Chapter 24 Smoke Without Fire
Smoke Without Fire
LOTHAIR
After a late breakfast on the patio, Terry paced the lawn barefoot with a coffee cup in hand as he called his boss. I was about to go inside and fix another cup for myself when he gestured for me to wait.
“Lothair is here,” he said into the phone, walking up to me. “I’ll put you on speaker so he can hear.”
Terry set the device on the coffee table, and I sat back down.
“Hello, Devon. What’s the matter?”
“Toby Olsen started talking,” Devon said.
I gave Terry a confused look, and he rolled his eyes.
“The screamer,” he mumbled, and I remembered. I would never have guessed that Toby the Screamer would not only try to film us having sex but then go and attack me in a stolen car. Some people were nuts.
“What’s he saying now?” Terry asked.
“That Carlos Sorensen hired him to approach Lothair, sleep with him, and get some intimate pictures. Later, he paid Toby to follow Lothair around and stage a traffic accident at a convenient moment. Toby might have misinterpreted some of those instructions, or Carlos was intentionally vague. In case Toby got into trouble with the police, he was supposed to have a top-notch lawyer plus a fat check as soon as he got out. Except Carlos stopped paying and didn’t send the promised lawyer, so Toby decided to spill instead. ”
“Do we know where Carlos is?”
“No. The police won’t issue an arrest warrant since Carlos isn’t accused of a crime. Yet. He’s only being called in as a witness. They might threaten him with obstruction of justice if he doesn’t show up, but that’s it.”
“What?” I mouthed in Terry’s direction, but Terry lifted a hand for me to wait.
“They don’t know about the blackmail, I assume,” he said.
“No, they don’t,” Devon confirmed. “We didn’t tell them, and nobody from Paris’s team informed the authorities either.”
“Thanks for the update.”
Devon said goodbye, and we sat in silence.
I was a little surprised by my lack of emotion.
I should be angry. My own manager had been sabotaging me for months, maybe years, and I’d been the fool who never suspected a thing.
I was annoyed at my own blindness toward Carlos, but my only real worry was Terry’s reaction to the news.
My mate rubbed his chin, looking in the direction of the gate. His mind was already conjuring up all the possible danger these recent events might put me in. I hated that he was stressed because of me. Since the beginning, I’d been causing Terry problems.
“So we have nothing on Carlos,” I said when I couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
Terry blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Lothair.”
“You sound like it’s your fault.” I took his hand and kissed his palm. “How about you try not to think about it all the time, huh? It bugs you not to know where he is, but Carlos isn’t stupid. He might have left the country already.”
“He paid a man to assault you. How do you know he won’t do it again?”
“Because it’s risky, and he has nothing to gain from it.”
Terry looked unconvinced. “Do you have any idea about the state of his assets? Any offshore accounts? Properties abroad? Stuff like that?”
“I honestly don’t know. Does it matter?”
“It might. I’m wondering how desperate he is.”
“Maybe Paris knows more, and that’s why he invited us over,” I said hopefully.
Terry stood and tugged me up by my hand.
“Maybe. We should get ready. We’re expected at Paris’s in less than two hours, and there’s bound to be a lot of traffic.”
Sitting on Paris’s patio, I watched the horses graze. It’d been a while since I last rode a horse. The beasts didn’t appreciate dragon shifters all that much, and some got really antsy when they smelled one near. Dogs loved us, though. I wondered why that was. I should ask Terry about it later.
Boone sat with us, glued to Paris’s side as always.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Terry said, eyeing them apprehensively. “I assume you have some news for us.”
“Nothing bad,” Paris said. “Consider this a friendly update.”
“Is it about Carlos Sorensen?”
Paris nodded.
“The problem has been taken care of,” Boone said with no trace of emotion in his voice.
He held Paris’s hand on the sofa between them.
It was then I noticed the faint scrapes and bruises on his knuckles.
I didn’t want to imagine how the meeting with Carlos had gone.
Boone hadn’t killed the little scumbag, had he? Would I care if he had?
“Sorensen handed over the materials and destroyed all copies,” Paris added. “My people also suggested he’d benefit from leaving the city.” Still alive then and probably gone. Good riddance.
Terry shifted next to me. “And he did that voluntarily?”
“More or less.” Smiling like an angel, Paris brought a coffee cup to his lips.
Like me, Terry must have deemed it smart not to ask any more about it.
He finished his drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table.
“We have reason to believe that Carlos has been sabotaging Lothair for months, maybe even years. There’ve been intentional leaks from his office, setups leading to scandals, and even suspicious accidents on set. ”
Paris arched his eyebrows. “If he wanted Lothair to get hurt, why did he insist on hiring you?”
“Maybe it was a combination of guilt, calculation, and a cover-up,” Terry replied. “While he always wanted something going on around Lothair to keep him on the front pages, he also needed him to survive more or less unscathed.”
“And Toby the Screamer?” I asked Paris. “Was that you as well?”
Paris tilted his head, seeming confused. “The screamer?”
Swallowing a laugh, Terry explained. “Toby Olsen, the man who’s in jail for vehicular assault against Lothair, has started talking to the police. He now claims Carlos paid him to do it.”
“Getting Olsen to tell the truth wasn’t difficult when we could provide him with a good lawyer,” Paris said. “Sadly, with his history, he’s not considered a reliable witness.”
“And that’s why Carlos is still free.”
“He’ll eventually get arrested for tax evasion,” Paris said. “We only need a few more weeks.”
I shook my head, chuckling. Paris was a formidable force. “I’d better make sure I never end up being your enemy.”
“And he is guilty of the tax evasion,” Terry said slowly, looking from Boone to Paris.
Paris lifted his chin. “Should I be insulted by your insinuation, Terrance?”
My mate raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Just double-checking.”
Leaning comfortably against his husband, Paris gave Terry a friendly smile. “Don’t worry. My strategy has always been to eliminate problems and not to create new ones that might come back and bite me in the ass.”
Terry was still tense on the way home, but at least he let me drive. We got on the highway, passing the exit to the Ardaine International Airport.
“We should go on a vacation,” I said. “A secure, private resort. Beach during the day, flying at night, maybe a few horny omegas looking for a discreet fling abroad.”
“Except you don’t wrap up filming until next month.”
“We’ll go right after that.”
“Unless the production gets delayed,” he muttered.
I grimaced. Yeah, that might happen. “You’re tired of the bullshit around me, huh?”
He turned to me and put his hand on my thigh. “I’m not tired of you. And a vacation sounds great. I’m sorry I’m such a grump today.”
“I might come up with something to distract you.” I winked at him, and Terry smiled. He stroked my thigh as I drove.
“Something occurred to me when we were at Paris’s,” I said. “Why are horses afraid of us, but dogs aren’t?”
“Not sure, but to some species, we’re predators even though we haven’t really hunted in dragon form for centuries. The instinct must still be there. And some dogs get antsy as well. It’s just Badger who’s unconcerned. He grew up with shifters.”
“Your great-grandfather’s dog is unbearably cute.”
“Badger is the best.”
“Could we get a dog?” I asked.
Terry turned to me with his eyebrow raised. “With our schedule?”
Yeah, it probably was a stupid idea. “Maybe one day?”
“Sure. One day.”
Paris’s next premiere was a small, relaxed event. The movie wasn’t expected to be a huge box office success—a biopic about a destitute poet dying of tuberculosis in the late eighteen hundreds wouldn’t attract the masses—but Paris would no doubt grab a few awards for the role.
I was pleasantly surprised we were invited even though I hadn’t been involved in the production.
Maybe Paris truly considered me a friend.
I shook hands with Allan Caspian, and Paris waved me forward to take a few pictures with him and Boone.
When I crooked a finger at Terry, he glanced at the photographers then shrugged and came to pose with us.
Let the tabloids think whatever they wanted.
We sat through the movie in respectful silence and joined in the standing ovation with suitable enthusiasm even though I was just happy it was over. Paris did a fantastic job, but the movie was the most depressing shit I’d ever seen.
“I need a drink,” I whispered to Terry.
He chuckled. “Which won’t help.”
“I just spent two and a half hours watching a guy slowly choke to death. I need something life-affirming. A quickie in the toilets?”
Grimacing, he pinched my side. “You can’t make me laugh now!” he hissed.
“It would look bad, huh?”
We were leaving the auditorium when an earsplitting beep cut through the air. The crowd stirred, people looking around in confusion and fear.
Terry grabbed my arm, instantly in professional mode.
“Smoke alarm,” he muttered. “Keep moving.”
He dragged me by my elbow and walked straight to the exit, lifting his phone to his ear.
“Kim? What’s going on?”