Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Three days later…
The ballet had been canceled. How could it not be canceled? The artistic director was in jail, charged with murdering one of the dancers. And, according to the authorities, Micah Wright was a person of interest in the deaths of three other women.
Violet stood on the stage and stared out at all the empty seats. The theater felt huge. Cavernous. There was no music. No applause. No dancers gliding across the stage as they tried to create some magic for the attendees.
There wasn’t any magic in the theater. Standing on that stage just made her feel sad.
“Violet?”
She jerked at the call of her name. Her head turned to the right, and a man stepped from the shadows on the stage.
“Violet Murphy.” He advanced slowly. “I don’t think we’ve formally met.” He wore khakis, a crisp, white shirt, and a blue blazer. “I’m Leo Barnes.” His hand extended toward her. “Dr. Barnes. I’ve been, uh, hired to help the crew during this time of upheaval and grief.”
Dr. Barnes. The name clicked for her as she automatically extended her hand. “You’re the psychiatrist.”
The backers behind the show had given the cast and crew a compensation package—and they were also encouraging everyone to get counseling. Because when your boss turns out to be a killer who murders one of your castmates, that could leave a psychological mark or two on your psyche.
Violet didn’t want to think too much about her battered psyche. She wanted to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. If she thought too much about everything that had happened—about Simone—she was afraid that she might start crying and not stop.
His fingers lightly squeezed hers, and then he let her go. “Yes.” A nod of his head. The light hit on his brown hair. His warm, green eyes studied her with a hint of sympathy. “I’m the psychiatrist. I heard a lot of the crew were here, cleaning out dressing rooms and lockers, and I just wanted to see if I could be of any assistance to anyone.”
There were plenty of others in the theater—not out front, in the seats. But backstage. Picking up the remains of a show that would never be.
“You haven’t scheduled an appointment with me,” he noted carefully.
“No, I haven’t.” She looked back at the empty seats.
“I don’t bite.”
Her gaze cut to him.
He sent her a quick, friendly smile. “I’m sure the other dancers can attest to the fact that I’m a very good listener.” Again, sympathy flashed in his eyes. “Of everyone here, you’re the one who should be getting the most attention.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? Or do you just tell people that so they won’t realize how close you are to the edge?”
Her sweaty palms pressed to the front of her jeans. Had he felt the sweat when they shook hands?
“It’s okay not to be fine, Violet. It’s okay to feel guilty that you’re alive.”
She flinched.
“Survivor’s guilt.” He nodded. “Completely natural. It’s okay to feel that guilt. It’s okay to feel angry. To feel vengeful. It’s okay to want to scream and cry and rage at the world.” He didn’t move any closer to her. “I can be your safe space. You need to talk with someone.”
“Micah told me to go and see you.” He’d even given her the doctor’s card. Violet was pretty sure she’d lost it.
He winced. “Well, I can get where that would hardly be a ringing endorsement for me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“If you would prefer to talk with someone else, I have the names of several colleagues I could recommend for you,” Leo offered. “There are some wonderful counselors in the area. I just—I truly want to help. I’ve been a long supporter of the arts here in Savannah.” And this time, his gaze darted to the theater seats. Or rather, to the boxed seats in the right corner. “My late wife loved the show. We always had season tickets. Coming here still reminds me of her.”
His late wife? “I’m sorry for your loss.”
His stare lingered on the box. “Grief hits us all in different ways. Sometimes, we think we’re in control.” His green gaze slid back to her. “But then the pain will sneak up on us at the oddest times. It’s impossible to be strong every moment.” His lips curled down. “You don’t have to face the darkness alone.”
“She’s not alone.” Royal’s strong voice. He came from stage left, emerging from the shadow of the red curtains there, and Violet wondered just how long he had been watching and listening.
The wooden stage creaked lightly beneath his steps as he crossed to them.
Leo’s eyes widened. “Royal Boudreaux. The hero of the hour.” He extended his hand to Royal. “I’ve seen the news stories on you.”
“Don’t like that title at all.” Royal stared at the offered hand, then slowly took it. “I didn’t do anything. Violet saved herself. She’s the one who stabbed the asshole.”
“Well, from what I saw Violet tell the media, she views you as quite the hero. I’m Dr. Leo Barnes, by the way. Don’t think our paths have crossed before.”
“Violet knows exactly what I am. And what I’m not.” He released Leo’s hand and his attention shifted to Violet. “Kai put the stuff from your dressing room in the car. We’re ready whenever you are.”
Right. She’d asked for a few moments so she could just say goodbye to the stage. No, not the stage. To Simone. To the life Violet had known before. Was that weird? Did it even matter if it was?
“Take as long as you need, sweetheart,” Royal added. “There’s no rush.”
He’d been at her side for the last few days. Watching. Worrying. But the threat had passed. She was safe. She knew he couldn’t stay by her side all the time. He had his businesses. His life.
She had hers.
They hadn’t talked about the future yet. What would the future look like? He’d offered her protection, but she didn’t need that any longer.
I still need him, though. Violet thought that she just might always need him.
“I was offering my services to Violet,” Leo explained when the silence stretched a little too long. “I’m a psychiatrist. I’m helping to counsel some of the other cast members. Thought Violet might need someone to talk with.”
“She’s got me,” Royal returned, voice flat.
Leo laughed softly. “I’m sure she does. But a significant other can’t always provide the assistance that a trained psychiatrist can. When nightmares come, when the flashbacks won’t stop, Violet might like to speak with someone who has professional expertise.”
The nightmares still come. Last night, she’d woken up screaming. Convinced that she was in the trunk of the sedan once again.
“Surely, you would permit Violet to seek the help she needs?”
“I don’t permit Violet do to anything. She does whatever the hell she wants. Always. I’m just there to make sure no one hurts her while she’s doing what makes her happy.”
“That’s an excellent response,” Leo praised. “So good to have a supportive partner.”
Royal grunted. “I’ve seen your face before.”
Violet caught the flash of surprise in the doctor’s eyes.
“Excuse me?” Then Leo smiled again. “Well, I have been trying to help the other?—”
“It was the night I danced with Violet. The charity dance. You were there.”
“Uh, yes, yes, I was.” A bob of Leo’s head. “I donate quite substantially to the ballet in Savannah. My wife was a dancer in her youth, until a bike riding accident ended her career when she was just seventeen. She’d always dreamed of dancing on a stage, with the lights all around her. Since that dream couldn’t come true, Vanessa worked diligently to make sure that dream could be possible for others.” A soft sigh. “We both always supported the arts as much as possible.”
“His wife passed away,” Violet said.
“I know,” Royal returned.
Not really the expected response. He was right at her side now, so she elbowed him. When you hear that someone has lost a loved one, you’re supposed to offer condolences.
After her poke, Royal added, “I heard you talking to the blonde who was at your side the night of the charity dance. She was speaking about your wife.”
“You have a very good memory,” Leo noted.
“I do.”
“And you don’t really care about the polite conventions of society at all, do you?”
“Not at all.”
Violet elbowed him again.
Brows raising, Royal peered at her. “Is that your sign that you’re ready to go?”
Heat flushed in her cheeks. “Sure, yes.” Whatever. “Nice to meet you, doctor.”
“Let me give you my card. In case you change your mind about my help.” He reached into his blazer and pulled out a business card. He extended it toward her.
Violet took the card. Their fingers brushed.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Leo told her. “I can keep your secrets.” His gaze slid to Royal. “I can keep secrets for both of you.” He straightened his already straight blazer. “Be careful when you leave. The reporters just won’t give up, will they? Saw them out front and out back.” He turned on his heel and strode back toward the side of the stage.
“Royal,” she began, voice low, “you’re supposed to say sorry. ”
“Why? I didn’t kill his wife.”
Her eyes widened. Her hand flew up—the hand not holding the business card—and she pressed her fingers over his mouth. “ Don’t!”
He stared at her.
Then his tongue slid out and licked her palm.
She immediately snatched her hand back. “You…you were doing all that deliberately. Being difficult.”
“Difficult?” Royal seemed to taste the word. “Probably.” A nod. “Definitely.”
“His wife died. ”
“I saw him at the charity dance.”
“Yes, you said that already?—”
“I saw him when you first appeared on the staircase that night.”
Something about his tone had her tensing.
“He looked like he could eat you alive.”
Her mouth fell open. Then snapped closed. “You’re wrong.”
“No. I understood his expression because I knew that I was looking at you the same way. Didn’t like the prick from that moment onward.”
“I—” She tried to regain control of the conversation. She also glanced to the side, and, dammit, Leo was still close enough that he’d probably overheard. Mostly because Royal had made no attempt to lower his voice. “You’re wrong, I’m sure.”
Royal shrugged. “Don’t think so.”
She shoved the business card into her pocket.
“Don’t like him sniffing around you.”
“He was offering help.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re in a mood, aren’t you?”
“A mood?” Royal seemed to choke on those words.
“Yeah, you’ve been extra growly and dark all day. Ever since I said I needed to come by the theater and pack up. Look, the show isn’t running—everyone agrees it’s basically cursed. I had to pack up so I could leave?—”
His growl broke through her words.
“Leave,” she repeated, deliberately.
He growled again.
Her eyes widened. “Is…is that what this is about? You’re worried about me leaving?”
“You have to leave town, sooner or later. Just didn’t realize you were planning to go so soon.” He took a step away from her. “I think I want to have another word with the good doctor.”
She grabbed his arm. “I’m not planning to leave town yet. The ballet’s board of directors actually indicated they might want me staying on to potentially help direct the next production.” Her heart was suddenly racing. And not just at the idea of getting a chance to organize and direct a show. Again, choosing her words deliberately, she told him, “I’m not planning to leave you.” Did he want her gone? The thought had her stomach knotting.
Royal turned to steel beneath her touch. “Probably not the place to have this discussion.”
He was—probably—right. But she’d started and couldn’t seem to stop. “You saved my life here.”
“And you saved mine in that fucking winery.” Low, just for her.
“Wh-what?” Violet shook her head. He was wrong. “I didn’t. You were the one rescuing me.”
“All depends on how you look at it.” And, suddenly, he was looking straight at her. Seeming to look into her. “I was headed straight to hell, sweetheart, and I knew it.”
No. “Royal…”
“Then I met you. Touched a piece of heaven.” His knuckles skimmed down her cheek. “But the devil isn’t meant to keep heaven with him, is he?”
Her hand grabbed his wrist. Held tightly. “You aren’t the devil.”
“Then who the hell am I?”
This was simple. “You’re mine.”
His long, dark lashes flickered.
“Just like I’m yours.” She edged closer to him. Her head tilted back as she stared up at him. “You were right. This probably isn’t the place for this talk.”
A muscle jerked along his jaw. “You done here?”
“For now.”
His hand twisted, fell, and then he was holding her hand clasped within his much stronger grip as he led her off the stage. Not down the front steps, but through the curtain and through the snaking, twisting halls in the back. They didn’t stop at her dressing room. Though she had a sudden, vivid memory of the two of them in there, together. He kept going, never slowing, and soon they were right in front of the rear theater door.
“Ignore any reporters,” he told her gruffly. “Doesn’t matter what they say. We keep going. Bastards have been digging into my past, and they’re going to throw a ton of BS our way. I can explain everything they say about me. I will explain everything.”
“Or you don’t have to explain a single thing.”
His head wrenched toward her.
“I trust you,” she told him simply. The total truth.
“Why?” Ragged.
Oh, that was simple, too. Her lips parted to reply.
“No, dammit, I’m getting you out of here. If you say something sweet and sexy, I’ll go crazy and try to fuck you right here.” He sucked in a breath. “I’ve been trying to be good the last few days. You were grieving. You needed care. You still need it.”
“I need you.”
A jerky nod. “You’re gonna get me.”
Finally.
He shoved open the door. Sure enough, plenty of reporters were waiting. The theater had extra guards on hand, but some of the other dancers didn’t seem to mind the reporters. In fact, plenty of people were talking eagerly with the press.
Royal guided her past Dante, and she heard her former co-star tell a redhead with a microphone, “Yes, yes, I was there when the light came toppling down on the stage.” He shuddered. “Horrifying. But not nearly as horrifying as learning that Simone was killed by Micah. We trusted him.” A sigh. “You just can’t ever know someone, can you?”
Violet’s steps hurried forward.
But the reporters had noticed her. And Royal.
“Royal!” A shout from a man on the right.
“Boudreaux!” From a woman in dark blue.
“Is it true that you were questioned in conjunction with the murder of Will—” The question was cut off, mostly because so many other voices were suddenly blasting over the reporter’s voice.
“Violet, Violet!” The woman who’d been interviewing Dante dashed toward her. “Were you aware that your hero was suspected of murder?”
She could see the limo. Kai was already out of the vehicle. Glaring at the crowd. She’d talked to Kai more in the last few days. He’d moved to Savannah from Hawaii a few years before, gotten a job with Beau and become tight with both Beau and Royal. He was quiet, unless he was ragging on his two best friends, and the man had been a steady—and intimidating—guard since the world had come crashing down on Violet.
“Violet!” Another reporter had his phone up and on her. The phone partially blocked his face as he filmed. “Is it true that you and Micah had a sexual relationship?”
That question had come often in the past few days. She’d denied it, over and over again.
Now, she just pushed forward.
“Royal!” A man stepped into her path. Gray suit. Sunglasses that threw Violet’s reflection back at her. “Royal, I need to talk with you about your family!”
She heard Royal’s rumbling growl behind her.
This man wasn’t filming. No microphone. No phone clutched tightly in his hand. Instead, he was just standing there.
“Get out of the way,” Royal snapped at him.
“ Your family wants to see you. ”
Her heart lurched in her chest even as she staggered to a stop. His family? The family that had abandoned Royal all those years ago? She glanced back. “Royal?”
Fury marked every line and plane of his face. “I’m not dealing with bullshit. Get out of the way or I move you,” he told the man.
Her head whipped back around.
The stranger stepped to the side. Probably a wise choice.
Kai grabbed Violet’s hand and hauled her forward. He tucked her into the back of the limo even as she looked back and saw Royal lean in close to the stranger.
What is happening?
“I’m not dealing with bullshit,” Royal told the stranger, completely aware that his voice had gone low and lethal.
Sweat trickled down the man’s cheek. “I-I was sent by your family.”
Royal laughed. “Do you know how many of my family members have reached out to me in the last few days?” He knew others would pick up his words, and he didn’t care. “Not in the mood for the scam today. Go try your luck somewhere else.”
“But—”
But nothing. Royal strode away.
“My employer isn’t the kind of person you tell no.”
What the hell was that? A threat? Laughter spilled from Royal as he whirled back to face the older man. “No,” he said clearly. “You can quote me on that to your employer.” Then he climbed into the limo. Kai slammed the door behind him.