Two #2
I watched him, saw his jaw tighten, observed the worry slide over him, creasing the space between his eyebrows into a scowl. Whatever the man on the other end of the line had said was not good.
“Trouble!” Eddie yelled suddenly, snatching the phone away from the man—his guardian—and yelling into it. “Cris, Miller’s men nearly put me on the fuckin’ pavement! If it wasn’t for my buddy, Jor— no! I was only talking to Nina at Duvall’s, and she—”
“Gimme the goddamn phone,” the bigger man growled, taking it back as I took a step away.
I wanted to go—I needed to go. I had that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that everything was going to go really bad, really fast. I needed to inject some normal into the situation from somewhere.
Eddie grabbed at his bodyguard’s phone, and I took that moment to turn and leave the patio, then walk quickly back out and rejoin the party.
Seconds later, I was absorbed by the crowd, across the room, and closing in on the front door.
I scanned the space fast, looking for Franklin, one last glance so I could say I checked, and then bolted for the door.
I had a very strongly developed sense of danger, and at that moment, it felt as though there was a red light going off over my head.
Outside in the hall, I took a breath.
“Jory.”
Turning, I found Eddie.
“Where are you going?”
We both heard the yell at the same time, saw the men spilling out of the elevator.
We both saw the blue windbreakers with the big yellow word POLICE in bold letters.
I grabbed his arm, yanked him forward, and started down the hall.
At the door that led to the stairs, I hit the panic bar, and it swung open.
He took a step to go down, but I knew about these things and yanked him back, tugging him after me to go up.
As we were almost through the door on the floor above us, we heard people coming up the stairwell.
Eddie looked down over the railing, but I shoved him forward, opening the door to push him through.
“What the fuck was all that?”
“I have no idea,” I answered as I rounded on him. “Who the hell are you guys?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, squinting, and then shrugged.
“I saved you,” I told him, “twice. You owe me an explanation.”
Heavy sigh as he shoved his hands down in the pockets of his dress pants and looked at me. “Okay, so I’m Eddie Liron, and Cristo Liron, he’s my brother.”
I waited.
“You never heard of Cristo Liron?”
I shrugged.
“Okay, so we have a construction business—well, my brother has a construction business. And he’s already in business with Peretti—that’s his place downstairs—and Adrian Miller.”
I had no idea who any of those people were.
“What does any of that have to do with the police raid downstairs?”
“They may think that Peretti and Miller and my brother are running guns and drugs.”
“Are they?” I asked him.
He grimaced.
“Are they?” I pressed him.
“Maybe.”
“Crap,” I groaned.
He gave me a hard two-fingered poke in the collarbone. “You tell anybody I said that, and you’re dead—you hear me?”
I arched an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry.” He deflated, and I realized how young he was. “Really.”
“Who the hell am I gonna tell?”
He shrugged before looking up and down the hall. “So, now what?”
“Now we go down the elevator to the first floor and walk out.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah. Why would anybody want you?”
“I dunno.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. Why?”
I groaned and headed for the elevator. He fell into step beside me, matching my quick stride, his hand finding its way to my shoulder.
“I’m thinking Peretti and Miller are screwed.”
“Maybe,” I agreed as we got in the elevator. “But it’s lucky your brother wasn’t there.”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah, that is lucky.”
On the street five minutes later, we got into separate cabs after he hugged me so hard that I thought my ribs were going to crack. I was glad to be headed home. It had been a really weird night.
“Jory!”
I looked at Michelle, who had gone white as a sheet. “What?”
“Jory, Cristo Liron, Adrian Miller—those are very scary men.”
“Are they?”
“Oh God.”
“What?”
Her mouth was hanging open. Lisa had the same expression on her face, and Hayes Fisher was just staring at me.
“What?”
“You’re like a train wreck, waiting to claim lives.”
I was not.
“You’re dangerous.”
“Who’s dangerous?”
The deep, resonant voice—rich, smooth, and warm while sounding crisp and cultured—was clearly amused. Even before I turned around, I knew who I would find.
“Hey.” I smiled up at my brother.
As always, his expression as he looked at me was a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
“What have you done now?”
“Me?”
Gray eyes warmed, turning to quicksilver.
I looked past him to the men he had with him—his best friend, Jude Coughlin; his brother-in-law, Alex Greene; and another good friend and my friend Aubrey’s husband, Rick Jenner.
They all greeted me happily, but before Dane could make introductions, Hayes stepped forward.
“Mr. Harcourt,” he said, drawing in a deep breath as he offered Dane his hand. “This is a pleasure. The homes you’ve designed are some of the best I’ve ever seen.”
Dane took the offered hand, but he scowled at the same time. It was his default, and Hayes had interrupted him talking to me. That was never good.
“Thank you.”
“I actually have an appointment to see you in another three months. I’ve been on the list for six.”
“A mere six?” he asked coolly.
Dane Harcourt understood what his time was worth.
Modesty did not live in the man. As one of the top architects in the country, he knew he was a desired commodity.
It was a sign you had arrived if you could afford to hire Dane Harcourt to design your home.
The rich and famous wanted him, but unless you were serious, you’d never see him.
He weeded out the nouveau riche and the frivolous; dealing exclusively with connoisseurs of architecture.
You had to be invested in quality to get an appointment, and even then, you waited.
It was a test, and only a slight number passed.
Those who did considered themselves to be in a very elite group.
“I’m looking forward to our meeting.”
“Yes,” Dane agreed that he probably was as he released the man’s hand.
“I had no idea that Jory here was your brother.”
Dane squinted then. “The same last name wasn’t a clue?”
“I didn’t even register it.”
“Interesting.” Dane sounded judgmental, which was never good. Had we been friends, I would have told Hayes to stop talking because Dane was, at that very moment, rethinking his appointment with the man.
I was going to say something when Dane returned his charcoal eyes to me. “How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Why are you dangerous?” he asked, ignoring my question, coming directly to the point, as was his trademark.
“What?” I really didn’t want Dane to know.
“Why,” he repeated, enunciating the word, “are you dangerous?”
“Jory was at Joshua Peretti’s last night before he died.”
I turned to look at Michelle, who’d blurted out all that.