James looks back down at his cup, and something tells me he’s considering getting more caffeine. Or perhaps some vodka. “What do I do, Rose?” he asks quietly, spinning his cup. My heart splits straight down the middle, and suddenly my own problems don’t feel so heavy anymore. Danny must know I am not going anywhere. Maybe to St. Lucia, but I’m never leaving him. He’s confident of that, I’m sure of it. James, though? He doesn’t look like he’s confident of much right now. “A few days ago, she was practically begging me to try for a baby,” he murmurs. “Today, she doesn’t even see me.”
“Her father just died.”
He winces, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t even like him.”
“None of us liked him.” I reach for his hand and pull it toward me, resting my elbows on the counter to lean in. “But he was her dad, James, and no matter what we think, she’s going to feel guilty. Maybe like she should have made amends before he died.”
He sighs, long and heavy. “I know that.”
“She’s going to wish she’d met him last night.”
James withdraws, eyes wide. “What?”
“Before we left for Hiatus. Tom called her, said that he was at some hotel downtown for a meeting. He wanted Beau to join him for dinner.”
James looks away, his expression between a scowl and a frown.
“If she’d have gone, this might not have happened,” I say. “That’s what she’ll be thinking.”
He turns his eyes onto me. I see the darkness there, the demons he fights back every day. “He didn’t deserve her.”
“She didn’t deserve to see you with another woman all over you either,” I say, my lips pursed. “Are you going to tell me what the hell was with that?”
“She’s from my past.” James breaks our connected hand, pulling away, looking defensive. “I’m sure Beau’s told you all about how we met.”
“Of course she has.” Both Danny and James know there’s not much, if anything, that Beau and I don’t know about each other. “But what the heck was she doing at Hiatus? Has this got something to do with her ex?” I ask. If Beau won’t admit it, at least James will confirm it.
Exasperated, which is a cheek, James stands, exhaling loudly. “Otto got into Beth’s phone records. She’s in contact with Burrows.”
My mouth falls open, even though I suspected.
James laughs with zero humor. “Looks like he will do anything to turn her against me.”
“I thought he’d given up.”
“I’d hoped,” he says. “Because I seriously don’t want to kill him.”
Oh Jesus, what a mess. “You’re not telling Beau?”
“Don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not talking to me right now, Rose,” he says, swilling his mug under the faucet and resting it on the side.
I narrow my eyes on him as he faces me. “Have you told Danny?” I ask.
“Yes, because he’s talking to me.”
“Don’t try me, James. One murdering asshole is enough for any woman to deal with.”
He comes to me and dips, kissing my cheek. “Thank you for getting Beau out yesterday.”
“For what it was worth.”
“Make friends with him.”
“Or else?”
“Don’t try me,” he grunts, walking away. “One disobedient female is enough for any man to deal with.”
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Not to the gym.”
“Thank God,” I murmur, lowering back to the stool. And for another hour, I sit, mentally planning the conversation I need to have with Danny and how to approach it. I still haven’t figured that out by seven o’clock when he walks into the kitchen, his hair wet, his tall, hard body wrapped up in a gray suit. My heart sinks.
Business.
Didn’t he deal with enough business last night?
He passes me, silent, and slips a cup under the spout of the coffee machine, keeping his back to me while it pours—or drips—his hands braced on the edge of the countertop, his fingers drumming. Then, when it eventually finishes dispensing his coffee, he takes the small handle on the cup and turns, resting his ass against the marble and looking down into his drink while he sips, as slowly as the damn thing dripped out of the machine.
I’m too tired for this childish game of who will break first. Good for him, he’s got a good night’s sleep and is ready to go great guns. I am not. “I’m going back to St. Lucia,” I say, my voice strong.
He stops with his annoying sipping, holding the cup at his lips, seemingly thinking for a few moments, before he leisurely places it down and heads for one of the French doors, pulling out his cigarettes as he goes.
And he just leaves? “I said I’m going back to St. Lucia!” I yell to his back.
He stops on the threshold of the patio, lighting his cigarette and exhaling calmly. Then he looks back at me, and I see it in his blue eyes. The monster that lingers beneath the surface. The devil that’s waiting, ready to show himself. “You’re not going back to St. Lucia, baby,” he says calmly, his face deadpan, his voice even. Then he leaves, and I drop my gaze to the counter, uncertainty plaguing me. Unpredictable Danny. Volatile Danny. The man who appears calm on the outside, unless you know the signs. I know the signs. His scar was glowing.
“I’m going,” I say to myself, glancing at the door, twiddling my fingers, feeling . . . lonely. Lonely and unsure. Everyone is so distant, and my pining for Daniel multiplies in this moment. It’s not as if I was with him constantly when we were in the same country, but the mother within me feels like I need to be near someone who really does need me, even if his social life is more important than his mom right now.
I pick up my cell and dial him, and my heart sinks further when he doesn’t answer, although my reasonable side reminds me it’s not long past seven and no thirteen-year-old is up at this time if they don’t need to be. I sigh and start to tap out a message to Esther, but Danny appears at the door.
And he looks furious. Obviously, he’s run dry of the energy required to contain his temper. “Why the fuck is Beau’s car wedged in a bush around the side of the house?”
Oh.
Shit, shit, shit. “How would I know?”
Otto appears next to Danny, his eyebrows high, and I scowl at him. Snitch. I hope his head is banging. “Nice cap,” I grate, making his eyebrows lower, his eyes narrowing.
“Rose,” Danny says, his voice tight along with his face. “Answer me.”
“Beau took me for a lesson.”
“And it went swimmingly, I see,” Otto mutters, before leaving me to face the wrath of my husband alone.
“I told you I would teach you to drive.” Danny flicks his cigarette into a nearby plant pot and steps into the kitchen. “Why the fuck can’t you listen to me for once?”
“You were too busy on a killing spree to see to your family’s needs,” I snipe. “And to be clear, I am going back to St. Lucia.”
He laughs. It’s evil. The kind of laugh reserved only for the men he’s about to kill. Then it stops abruptly, and he comes close, heaving, sweating fucking fury. And because I’m me and he is my husband, I stand from my stool and square up to him. He pushes his forehead to mine, hard, and I put up some resistance, pushing back, not backing down. “No,” he hisses.