White Hot

by Elise Noble

  “Sorry, Dani. I didn’t even think. I’m so used to being on my own, and…” He held out one hand in the moonlight. “Fuck, I’m still shaking. Who was that woman? Not Emmy, the other one.”

  “Probably best to pretend she doesn’t exist. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  I couldn’t go straight back to sleep after that, and I bet Ethan would struggle too. It wasn’t every day a man got accosted by a heavily armed ninja. Rather than heading upstairs, I led him through to the kitchen to get a drink. It was either hot chocolate or alcohol, and it would be best if I kept a clear head for the next day.

  “So,” I started. “One in the morning?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “The case?”

  “The case, work, being here… Plus my body clock’s never functioned so well. Before when I got restless, I’d go to the studio and mess around with a few tracks, but I can’t do that now. Or sometimes, I’d go for a run. Have you ever been out running in the moonlight?”

  “Only when I’m chasing somebody.”

  He eyed up my gun on the counter. “Right. How are your knees?”

  Itchy, scabby, and stinging like hell. “Not too bad.” I spooned cocoa powder into two mugs. Riverley had one of those taps that did boiling water, so at least I didn’t have to wait for the kettle. “Most of us here get up at odd times. Mack, our computer expert, is practically nocturnal this month. Have you ever tried anything to help you sleep?”

  “Like pills, you mean?”

  “Pills, meditation, one of those funny light clock things that’s supposed to reset your circadian rhythms. When I was a kid, I’d stay up all night then sleep when I was supposed to be at school. If I didn’t drop off, I’d just drink my mom’s vodka.”

  “Dani…” He used a warning tone.

  “What?”

  “I know what you’re doing, and I won’t talk about it. I can’t. Just know that as far as I’m concerned, my life started the first time I climbed on stage with a guitar in my hands.”

  Dammit. The nosy little bitch who lived inside me fidgeted like she’d rolled in poison ivy, but I had to tread softly.

  “My life started the day I met Emmy. Sometimes, I think I’d rather have had a guitar.”

  “Now I’ve met her too, I can understand that.”

  I studied Ethan as he sipped his drink. We were similar and yet different. Neither of us wanted to talk about our early years, but we’d survived our childhoods and now we overcompensated with work. Both of us escaped through music and alcohol, although Ethan was better at the former while I specialised in the latter.

  But we were also different. Ethan hid away behind his walls, both physical and metaphorical, while I spent my days building my networks, person by person. He hated accepting help, whereas I’d learned to work as part of a team.

  Both of us were products of our pasts, but how would the future shape us?

  Oh, fuck this. I’d been spending too long with Black and his psychobabble, and it was too late for this shit. Or too early.

  “Let’s play a game.”

  Ethan looked suspicious. “What sort of game.”

  “Scrabble.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re awake, I’m awake, and neither of us wants to talk about anything that means something. So, let’s play Scrabble.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Do I really need to answer that?”

  Georgia had a thing for board games, and she’d stashed a whole bunch of them in a cupboard in the lounge. I dragged out Scrabble, wrapped a blanket around my legs, and set it up on the coffee table. Ethan looked at me expectantly.

  “Tell me you’ve played Scrabble before.”

  “No.”

  “Not once?”

  “Never had anyone to play with, Dani.”

  Of all the things Ethan had ever said, those were the words that shot me straight through the heart. My chest seized as I imagined a small boy, a boy much like Race, but one who didn’t have a single person he could call a friend. As a kid, I’d put up with perverts and assholes, but I’d never been totally alone. In many ways, I thought that would have been much, much worse.

  I forced a smile and hoped my eyes weren’t watering too much. I was meant to be the strong one here, but Ethan chipped little parts of me away inside.

  “Okay, so each player starts off with seven letters, and the aim is to make a word out of them and place it on the board.”

  “And if you’ve already put a word there, can I use those letters too?”

  “Yes, and then there are the extra point values…”

  Ten minutes after I’d explained the rules and we started playing, Ethan slammed me with yakuza on a triple word score. We should have played Jenga.

  “That’s good, right?” he said.

  His cute little smirk said he knew damn well it was.

  “I hate you. If we’re going to keep playing, I need a proper drink.” To hell with the hangover. I’d had enough practice at dealing with them. “Want one?”

  “I needed one right after GI Jane pointed a gun at me.”

  “Vodka?”

  “Yeah. Better stick with a single.”

  “Belvedere, Grey Goose, or…actually, I don’t know what this is. Ana brought it back from Russia so it’s probably vicious.”

  “Ana?”

  “GI Jane.”

  “In that case, I’ll have Grey Goose. One encounter with Ana is enough for any night.”

  “That’s probably sensible.”

  Two hours later, I fell sideways on the sofa, giggling. My glass was empty. The bottle was empty.

  “Shart is not a proper word.”

  Ethan squinted at the board. “Yes, it definitely is.”

  “Merriam-Webster doesn’t agree with you.”

  “It didn’t agree with you for derp either, Dani. But I still let you have it, even when you spelled it with two p’s.”

  “But the rules…”

  “Earlier, you said you hated rules.”

  “I do. Rules, schmules.” When he leaned closer, I stroked his face. “I like your beard. Did I ever tell you that you’re really pretty?”

  “Let’s make a deal. You let me have shart, and I’ll carry you up to bed, because I’m quite sure you can’t walk.”

  “Okay, but you still have to add the points up.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Let’s just say you won.”

  Oh, if Ethan was going to carry me, I’d definitely won. He scooped me into his arms, blanket and all, and I breathed him in. A hint of cologne, courtesy of Bradley, no doubt, and a lot of man. His hoodie still smelled all Ethan-y too. Yup, I was totally, one hundred percent wrapped up in Ethan.

  And Scrabble was my new favourite game.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE NEXT MORNING, Mack called while it was still dark. I rolled over and looked at the clock. The numbers floated around a bit, but when I squinted, I saw it was just after five. Hurrah—I’d gotten a whole hour of sleep. We really needed to have words about this.

  “I’m still ash…asleep.”

  “You sound drunk.”

  “I will neither confirm nor deny that rumour.”

  “Well, I found your stalker woman. Her claim to fame is having restraining orders from three different celebrities. I think she’s collecting them.”

  So, Mack had found Lavinia. Did it really matter now? Unless she was six feet tall and popped steroids like candy, she wasn’t going to be our culprit. But a tiny voice inside me that wouldn’t shut up said what if? I should visit her, just in case.

  “What’s the address?”

  I scribbled it on my hand as Mack recited it, hoping I’d be able to read my own writing when I woke up properly and hopefully sober.

  “Oh, and one more thing. DJ Steel’s five feet four and looks as if a squirrel could take him down.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic. “Then I guess we can rule him out. Is that everything?”

  “Get some rest, Dan.�
�

  “Absolutely. I can do that.”

  Stefanie was making breakfast when I did eventually make it downstairs. She’d fried a stack of bacon and covered it in maple syrup, and now she was busy with pancakes. The aroma permeated through the house like a tractor beam, drawing the inhabitants towards the kitchen.

  Emmy was in her gym clothes, munching her way through a plateful while Alex glowered at her over his smoothie. Oliver chewed absentmindedly as he studied a pile of documents, and Lyle’s food was getting cold since he was paying more attention to Stefanie than her cooking. It was kind of sweet, the way he mooned over her. Every girl deserved a man to look at her like that.

  Ethan had chosen a spot at the far end of the table, and he watched the others through wary eyes. He really didn’t do well with crowds, did he? I piled my own plate high and took the stool beside him, beyond grateful when he slid a packet of headache pills in my direction.

  “Feeling all right?” he asked.

  “No worse than usual. You okay?”

  He gave me a delicious little smile. “Mmm hmm.”

  Oh, hell. Ethan was tastier than bacon.

  And the bacon was pretty damn delicious.

  “Thanks for helping me last night. Usually, people just leave me on the sofa.”

  “Anytime. What are we doing today?”

  “I need to go visit somebody, and you need to keep a low profile. Before I go, I’ll give you a proper tour of the house and a rundown on the security system so we don’t have a repeat of last night.”

  “Some parts of last night weren’t so bad.”

  “You want a rematch?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand inch towards mine, but then he seemed to have second thoughts.

  “At drinking or Scrabble?”

  “Both?”

  “Okay.” He chewed for a few moments. “Do you think I could go to Spectre today? I need to speak to Ronan and Harold, and I’m missing my guitar like crazy. It’s in the studio there.”

  I thought of inviting them over to Riverley, but if Harold had any part in this whole affair, I didn’t want him near Emmy’s estate. Nor did I want Ethan at Spectre. Last I’d heard, there were more reporters waiting outside than at the local newspaper’s offices.

  I was also curious to see where Harold called home. Mack had already gotten me aerial photographs of the mansion, hidden behind towering walls amidst beautifully landscaped grounds.

  “I don’t think visiting Spectre’s the best idea. How about you get Ronan to pick up your stuff and we meet at Harry’s place?”

  “That works too. I’ll make some calls and set it up.”

  While he did that, I went to get my visit to Lavinia over with. According to Mack, she was thirty-nine years old and lived alone in an apartment over her parents’ garage. Mack hadn’t been able to find any record of her being employed, so I had high hopes of finding her at home.

  And I did. She cracked open the door and peered up at me through the gap. Yes, up. She was even smaller than me, and judging by the skinny arm holding onto the door, she’d struggle to carry her groceries let alone a fully grown man.

  Still, I was here now, so I figured I might as well ask some questions.

  “Lavinia Dixon?”

  She nodded. “Are you the police?”

  “Were you expecting them?”

  “No. Well, kind of, I guess.”

  “About Ethan White?”

  She looked down at her feet and nodded again.

  “I’m not the police, but I am working for him. Could I have a little chat with you?”

  “You’re working for Ethan?”

  “Yes, I’m a private investigator.”

  She slowly swung the door open, and I followed her inside. The apartment was basic, furnished in thrift shop chic and neat as a pin. Unremarkable, except for the collage of Ethan pictures that covered an entire wall of the living room. Newspaper clippings, magazine pages, hand-drawn portraits, and even a lopsided needlepoint. Wow.

  “Please, sit down.”

  She motioned me towards a lumpy couch and took the seat opposite, perching right on the edge of the mismatched armchair as if she planned to take off at a moment’s notice. That was okay, though. I had my running shoes on again.

  “Are you investigating the murder?”

  “Yes, I am. I don’t think Ethan did it.”

  I watched her carefully to gauge her reaction, and her head wobbled back and forth like a bobblehead doll. Her expression? Relief.

  “Oh, yes, I know. Ethan would never hurt anybody. It was that other man, wasn’t it?”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Come again? “What other man?”

  Silence.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  “No, you really should.”

  Nothing.

  “Please, Lavinia. I promise you won’t get into any trouble. What other man?”

  “The one who was outside that night.”

  My heart started beating a wild tattoo. Was she telling me what I thought she was?

  “Hang on, you were there? On the night of the murder?”

  She hesitated a beat then nodded.

  “Whereabouts? What did you see?”

  More silence.

  “Lavinia?”

  “You promise I won’t get into trouble? Mom gets upset every time I get a restraining order.”

  Good grief. “I promise.”

  She glanced at the door and cleared her throat.

  “I’ve got this little spot in Ethan’s garden, see? Sort of behind the bushes. Sometimes I see him walk past the windows.”

  Oh, that wasn’t creepy at all.

  “And what did you see that night?”

  “Ethan brought a girl home. You know, the one who died? I saw her on the news, real pretty she was.”

  “They were alone?”

  Lavinia nodded. “They went inside, and the lights came on upstairs. I thought they were…you know…”

  Jealousy flashed through me, sharp and red. Stupid considering how the evening had ended. Focus, Dan.

  “And after that?”

  “The man arrived. I thought it was strange because he parked out on the road instead of in Ethan’s driveway.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Stood in the shadows for a minute or two, then he disappeared around the side of the house and appeared in the living room. I guess he must have gone in through the back door.”

  Or the cellar window.

  “Did you see him come out again?”

  “Maybe five minutes later? He put a bag in Ethan’s car, and then he looked straight at me. I could hardly breathe! He was only a few feet away, and I swear I thought my heart would stop beating.”

  “But he didn’t see you?”

  “I don’t think so. He went back into the house, and I ran all the way to the bus stop on Montrose.”

  Fuck. So near, yet so damn far. But I’d found an actual witness who could place the suspect at Ethan’s house that night. Jay was gonna shit boulders.

  “So you didn’t see anything else?”

  “I was terrified he’d catch me and tell Ethan. I know I shouldn’t have been there, but Ethan’s the light of my life.” She waved at her stalker-wall. “See?”

  “I totally understand.” Perhaps not totally, but I could relate to finding Ethan attractive. “What did he look like?”

  “Big.”

  That was it? Big? I already knew that much.

  “What about his face? His hair colour? Was he old or young? What race was he?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. He was wearing one of those hoods like Ethan normally does, and gloves.”

  “That was all you saw?”

  “I think he was a white man. In the house, under the living room lights, I caught a glimpse of his face as he turned, and he looked kind of pale. And his top was by Nike. I saw the swoosh.”

  So we were lookin
g for a white, Nike-wearing big dude. That didn’t narrow it down much. I suppose at least it ruled out Ty.

  “You said he parked out on the street. Did you see what car he drove?”

  “I’m not sure. There was a dark-coloured car a little way up that wasn’t there when I arrived.”

  “What sort of car? Do you know the make or model?”

  “A BMW. You know, with the blue and white badge? Kind of big.”

  “I don’t suppose you saw the licence plate?”

  She shook her head no.

  Okay, so she didn’t give me anything concrete, but she had confirmed a lot of my suspicions. Couldn’t the dark-coloured car outside Ethan’s place be the same one that tried to run down Stefanie? We hadn’t found any CCTV footage of that incident yet, but Mack was still looking.

  “Why didn’t you tell the police about this?”

  “I thought they’d arrest me.”

  “They won’t. I’ll make sure of it, and Ethan won’t be angry. Would you be willing to testify in court if he needs you to?”

  “Will it help him?”

  “Yes, and I’m sure he’d be eternally grateful.” Just like I was sure he’d be installing motion sensors all over his next property.

  She clasped her hands together and smiled. “Then of course I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 36

  OLIVER LOOKED HAPPIER than I’d ever seen him when I told him about Lavinia, and Lyle, well, I thought he was going to turn cartwheels.

  Ethan, on the other hand, looked shell-shocked.

  “You know, up until now, I always had that bit of doubt in my mind, that maybe I did do it. I can’t believe there was somebody in my house and I didn’t notice.”

  “You were probably unconscious by that point.”

  “That’s even worse.”

  I squeezed his arm. “Neither scenario’s great. Did you get the meeting with Harry and Ronan set up?”

  “Yeah, for tomorrow. Harold’s wife’s having a dinner party tonight. Just don’t call him Harry to his face—he hates it.”

  I made a mental note to call him Harry every single time we spoke.

  “I feel sorry for his wife.” Especially when I thought back to the way his fingers had crawled up my arm when I was in his office. “I get the impression Harry doesn’t keep his dick in his pants.”