Steel, p.2
Steel, page 2
Jesus, what am I doing? What kind of a bitch beasts out at her friend when she was just worried? "I'm sorry you were so scared. I really am, but the last thing I need right now is another episode of the Amelia and Leandro show. I can't handle it. Not after last night…"
I clamp my lips together but it's too late. Carissa's eyes go narrow on me.
Good going, Amelia.
"What happened last night?"
"We had a moment. Then, he asked me to stay, to give it a chance. I can't, you know? I just can't and then Byanca called and I left…"
Carissa presses her finger to her temple like I just gave her a headache. "I messed up, didn't I? I'm sorry. I'll head to New York tomorrow."
My stomach sinks. Carissa coming here while someone's probably after me? I can't let her. "What? No. You can't. I don't want you here with this mess. Stay there, safe with the kids. I'll be okay with the added security and I'll even stay at your house until I find a new place to live. I'll come out there as soon as I settle all this."
Her shoulders square back and her chin juts out. "I'll make you a deal. You let Leo stay in New York and watch over you and I'll wait for you to come west. Those are the only two choices I'm giving you."
Heat spreads up my neck and on to my face and the gasket flies off. "What the fuck, Carissa? I just told you how I feel and you're going to push me into this? You know how hard it is to be around him and to deal with all the emotional shit between us."
Carissa holds out a hand, like that could halt me off on full-blown tirade mode. "I just need you safe. Gia is talking about heading back and I stalled her. I told her you wouldn't want that. She knows Leo's on the way and that you're not alone."
Now she pushes too far. I don't want Gia to cancel her dream honeymoon to come fuss over me. I'm pissed at them and it takes every muscle not to go off again. Deep down, it’s amazing to be loved this much but their good intentions are about to fuck me over. "You know what, fine. You and Gia stay put. I will deal with Leandro and the whole thing. I'm hanging up."
"Don't be like that. We only want you safe…"
I don't want to hear it, but I force a calming breath. "I have no doubt, but I need some time to think before I meet with our people. I'll call you later tonight."
I hang up the call, not giving her the time to protest. And I let out a loud ugh. Anger is much easier to handle. It's familiar territory. I wallow in it for a while. Because it's easier than fear, shadows the grief, and I refuse to name the tingle in my spine.
How long do I have before Leandro comes and upturns my shambled world? Why did I have to hang up so fast? I should have asked her when his flight lands.
I need to get my thoughts in order. I'll work with him, let him hang around from afar to ease Carissa and Gia's minds, but I have to keep him in line. But most difficult of all, I'll force myself on the straight and narrow. I need to find out who killed Byanca and concentrate my energies on tracking the asshole that killed my sister.
3
The Coven always makes me feel more in control. Our lounge is a reminder of how far we’ve come and everything we worked so hard for. Here in the Queen Anne chair, behind the massive desk, and surrounded by everything Carissa, Gia, and I built together, I’m Mel of The Trinity. Not Amelia Solis, a clusterfuck in human form.
That holds me together, so I can look into Gon’s eyes. He’d lost Byanca today but he’s still here, taking care of business without visible proof of the tears he’d shed earlier, when we had a moment alone, and we’d commiserated like only two people who lost someone they love can. But pain was there, flooding his gaze like a lighthouse lamp in the dead of night.
Everyone stares at me and I clear my throat. “We will need extra people around the perimeter of the lounge. We have to be diligent. If you think something looks weird, say something. Also, let's be discreet. We don't need our customers to feel…"
The door swings open, ushering in a gust of wind, and crashes against the wall behind it. I wrap my arms around my stomach, bracing for what's coming. My body senses his presence before I see him. It's like every pore, every vein, every muscle in me screams, he's here.
He stalks through the door, all six-foot-four and two-hundred-twenty-five delicious pounds of warm brown skin. His burnt amber eyes are set on me, like he knows just where to find me in the room. My heart rattles like loose change in a piggy bank. The sight of him is like a shot of dark liquor because everything goes hazy and I feel drunk.
He doesn't stop walking, making a beeline for me, not even stopping to kick the rest of the people out of the room. "Leave us." His order, in an ultra-low tone, makes everyone scramble in a matter of seconds.
I snap out of the trance. "You don't get to order my people around, Leandro. You’re not anyone's second-in-command here."
He keeps coming for me, ignoring my words and the space I'm trying to put between us with my extended palm. He snatches me into his arms, his lips crashing against mine. I taste his hunger and desperation. His mouth moves over mine and I get a taste of everything I deny myself, everything I try to forget, and the impotence that eats at me day after day. I taste Leandro.
I'm scared but I don't realize how much until this moment, when he nestles me in his arms, and I let myself lean against him. His hands press me to him, his arms so tight around me, I can barely breathe. But unlike with Jamie, I don't say anything.
What the hell do I need to breathe for?
Leandro pulls back and I look in his eyes, a golden brown storm rages there, leaving me dizzy and confused. He's looking at me like he's inspecting a windshield for a possible crack. Reality crashes the moment, bringing one of the ugliest words I know, sobriety. "What was that for?"
He smiles like he's been waiting for me to show up and then shrugs. "Carissa asked me to kiss and hug you." He wraps his arms around me, pressing another kiss to my lips.
I push him away. "I am sure…positive, that's not what she meant. I highly doubt she asked you to put your tongue in my mouth."
"You weren't there, Amelia," he says, scrunching his nose. "Our sister clearly said huge kiss and hug."
I prepare a smart-assy comeback but don't get to use it. Leandro pulls me against him again. "For a second…I thought you were gone, lost."
His hoarse tone does me in, makes me stand still, take his warmth, and burrow deeper in his arms. I have to stop this soon. I can't allow myself to take from him, but I need it as much as he does. I lay my head against his chest and turn my face up to look at him. He rains brief kisses on my lips and he whispers my name in near agony, like the lament of a dying man. The alarms go off and I jump back and away from him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, Leandro. It was very nice of you to come check up on me. I'm doing well as you can see."
He shakes his head and sets his jaw. "You may be a lot of things, but well is not one of them."
I prepare for the fight in my own way. I straighten my spine and look him in the eyes. "I'll survive this and will be over it in no time. Now, I don't want to be rude, since you came all the way out here, but I need to meet with my people. I have to prepare to bury my friend and then find out who did this to her. You can wait outside."
Emotion crosses his face and I swear I see that preloading-circle, like I'm waiting for a video to buffer and play. Then, his arms cross high at his chest and he leans towards me, emphasizing the well-over-a-foot height he has on me. "Do you ever turn it off, Amelia? I am not going anywhere. Not until we find out what happened to Byanca. I'm staying here until you're safe."
He enunciates every word, punching strength into each and using a loud tone like we're not speaking the same language and I just asked him for directions.
Hell no. I'm not taking that. "You can't stay here."
He takes a step forward until I’m forced to look up but I don't move.
"Until we know there's no longer a threat, I'm glued to you tighter than those jeans you're wearing. Deal with it."
If I step back, I'll look weak, like I won't stand up to him because I'm afraid of his body touching mine. But our bodies are touching and it's the last thing I should be thinking about. My friend just died. I exhale and the fight goes out along with my discarded breath. "Do whatever you want."
His face shifts. He's no longer arrogant, now he's worried. I can't handle this, the way I know he cares. I step away, to a safe three feet away. "B liked you, a lot. I often wondered how she didn't slit my throat a bunch of times to get with you."
He smiles, that sad, dimmed smile we use when we refer to those who are no longer here. "Yeah, she liked me, but she loved you. She once said she would kill me if I hurt you."
I can't smile. I want to but can't. "Who would hurt her?"
"Someone who wants to hurt you…and me."
My gaze snaps to his. "Why you?"
He pins me with a hard look. "Is this really the time for you to play games, Amelia? Playing dumb won't get you closer to the truth."
I hate him.
I have to bite down on my tongue not to spray him with every vile word in my vocabulary. Because he's right and I can't handle our connection right now. I won’t admit that, despite my every protest, there's something comforting about having him here in the same room and I’m no longer trembling.
The realization bolsters my will and cements it. I need to keep my distance. We have a killer to find and no time for the side drama.
4
Everything's gray around us: the walls, the metal desks with the matching surfaces, the filing cabinets, and my mood. We've been at the station for an hour, waiting for the detectives to see Amelia. I'm here because despite her protests, I am not letting her go in alone. She's quiet. The epoxy—fashioned after duct tape—floors stole her gaze and refuse to give it back. I can't help but watch her and dissect her every breath, every move of her head, every creasing and flattening at the corners of her mouth.
We're back to the Amelia after Nelly's death. The shadow of grief layers over her, subdues her.
I despise the pain she's in and, knowing her, the guilt draped over her heart, reflected in her features. This isn't about Byanca, the vibrant woman reduced to a pawn to send a message. Her death was a simple, well-orchestrated move meant to shake two organizations. It was a personal message to the McLeans and The Trinity. Yet, something nags that this is more insidious, closer, more personal.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," Jamie Byrnes says, walking out of the office. Behind him, a balding, mid-fiftyish man saunters towards us, along with a medium-height, medium-to-round built man with a buzz cut. "This is Captain Patrick and Detective Ramirez. Detective Ramirez is overseeing this investigation. I'm here in an observing capacity only. Please come to the office."
We get up and follow them. Ramirez is watching me from the corner of his eyes. By now he should have memorized the number of buttons on my shirt, the thread-count in my jacket, and determined whether the coffee I drank on the private jet is still in my bladder. He knows who I am. Which is good because I know who he is too. An over-eager little cop who thinks he can take down the big bad.
Amelia reaches for my hand and squeezes. I know then, I was mirroring Ramirez's look. She laces her fingers through mine and shoots me a brief side look. With two moves, she reminds me where we are, who we are, and distracts me from the Teletubby who's drilling me with his eyes.
I can't help but think how much I love her mind and am relieved she's not so far gone in her grieving that she's oblivious. Then again, this is Amelia. Even when life throws her a curve, she manages to step to the plate and hit the ball down center.
We step in the office and Ramirez turns to me. "What is your role here, Mr. Masseur?"
"I'm with her," I say, instead of the “she's mine” lingering at the tip of my tongue. No one enjoys pissed-off Amelia more than me, but I'm not reckless.
I guide her to a chair and take the one next to hers. They can deal…or not.
Ramirez goes to stand by the captain behind the desk. Byrnes moves to the corner on the same side, shoots a brief look to Amelia, and his eyes drift down and back up. The warning issued, he makes sure to catch my eye too. He's in The Trinity’s packet but clearly thinks I'm the loose cannon in the room. I would be a fool to disregard the message.
Captain Patrick's mouth upturns, his gaze shifting from me to Amelia. "Miss Solis, thank you for coming. I know this is a difficult situation with the loss of your friend. We'll make this quick. Can you tell us when you last saw Miss Byanca Rosales?"
She nods. "I saw her last week. She went with me to pick up a gift for Gia. My friend got married yesterday."
The captain nods to Detective Ramirez in a passing-the-baton kind of way.
"Where?" Ramirez asks.
"The wedding was in California."
Ramirez pulls a notepad from his pocket, like we're supposed to believe he doesn't remember what he wanted to ask her. "Why didn't Byanca go? Was she not invited?"
Amelia draws circles over her thigh with her finger. "She was, but it was her nephew's graduation."
"When was the last time you heard from her?"
She takes a deep breath. "Last night, after the wedding. She sent me a text saying she needed me, asking me to come home. I got on the red eye and texted her back that I would be at my old apartment. After landing, I got a message that she was meeting a guy and that she would come by after."
"Did she text again?" Ramirez asked.
She shakes her head.
"Miss Solis, why did you go to the old apartment instead of going straight home?"
Her back stiffens, going ramrod straight against the seat. She looks down at her hand. "I needed…I needed to be around my sister's things. I wanted to feel her presence."
Silence thickens the air in the room. I want to punch my fist right into his mouth, but Ramirez is only doing his job. It's not his fault Nelly's gone and Amelia hasn't healed and that last night sent her straight into a place of hurt. Still, it would feel good to punch someone.
The captain clears his voice and for the next thirty minutes they drill Amelia on her whereabouts the day before, her relationship with Byanca, and if she had a key to her loft. They ask her who could corroborate all that information. She answers all of it, with patience I’ve never seen her have before.
"Tell me how she died," she asks in a voice so low I almost think they didn’t hear her. They did.
Ramirez looks into her eyes. "She was strangled with an expensive designer tie." Then, he turns to me, his eyes glinting with deliberation. "It was a light pink, like the one you wore last night to the wedding."
Something bitter and dark coats the back of my throat and though my heart lurches, I don't move, I don't release my pent-up breath, I don't look at Amelia. My eyes remain steady on Ramirez because I know what he's trying to do. I've been around enough cops and situations to know my reaction will either fuel or diffuse his interest.
He tries again. "You did wear a pink tie to the wedding, correct?"
I nod. "It was part of the wedding theme." I turn to look at Amelia, shoot her a small smile until she nods.
Ramirez hums low. "At what time did you arrive in New York? Did the two of you arrive together?"
He knows damned well we didn't. I wouldn't be surprised if he knows my exact time of arrival, but I indulge him because it's easier this way. "No, Amelia came ahead. I arrived in New York at eleven this morning."
"Had you already planned to come east?"
"Are you interviewing me, Detective Ramirez?"
He laughs, shooting for casual but landing square on insincere. "No, but since you're here, I didn't think you would mind."
"I mind. We lost a friend and we need some time to come to terms with that." I get up and reach for Amelia’s hand.
“Can you let me know when you release the body?” she asks, adding, “I would like to pay for the services.”
Captain Patrick nods.
Byrnes pushes away from the wall and walks us to the elevators. He shakes my hand and hugs Amelia. He whispers loud enough for me to hear. "The tie is the same brand and make that the groomsmen wore last night. And there's more. There was a note on the body. It says ‘one of four.’”
Dread strangles my breath. Shit shit shit.
One of four. One of four? One of fucking four.
Amelia gives a slight nod, meeting my eyes over his shoulder. A new emotion flashes over her face and I don't have to dissect this one. Panic.
5
On the way out, we wait. Don't talk. Don't look at each other. Don't walk too fast but don't take our time either. The door to the car closes and Amelia turns her gaze to me, but we hold it until we get inside Alec and Carissa’s Brownstone.
"This is fucked," I say, walking in, shrugging off my jacket and throwing it on the living room couch with enough strength to rip through the fabric. "You know I don't believe in coincidences. There have already been far too many, but the tie is a mocking message. We're being fucked with."
She doesn't answer. I turn around and find her still standing at the door. Shoulders sagging, gaze to the floor, hands at her side, open like she can't muster the strength to close them. Like a lost child, waiting to be found. I go find her. Even as she shakes her head, I wrap my arms around her, drop a kiss on her head. "I need you to buck up now. Don't let go just yet."
Her hands bunch on my shirt and her breath washes over my chest. She looks up at me, her mouth close enough but her eyes nowhere near me. They're further than I've seen them since last night when she said she was sorry and left me standing in the foyer of the California house.
She clears her throat and steps back. Her mask firm in place, her emotions — a uniform tailored to her skin. "You're right. We don't have time. Let's call Carissa and Alec."
Amelia heads to the office and I follow her, regret snipes at me like the jaws of a rabid dog. The stronger she is, the less she yields, the more she can stand on her own and push me farther away.
