“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you here.”
“To wind down after a kill?” I retort, staggered. And it hits me for the first time. The worry. The nerves. Every time he leaves, I’ll be a wreck, wondering if he’ll be coming back. Who he’ll be killing.
James scowls, unimpressed. “Stow away that sarcasm, Beau. Now isn’t the time.”
“Now’s the perfect time,” I say, half laughing. “When you’ve left me here, when you’ve disappeared, had errands to run, you were killing men, weren’t you?”
“I was working toward justice,” he grates.
“And the opera house? You left me handcuffed to a chair while you murdered someone. Why the hell did you take me?”
“It would look a bit suspicious if a man was alone at an opera.”
He’s right. Especially a man as good-looking as James. “So I was an alibi?”
“No, you were my date.”
“It wasn’t much of a date,” I retort, indignant. “I didn’t see all the performance, my date disappeared for twenty minutes to commit murder, and I was restrained.”
His smirk is faint but filthy. “You didn’t enjoy me eating your pussy?”
My mouth snaps shut and the elevator dings in the distance. We both look toward the bathroom door. “Details of your next kill, I expect,” I say quietly as he rises, the water pouring down his hard physique like it could be tumbling down solid, perfectly cut rocks. He steps out and leans over, slamming a hard kiss on my lips. “Make sure you soak.”
“I don’t need to soak.”
“You do. You also need to start doing as you’re told.”
“Fuck you.”
He smirks. Another hard kiss, and I stubbornly yank my face away. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re insolent.”
I look out the corner of my eye at him. Damn that cute half-grin. It’s about as much as I’ve ever had out of James Kelly. And then he places a hand on my head and dunks me. He actually dunks me! The coldblooded assassin, The Enigma, the silent, invisible killer, just fucking dunked me.
“James!” I gasp when I break the surface, using my one good hand to wipe the water from my face. “You asshole.”
He strides out of the bathroom. “Soak,” he calls back.
I snort, outraged.
But I smile the brightest I’ve smiled in years.
And I wonder . . .
Could James find who killed my mother and put an end to them too?
56
JAMES
Relief. God, it feels good. But I have to remember I’m getting ahead of myself. She knows. But she doesn’t know.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I walk to the kitchen to greet Goldie, and the second I clap eyes on her, my relief falls. “What is it?” I ask as she reaches into her pocket and slaps something on the table. Photographs.
Photographs of this building.
Of me.
And of Beau.
What the fuck? My heart jumps, and I turn on my heel and race back up the stairs, bursting into the bathroom. The tub is empty. “No,” I breathe, backing up, going to my office. No Beau.
“Where was she?” Goldie asks, joining me on the landing.
I march into my bedroom. “In the tub.” No Beau. “Fuck!”
“What?” Beau appears in the doorway to my dressing room, looking on in alarm. Even more so when she sees Goldie behind me. “What’s up?”
What is that leaving my body? It feels like ten tons of fear. Fuck…me. But, shit, I need to play this down. “Nothing’s up,” I say, adjusting my towel, cringing. Beau’s not stupid, and here I am treating her like she’s stupid. I peek at her and see what I knew I would. Disbelief. “You didn’t soak for very long.”
I hear Goldie sigh from behind me and Beau’s eyes dart to her too. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she says, backing out of my bedroom. “Don’t be long.”
“I won’t.” I’ll be right along just as soon as I’ve pacified a woman who looks nowhere near close to being pacified.
“What’s going on?” Beau asks, awkwardly pulling in her towel tighter with one hand, trying to hold one side by clamping her arm to her hip. I can’t watch her struggle like that.
“Here.” I go to her, pulling it open and evening up each side before wrapping her up neatly and securely. Her eyes burn holes in me the entire time.
“What’s Goldie doing here?”
“Delivering the details of my next kill,” I quip, buying myself some time, quickly walking through my options. I have only one.
I grab a robe, help her into it, and take her hand, leading her out of my bedroom, down the stairs, unwilling to leave her alone, even in my own apartment. I place her on the couch, drape a throw over her, and hand her the remote control for the TV. “Give me five minutes.” I kiss her and leave her still looking stunned.
When I make it to Goldie at the island, she gives me a nod to confirm she’s scoped the place. I take my phone from my pocket and load my security app multi-view screen, placing it down before us, my eyes darting across each camera view. Nothing. No one here except us.
“Otto’s watching the rest of the cameras,” Goldie says quietly as I turn all the frosted glass inside my apartment to clear glass with one click of a button on my mobile, and make sure all the external glass is opaque so no one can see in. “There’s no one in the building.”
“How the fuck?” I whisper, perching on a stool, trying to keep my concern from my face, knowing Beau’s not too far away and she’s riddled with curiosity.
“You missed this picture.” Goldie spreads the photos and pushes one toward me, and I inhale when my twisted mind computes what I’m looking at.
Me.
A rifle in one hand, my balaclava hanging from the other, stalking out of a factory with murder etched all over my face. Not because I’d just committed it. But because Beau was missing.
“You fucked up,” Goldie murmurs, as I stare at the condemning image, wondering how I could have been so fucking stupid. I look over my shoulder to Beau, to the woman who’s made me stupid. She’s watching us closely. I don’t force a reassuring smile. It would be insulting her.
“I know,” I whisper, returning my attention forward. “I fucking know.”
“So what now?”
“Now I wait.” I get up and get two beers from the fridge, twisting the caps off each in turn before taking one to Beau. She looks up at me as she accepts, her expression screaming questions. Questions I can’t answer, because the truths will have her running. I tear my eyes away from hers and return to Goldie.
“Wait for what?” she asks.
“His call.” I take a slurp of my beer, wondering where he is. Plotting. Planning my demise. Because now he knows where to find me. What I look like. He’s played the game, and he’s played it well. “Be ready,” I tell her. “And I need you to pick some things up from Beau’s place.”
“Like what?”
“Her passport.”
“How the hell will I know where to find her passport.”