Phoenix Burning (16 page)

Chapter Fourteen

It was cold in what Parelli had called the “holding tank.” From summer outside to winter temperatures inside, the room’s sterile white tile floor and gray cinderblock walls even looked frosty.

Emory sat still as a statue in the plastic chair in front of a metal table. She wondered if they were supposed to be “one size fits all.” Over the years she’d learned that phrase didn’t apply to people who were only five foot four inches tall. That was what made Alex so perfect for her.

A guy like Connor or their doorman Gabriel would squash someone Emory’s size like a bug. Alex was just less than six feet tall and lean. Every inch of him was beautiful muscle covered in golden skin that begged to be tasted.

I should really stop. If they have some kind of thermal camera in here I’m probably all red and orange by now.

The door swung open. Emory instantly recognized the mayor when he walked in. She’d always liked him. He was built tall and thin like a runner, which he was. There were crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, and his hair was a distinguished steel gray color. He lived in a renovated home just a few blocks away from Emory’s shop. He was a politician who actually lived with the people he represented even though he’d come from a wealthy family.

The local grapevine always whispered about the millions he had tucked away in the bank. Emory didn’t know if any of that was true or not. She just knew a nice guy when she met one.

Strand pulled out a chair and settled himself comfortably at the table. “Officer Parelli suggested I sit and have a chat with you, Miss Banks.”

“You can call me Emory, sir.” A few nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She didn’t want to insult such a nice guy. What if she was totally wrong? “We’ve met before. You come into my shop to order flowers whenever someone in your office has a birthday.”

“That’s right. I thought you looked awfully familiar.” He frowned. “You hardly seem the type to wind up in the city jail. What happened?”

Emory figured it was now or never. “Donovan MacIntyre.”

“I see.”

“I suppose I might be somewhat at fault.” She wanted to be utterly honest. “I did go out with him twice. But after that I’ve tried to make it clear that I have no interest in pursuing any kind of personal relationship. He just seems incapable of getting the message.”

“Yes, he does tend to be rather—determined—when he wants to be.”

Strand’s expression told Emory she was on the right track. “Pardon me, sir, but determination is a positive thing. MacIntyre has been rude, forward, and lately he’s been rather violent and frightening.”

“Have you consulted the police on this matter, Emory?” Strand fidgeted, sat back in his chair, and stared at the tabletop. “A restraining order perhaps?”

Instinct told her now was the moment to push. “It isn’t that simple with some people, sir. Take my daddy, for instance. He was mean to my brother while we were growing up, just because he was a little bit different. When my brother came out and admitted he was gay, and I stood by him, my daddy threw us both out on the street.”

“That’s a horrible thing for a father to do.” Strand was riveted by her story. “What did you do?”

She thought about the early years, of Chris in school and her working all hours at the bar. “We turned out okay. Mostly because we both felt better for being honest about who we were. It was more than that though. We realized that there are plenty of good people who accepted us. Chris met Fox.” She gazed right at him. “You’ve met my brother-in-law. He’s the author.”

“That’s right. Chris Fox. And your brother is a local attorney.”

“That’s them, and being gay has never affected my brother’s practice. He’s open and honest about it.”

Strand brushed his fingertips across the metal surface of the table. “What about you? How have you done since leaving your father’s house?”

“I just met the most wonderful guy. He’s a bartender at the Phoenix Rising.” She forced herself to stick with the conversational tone. “Lately though, MacIntyre has been riding us. He’s convinced I belong to him, and he’s dead set on shutting down the Phoenix. He’s trying to change the public indecency ordinances. He’s had a petition out and everything. Next thing you know he’ll shut down Dacey’s bookstore, Clement’s gallery, and Morgan’s boutique, and then he’ll own all of downtown. And
that
would be a disaster.”

Strand fidgeted again. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Screw subtle. She was tired of beating around the bush. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but are you gay?”

“What makes you ask that?”

As if the shifty eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway. “My twin brother is gay and has been as far back as I can remember. I might not have known the terminology back then. But both of us knew he was wired a little differently than the other boys in our youth group. It’s always seemed like a second version of normal to me. And there have also been some things said by MacIntyre.”

“MacIntyre?” Strand looked near panicked. “Has he been spreading rumors?”

Emory forced herself not to roll her eyes. It would have been disrespectful. “Sir. Blackmail is a crime. If that bastard has been blackmailing you, he’s through. I don’t know why you’d hide your sexual orientation, but it isn’t necessary. Honestly, I think I’d like you better if you were gay, and I like you already.”

“Do you know how many politicians have lost their elected positions when they come out?” He slumped in the chair, looking deflated. “I don’t want to lose my job! I love being the mayor. I’ve been able to do so many wonderful things for people in this city. I love what I do. I love people. I’ve campaigned for more parks, and safer playground equipment, safer sidewalks, and city pride projects.”

Emory laughed at his enthusiasm. “You don’t have to convince me. I just don’t understand why you think any of that would change just because you admit you’re gay. People elect you because of all that other stuff. Not because they think you’re straight.”

Several moments of silence spooled by. Emory began to wonder if she’d crossed a line. Then the older man heaved a great sigh, and the tension seemed to drain right out of him.

Strand gave her a wink. “That Alex Dalesio is quite a looker.”

“Have you ever been inside Phoenix Rising?” Emory was astounded at the possibility.

“I have.” He seemed to come to a decision. “And we can’t allow MacIntyre to shut it down. There might be some crazy nights in there, but a place where everyone leaves judgment at the door is hard to come by. It should be preserved.”

Okay. The bar had apparently been saved. What about Emory? “So do I still have to go to jail?”

“I’m pretty certain your brother has already arranged your bail. But I think it’s safe to say we can get those ridiculous charges dropped.” Strand stood up. “What did you attack him with, anyway?”

Emory leaped to her feet, excited at the prospect of leaving her delinquent days behind. “A little pair of pruning shears from my prep table. I use them to clip the ends off the flower stems before I put them in a vase.”

“How ridiculous! Even I’m not that much of a pansy.” Strand opened the door and motioned her out into the hallway. “Next thing you know he’ll be proposing a city ordinance about the danger of citizens owning spoons.”

* * *

Alex paced from one end of the bar to the other. City hall was practically right down the street. How long could it possibly take to bail someone out when the charges were such obvious bullshit?

“Would you sit? I’m knackered just watching you.” Gabriel rearranged his boots on the table. “That cop knew the charges were dodgy. Her brother will get it sorted.”

“Gabriel?” Connor came into the bar from the direction of the office with Jessa trailing in his wake. “Go ahead and open the doors. If nothing else, it’ll give us something to do while we wait.”

“You’re the boss.” Gabriel grunted as he got to his feet and headed off to man the cage and check IDs.

“Can you handle the bar, Alex?” Jessa touched his arm.

Bartending was the last thing on his mind. Ignoring Jessa, he looked at Connor. Taller, broader, and downright scary looking on some days, Connor Archuleta was the brother Alex had never had. They’d worked together for years. They’d watched each other’s backs when the bar got rough. Hell, they’d even shared women before Connor had settled down with the one he couldn’t live without.

“I know you’re thinking it.” Connor crossed his arms, his default defensive position. “Just say it.”

“How the fuck could Captain Downtown make an offer for the bar and me not even
know
about it?” The words tumbled out as though he’d been waiting to say them. Which he had been.

“How many times have you told me that I’m the boss? How many times have you told me it was all up to me because it’s my bar? How often do you refuse to make a decision or take a stand or take responsibility because it’s
my
bar?”

Connor’s words hurt because they were true. Alex retreated behind the counter, but his friend wasn’t done.

“You want to be the shiftless player, remember?” Connor’s tone grew harsh. “No commitments, no promises, no responsibility, nothing but the moment.”

Alex splayed his hands on the counter. Was Connor really right? On the surface it would have seemed so. Alex did defer to Connor. He pushed off decisions, money issues, pretty much anything that resembled responsibility. Before Jessa, before Connor had that person who had truly
invested
in him, he had confided in Alex. But in reality, that was because Alex had been the only one around.

“Either grow up and be a man or continue to be left out. Your choice.” Connor’s already deep voice slid an octave lower, signaling the emotion his friend would never outwardly show.

Had he ever really stepped up and allowed himself to be responsible for anything? He’d drifted through school without direction, joined the military to make his father happy, resigned his commission because he didn’t like being tied down to someone else’s rules, and then wound up a womanizing bartender. What did he even have to offer someone like Emory?

The truth was staggering. For the first time he allowed himself to admit that he was tired of moving from lover to lover, always looking for the next thing. Not even the next best thing, just the next whatever. He’d enjoyed them. Some more than others, but he had enjoyed them. After it was all over though, he went home to a dark room in a house full of ghosts.

He stood up and walked away from the bar.

The thunder of Connor’s voice shook Alex to his bones. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I think I need to go home.”

Connor took a step toward him, regret etched on his features. “Alex, wait.”

“It’s okay, Connor. I’m not running.” Alex didn’t have words for what he needed to say. “I just need to go home. When Emory gets here, tell her where I am.”

Connor seemed to realize that Alex wasn’t walking out for good. He relaxed just a fraction and nodded. “I’ll tell her.”

“And Connor?” He met his friend’s stoic black gaze. “Thanks.”

A rare smile crossed Connor’s face. “Anytime.”

Chapter Fifteen

Emory approached the A-frame brick house as if there might possibly be a witch inside ready to try and shove unsuspecting children into the oven. The house resembled most of the others in the downtown area. It was long and narrow, sandwiched between its neighbors with no side yard to speak of, had a postage-stamp-sized front yard, and looked nothing like any of the others on the block. The street was old and quaint but also tidy. No garbage cans littering the sidewalks, junk cars parked on the street, or unkempt lawns in sight.

She double-checked the address. It was definitely the right house. She took the front steps one at a time, eyeing the ancient rocking chairs on the porch. She could not picture Alex kicking back in one of those. A big overstuffed chair, maybe, but not a rocker.

The front door was open behind an ancient screen door. “Alex?”

“In here.”

In where?
She stepped inside the dimly lit entryway.

She couldn’t possibly be in the right house. Yet the number on the mailbox was right, and Alex’s voice had urged her inside. The place looked as if it belonged to a couple in their eighties. The furniture was covered in floral fabric that hadn’t been trendy since the seventies. The wallpaper had been pulled from the same design scheme. Heavy damask curtains let in only a sliver of natural light.

Stepping around an umbrella stand, she moved farther into the room. Knickknacks cluttered every available flat surface. Dogs, cats, cows, roosters—some shaped like salt and pepper shakers, and some cavorting in playfully frozen poses. They were dusty.

She sneezed.

“Emory?”

He was lounging against a doorframe between the front room and what must’ve been the kitchen. Long, lean, and sexy as hell, Alex had a body built for sin. He did not look as if he belonged to this place.

“What is this place?” She picked her way closer.

He restlessly rubbed his curly blond hair. “It was my parents’ place. They left it to me. I’ve just never…”

The sentence was left to hang there between them. She didn’t need him to expand. He’d never really claimed the space. That much was obvious. “If this place is anything to go by, I’m
way
too young for your taste.”

There was a moment where she wasn’t certain he got her humor at all, and then he snorted and let loose a laugh that made her belly clench and her pussy wet. It didn’t matter what this man did, it turned her on. He’d done so much for her. He’d accepted her. She looked around at the house that was so obviously not Alex and wondered how she could return the favor.

“I’ve never brought anyone here before.” Alex’s voice was pensive.

Considering what the place looked like, she didn’t have any trouble believing him. And yet the idea that he’d never once shared a part of himself with any of his lovers was staggering. She took a deep breath, needing but not wanting to know the truth. “Do you only have sex in the bar?”