Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
She was in his home. Secured behind his doors. Protected by the best security system that money could buy. And he was trying hard not to pounce.
“Make yourself at home,” Royal instructed. Did he sound hungry? Freaking lusty? She’d been padding near the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked his pool. Her back was to him, and his eyes were drinking her in.
Slow down.
He’d gone too far in the dressing room. Check. Understood. But the woman had wanted his dick in her mouth, and how was he supposed to resist that? And right then, all he wanted was to strip her and fuck her where she stood.
But a gentleman wouldn’t do that. Not after the nightmare of her day. Hell, a gentleman wouldn’t have put his dick in her mouth after the attack, either. But there you are.
He wasn’t a gentleman. Wasn’t a real hero. He was just the selfish bastard who wanted to lay claim to everything that she was.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Violet said. She kept looking at the pool.
“There’s a wine cellar downstairs.” Maybe she wanted a drink—or three—after her day. “And there are two guest rooms upstairs. You can pick whichever one you want. Kitchen is to the left.” He motioned needlessly because she wasn’t looking his way. “You’re probably starving.” Like I am starving for you. “I can fix you dinner, if you’d like.”
“You cook?”
“Oh, I’m a fucking fantastic cook.”
Apparently surprised, she peered over her shoulder at him.
Royal shrugged. “Not bragging.” Maybe he was. Sue him. He had one or two skills that didn’t involve killing. “Even have plans to open a restaurant soon.”
“Here? In Savannah?” Now she turned to fully face him.
But he hesitated. Before meeting her, he’d been planning to leave Savannah for a while. Beau had gotten settled with Avalon, and Royal had thought that it might be best to disappear for a bit. He’d done that, over the years, gone in and out of Beau’s life. “Not exactly sure of the location yet.”
She nodded. “What type of restaurant?”
“Creole.” He laughed. “You can take the punk kid out of Louisiana, but you can’t take the Big Easy out of the man.”
Violet took a hesitant step closer to him.
“I can make some jambalaya that will have you thinking you’re tasting heaven.”
Her gaze searched his. “You grew up in New Orleans.”
“Guilty.”
“You miss it?” Her head tilted, and her hair slid over her shoulder. “I’ve actually never been there. Thought I’d do a performance at the Saenger in New Orleans last year, but I got beat out of the role.”
“I’ll have to show you the city one day.” The words just slipped from his mouth. And, dammit, he hadn’t meant to say them. Saying them implied there would be a future. That there was more than just now for the two of them.
Don’t you want more than just now with her?
She took another step toward him. “I’d like to see the city with you.”
He forced a laugh even as he eliminated the last bit of distance between them. Now they practically stood toe to toe. “Not like I grew up in the swanky mansions that fill the Garden District. That was more Avalon’s style.”
“You knew her when she was younger?”
Now that was a very complicated story. And it wasn’t his story to tell. It was Beau’s. “I knew about breaking into houses like hers and boosting rides in her neighborhood.” A shrug. He caught the flash of surprise in her eyes. “Sweetheart, I ran with a gang that would give you nightmares. Beau and I fought our way out.”
“How?”
His hand lifted and cupped her jaw. “Simple. We took over the gang. Then we ripped it apart. When we were done, nothing was left.”
“You can be a scary man, Royal Boudreaux.” But instead of appearing scared, her head turned, and her lips skimmed over his palm. “Show me.”
His heartbeat accelerated.
“You’re in this swanky house right now. I just saw your gorgeous pool. I have no doubt that you have some state-of-the-art kitchen that will give me serious envy, and, apparently, you have a killer wine cellar downstairs.” A pause. “But I’m not interested in those things right now.”
“What are you interested in?”
“You knew where a serial killer would be lurking. You have caught two other killers. And I watch enough true crime shows to know that you must have some sort of research area or crime room somewhere in this massive home of yours.”
“This isn’t Criminal Minds. ”
“I love that show. Or at least, I used to. Until I started being one of the victims and not the people chasing the monsters.”
He stared at her, and he made his hand drop.
“You would keep that room hidden,” Violet mused. “Can’t have casual company just strolling inside on accident. How embarrassing would that be? Oh, pay no attention to my murder board. ”
His eyes narrowed on her.
“And not like the room is going to be located in Punishment, though, I do get the name. On the nose, isn’t it? You like to punish those who deserve it. You had files there, the ones I saw. The ones that gave me new nightmares. But there’s more. There has to be.” Her gaze darted around. “So, are you going to Scooby Doo it and show me some secret room?”
“Scooby Doo it?”
“Most people really liked Fred. Personally, I always thought he could use a bit more of a dark side.”
He could only shake his head. “I take it you’re Daphne in this version of the show?”
“No, I really liked Velma. The quiet brains behind the operation.” Her lips pressed together. “I always wished I could be as smart as she was. And even when Velma got rattled, she still solved the case.” A pause. “I also wanted a dog just like Scooby. Never got one.” She squared her shoulders. “Are you going to show me?”
“My secret lair?”
“So you do have one.”
Didn’t every good villain have a secret lair? “You could go upstairs. Get some rest.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
Nah. “Closer to evening.”
A ghost of a smile teased her lips. “I’m betting it’s downstairs. Does it connect to your wine cellar? Because suddenly, I find that I’m incredibly thirsty.”
“Then how about a drink?” He turned on his heel and headed for the black door on the right. He swung open the door. A spiral, black metal staircase stretched down below. Without hesitating—because he knew Violet would follow—Royal descended the stairs. When he reached the landing, he immediately turned to the left. He opened the door that waited. Entered the temperature and humidity-controlled wine cellar. The lights turned on automatically. Two hundred and four bottles of wine were stocked in the cellar. All individually selected. The wooden shelves gleamed.
He heard her footsteps behind him. “What’s your poison?” Royal asked her.
“Something sweet.”
Yeah, I could go for something sweet right now. You.
Without another word, he made the selection. In moments, he’d poured the wine into two glasses and was offering her the dark red drink.
She took the glass from him. Their fingers brushed.
He lifted his wine glass. “To new partnerships.”
She lifted hers. “To stopping killers.”
Their glasses clinked. “I do like the way you think,” he said. Then, watching her, he took a sip of his wine.
Violet gulped hers. Truly, she drained the glass in about three swallows.
Soft laughter escaped him. “You always drink your wine that fast?”
“False courage. I could use some.” She put her glass down. “Show me?”
Very well. He set down his glass, too. Then… “Your Scooby Doo loving heart will adore this.” He pushed down on one of the champagne bottles nestled on a tall shelf to the right.
Another door opened.
“I adore it,” Violet breathed.
He took her hand and led her inside.
“How much longer are the cops going to be here?” Simone demanded. She sat at her dressing room table, but her back was to the big, lighted mirror. Her entire focus was on the man who’d just entered her room.
The bastard. The all-around asshole.
The handsome sonofabitch who was way too good in bed.
Micah grimaced and shut the door. “They have to finish their investigation.” He braced his legs apart. “They grilled me. Can you believe that shit? And I’m pretty sure that Violet’s new boyfriend threatened me.” He marched forward and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “But, damn, sales are about to go through the roof.” He flashed her a wide smile. “You can’t pay for publicity like this! We are going to have to extend the run of the ballet. People will be flocking here every night. They’ll all be waiting with bated breath to see if Snow White dies in her glass coffin.”
Chill bumps rose on her arms. “You said she didn’t nearly die. When—when her boyfriend said she could have died, you said that she could have just gotten some cuts.”
“Yeah, and did you see that asshole’s reaction to those words?” Micah’s expression tightened. “I swear, for a second, I almost thought he’d pull out a knife and slice me. ” He rolled back his shoulders. “The man pays for one dance with her, and suddenly he’s acting like he owns her. And Violet was the fucking Ice Queen before he strolled into her life. Now she’s into screwing strangers?” A disgusted shake of his head. “Guess money does buy anything. Or anyone.”
“I saw a reporter taking pictures of the coffin.” She ignored what he’d said, for now. “I thought the theater was supposed to be off-limits while the cops were investigating.”
He winked at her. “There’s off-limits, and then there’s off-limits. ”
“You let him in.”
“If you don’t have a dramatic shot to show the public, did the dangerous scene even happen? It’s like the old saying…if a tree falls in a forest, and no one is there to hear it, did it even make a fucking sound?”
Her hands twisted in her lap.
“There was a big sound today. Shatter. That glass shattered so hard it even scared me. And in order to fully understand the scene, people needed pictures. To see is to believe.”
She licked her lips. “Did you have something to do with the light falling on Violet?”
“She’s my star!”
Simone flinched at that angry outburst.
“Like I would risk her.” He closed in. Stared down at her. “Though, of course, if something did happen to her, I have an amazing understudy ready in the wings, don’t I?”
“You didn’t lock her in the coffin.” A statement.
He bent and brushed his lips over hers. “Of course, I didn’t lock her in the coffin. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
The kind that would do anything to make sure his show was a resounding success.
“I worry, though,” Micah continued as his voice turned musing, “that our poor, traumatized lead may break before showtime. I tried to get her to go and pay a visit to Leo. You remember Leo, don’t you, love?”
The psychiatrist. Leo Barnes. Yeah, Micah had introduced her to him at the fundraiser. Simone nodded.
“I was attempting to help her, but she refused.” A sigh. “Some people are their own worst enemies.”
“She should talk to someone,” Simone heard herself say. The words were the truth. After the abduction, Violet had been so different. Brittle. And Simone had thought Violet might just be in danger of breaking, too.
“If she falls apart before the show, well, you are ready, are you not?” Another soft kiss. “All you need is the wig. That wig transforms you into our Snow White.”
Was that one of the reasons that Violet had gotten the role over Simone? Because Violet looked like Snow White, no wig necessary? Hell, Simone would have dyed her blond hair in an instant. Or worn the stupid wig that was in the top drawer of her dressing table. She would have gladly worn it twenty-four, seven.
Or did Violet get the role because Micah wanted to fuck her? The dark question rolled through her.
Simone knew she was just as good of a dancer as her friend. Is this just about Violet being an unattainable fuck? Simone pulled in a deep breath.
Dammit, she is my friend. I hate feeling this way about my friend. But she’d been jealous when Violet got the role she’d wanted so badly.
“When the cops leave, I’ll be cutting out,” Micah said, completely oblivious to her sudden tension. “Want to meet me at my place?”
No, she didn’t. They were a mistake. He’d been stringing her along. Making promises he wouldn’t keep. And he’d started to scare her a bit because… I’m not sure I trust him .
But…
He kissed her again. “This show is going to change everything,” he promised her. “National news teams have picked up Violet’s story. Her getting abducted was the best thing that could have happened to us.”
God, that was cold. “She could have died.”
“But she didn’t.” Such a glib response. “And now she has her billionaire bodyguard. What a freaking prick.” He straightened. “Lucky girl, though, am I right? Two escapes from death. And a new boyfriend with money to burn.”
Simone swallowed. “Some people have all the luck.” And some didn’t. Some had to fight and bleed for every bit of success they achieved.
He headed for the door.
She stood and hurried to follow him out. “Micah?”
He opened the door but glanced back at her.
“You didn’t hurt Violet?”
A frown pulled at his brows. “I didn’t hurt Violet. What do I look like? Some crazed killer? I want publicity, not blood.”
Right. Some of the tension slid from her shoulders.
Micah caught her arm and pulled her closer. And he kissed her. Even though he knew better. They didn’t ever kiss when someone could see them. The door was open. Someone could be watching.
He let go. When he walked away, Micah was whistling.
Frantic, she looked to the left. No one was there. Her head whipped to the right. No one was?—
The cop. Correction—detective. Tall, dark, silent, and too watchful. His intense gaze was on her. No expression was on his face, but she knew he was making all kinds of conclusions. Wasn’t that what detectives did? Crap. He’d seen the kiss. Had he heard her question Micah?
Detective Curran Barlow ambled toward her. Part of her wanted to turn and flee. Instead, she locked her body down and refused to budge. Never show fear . That had always been her motto. She didn’t show fear when she faced total prick casting directors. She didn’t show fear when she had grueling instructors who wanted her to dance for hours and hours until her feet were bleeding, and she could only limp home.
Never show fear.
Hell, Violet had been the one to first whisper those words to her. At Simone’s initial audition at the conservatory, she’d been shaking like a leaf. Then Violet had sidled up to her and whispered those words. Never show fear. And Violet had smiled at her. The first hint of kindness she’d had in ages.
I am such a shitty friend.
“You’re sleeping with the artistic director,” the detective said.
Her chin notched up. “Don’t really see how that’s your business.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t agree, either. But he did ask, “You think he might have hurt your friend?”
The cop had heard her question. “I think it was an accident.” Simone chose her words very, very carefully. “I don’t think anyone here wants Violet hurt.”
“No enemies?”
“Violet is nice to everyone she meets.” Which was true. “She’s never said an unkind word about anybody on set. She freaking brings in bagels for the crew. She mentors new dancers. She will stay for hours and hours when a certain very demanding artistic director thinks she is not getting a routine exactly right.” She pasted a smile on her face. “Violet has no enemies.”
“But you still just asked your boyfriend if he’d hurt her.”
She tried to remember her exact words. “No, I didn’t ask.” Her heart slammed into her chest. “I made a statement. I said he didn’t hurt Violet.”
“Sure sounded like I heard a question in your voice.”
“Then I am sure you heard his response. He very clearly indicated that he had not hurt her. She’s the star of his show. Why would Micah try and hurt his star?” Her heart raced in her chest, but her voice remained cool. I am not just a dancer. I’ve always been a fabulous actress.
His stare raked her. “Why, indeed?” He turned away. Took two steps.
She began to relax?—
The detective glanced back. “You’re her understudy, aren’t you? I mean, you have other roles that you play, but if Violet were to be unable to perform, you’d step into the spotlight.”
And her heart drummed even harder. “Yes.”
“You’re sleeping with the artistic director. Maybe your boyfriend wants her out of the way so that you can shine. That could very well be the reason why. ” He sent her a little salute. “If you think of anything you might want to suddenly share with me because, oh, say, you realize you can’t trust your boyfriend?—”
“He’s not,” she cut in to say. Micah wasn’t her boyfriend. Their relationship—no, it wasn’t a relationship. They just hooked up. He kept their hook-ups secret. Except…
I told Violet about him.
And now the cop knew. Crazy how secrets could spread.
“Well, if you realize you can’t trust your not boyfriend, reach out to me. I’d love to hear anything else you might have to say about this case.”
Her stomach twisted. “I don’t know anything else.”
“Not about the coffin? About the light falling?” he pushed.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Not a single detail? Not even about Violet’s abduction?”
Do not change expression. “How would I know anything about that?”
“Guess you wouldn’t.” A shrug of one broad shoulder. “Never hurts to check, though, right?”
She didn’t like the detective or his questions. So what if he looked a bit too much like Shemar Moore, that hot actor from the Criminal Minds show that Violet used to watch all the time? She was always trying to get me to watch that show with her. We’d curl up on Violet’s ratty couch and watch after a grueling day. She’d said watching killers get captured relaxed her. Even if they were just fictional ones.
After Violet’s abduction, Simone was willing to bet that her friend didn’t still love to watch a show about sadistic killers. Because Violet has changed. That night changed her.
The detective was watching Simone too closely. Time to get away from him before she slipped up. “I need to collect my things. Get home. I’m exhausted.”
“Sure. Be safe out there. You never know who is waiting in the dark.” He strolled away.
She slammed her door closed. Locked it. Her fingers were trembling. Every part of her trembled.
Simone rushed back to her dressing table. She yanked open the top drawer and hauled out her little bottle of pills. She popped two and swallowed them down without water. Her shaking fingers tossed the bottle back into her drawer, and her gaze lit on the wig.
A wig that turned her into Violet.
Into Snow White.
She pulled out the wig. Stared at her reflection in the mirror. Lately, she hadn’t liked herself very much. Mostly…
When I look at Violet, I don’t like myself. Guilt could do that to you. It could tie you up and have you squirming. It could make you hate yourself.
Simone pulled the dark wig into place. Tucked her blond locks beneath it. She stared into the mirror. You need red lipstick. Violet wears red lipstick for the show.
She picked up a tube of lipstick and spread it over her lips. Her reflection stared back at her.
A tear slid down her cheek.
If she let her gaze unfocus… maybe I can be her. “I’m sorry,” Simone whispered. The guilt was eating her alive. And she wanted to say those words to Violet so badly.
Was Violet still at the theater? Or had she already left with the new boyfriend—Royal?
When Micah had burst into her dressing room, he hadn’t told Simone that Violet had left. Maybe she was still there. Maybe they could talk.
Maybe…
She shot to her feet. Ran for the door. She flipped the lock and wrenched the door open. There was no sign of the detective, and she was damn glad he wasn’t lurking around. Her feet thudded over the old wood flooring in the hallway. She snaked around a corner, took a left, and saw Violet’s room ahead. She hurried straight for the door. Her hand curled around the knob, and she threw the door open. Simone rushed inside with a confession ready on her lips.
The room was dark. Empty.
She’s already gone.
Dark and so still.
She stood there a moment, with her hands at her sides. Her shoulders slumped. Violet had been her friend. For so long.
And what had she been?
I saw her that night. A horrible, terrible truth. I saw him take her, and I didn’t do anything.
Tears splashed down her cheeks.
The door creaked behind her. “Violet?” A gruff, male voice.
“She’s not—” Simone began. But she didn’t get to finish. She’d been about to say… She’s not here. Only she never got the chance to utter those words. Because someone grabbed her from behind. Someone big and powerful. One hand slapped over her mouth even as an arm locked around her midriff. She was yanked up against a strong body, and she thrashed and clawed, and terror blazed inside of her.
She felt the wig slide off her head. It slithered to the floor.
His grip slackened. His fingers fell away from her mouth.
Oh, God. He thinks I’m Violet. “Not…her!” Simone gasped out. She sprang to the left as she tried to flee.
His fingers curled around the back of her neck, and he just slammed her—and her head—into the nearest wall.
She crumpled.