“Okay, okay, we’re going.”
He carried her upstairs despite her protests, then got her a drink while she dressed for bed. Or rather, didn’t dress. When he slid in beside her, she wasn’t wearing a thing. Be still his twitching dick.
Or maybe not. Beth palmed him through his pyjama pants, and the temperature in the room rose a notch.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Keeping his hands off Beth had been hard, as had other parts of his anatomy, but he didn’t want to push her.
“I’m sure. But I haven’t been taking my pills for the last few days, so…”
Alaric almost suggested she didn’t bother taking them ever again, but it wasn’t the right time for that, not if they were continuing the search for Emerald.
“Bradley keeps the bedside tables well stocked. Flavoured or ribbed?”
“I have to choose?”
Oh, Beth. His filthy little temptress. He’d fuck her six ways from Sunday, Monday, and every other day of the week.
“No, sweetheart. You’ll never have to choose.”
“Been a hell of a week,” Emmy said over breakfast.
She had three cups lined up beside a pain au chocolat—espresso, Americano, and cappuccino.
“Got enough caffeine?”
“Why choose?”
That was going to be Alaric’s new motto. He could actually do with a coffee himself with the amount of sleep he hadn’t got last night. Just thinking about it made him yawn.
Emmy pushed the espresso in his direction. “Here. You look as if you need this more than I do. What did you want to discuss?”
“Emerald. You really found Dyson?”
“Yes, we really did.”
Emmy passed her tablet over, and Alaric found himself looking at a picture of the man who’d starred in his nightmares for eight long years. Killian Marshall. In the headshot, he didn’t look like a master criminal. Wearing a collared shirt and V-neck sweater, he looked like the guy who shovelled snow off his neighbour’s drive in the winter and barbecued for the grandkids in the summer. The caption framed him as a local philanthropist.
“Whoa. Not quite what I was expecting.”
“We got a bit sidetracked so we haven’t done much research yet, but Mack’s found out the basics. Marshall was born in Penngrove, but he moved away to attend university—he read Art History at Cambridge.”
“Smart guy.”
“Yup. Then he did a year as an assistant at Sotheby’s before moving to…care to guess?”
“Tell me.”
“Pemberton Fine Arts.”
“He worked for Beth’s old boss? You’re kidding?”
“I’m not.”
Fuck. Alaric put his head in his hands and groaned. “That old bastard Pemberton’s in this deeper than we ever imagined. If we’d just shaken him down in the first place…”
“It didn’t make sense at the time. And by following Hegler, we ended up solving a murder as well as getting Red After Dark back and finding Marshall. Plus Marshall only lasted a year at the Pemberton gallery. He worked for another dealer in New York afterwards—Jago Rockingham—and if I had to guess, I’d say that’s where he crossed the line. Rockingham was a major player twenty-five years ago, until…”
“He got shot in the head at his home one night,” Alaric finished. He’d heard stories about Rockingham from his former boss on the FBI’s Art Crime Team. Rockingham’s client list had included bankers, musicians, politicians, actors, heiresses, oligarchs, and the odd Mafia boss. He’d been larger than life, attending every party and opening the Big Apple had to offer, always with a different girl on his arm. The police classed the murder as a burglary gone wrong, but there were rumours he’d double-crossed one of his clients.
Had Marshall taken over the shadier side of his business?
“Wonder if Marshall had a hand in the shooting?” Emmy mused. “Or was it merely a convenient accident?”
“I guess that’s a question we’ll have to ask him. But I need to take a week or two first. Beth and Rune, they’ve been through hell, and I can’t just up and leave them right now.”
“I don’t suppose he’s going anywhere. You and Beth are really serious, huh?”
“I’m going to marry her.”
Emmy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Wow. I’m really happy for you, both of you, but that’s…sudden.”
“It’s right.”
“Have you set a date?”
“Ten weeks, three days, and two hours. At least, that’s when I’m gonna put the engagement ring on her finger.”
“That’s very precise.”
“She said to ask her in three months. I have a countdown alarm set on my phone.” Alaric took a sip of coffee. Fuck, that was strong. “You and Black seem to be getting along again. Is everything okay now?”
“He still has a few issues to work through, but he’s trying.”
Alaric had a feeling he was one of the issues. Black had been noticeably nicer to him since the fight, but he wasn’t going to put Emmy in an awkward position by mentioning it.
“I’m glad. We both deserve happiness, Cinders.”
“Sometimes, it feels like the universe is out to get us.”
Yes, it did, but sometimes, the sun shone down.
“You versus the universe? I feel sorry for the universe.”
Emmy drained her second cup of coffee and pushed her chair back. “Go be with your girls. Me and Black can start planning Operation Killian Marshall tomorrow.”
F.A.S.T.
I just wanted to take a moment to remind you of the symptoms of a stroke. By remembering these and acting quickly, you might save someone’s life:
F - Face drooping or numb. Is the person’s smile uneven or lopsided?
A - Arm weakness or numbness. If the person tries to raise both arms, does one arm drift downwards?
S - Speech slurred or hard to understand. Can the person repeat a simple sentence?
T - Time to call the emergency services if a person shows any of these symptoms.
You can find more information at www.stroke.org
