Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel

by Bishop, Ally

  I shrug. “Maybe.” The idea of calling him after my behavior yesterday sends shivers of anxiety through my core.

  Just after Lux walks out of the house, my phone attempts to ring. The gurgled sound coming from its speaker is a poor representation of its usual ring tone. Thankfully, I can still answer it despite the ruined screen.

  “Sweetpea, it’s Fiona. I found something interesting.”

  The journey to Ian’s office doesn’t take that long, but I’m so worked up by the time I get to his building that my hands shake as I open the entrance door. The same receptionist sits at the desk, and he calls up to Ian’s office to announce my arrival. While I can answer calls on my phone, I can’t text or place calls, so showing up here was the best I could do. Email felt too…impersonal.

  “He’s with a client. He asked if you could wait?”

  “Sure.” But my stomach crawls up my esophagus at the idea of just sitting here. Nonetheless, I manage to entertain myself with a book I brought with me, and twenty minutes later, the receptionist directs me to Ian’s office.

  Unlike last week, the door’s open, and he’s standing at his desk when I step inside. He looks good, of course. He’s shed his suit jacket, and his white button-down clings to his lithe frame and makes me itch to touch him. But when I dare to meet his gaze, exhaustion and caution greet me. He looks like he got as much sleep as I did last night.

  “Hi.”

  He nods his greeting. “I was surprised to hear you were downstairs.”

  I chew on my lip for a moment. “I would have sent you a warning, but my phone…” I pull it out of my pocket to show him.

  “I’m pretty sure I heard when that happened.” He doesn’t move from his spot, but I detect the tiniest bit of amusement.

  I close my eyes, heat washing over my face. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me to do that.”

  “You were upset.”

  “I was.” I don’t know what to say, so we both stand there in silence, the discomfort growing by the second. “I got a call from the private investigator today.”

  He gestures to the visitor’s seating. “I’m listening,” he says as he sits down in his own chair.

  I’m not sure if I can relax with my insides vibrating so hard; I’m scared I’ll be sick. But I manage to perch on the edge of a chair before I continue. “You see, my brother has a background.”

  “I know.”

  I startle a bit at his answer. “Oh?”

  “I have a friend who works for the NYPD. I asked him to do a little checking around for me.” He steeples his fingers. “It’s not that I didn’t trust that you hired someone, but I thought it might help if we had someone on the inside doing some digging.”

  I drop my chin in agreement, but it stings.

  “Ella, he’s a friend. It wouldn’t make sense not to contact him, would it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “He told me about your brother’s background.” He stays quiet for a beat, then asks, “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to blame him.” I sound pathetic, and I hate that.

  He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. “Do you know how many people sit across from me with major strikes against them? I can’t just assume because they have a background or a history of certain behaviors that they’re automatically guilty of the charges. I’d never be able to do my job if I made those kinds of judgments.”

  Now I feel petty and small. “I’m sorry. I just…” I trail off, unable to come up with a decent excuse.

  “You wanted to protect him. I get that. But it was going to come out, even with the private investigator. Or were you only going to give me the information you think I need?”

  My guilt shows plainly on my face, of course.

  More silence, and my heart feels like lead. I push out the words I came to say, knowing they’ll only make the situation worse, not better. “Fiona Hamilton is the private investigator I hired. She did some checking on all of the guests that were at the party. My brother was the only one among my crew who had any background of issue. But your friend Casey Udall has several dismissed charges that came up when she did a broader search. She also discovered that he has quite a bit of debt.”

  His face is a mask, betraying nothing.

  “She staked out his apartment last night and tailed him from one private poker party to another. You’ll probably find that he’s a bit bruised today from an altercation he had with one of the players after a game. From what she could overhear, the fight was over money that Casey owed the guy, and Casey insisted he didn’t have it yet.”

  “Let me understand what you’re saying: you think Casey stole from me?”

  “I didn’t say that. I am saying that I know my brother, and I know what happened when he was charged years ago. He was an immature, bullied kid who grew up an outcast. He hung out with the wrong crowd and did things he shouldn’t have. He wasn’t innocent—he watched while others stole property and helped them transport it. But he didn’t steal anything himself, and he’s not had a single other incident since then. I believe him when he says he didn’t take anything.” I lift a shoulder and soften my voice. “I know Casey’s your friend, and I would want to protect him if I were you. But he’s got current problems that might be pushing him to do stupid things.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I take it as my cue to stand up and leave. “I’m really sorry, Ian. About everything.”

  A brief nod of dismissal is all I get, and I feel as though my heart has swollen and is cutting off my air supply. With panting breaths, I race down the stairs of his building and out into the icy air, hoping that the snap of cold will ease the pain inside.

  “How’d it go?” Noah asks when I walk in the door. He’s on the couch, but he has papers and folders spread out around him, the laptop balanced on his thighs. He takes one look at my tear-stained face and drops his head. “I’m sorry, Ells.”

  I drape my coat over the coatrack and join him on the couch. “I didn’t expect it to go well.” I press my nails into my palm, anything to stem the tears that threaten at the back of my eyes. “I just didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

  “I’d say ‘come here,’ but I don’t want you to get sick.” Noah looks at me sadly, his handsome face having a bit more color than earlier, but his voice still thick with his illness.

  I shrug and curl into his side. He wraps his arms around me, letting me cry until I don’t think I have any tears left. He hands me tissues as needed, then flips on the television so we can watch the Buffy episode that Lux and I started last night. And we lie there for a few hours, watching television, numb to the world.

  Eventually, though, I remember all the work I have to get done this week, and I push off the couch. “I should try to make something productive out of this day.”

  “Is it worth it to try talking to him again?” he asks, his voice low.

  I turn on my heel and stare at him. “You’re the one that said he’s a jerk and I shouldn’t trust him. That I was being gullible by seeing him.”

  He closes his eyes as I recount his words back to him. “I know. I’m sorry. That was cruel of me to say. You aren’t gullible.”

  “Yes, I am.” I sigh.

  He shakes his head. “No, you believe in people. That’s not being gullible. That’s being awesome and being you. And you saw something in this guy that…what am I trying to say here?” he asks more of himself than me. He sits up and braces his arms on his knees. “Look, I hate what I did years ago. It’s embarrassing, and I’m humiliated that I stood by and let people get swindled and hurt. And I wouldn’t want to be judged by that, even though people will do it every time.”

  Even your own sister.

  “I’m not talking about you, sis,” he says as though I’ve spoken aloud. “You had to ask. Even if you didn’t want to. I know that. But everyone else will assume because of my record that I’m still that person. And I’m not. So all I’m saying is…maybe j
udging him harshly on one event isn’t fair. Maybe you should get the whole story.”

  I shrug. “It doesn’t matter much anyway. I just told him his childhood friend is probably the culprit. That didn’t make him all that happy.”

  Noah nods, raking a hand through his curls. “I bet not.”

  “It’s okay.” With a sharp inhale, I shrug. “I learned something from all this. I had an incredible week, and maybe I’m ready to get back out there and live again, you know?”

  He smiles, the slightest dimple forming in his cheek. “Good. And I quite agree.”

  “So let’s get you better, and maybe I’ll join you next week when you paint the town.”

  That makes him laugh, which then makes him cough. But at least there’s a connection between us again. It’s a small comfort, but for now, it’s enough.

  CHAPTER 20

  YOU WANNA BE A SUPERSTAR?

  One Month Later

  Thank you for calling Elementary, the place where ‘who dunnit’ could end up being you. How can I help you?” Despite my brother’s laughter over my greeting, I enjoy saying it when I pick up the phone.

  “Ella?”

  My heart skips a beat, but after a second, I know the tone isn’t Ian’s. My disappointment soars, but I rally. “Yes?”

  “It’s Mick Jeffries. I met you a few weeks back.”

  “Of course! How are you?” It impresses me that he doesn’t just assume that I know who he is.

  “I’m doing good. I’ve a lady to impress, and I thought having a whole show done for us might be the ticket.”

  “You just want to know what happens next,” I tease, a bit breathless that Mick actually called himself. Didn’t he have assistants to do this kind of stuff?

  He chuckles. “Caught in the act. You intrigued me with your show. I have to see the sequel. So what do you say? Could you whip up some magic to impress my lady?”

  “I’m sure she’s already suitably impressed by you, Mr. Jeffries. But we can put something together that will suit.” Despite my disappointment that it’s not Ian on the line, this is huge.

  Mega huge.

  “Call me Mick, sweetheart. All my friends do.”

  A charmer, indeed. “Of course.”

  “Your brother will be in it?”

  My insides thrum. Ian didn’t spread the word about Noah’s background, then? “He plays the lead role in this series.”

  “Perfect. He was fantastic. I look forward to seeing him again.”

  I manage to subdue my squeal. “Excellent. Let’s figure out a date that works for your dinner, and we’ll schedule a time to go over details.” It occurs to me after the fact that this guy’s a massive celebrity. He probably doesn’t do meet-and-greets; he’ll want things perfect the first time.

  But he surprises me with his answer. “Sure. Let me check my calendar.”

  We haggle over dates—well, really, he gives me times, and I groan in frustration when each one is already booked.

  “You guys need to expand your forces. You’re too good to do it all yourselves.”

  “We’re working on it.” And booking a party for him will help, so the next date, I swear, I’m going to move heaven and earth to make work.

  And thankfully, it does.

  We make plans to meet this week for the itinerary planning, and he gives me his private home address, which alone feels elite.

  I’m giddy with excitement when I get off the phone, and Noah stares at me with questions in his eyes. “We’re putting on a show for the president?”

  “Even better: Mick Jeffries wants us to do a private show.”

  His eyes sparkle. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. And he asked if you were going to be in it again. He really liked your performance.”

  Noah’s smile widens. “This is incredible.”

  While everything going south with Ian tore me up, I’d be lying if I didn’t also find myself stewing on the fact I lost a shot at booking shows with his guests. Several of them expressed interest in contracting Elementary, so when I heard nothing, I just assumed he’d told them about the theft.

  I haven’t heard from Ian since the day I spoke to him in his office. What was there to say, really? We never heard from the police or saw anything about the theft in the paper. Fiona had sent me an email a few days later, linking me to a short article detailing the brutal beating of Casey Udall, suspected to be related to gambling debts. I followed the news on him after that, and apparently, he made a full recovery, but they haven’t caught the perpetrators yet.

  Ian, however, had been out of the limelight, perhaps because Mick’s new love is by his side in every photo now. In fact, the only thing I find on Ian is a candid photo of him at one of Mick’s movie premiere after-parties, a beautiful red-head on his arm.

  So that was that.

  Mick’s Manhattan apartment is not that far from Ian’s, which doesn’t surprise me. After all, they are close. But where Ian’s is relatively compact in comparison, Mick’s place is massive and sprawling, the top two floors of a luxurious apartment complex.

  Mick actually meets me at the door, another unexpected gesture.

  He takes my hands and busses my cheek. “So good to see you.”

  “You as well. It’s a thrill to do this for you.” I hand him the folder with our logo emblazoned on the front—an artistic rendering of Sherlock’s famous deerstalker cap set jauntily atop a wine glass—that contains all of the ideas and plans for the evening. Noah and I went all out, calling boutique caterers that only work for the upper crust, booking our favorite band, and even checking into unique props. We want to make this signature event personalized to Mick, so I’m hoping to get all the nitty gritty details today, as well as keep a few surprises up my sleeve for the actual dinner.

  He makes us coffee, and we venture into a glorious corner room, surrounded by massive windows that look out over Central Park. Weak, early-March sunshine pushes through the clouds, and a roaring fire keeps us toasty. Sitting at a small table, we go over the plans, discuss the layout of the stage, and debate menus. While he’s particular about the tone of the evening, he’s open to ideas, and we end up laughing our way through a second cup of coffee.

  “You are not at all how you appear in interviews.” I say it off the cuff, not really thinking through how the statement could be construed.

  He sips his Americano and shrugs. “The media never tells the truth. They tell a version that they think will sell.” He eyes me, as though gauging his next words. “They did that to Ian, you know.”

  I stare down into my cup, my face warming at the topic change. Without meeting his gaze, I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Look, I probably shouldn’t put my foot in this—it’s up to you guys to work it out. But he told me a little about why you broke up.”

  “It’s not really breaking up when you’ve only been together a week.”

  Mick waves a dismissing hand. “Doesn’t really matter how long it was. The point is that it happened over a lie that the media has happily fueled.” He sighs and pushes his cup between his hands. “And he won’t tell you the truth because he’s bound by a promise, and he’s too good a man to break that.” His chair creaks as he shifts his weight. “I’m not under any such obligation, however.”

  His tone turns hard, and I meet his sky blue eyes.

  “Mia Tratori is gay.”

  I’m pretty sure my chin bangs against the floor. But since I’m still sitting here slack-jawed, I can’t be sure. “You’re kidding.”

  Mick wags his head. “Nope. Girl hasn’t liked cock ever. Mind you, she puts ‘straight’ on like a fashion-forward coat. We went a few rounds in the hay back when she first showed up on the scene. We were both drunk, met at a party, and that’s how those things go. But it wasn’t much fun for either of us, the little bit I can remember. So when those two got together, I had misgivings, but Ian’s a big boy. He can figure shit out on his own.”

  I’m too lost on the whole “Mia
is gay” thing to even be amused by his bald language. “Wait, so she was never really into him?”

  Mick leans on the table, the thick sinews of his toned forearms tightening. “I think they tried. Really. She’s a smart girl, likable if you don’t get in too deep. But she’s living a con, and I think it started a long time ago. It’s hard to be honest with those you love if you aren’t honest with yourself.”

  “What happened? How’d Ian find out?”

  “The way people always do. Found some sexy texts, blew ‘em off. Came home early to surprise her and walked in on her with two other women. Other well-known models, as it turned out.”

  I shake my head, not able to get my head around the news. “Oh God. That must’ve been awful.”

  “Nearly destroyed him. He loved her. Not sure I ever could figure out why. But there was something vulnerable about her, something that spoke to a certain brokenness. Whatever it was, he lost his head over the whole thing. Nearly quit his job. Threatened to sell his house and move home.”

  “So that’s what his aunt meant.” When Mick looks confused, I explain how I met Rheanna. “She said he’d ‘had a rough year,’ and I just figured it was the break-up with Mia. I didn’t know all the details.”

  “Oh, it was more than a year. He found out about her being gay about two years ago. They were pretending to be a couple for the last year of their relationship. I think they tried the ‘open’ relationship thing, which, while that can work for some people, doesn’t work for Ian. He’s not built that way. When he loves somebody, that’s it. He’s loyal to a fault.”

  “I’m assuming she took their ‘open’ relationship seriously?”

  Mick nods. “Mind you, wouldn’t come out publicly. Too afraid it would ruin her reputation, and she’d just gotten the cover for Sports Illustrated. No way was she going to risk that. So yeah, now that she had someone on the inside who knew the truth, she claimed she didn’t have to hide from him anymore. She even tried to get him in on the act.” Mick shakes his head, a bit of sorrow in his expression. “Most men getting in the sack with two women—dream of a lifetime. Ian? He was miserable.”