Part 16 (1/2)

”You drive me crazy, mon amour. You are the only man I know who would refuse me.” Her pout vanished, replaced by a wicked smile. ”Except in my dreams. There, you do exactly as I say.”

Cronan knew about Simone and dreams. She hadn't exactly been a stranger to his nights.

”When your baby sister was murdered, you appreciated my resolving her case with discretion. Olivia has a family, people who still love her and need closure. Her murder has connections to this place, Simone. I need you to be honest with me. No games. Can you do that?”

She stared at him and for an instant he saw a familiar hurt glistening in her eyes. Simone knew what it meant to lose someone to violence. She took a deep breath and got off his lap to sit next to him. She made no attempt to retrieve her robe.

”What do you need to know?” She crossed her legs and leaned toward him, playing with his collar. ”I make no promises, but I understand.”

”The first time I told you about Olivia Davenport and showed you a picture of her, you recognized her face. You said she wasn't a regular, but that she'd been into fantasies. Were you telling me the truth?”

Simone flinched and smiled with a shrug as if she'd been caught in a harmless fib.

”I protect my clients, Gabriel. I am sad for this girl's family, but she was not one of my regulars. I told you that.”

”Not good enough.”

”What do you want from me?” she demanded. ”She has no connection to my private club. She was not a member.”

”But maybe her killer was.”

”You push me, Gabriel. This is my business, and it demands discretion. It does not work otherwise. I could lose everything if you insist on linking me to the death of this unfortunate girl.” This time she looked angry. ”If you force me to choose between my clients and you, you will lose. I will not betray my people. Not even for you.”

Cronan remembered that the first time he'd come to Chez Moreau for answers about Olivia, he had believed the girl was the main link to Simone's and had been into the kinky stuff. He'd asked Simone about Ethan Chandler, only referring to him as *a blind guy' in an attempt to respect his reputation and privacy. Now that he had his doubts about the dark side to Olivia, he had other questions-and other names to ask of Simone.

”Is Ethan Chandler one of your people?”

Simone narrowed her eyes and said, ”Like I told you, I do not betray my people. N'est-ce pas?”

Gabriel didn't have to speak French to understand what she meant about Chandler, but the beautiful Simone was done talking to a cop. Her actual words weren't what had intrigued him. It was more what he saw in her eyes and what she didn't say that made him wonder what she still held back.

Downtown Chicago 2:20 AM.

Tim McFarland knew he hadn't been clever at all. Thanks to Ethan Chandler and his brainless sycophants, his evening had ended in complete humiliation. They probably got a laugh at how things turned out. For all he knew, they could've set him up by slipping a pa.s.s under his door and left his name off the master list to embarra.s.s him. The jerk that made the scene had a grudge against him. Good neighbor policy, my a.s.s. That had to come from Ethan.

Stupid! Stupid!

Sitting in the dark, in the room he'd made special for his obsession, Tim gave up drinking from a gla.s.s and flung the fine crystal across the room, targeting his favorite black and white poster of the violinist. The gla.s.s shattered and sprayed shards in all directions, bleeding liquor down the image like tears. From every wall, the beautiful young man stared back at Tim.

Only now it felt as if he were being mocked.

Slouched on a sofa still wearing his disheveled suit-the one he'd meticulously cleaned and pressed to wear for the evening-Tim raised the bottle to his lips and sucked down the pricey Scotch that Ethan Chandler had rejected. It had been his gift, the one he'd been so clever in buying for his famous neighbor. As he drank, he queued up the last recording he'd made of Ethan in the shower, the only surveillance video he had at his residence. He'd been very careful to keep his full collection hidden at his lake house.

He liked watching Ethan to the strains of the soloist's violin music, but not tonight. The surveillance footage had no sound. Light from the TV screen flickered over Tim as he sat in the shadows and raised the bottle to his mouth.

I swear to G.o.d, I thought you were better. That mantra repeated in Tim's head as he slugged down another gulp of Scotch.

Ethan Chandler deserved the best. That included being surrounded with an entourage of people who exemplified the image he should cultivate with more care. Instead, he had barbaric thugs and arrogant stupid b.i.t.c.hes near him. Being young and inexperienced shouldn't be an excuse for allowing social atrocities to happen under his nose.

This wasn't over. No matter how much he drank, Tim couldn't let it go. Ethan would be dead wrong if he thought he could dismiss him that easily.

You have no idea what you've done, but you will.

Tim let his anger fester. When he couldn't look at Ethan's face without his heart breaking, he threw the bottle of Scotch and smashed it against the nearest wall. The expensive liquor splattered across the many photos of Ethan.

Tim thought of his treasure trove of digital recordings of Ethan that he had stored at his lake house. He made up his mind to spend the weekend searching through his favorite recordings, the ones that Ethan would hate to go public. He had enough to ruin the young man, but perhaps with a little persuasion, Ethan might realize how important it would be to keep him as a close and very satisfied friend. Until now he'd been discreet in savoring the digital recordings and keeping them to himself, but if Ethan kept him at a distance, things could change.

From the recordings he'd seen that the young man had given his body to others. Why not to him, too? That wouldn't be blackmail, would it? Not between consenting adults.

With a headache coming on, Tim had had enough misery for one night. When he stood too fast, he got dizzy and had to steady himself. His stomach felt queasy when he looked at the mess. Screw it! He'd clean up later. He left everything as it was before he closed the door on his private room. Tomorrow he'd figure out what to do to make Ethan regret everything he'd done to mortify him.

Getting ready for bed, he stumbled toward his front entry to turn out the light and noticed something white on the floor. A note had been slipped under his door. The envelope had a typed message on the outside-two words that changed everything.

I'm sorry Tim's breath caught in his throat, and his hands trembled as he read the letter inside.

My solo performance on the rooftop is meant for only you Tears came to his eyes when he realized who must have sent the note. Ethan hadn't signed it, but who else could it be from? He'd seen the boy use a computer in his home, speaking into a headset. Although his surveillance gear didn't record sound, he suspected Ethan had technology to overcome his handicap through voice recognition software. He'd looked it up on the Internet once when he wanted to understand the challenges the boy had in his life. It made him admire the musician more.

After only a quick glance in the foyer mirror to wipe his face, Tim stuffed the note in his pocket and locked the door behind him. His mind filled with images of Ethan in the shower, and when he pictured what the boy would look like under the moonlight on the roof, he got hard.

Chapter 12.

Downtown Chicago 2:40 AM.

Tim took the elevator to the rooftop level. Once he got past the lights at the bank of elevators, only dim security beacons were on this time of night and glowed down the corridor that led to the roof exit. He had to enter a pa.s.s code for residents to open the secured door, but once he got outside he heard the sweet sounds of Ethan's music wafting on the night air. It came from a dark patio to his right that was discreetly around the corner and secluded.

Perfect.

His body reacted to the music. That particular song had been a personal favorite of his, one that he'd paired with his preferred recordings of Ethan. He would time his e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n with the crescendo. It felt as if Ethan knew his darkest secret and wanted to be a part of it now.

As Tim rounded the corner, he saw a single rose on a patio table. Ethan's music came from an iPod with an open bottle of wine and two gla.s.ses next to the long-stemmed flower. When he got closer, he noticed another note under the bottle.

Start without me I'm working up the courage to come to you I won't let you down this time Ethan Tim smiled as he read the note again. This time the boy had used his name. He found the musician's shyness very charming and wondered if he would be Ethan's first male lover. He poured a gla.s.s of the Merlot and downed the wine far too quickly to savor it as he gazed across the roof deck and imagined what he would do to Ethan to make their first time unforgettable. He tested the st.u.r.diness of the table and thought of ways he could use the velvety smooth rose pedals until he had to quit stirring his imagination.

This time, being with Ethan would be real.

When the music came to its memorable climax-and his blood warmed his body to a fevered pitch-he had to slow things down. He felt dizzy with his excitement and too much liquor. Now he mixed it with wine. s.h.i.+t!

He imagined the horrors of coming too fast or not getting it up and keeping it up for a boy who'd been his fantasy for years. What would he do if that happened? He collapsed to a chair, out of breath. The rooftop spun, and the city lights blurred. That's when he heard the door open and shut with a faint creak. Footsteps crunched the gravel and got louder.

Tim tried to keep his head up as a black silhouette came toward him. He squinted to focus, but the shadow blurred into a swelling darkness. He fought to stay conscious, until he realized he couldn't move. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Morning The call from dispatch came as Angel headed out her front door and locked it behind her.