He let me leave this time. Let me have the final word. Part of me wished he hadn’t.
It was later, in the dark of my apartment when I was drifting in the space between consciousness and sleep, that the niggling thought stirred by Amber’s picture turned into something concrete and shaped. I bolted upright in my bed. Had I been dreaming? I was pretty sure I’d been lucid, but just to be sure I reached for my phone from the nightstand. The picture of Amber was still on the screen. I pinched my fingers across the surface to make it bigger and zoomed in on the man’s hand at her waist.
There, on his middle finger, was a large ring. It was ornate; the red jewels across the face were laid out in a distinctive V-like pattern. I closed out of it and scrolled back through my messages from Joe until I found the first picture he’d sent me, one with Reeve at an anonymous dinner function. The one where he was with a man. A man who also wore a ring. I magnified the image. My breath caught as I saw it clearly – it was the same ring.
Michelis Vilanakis, the mob boss that I’d seen in two separate pictures with Reeve, was the man with Amber at the casino in Colorado. This finding solved nothing, raising more questions than answers. One thing for certain, it put Michelis on the investigation list. And because of their connection, Reeve was back there as well.
And only three hours prior, I’d walked away from him. Goddamn it.
But before disappointment suffocated me in its grasp, I had another realization – Reeve Sallis was not the type to let just anyone walk away from him. Why would he do that unless he intended to follow?
So all I had to do was wait.
I fell back to sleep easily, strangely more at peace than a person being pursued by a man like Reeve should have been.
CHAPTER 9
The next day, he sent me flowers. They were waiting at the studio when I arrived – a bouquet of white lotus blossoms, a plant that symbolized both female sensuality and potential for enlightenment. It was also often associated with death.
I tossed them in the trashcan in the conference room where we did our weekly table read without bothering to open the note.
The day after, a bottle of red wine came. A 2004 Barolo Cannubi, an expensive Nebbiolo variety with an oaky flavor that was supposed to heighten women’s arousal.
I gave it to Ty Macy as a congratulations gift for his Sunday night win. Again, the note went unread.
Wednesday brought chocolate-covered liquors, which I ate – there are only so many temptations in a week I can withstand.
Thursday, a first edition copy of Peyton Place was added to my bookshelf.
Friday, Reeve was waiting for me on the front porch of my apartment when I got back from my morning run.
I nearly tripped over myself when I saw him.
I’d been confident he’d show up eventually, but honestly, I was surprised to see him so soon. I thought it would be another week of extravagant gifts before he came in person. I’d left the porch light on when I’d left the apartment so I spotted him when I was still half a block away. He sat in my wicker patio chair, half-illuminated, half-shadowed. Without seeing his face, I knew who it was. I could tell by his carriage, by the way he held himself even as he lounged. Besides, who else would it be? No one ever visited me.
He wore a suit and tie, and I wondered for the first time what he did with his days when he wasn’t dropping in on his various resorts around the world. Did he go to an office? Sit behind a desk? Did he always wear a suit? At the end of the day, did he remove his tie and loosen the buttons of his starched dress shirt, revealing just a hint of the solid planes he hid underneath? Or did he often work at home, in sexy sportswear with a phone glued to his ear as he barked orders to lackeys and made capital-D Decisions that influenced the lives of many?
Wherever he worked, I doubted he was usually up and dressed for business this early. The sun wouldn’t even rise for another hour. It was impressive. He was impressive. And as gratifying as it was for me to have captured his attention, I was fully aware that I was in over my head.
I’d slowed to a cool-down pace before I saw him, but now I walked the last fifty feet so I had time to gather myself. To catch my breath. To still my beating heart.
“You jog?” he asked when I was close enough, skipping the formality of a hello.
I climbed the step and moved past him, pulling the door key from the chain on my wrist. “I prefer swimming.” I especially preferred not sweating. Hopefully, I didn’t smell too bad. I’d keep my distance from him just in case.
Except, I didn’t want to keep my distance. The charge shooting between us was crackling and sparking and we’d barely exchanged two words.
I opened the door and stepped inside. Though I didn’t invite Reeve in, he followed. I have a potential killer in my house. I have a man who’s said he might hurt me. In my house.
Suddenly I wasn’t so sure the moisture pooling between my legs was just sweat.
I hung the wristband on the peg by the door and looked over my shoulder to see him blatantly surveying my apartment. There wasn’t much to see. Less than a thousand square feet, it was basically a kitchen that opened up to the living/dining area and then a bedroom. My walls were bare except for a few random art pieces. It was clean if maybe a little dusty. The good thing about long days on the set meant that I wasn’t home enough to mess up my house.
Most importantly, there was nothing to connect me to Amber. I had things from her – photos, mementos. Leaving her out of my décor had been intentional.
Apparently having seen enough of my apartment, he turned to face me. “I have a pool.”
“I’m sure you do.” I did too, technically. There was a community pool for the apartment building. But I rarely used it since it was kidney bean shaped, meant for leisure, not laps.