Need (Bad Boys with Billions Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “That’s it? How many thousands have I paid for your services?”

  “Mitsy . . .” I drew back. “We talked about this. It’s not me you want, but your husband. You don’t want to disgrace your marriage the same way he has. Look at your kids . . .” I pointed to the dozens of framed photos on the pianos and shelves. “All of these decorations that have probably been in your family for generations. That means something, you know?”

  She nodded, and then sniffed back tears. “You’re right. But it’s been so long since I’ve really been held. I miss feeling like a woman.”

  “Come here . . .” I drew her into my arms, comforting her as much as I could without dishonoring my commitment to Carol.

  Once she stopped crying, I dried her tears, and kept her company while she repaired her makeup.

  The party was held in a penthouse with a great view of the city and Golden Gate Bridge.

  A jazz trio played among a winter wonderland of multiple Christmas trees, twinkling with blue lights. There was plenty of good food and even better drinks. When a DJ took the reins, Mitsy switched into high gear, dancing like a sorority girl to Aerosmith in her fancy gold dress. Her smile was radiant, and her happy mood contagious. I was so close to the end and couldn’t wait for this night to be done.

  Everything would change for the better.

  I’d find a real job that allowed me to be home at the same time as Carol. We’d shop for groceries together and cook together and screw on every flat surface of her condo—hell, maybe some vertical ones, too.

  It wasn’t a big secret that Mitsy was showing me off to her husband’s friends, but I didn’t care. After the shit Matthew had put her through, she deserved retaliation—even if her supposed friends only imagined what the two of us had been doing.

  We shut the party down around two a.m., and I’d tucked Mitsy into her bed by three.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For everything. You’re a real class act, and deserve better than what your husband’s been giving.” She’d fallen asleep midway through my speech, so I smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead, then set her house alarm before letting myself out the front door. The lock automatically engaged behind me.

  The limo driver waited in the circle drive, watching CSI Miami on his phone.

  I didn’t want the guy anywhere near my Carol, so I had him return me to my Chinatown address.

  Not five seconds after he’d put the vehicle in motion, my cell rang. Uma.

  “My sources say you made Mitsy very happy. Nice job, Nathan. You’ll find your holiday bonus already in your account. Merry Christmas.” She disconnected the call.

  Laughing, still a little buzzed, I shook my head.

  A quick look at my checking balance showed a $50,000 deposit. The insane figure made no sense—especially since the whole reason she’d kept me around was because I owed her money.

  Whatever. I was done, and never looking back.

  I opened the sunroof, not caring that it was probably only 40 degrees. After grappling to my feet, I stood, letting the cold breeze wash me clean. I was finally free, and to celebrate, I pitched my phone—my last link with Uma—as far as I could throw it, watching with a satisfied smile when it cracked into a hundred glittering pieces beneath the streetlight we passed under.

  At Carol’s, I crept through the bedroom and into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I stripped, wadding the custom-fitted tux pants, jacket, shirt and tie Uma had purchased into a tight ball that I shoved in the trash. Out of principle, I tossed my boxers in, too.

  I climbed in the shower and stood beneath the scalding stream, scrubbing every inch of my skin until for Carol—my future wife—I was clean. When the water ran cold, I emerged a new man.

  I dried, then climbed into bed, serving as the big spoon for the woman I loved.

  I woke to sunshine spilling past closed curtains to draw a line across the bed. Carol was no longer beside me, but she had left a note on her pillow.

  Good morning, handsome!

  Since you worked late, I let you sleep.

  I’m off for a run, but not for too long.

  I’ll grab bagels and the Sunday paper.

  ♥Carol

  Good news. In the shower, I’d hatched a half-assed plan to use Uma’s money in a constructive manner—blowing it all on an amazing engagement ring.

  Unsure where to find such an item at ten on a Sunday morning, I booted up Carol’s laptop, then searched the Web for jewelry stores. I used the condo’s landline phone to call a few, and was pleasantly surprised to find a couple open early for holiday shopping.

  I dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, added socks to Sperrys, then grabbed one of Carol’s rings for sizing, my wallet, and was out the door, hoping to not run into her on my way out.

  The store was only a few blocks down, and the clerk was all too happy to find a suitable ring that fit my $50,000 budget. It was a real sparkler—a platinum band with what the jeweler had described as a flawless, princess-cut diamond. When he swiped my check card, I held my breath, scared the purchase might not go through, but it did, and I made it back to the condo before Carol.

  I’d just packed her laptop back into her fancy briefcase when she hummed her way through the door. “You’re awake.” She gifted me with a kiss. “Poor thing. How late did they keep you?”

  “I was home a little after three.”

  “Please tell me for your next job, you plan on finding something that has a day shift?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t have my bride going to bed alone.” I rounded the kitchen counter to pull her into a hug.

  “Your bride, huh?” She giggled when I nuzzled her neck. “Stop! I’m all sweaty.”

  “Mmm . . . I have always liked salt around my rim.”

  My lame joke earned me a swat. “Join me in the shower?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I held back to take her ring from the bag and box. I knew I should wait to propose over a swanky meal, but I felt like a little kid too excited for Christmas morning to wait to open my presents. Only the gift I had was for Carol.

  I slipped her ring onto my pinkie, ensured both phones were stashed, then managed to stay behind her in the shower.

  “Want me to wash your hair?” I asked.

  She nodded and passed the shampoo.

  Once I had her hair nice and soapy, I said, “Close your eyes, so I can rinse.”

  She complied.

  I triple-checked to make sure all the lather was gone, then tickled her ear. “Geez, when’s the last time you washed in here, woman?”

  “What do you mean? I have very clean ears, and—”

  “You might claim they’re clean, but look what I found.” It took her a few beats to catch on. I’d eased my way around her, and now faced her, holding out her ring.

  Trembling hands to her mouth, she said, “Are you kidding me? Nathan? That had to have cost a small fortune.”

  “You’re worth it. Marry me? This time, for the record, I couldn’t be more serious, and to make sure you don’t back out on me, I fully expect to make the rounds visiting everyone we know. Let’s grab your mom and take her and Tinker Bell to brunch. Then we’ll run by Liam and Ella’s—”

  “I thought you can’t stand Liam?”

  “I can’t, but just this once, I’ll make an exception. I want to show you off to everyone we know. In case you didn’t get the memo, I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Our kiss was epic. The stuff of my dreams.

  By the time we’d finished celebrating our reengagement, it was past time for brunch, but I had a feeling Carol’s mother wouldn’t mind.

  As soon as we finished the celebratory rounds Carol deserved, I’d come clean to her about everything—Uma having hired her mom’s first PI, the bugs in the condo and our phones, my last job with Mitsy. All of it. I didn’t doubt for a second Carol would be pissed, but I could handle it.

  I could handle anything but spending one more day without her.

 
Carol

  I should have been overjoyed, elated, skipping to the moon, but the whole time we visited my mom and Ella and Liam, and they’d insisted on throwing us an impromptu party with Owen and Natalie and even Garrett and his latest conquest, I couldn’t stop wondering how Nathan had afforded my ring.

  Mostly, I didn’t want to know.

  But then my conscience would kick in, demanding I needle him until getting an answer.

  “Have fun?” he asked after we’d parked my Lexus in its assigned space, then walked hand-in-hand to the elevator. There’d been an insane amount of traffic parked in front of the building, including a half-dozen cop cars with lights blazing.

  “I did.” I rested my head on his shoulder. Screw my conscience. The truth was, I didn’t care how Nathan had gotten my ring, just that it was finally on my finger. Did that make me a bad person? I didn’t care about the answer to that question, either. At the moment, I was a blissfully happy person, and that was enough.

  We kissed the whole ride to my floor, then stepped off to find a commotion in the hall.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Florence, my neighbor.

  She wore curlers and a yellow robe. Holding her squirming Persian in her arms, she shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. The police won’t talk to me. But they’ve been in your place for at least a couple hours. Did you know?”

  My blood ran cold. Call me crazy, but could this have something to do with my ring? Could Nathan have robbed a jewelry store? No. I was being paranoid.

  The cat hissed, swishing his tail.

  “What the hell?” Nathan stepped in front of me. “Were you robbed?”

  “Maybe?”

  Still holding hands, we cautiously approached my unit.

  “Nathan Black?” An official-looking sort wearing a rumpled gray suit flashed a badge.

  “Yeah,” Nathan said. “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Detective Hyatt with the San Francisco P.D., and you’re under arrest for the murder of Margot ‘Mitsy’ Bartholomew-James.” He cuffed Nathan’s hands behind his back, then said, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will . . .”

  Ringing started in my ears, and my legs threatened to buckle. “Nathan? What’s happening? What’s he talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” Nathan said, “but trust me, okay?”

  Trust me . . . How many times had Nathan uttered that phrase?

  Because I was afraid I could no longer stand, I leaned against the nearest wall, struggling for air.

  “Yo, Murphy!” the detective shouted to someone in his unit. “I’m hauling this trash down to the station!”

  He must have been given the okay, as the next thing I knew, he had his hand on Nathan’s back, propelling him toward the elevator we’d just ridden up.

  “You’re making a mistake,” I somehow managed. “My fiancé didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He waved off my commentary. “Lady, that’s what they all say. Do yourself a favor and get a good lawyer.”

  I tried following them onto the elevator, but a uniformed officer blocked the way.

  Frustrated and scared and beyond confused, I followed my first instinct whenever I’d found myself in trouble—I called Liam.

  “Calm down,” Liam said in the crowded waiting area of the station where the detective had taken Nathan. He sat on one side of me and Ella on the other. She held my hand while I tried making sense out of a situation that made none. “Garrett’s in there with him, and will have him sprung in ten minutes.”

  I nodded. “Nathan doesn’t even know this woman. I’ve never even heard of her.”

  “I read about her in this morning’s paper,” Ella said. “We’d met a few times at the Arts Council, and she sat on the board of a couple of foundations. She always seemed nice, so I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill her—least of all, Nathan.” The Arts Council.

  Why did something about that ring a bell?

  “ . . . I’m just taking this woman to some artsy-fartsy thing, and—”

  “The Arts Council Gala? Liam gave me his tickets. I wanted us to go, but considering your schedule, I guessed your answer and didn’t even want to ask.”

  No . . . Dead Mitsy couldn’t be the woman he’d taken that night. There was no way. Even if she had, Nathan quit escorting a couple of months earlier.

  The longer I sat in the sterile-walled room, surrounded by sobbing mothers and druggies cuffed to benches and drunks and prostitutes and scared teens, the more questions I asked the Pollyanna inside, the woman who ignored decades of common sense in favor of surrendering herself to this idiocy called love.

  While not for one second did I believe Nathan was responsible for the woman’s death, I sure as hell believed he was up to his neck in a mess he hadn’t been able to work himself out of.

  My mind was spinning, spinning, soaring out of control.

  I shivered—succumbing to a free fall of emotion.

  Fury morphed to fear, which morphed right back into rage.

  How many times had I asked Nathan what he was hiding? And how had he really broken his ribs? Had he ever worked that late-night delivery job? Or had all of his late nights been spent wooing other women out of their clothes and money?

  “Carol?” I glanced up to find Garrett waving me toward him from behind the half-wall dividing the waiting area from a bullpen filled with desks.

  “Want us to come with you?” Ella asked.

  “I-I don’t think you can.” I suppose I could have pressed the issue, but truthfully, I couldn’t bear for her to witness what I feared would be the unraveling of my world.

  When I rose, she hugged me, and I struggled to maintain an exterior calm. It hadn’t been all that long ago when I’d constantly been reassuring her. Now that we’d switched roles, I found myself once again resenting her happiness. Not because she was with Liam, but because she’d found her happy ending. How could it have been only hours earlier that I thought I’d found mine?

  “Carol, come on.” Garrett had grown impatient.

  I followed him down a sterile white-vinyl tiled hall with badly scuffed walls and lots of closed doors. Stale coffee warred with BO. Muffled shouts and cries and screams left me wanting to cover my ears.

  We finally reached a door that Garrett opened, then ushered me through.

  Nathan sat at a metal table on a metal chair in a windowless, beige room. His cuffed hands rested in front of him and his eyes were red. “Babe . . .” He tried standing, but a cop shoved him back down—probably for his own safety, as there was a chain around his right ankle that had been affixed to the floor. “I didn’t do this. You have to believe me.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Garrett sat across from him.

  A sob caught in my throat, and I had to look away. How could this be happening?

  I was too nervous to take one of the three extra chairs, so I stood behind Garrett.

  To the cop, Garrett said, “Thanks for babysitting, but now that I’m back, I’d like to speak to my client alone.”

  The cop nodded, and then left through the room’s only door. Half of the far wall was mirrored, and I suspected we had an audience.

  “Babe,” Nathan said when the cop was gone, “you believe me, don’t you?”

  I swallowed the wall rising at the back of my throat. “Was anything we shared true?”

  “Hell, yes. I love you.”

  I shook my head. “No. You couldn’t possibly love me and do the things you’ve obviously done. Right now—and don’t you dare lie—tell me everything I need to know to make a decision.”

  “A decision about what? Leaving me?”

  “Of course!” I shrieked. “What other kind of decision would I make in this place? You think I want to talk flowers for our wedding? Our maybe discuss the catering menu?”

  “Carol, pipe down,” Garrett said. “I need to assess the damage, and probably should call in a criminal defense attorney. I’m good, but your boy’s Murder One charge is w
ay the hell outside my wheelhouse.”

  Ohmygod. First-degree murder? This was too much. The rich Alfredo sauce Liam and Ella’s chef had served for our early supper threatened to come up. I pressed my hands to my chest, willing my runaway heart to slow.

  “Nathan,” Garrett said. “Start from the beginning. I need to establish a timeline to figure out why the hell you’re the clear winner for killing a woman you profess to not even know.”

  “All right, I know her, okay? She was a client.”

  Garrett jotted notes on a yellow legal pad. “Explain what you mean by client.”

  While Nathan shared the logistics of how he’d come to be in Uma’s man stable, shame clouded my soul. Why hadn’t I demanded proof that he’d quit? How could I have passively stood by, always wanting to believe him, but knowing—knowing—deep down that he’d been lying?

  “Okay, so how many times do you think you met with Mitsy since your initial meeting in

  October?”

  Nathan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe six or seven. I didn’t keep count.”

  “And did you have relations during those meetings?”

  My heart stopped—suspended in midair while awaiting Nathan’s answer.

  “Fuck, no. I never had sex with any of my clients. Mitsy wanted it, but I was committed to

  Carol.”

  “Did you tell Mitsy that?”

  “No.”

  “So how did you avoid giving a paying client what she’d paid for?”

  Nathan hung his head. “Sometimes I let her get drunk enough to pass out. Other times, I talked to her about her husband, reminding her how much she loved him, and how she didn’t really want to be with me.”

  “When was your last meeting with her?”

  “Last night.”

  Garrett wrote faster. “And the time before that?”

  “Phoenix, Arizona.” My fiancé looked me square in the eyes for this next part. “Uma already had me by the balls at this point, threatening to hurt me or Carol or even her little girl. I had to do what Uma said. There was no way I’d risk Carol being hurt.”