The kiss feels like a reminder that he’s here with me—alive, safe, and mine. Yet it does nothing to ease the ache in my chest.
Chapter 16
Maxim
“TURN RIGHT HERE,” April says softly from my side, and I flip on my blinker, then pull onto a dirt road. As we crest the top of a small hill, a beautiful two-story log house with a wraparound porch on the second level and enough space for parking below comes into view. Even in the dark, I can see the care that has gone into the property from the flowers to the landscape lighting. As we get closer, the front door to the house opens, and Asher and November step outside and walk to the top of the steps while I park.
When I shut off the engine, November heads down the steps to the passenger side door, and as soon as it swings open, she reaches in for April and pulls her out of the car, hugging her. I get out and shut my door, then head around the back to the trunk, where I placed her bag and mine not long after the police left her house.
“I need you to look after your girl for a couple of hours while I go take care of some stuff.” I keep my voice low when Asher gets close, and hand him April’s bag.
“Maxim.” His hand lands on my shoulder, and squeezes. “Take the night to cool down, then deal with whatever you need to tomorrow.”
“I’m cool.” It’s not a lie. Rage like I’ve never felt in my life had burned hot and bright through my veins when I saw that gun pointed at my woman, but I tucked it away, needing to keep it together for her. And until I’m in front of Cohen, I don’t plan on letting it loose.
“You seem cool, but I know you’re not,” he says, sounding concerned. “What’s your plan?”
“I gotta go.” I slam the trunk closed, and April—who is still in her mom’s arms—looks at her bag, then me. The moment our gazes meet, she releases her mom and steps toward me.
“What’s going on?”
“I got some stuff to take care of,” I tell her, and she starts to shake her head. “I’ll be back.”
“Maxim.”
“Go inside with your mom and dad, baby. I’ll be back.” I head for the driver side door, fighting the urge to touch her, hold her, reassure her that everything will be okay. But I know if she touches me, it will be difficult to walk away right now.
“Take care of her,” I tell Asher after I get in behind the wheel, and he reaches in for Binx’s cat carrier.
“Maxim,” she yells trying to get past her dad.
“I got her,” he says, not allowing her to get close to the car as he steps back, slamming the door.
I turn on the ignition and back out of the driveway, seeing the tears filling her eyes as the lights land on her, the sight of them killing me. When I turn out of her parents’ driveway, I hit Kenton’s number.
“Hey,” he answers on the first ring, not surprisingly, since I sent him a text before April and I left her place, letting him know what happened and to be ready for my call.
“I’m heading your way now.”
“How is she?” he asks, and my chest aches.
“With her mom and dad,” I reply, because saying she’s okay would be a lie. I know she’s still shaken up, even if she’s trying to pretend like she’s not.
“Good, they’ll take care of her. Justin and I are heading to the office now, so meet us there.”
“See you soon.” I hang up, then dial Gene. My conversation with him is much shorter, and in just a few grunted words, I can tell he’s pissed. Most likely because I told him he didn’t need to stick close to me when I was with April, and now he’s seeing that was a mistake. Then again, who could have guessed that some crazy woman would show up with a gun and some false sense of righteousness?
When I arrive at the building where Kenton’s office is thirty minutes later, I park in the lot, then head inside. The building is dark except for the light near the elevator, so I head up to the second floor, and as soon as the doors open, Gene is waiting for me. Without a word we walk into Kenton’s office together, and I find Justin sitting behind a computer with Kenton standing next to it, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Did you find where he’s staying?” I direct that question to Justin, a man who has been a friend of my father’s since before I was born. He’s also a guy who has a way of getting information that even the FBI would have a hard time finding.
“He’s staying in a rental near downtown.” He glances down at his computer, then back at me. “He’s been there the last few weeks. But he’s not there tonight.”
“Where is he, then?”
“Working in a studio on Music Row.”
“What’s the address?” I ask and see Kenton step toward me. I turn my head his way, and he stops midstep. “Do not,” I growl, “even think about trying to stop me from doing this.”
“I’m not trying to stop you.” He lifts his hand up between us. “I get that a message needs to be sent, one that cannot be misinterpreted, but we need to be smart about this. I want you to think about what you’re about to do,” he says softly, sounding a lot like my dad would in this situation.
“You were not there.” I point at him, then rumble, “Because of him, my woman could have died tonight, and if I hadn’t been there, she probably would have.” A flashback of seeing the gun and somehow shoving her out of the way plays through my mind.
“Then we’ll deal with him,” he says, and I look around the room and pull in a deep breath.
He’s right. I don’t need to go into this situation halfcocked. I need a plan and one that doesn’t involve a whole bunch of witnesses. And with the cops now involved I have to act smart, and make a point without causing damage.
“All right.” I walk across the room to the couch and take a seat. “Let’s come up with a plan.” I lock eyes with Justin. “And I want you to make sure that nothing about April being attacked tonight ever makes the news. She doesn’t need that drama; she has enough shit to deal with already.”
“I’ll handle it.” He lifts his chin, and I settle in.
After about forty minutes of going over the details, we head out of the building, and Kenton gets into his car while Justin and I ride with Gene in his SUV so we can head across town. As we drive, all the rage I felt earlier comes back full force, and even if I know it might not be smart to head into a situation pissed off, I need that anger, because I have a point to make.
When we reach the area the studio is in, we double park close to a stop sign, Kenton in his jeep in front of us, and we wait. From what Justin was able to find by tapping into Cohen’s credit card and footage from a couple of the cameras around the studio, the singer has kept a tight schedule most nights. He and his crew normally leave the studio around midnight, then head downtown to the strip, where they party for a few hours before heading back to the house they rent.
Only tonight, with any luck, we’ll pick him up before he has a chance to meet with his friends so that he and I can have a talk. As the minutes tick past midnight, I look back at Justin, who is sitting in the third row, and he lifts his eyes off his computer to meet my gaze.
“He’s here—just have some patience,” he mutters, then I notice Gene become alert, so I look out the windshield and see Cohen exiting the studio with another man.