Axel
O n the soft sand, Phoebe lay beside him in a tiny pink bikini that forced him to contain his caveman instincts, but it was a good distraction from Anita’s early morning visit. Watching Phoebe read one of the free books left in a small stand by the entrance to the beach, he wished he could be as relaxed as she was. She rolled onto her front, and he felt her studying him.
“Autumn thanked me for the engagement present. It was very generous of me,” she teased, and he pulled his cap over his eyes.
“I had to get them something, and Elijah calls her his black cat. When I saw the painting on your website, I had to snatch it up.”
“And the other two?” she asked.
That was enough to get the truth out of him. “You heard me talking to Anita, didn’t you?” sighed, reminded of Anita’s warning to get his feelings for Phoebe under control or he was going to ruin all of them. She’d seen the receipts for the paintings in his accounts and accused him of trying to buy her love. Couldn’t have been further from the truth, since Phoebe hadn’t known he bought the paintings—well, until now.
“What does Anita have to do with the paintings you bought?” Phoebe played with the sand at the end of her towel.
“She accused me of trying to buy your love,” admitted, hating how Anita had insinuated that he was out of line by loving Phoebe because of Cillian. She was her own person, and he wasn’t going to let anyone treat her like she was anyone’s property.
“That would be impressive, considering you didn’t even tell me,” Phoebe laughed, taking it better than expected.
“So, you didn’t hear the end of the conversation, but I take it you heard the rest?” He lay on his side and played with the strings on her top. She’d removed his T-shirt, but her tattoo was safely concealed by his shadow.
She nodded. “I didn’t want to interrupt, and I figured making an appearance would’ve made the situation worse.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner? I’m sorry you heard that; she was out of line,” he said. “Us being together is making her anxiety hit the roof. She doesn’t want it getting leaked, but she has no right to question us.” His mind kept drifting to the tabloid he had tossed in the bin. “Thank you for standing up for me. I know you think of her as a friend. I don’t want to be the reason you’re fighting.” Phoebe’s book flopped closed.
“You never have to thank me. I don’t care if the whole world judges us so long as you’re happy. All I’m worried about is whatever I did to be lucky enough to be with you now,” he said.
“You’re so cheesy.” She wriggled up a little to kiss him. “I wish this trip didn’t have to end,” she breathed, and he couldn’t agree more. The beach was so crowded no one cared who they might be, though his tattoos had caused one or two kids to stare at the ‘scary’ man.
“I don’t want this trip to end either,” he confessed, putting his arm around her so she was on his chest watching him. He got the impression she was trying to read his mind.
“I don’t think we have a choice. I don’t want us to face Anita’s wrath if we extend it a few more days.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to ruin our perfect day with thoughts of tomorrow. Reality is the last place I want to be,” he said, wondering what would happen between them when they got home.
“One last glimpse of reality—I couldn’t find the tabloid she gave you?” Phoebe asked.
“You saw that? I put it in the recycling. I didn’t want you to see it.”
“Can you tell me? I don’t want to be surprised when we get home.”
“The story mostly talked about our cosy dinner. The headline was about the fan mail, but very little was said about it, only that you’d been sent ‘hate’ mail.” He wasn’t going to hide anything from her, but he wasn’t about to repeat the crass and tactless words the media used to defame her.
“I should’ve said something sooner. I figured it was that Gunther Sheen guy getting back at me for ruining his car. Some men can’t handle being bested by a woman,” she said. “The person who sent it clearly leaked it. They don’t just want to hurt me; they want to destroy my image and career and my relationship with all of you.”
“We can go to the police when we get home,” he said. “We don’t want to be accused of hiding evidence, even if you’re the victim.”
“What about the first story that was leaked? The break-in? Only the two officers knew, so it was either one of them or Sheen.”
“I’m leaning towards Sheen. I don’t think the police would risk their jobs over a couple hundred for the story,” he reasoned.
“Sheen said in the car park that he was paid off, but the cash envelope and instructions were waiting on his desk when he got back from Munich. Sheen left Munich only two days after the accident. I wasn’t even awake, my survival hadn’t even been confirmed, and the video of the wreck hadn’t been leaked. How could the sender of said envelope have known?”
“So, you’re saying, the person who paid Sheen, assuming he was even telling the truth, knew the accident was going to happen?” tried to follow her stream of thought. “Could someone have messed with his car? Cillian was the only one driving it. But no one knew you were coming, so was he the target? If they wanted him dead, why be angry about your survival and destroy your gallery?”
“This sounds insane. The rental company would’ve said in their report if something was wrong with the car for the insurance.” Phoebe sat up, wrapping her arms around her thighs.
“Not necessarily. With Cillian’s blood alcohol level and all the press, everyone was eager to wrap up the case quickly,” admitted. Had they let someone get away with murder, and now that person was targeting Phoebe? “The anger towards you could be because you weren’t meant to be there, but then the message in the gallery said ‘it should have been you’, which would make you the target then. My brain is starting to hurt.” rubbed his temples.
“We need to talk to Sheen, see if he lied about trashing the envelope and if he still has it. If the accident was planned, and they wanted to blame me by leaking the footage of the wreck and paying off Sheen, then the envelope would have been sent either just before the accident or the day of at latest,” Phoebe said, and he could tell she’d been playing this repeatedly in her mind. This was just the first time she was confiding her suspicions.
“Why would someone want to kill Cillian?” asked. Even if Cill had had a bit of an ego and loose morals, it didn’t make sense that someone would hate him enough to kill him.
“I don’t know, but we need to find Sheen and see if he was telling the truth about being paid off before we lose our minds on conspiracy theories. And if he doesn’t feel like being forthcoming, I still have my crowbar,” she teased, but the worry in her eyes told him how afraid she was.
“Let’s avoid violence, so we aren’t the ones who end up behind bars.”
“Fine, but is it bad that I prefer them focusing on the fan mail rather than a picture of us at dinner last night?” she asked, staring up at him as she leaned against his chest.
“Yes, because a photo of us together at dinner doesn’t risk these precious fingers.” He kissed her fingertips. “I could kill the person who sent those blades.”
“Don’t worry, they’re insured.” She smirked.
“Really? That was smart of your agent,” he said, not understanding why she looked so amused. As an artist, musical or not, it was reasonable to insure what made your living in case of accident or injury.
“I was teasing, because yours are.” She swatted at him, but he caught her hand.
“It’s no teasing matter.” He placed his palm against hers; his dwarfed hers. “I think they’re both equally important.”
He didn’t like that she had got rid of the evidence, but he understood her panic, given Anita’s attitude towards her since the gallery was broken into. He wished he had been there when Autumn called, so he could have asked about her detective friend. He would call her back—he had been too distracted when they’d got back from dinner to do it then. He was sure it was all just Sheen messing with them, but he wanted to be safe rather than sorry.
“On a scale from one to fifty, how likely is it that we’re going to receive a scolding when we get back?” groaned, soaking up what sun he could, wanting to memorise the sound of the crashing waves for when the others took a chunk out of them when they got home.
“How about we stay here? Throw our phones in the ocean and disappear from the world.” Phoebe scrunched her toes in the sand. “We could bury ourselves in the sand, where no one cares who we are. Fame fades—it wouldn’t be long before people forgot to care.”
“We could,” he tested, knowing her conscience wouldn’t let her. Not when her brother would see the photo of them, and the news about the hate mail.
“What about the band? You don’t want to leave the band, do you?” she asked, sitting up a little.
He knew August and Nick’s hearts would be broken if he left.
“They’d survive without me, and they can come and visit us.”
“Us?” She arched a brow.
“Sorry, I…” he stammered, not wanting to frighten her off.
“I like the sound of us,” she interrupted, resting her head on his chest. “But you love playing, and I know how much you care about the others. No matter what happens between us, I’ll never stand in the way of your dreams.”
God, if he didn’t want to throw her over his shoulder and take her home.
They stayed curled up together beneath the beach umbrella listening to the waves and enjoying the peace for as long as they could.