Duty and Devotion (11 page)

“Don't break her. I didn't get enough cash at the ATM to pay for a movie star,” Jim said as Griffin whacked a few people in the shins as he gave her a whirl.

Daisy giggled nervously as Griffin set her down.

“So you're glad to see me,” she said, a little desperately, and Jim gave another glance toward the bar. Three drinks, he could carry three.

“Yeah.” Griffin sniffled as he smiled at her.

Jim decided to wait on the bar, and let his boyfriend lean against him, doing the quiet physical reassurance thing and trying not to glower at the woman who had betrayed her friendship with Griffin.

She clearly didn't expect an affirmative answer from Jim, but she gave him a sidelong peek. He cleared his throat and tried to relax his facial muscles.

“The play was, uh—good. I didn't fall asleep,” he offered. Daisy smiled and bit her lip.

“I think that's high praise.” Griffin sighed. He was rubbing Daisy's arm, and they both seemed on the verge of weepy hugs.

“It is,” Jim said.

Daisy gave a watery laugh. “I really appreciate you both coming, really. I know I can't apologize enough for what I did…”

“Water under the bridge,” Griffin said.

“But not entirely forgotten.” The words slipped out, and Jim endured the whip-quick look from Griffin. “Forgiven, though. You did your best to fix things, and I appreciate that. You didn't let Ed Kelly down.”

He left out the part where she kind of let Griffin—her best friend forever and a day—down, but he didn't think anyone needed the reminder. Daisy's face was pale, her bottom lip was quivering, and Griffin's glare was burning a hole in the side of Jim's neck.

“Thanks, Jim,” Daisy murmured, her gaze dropping to the hem of her flowy black dress. “I know I don't deserve your forgiveness.”

Two fingers to the neck of his shirt—Jim was starting to get uncomfortable. It's not like she killed someone…jeez.

“We all have to move on,” Griffin said, his voice tightly strung. “New day and all that—the play was amazing, Daisy Mae. You were incredible.”

The praise perked Daisy up a bit, and Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Thanks. Bennet and Shane really deserve most of the praise. It's a brilliant play.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “And Lance, of course.”

Jim had no idea who any of these people were. He suspected Lance was the guy who played the metaphorical pirate. Truth be told (and he wasn't going to join the praise-a-thon just yet), he'd just about held his own against Daisy—she carried the show. And was probably the only reason Jim hadn't fallen asleep.

“Would you two like to meet Bennet?” Daisy linked her arm into Griffin's, giving him a little tug. “He and Shane are over there.” She indicated an area much closer to the bar than they currently were, and Jim found himself nodding enthusiastically.

“Sure, sounds good,” he said, answering for Griffin, whose “WTF” expression was probably the highlight of the evening.

They moved through the crowd, with a few mini-stops as Daisy graciously thanked people for their ass kissing.

Two men were huddled together between the bar and an exit door—Jim thought it might be the best seat in the house. Both had that hipster look he was so fondly dismissive of. He girded his loins and waited for the introductions to begin.

“Bennet, darling, come meet my friends,” Daisy called, zipping around the tightly knit bar crowd to duck between the two men. The darker of the two—hair, eyes, and eyebrows so black they looked blue—brightened when he saw her, arms opening to pull her close.

“Can I meet them too?” The other man was the opposite end of the spectrum, fair-haired with blue eyes and a killer “aren't I charming?” smile. Jim checked to make sure his wallet was still in his pocket.

“Of course, silly.” Daisy had brightened considerably since the rather deep conversation, tucked in Bennet's arms but being handsy with the other man as well.

Weird people.

“Griffin Drake, Jim Shea—this is Bennet Aames and Shane Lowry. Bennet directed the play, and Shane is the writer,” she said, complete with gestures.

The men all exchanged handshakes, murmurs of pleased-to-meet-yous. Then Bennet (his hands still on Daisy) smiled broadly at Griffin.

“So you're the infamous Griffin—I'm really delighted to meet you, young man. We have a lot of business to attend to, you and I.”

Jim's eyes narrowed. Was this a hit-on sort of thing? Griffin looked a bit starstruck, an expression Jim hadn't really encountered before. Griffin was a screenwriter—why did some play director make him look like he was about to pull out his autograph book?

Griffin gave Daisy a weird look, and she just giggled.

“Your screenplay?” Bennet glanced over at Jim. “I was hoping while you're in New York we can discuss it. Are you here for long?”

“We're sort of on an open timeline,” Jim said, casually—deliberately—putting his arm around Griffin, just in case these showbiz types had any funny ideas.

“Excellent—that means Griffin and I can set up a meeting…” He looked hopefully at Griffin, whose expression was starting to brim into something resembling “burst of light.”

“Should I be jealous?” Shane asked, all faux innocence and appraising looks.

Jim looked at the bar. So close and yet so far…

“Not at all, unless you've forsaken playwriting for the bright lights of Hollywood,” Bennet smiled, an even line of very white teeth blinding them all. He pulled out his iPhone one-handed, swiping his fingers until he “ah-ha'ed” at the screen.

“Are you free tomorrow for a late lunch? We could meet at my office, if that's all right with you. Then perhaps I can get you all to come to dinner with us.”

Griffin was already nodding so Jim joined in.

“Sounds great, thank you.” Griffin smiled. He gave Jim a glance for confirmation.

“Perfect.” Bennet put the phone back in his jacket pocket and signaled over their heads for someone.

Jim prayed it was a waiter.

“Would you two like to come with us? We're going somewhere more quiet for a cocktail.”

“Or ten,” Shane added. He seemed to be a part of the “us” package that included Bennet and Daisy. Every sort of 'dar he had was going off; Jim was pretty sure Bennet and Shane were coasting toward gay on the Kinsey scale, slightly sure at least one of them was also sleeping with Daisy, and mildly concerned “cocktails” meant “cocaine.”

“This isn't going to be an orgy or anything?” he murmured to Griffin, who elbowed him in the side.

“I'll protect your honor,” Griffin whispered back. At least the glaring was over. And maybe the cocktails would mean sex and not violence when they got back to the hotel room.

In a little pack they moved through the crowd—more ass kissing, now with good-byes scattered in—Jim and Bennet were about the same height so they managed to clear the way for Daisy, with Shane and Griffin chatting up at the rear. It was sort of second nature for Jim, scanning the perimeter and analyzing who was around them. All the shiny faces seemed the same. Too much alcohol, too little sleep, trying to impress…

It was almost an afterthought that the man lingering near the doorway caught his eye. He didn't have a drink in his hand or a hip outfit on his slender body. His head was ducked down as if he were trying to avoid eye contact—which was pretty much the last thing anyone else was doing. Jim felt his body go into an alert stage, slowing down as he passed the man, to get a better look.

His hands were deep in his pockets, his gaze averted. But when Daisy passed his position, his head jerked up, and Jim saw glazed eyes and a desperate expression.

He moved quickly, pushing his way between Bennet and the man—but the latter was a split second closer. Faster.

“Daisy!” he cried out, throwing himself toward her as she reached the sidewalk, off balance as she shrugged into a short jacket. The stage hand passing it to her went down first, a look of surprise crossing his face as the man bolted in front of Daisy, his hands grabbing for her. “Daisy, you have to listen to me!” he screamed.

Bennet froze for a moment, but as Jim stepped forward—hands pushing the man back—he regained his senses and shielded Daisy with his body.

“Get her into the limo,” Jim said, his eyes never leaving the crazed man now throwing himself against the solid wall that was the retired cop. Chaos behind him was a dim soundtrack; he just wanted to know this guy wasn't carrying.

“Call the police!” Someone shouted as Jim grabbed the guy's arms, trying to keep him from pulling anything deadly out. The tell-tale bulge of a weapon brushed his hip, and he tensed, throwing twenty years on the force into a quick takedown onto the pavement.

Chapter Twelve

The ride home was not a chatty one; Evan drove with the radio loud and tried to decide if he was more pissed or embarrassed by his behavior. Probably a perfect storm of both. He went with the best intentions of being polite and friendly, but at the restaurant he just felt open and exposed, like every single person there could see through his clothes and skin and read his mind. And when they came back to the table—after whispered heated words in the hallway—Evan was slammed by the sight of Jim and Griffin kissing.

Which made him think about Jim kissing Matt, and then everyone in the place seeing it, and his brain took a detour into ugly.

He cleared his throat; he considering speaking but maybe that was like throwing a rock into a war zone and seeing who fired. Matt's head snapped to the side to shoot a dagger into the side of Evan's head.

“You promised,” he said simply.

Evan sighed. “I know. I know.”

“You're better than that—whatever the fuck that was back there.” Matt blew out a frustrated breath, his head turning back away from Evan. “They didn't deserve that.”

Evan flinched.

“And you know what? Neither did I.”

The boom lowered. Evan's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

His BlackBerry buzzed in his pocket. He welcomed the distraction of work as he recognized Helena's number.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Sorry to bug you, but I was out with Chris Callas from Midtown, and she got a call about a disturbance at the Muse Theatre.”

“And…is this something that's going to end up on our desks?” Evan asked, motioning for Matt to lower the radio.

“No—but didn't you say Matt's friend was going to the opening night of the play there? Chris said a retired cop took down someone who went after the actress.”

“Oh. Shit.” Evan glanced at Matt whose attention was drawn to the conversation. “Is everyone okay?”

“I guess so. Ambulance on site, but that's pretty standard.”

“We'll head over there. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Evan hung up and began to pull off on the next exit ramp. “We should head back to the city. There was a problem at the theater where Jim and Griffin were going. Someone went after the actress.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. And apparently your friend took the guy down.” Matt held onto the dash as Evan pushed the speed limit to get back to midtown. He was glad his badge was in his pocket.

The place was a madhouse when they pulled up. Evan flashed his badge at the cop directing traffic and got a wave-through. They parked on a side street, and Matt was leading the way, clearly forgetting he wasn't still on duty.

They worked their way through the onlookers, cops, and EMTs who were wandering around—not to mention the press throng that seemed to be multiplying by the second.

“Detective Callas?” Evan asked as he showed his badge to a uniform outside the yellow crime-scene tape.

“Yeah, in there.” The officer gave Matt a look and smiled. “Haight? That you?”

“Barney? Jesus, they got you on crowd control? Good to know the city is safe,” Matt grinned, shaking his hand warmly.

Barney shrugged. “Hey, I might even score an autograph for my son outta this. Not a bad night.”

“Everything under control?” Evan asked.

“Yeah. Some guy off his meds went after the actress, and her bodyguard or someone took him down.”

“I heard it was a retired cop.”

“Guess so. Looks cop. Or military. He disarmed this guy before he got near her. We're just here to keep the press from swarming the place.” He shook his head.

“Listen, I know the guy in there—he's a friend. You mind?” Matt gestured toward the building.

“Nah, go ahead.” He nodded at Evan as well. “Have a good night, guys.”

“Thanks, Barney. Take care.”

Evan and Matt ducked under the tape and headed into the theater.

“Do you know everyone?”

“Generally.” Matt grinned. They entered the lobby where there were way fewer people—just cops, a few EMTs, and a small crowd of people. Evan recognized Griffin right away.

“They're over there,” he motioned to Matt. They closed the space, with Evan spotting Chris Callas amongst them.

“Griffin?” Matt said the younger man's name, and he turned, his face full of shock and drained of color.

“Everything okay?” He nodded to Chris, who had apparently gotten the heads-up from Olivia that they would be there.

“No one was hurt, and the suspect's been transported,” Chris said.

“Jim won't go to the hospital,” Griffin blurted out. A blond man was standing at his side, nodding to Evan and Matt.

“Just a few bruises and a bloody nose. They just wanted to check him out,” he added.

“The EMTs said he should go.” Griffin had clearly hit fretting mode, and Evan felt bad for the young man. While this was old hat to Jim and himself and Matt, Griffin had clearly not been around this sort of thing in his life.

“I'm sure Jim knows if he needs medical attention or not,” Evan said, falling into detective mode. “The EMTs are probably just being overly cautious.”

“See, that's what I said.” The blond man smiled at Evan and Matt. “Shane Lowry,” he said by way of introduction.

“Detective Evan Cerelli. Matt Haight.” Evan turned his attention back to Griffin, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Why don't we go over and talk to Jim. I can probably tell if he should go to the hospital, and we'll convince him, if that's the case.”

“Uh, okay, sure. Thanks.” Griffin glanced at Shane, then seemed to search the small group for someone else. “Is Daisy okay? I have to go…”