by J. Haymore
His hand leaves my breast, and a disappointed whimper leaks from my closed mouth. Then he slips under my sweats again and cups my sex. I thrust into his hand, wanting, needing the pressure.
“Please, Ethan,” I pant, “please.” My pelvis pushes against his palm, searching for something just beyond my reach.
And then he gives it to me. With a sure push, he slides two fingers into my wetness. I jerk, so sensitive there, a scream bubbles in my throat. And then he strokes over me again. In mere moments, I come in a shattering burst of sensation, gripping handfuls of his shirt, thrashing in his arms, my vision going black. He holds me, his strong arms locked around me as the shards of pleasure break through me.
When I come back, it’s like waking from a dream. The most pleasurable, most fulfilling dream in the world. His hand is still cupped around my sex, but gently now. I am so sensitive there that if he added any pressure, I would scream.
I smile up at him.
“Hello there,” he murmurs, gazing down at me with hooded eyes, as if he enjoyed my release as much as I did.
Just then, I hear the hotel room door lock turning, and the squeak of hinges as it opens.
“Oh fuck,” Kyle says.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ethan’s hand slides from my pants as the heat of a blush crawls down my neck.
“Kyle,” Ethan says tersely.
“Ethan.” Kyle sounds like he’s on the verge of violence.
Silence. I bury my face in Ethan’s shoulder for a long moment, then I pull back, swinging around to set my feet on the floor. Ethan rises behind me, his presence a steady force at my back.
Kyle’s eyes shift from me to Ethan and back to me again. “Told you. All that shit about him being a liar, about how you never wanted to see him again. All of it was bullshit.”
“No, it wasn’t. Not at the time.”
He looks at Ethan. “I see you changed her mind.” He claps slowly, sarcastically. “Well done, man. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a shower.”
He stalks into the bathroom, and the door slams shut behind him.
Ethan’s hands wrap around my waist, and he turns me into his embrace. He leans down and kisses me softly. Just as I slip my arms around him, a phone beeps. Looks like he’s already gotten himself a new phone.
He steps back from me, glances at the screen, then answers with a terse “Yes?”
His eyes widen as he looks at me, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the line. “When? This all happened in the last few hours?” Another pause. “Are you sure about that?” Pause. “I understand. We’ll be there in half an hour.”
He hangs up, stares at the phone for a second. “They found Mick.”
I gasp. “They did? Is he here in Honolulu?” The thought makes my gut clench.
“No. He was in Vegas. He’s dead, Tara. He…killed himself.”
I stare at him, uncomprehending. He reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I’m going to get Kyle. We need to go see Mitsumoto.”
I’m in a daze as Ethan gets Kyle out of the shower, and we take a limo—one that Ethan has on standby—to the FBI offices, where we all gather in a conference room. Mitsumoto, a clean-cut, trim-built Japanese American, walks in with a thick file under his arm. The three of us stare silently at him as he sits across from us.
He greets us, then places the file on the table and opens it. “I understand how difficult this must be for all of you, and I’m very sorry about that. It turns out you were right, Mr. Williams”—he nods to Ethan—“about who he was after.”
I feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room as Mitsumoto turns to me. His dark, no-nonsense gaze is the softest I’ve seen it. “I’m sorry.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t understand.”
“What happened?” Kyle asks.
Mitsumoto gazes down at the file and takes a deep breath before gesturing to Ethan. “Your PI had a lead on your crew member’s real identity. One of his men was digging into the computer data.”
“Yes?” Ethan asks tersely.
“He discovered that the real Mick Tannenbaum’s computer files were breached by an outside system. When he traced the system, it led him to Vegas. To the apartment of a man named Brady O’Riley, a convicted felon. We sent a team to that location and discovered O’Riley’s body.” Mitsumoto pauses a moment, then says quietly, “He’d hung himself from the ceiling fan in his living room.”
He turns the top sheet over in his file and slides it across the table. “Is this the man who identified himself to you as Mick Tannenbaum aboard the Temptation?”
I take one look and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s Mick, all right… The man we worked and lived beside for almost three weeks. His face bulges, and his neck is twisted at an odd angle as he dangles from the ceiling fan.
“That’s him,” Kyle says. He sounds like he’s going to be sick.
“I still don’t understand,” I whisper.
I hear Mitsumoto withdraw the photo, and after a few seconds, I feel it’s safe to open my eyes. Ethan puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes reassuringly.
“Okay,” Mitsumoto says, “we were able to access all his files on his electronic devices, as well as items he’d collected over the years. From all the evidence we obtained, it’s clear he’s been stalking you.”
I suck in a breath. “What? That’s impossible. I’d never seen him before I met him on the Temptation.”
He nods. “Right. Here, let me start from the beginning.” He rifles through the folder and pulls out a newspaper clipping. “Just out of high school, he started stalking your mother. This is the earliest photograph we found of her in his possession.
“My mother?”
He slides the clipping across the table to me. It’s an article from the LA Times featuring the Los Angeles cast of Beauty and the Beast. My mother played Babette, the chambermaid, in the musical when I was in preschool, and there’s a photograph of her, along with the actors who played Lumière and Mrs. Potts, at the top of the article. “His obsession was, evidently, pretty frightening for her. He called her, sent her letters, waited outside the theater for her. She took out a restraining order against him a couple of years before she passed.”
My mom died when I was eight. “He stalked her for years?”
“Your parents never told you about it?”
I shake my head in bewilderment. “No.”
“Well, you were young, so I guess that makes sense. Anyway, after her death, he was arrested for an unrelated incident and served five years for assault. When he got out, he turned his attention to your sister, Emily. But he was smarter this time. He kept his distance—just watched her and collected a great deal of information about her. Photographs, articles, etcetera. I doubt your sister ever knew of his existence, but there were books full of photographs and articles on both her and your mother in his apartment. His hard drive contained folders dedicated to your mother, your sister, and you.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. Because this is so insane, there’s nothing else to say.
“His activities came to a halt when your sister died. He was arrested again, on the lesser charge of possession of a controlled substance. He got out of jail this past February. That was when he began to track your movements. Again, he remained in the background, watching, taking pictures, documenting everything he learned about you.” Mitsumoto sighs. “We found surveillance equipment in your apartment.”
My gaze flickers to Ethan, who sits very still, his expression blank. Should I say something? My teeth gnaw on my bottom lip as my mind goes over the implications of telling Mitsumoto about Ethan’s “security” equipment in my apartment.
Mitsumoto continues. “Cameras, bugs, you name it.”
A low noise of distress comes from Ethan’s direction. I swallow hard and press my lips together. Not right now. There’s got to be a reason Ethan isn’t talking.
Mitsumoto’s gaze flicks toward Ethan, then back to me. He begins to hand me evidence from th
e file—photos and documents. There’s a picture of the scrapbook albums he kept on my mother and Emily. There are printed-out computer documents—pictures of my mother, of Emily, of me. Piles of articles on my mother and Emily. Scans of the few public images of me—most of them of Emily and me taken by paparazzi after our parents’ death. There are a few mentions of me from my high school paper and the business department’s newsletter. Scans of my yearbook photos. There are photographs of the bugs and cameras they found in my apartment, which Ethan studies carefully. And, finally, a copy of the restraining order my mother took out on him.
How could Mick—the man I knew as Mick—have done all this? I look at it all in sort of a numb haze, then pass it to Ethan, who hands it to Kyle. All of us are rendered speechless.
Finally, Ethan asks, “Why did he kill himself?”
“He left a suicide note on the startup page of his computer,” Mitsumoto says. “It was the first thing the agents saw when they booted it up.”
He hands us the last sheet of paper in the file.
I wanted all of you. All three of you. You were all I’ve ever wanted. A glance, a smile, a word… They’ve sustained me until now. It’s no longer enough, though. I need more. But you won’t give me more. You look through me, not at me. And I finally realized it was too late. You’d never be mine.
You won’t be mine in this life, but you will be in the next.
Fate led two of you to the other side, where you await me. And you, my pretty third, will come. Not now, when I’d like to see you there, standing alongside your mother and sister, but when a higher power deems you ready.
I can’t wait to see you again. But now I need the comfort and solace of the other two, a feeling I know you will understand. I see them sometimes, you know. They stand over there in the mist, and I know they await me with open arms.
Until the next life, my beauty. Until we meet again.
My trembling hands grip the edge of the table, and bile rises in my throat as my watering eyes scan the note over and over again.
Beyond the horror and disgust, it’s impossible to take this in. It makes no sense. If Mick—Brady O’Riley—was going to kill himself, why not explode himself on the Temptation with the rest of us? When I ask Mitsumoto this, he shrugs. “He was insane, Miss Jameson. Completely insane. I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to understand what was going on in his mind.”
I glance at Kyle, who appears just as shocked as I feel. Then my gaze moves to Ethan. He’s loose and relaxed, his hands open and unclenched in contrast to mine, but he’s also as focused and intense as usual. Composed. Strong.
“Was there anyone else involved in this?” he asks Mitsumoto. “Was anyone aware of his obsession? Did anyone help him?”
“There’s no evidence of anyone else being involved.”
“Good,” Ethan bites out.
“We’ll interview everyone even remotely connected to him,” Mitsumoto continues, “but it’s already late on the mainland, so that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. However, from our preliminary research, he has no family, no friends, and few acquaintances. Furthermore, from the way the evidence was stored, we’re inclined to believe he kept his obsession to himself.”
The meeting winds down, and we return to Ethan’s limo. Kyle and I are stunned and quiet, but Ethan has already seemed to have recovered from this latest shock.
In the car, he wraps his arm around me and kisses my cheek. “You’re safe now.”
I look at him blankly.
“Do you know how crazy it made me? Knowing Mick was out there? That he might be after you?”
Across from us, Kyle shifts uncomfortably and stares out the window.
“Why didn’t you tell him it was you?” I ask Ethan.
Now it’s his turn to look at me blankly.
“Who put the surveillance equipment in my apartment,” I explain.
“Shit, Tara. That wasn’t me. Do you think I’d watch you like that? Jesus, no wonder you thought I’d invaded your privacy. I only had the security system installed. I have no idea how he got past the security, but the rest of it was Mick, the sick bastard.”
I stare at him, so thankful it wasn’t Ethan while at the same time horrified that Mick was responsible.
“It’s over, baby,” Ethan says, cupping my cheek in his warm, strong palm. “It’s all over.”
Staring into his blue eyes, I finally understand his relief. He’s been tense, on edge, and hearing the news about Mick’s death has relaxed him. Whereas it’s made me feel violated and disgusted.
I really have been living inside a bubble since Emily died. Not only was I totally unaware that Ethan was watching me, I was also completely ignorant that Mick was watching me too.
Such stupid incompetence. How can I ever live now without constantly looking over my shoulder? Why did my mother and sister enjoy their fame so much? The thought of people watching me makes the bile rise up in my throat all over again. I swallow hard, pushing it back down.
But Ethan is right. It’s over. Over. Focus on that.
The three of us are quiet for a while as the driver negotiates Honolulu rush-hour traffic. Then Ethan says, “Did you ever think it might not have been an accident?”
What’s he talking about? Kyle falling overboard? The allergic reaction to peanuts? The explosion of the Temptation? The convenience store robbery?
“I mean the car accident,” he says carefully. “The one you were in with Emily.”
I go stiff. “What are you saying?” But understanding has already rushed in. He thinks it was Mick! He thinks Mick was responsible for the accident.
Oh my God.
My hands clench and unclench in my lap. Kyle seems just as upset as I am, his eyes wide and his back pressed into the seat across from us as if Ethan just shoved him against it.
“I know the authorities said it was defective brakes,” Ethan says. “But did you ever wonder if there was something else to the story? That it wasn’t a manufacturer’s defect, but that someone had tampered with them?”
“No,” I whisper. “I never wondered that.”
“I did,” he says quietly.
“Jesus fuck,” Kyle mutters.
“You honestly think that Mick—O’Riley—could have deliberately…?” My voice trails of.
Ethan shrugs. “It was a thought I had.”
“Today? Or even back then?”
“I had that thought the night of the accident. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I thought it was… It was…” He hesitates, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then he tries again. “It was one of the reasons I was so concerned with your safety. If the car accident wasn’t really an accident, that meant you needed protection.”
On information overload, I squeeze my eyes shut, not sure how my brain can handle this new twist. Then, I swing my head back and forth in denial as Mick’s suicide note comes back to me. “No. It’s impossible. Mick said in his letter that it was fate that led my mom and Em to the other side.”
What’s really impossible is the matter-of-factness of my tone. I dig around, searching for the panic that always comes when conversation turns to the accident and Emily’s death. It’s nowhere to be found.
But there’s no understanding the psychological reasons behind that right now.
“And he also said that I’d only die when a higher power deemed it was time. As if he admitted he had no control over when I lived or died.”
“But he did try to kill you three times on the Temptation,” Kyle says darkly. “Maybe he’s right, Tara. Maybe that stalking fuckhead killed Emily. Maybe he was trying to kill you both.”
“Do you really think it’s possible?” I ask Ethan.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m going to look into it when we get back home. We might never know for sure, though.”
There’s another long silence as the three of us contemplate this, lost in our own thoughts. Ethan slides his hand into mine, and his fingers gently press my fist open, then en
twine with mine.
“I want to take you to dinner tonight,” Ethan says softly. “I wasn’t inclined to go out before, but it’s over now. We need to live our lives. I’d like us to see Hawaii together.”
Kyle shifts in his seat.
“Come to dinner with us,” Ethan invites.
“Whatever,” Kyle says.
We return to the hotel to clean up and change, and Kyle’s in an even more pissed-off mood when I come out of the shower dressed in jeans and a wraparound black top—clothes Ethan got for me. I go over and sit on the edge of his bed. “So this is how it is, huh?”
“How what is?” Kyle mumbles.
“You’re fine with Ethan as long as I hate him? When things are okay between us, you decide to be an asshole again?”
He audibly grinds his teeth. “You’re pissing me off, you know that?”
“I know. But I can’t explain myself, and I don’t really need to, Kyle. What’s going on between Ethan and me is none of your business.”
And he saw us being intimate earlier…again. I want to throw up my hands in frustration, even though this time it really was my fault. This is Kyle’s room too. I should have expected him at any time. Instead, my mind was consumed with being in the moment with Ethan.
“I was trying to help keep you from diving into depression again,” Kyle says. “I was failing, and then he just saunters in here for a couple of hours, and boom. Everything’s fine. Even when you find out some crazy stalker asshole has been after you for the past year. I don’t get it.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? I’m not fine. I’m freaked-out and so disgusted it’s like ants are crawling all over my skin and nothing I do can wash them off. I can’t stop thinking about Nalani—” I turn away from him, rubbing my arms vigorously. “Too much has happened. It’s going to take some time.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” he growls.
I ignore that, because what can I say? “About Ethan—I was heartbroken about what he’d done. You helped me with that, Kyle, then he helped me with that. The two of you made me see reason again.”
