I shut off the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and pluck a toothbrush from the holder. I scrub my teeth, comb through my wet tresses with my fingers, and rub the towel all over to dry myself.
Still no James.
I enter the bedroom, set to go find him, but stutter to a stop when I see him standing in the middle of the room, his hair wet, all blood gone from his face. He’s dressed too. And he’s showered.
But not with me.
He looks up as he threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the same belt he tied me up with yesterday. I give him questioning eyes. He looks away. “I have to be somewhere,” he says, going back into his dressing room and appearing moments later pulling on a jacket. “We’ll talk when I’m back.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask. He seems tense. I don’t like it.
His smile of reassurance is feigned terribly, and I’m not sure if my ability to read his persona so well is a good thing. He comes to me, snakes an arm around my waist, tugs me close. “Everything is fine.” A small kiss on my lips. “Will you be here when I get back?”
“How long will you be?” I ask. I need to find Nath. But I also need to talk to James.
“I’ll be an hour, tops. Okay?” He looks at me with imploring eyes.
“Okay,” I breathe. I’ll call Ollie just as soon as James leaves. See if he’s found out anything about Nath. I can easily say I won’t leave because . . . where will I go?
He presses his lips to my forehead and holds them there, breathing through his kiss. He must feel my frown because he pulls away, rubbing his thumb across my brow, smoothing out the lines. “Back soon,” he says, turning and walking out.
And I’m alone.
Alone with only my mind, which is about ready to detonate with the questions filling it. I look down at my towel-wrapped body. Then around the bedroom. What am I going to do, other than kick my heels, waiting for James to talk? What will he tell me?
I shake my head and formulate a plan to keep myself busy until he gets back. I’ll call Ollie. Then I’ll go to James’s office and distract myself with some painting, given I’ve still not finished what I was here to do in the first place.
Hurrying down the stairs, I find my cell on the floor and call Ollie. It rings twice before he answers. “Did you find anything?” I ask, pacing at the foot of the windows.
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Nothing at all?” I ask, stilling by the window.
“Beau, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
My lips press together. “I’m just worried.”
“I think sometimes you forget I lived with you and know you inside out.”
He used to know me. Ollie doesn’t know me anymore. I hardly know myself. I pull my phone down and check the time. It’s only eight o’clock. It already feels like I’ve been up all day, and I barely got any sleep last night. I start pacing again, and my muscles pull, as if to remind me why I didn’t get any sleep last night. “I’ll keep trying him.”
“Listen, Beau, he’s probably just crashed into bed and slept through. You know what it’s like after a tough call out.”
I close my eyes and try to allow Ollie’s reasonable explanation for Nath’s absence settle. He could be right, of course, and I would have accepted that, had I not got Nath’s odd call. “Yeah, I know.”
“Fancy a coffee later?”
My eyes flip open. “A coffee?” I parrot like an idiot.
“Yeah, you know, that brown stuff people drink over chitchat.”
“Chitchat?” I murmur, and Ollie sighs loudly.
“I want to see you, Beau.”
Oh God. I can’t tell him how much that isn’t true. He won’t listen.
“I heard your dad’s been in touch,” he goes on.
“Oh.” Ollie knows of the contempt I feel toward the man who played a part in bringing me into this world. “I’m fine.”
“Sure,” he mutters. “Sure, you’re fine.”
I should never have cried on him. I should never have contacted him about Nath. I should have called someone else. I feel like I’ve given him false hope, and I take no pleasure in dashing that. Although, I kind of did already outside the store. I thought he got the message. “I’m seeing someone.” I startle at the sound of my words, immediately wishing I could grab them from the air and stuff them back in my big fat mouth. I kick myself around James’s apartment, cringing.
“I know,” he eventually says.
“What?”
“Lawrence called me.”
My mouth falls open, my brain unable to compute this. Why on earth would Lawrence do that? What was he hoping to achieve? And, more worryingly, what else did he tell my ex? “He had no right to do that.”
“He’s worried about you.”
That statement tells me all I need to know. Lawrence has shared more than he should, which should have been nothing at all. “It’s none of his business, and it’s definitely none of yours.” I quickly hang up before I say anything else, something I might regret. “Damn you, Lawrence,” I mutter, hammering out a text message to my uncle, telling him how pissed off I am with him. I hit send and toss my cell on the couch, before marching to the kitchen and finding a glass. I fill it with water and drink it all, slamming it down and breathing through my rage. I literally feel like the world is against me.
Paint.
I rush up to James’s dressing room and rummage through his drawers to find something I can throw on, something that he won’t mind getting soiled. I spot a clothes hamper in the corner and riffle through, dragging out a T-shirt and some shorts. I pull the T-shirt on and bend to get the shorts on.
Something catches my eye.
I still and slowly lower to my knees, peeking under the snuggle chair in the center of the room. It’s shiny, partly concealed by a shadow. “What the hell?” I murmur. I can’t be seeing right.
I instinctively look behind me to check I’m alone, before covering my hand with the shorts and carefully pulling it out from beneath the chair. A 9mm. A shell casing.
My mind explodes, and I drop it like it’s a grenade, panic grabbing me. I quickly shove it back where I found it, getting up and facing the room, glancing around. I breathe deeply, in and out, trying to untangle my head, looking at the ceiling, the walls, searching for cameras. They’re hidden. How does a shell casing get into a room this small? Who fired the gun and at whom? Why—
Paint.
I clumsily pull on the shorts and run to James’s office as I hoist in the waist, setting up the ladder and mixing the white paint. I scan my work area. Climb to the top and start frantically swooping around the spotlights. Paint. Just paint.
A shell casing.
My other name.
You’re getting more than you asked for.
“Fuck!” The silence is too loud, my thoughts louder. I hurry down the ladder, rush downstairs, find my cell and my earbuds, and shove them in, returning to James’s office as I search my playlists. I find the perfect track, play it, and turn the volume up to max as I slip my buds into my ears.
Everyone You Know When The Sun Comes Up blares, and it fills my head perfectly. I climb back up the ladder, take my brush, and let the painting and music take me away. My shoulders sway. I sing along.