Chapter 24 #2
She’s not wrong. Once I manage to get it zipped up—a feat considering how little give there is in the dress, I admire my look.
My meager curves have all been amplified so I actually look like I have an hourglass figure, which I’m pretty sure I don’t.
Plus, I feel like it’s the first dress I’ve ever worn where my glasses look like a sexy accessory.
I do up my eye makeup and pile my hair in a bun on my head, and at the last minute, swipe on the ruby-red lipstick Sasha insisted I bring along too.
The whole effect—with the sheer black tights and heels—I’d call more slutty librarian on me, but I think it works.
I make my way down to the lounge—an adult-oriented place with a long wood bar in the center of the space with several tables on either side. Like everything on the main floor, the spot features a sky-high ceiling, along with a sheer glass window which gives a panoramic view of the ski hill outside.
Of course this gives me a flashback of Jude railing me against the glass looking out over this same hill, which makes my cheeks heat as I sit down at the bar.
“Madame,” the bartender says, gravitating to me immediately, setting a coaster and drink menu down before me.
He’s very handsome—tall and slim with deep brown skin and soft curls that dust the collar of his shirt.
He asks me in French if I’m expecting anyone, and when I say no, he responds in English.
“That is a surprise to me, miss.”
He gives me a wink.
On any other night, in any other universe, that would send a tingle of nerves down my spine.
But that would be a universe without Jude because that man has cornered the wink market. No other winks stand a chance after Jude bestows his dimpled smile and briefly blinks one of his sapphire blue eyes right at you.
But I’m here to not think about Jude. To enjoy a nice meal, read the murder mystery I haven’t cracked open in a full week, and maybe, possibly, use my newly awakened sexual prowess to see if I’ve magically been given the confidence to actually flirt with a stranger.
I order myself a gin martini—might as well live large—and the ragù. Then I scan the room, just to see who’s here.
And maybe to see if there’s anyone worth practicing my newfound game on.
The bartender is off making a group of woman giggle down at the far end of the bar, so it won’t be him.
It’s early still, and I know this place doesn’t really get going until later at night.
But there are still a scattering of guests throughout the space—a handful at the bar like me, and several groups at the tables.
While I’m looking, I hear the creak of a barstool behind me.
I force myself not to turn right away. The sound wasn’t right next to me.
But the bartender comes swaggering back, giving me a little grin as he passes, and I hear him greet the newly arrived patron.
I pull my book out and pretend to read, not daring to look over. But I sense a large shape a couple of stools down.
The voice that responds is deep and gravelly, the French accented. He’s ordered a beer and a steak.
Something ticks in me—a level of familiarity.
I bet he’s American.
While the bartender pours his beer, I sneak a peek.
The man is large all right, and wearing an impeccably tailored dark suit.
He’s looking down at something, has got a swoop of auburn hair, along with a neatly trimmed beard, and on his broad hand on the counter, no wedding ring.
His fingers though, they’re rough. Scarred.
The faintest hint of grease in the creases of his knuckles.
A mechanic, maybe? But why’s he in a gorgeous suit at a bar?
At this point, my interest is more investigative than anything else. What’s this guy’s story?
I think of Jude’s hands: his long, tapered fingers and neatly clipped nails. They look sexy when he holds anything. Especially parts of me.
Focus.
Nerves schism in my stomach. I should say something. I should be flirtatious. This is just practice. I close my book, angle my legs sideways, and cross one knee over the other, my heeled foot dangling. I’m about to open my mouth when I see an angry blond man striding toward me.
He’s still wearing his parka and boots from outside, which makes him look a lot wider than he is.
“Excuse me,” he says, dropping in on the seat on my opposite side. “What the fuck are you doing sitting here on your own looking sexy as fuck without me?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or actually angry.
The man on the other side of me makes a coughing sound and lowers his beer. Is he laughing?
I turn to Jude, keeping my voice low. “Okay, buddy. Since when are you Mr. Possessive?”
“Since you told me you were going on a fucking date, Nora. Are you with this fucking guy?”
My stomach clenches. “Jude! Shh!” I glance toward the man on my other side, but he’s looking down at his phone.
Is that a smile on his face? I can’t tell.
He’s still turned slightly the other way.
“No. I’m not.” I lean in. “Also, that guy looks like he could probably kill you, so maybe keep your voice down? Where’s Farrah and Cap? ”
“They’re having dinner. So you’re not on a date?”
I meet his eye. “You missed dinner?”
“I went to the restaurant, made sure that fucker wasn’t some kind of psychopath. I’m going to pick them up in an hour. You didn’t answer my question.”
“What?”
Jude looks at me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not on a date? You were just fucking with me?”
“I am on a date, Jude, with myself, and you just crashed it. You know you don’t get any say over whether I was on a proper date though, right?”
Jude looks taken aback. “Why not?”
Exasperation runs through me, but I’m keenly aware of that guy so close to us, very likely able to hear every word we’re saying.
“Can we have this conversation later?” I whisper.
“Why?”
I grit my teeth. “Jude, seriously? Have you always—”
“Yes,” the man on my right says.
We both turn his way.
“My brother’s always been this dense.”
He turns and fully faces this way for the first time, and that’s when my jaw drops.
“Griffin?” Jude says, incredulous.
My eyes go wide. Jude’s other brother is here? In Switzerland? Next to us at the bar in our resort??
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Griff apologizes.
“Not that I did, you just came barreling in here.” His eyes are on Jude, but he angles them to me.
“Sorry, Nora. I was going to make myself known, but it seemed like you were going to say something to me before golden boy came in like a bat outta hell.”
My cheeks heat. I was going to hit on Jude’s brother, is what I was going to do. “Hi,” I croak.
Jude’s on his feet, striding over to his brother. “Can’t just call first like a normal person?”
Griffin’s up too and they’re doing a big bear hug embrace with back pats. Jude’s got an inch or so on his brother, but Griffin’s broader, his muscly form more rough and wide while Jude’s is strong and lean.
Griff thrusts a hand out to me after, and when he shakes it, I feel like my arm’s going to wiggle off. “Hi,” I squeak.
I like Griff, I just hardly know him. I’ve only met him a few times. The rest is apocryphal.
“What the hell are you doing here, man?” Jude asks, coming back around to my other side. “Were you just in the area?”
“Sort of. Liechtenstein,” Griff says.
Jude frowns. “Licked her what?”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Jude, you must remember it from our geography lesson on the train, right?”
“Nora taught me a thing or two on the train over,” Jude says, winking.
My stomach flips and I know my face is red.
Luckily, Griff doesn’t seem to give a shit what our status is.
“I’ve got a client who was looking for a place to lay low.
” Griffin’s eyes go across the room to where a nerdy-looking man in his fifties, with glasses as thick as mine, sits hunched in the corner of the room, his menu held up in front of him.
The man’s eyes dart over to Griffin’s, and he seems to stiffen when he sees us.
But Griffin gives him a hand signal and he nods, looking back at his menu.
“This seemed like a place with discretion.”
“Yeah, this is a strict no-paparazzi zone.” Jude nods. Only Jude would know that.
Nobody knows what Griffin does, and Jude says he thinks there isn’t just one thing.
He’s got a cabin out in the forest near Quince Valley, with a big garage or workshop attached to it where he makes stuff.
For a while, Jude and his siblings speculated that he worked for some kind of security firm.
At one point, Jude was convinced he disarmed bombs.
He built his own radio when he was seven years old and always knew right away who did it in any whodunit.
But it’s clear to me that right now he’s playing protector to this guy.
“So are you his bodyguard?” Jude asks, pointing his chin at Griffin’s charge.
“Nah. Just transport.”
Now the man is digging through a messenger bag next to him. There’s something familiar about him at that angle, looking slightly away. “Gosh, he looks almost like—” I say, peering closer.
I snap my eyes back to Griff’s. “Wait, is that…”
“Yeah,” Griff says.
The man’s hair is a different color, and he’s shaved the goatee, but I recognize him as the man who’s been plastered all over the news back in the UK—a whistleblower for a big corporation accused of corporate fraud.
“Who?” Jude asks.
“The most wanted man in Europe right now! Not for a crime,” I clarify, explaining the situation to Jude as best I can.
“Oh yeah, they were talking about him at that party,” Jude says.
“But he is in danger,” Griff says.
“Is it safe for him to be out in the open like this?” I whisper, glancing around us. There’s no one sitting too close. But still. “Everyone’s looking for him.”
“Probably not,” Griff says, unaffected. “But I was hungry.”
I exchange a glance with Jude. He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even try to understand my brother.”
“Anyway…” Griff takes a swig of beer. “I came to say hi to you guys too. Was hoping to see Cap but I understand he’s in town.”
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Don’t ask questions you want answers to, either,” Jude tells me. “He just knows shit. Also, since when do you drop by to say hi?”
“Since I found this for you.”
Griff pulls out a manila envelope and slides it across the table to us. Jude reaches for it, but Griffin clicks his tongue. “Wasn’t talking to you.”
Jude scowls.
I take the envelope, grinning.
The bartender comes back then with my food and Griffin’s.
Jude eyes the bartender, then me, then narrows his eyes in an exaggerated look of suspicion. He slips his hand over my stockinged knee and whispers in my ear, “Were you trying to make me jealous, Shotgun Annie?”
A flutter runs through me that I try to ignore. I open the envelope. “No. I didn’t expect you to be here, remember?”
“Well, I am,” Jude says. “Have you even noticed the other men staring at you? Makes me want to show them who you belong to.”
My stomach swirls, and I look quickly to Griff. The bartender’s off helping someone else now, and he’s not looking at us, just chewing contemplatively on his food. But I swear I see a hint of a smirk on his face.
“I don’t belong to you, Jude.” I’m smiling, but there’s a trace of seriousness in my voice as I recall the reason I came down here in the first place.
“This week you do,” Jude says. There’s a hardness to his voice, like he’s been thinking the same thing I have, about how little time we have left.
Is he thinking about what comes next, too?
Jude looks down as he slides his fingers around my thigh, his hand slipping under the hem of my dress.
My heart flutters. His hand is warm up my skirt, and he’s so brazenly touching me in public with his brother right next to us. I place my hand on his and guide his hand out and back on the bar. “I can’t think like that,” I whisper.
I focus on opening the envelope as Jude curls his hand on the counter. After a moment, Jude pulls my plate toward him, stealing my fork too.
I don’t even try to stop him though, because I’ve emptied the contents of the envelope onto the bar top, and my jaw falls at what I see.
It’s a photograph of a cottage, nestled in some trees. Under that is a map, with coordinates, and some handwritten notes—or copies of them.
“Hey, is that…” Jude spins the photograph so he’s looking at it upright.
“The love shack,” I whisper.