CHAPTER EIGHT
Laurel pried her eyes open and stared into the abyss of darkness.
She tried to think of absolutely nothing, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. Her thoughts were racing, and nothing could slow them down. She turned over under the warm sheets and nestled deeper into her pillow in an attempt to clear her mind.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Laurel sat straight up in bed, her gaze going directly to the bedside table. The alarm clock read that is was going on eight-thirty at night. She’d been lying here all day with little to show for her efforts.
She grabbed her phone off the charger before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Only one of her slippers was where she’d left it, so she finally turned on the light to see if the other one had been kicked underneath the bed.
It was nowhere to be found.
She decided slippers and her bed were much like socks and the dryer.
More heavy knocking came at the door.
“Damn it,” Laurel muttered, quickly making her way through the bedroom and out into the living room. She stubbed her toe on the side table up against the wall, the very reason she’d gotten those damn slippers to begin with. The pain was momentarily blinding, as it always was. She was relatively sure her little toe had been broken twenty-three million times in the years she’d lived here, but she’d been too embarrassed to go and get x-rays. “I’m coming! Hold on!”
Laurel hopped the rest of the way, sparing one glance at the display on her phone. Sure enough, Grace and Cynthia both had texted her numerous times throughout the day. There were also quite a few messages from Smith, but she wasn’t ready to deal with that emotional baggage quite yet. She finally reached her small foyer, flipping the deadbolt and swinging open the door while standing on one foot.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear the—”
Laurel fought the urge to slam the door in Smith’s face. He was still wearing the same suit he’d changed into earlier this morning, his shave still fresh, and not a strand of his thick hair out of place. He looked just as good as if he’d gotten dressed an hour ago.
Unlike her.
She was a wreck.
Laurel was wearing what she always wore to bed, which was a pair of black running shorts, a pink t-shirt that had a hole in the shoulder due to wear, and the scrunchy that held her hair up in what was sure to look like she’d been in a hurricane. She could even see the flyaway wisps standing out from the side of her head. It was just the impressions she wanted to make.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The words she’d been thinking in her head came tumbling out of her mouth, but she decided she wasn’t going to apologize. There had been rules in place for a reason. Their conversation from earlier did not change the one where she went to his place if she wanted companionship, not the reverse. Besides, her little toe was still throbbing. She wasn’t in the mood to be nice to anyone.
“Are you hurt?” Smith’s eyes had slowly grazed over her entire body, not leaving an inch unseen, until his concerned gaze landed on her pink toe. “What happened?”
“Smith, what are you doing here?” Laurel had no choice but to hop back when he crossed the threshold. “And how did you even know where I live?”
Laurel was losing control of things again, just when she thought she’d gotten herself sorted. Granted, being away from Smith’s intimidating presence might have had something to do with the illusion of control. She had a clear head when he wasn’t around. Hence, why it was in both their best interests that he left forthwith.
“Here.” Smith leaned down and scooped her up into his arms before she could stop him. He used the bottom of his dress shoe to close the door behind him. “Let’s see what damage you’ve caused.”
“Would you please put me down? I stubbed my toe, that’s all. I didn’t break my leg.”
Laurel cringed when she saw the sight of her kitchen, wishing she’d turned the overhead light off when she’d gone to bed. There were still dishes in the sink, an old cup of coffee on the counter from yesterday morning, and a basket of dirty clothes near the closet doors that hid her washer and dryer. This was an affordable one-bedroom apartment that she could manage while still paying on her student loans, and she didn’t need Mister Money Bucks scrutinizing her living arrangements.
“Did you break it? It’s beginning to swell.” Smith set her on the counter, which happened to be ice cold. She couldn’t help but inhale sharply when the back of her thighs made contact with the laminate. “Let me take a closer look.”
The faint scent of Smith’s expensive cologne was a temptation she could have done without, along with the warmth of his strong hands, which now traveled down her left leg until he’d set her foot against his rock-hard abs. She closed her eyes and did her best to picture him a hundred pounds heavier with a receding hairline.
No luck.
“Ouch!” The comical vision she’d conjured up faded the moment he tried to wiggle her toe. Laurel would have yanked her foot away had he not had a good hold on her ankle. “Watch it, Harvard boy! That hurt.”
“It’s not broken, but that’s a hell of a stubbed toe.” Smith carefully released her leg so that he could walk over to the refrigerator. She wanted to cry out to him that she didn’t need any ice, but it was too late. “Um, what is that?”
“What is what?” Laurel hopped off the counter, leaving her phone behind. She quickly hobbled over to where he had the bottom drawer of the freezer open while staring at the contents in somewhat shock. She didn’t blame him for the bewildered look. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”
Laurel shoved the drawer closed with her good foot, which happened to be the one with a slipper on it. She would have been somewhat embarrassed by her state of dress had another dose of anger not shot through her bloodstream.
“Smith, I’m going to ask you one last time,” Laurel said, making her intentions known. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
“Pretending like nothing has changed between us gets us nowhere.”
Smith was apparently letting her off the hook about what was in her freezer, but he was sailing into uncharted territory. At least, according to her calculations.
“Look around you, Smith.” Laurel so didn’t want to have this conversation, especially now that her entire life was leaking water through holes that were too big to plug with her big toe. She leaned back against the refrigerator, still mentally exhausted. The eight hours of fitful sleep she’d gotten had done nothing to shake her fatigue. Her barriers had been chipped away, and she honestly didn’t have the strength to reconstruct them. “Seriously, look around this place and tell me that what we have has a chance of lasting a New York minute? I don’t do charity balls or run in the same social circle as your royal court. I still have student loans, while making sure my mom has enough grocery money to eat for the month. We’re both workaholics. We’d never see one another. You’re about to open your own hedge fund somewhere in the city. I’m most likely going to end up in New York panhandling while I look for a position at one of the investment banks. It won’t work, Smith.”
“Do you want to make it work? Or are you quitting?”
It was such a simple question, yet it held so many land mines that she was almost afraid to breathe. Smith took a step forward. He tucked some of those flyaway strands behind her ear in a gentle manner he rarely exhibited. It was when he tilted her face up so that she caught the look of hope flare in his dark eyes that she answered him honestly.
“Yes, but—”
Smith kissed her, once again with a gentleness that surprised her. It wasn’t the all-consuming beginning of another late evening tryst that they usually engaged in on the weekdays. No, this was the start of something that absolutely terrified the shit out of her.
His tongue gently caressed her bottom lip until she allowed him to play with hers. He tasted of whiskey and mint, a heady combination. She would have asked where he’d come from this late at night, but her body was responding with its inherent need for security. Even the throbbing in her little toe somewhat subsided, taking up residence someplace else in her mindset. Conversation could definitely wait until later, when she was sure regret would rear its ugly head.
“That’s the only answer that matters to me.” Smith lifted her back up into his arms, causing her one slipper to fall to the floor. One slipper really wasn’t much good anyway. He walked out of the kitchen and through her small living room, which actually happened to look good since she hadn’t been home much. There were only two other rooms in the apartment; her bathroom and bedroom. Both doors were side by side and it was obvious which was which. “Please tell me that you—”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Weren’t expecting company?”
“No, I wasn’t. But then you showed up.” Laurel appreciated that Smith carefully set her back on her feet, allowing her to cross the tile with some dignity. This time, she did utilize the peephole. Her stomach sank as recognition dawned. “Um, Smith? You might want to give Meg a call.”
Laurel wasn’t dressed to receive a visit from the two detectives she’d spoken to earlier, but it wasn’t like she could keep them waiting out in the hallway while she got dressed. She would have loved to have a bit of time to calm her racing heart, given that she’d been about to engage in extracurricular activities. It wasn’t easy to go from arousal to putting on a makeshift attempt at a professional air.
She wrapped her trembling hand around the doorknob, not looking back to see if Smith was following her advice. It wasn’t like they were here to arrest anyone, given that neither she nor Smith had done anything wrong. And even if that were the case, extremely unlikely as that may be, they were still allowed one phone call before processing. She’d seen enough television shows to know that bit of information.
“Detectives,” Laurel greeted cautiously while throwing them a look of apology. “Please, join the party.”
“What can we do for you?” Smith asked, getting right to the point. He remained where he was on the edge of the living room carpet. “As you can imagine, Laurel has had a rough twenty-four hours.”
“We have a couple of follow-up questions.” Detective Nielsen quietly closed the door behind them once Laurel took a few steps back. The gravity of his inquiry was etched in the lines around his eyes. “We’d also like—”
“Please,” Laurel interrupted, not comfortable with another interview while dressed like she was a teenager at a sleepover. “Give me a moment to get dressed, and I’ll be right with you. Smith, would you please make everyone some coffee or offer them something to drink?”
She didn’t wait for Smith to acknowledge her request. He wanted to be a part of her life. Well, she wasn’t the most domestic type of woman he could have found. It was better that he discovered that sooner rather than later.
It took her less than five minutes to change into decent clothes, brush her teeth, and draw a brush through her tangled bird’s nest. She grabbed a light shade of lipstick, spreading a thin layer on her lips to give her some form of color. There were no sounds of gunshots, raised voices, or Smith calling out for her to phone Meg, which meant the men were keeping things civilized. The relative quietness also told her that no imminent arrests were on the horizon.
“So,” Laurel said, breezing into the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a red buttoned-down blouse. The outfit gave her the air of confidence, but comfort was her intent. At least, that’s how she hoped they viewed her attitude. “What are these questions that you have for me, detectives?”
She might have made assumptions a little too soon, because Smith appeared ready to throw the men out on their collective asses. That wouldn’t have gone over well, and the consequences would have been a never-ending legal battle where Meg was paid enough to afford another pair of those gorgeous designer high heels. She also noted that no one was drinking any coffee.
“We would actually prefer to speak with you alone, Ms. Calanthe.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that specific appeal was the one that had riled Smith. She couldn’t blame him, either. A flash of Brad’s unfocused eyes flickered in her mind, breaking her concentration. She’d done her best not to think about the horror of what she’d witnessed, but nothing seemed to eradicate the disturbing images that floated back to the surface.
She pulled out a chair and joined Detective Nielsen at the table. Smith remained standing, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. As for Detective Mancini, he remained standing with his gaze focused solely on Smith.
“Since you didn’t call me down to the station nor notify my attorney, I can assume this isn’t an official interview.” Laurel debated on whether or not Meg should be present, but she wanted to hear what direction this line of questioning was headed before she made that call. “What is it that you’re—”
“You do realize that Laurel is being represented by Meg Preston. Questioning her without her attorney present is suspect at best. She also reserves the right to end this visit at any time.”
Laurel wasn’t surprised that Smith didn’t want her to say anything without representation. But she also wanted to help these detectives in any way that she could, provided that they kept an open mind about who could be responsible. She’d worked with almost every employee at the firm for many, many years. She couldn’t imagine any of them committing murder, let alone in a manner so hideous as this.
“We understand that you wouldn’t want your girlfriend here to say something that could incriminate you, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, Mr. Gallo.” Detective Mancini had been a little rough around the edges when he’d questioned her, but his obvious dislike for Smith made her uncomfortable. Laurel immediately sought out Detective Nielsen’s gaze, silently telling him that was the wrong tact to take under the circumstances. “This has to do with Cynthia Ellsworth and her relationship with one of your high net worth individuals.”
“You mean Gareth Nicollet?”
“Yes,” Detective Nielsen replied, taking over the conversation. It didn’t help divert Detective Mancini’s focus on what he perceived as a connection to the murder. She’d been with Smith at the time Brad had been attacked in his office. There was no reason for that type of hostility. “You see, we have it on good authority that Gareth Nicollet threatened Mr. Manon’s life not one week ago.”
“You happen to be good friends with the same Mr. Nicollet, isn’t that right?”
“Mancini, why don’t you go and pull the car around?” Detective Nielsen stood from the table, not giving the other man the ability to refuse. “I’ll finish up here.”
At first, Laurel wasn’t so sure that Detective Mancini would do as Nielsen suggested. Technically, it wasn’t a suggestion. She was honestly surprised when the man turned on the heel of his well-worn dress shoe and made his way to her front door. No one spoke until after the latch caught, signaling he’d finally vacated the apartment.
“Fred, you want to tell me what his problem is?” Smith asked, not the type of man to become someone else’s punching bag. “This seems to be some personal beef he’s got, but I’m at a loss here. I’ve had my fill of insults and innuendos. My next step won’t be talking to you about your partner’s behavior.”
“Mancini is new and out to prove to the brass that he won’t favor anyone based on their last name or checking account.” Detective Nielsen seemed to debate on whether or not to share more information. He chose wisely. “He also had a run-in with your father earlier regarding Sebastian.”
It was rare that Smith and Laurel discussed family during the times they were together, but she was aware that Sebastian and Solomon were his brothers. Sebastian was the youngest, having just graduated college and was supposed to be studying for the bar. She’d gotten that information from a brief phone call that Smith had with his father one evening when they were together.
“What did Sebastian do this time?”
There was a disappointment in Smith’s tone that was unrecognizable. She resisted the urge to reach out to comfort him, but then realized she didn’t have to do that anymore…not if they were truly serious about going public with their relationship.
Were they going public?
Was now the right time for anything?
Laurel instinctively pushed back the chair and took the three steps to where Smith was still leaning against the counter. She joined him, slipping her fingers underneath his crossed arms. Her heart warmed when his hand covered hers in appreciation.
“He got into a fight over at First Ave. Listen, I’m not here to discuss your brother. I’m here because of the threat Gareth Nicollet made on Brad Manon’s life. I need answers.”
First Avenue was a famous hotspot in the city, and one that Laurel frequented often with her friends. She’d seen the famous younger Gallo there a time or two. He’d yet to grow up, and he certainly didn’t handle his liquor very well.
As for Gareth, he was a true philanthropist. He was the head of multiple charities and traveled the world extensively, spreading the wealth of his family in strategic locations. His time, effort, and contributions to veterans, the homeless, and those in need were beyond astounding.
“Gareth is a passionate man about many things,” Smith conceded, declining to mention the fact that Detective Mancini had been most likely forced to drop charges against Sebastian. “If he said anything of the sort, it was most likely taken out of context.”
“I agree.” Laurel recalled Cynthia having an argument with Gareth over their relationship. They dated occasionally on the down low, but she recalled Cynthia saying she’d had a run-in with Brad regarding the fact that she was technically the compliance officer dating a client. She’d mentioned it to Gareth, who’d stopped by the office while doing business in the city. It was rare, but he’d done it just the same. His reaction to Brad’s suggestion hadn’t gone over so well, but Gareth hadn’t meant he would literally kill Brad. “Gareth is a great guy. Ask anyone. I recall that specific conversation, and it was a meaningless turn of a phrase.”
Marilyn, no doubt, had filled both of the detectives’ heads with information that she’d dramatized.
“And Cynthia Ellsworth?” The reason for Detective Nielsen’s visit had finally dawned, and Laurel didn’t appreciate that the police were focusing on her friends or those colleagues she’d worked with over the years. “What about her? Do you think she’s capable of murdering Brad Manon?”