter,” Savage says.

  I laugh. “Nancy, stop. He’s teasing you. He’s with Walker Security. He protects people.”

  “And sometimes kills people,” Savage adds. “It’s part of the job.”

  “Savage!” I chide. “Stop. She’s a worry-wart. Go home, Nancy.”

  Nancy looks like she might argue and Savage adds, “I’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt her.” He holds up three fingers. “Boy scout’s honor.”

  Nancy finally heads for the door, mumbling, “He was never a boy scout,” under her breath. She opens the door to exit, but pauses, “I’ll call you when I get home, Aria,” she calls out, as if that tells Savage she’ll know if I’m dead so he better not kill me. She disappears outside and shuts the door.

  I laugh, pointing at Savage. “You’re mean and bad.”

  “Only on Wednesdays.”

  “It’s Tuesday.”

  “Well then, it’s the wrong kind of hump day.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a folder, motioning to a wooden table. “Kace wants you to see something. Let’s sit.”

  My brows furrow. “See something?”

  “Yeah. Something. Let’s sit.” He walks to the wooden table between a couple display shelves and sits.

  “Why can’t Kace show me this ‘something’?” I ask, claiming the spot across from him.

  He proceeds to set photos of Gio in front of me. My heart skips a beat, and previous question forgotten, I reach for them. “What are these?”

  “The photos you saw in Kace’s apartment. We pulled them from your security footage because Gio’s driver’s license photo is horrible.”

  “He doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

  He slides another photo in front of me. And it’s Gio’s driver’s license. Apparently, my brother’s been living La Vida Loca a lot longer than I knew.

  “Obviously, I was wrong.” I glance up at Savage. “So you hacked my security feed? That’s extreme.”

  “Kace was insistent he wanted a photo of present-day Gio and he expressed some concern that you might be in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “He said that would be a topic for a later date. He had one goal for us. He wanted to see present-day Gio. He was nowhere to be found, which meant going back in time digitally. Which we did.” He points to the date and timestamp. “The photos are dated before you met Kace. We were not following Gio. And yes, we have the skills to doctor the date stamp, but the feed is still on your security backup to compare.”

  I glance at the stamp and then him, focusing for now on what is most obvious. Kace wants my trust. He’s trying to prove he deserves it and that matters. “He didn’t have to send you here, but thank you for coming.”

  He studies me a moment, his jaw set hard. “That was the last time Gio was seen here at your building.”

  I dread the answer but ask anyway. “Do you know where he’s at?”

  “No,” he sa
ys giving me the answer I did not want, “but,” he adds, “if anyone can find him, we can.”

  Now I study him for a few beats, trying to read an impossible-to-read man. “What do you know?” It’s a generic question but all I dare.

  “Very little. We knew he wasn’t around, but we simply bypassed that problem and got the job done. We weren’t aware he was missing because we weren’t looking for him, but rather his photo. Therefore, we haven’t had the chance to dig deeper. At least not until we were informed you wanted to meet to discuss finding him. And Kace wants your approval for us to move forward with that process.”

  The chimes on the door sound and with the entrance to his back, Savage rotates to eye the visitor. I have a clear view myself as Alexander, in another of his expensive blue suits, steps inside, halting at the front desk. He must sense our attention, because his gaze shifts, flicks over Savage and settles heavily on me. “Just came by to check on you and chat a minute. Is it a bad time?”

  “I’ll leave,” Savage says, pushing to his feet, and when I follow, he leans in closer, his voice low, for my ears only. “Choose your loyalty and do it quickly,” he warns, making it clear he knows how Kace feels about me and Alexander. I think Savage knows a whole lot more about a whole lot of things than I know right now. “Kace already has,” he adds, straightening. “If you want to continue this conversation, Kace tentatively set up breakfast tomorrow for us to do so with or without him. Let me know.” On that note, he heads for the door, but instead of leaving, he halts in front of Alexander and says, “Alexander,” making it clear he also knows Alexander. “Always looking so damn spiffy. Mr. Tall Dark and Pimping, my man.”

  Alexander smirks. “Funny seeing you here, Savage.”

  “No,” he says sharply. “It’s not funny at all. She’s not yours. Don’t forget that.” That’s all he says before he sidesteps Alexander and heads for the door.

  I’m already at the front desk, and quickly call out, “Savage.”

  He flicks me a look over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I have chosen.”

  He eyes Alexander’s back and then me. “We’ll see.” He exits the building, leaving me with the certainty that he’s about to call Kace and tell him I have company. And I just have to pray Kace really does trust me more than Savage does.