Reading His Mind, page 7
She laughed, pulling me in for a squishy hug.
When our mother reached out to hug me, I shook my head, stepping away from her grasp. She turned her face away, pretending to dab her lids with her napkin. I rolled my eyes.
When we were hidden inside the elevator, Jace pushed me against the wall, covering my mouth with his. He held my face to his, allowing no movement unless he wanted it. After a moment, he tore his lips away to begin a gentle assault against my neck while his hands roamed from my shoulders to my waist.
“Jace,” I whispered.
“Shh. I need you, Mel.”
My entire body stiffened, my hands dropped to my sides, and a split second later, he realized what he’d done.
“Lyric, I am so—” His voice plummeted to a pained whisper. “Sorry.”
Before I could formulate an answer, the doors opened and I rushed through the lobby to the outdoors. The valet keeping post at the front looked me up and down until Jace strolled to my side.
“Your ticket, miss?” The valet’s voice interrupted our staring contest.
“I need a cab.”
Jace grabbed my arm, and I jerked away hard. “Lyric, please.”
Whirling to him, I poked his chest. “I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you keep all your private stuff to yourself. My mistake. Don’t let trying to keep me here be your mistake,” I threatened.
He stepped back then ran his fingers through his hair as he turned away. “God dammit,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He spun toward me again. “Please don’t go. Not like this.”
My cab pulled up, and I yanked the door open before the valet could even take a single step. I climbed in and spit the address out. The cabbie took off as though his ass was on fire. I had never appreciated a taxi driver so much before in my life.
Chapter Nine
At exactly eleven fourteen, I unlocked the door to the apartment only to stand back in shock. A tornado/cyclone mish mash had mated in my living room, leaving our furniture slashed, the lamps laying broken on the floor, and George’s DVDs strewn about the room in pieces. A hammer stuck out of the TV’s shattered screen.
My phone rang. I answered without bothering to check the caller ID. “What?”
“Hey, Lyric. It’s Wyatt.”
“Wyatt, my place got broke into while I was gone. I’m five kinds of freaked out. I cannot talk to you right now.”
“Did you just get home?” The concern in his voice put a quick halt on my tantrum.
“Yep. Just opened the door.”
“Get out, Lyric. The maniacs could still be there.”
I hadn’t considered the possibility and ran down the stairs to the bar.
“I’m going to hang up and call the police,” he told me.
I hit the end button. When my phone rang again, I answered. “Wyatt?”
“No, it’s Jace. Who’s Wyatt?”
I hung up.
When the phone rang a third time, I checked the screen before answering. “Did you call the cops?”
“Yes. They’re on their way.” Wyatt paused. “I’m on my way.”
“Okay. I’m in the bar downstairs.” Good Lord. What a day.
After the police cleared my apartment, allowing me to reenter, I walked straight to my room. “Oh, no,” I moaned.
My clothes were thrown all over the place—this time it hadn’t been me. “Houston, we have a freaking problem.” I eyed my hundreds of pairs of shoes, heels broken off of each and every single sole. At least twenty-thousand dollars’ worth of designer creations lay destroyed, in small bits of their former glory.
My chest tightening, I dropped to my knees amid the carcasses of years of collecting. I shook with anger and grief. Wyatt called out my name from the other room.
I picked up an armful of my beloved shoes, cradling them close to my heart, mourning each one.
Wyatt spoke first to the police, then to George. “She’s sitting on the floor, hugging her shoes.”
A moment later, George sucked in a loud breath taking in the horrific sight. He came to sit next to me and threw his arm around my shoulder, unable to tear his gaze away from the mess. “Oh, baby! These made your legs look so sexy.” He snatched a pair of Blahniks off the floor.
“I know!” I moaned.
“Well, this was clearly done by someone who has legs too chubby for heels this high,” he said. “Who would be brash enough to break in just to commit shoe-icide?”
A police officer groaned at the bad pun and then glanced around the room. “Is there anything missing?”
“Missing? Who cares what is missing! They ruined my damned shoes!” What kind of idiots had been dispatched to cover this hideous, devastating crime? “Look at this!” I held up a Louboutin-embroidered platform heel in white. “This pair alone costs almost a thousand dollars.”
The male officer’s mouth gaped open. “You spent a thousand dollars on a pair of shoes?”
Oh, if only he knew! “These are not just shoes.” The syllables spit in a clenched-jaw hiss. “These are an investment.”
“An investment?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Do boat shoes say ‘come get me, big boy. I’ll make a great wife’? No. They say, ‘Hmm. Take me boating. I don’t mind frizzy hair and smelling like fish.’ These shoes make a statement about the kind of wife a man is getting. You are a buffoon.”
Being a mere man, he had no clue the depths of a woman’s relationship with her shoes. But to his credit, he took the information I supplied. The total, when he tallied the amounts, landed well over the twenty grand I’d estimated in my head. “Do you know anyone who might do this? Anyone who is angry with you?”
Wyatt squatted next to me as a female officer leaned down next to him.
“I saw your picture in the society pages this morning. You looked incredible.” She lowered her eyes, thrusting her chest out farther. “Still do.”
She could take her adoration and shove it clear up her own butt. Of course, it would be forced to fight her head for space.
“Get out!” I bellowed, knowing these officers would be no help. They couldn’t have cared less that my collection lay in broken pieces.
“Miss—”
“I said get out!”
George pulled me closer against his side. “Honey, calm down.”
“Screw that. Deputy Dawg over here doesn’t give a rat’s ass about my shoes, and all Mae West wants to do is drool over him.” I wanted to sit on the floor with my belongings, commiserating with someone who loved them as much as I did. As my only real friend, George would pretend, doing it with a smile the entire time. “You know, these are not BOGO at the Payless Shoes Source. These were designer shoes. Italian hand-sewn, embroidered leathers. And the Keystone Cops are acting like I lost my house slippers. Well, screw that!” I pounded my fist on the floor. “Get out!”
The male officer looked at Wyatt. “Good luck, buddy.”
Wyatt shook his head, leading them to the other room.
“And don’t cops here have a button up rule? Her boobs were all over him!” Okay. The jealousy surprised me. I had to believe it was a by-product of the day I’d had.
George rubbed his hand along my spine, still hugging me while I hugged my shoes.
“Maybe we could call a cobbler. You know?” I turned a quizzical eye in his direction. “The guy who fixes shoes. Like Geppetto in Pinocchio.”
“He wasn’t a cobbler, you goof. He was a puppet maker.” His disbelief shone in his chocolate-brown eyes. “For real. Pinocchio wasn’t a shoe.”
“Oh, right.”
He shook it off. “I’m sure we can find someone who can fix them.”
Wyatt strolled back in the room, whistling a fun little tune that made me want to get up and slap the good mood right out of him. “Babe, I don’t think you should stay here alone tonight.” He eyed my best friend with open animosity.
“She won’t be alone.” In a blatant battle of testosterone, George answered for me. “I’ll be here.”
I couldn’t have cared less who won their little pissing contest. Grief still enthralled my very soul.
“But will you protect her? Can you protect her?” He scoffed at the thought—though George stood a good three inches taller and twenty pounds of muscle mass heavier. “I highly doubt it.”
George rose, taking immediate offense.
Jumping to my feet to put a stop to all of it, I pushed them both out of my room. “I don’t need anyone to protect me. Get out, both of you.”
“If you need me, sweetheart, I’ll just be in my room.” He kissed the top of my head.
Not to be outdone, Wyatt moved closer than I cared for and reached out to touch me. I jerked back.
“I’m never more than a phone call away.” He leaned in to plant his smarmy little lips on mine. He barely had time to move out of the way before the door slammed in his face.
I heard a few moments of arguing before the front door squeaked open then shut.
George popped his head in my room. “Good God, Lyr. Where did that one crawl out?”
“I guess you could say I brought some of my work home with me,” I answered as I still prayed for a shoe miracle.
“Shoulda tossed him into the shredder.” He referred to Wyatt rather than the Gucci boot I held. “Oh no, your bed!”
I glanced at the gaping slit in the top of the mattress. “Oh, well. Nothing but bad memories there anyway.” Glum didn’t even come close to describing me.
“This morning’s boy toy do you wrong?”
“You could say that.” Tears welled up in my eyes. I let them fall unchecked, not experiencing a moment’s shame considering what I’d been through. My phone rang, and I stared at it for a moment before snatching it up answer. “Mel, now is not a good time.” My voice caught on a sob.
“What’s wrong, Lyric?”
“Someone broke into my apartment and ruined all my stuff.” When the body-wracking moans and cries escalated, he took the phone.
I ignored whatever he said, burying my head in the carpet in front of me. What the hell was wrong with me? I had money. I could replace most of it. Some of the shoes were vintage, but that hardly justified bawling like I’d lost my best friend. I sniffed and tried to sit up, but another round of sobs caught me. I wavered. George wrapped his arms around me, whispering plenty of it’s-all-rights and it-will-be-okays, but I was a lost cause.
Chapter Ten
I stared over at a pair of to-die-for turquoise pumps. Behind those sat a pair of plain black dress shoes next to a pair of running shoes. Shoes, perfect in their design, mocked me. Voices accompanied each pair, but despair kept my face hidden behind the veil of my hair.
Melody knelt in front me. “Honey, are you okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” Especially since I suspected she and the way Jace felt about her were the very reasons for my total devastation.
I scanned the thoughts of those in the room. Some were worried, but the consensus believed I’d lost my ever-loving mind. “I’m not crazy,” I murmured. “Look at my place. If one more of you thinks these are just shoes, I might toss you out the window.” I looked up at my sister. “Just saying.”
Groaning, Melody picked up a pair of my Blahniks. “Who would do this?” The pain in her voice mirrored the ache in my heart. “These are amazing.”
“I know, right?”
She reached farther, almost tumbling sideways to grasp another high heel. “And these? These are beautiful.”
“Have the police been here?” Dylan asked. “Did they take fingerprints?”
I shook my head. “Apparently, shoe-icide isn’t high on their crime list.” I sent George a shaky smile. Melody stood, collecting stilettos, pumps, and sling-backs, hugging them to her as she would an injured child. Maybe we were more alike than I’d believed. “The cops were more interested in Wyatt than finding whoever did this.”
“Who the hell is Wyatt?” Jace asked again.
“I don’t know, Dylan. Oops. I mean Jace.” I’d located the anger in my situation.
Max raised his eyebrows at Dylan, who mimicked the gesture to Lily, who passed it on to Melody, who imparted it to Ryan, who handed it off to Jace. “Shut up, you guys.”
They all continued to stare at him.
“Not your business.” Jace spoke to them but looked down at me, his eyes wide, asking for help. “Aren’t we supposed to be concentrating on finding a shoe murderer?” He flipped his stare to Dylan. “Mr. FBI, don’t you have any useful input? Something procedural you can do?”
Dylan crossed his arms over his chest, rocked on his heels.
Jace looked at Lily. “Sherriff? Are you planning to be any help here at all?”
She shrugged, waiting. The fact they were giving him a hard time made me feel better.
“Oh, come on.” He threw his hands up in the air and yanked them back down. “You’re supposed to be my family.” He was one second away from stomping his foot. “Seriously?” He looked at each one.
I knew it would do nothing for Max to hear the problem he already suspected spoken in words. “It was nothing you guys. Really. Just a misunderstanding.” It had nothing to do with the pleading eyes Jace sent my way.
“Doesn’t much seem like a misunderstanding.” Ryan, the oldest and blondest of the Laugherty children, shot Jace a look of triumph as he spoke to me. “It kind of seems like you probably understood exactly what was going on.”
I shook my head, an evil eye aimed in his direction, daring him to challenge me further. “Nope. Simple communication problem.”
“If you say so.”
I nodded. “I do.”
Dylan assumed his all-business pose. “Lyric, can you think of anybody who would want to do this to you?”
I sighed. “My money is on Mom and Dad.”
As much as the entire group wanted to agree, my parents had been with us when the ransacking occurred.
“Tell me about your new clients.”
“My clients are the defense attorneys. Their client is a young mom accused of felony child abuse.” Thanks to my job, I couldn’t share much more about the case. Since I’d been hired by the defense team, attorney/client privilege extended its long arms straight to me.
“Did she do it?” Ryan’s genuine curiosity drew his brows together.
I rolled my eyes “I can’t tell you anything one way or the other.”
“What about the prosecution team?”
I shook my head, unwilling to consider that the people I worked with were anything less than good. “They’re all officers of the court. This is a crime, a big one because of the amount of property damage. Why would they risk it? Just to piss me off?”
“Or scare you off.”
Maybe Michael had found out I was responsible for Wyatt taking over his case. Maybe. Or maybe my distress over the ruination of my belongings had me ready to point fingers in any and every direction. “This is stupid. It was probably some random drunk from downstairs.” I wanted to believe it, but the words sounded wrong.
Lily held up a crushed Louboutin. “I don’t think so, Lyric. This seems kind of personal to me.” She turned to a very silent George. “Did they wreck your room?” He shook his head. She glanced at me. “See?”
All eyes turned to George, the mood of the room turning to the dark side. “Where were you tonight?” Dylan didn’t bother to hide his suspicion.
“Out with a very lovely stewardess at the Bellagio.” He held up his hands. “There will be security footage of a very enchanting encounter in the elevator then me going into her room at six-fifteen and leaving around ten forty-five.” He shot a look at Dylan. “You’re FBI. Surely hacking into hotel security footage is not out of your realm.”
“Does this building have security?”
“Um, there was a glitch in the system a while back, and I never got around to having it fixed.” George looked at me with pleading eyes.
“Kind of convenient, don’t you think?” Dylan asked, squaring his shoulders, ready to pounce on my friend.
He wouldn’t have had time. Besides, he was my Georgie. I defused the situation by sticking to the part of the story I’d found the most interesting. “You had hot elevator sex?” This jealousy, I understood.
“No, we just spent a little time fondling one another. Her room was only three floors up.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “We had sex in her room.”
“Classy, George.” But I smiled anyway.
“Hey, you asked. I have no secrets from my best friend.”
Okay. He had a valid point. I had some making up to do. “And the room full of virtual strangers?”
“Not virtual, Lyr. Actual strangers,” Max pointed out.
“Collateral damage,” George replied.
I looked at him. “I would never believe you would do this, G.”
He smiled. “I know, love.”
“In any case, it probably isn’t safe for you guys to stay here tonight,” Lily said. “The perp could come back.”
“For what? My TV, my shoes, and all of our DVDs are already trashed. The pages have been ripped out of every book. My laptop is broken in half. My cabinet doors have all been torn off. They poured some toxic fluid all over the keys of my piano. If you take every single thing of value George and I have left and put it in a pile, you will have a very small pile of nothing.” I motioned to the floor. “Absolutely nothing.”
“It wasn’t about the value of the things they destroyed. It was that they belonged to you.” Dylan’s voice dripped with a practiced softness. “I agree with Lily. This was personal. Someone wanted to hurt you.”
“Stay with us, Lyric.” Melody spoke with fierce desperation.
“It’s the night before your wedding.” I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine right here.” I put an arm around George. “Right, buddy?”
He hemmed. He hawed. Then he turned coat. “I think they’re right, Lyr. This wasn’t about me. It was meant for you. Until we know why and who, I think you should stay somewhere else. I personally plan to head back to room 318 at the Bellagio.”
