Chapter 35
I keep pounding my fist against Chesky’s door because I know he’s home. If he thinks I’ll lose interest, he’s sorely mistaken—
The door flies open and one Marcus Chesky is on the other side, his expression dark. He’s wearing lounge pants and no shirt. And he is not happy to see me. Boo freaking hoo.
“Are you kidding me with this? What is your deal?” he demands.
I move fast, taking him off guard, and shove past him because I’m definitely in that kind of mood.
The kind where I take a bat to things because I want to see glass shatter.
The kind of mood where my sister has been murdered and I still don’t know who did it and I’m ready to burn down the world. Or his house.
“The only reason I’m not calling the cops right now is because you’re Cara’s sister,” he growls, shutting the door behind him. “And please, welcome to my home.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
I stop only once I’m at the bar that curves off around his kitchen.
It looks out over the living room where a peaceful fire is crackling.
There’s a book on its face, the spine cracked, and a tumbler of what’s likely whiskey on a side table.
The scene is very peaceful, and for some reason that makes my rage spike.
It’s probably a good thing I don’t have my bat right now.
“Why have you been ignoring me? And don’t deny it.
Also, what did Hannah Brown want from you this morning?
” Was it only this morning I saw her? Huh. Today has been long.
He stares at me for a long moment, then motions to the living room area. “Let’s sit.”
“No. Talk.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve had two men pull guns on me in the last two days. I’m pretty much over everything at this point. I want to know why Hannah was here. Because she’s missing,” I add, wondering if that’ll trigger a response.
But nope, his expression remains the same. Though he does sigh, as if I’m the most exhausting person in the world. He’s not the first person to respond to me like that. “Who pulled a gun on you?”
His question throws me, because I can’t imagine he actually cares. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what I want to know.”
“She said you were relentless,” he mutters as he stalks to the living room.
So now I have no choice but to follow. “Hannah?”
“What? No. Cara.” He says it as if I’m stupid for asking.
Oh, right. That kind of was a dumb question. “What else did she say?” I sit across from him on a huge tufted chair that turns out to be like sitting on a marshmallow.
“That you’ve got a smart mouth. Which might explain why two someones pulled a weapon on you. Are you okay, by the way?”
I shrug. I don’t want to talk about me. “Was Hannah blackmailing you?” I ask instead. Might as well get straight into it. I didn’t know about the blackmail angle this morning, but now I’m looking at everything in a new light.
Again, to my surprise, he nods. “She attempted to blackmail me, but I have no interest in her games.”
I freeze for a moment. I didn’t expect him to be so forthright. The man is basically a mystery to me. (Foxe has a theory on his background but can’t say for sure, which basically solidifies her theory in a weird way.) “You’re admitting she tried to blackmail you?”
He lifts a broad shoulder and I can’t help but notice some of his scars. I’ve seen scars like that before. He’s been shot more than once. Probably stabbed too.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask.
If he’s surprised by the change in subject, he sure doesn’t show it. “Consulting.”
That’s the vaguest answer possible. Okay, then. “Do you ‘consult’ for Ava Chatelain? Maybe you consult in how to get her pants off?” It’s not my best line, but I finally get a reaction.
Though it’s not one I expect. He throws back his head and laughs, a full-body one, for a couple seconds.
“Cara told me I’d like you,” he rasps out.
“And yes to what you’re implying. Not about the consulting, but yes, we’re sleeping together.
And yes, Hannah is trying to blackmail me over my relationship with Ava but I don’t care if she tells anyone. I love Ava.”
The way he says it, almost defensively, is interesting. And authentic. He loves Ava. That’s the only thing that’s come out of his mouth tonight I know is a hundred percent true.
“Did Cara know about your affair?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, his gaze straying to the fire. “She was smart though, so I think she might have.”
“Do you think someone was blackmailing Cara? Maybe Hannah? Or maybe Cara found out about something, someone else being blackmailed and…I don’t know. Got caught up in something?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Look, it’s clear that you liked Cara, so help me. I want to find out who killed her and I think you can help.”
“If I knew who killed her, they’d be dead.” There’s an edge to his voice that tells me his speech isn’t figurative.
And fine, I don’t hate it. But I do mentally file it away in the very limited knowledge I have on this man. “I know she considered you a friend.”
“We were friends.”
“She came to you for something. She said she was in trouble and needed help. And she wouldn’t tell me what,” I add, my frustration bleeding into my voice.
“She wanted a gun to protect herself.”
His words suck all the air out of me for a moment. Everything goes still, blood pounding in my ears. “Cara hated guns.” Or she hated the thought of them in the same house as her girls.
“I know. But someone approached her at the grocery store when she was out with the girls. Threatened the kids in not so many words.” His jaw clenches, and I see rage lurking beneath his polished veneer.
It’s a mirror to my own.
“This man scared her, and she wanted a way to protect herself,” he continues.
“Did you get her a gun?” My hands are balling into fists at the thought of someone threatening my sister, my sweet innocent nieces. I’ll take more than a bat to them for that.
“I did. But she ended up giving it back to me.”
I have a feeling I know who approached her—who threatened her. And oh, this adds a new layer to things. “Why didn’t she tell me about any of this?” I’m mainly asking myself.
“Because she had the situation under control. And she was afraid you’d do something rash.”
“She told you that?”
“She heavily implied that if you knew someone had threatened the girls, you would go nuclear.”
I mean, she wasn’t wrong. Damn it, my sister really did know me. I take a steadying breath. “Did she tell you about the situation itself?” I’m trying to figure out what he knows and he’s weirdly good at being cagey.
He nods.
“Oh my god, just answer the question. Do you know about Ethan’s problems?”
He sneers then, but at least he answers.
“His gambling? Yes. She gave me back the weapon and told me that they were listing their California home to cover his debts.” There’s a lot of derision in his voice.
He clearly doesn’t like Ethan. Or maybe he just doesn’t respect him, and that amounts to the same thing for someone like Marcus.
And I find myself standing up for Ethan even though I’m angry at him too. “He’s getting help.”
Marcus’s expression is stony though and I’m guessing he’s not as forgiving of things as Cara was. “Hopefully it sticks.”
“Do you think the man Ethan owes money to was behind her murder?” I don’t say Orson Hall’s name because I’m not sure that Marcus knows, and he’s looking a little murder-y right now.
(I get it—I feel the same way all the time.
But he’s looking like he might go out and handle some things…
Or maybe I should just tell him what I know.)
“I can’t see why he would send anyone after her when he’s getting paid.”
I nod, because I agree, and continue. I’ve finally got him talking and I need to take advantage, because something tells me I’ll never catch him off guard like this again. “Was anything going on with Cara at work? Any enemies?”
“Other than Cory Powell? I don’t know. I’m not involved in that industry.” He pointedly doesn’t offer up anything about what industry he is involved in, which just annoys me.
“But she told you about him?”
He nods. “She wasn’t sure if she should take his threats seriously. I thought she should. His emails were violent and angry and I didn’t think she should ignore them. Desperate men do stupid, irrational things.”
Now I’m even more annoyed. I can’t believe Cara didn’t tell me about two very real threats and it’s making me question everything I thought I knew.
“Your sister loved you.” His voice cuts into my thoughts. “She told me a little about your history… She just wanted to protect you. She wasn’t trying to keep secrets from you.”
So, what—because I used to drink, she didn’t tell me? Like I couldn’t handle it?
I don’t want to be protected, but I keep the words to myself. Because what if in her attempt to protect me from uncomfortable things about her life, she hid truths about her murderer?