“Was that good, baby?” he murmured, kissing her throat.
“That was better than good. This is getting…out of control.”
“In a good way, right?”
“I hope so.”
Troubled by her words, he chose not to reply. If they got into all that again, he might end up keeping her here all day trying to talk her down from the ledge. Only she had the power to pull herself back from it, to trust him. But he didn’t like how f**king helpless he felt standing there watching her teeter back and forth.
While she showered, he put on coffee and turned on the TV and scrounged for something to make for breakfast. He wasn’t big on that particular meal; he usually woke up too late for it. But she must be starving, and the nearest grocery store was only right around the corner. He scribbled out a note to her and grabbed his keys and cell phone.
Flipping the latter open, he saw that Starla had been the one to call him earlier. Weird. It wasn’t even ten yet. She’d left voicemail, which he called to check while strolling toward his truck in the mild spring morning.
The voice on the message didn’t sound like his friend at all. It was halting, with a trembling edge of panic. “Brian. You need to come to Dermamania, now. Someone…someone tore the hell out of it.”
Stopping dead in his tracks, he nearly dropped the phone. His blood froze up in his veins.
How bad is it? How bad, Starla, f**king tell me now.
“All the front windows are broken…it doesn’t look like anything was taken, they just trashed the place. Flat screens busted…oh, Brian, I want to cry. You’ve got to come now.”
She hung up. His legs were already eating up the distance back into his apartment, where Candace had just stepped out of the shower wrapped in a big black towel. She met him with a big smile that melted soon as she got a good look at his face.
“Someone has vandalized my goddamn parlor. I’ve got to go.”
“I’m coming with you. Give me two minutes.”
Unable to stand pacing around his apartment for fear he would vandalize something while he waited for her, he went outside where the most damage he could do was tear a few bushes out of the ground. Just as he was contemplating it, Candace ran out of his door and down the flight of steps, her hair damp and bouncing on her shoulders. Wordlessly, they climbed in his truck. It was a struggle not to lay rubber in the lot, and he managed not to run any red lights, though it was tough.
Shit, shit, shit. It had to be Jameson Andrews. Only he hadn’t thought that little p**sy had it in him to pull this off. Or even seek out thugs to do it for him.
Then again, this was exactly the kind of chicken shit thing he would do. He couldn’t best Brian physically, so go after one of the things he loved the most.
Beside him, Candace was sitting tense and upright, her fingers twisting her purse strap in her lap. He wondered if she was having the same thoughts he was.
“Could your brother have done this?” he asked harshly.
Her head turned toward him. He could see her in his peripheral vision. “I don’t know, Brian.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You know him better than I do. Is he capable of this, or not?”
Her arms raised, and looking at her, he saw she was rubbing her temples. “James has a bad temper. Yes, I can see him doing something like this. It doesn’t mean he did.”
“Yeah? Well whoever did it didn’t steal anything. They weren’t after money or equipment. They trashed the shit out of the place. It was done out of rage.”
She made a quiet sound. She was crying. “I’m so sorry.”
“Jesus fu— It’s not your fault. But I do hope to hell you won’t miss him too much, because I’m going to kill that slimy little shit when I get my hands on him.”
The instant he turned onto his beloved parlor’s street, he saw the police cars. Sickness churned in his gut. It was like approaching a car wreck, fully aware he was about to see something he didn’t want to see, but he couldn’t look away regardless. Candace’s hands went to her mouth.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, pulling up to the curb and all but tumbling out of the truck. There was nothing but a gaping maw where the windows used to be, surrounded by yellow caution tape. Starla and Janelle were outside in the parking lot, talking to police officers. They were both crying. More officers were milling about inside the building, where it looked as if someone had turned loose a tornado and let it wreak havoc.
His vision went far beyond crimson. It went a hot, hellish black. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be f**king happening…
Gentle hands slid over his shoulders, but he stepped away from them. Starla had seen him and was running toward him, her cowboy boots clattering on the asphalt. He caught her before she could slam into him, holding her by the arms.
“Do they know anything?”
She shook her head, agitating more tears into spilling. “They’re going to the other businesses around here, asking questions, but they don’t have any leads yet. They want to talk to you.”
Of course no one had seen anything. Their town was the type to put out the lights and pull up the covers by eleven or so, and after the businesses were closed, there was really no reason for anyone to travel this street unless they were up to no good.
He needed to call Evan.
The police officers were efficient and took down his information, and he was more than happy to tell them about all the new enemies he’d made. But unless the cops could hand him Andrews’s ass on a silver platter at this very moment, they were pretty much useless in his eyes. And that wasn’t happening. Not only had no one seen anything, but so many people came and went through the parlor all day that fingerprinting was pretty much out of the question.
He felt so f**king powerless, his mind such a muddle, he might as well have been an invalid. Once the cops were done with him, all he could do was stand and stare into what was left of his sanctuary, where glass now covered the floor, his art and posters were ripped off the walls, chairs strewn, padded tables ripped and gutted. It looked like his insides felt. Candace stood with the girls, giving him his space.
And why wouldn’t she? He’d just thrown her hands off him as if she’d done this or something. As if she were the one responsible, even after he’d told her she wasn’t.
“Brian.”
He turned around at the familiar voice, one he usually wasn’t too fond of hearing but the very one he wanted right now. It was all he could do not to pitch himself into his brother’s arms as Evan walked up beside him, his features grim as he took in the damage. “I heard it on the scanner this morning. I’m sorry, man.”
Brian shoved his hands back through his hair. “What the f**k do I do, Evan?”
He blew out his breath. “Nothing now. Wait. I’m sorry I don’t have better news to tell you.”
“Goddamn it.”
Evan put a hand on his arm, glancing back at Candace. “I need to talk to you about something else. Come over here.”
He went around the corner of the building with Evan, his mind adrift in such misery that at first he didn’t even wonder what his brother might have to say. Once Evan turned to him with his brow creased and his mouth set in a tight line, he felt a tingle of unease. Maybe seeing him out here wasn’t such a good thing, after all.
“I got a call from a friend at the police department this morning. Jameson Andrews has filed an assault charge against you. You need to go in and give your statement.”
The nightmarish haze in his thoughts turned into a vicious black hole, consuming everything. “Lousy lowlife son of a motherf—”
Evan cut in, his voice firm, as Brian walked furious circles trying to contain the urge to slam his fist into the brick wall and pretend it was Jameson’s face. “If you don’t go in, Brian, there’ll be a warrant issued for your arrest.”
“I can’t leave, man, I gotta—”
“Look, I realize you’re worried about your place and getting it cleaned up, but there’s nothing else you can do here right now and I don’t want to see you hauled off in handcuffs. Candace doesn’t need to see it, either. You need to go and get this taken care of. All right? Brian? Look at me.”
“That bastard most likely did this, and now…” Brian stopped pacing, took a breath and tried to calm down. Finally he lifted his head and looked Evan in the eyes. “All right. What am I looking at?”
“It depends. It’s a class A misdemeanor, and we don’t prosecute those, the county attorney does. It could all get dropped, or you could be looking at a stint on probation. Probably not any jail time, although it’s possible.”
“That’s f**king marvelous.”
“Like I said, that’s unlikely, especially if you’re cooperative. That’s why I’m telling you to get your ass to the station now.”
“Do I need my lawyer?”
“Are you fighting it?”
“I don’t guess. I only did it in front of three other people.”
“You can call him if you want, but it’ll probably be the same outcome either way. Do you want me to go with you? I can’t do much except wait outside for you.”
For some reason, he needed that. Even if Evan wasn’t in any position to help, he’d feel better knowing he was around.
Pride didn’t go down very easily, and it tasted like shit when it did. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I guess I can tell Candace I have to go in because of this.” He gestured to his parlor. “But I don’t want to lie to her.”
“Probably best you don’t. Does she have somewhere to go?”
“She came with me, and I don’t want her going home by herself.”
Evan reached forward and put his arm around his shoulders. “Come on, then, and let’s figure something out.”
Candace bit her lip as the men came back from the side of the building. She’d heard raised voices, but she hadn’t been able to make out the words. Both of them were wearing identical expressions, but then she’d just realized that if you took Brian, cleaned him up and stuck him in a suit and Ferragamos, you’d have Evan. The resemblance was striking.
And now, they both resembled carved granite statues. Brian motioned for her, and she left the group of his friends and employees she’d been huddled with. Her heart hadn’t quit its frantic pounding since he’d first told her what happened, and it tripled at the look on his face.
“Your brother has filed charges on me,” he said sharply.
“Oh, my God, Brian.”
“I have to go to the police department before they cart my ass off to jail, and you have a final, so—”
She tried to understand that he was extremely upset, but his tone wounded her. “If someone can take me home, I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want you to go home.”
“I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown if I have two hours by myself,” she snapped. “My family isn’t going to kidnap me and ship me off to a convent. I’ll catch a ride home with Starla or someone, and I’ll be okay.”