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I was a son. A brother. I had everything until he took it away.
Utterly alone. An orphan.
So when the tub is full and he removes my sling, I do as I’m bid and step in, letting him do what he needs to do in this moment. “Here,” he says, collecting something from the side and holding it up. A waterproof arm protector. He’s got me covered. I let him slip it over my cast before I sink into the water as he climbs in the other end and slides down, submerging himself. He cups his hands and collects some water, splashing his face and pushing his hair back. “I need you to make a few promises,” he declares.
“I need you to make me a few too.”
His eyebrow quirks in amusement, and it’s so out of place for this moment. And yet completely us. “Is that right?” he asks.
“It is.”
“And what might those promises be?” His hands spread around my ankles under the water, and the water ripples with the subtle jerk of my body.
“You first,” I virtually pant, and he smiles.
“You be patient with me,” he says quietly.
“Why?”
“Because I have a lot more men to kill.”
I swallow, silently alarmed. “Do they all deserve to die?”
“They’re all in The Bear’s fold.”
Then they deserve to die. Simple. “Okay,” I say, not quite believing I’m having this conversation. Perhaps I do need to be committed because I seriously can’t be sane. “Anything else?”
“You stay here.”
“What?” I reply, quiet and unsure, and his hands clamp down further. “All the time?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you here.”
“To wind down after a kill?” I retort, staggered. And it hits me for the first time. The worry. The nerves. Every time he leaves, I’ll be a wreck, wondering if he’ll be coming back. Who he’ll be killing.
James scowls, unimpressed. “Stow away that sarcasm, Beau. Now isn’t the time.”
“Now’s the perfect time,” I say, half laughing. “When you’ve left me here, when you’ve disappeared, had errands to run, you were killing men, weren’t you?”
“I was working toward justice,” he grates.
“And the opera house? You left me handcuffed to a chair while you murdered someone. Why the hell did you take me?”
“It would look a bit suspicious if a man was alone at an opera.”
He’s right. Especially a man as good-looking as James. “So I was an alibi?”
“No, you were my date.”
“It wasn’t much of a date,” I retort, indignant. “I didn’t see all the performance, my date disappeared for twenty minutes to commit murder, and I was restrained.”
His smirk is faint but filthy. “You didn’t enjoy me eating your pussy?”
My mouth snaps shut and the elevator dings in the distance. We both look toward the bathroom door. “Details of your next kill, I expect,” I say quietly as he rises, the water pouring down his hard physique like it could be tumbling down solid, perfectly cut rocks. He steps out and leans over, slamming a hard kiss on my lips. “Make sure you soak.”
“I don’t need to soak.”
“You do. You also need to start doing as you’re told.”
“Fuck you.”
He smirks. Another hard kiss, and I stubbornly yank my face away. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re insolent.”
I look out the corner of my eye at him. Damn that cute half-grin. It’s about as much as I’ve ever had out of James Kelly. And then he places a hand on my head and dunks me. He actually dunks me! The coldblooded assassin, The Enigma, the silent, invisible killer, just fucking dunked me.
“James!” I gasp when I break the surface, using my one good hand to wipe the water from my face. “You asshole.”
He strides out of the bathroom. “Soak,” he calls back.
I snort, outraged.
But I smile the brightest I’ve smiled in years.
And I wonder . . .
Could James find who killed my mother and put an end to them too?
56
JAMES
Relief. God, it feels good. But I have to remember I’m getting ahead of myself. She knows. But she doesn’t know.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I walk to the kitchen to greet Goldie, and the second I clap eyes on her, my relief falls. “What is it?” I ask as she reaches into her pocket and slaps something on the table. Photographs.
Photographs of this building.
Of me.
And of Beau.
What the fuck? My heart jumps, and I turn on my heel and race back up the stairs, bursting into the bathroom. The tub is empty. “No,” I breathe, backing up, going to my office. No Beau.
“Where was she?” Goldie asks, joining me on the landing.
I march into my bedroom. “In the tub.” No Beau. “Fuck!”
“What?” Beau appears in the doorway to my dressing room, looking on in alarm. Even more so when she sees Goldie behind me. “What’s up?”
What is that leaving my body? It feels like ten tons of fear. Fuck…me. But, shit, I need to play this down. “Nothing’s up,” I say, adjusting my towel, cringing. Beau’s not stupid, and here I am treating her like she’s stupid. I peek at her and see what I knew I would. Disbelief. “You didn’t soak for very long.”
