CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LIZZIE
I walked from my room, slipping in my earrings. “You have everything?” I asked Cait. The chateaubriand smelled amazing.
“Yes.” She looked up from slicing the tomatoes for the salad and whistled. “You look beautiful. I love that dress. That’s the one you bought in Scotland.”
“Yes.”
“It’s fantastic.”
I had intended to work in my studio, but I decided to treat myself with an evening at the Met and dinner.
“Wear my coat,” Cait said.
“No.”
Her hand went to her waist. “I’m not using it and you have nothing in your closet to complement that dress. Wear my coat.”
“But you just got it.”
“And I wore it for the last four days, even when I was in my apartment. Wear it. It wants to be worn, not stuck in a closet.”
“Okay. I’ll wear it.”
Her expression softened. “Your eyes aren’t so sad.”
“I don’t feel so sad.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
I looked around my kitchen. It had never seen so much activity. “Maybe I should get a hotel room. I think someone is getting lucky tonight.”
“There’s nothing wrong with our bedroom,” Cait said as she smiled.
“If you change your mind, call me.” I went to my room, grabbed my clutch and tossed my phone into it. Sliding on her coat, I fell a little in love.
“This is amazing.”
“I know, right?” She wiped her hands and walked around to join me. “Have fun.”
“You too. Tell Ethan I said hi.”
“Will do.”
We hugged then she walked me to the door. “Now off. I have to finish dinner before I get all dolled up myself. My man is coming over.”
“Love you, Cait.”
“Love you back.”
I adored the Met. I visited it several times a month. In the beginning, it had been inspiring and now it was like a home away from home. Regardless of what was going on in the world, inside these walls art transcended all the obstacles humans erected for themselves. It was our link to the past, to the future, a constantly changing documentary on humans and their impact on the world.
There was a new exhibit featuring artwork on loan from some of the biggest collectors in the city. It was a chance to see pieces one wouldn’t have access to—Van Gogh, Warhol and Picasso. I took my time studying the pieces—brushstrokes, color saturation, negative space. Halfway through the exhibit I nearly forgot how to breathe when I saw ‘Voices’ hanging in the same room with arguably the greatest artists ever. ‘Voices’ was my very first painting, the self-portrait that had been acquired for way over what it was worth, the painting that started my career. I never knew who purchased it. I scanned the caption next to the painting. My knees went weak when a name popped out at me, the benefactor who had loaned the painting to the museum. Rodney Danton. My father. My father was the anonymous collector whose generosity had started my career.
I was a little unsteady as I walked to one of the benches and sat down.
My father had been my benefactor. It didn’t change anything, well, maybe it changed a little. I wanted to call Cait, but she was busy celebrating her anniversary.
A tingling started at my nape. I hadn’t felt that sensation since Scotland. My eyes stung. Instead of dinner, I wanted noise, people, and alcohol.
Sex on the beach, the cocktail, was delicious. Sex on the cliffs, the act, was delicious too. I chuckled to myself. They should make a cocktail for that. I signaled to the bartender that I wanted another then looked around at the club. It was one of the happening places in the city. People crushed on the dance floor, bodies lining the walls. I didn’t really get the scene. I preferred a quieter setting, like a library in a castle with a sexy and dangerous Scotsman. It was a good thing I didn’t have his number because I felt a drunk dial coming on.
The stool on my left opened up, but not for long. A man settled there, not that I looked but the size of his shoulders gave it away. “Evening.”
I glanced over. “Hi.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I almost opened my mouth to shoot him down like a duck. Was it ducks hunters shot? And why? Did they eat them? They should. Killing and not eating your kill was wrong. Well, not with humans. The idea of Brochan eating his kill was gross, but he was allegedly a werewolf. Did werewolves eat their prey? I needed to brush up on my supernatural facts. I glanced over to find the man was staring at me. I hadn’t answered him; too busy talking to myself. I was about to answer when the bartender appeared and set my drink down. “I just bought a drink.” My eyes met his; they were blue, not pale like the moonlight, but still pretty. I threw caution to the wind. “How about my next one?”
“You’re on.”
I thanked the bartender and got a chin lift in reply. I might start doing that; efficient and it looked cool. The man ordered a drink then turned to me.
“What’s your name?”
“Lizzie.”
He held out his hand. “Clark.” It was a nice hand, but when it wrapped around mine it didn’t make my heart skip. But then, his was the first and likely the last to stir that feeling.
“What do you think of this place?”
I replied by lifting my hand and tilted it from side to side as I sipped on my drink. I really liked sex on the beach, partially because it numbed me. The persistent pain I’d felt since I left Scotland was just a dull ache. The uncertainty I felt about learning the role my father had played in my career, no longer right on the surface. I wasn’t advocating drinking as a coping mechanism, but right now it felt good. “It’s very loud and crowded.”
He grinned. “It’s a club.” He took a sip of his beer. “What do you do?”
“I’m an artist. There is actually one of my works hanging in the Met at the moment.”
“Fancy.”
It was fancy and amazing and a little bittersweet that my father had been in my life even then but never made himself known.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Banker.”
There were a lot of bankers in Manhattan. A woman pushed between us to get to the bar. She waved her painted nails toward the bartender. “I need water or I’m literally going to die.”
I looked around her to Clark and said loud enough for her to hear. “Why do people insist on misusing the word literally? This chick is going to die if she doesn’t get water, so we should either break her fall or step back.”
The chick glared at me from over her shoulder. I smiled. Clark laughed.
A song started pumping through the speakers. My feet itched to dance. I jumped from my stool. “Let’s dance.”
I didn’t wait for him, pushing my way through the bodies until I reached the floor where others were moving to the beat. It felt good to just let go, to think of nothing but my body moving to the rhythm. Clark reached for me and I almost pulled away, but I didn’t. The one I wanted holding me wasn’t here. He’d let me go; maybe it was time I did the same, even if it was just for one song.
BROCHAN
My hands curled into fists when he touched her. He pulled her close and my fists squeezed tight as I envisioned doing the same to his skull. Did she not have any sense of self-preservation? She had three drinks and was now dancing with a stranger, close dancing with the fuck. If his hands moved to her ass, I was fucking breaking them off.
Watch a day in her life, she said, look for the grand gesture. Yeah, that gesture would be to not kill her and him…fucking hell.
“Hey, baby. Want a dance.” A blonde pressed into me, her hand moving south.
I caught it. I didn’t even look at her. “Fuck off.”
Lizzie lifted her hands into her hair, closed her eyes and swayed her hips to the beat. My cock went hard. She was flirting with disaster but the shadows behind her eyes were gone. Drunk, but at least for the moment happy. Two days I’d been ‘observing’ her. She never left her studio except with her friend Cait. She was thinner than she’d been in Scotland. That light behind her eyes was gone. She was still hurting.
I’d seen her reaction at the museum, walked past the painting before I followed her out. I almost lost her because I’d been unable to pull my eyes from the painting. It was Lizzie, but a darker, sadder version of her, the Lizzie who existed before Scotland. The one who was reemerging after Scotland. I read the caption and understood her reaction. Her father owned her painting. I wondered how that came about? I’d be paying him a visit.
Lizzie stopped dancing then rubbed the back of her neck. In the next breath, her head turned and she looked right at me. Fuck. I saw her eyes widen and that light was back. I slipped into the shadows, her eyes searched then that light extinguished. She didn’t stay after that. Saying her goodbyes to the fuckhead, grabbing her bag from the bar and heading out for a cab. I made sure she got in one then I followed her home.
LIZZIE
“This is delicious,” I said as I stuffed a mouthful of beef in my face. I had missed dinner. This hit the spot. Cait and Ethan were both leaning over the kitchen counter watching me. They looked to be holding back laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re drunk,” Ethan said.
“Tipsy,” I clarified.
“Drunk,” Cait corrected.
“Fine. Drunk.”
“You’re lucky you got home okay.” Cait wasn’t wrong.
“There was a guy.”
“What guy?”
“Clark. He offered to buy me a drink. We danced. He was nice.”
“Did you give Clark your number?”
“No,” I said then added, “You’re probably right about being drunk because I swear I saw Brochan at the club.”
Cait straightened, interest on her face now. “Seriously?”
“I blinked and he was gone. I’m sure I just imagined him. He looked good. Bastard.”
“You’re reaching the anger phase.”
“No. I don’t think I’ll reach the anger phase. As much as I want to be angry with him, I get why he did what he did. I don’t know what triggered it, but I understand it.”
“So what about this dude, Clark?” Ethan asked.
“He’s nice and cute, but…” I found I preferred dark and dangerous.
“But he’s not Brochan,” Ethan finished.
I touched my nose.
Cait poured me a glass of water. “You need sleep.”
She was right. I glanced around my clean kitchen. “I would have cleaned up.”
“Why? We made the mess.” Ethan walked around the counter and pressed a kiss on my head. “Thanks for giving us your place for the night.”
I gave him a chin lift, like I’d seen the bartender do. I wasn’t cool enough to pull it off apparently when he asked, “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Nothing. You’re welcome.”
Cait kissed me then they both demanded I lock up, waited in the hall until they heard me turn the locks. I took my plate to the dishwasher, grabbed my glass of water and turned off the lights. I got ready for bed and climbed in. I thought of Brochan. He hadn’t really been there, but for just a second I thought he’d come for me. I closed eyes and slipped my hand into my panties. I touched myself as I remembered and when I came I turned my head into my pillow and cried.
I was in the market, memories of my first meeting with Brochan teasing me. Would I ever be free of him? I had brought the can of haggis back with me. I wasn’t going to eat it; the can sat on the counter because despite how it ended, that had been a good memory.
Speaking of memories, a voice from another aisle had the hair on my arms standing on end. It couldn’t be. I turned down the aisle. It was.
Nadine.
The years had not been good to her. She was only a few years older than me, but her hair was almost completely gray. Lines marred her face but not laugh lines. At some point she had given up on herself because she was overweight and dressed like a homeless person. I wondered if she was homeless? What hadn’t changed, she was still a bully. The woman on the receiving end of her cruelty looked terrified. As I grew closer, I realized the scene was over a parking spot. Nadine accused the woman of stealing her parking spot. Seriously? People stood and stared, some even had their phones out to record and post on social media, but no one stepped in and offered aid. People sucked. We needed more Brochans to thin out the fucking herd.
“Nadine. Just as vile as ever.”
Her head snapped in my direction and the full force of her ugliness slammed into me like a freight train. It was a jolt, but I held my ground.
“Lizzie Danton?” she sneered then raked her gaze down my body and up again.
“In the flesh.”
The woman was forgotten as Nadine moved closer. I glanced down at her fisted hand. It was a much bigger hand than in our youth. It would cause significantly more damage, but I met her glare with one of my own.
“Just as scrawny as you were in school,” she chuckled and even looked around as if the crowd would egg her on. Had she not grown at all? She was exactly the same, but age and life experiences had me seeing her more clearly. Her best years were over—sad enough considering what those years had been like—but she was desperately clinging to them. It was kind of sad. Under the bully she was pathetic.
“You haven’t changed at all.”
She thought I was being cruel, referring to her physical appearance. Her hands lifted. “Say it again, bitch.”
“You’re going to hit me with all these people watching?”
Glancing around, taking in the phones aimed at her, she lowered her hands. “Not worth it. You’re nothing. You always were. Your own parents didn’t want you, but did that stop you…always doing the right thing, always looking forward, always hopeful.”
Part of me softened toward her because underneath all that ugly was a jealous little girl who was dealing with the pain of her own abandonment. All the anger I’d carried around for her dissolved; she no longer held any power over me. It was freeing to rid myself of that weight. It felt so good I smiled, one that took up my whole face. Nadine thought I was nuts when she took a step back.
“Goodbye, Nadine.” And it was a goodbye. I was leaving her and all her ugly behind. I headed back to my cart. She didn’t even miss a beat when she turned back on the woman and started in on her. I was free of the ugly, I was free of her, but the bitch needed to be taught a lesson.
I turned around, walked right up to her, pulled my hand back and broke her fucking nose.
“Damn,” I hissed and shook my hand. That hurt, but seeing all the blood as it poured from her nose made me smile. I turned to the subhumans that were capturing the moment on their phones instead of helping Nadine. “Make sure you get all of that, fucking Spielberg wannabes.” I walked right out of the grocery store. My hand ached like a bitch, but I felt really fucking good.
“She’s going to sue you,” my lawyer, Harrison, said as he paced behind his desk. I left the market and went right to him. After some of the adrenaline faded I realized there would be repercussions.
“I know. There were several people who captured the moment. Why do people do that? Need to capture every incident of humans at their worst?”
“Confirmation that as much as our lives suck, it could always be worse,” he said then asked, “What were you thinking?”
I shrugged my shoulders as I held the ice he’d gotten for me to my knuckles. “It was a cleansing.”
“Next time, max out your credit card like other women.”
“Are you being a misogynist, Harrison?” He was far from it. He had a wife and four girls that he doted over. I just liked fucking with him.
He gave me the eye, the one he gave often to lawyers on the other side of the table.
“If she makes noise, I’ll handle it. Which reminds me. I’ve been meaning to sit you down to discuss your will. I know you’re young, but given your circumstances, if something should happen to you as your next of kin your mother would inherit unless you specify otherwise.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that. This is why you get the big bucks.”
He shook his head in good humor before he stressed, “We need a sit down and soon.”
“Okay. Thank you, Harrison, and sorry for adding to your work with Nadine.”
“As your lawyer, I’m appalled. As your friend, I say right on.”
BROCHAN
Pulling on my gloves, I yanked down the fire escape and headed to the top floor. Seeing Lizzie in that market. Fuck, she’d been magnificent. She’d faced down one of her ghosts and walked away with a fucking smile on her face. Staying in the shadows had been hard, but her light was coming back. She was doing what she did, getting back on her feet.
The window to the apartment was open; I slipped inside. Checking my watch, it wouldn’t be long now. Minutes later, the door opened. She was talking to herself, mumbling as she flicked the lights on. I knew the moment she knew I was there.
Jerking around, she snarled, “Who the fuck are you?”
I stepped from the shadows. “You don’t know me, but I know you, Nadine.” Fenella had shared what she’d learned about Lizzie’s childhood during our chat. This wasn’t the grand gesture, but it was going to feel fucking good.
Fear flashed across her face and she turned for the door. I was faster. Fisting her hair, I dragged her to a chair and pushed her into it. Terror widened her eyes. She stuttered when she asked, “What do you want?”
I pulled out my tool set and unrolled it. She gasped then sobbed. I reached for one of my knives, touching the razor sharp tip to my finger. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to react; the blade was so sharp she didn’t feel the cut until it started to bleed down her cheek in the same place she’d scarred Lizzie. Shaking fingers lifted to the wound. She pissed herself.
“I’ll make this really simple. Forget you ever knew Lizzie Danton.” Understanding shined in those eyes. “You go after her for what happened earlier…” I pinched her broken nose and twisted it. She screamed. I shoved a gag in her mouth. Her eyes bugged out as panic had her body convulsing. I leaned into her and she went stone still. “They’ll never find your body.”
Satisfied I’d made my point, I collected my tools and slipped out the same way I slipped in.
“I’m sorry, sir, I tried to stop him.”
“I’m going to have to call you back.” Rodney Danton ended his call then looked past me to his bewildered receptionist. “It’s fine, Elsie.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lizzie had his eyes. He stood and walked around his desk. He was older than I was expecting, but he wore power like he wore that expensive Italian suit. I had to give Norah a bit more credit because playing this man…that had taken some impressive skill. I wanted to gauge Norah’s response to her dreams going up in smoke. It was smart to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Brochan McIntyre.”
“May I ask why you’re barging into my office?”
“Norah Calhoun.”
I recognized the look since it was the same one I had when thinking of the bitch.
“How do you know Norah?”
“I know Lizzie.”
He wasn’t able to hide his reaction when his eyes widened. “You know Lizzie?”
“You squashed the suit.”
Surprise this time but he answered, “I did.”
“How did she take it?”
His brow rose. “What makes you think I know?”
“Let’s not fuck around. A man like you gets an opportunity to stick it to a woman like her, you’re going to take it. How did she react?”
“She wasn’t happy.”
“Do you think she’s capable of coming after Lizzie?”
“Norah is a more behind the scenes type, though…” He grew thoughtful for a minute. “She made a comment before she hung up that I didn’t like, not just the words but the venom behind them.”
“What did she say?”
“That she should have smothered Elizabeth.”
Red-hot rage flooded me. That fucking… “Coming from a woman like Norah, I think that’s a reason to be alarmed.”
“What do you need from me?”
He may not have been a father to Lizzie when she was younger, but at least he was willing to take on some responsibility now. “It might be smart to get eyes on Norah.”
“Done.”
“You bought Lizzie’s painting.”
“Who are you to her?”
“Long story for another time.”
He didn’t like being the one questioned. Tough shit. “Yes, I bought her painting.”
“She’s your daughter, maybe it’s time you got off your ass and started acting like a father.” I was done here. I headed for the door.
He called after me, “How do you know she’ll want anything to do with me?”
“I don’t, but you owe it to her to make the effort.”