Page 4 of Bourbon and Secrets

As she tries to move my fingers away from her neck, I squeeze tighter. Raindrops begin to fall as if to punctuate the moment.

“I don’t want any of what you’re involved in nearmyfamily.” So I make a demand: “Leave town. And don’t come back.”

Her widening eyes search mine as she struggles to get her words out. “I can’t just leav?—”

Thunder rumbles above.

I grit my teeth and squeeze my fingers again, relishing the feel of her racing pulse. The proof that she’s scared enough now to take me seriously.

“You can and you will. Or I will get every fucking cop I know in this town asking questions. My brother may have left Fiasco PD, but he was a K9 unit. He and his dog still know how to find things, especially if they know where to look. Do you want them to start looking?”

A tear streaks down her cheek and gets lost in the rain that saturates us in the next moment. The severity of my threat plays out in her mind as I watch her eyebrows pinch.

“Let go, Foxx,” she says with her jaw clenched, fingers pulling at mine to release her.

I glare down at her. “People assume I’m the nice one. The family man. But I’m very good at letting people believe what I want them to.” I lean in and whisper, just loud enough to drown out the wind whipping through the rows of corn, bending the structure that barely stands behind us. “So believe me when I say this...I don’t like to be fucked with. I don’t want you or whatever you just did coming back around. So you will leave. And I will keep your secret. I never saw you. I don’t know you nor do I ever want to. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she growls back as she yanks out of my grip.

Watching her walk away, I drag my hands through my hair. I swallow down the lump rising in my throat as my mindsnaps back to why I’d run away earlier. Sleep won’t come easily, I already know that as the weight of reality settles on my shoulders. Rain pelts my face on the ride to my house. The overhang along the back of the house will keep the horse dry for now. As I tie her up, remove her saddle, and fill up the garden basin with fresh water, my mind keeps replaying everything that just happened. This day needs to end, and tomorrow I’ll be thinking more clearly. I stare at the back door. Olivia and I can talk about what comes next in the morning. Shuffling up the stairs, I take a steadying breath.

My stomach twists when I notice the kitchen lights are still on.Shit.I don’t want to see my wife.

But as I step over the threshold, it’s the tangy and sour smell of Liv’s wine and then a crunch under my boot from a shattered glass that have me pausing. Those are the last two things my mind registers before I see her legs splayed out on the wooden floor.

“Liv? Liv!” I shout as I race over to her slumped body, heart in my throat. With her wine spilled around her, I slip on it, and my knees hit the hardwood. She’s not moving. I look around, as if something will tell me what the fuck is going on.

There’s no blood. No sign of a weapon. No pills or bottles. Something made her fall.

I lift her shoulders up and pull her body into mine. “Livvy, c’mon.” Her long limbs are limp and her head lulls to the right. Pushing wine-soaked strands of her hair away from her face, I speak shakily. “Livvy. C’mon, talk to me.”

My face is wet, nose stuffed, so I can only breathe through my mouth as I call an ambulance. Tears blur my vision as I focus on her. Her eyes are open. They stare blankly, void of any recognition or movement. She’s not blinking. She’s not looking at me or hearing anything I’m saying to her.She’s so heavy right now.

I suck in a breath, trying to fill my lungs with air so I can keep telling her to wake up. “Talk to me, Liv. Don’t do this.” Hands trembling, I look for a pulse. Dizzy with panic, I feel around her neck, but there’s nothing. Not one beat to count.This isn’t happening.

“Liv, c’mon. You can’t leave them. We’ll figure this out. You can’t leave them...”

5 Years Later . . .

Chapter 2

Faye

Pink is absolutely my color.Add in the shimmering lace, the black wig, exaggerated cat eyeliner, the deep red lip, and I’m the fantasy. The distraction. A show. And I’m itching to put on a good one tonight. Everyone loves a glam, Gatsby-styled pin-up girl this time of year. Tonight’s audience is rowdier than usual, but it’s expected for New Year’s Eve burlesque. Every single person, from prude to promiscuous, in this audience is here to be entertained.

The Gin Fizz host a cabaret style of burlesque show. It’s dinner, cocktails and some heavy teasing on the menu. And while the blue laws in Nashville have been enforced heavily over the last handful of years, it’s still a sexy night out. Pasties are a must, underboob has to be covered up, and that perfect crescent where my ass meets my thigh can only peek out “by accident.”

Deep and quiet, the drumbeat starts, growing louder just as the trumpet kicks in. A punctuation before it quiets. Its bluesy, teasing sounds from the saxophone and trumpet make everyonepay attention. I like numbers like this one. It leaves the audience eager for more.

I tilt my chin and flirtatiously smile at the front row. The bulkier man in the navy-blue suit pants and white dress shirt is wearing as much of a costume as I am. The facade of someone who’s only here to be entertained but has plenty to hide. His square jawline and the symmetry of his face make him nice to look at, but there isn’t anything memorable about his features. If I had to guess, I would say mid-fifties, but I already know his age. His date of birth puts him at forty-nine. He’s a Gemini. Enjoys a shot of lemon juice and turmeric to start his day and a glass of brandy to end it. Most people wouldn’t know any of this with only a few glances, but I’m not most people. And as it turns out, neither is Mr. Brock Blackstone.

Months of surveillance and orchestrated casual run-ins brought him to the Gin Fizz tonight—a wrong coffee order, the witnessing of a parking ticket disagreement, and my favorite of the damsel-in-distress set-ups, the “I’m so lost, do you know where I can find...” All of it had him coming in here as a regular. Then asking for my number and then getting more and more bold with his “requests.” And tonight, on New Year’s Eve, Blackstone smiles at me as if I’ll be the one to kiss him at midnight. He’s overeager, and that’s exactly where I want him. It’ll be an incredible coincidence when I’ll be performing in the same town as his upcoming business trip.

I take on jobs that feel right. Anything from assisting local police to helping a wife catch her husband in a lie or in someone else's bed. Private investigating means digging in and doing research. Focusing on the details that don’t connect. Asking questions and trying to find the inconsistencies in answers. Every once in a while, I’ll get called into something that has some meat on it.

Blackstone has depth and I’ve been working all the angles, from undercover activity to interaction and technology that make it easier to do the job. It’s a hefty budget, but when the FBI wants a guy, the avenues in which to get him nailed down are endless.

Flirting makes people vulnerable. It has the capability to knock people off course and can be the kind of high that far surpasses one found in a bottle or a pill. Though I smile at everyone in the front row, it’s Mr. Blackstone who will get my specialized attention. Because he keeps coming back for the high I give him.

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