Chapter Five
Remy
I watch Raven work the rest of the night, aware she has something extremely troubling on her mind. I saw her nearly crumble against her brother, my heart squeezing at her obvious pain.
The night drags on and when I realize I’m doing nothing but staring at Raven, I hole up in my office, going through the last case Zach and I handled.
A runaway teen we managed to rescue from her sleazy high school teacher, reunite with her family, and send the SOB to jail where he belongs.
We kept meticulous notes should the case go to trial and since I took lead on this investigation, it’s my job to wrap it up.
It also keeps my mind off Raven and the fact that if I dig into her background, I’ll be one step ahead of whatever the issue might be.
But then I’d lose her trust. So I work. Until my watch reminds me to stand and walk around. As I circle the office, I glance at the time.
Now, I can focus on Raven.
* * *
Raven
I reluctantly let Remy pull me away from work. I have no desire to talk about my brother or his imminent release from prison but I understand the necessity.
We grab an Uber to his apartment, located farther downtown in Chelsea. He’s silent on the ride over and I appreciate the time to think and figure out how to explain my past.
As we exit the vehicle and walk to the entrance of the building, a doorman greets Remy by name. Inside is a stunning lobby, complete with a large sitting area and a concierge desk with an attendant behind it.
Remy places his hand on my back as we stride through the marble lobby to an elevator set away from the main bank.
His touch burns through my lightweight work shirt but I can’t bring myself to step away.
He presses PH and I’m not surprised he probably owns the top floor or that the elevator opens directly into his apartment.
We step off the lift and the doors close behind us.
My brother resides in a brownstone on the Lower East Side and my mother and sister reside in Chappaqua, so of course I know of wealth, but I no longer live it.
After I testified against Lance, my mother took away my access to the trust fund I didn’t want anyway.
I’m self-supporting and proud of it but I don’t begrudge anyone their money, however they came by it. But I respect Remy’s work ethic and understand he didn’t need to buy into the bar or PI business; he chose to.
“This way.” He gestures farther inside the apartment and I follow him in. “Take off your shoes and get comfortable,” he says, toeing off his leather slip-ons I have no doubt cost a pretty penny.
I remove my black, sturdy sneakers that keep me as comfortable as possible while on my feet all day and sigh in relief.
“How does Chinese sound?” he asks.
My stomach lets out a growl of approval and my cheeks heat at the sound. “Chinese sounds perfect.”
“Good because I ordered it before we left the bar and the doorman put it in the kitchen.” He meets my gaze and winks.
My body reacts to his flirtation and I feel a definite kick of desire low in my belly. “What if I didn’t like what you ordered?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me as I follow him into the kitchen. The delicious smell of garlicky food beckons.
“Then I’d have asked you what you do like and we’d wait for delivery.”
I roll my eyes. The man likes to take control but in this case, I’m glad for it.
I take in the glory of the ultra-modern kitchen with white cabinets and stainless-steel appliances, all top of the line, of course. I help him bring the boxes of food—not into the adjoining dining room—but to the oversized living room with comfortable-looking furniture.
He instructs me to set them on the table in front of the taupe-colored sofa and wood-glossed table, then returns to the kitchen for glasses.
While he’s gone, I open the tops of the white cartons, careful not to spill the contents on his table, though clearly it wouldn’t bother him since we’re eating so casually.
“Wine, beer, soda or water?” he calls out.
“Soda is fine, thanks.” Though I’d love a stronger drink to get through this talk, I want to be sober and aware of what I tell him.
He returns, putting two cans of soda on the table, and puts the ice-filled glasses on coasters. Once again, he disappears into the kitchen, returning with stoneware plates, forks, knives, and napkins.
“There. All set.” He sits beside me on the comfy sectional. His thigh grazes mine but he doesn’t shift or move away. Neither do I.
He picks up each entrée and asks me if I want some, filling my plate as I nod, only passing on one dish.
“You don’t like shrimp?” he asks.
I shrug. “I love shrimp but it gives me a ridiculous stomachache.”
“Noted,” he says, as if he’ll need the information for the future. Which makes no sense to me.
Still, we eat in comfortable silence and again, I appreciate his sensitivity in letting me finish the delicious meal before pressing me for answers.
“That was so good,” I say, placing my dish on the table and leaning against the back cushion.
“It was,” he agrees. “It’s my favorite restaurant.”
I smile. “Well, good choice and thank you.”
“My pleasure.” The words roll off his tongue, causing my body to heat with awareness.
Knowing my response will only lead to trouble, I need distance. “I’ll just clean up.” I begin to stand but he puts a hand on my thigh. “Stay here. I’ll take care of the mess later.”
“But—”
“No.”
I sigh, knowing he’s not going to relent. “Okay. I take it now that you’ve fed me, you want to know what went on between me and Caleb earlier?” I push myself back, turning so now my knees brush his thigh and I face him.
“Actually, I thought we’d open our fortune cookies.”
I blink in surprise. This man never says or does what I expect. “I love fortune cookies,” I murmur. “Caleb and I used to read ours to each other when we were kids.” I recall the happy memory with a smile. There aren’t all that many.
I glance up and catch Remy studying me with interest, making me feel like he sees too much.
He reaches over, lifts the two wrapped cookies from the table, and holds them in the palm of his hand. “Pick yours.”
I choose one and we rip open their clear cellophane. I break my cookie and pull out the white note.
“You read first,” Remy says.
I flatten the paper in my lap. A quick glance has me wanting to groan but there’s no way out of it. “The man or woman you desire feels the same about you.”
He gives a low growl—of what, I wonder. Approval? Agreement? Either way, the sound rumbles from his chest and suddenly, the need I banked along with the memories of Remy deep inside me surface. “Who makes these things up?” I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
“Someone who believes in taking chances?” he asks, his gaze hot on mine.
“Read yours,” I mutter, hoping it’s a lot more generic.
He glances down and laughs out loud. “A good way to keep healthy is to eat more Chinese food,” he says, breaking the sexual tension that was heavy around us.
I grin at the quote, relieved our smoldering attraction has been put on the back burner. “Now can I clean up?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Now we can talk.”
* * *
Remy
The man or woman you desire feels the same about you. Raven’s fortune cookie was spot-on, I think. But that wasn’t why I brought her here. Of course, I wanted to enjoy dinner with her but I also wanted to give her a chance to relax before I press her for information.
I watch her twist her hands in her lap and wait as she works up the courage to talk. Whatever she has to tell me is going to be bad and I brace myself, warning myself not to react, to stay calm and give her support.
“Okay.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and blows out a long breath.
“I already told you my mom died when I was five and I have no idea who my father was.” She rubs her hands on her dark jeans.
“I ended up in foster care and then a miracle happened, at least according to the child welfare agent.” In truth, it’s a miracle she remembers that time considering how young she was, but her memory has always been good.
“I’m sorry you lost your mom.” I want to reach for her but she holds herself at an emotional distance and I sense my touch wouldn’t be welcome.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“What happened at the Kanes’?” I can’t figure it out. She seems to have a close relationship with Caleb.
“Lance happened.” She wraps her arms around her waist. “Caleb has a twin brother. Fraternal. They don’t look alike. And he’s a sociopath.”
“A sociopath,” I repeat, wondering if she’s possibly exaggerating her description.
“With everything that definition entails. Lack of empathy, no remorse, he delights in causing pain, and he’s mean.” She visibly shivers as she speaks. “And when he wants to get away with his behavior, he can be charming and manipulative. And worse, he’s my mother’s favorite child.”
I, too, shudder at the description, imagining Raven as a little girl growing up in that house without her mother on her side.
“But I had Caleb. He’s everything good in this world. He looked out for me and protected me when he could.”
I had a solid feeling about her brother and am glad to know my gut instinct still works. But her words chill me. “What do you mean, he protected you when he could?”
“Well, he couldn’t be home all the time, right? Lance would scare me, steal my things, return them broken and deny he did it. As I got older, he’d say sexually suggestive things and even sent me dick pics from a burner phone.” She rubs her hands on her pants and I understand her nervous energy.
“Raven, that’s—”
“Disgusting. I know. Of course, without his face in the pictures as proof, my mother insisted it was someone else. And my father… he was just weak and deferred to her. But Caleb always believed me.”
“Jesus.” Unable to help myself, I grasp her hand, pulling it onto my knee, careful to keep it a respectful distance from my own dick.