by Paula Cox
Liana breathed. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Then she did it again. And again. And then they were through the double doors on the side of the room, where he turned sharply and thrust her toward the wall. She smacked back against it, legs unable to resist her body’s momentum.
“Did you poison him?” he demanded.
His eyes were the darkest gray Liana had ever seen. They weren’t stormy, as gray eyes sometimes seem to be. They were that dark moment before the storm when the night turns nearly black as the clouds prepare to unleash a torrent upon the world. They were rage itself.
“I didn’t!” Liana insisted. “Some guy named Lando gave me the bottle. He said he was Michael’s cousin.”
“Don’t use his name!” Cliff bellowed.
Liana shrank back against the wall, heart thrumming in her chest. If he wasn’t going to kill her, she might have a heart attack anyway.
But then his face softened. It wasn’t until the salt began to sting her eyes and cloud her vision that she realized she was crying. Close to bawling, really. She sniffed, trying to hold it together, but it was far too late. Cliff reached forward, probably to wipe the tears away, but Liana flinched, and he retracted his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “He... he was my best friend. I didn’t mean to attack you like that. This wasn’t your fault.”
But, in a way, it was her fault. Why couldn’t she have just told Lando to shove his bottle of expensive champagne where the sun didn’t shine? Why did she have to give into him?
“I’m sorry,” Liana replied. She sniffled again, and then wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her hand came away black from her makeup. What a pretty picture she was painting. It hardly mattered now, anyway, but she still felt the need to look pretty in front of him.
“Whoever Lando is, he’ll be long gone by now,” Cliff said, running a hand through his hair. “Do you remember what he looked like?”
“You mean you don’t know him?” she asked.
Cliff shook his head. “I know all of Michael’s cousins. Lando isn’t one of them.”
Liana cast her mind back to the strange man who’d given her the champagne and did her best to describe to Cliff the features she could remember. He furrowed his brow in thought, frowning.
“I don’t know him.” He gritted his teeth. “Nobody would hurt Michael. He was the sweetest fucking guy that ever lived.”
Liana remembered, once again, the light in Michael’s eyes. It hurt her just to think about it, and she hadn’t even known him. “Then why would somebody want to kill him?” she asked quietly.
Cliff answered in a tone so cold that Liana shivered. “To get back at me.”
Just as she thought he’d calmed down a little, Cliff roared and struck out. She squeezed her eyes closed and flinched, bracing for the hit. But it never came. There was a loud bang off to her left, and she cautiously looked over to see that Cliff had punched a hole in the wall a foot away from the head.
She returned her gaze to him. He was panting, eyes looking not at her, but through her. His whole body shook with rage. He didn’t retract his fist, but neither did he cage her in with his other hand. The hit had been for him, not for her. He was hurting. Probably more than she could know.
Liana did the only thing she could think of that might help. She took a step forward and sank against Cliff, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing her cheek to his chest. He smelled like citrus and cigars, plus something earthier. It was all man. She shouldn’t have been enjoying it as much as she was, given the circumstances, but she couldn’t help herself. His body was hard and toned beneath his shirt. And though he didn’t hug her back, she had the feeling he needed it just as much as she did.
They stood like that for some time, until Damien barged through the door looking for Liana. He was immediately at her side, squaring up to Cliff. Liana thought it was strange, at first, until she realized Cliff still had her backed against the wall and—speaking of the wall—his fist was still lodged in it.
“The police are here,” Damien said gruffly.
Liana nodded and stepped back, looking up into Cliff’s face. With a wrinkle of his nose, he pulled his fist from the wall, sending a plume of drywall dust into the air around Liana’s face. She coughed and stepped around him to Damien.
“I presume they’re asking for me?” she asked.
Damien furrowed his brow. “No. Should they be? Did you know him?”
Right. Damien didn’t know about Lando. He’d been there when Lando gave her the bottle, but was cleaning the floor at the time and hadn’t seen him. Nobody except Lando, Cliff, and the dead man knew about her involvement.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She smiled weakly. “I’m a representative of the caterer. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to one of us. May as well be me.”
Cliff pressed a hand to her lower back, guiding her back into the reception room, despite the look Damien gave him for it. “I’m going to go down to the precinct with the police,” he announced. “I’d like you to come with me.”
Liana nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Whatever you need.”
Despite her compliance, the thought of going anywhere alone with Cliff gave her butterflies in her stomach. She couldn’t tell whether they were good ones or not. She couldn’t tell whether he wanted to murder her or not, either.
Chapter 3
Dead. Such a final, horrible word. No other word had the kind of power to halt a sentence, a conversation. One moment Cliff Aurello had a best friend, and the next he was dead. There was simply nothing else for it. How many times had he and Michael joked that they would be old men together, still shooting the shit and drinking beers like they had since they were young kids with big dreams?
There was a coiled rage in Cliff’s chest that he was barely keeping contained. He felt that at any moment he could go nuclear and destroy everyone and everything around him. He wanted to burn. He wanted them all to burn too because this pain was too great for him to take on by himself.
The only thing keeping him grounded was, surprisingly enough, not a thing at all. She was a person, possibly even the person who killed Michael in the first place. He wanted to throttle her, fuck her, and hold her tightly to his chest and keep her there forever, all at the same time. She was a cooling balm to his rage, but a complication he never asked for.
He had spent most of the night not knowing her name, but he read enough about her just from her curves and the way she walked. Her high ponytail was thick and full of dark, cascading waves. Her pert lips had pulled him in, but it was her bright green eyes that had kept him there. Even from as far away as he had been when he caught them, he could still see the sea of her irises and the expressive way her lids pulled back in surprise and wonder when they met his.
And he’d wanted her. He’d wanted her right there on the floor. Over a table. Against a wall. It hardly seemed to matter. He hadn’t wanted her on the floor next to his dead best friend. Next time he would be more careful about what he wished for.
She had her arms around him now. He was cautious about frightening her again, so he didn’t dare move a muscle, even to pull his fist from the crumbling drywall. Her body was so soft that he had to do everything he could not to fold her into his arms and keep her there. But that wasn’t all he wanted to do. He still didn’t trust her. He still wondered if she was only a moment away from sticking a knife in his back too. Maybe she was a good actress. Maybe he’d kill her before he found out, just to be safe.
But how could he kill the girl tucked in below his chin, her heart beating fast and heavy against his chest? He shuddered to think what those inquisitive eyes would look like, clouded over and dull. Like Michael’s. True, she was the only thing keeping him grounded, but even that could prove to not be enough.
They were interrupted by one of her coworkers, a tall kid who thought he was tough. He sidled up next to Cliff, a stern expression on his young face. He reminded Cliff of himself, years earlier. Before he’d seen t
he horrors he had. Before he’d lived them. And Cliff couldn't fault the kid for wanting to protect Liana. She might not have been able to see it, but it was obvious to anyone else who looked in from the outside how Cliff’s muscles bunched at the shoulders, how he was ready to strike if the mood possessed him. Liana might as well have been hugging a cobra.
She agreed to go to the police station with him, though. That made him a little less suspicious of her. If she had poisoned Michael, would she have still been here? No. And would she have broken down like she did? Probably not. He’d felt her pulse through her chest. He knew just how panicked and upset she was. His rage had just gotten the better of him. He needed to relax.
Cliff guided Liana back out into the main reception room. It was an absolute mess. The lights had come on, and the absence of music was filled in by wails and sobs of anguish. Most of these people hadn’t even known Michael, but mourning was practically a pastime for big Italian families like the two that had joined today. Nobody could beat them at it.
Liana stopped, eyeing the scene around her. She turned to Cliff, concern written on her face. “My staff…” She bit her lip nervously. “I should, I don’t know, say something to them.”
“The police will handle it.” The irony of being so keen to let the police do their jobs was not lost on Cliff, but he would need every available resource to find out who this Lando was and why he killed Michael. He wasn’t willing to let the killer go free just because of his pride.
She crossed her arms over her chest. At first, Cliff thought it was in defiance. Soon he saw she was shaking. He couldn’t tell whether she was cold or just frightened, but he took his suit jacket off and wrapped her in it anyway. He hated to see a woman shiver.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
He nodded and pressed against her back again, pushing her toward the exit. There were two police officers standing there, presumably stopping anyone from leaving. But Cliff needed to leave, and he needed to get Liana out with him. Not only could she describe Lando to a sketch artist, but also the more his suspicion of her cleared, the more he realized how much trouble she was in.
If he were going to poison someone, he would make sure all his loose ends were tied up. Liana was a loose end if he’d ever seen one, and he needed to get her somewhere safe. And, since he was Michael’s best friend, it was his contacts the police would need to look into to find the killer.
And once they found the killer? Well, then he would do things a little bit less by the book.
***
The cup of water shook in Liana’s hands. She tried to steady it, but the damn thing just kept shivering. She slowly lowered the paper cup onto the coffee table in the precinct’s waiting room, leaning back into her seat and pulling Cliff’s jacket closer around her.
It smelled so much like him that she wanted to retract into it like a turtle. She imagined a new world inside Cliff’s jacket—one of darkness and calm, where she wouldn’t have to answer any questions or think about the fact that she had served champagne to a very alive man tonight who had ended up very dead.
Cliff was inside the interrogation room talking to the detectives right now. She’d already given as much of a statement as she could, and had talked to a sketch artist. He was still drawing up some pictures for her to look at, but the details she was able to remember hadn’t been terribly specific. It was as if he’d been bleached from her mind by shock. She remembered his curly, dyed hair. She remembered that his face had seemed handsome from afar, but not up close. But the rest was an absolute blank. And she hated herself for it. Why hadn’t she paid better attention? Why hadn’t she told him no? Why? Why?
The door to the inner precinct opened, and Cliff strolled out, looking just as stoic as he had all evening. Even when he’d been checking her out earlier, Liana hadn’t seen so much as the ghost of a smile. Now he exuded a quiet rage, but his features were blank and stony. He was beautiful, like an angel sent to destroy or redeem. He just hadn’t decided which one it was yet.
“They’re done with us for now,” he informed her. He had removed his tie in the car on the way there, and since being in the interrogation room, he had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. The white shirt fit him like a glove, and Liana found herself following the broad slope of his shoulders down to the swell of his biceps and back up. He had obviously noted her staring at him, but he didn’t seem to care.
That was the thing Liana didn’t get about Cliff. Well, she didn’t get much about him, but it was the thing that vexed her the most. She couldn't tell whether he liked or loathed the sight of her. He’d been so cold in his tone and words, but so warm in his mannerisms. He’d given her his coat, he’d helped her out of the car when they got here, and he’d even gotten her a cup of water from one of the officers. But he acted like he wanted nothing to do with her.
“What now?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse from crying, and it grated her to hear it like that. She would have to make some honey lemon tea when she got home.
“I’ll take you home.” He held out a hand, which she took, then helped pull her upright.
Liana hated feeling so fragile. She hadn’t even known the deceased. But she’d also never seen a dead body before—and she certainly had never watched someone die. She kept replaying those horrifying moments in her mind. It had seemed to take years, but at the same time, it took no time at all. She had never thought before how fragile life could be. It rattled her to the core.
“If we take the M train, it goes right to my apartment,” Liana said.
Cliff shook his head. “I’ve got a car.”
“But... how?” They’d driven there in a cop car. She was left to assume that somebody was picking him up since Cliff evidently didn’t feel the need to answer.
Sure enough, there was a black town car waiting outside for them. The driver was dressed in a suit and a little cap, and he opened the back door for them as they approached. Liana stared in awe. She didn’t think she’d ever been in a car this nice before. Who the hell was this guy?
Cliff held her hand as she slipped inside, and Liana quite pathetically had to make herself let go. This stone of a man was her only comfort right now. He might not have been the best at comforting, but that was completely understandable considering his friend had just died. She saw Michael die again and suppressed another sob. That was the last thing Cliff needed.
The car began to move, and the driver prompted her for an address before closing the partition between them. Then it was just the rumbling road and silence. Liana struggled to find words to say, but none of them seemed quite right.
Quite surprisingly, Cliff spoke first. “I’m going to need you not to go anywhere,” he said.
“I won’t,” she replied. “I already told the police that.”
His eyes seemed darker than normal. “I’m not the police. I’m telling you not to leave the city. Try not to go too far from your home and work, if possible.”
Liana gulped. “Is that a warning or a threat?”
His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. “It’s a suggestion,” he said. “But a stern one. I want to keep an eye on you.”
“I told you,” she insisted. “I didn’t…” She couldn’t even say the word kill. How could he think she’d done it?
In a shockingly tender gesture, Cliff grabbed her hand in his. He didn’t squeeze or move it in any way; he simply held it gently. It was like seeing a ferocious bear carry an egg, which was a ridiculous simile, but the only thing that came to Liana’s mind.
“I don’t think you killed him,” he said. “I just don’t know what to make of tonight. Humor me.”
She nodded. “I suppose I could do that.”
Cliff’s hand was cool and rough. His callouses seemed to indicate his life was not as gentle as the fancy car and the expensive suit would otherwise have Liana believe. She was intrigued by him. It was the kind of intrigue that she worried could easily slip into obsession. Who was this dark stranger? What did he do? Why were people killing pe
ople near him? And what the hell was he thinking? It was probably vain to be so worried about what he made of her, but Liana wasn’t used to being so irritated. He was a wall of ice, and the pathetic romantic in her wanted to be the one to melt a little Liana sized hole in it. It wasn’t even that she wanted him to want her, necessarily. She just wanted him to let her in. She wanted to know him.
“What’s your schedule for the next few days?” Cliff asked.
“I work during the evening tomorrow through Thursday,” she said. “Friday night I’m playing at Rick’s Jazz Club.”
This, apparently, caught his interest. He looked her up and down. “You’re a singer?”
