Smoke and Mirrors - Hollywood Knights One (9 page)

After a while, the guys took a break and switched
things around, and somehow I ended up with my butt parked on the
drum stool with sticks in my hands. Brian gave me some basic
instruction, and I bashed out a rhythm on the snare and ride.
London grinned and shook his head.

“Let me see that,” he said, holding out his
hand.

I handed him the stick, and he showed me how I
should be holding it, as opposed to how I was holding it. I tried
again, but again he shook his head.

“Wait a second,” he said, hopping up to come stand
behind me.

He reached around to adjust my grip and my
positioning, and for a minute, I think I forgot to breathe. I gave
myself a hard mental kick for it, but the damage was done. I needed
to get away from him, even though I didn’t want to.

“I’m hopeless,” I told him. “Maybe some time when
I’m not lit.” I handed him the drumsticks, maybe a little more
forcefully than was really necessary, and made a beeline for the
door.

Chapter Eighteen

The early October night had gotten downright cold,
and I stood outside shivering, letting the chill seep in to replace
the rush of heat from both London’s touch and the shame I felt for
being so strongly attracted to someone who was dating one of my
closest friends.

I’m not sure how long I stood out there, partly to
calm down and partly to punish myself, before Elizabeth appeared
beside me, asking if I was okay. I couldn’t tell her what was
wrong, so I just shrugged.

“I thought you were napping,” I said.

“Dylan’s really not feeling too great. She asked me
to ask Brian if he was ready to go. I thought I’d see if I could
drag London away, too. I’d really rather be in my own bed.”

I laughed. “Up until a month ago, your bed was
here.”

She laughed, too. “Maybe it’s just that I want
London cuddled up with me, then. Either way, I’m ready to
bail.”

She headed toward the studio, and I made my way into
the house. It was warmer inside, but not warm enough to fight off
the chill I’d gotten from being out in the night air. I considered
going up to my bed, but the stairs seemed pretty daunting. Instead,
I pulled a quilt out of the storage compartment in the coffee
table, wrapped myself up in it, and snuggled into one corner of the
sofa.

I sat there for a bit, my head hazy from alcohol,
contemplating the ginormous mess that the ten of us had managed to
make. There were beer bottles on every horizontal surface. It was
really kind of impressive.

A few minutes later, Brian came in from the studio
and bounded up the stairs to find Dylan. Everyone else drifted in
over the next few minutes, and by the time Brian and Dylan came
downstairs, the whole crew was there to say their goodbyes.

Seth gave Dylan a one-armed hug, his other hand busy
holding on to his tumbler of Scotch, and then gave her round belly
a friendly rub.

“Give your mom a break, Junior,” he said. “Let her
get some sleep, okay?”

Dylan huffed. “Yeah, no. Never gonna happen.”

Seth just smiled. He hugged Brian, too, and told
him, “Take care of my girls.”

He worked the room, saying his goodbyes, hugging the
women, and taking the occasional sip of his drink. Everyone else
said their own goodbyes, as well. I stayed wrapped up on the sofa,
waving to the guys and accepting an awkward hug from Elizabeth.

Parker leaned over the back of the sofa and asked in
a low voice, “So…yes or no?”

It took a minute for my booze-soaked brain to figure
out what he was talking about, but I finally remembered our
conversation about casual dating. “You never answered my question,”
I pointed out.

“A little of “A.” A whole lot of “C.” “B” is not a
goal, especially after tonight.”

I thought about that for a minute, deciphering it to
mean that he wasn’t trying to make Lori jealous but was after a
little fun and a whole lot of trying to get into my pants. I
laughed. Actually, I snorted, but it was meant to be a laugh.

“In that case, maybe. I should say ‘no,’ but I think
I may have lost my mind. Or maybe I’m just too drunk to give a
shit.”

“Awesome,” Parker said. He pecked my cheek and said,
“I’ll call you soon.”

“Hey, wait,” I said, reaching out to grab his arm.
“How are you getting home?”

“London. I’ll get my car tomorrow.”

“Okay, good. Later, gator.”

After another couple of minutes, all of our guests
were on their way home. The front door shut, leaving the house
nearly silent. I took that as my cue to go to bed and stood up,
stretched, and started for the stairs.

Before I could even put my foot on the bottom tread,
Seth’s voice stopped me.

“Please tell me you’re not as stupid as you were
acting tonight.”

I whirled to stare at him, my mouth falling open in
shock. “What?” I managed to stammer.

“He’s taken, Jen. He’s happy. And so is Elizabeth.
Hell, Chris is, too. And I swear to God if you fuck things up for
them, there will not be a corner of this Earth where you will be
safe from the hell I will unleash on your ass.”

I felt a blush stain my cheeks, but I forced myself
to look him in the eye.

“Just what is it you’re accusing me of doing,
Seth?”

“Other than being in love with London? Not a damn
thing. Yet. But it better fucking well stay that way.”

I rolled my eyes and put my hands on
my hips. “I am
not
in love with London.”

“Oh bullshit! The looks, the touches, the
blushing…everyone here saw it, except for Elizabeth who we all know
only sees what she wants to see.”

“I am not in love with him!” I
snapped. Before he could retort, I added, “I’m not going to try to
deny that I’m attracted to him, but there is a big,
big
difference between
being attracted to someone and being in love with him.”

“Don’t give me that crap. The way you feel is
written all over your damn face every time you look at him.”

“I’m attracted to him,” I said again. “I admire
him—”

“And you’d just
love
to admire him on your knees,
wouldn’t you?”

I don’t know how it happened, but in the next
instant, there was a loud smacking sound and a sharp stinging in my
palm. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that I’d just slapped
the shit out of Seth, striking him hard enough to throw him off
balance and turn his face away from me.

Seth lowered his hand from where he’d instinctively
raised it to touch his cheek and slowly turned his head toward me.
His eyes were blazing with anger. No, more than that. Rage.

I took an involuntary step backward just as he
brought his other hand forward, sweeping it hard in front of his
body. The rocks tumbler of Scotch that he’d had in his hand struck
the wall beside me and exploded in a shower of glass shards. I
shrieked like a little girl and shielded my face from the rain of
glass that didn’t quite reach me. Then I turned and bolted up the
stairs, stumbling and nearly falling in my haste to get away from
Seth.

Upstairs, I dashed into my room and considered what
to do next. I was too drunk to drive, but Seth and I being anywhere
near each other was a bad, bad plan. I was angry, he was angry, and
we were both shitfaced; it was a recipe for disaster, for sure.

I closed and locked my bedroom door and then did the
same with the door to the bathroom that connected my room with the
one that had once been Elizabeth’s. That done, I grabbed the
blanket off my bed and huddled in the armchair in the corner,
ashamed and scared and worried, until the adrenaline finally wore
off and the alcohol pulled me down into a restless sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

I woke up the next day with a massive kink in my
neck and a bitch of a hangover. It took a minute for me to realize
what had dragged me out of sleep, and by that time the muffled
ringing of my cell phone from somewhere on the bed had stopped. I
rubbed sleep from my eyes with one hand and searched the sheets for
the phone with the other. I didn’t recognize the number on the
caller ID, but there was a voicemail message. I hoped it was from
someone useful, but it was not. It was, in fact, a recording trying
to sell me some sort of services for my business. I deleted the
voicemail and dropped the phone on the bed beside me.

After several minutes of sitting there feeling sorry
for myself, I decided I should get on with my day. Trying to ignore
my aching head, I unlocked the door to the bathroom, stepped
inside, and flipped on the lights. A bright blue square of paper on
the mirror caught my eye, and I snatched it down.

Jenny,

Breakfast is in the fridge. Coffee, too. Don’t go
downstairs barefoot until after the cleaning service comes. I know
I own a fucking vacuum, but I can’t seem to find the damn thing,
and I don’t sweep for shit.

See you tonight?

Seth

It wasn’t an apology...but it was close enough. My
mouth twitched into a small smile as I set the note aside to rush
through the routine of getting showered and brushed and dressed. I
made sure my usual gear was in my backpack and headed
downstairs.

As promised, breakfast and coffee waited for me in
the fridge. “Coffee” turned out to be a massive paper cup from some
coffee house or other. I pulled off the lid and popped it in the
microwave and then turned my attention to the paper sack that had
been beside it in the fridge.

“God bless you, Seth Webber,” I said as I unwrapped
a huge steak, egg, potato, and cheese breakfast burrito.

I traded the burrito for the coffee, letting my food
heat while I sipped at the perfectly blended cinnamon mocha. A
minute later, I took a massive bite out of the world’s most awesome
breakfast burrito and decided that Seth was totally forgiven for
being a drunk dick the night before. Especially since I’d been more
than a little bitchy...and he’d been more than a little right.

After the burrito disappeared, I grabbed my battered
backpack and headed out, scooting by the office for a few minutes
before going to visit more local pawn brokers. I spent a couple of
hours banging my head against a wall, figuratively speaking, of
course, and then decided a nap was in order.

Between the frustration of getting nowhere with the
investigation, the stress of hours in L.A. traffic, and the
aftereffects of too much alcohol, I felt barely human when I got
back to Seth’s. I glared at the stairs like they’d appeared just to
spite me. Then I dragged myself up them and faceplanted on my bed,
still dressed.

The next time I woke, I felt marginally more human.
I took another shower, just because I could, and then went in
search of food. I stopped at the top of the stairs, remembering
Seth’s note, and circled back to slide on some flip-flops before
going downstairs. The last thing I needed was to find glass shards
with my foot.

I checked my texts while I scrounged up dinner and
fired off a response to Lori, confirming that I was riding with her
to the show later that night. After a moment’s consideration, I
answered Seth’s text as well, telling him that my hangover was much
improved and that I was looking forward to seeing him on stage.

I took my time getting ready for the show. I knew
that how I looked wouldn’t matter for more than two seconds; once I
was in the middle of the crowd, I’d be lost to any interested eyes
— and a sweaty, tangled mess to boot. With that in mind, I kept my
primping to a minimum and chose comfortable clothes and shoes.

I was slicking on lip gloss and wondering how I was
going to kill time until the others showed up when my cell rang.
This time it was a number I vaguely recognized.

“Jenny Marshall,” I answered.

“Ms. Marshall?” asked a very young, entirely too
chipper female voice, as if I hadn’t just told her who I was. “This
is Vicky Bailey.”

She went on to explain that she worked for a pawn
broker near downtown L.A. — one of the ones I had visited a few
days before. The owner hadn’t remembered seeing a ring like Paul’s
grandmother’s, but Vicky, who handled most of the jewelry
purchases, had been off that day. She was back, though, and she
remembered seeing a ring matching the description I’d left with her
boss. She had some photographs and the paper trail on the ring, and
she was willing to share them with me.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I told her.

I texted Lori to tell her I’d meet her at the venue,
and then I pulled on my leather jacket, grabbed my backpack, and
headed for my bike. Once the backpack was stowed and my helmet
buckled on, I aimed the Harley west.

The bike made the trip both a little quicker and a
lot more hazardous. Several times I saw my life flash before my
eyes as some asshole’s crappy driving threatened to take me out.
Somehow —probably by nothing more than the grace of God— I made it
to the pawn shop in one piece.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually I pulled
into a tiny lot beside a building with a faded sign. I checked my
phone and shook my head; I was running short on time. Very short. I
took a minute to shake off the stress and strain of inching across
L.A. and stepped into the shop, hoping the trip would be
worthwhile.

It wasn’t.

The ring she remembered looked a bit like Paul’s
grandmother’s, but it was lacking some of the identifying features.
I’d been dragged out on a wild goose chase— again.

I thanked Vicky for her time and left. Outside, I
checked the time on my cell again and swore under my breath. I was
pretty sure there was no way I was going to make it back to the
venue in time for Seth’s show, but I was damn sure going to try. I
took some of my annoyance out on a convenient dumpster and then
headed back the way I’d come. Traffic had slowed even more, and by
the time I got near the venue, it was so late that I gave up trying
to get to the show and turned the bike toward my office instead. If
I couldn’t play, I could at least work.