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The ring he’d wanted nothing more than for her to wear.

“You should have that.” Her throat bobbled. “For safekeeping.”

Nodding, he fisted his hand around the sapphire and went to the door before he lost the ability to leave. “When you’ve made up your mind, you know where to find me, Red.”

Chapter 29

Welcome to the jungle.

Michael set off for Malachi’s address in Encino after the show the next night. Lila had pulled her strings and gotten Jazz to sit in again, because Ryan needed time to heal and it was the frigging Troubadour. Mention a place with history like that and most musicians would give their left nut to perform there.

Jazz hadn’t offered up any appendages, but she’d been happy to assist them. Molly had also been much sweeter toward her sister, since she’d finally realized that they were—to borrow an oft used term—up shit creek without a drummer.

The show had gone off without a hitch, and also without any unexpected fires. Ever since they’d performed at the Blue Rhino, older places made him nervous. He hadn’t started having to carry Mylanta yet, but it still could happen.

At least they’d been able to salvage most of the Rhino, and they’d remodeled a significant portion of it to boot. Lila had made noises about Warning Sign booking another show once it reopened, but Juliet had been adamant about a different lighting crew overseeing things. For a former Boston blue blood, she could pull out some pretty colorful language when needed.

And when it wasn’t.

Harper’s brother Randy hadn’t been to blame for the fire, but jeez, to hear Juliet talk about the guy she still called Sparks, anyone would’ve thought he’d been back at the board with a blowtorch or something.

Michael rued the day those two crossed paths again, if they ever did.

The drive to Encino was uneventful. Evidently, traveling after midnight was a good choice, because the freeways were emptier than he’d ever seen them.

He didn’t turn on music. His only accompaniment was the hiss of the wind through the crack he’d left in the window. He was as awake as he always was after a show, amped and full of energy to burn. That usually led to him finding some cute chick to fuck, but not tonight.

Tonight he was going to see his brother if Mal was still where he’d last lived. If he wasn’t, Michael woul

d drive to the nearest hotel and crash.

The one thing he had no intention of doing? Drinking. He might end up tossing back the contents of the water bottles stacked on his passenger seat, but that’d be all he chugged.

He pulled up at Mal’s old apartment building and cut the engine. The place looked pretty snazzy from the outside. Michael remembered it had a huge pool and tons of amenities, but he also recalled that Mal had picked the cheapest apartment in the place and lived like a bachelor’s miser cousin. Sparse hadn’t been the half of it. In the old days, Mal had barely had a bed, some stuff on the walls—always weird crap like old bicycles or a sombrero he’d picked up in Mexico—a couch and a TV. And his drum set. He’d said that was part of the décor too.

Sure it is, brother.

Michael dug out the apartment number on his phone and went to the lobby to deal with security. He asked if Malachi Shawcross still lived there and got the stonefaced response typical at such places. They weren’t swayed by Michael’s ID revealing the same last name either.

What worked, however, was ringing apartment twenty-two and asking the desk to inform Mal that Phil Collins would like to come up.

Hey, Mal might not admit in public that Phil was his favorite drummer since his friends preferred Lars Ulrich or Dave Lombardo, but Michael knew the truth. And he used it.

He was buzzed upstairs, effectively answering the question if Mal still lived there. He took the stairs to the second floor and knocked on his brother’s door, pushing his way inside without a hello once it opened.

And came face to face with a naked woman.

“Well, hello there. Mal asked me to get the door. Who are you?” The amply endowed brunette trailed a finger over Michael’s still faintly damp T-shirt. He’d hopped right in the car without a shower.

That was him, always making a great impression.

“I’m his younger brother, Michael.”

“I thought your name was Phil?” She wrinkled her nose then waved it off and shut the door. “Anyway, I’m Lucretia. Mal’s in the shower. Want a snack while we wait?”

Since she appeared to be offering him her body as the platter—or at least that was the vibe he got—Michael shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“So tell me about yourself. Look at those biceps.” She wrapped her fingers around Michael’s upper arm and squeezed until he detangled himself and aimed for the couch. “You’re in a band. I smell it on you.”

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