Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
CALEB
T he exquisite sensation of my cock being engulfed by warm and skilful lips.
A talented tongue expertly teases and explores the sensitive underside, before moving to my slit.
I moan, lowering my hands and gripping hair as my hips thrust off the mattress.
An incessant buzzing pulls me out of the moment and from my dream.
Is that my phone?
It stops only to start again a second later.
I prise open my eyes to stare at a room, not my own. Although I recognise it, which is a positive.
Tristan’s spare room.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, my head spinning.
How much did I have to drink last night?
I search for my clothes. My jeans lie on the floor in a heap. The night before comes creeping back as the endorphins of my morning wake-up wear off. I pinch the top of my nose to stem the headache that is threatening to split my skull in two.
My phone rings off again as I pull it from my jeans.
I stare at the screen.
06:30
Shit , I need to get ready for the office.
There are twenty missed calls from Wes. Bloody hell, is this the apocalypse?
Please tell me he’s not grovelling after Friday’s ambush.
I run a hand through my hair. The fact I slept through that number of calls indicates it must have been a good night, although the details are a little hazy. It’s then I notice someone has switched it to silent.
There is a knock on the door, and Tristan enters carrying a steaming cup of coffee before grimacing at my naked form.
“God… put some clothes on,” he huffs, shielding his eyes with his free hand. “I thought you might need this,” he says, indicating the coffee and the two painkillers he has placed on the side.
“My phone?” I ask, grabbing my jeans and pulling them on.
He grimaces.
“Sorry about that. You were out for the count,” he says. “When I couldn’t wake you… You really went for it last night.”
I groan, snippets of the night before coming back to me. I’d come back from the track yesterday. I’d been right. Racing at high speed had worked as a distraction, or at least I thought it had. Tristan called and asked me to join him at a club he’s looking at purchasing.
“Thanks,” I say, memories of my dream fading fast, being replaced by those from the night before. I’d gone to Tristan’s for a few drinks and to catch up with my friend. It had clearly been a long night .
Tristan leaves me to finish getting ready.
I grab my t-shirt and coffee before dialling Wes’s number.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he yells down the phone.
I flinch as his voice shoots through my tender head.
“Remember who you’re talking to,” I say calmly. “What has you screaming at six thirty in the morning?” I ask.
“There’s been a major fire.”
His words get my attention, a sinking feeling taking root in the pit of my stomach.
“Where?”
“Sunny Down. The entire building has gone up. The roof collapsed. Firefighters have been working all night to get the blaze under control, trying to stop it from spreading to the surrounding buildings.”
“I’m on my way,” I say.
Tristan appears at his bedroom door.
“Thanks for last night,” I tell my friend. “There’s been an incident at the development site. I’ve got to go.”
“Anytime. You’ve put me up enough,” Tristan says. “I hope everything is okay.”
I smile.
Ain’t that the truth.
“Oh, and Caleb, whoever she is…”
My eyes clash with my friend's. He knows me well enough to know that drinking my issues away is not me.
He laughs. “Don’t panic, you haven’t said anything. All I’m saying… if you need to talk… I’m here.”
I nod and turn to the door.
What the fuck?
I’ve never discussed April. They’ve always fished, known, or at least suspected something happened in New York, but I’ve never confirmed or denied.
I turn and leave, hailing a cab as soon as I hit the street. It will be faster than waiting for Mason to arrive. Instead, I shoot him a message telling him to meet me at Sunny Down.
“Sunny Down,” I say as I get into the back.
“Mate, I’m not sure how close you’ll get. There’s a major fire. They’ve diverted all of us.”
“It’s my building, so as close as you can make it,” I say before sitting back.
My phone buzzes again. This time, I answer it almost immediately.
“I’m on my way,” I say.
“Prepare yourself. It’s a wreck,” Wes says.
Not one to exaggerate, I hate to think about what I’m going to find.
“It’s a miracle that no one was injured. Thank God, it was during the night. According to the fire officer, there was only one woman in residence. She escaped by climbing through one of the back windows.”
“Who?”
An icy dread shoots up my spine.
There’s a mumbling on the other end of the phone.
“Your new bestie, April Wilson.”
My chest constricts.
“Is she…”
“She’s fine. She gave a statement and left. She was working late and fell asleep at her desk, according to the statement she gave to the police. And Caleb, just so you’re aware. They haven’t ruled out arson.”
Wes’s attitude towards April is grating on my nerves. He’s treading on dangerous ground. Although I have to admit, why was she on site so late? Especially on a Sunday night.
The taxi makes it in record time. Dropping me around the corner. I approach the burnt-out shell of the building that once housed the dance school, a cafe, and a garage. The smouldering building still sending toxic fumes into the air .
“Excuse me.”
A man approaches.
“I’m Caleb Frazer,” I say, holding out a hand. “I own the building.”
“Ah, Mr Frazer, your colleague is over here. We’re still trying to find out what caused the fire,” he says.
“Thank you. I look forward to hearing your findings.”
I make my way over to Wes.
He looks up from his phone.
“You look like hell. A good night?” he asks, smirking.
“It was okay. I met Tristan at his latest venture. He’s looking at opening a club,” I say, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
Wes’s mouth twists at my words. “Always had the Midas touch, that one. All your Kingland Playboy Posse do.”
He smiles, but there’s no hiding the bitterness in his tone.
I decide to change the subject. He is, after all, my right-hand man. His relationship with my friends, or lack of it, holds no sway here.
“So, what do we know?”
“Not much.” His lips purse. “They think the fire started in the cafe, along the wall connecting it to the dance studio. They will need to carry out further investigations to confirm.
“Where is April Wilson now?” I ask.
“Don’t know. The police took her statement, and she left.”
Wes shrugs.
I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but refrain.
“Do we have an address?” I say, trying hard to keep my cool.
“No,” he replies.
I grit my teeth.
“I’m going to head into the office,” I say. “There’s nothing I can do here. Let me know if anything else comes up. ”
Wes nods, and I walk away, heading back to where the taxi dropped me.
I pick up my phone and dial.
April’s phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again and again, but the same thing happens. I dial another number, which is picked up on the third ring.
“Caleb.” Elijah’s dulcet tones come down the phone.
“One of the buildings i'm buying burned down last night. I need all the information you’ve collated on April Wilson. She’s the only one who was in the building.”
“Shit. Is she okay?” he asks.
I’m surprised at my brother’s concern.
“She got out, but I need an address.”
I can hear him moving around on the other end of the phone.
“You’re going to have a problem with that. From what my private investigator uncovered, her home was the dance studio. It looks like she’s been living out of her office.”
I stop in my tracks. “What?”
“The dance studio was her home. He made an appointment, pretended to want to enrol his daughter. Her office had a sofa bed and a storage box filled with clothes.”
A pounding starts in my ears. “Why was he looking through her things?”
“He’s a PI, Caleb. It’s what he does,” he says patiently. “He was following her, and when she never left. He was simply confirming his suspicions.”
I must growl because Elijah hits back.
“Don’t take that tone. You asked for her to be investigated.”
I rub a hand over my face, my head pounding again.
“Sorry, it’s just?—”
“Look, the only place I can think she’d go is to see Samuel Lyon. She appears low on friends. She may return to her foster parents, but she left there at eighteen, and although they’re close?—”
“Foster parents?”
“What do you actually know about this woman?”
Relatively little, obviously.
When I don’t answer, Elijah continues. “She was in the foster system from three. Look, I’ll send you over what I have. It’s too early to be sat here discussing some woman you have, well, whatever. Especially when I’ve only managed one coffee this morning.”
I stare at my phone.
Foster system.
I squeeze my head at my temples as those two words spin around in my head. It explains her attachment to the kids in this neighbourhood, wanting to help them.
“Send it across. I’m going to head home. Forward me anything you have on Samuel. I’ve met him, so I can call him.”
“Done. And Caleb?—”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just take care,” Elijah says, in an unlike Elijah way.
I stare at my phone.
What? No grumpy retorts.
I don’t get my older brother sometimes.