by Elise Noble
Ethan chuckled. “I wouldn’t feel too bad for her. I accidentally walked in on her balling her tennis coach last year. We’ve been avoiding each other ever since.”
My embarrassing snort only made Ethan laugh louder. “They’re perfect for each other.”
“You don’t like Harold?”
“Honestly? No.”
Ethan sighed. “I don’t know what to do about him. Ronan wants me to find someone new, he did even before that poor girl died, but it’s difficult. Harold’s been with me since I started. I still remember the old days where we’d drive to gigs together, and he’d go in and sort out the arrangements while I slept in the backseat of his car. I’d play, and afterwards we’d split a pizza on the way back to the hotel. Neither of us had much money back then. He may have turned into a bit of a prick, but I couldn’t have made it without his help.”
“I understand your loyalty, really I do. But I just think it might be misplaced.”
“Once this is over, maybe I’ll look into my options.”
“I think that’s a good idea.
I met Harold’s wife briefly when we arrived at the Styles residence the next day. Ethan rode behind tinted windows in the back of a company Explorer, and I got him to lie down as we approached Harry’s house when I spotted a couple of reporters hanging around outside.
April Styles opened the door for us and looked at Ethan like he was dog shit. Her Botoxed forehead didn’t move; it was all in the eyes. Ice blue, flat and cold. Then she aimed her gaze in my direction and checked me out from head to foot, assessing.
“You must be Ethan’s new toy. I’ve heard about those women who go for criminals, but I’ve never quite understood why.”
I smiled sweetly at her. “In Ethan’s case, it’s mostly to do with his enormous cock.”
We left her choking as I took Ethan’s hand and pulled him further into the house.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” he whispered.
“I have problems keeping my mouth shut sometimes.”
He gave me a cheeky smile. “Good to hear.”
I couldn’t believe he just said that.
Ethan took the lead and steered us through the hallways until we reached Harry’s den. Ronan was in there already, seated on a wooden chair while Harry lorded over a desk even bigger than the monstrosity in his office.
He looked pointedly at his watch. “Glad you could join us.”
Asshole. We were only two minutes late. Ethan took over the discussion, and I tuned their voices out as they started talking in minute detail about recording contracts and a charity gig Styles wanted to arrange.
Ol’ Harry had a nice house here. It was sure as hell more expensive than Ethan’s. I knew what Ethan’s net worth was, but how much money did Harry have? And more to the point, how much of his lifestyle did Spectre fund?
I needed to give Ronan a nudge about those accounts and also chase Mack up on Harry’s personal finances. Did this place have a mortgage? How did his credit cards look? Harry had certainly gained financially from Ethan’s incarceration if Ronan was to be believed.
What would happen now Ethan was back?
I tuned into the conversation again. Ethan spoke quietly but confidently about his business, and I noticed Harry’s cockiness had subsided since we first arrived. He still got his points across, but he was almost deferential when Ethan had a difference of opinion. They talked for a few more minutes, and Ethan spent a little longer reading through some contracts before signing them.
“I’ve brought your guitar,” Ronan told him as we got up to leave.
“Thanks, bro.”
Ronan waited until we were outside in the corridor before leaning close and passing me a memory stick. “And I got this for you.”
“The accounts?” I whispered.
He nodded and stepped back as Harry came out behind us. I guess no nudging was required, then.
Ethan picked up his guitar case, and I followed him down the hallway. I was dying to see exactly what was in there—electric or acoustic? And I was even more impatient to hear him play it. It was true what Ronan said—girls went for the guitarist.
We’d parked further up the drive than Ronan, well out of sight of the gates. I didn’t want any photos of Ethan going public. I bleeped the locks on the car, but before we could climb inside, a man sprung out of the bushes next to it.
A reporter? No, not without a camera. This dude had nothing in his hands and a crazy glint in his eyes. He smelled pretty bad too, like he hadn’t showered for a week or washed his clothes for a month.
“I knew you’d show up here eventually, you piece of scum,” he hissed.
Ethan tried to get in front of me, but he obviously didn’t understand how this worked. I shoved him behind me instead and faced up to the guy, hands on hips.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m nothing, not now. Just the man whose sister he murdered.” He fixed his dead stare on Ethan. “Why did you do it? That’s what I want to know. Why?”
“I didn’t kill Christina.”
“You’re lying!”
So, this must be Kevin Walker, according to Mack’s file. He flew at Ethan, arms outstretched, and I swept his feet out from underneath him.
“Don’t,” I warned.
Ethan stared at me, open-mouthed, while Kevin screamed blue murder into the dirt. I held him down until the yelling subsided.
“If I let you up, are you going to keep back?”
There was a muffled response and he went limp. I took that as a yes.
I’d misinterpreted.
The instant Kevin got to his feet, he came at us again with the same result.
“One more chance,” I said. “You don’t get a third.”
I let him stand again, and this time he stayed back, screaming obscenities at both of us.
I balled up my fists, tempted to make him stop, but Ethan snaked an arm around my waist and held me steady.
“Leave it, Dani. He’s lost his sister, and he’s got a right to be upset.” Ethan didn’t sound angry, only sad.
“But he’s blaming you.”
“Because right now, I’m the only person who looks guilty.”
“He shouldn’t—”
“Dani…”
“I have questions for him.”
“Not now. Let’s just get out of here.”
Fury pulsed through my veins, but the rational part of me, the part that wasn’t angry a misinformed hobo had just tried to attack the guy I refused to admit how much I liked, knew Ethan was right. Kevin had as much fault in this as Ethan, and lashing out was natural.
I took a step back.
Ronan had appeared beside us, and his colour didn’t look great. He bore more than a passing resemblance to one of Ethan’s masks. I gave him a little wave.
“Nothing to worry about. Just an occupational hazard.”
His expression said he thought my occupation was insane, but he tentatively waved back.
“Well, that’s the entertainment over for this afternoon,” I said to Ethan as Kevin stomped away.
“You have a lot of occupational hazards, don’t you?”
“A few.”
“Have you ever considered getting a nice, normal job? Hairdressing? A secretary?”
“What, and miss all this fun? Not on your life.”
CHAPTER 37
THE INSTANT HARRY’S gates opened, I blasted out of them, sending the reporters scattering for cover. I hoped they broke their stupid cameras. At least one got crunched under the wheels.
Ethan sat up a few streets later. “I know I promised not to criticise your driving, but…”
“It’s okay, I didn’t hit anything.”
I saw him roll his eyes in the mirror. “What did Ronan give you?”
“A set of your accounts.”
“What for?”
“I don’t trust Harry. Something’s off about him.”
Everything was off about him.
“True, he’s grown into a bit of an asshole over the years, but I’m not sure he’s dishonest.”
“Well, let’s find out for sure, shall we?”
“But—”
“Do you trust me?”
Ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty, before Ethan softly answered, “Yeah, I trust you.”
Good. We were making progress. “Then let me look into this.”
The next morning, with Ethan and his guitar safely ensconced in the music room, I called in my two secret weapons. As well as Georgia, I had Nick’s girlfriend, Lara, who happened to be a genius at math. With Mack on hand to trace wire payments, I was confident we’d dig out anything suspicious.
That left me with the rest of the investigation. Ha.
I tried cross-referencing all the names on my list with car registrations, but nobody drove a BMW. Then I did the same with the list of similar crimes Mack had dug up, and although I found seven hits, none of those led anywhere. Two of the perps were still in prison, one more had died, and the remaining four cases were colder than a refrigerator in the Arctic.
Three days, wasted. Three days of staring at a computer screen and walking the streets. Three days of smoky clubs and dive bars and blank stares and shrugs that left me tired as fuck and twice as irritable. I barely saw Ethan. With his strange sleep patterns and my even stranger work patterns, we were like two ships passing in the night.
He did email me, though. Memes about vodka and Scrabble jokes and stupid words from the urban dictionary. His messages were the only thing that made me smile.
“You look like shit,” Emmy helpfully told me after breakfast on day four.
“Thanks, sweetie. You too.” I wasn’t kidding. She had a black eye and a bandage on her left forearm. “What happened?”
“Black took me out to La Mesa. You know, the new Spanish place?”
“The service was that bad?”
“Service was good, food was excellent. But that armed gang that’s been targeting upmarket restaurants paid a visit after the main course.”
“Shit.”
There had been eight robberies so far in and around Richmond. Four men on motorbikes would burst in, threaten diners with guns and knives, take whatever cash and jewellery they could get their hands on, and disappear into the night.
“The score was Blackwood four, robbers nil.”
“What happened to your eye?”
“One of the assholes cracked me with an elbow while I was relieving him of his pistol. He’ll probably be awake now. They had to surgically remove a fork from his thigh.”
“And your arm?”
“A waiter spilled coffee on me. On the bright side, our meal was free.”
“Trouble follows you around.”
“Must be my natural charm. Anyhow, why do you look so rough? How’s the Ethan thing going?”
“It isn’t. That’s the problem. Nobody knows anything.”
“Sure they do, you just haven’t found them yet. Why don’t you take the day off and regroup? You’re not doing anyone any favours when you’re run into the ground like this.”
I sighed and poured more coffee. “Maybe.”
Emmy pushed the mug away from me. “Do it. Go back to bed.” She stared until I stood up. “Why don’t you take Ethan with you?”
I flipped her off as I walked out of the room.
As always, Emmy was right. I did feel better after a few hours’ sleep. And no, I hadn’t followed through on her second suggestion.
Where was Ethan, anyway? He hadn’t been around at breakfast, and I knew he wouldn’t have left the house. I shuffled downstairs in socks and pyjamas to look for him. Not in the kitchen, not in the lounge, not in the gym… I heard the faint sound of the piano coming from the direction of the music room. Emmy’s husband was the only person who played it, unless…
I pushed open the door. Ethan sat at the keys, playing a song I’d never heard before. And with him was Eli.
Neither of them noticed me, and before I could step inside, Eli began to sing. Now, I’d heard his old recordings and the occasional drunk rendition at karaoke, but I’d never heard him sing live before and mean it.
His voice was pure sex, and Ethan’s music was the bed for it. Yeah, I really shouldn’t have been thinking that way seeing as Eli was almost a decade younger than me and also Tia’s boyfriend, but there wasn’t another description that would do it justice. Ethan’s fingers glided effortlessly across the keys, and I leaned against the door jamb, eyes closed, lost in the song until it came to an end.
“Bravo. I think I’m having an eargasm.”
They turned their heads, and Ethan blushed when he saw me. Shit. The man was a hot mess of sexy and adorable.
“That’s not a proper word, Dani.”
“I’m still claiming the ten points. Seriously, that was amazing. What song was it?”
“It hasn’t got a name,” Ethan said. “We just wrote it.”
Holy hell, that had “hit” written all over it. “You guys have to record that.”
“We’re just messing around,” Eli said.
What had they been doing for the last three days? “Exactly how much messing around have you done?”
“About an album’s worth,” Ethan admitted.
I looked around the music room. Scattered notes covered the coffee table, accompanied by empty coffee cups, a pair of drumsticks, and a tambourine. Ethan’s guitar, a Martin acoustic, sat on its stand next to Eli’s favourite Gibson ES-295 and a Fender Stratocaster. Eli had brought his whole collection of guitars when he moved into Riverley a couple of months back. He’d even tried giving me a lesson, but my fingernails didn’t mix well with the fretboard, and I’d quickly gone back to listening.
They had been busy, hadn’t they?
“Can you play something else?”
Ethan moved across on the piano stool and patted the leather seat. I settled next to him, my thigh pressed against his, and my pulse began racing before they even started the next song.
A freaking love song.
I knew Eli was singing about Tia—the lines about an English rose and an artist’s soul gave it away—but that didn’t stop my heart from melting all the way to my freaking feet. And when Ethan switched to drums and Eli picked up the Fender, those feet wanted to get up and dance.
Yes, they’d written an album’s worth. A platinum-selling, Billboard chart-topping, hit album’s worth.
“I could listen to you all day.” I looked at my watch. “Oops, I actually have.”
It was almost seven. Where had the time gone?
“And you haven’t even heard Ethan sing yet,” Eli said.
Ethan sang?
Maybe, but he also turned red and changed the subject. “Good thing you dressed up for the show.”
“I’ll remember to wear a cocktail dress next time.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve always been a big fan of the Simpsons.”
My turn to blush. “Someone bought them for me as a joke. I’ll change for dinner.”
“Leave the pyjamas on. I get the impression nobody who lives in this house worries about that sort of thing.”
So I did. Ethan wore a pair of distressed jeans, courtesy of Bradley, and a plain white T-shirt that contrasted with his darker skin. No hoodie, which was a definite improvement.
After dinner, we curled up under blankets in the basement screening room. I picked the movie, which I thought from the blurb was a lighthearted adventure but turned out to be a rather tragic tale of a boy searching for his parents. Each time I snuck a look at Ethan, he looked unhappier. First from the way he gripped the edge of the blanket, then from the tension that built up in his jaw, and finally, he bit that damn lip again.
“You want me to turn the movie off?”
He nodded.
“Ethan, what happened to you growing up?”
Mack hadn’t been able to find a thing, not even a birth certificate, and it bugged the hell out of me. Ethan’s whole childhood had been erased.
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Silence.
“Ethan?”
Nothing.
“It can help to talk about these things.”
“I’ll talk about anything but that. Please, just leave it alone.”
“That’s exactly why you should talk it through.”
“Enough, Dani.”
His answering growl should have been a warning, but I was too stupid to take the hint.
“But…”
He threw the blanket off, got up, and walked out. The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed as his footsteps grew quieter.
Good going, Dan. I sure could have handled that one better.
CHAPTER 38
WHAT WAS ETHAN hiding? Why wouldn’t he talk about his early years? Apart from that one brief hint at trouble, when he told me he’d been alone through his teenage years, he’d given me nothing.
Why had I pressed him? The warning signs had all been there, and like an idiot, I’d ignored them. Dammit, Dan.
At times like this, I hated myself. And how did I deal with that self-loathing? That’s right—I put on a party dress, fluffed up my hair, called for a car, and went to Black’s.
“Been a while, Dan,” the bartender said as he slid my first drink over. Double vodka, coke, no ice.
“Yeah, it has.”
Because for a rare few weeks in my life, I’d enjoyed spending time with a man whose primary goal wasn’t to get between my legs. And just look where that had left me.
Abandoned.
My mom always said nobody would want me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her being right. I didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell me that was why I tried to prove, over and over again, that she was wrong.
And tonight, it didn’t take long before the first willing piece of flesh walked over to me. A blond guy, tallish, vaguely attractive in that his eyes and mouth were in the right place. So was his wallet, because he kept buying me drinks.
After the fourth—or was it the fifth?—I let him help me down from the barstool. He wanted me, at least for the night, and that was enough.
Ethan didn’t.
The blond’s hand rested on my ass as he led me around the edge of the dance floor and out through the front door. Where were all the cabs? I just wanted to get out of there. The music was too loud, too insistent, and I began to feel a bit sick.
