Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (19 page)

I did. I wasn't sure how, but I knew I could protect myself…or at least die trying. I felt like I was living proof of that.

He lay the blade flat against my skin along my sternum. It was so cold, or maybe my skin was so hot—fever hot. I shuddered lightly, then held my breath as he slid the knife upward, then flicked it up casually. It sliced through my bra at the same time his fingers circled my clit, the tight bundle of nerves giving in easily to the relief of tension.

He never broke contact, his eyes boring into me as I shuddered and came against his fingers. The knife lay against my sternum the whole time.

And then he was naked, the knife gone, and he was seated fully inside me. I wrapped around him, still floating but wanting more.

"Greedy," he murmured.

"You made me that way."

"Good." He was throbbing inside me, so ready to come but holding off. For me. "I've been touching you in my head all night. Watching you on that stool with him…driving me crazy. I wanted to be between your legs. Licking you. Making you scream."

A delicious
blast
of heat shoots straight through to my core. His palms are on either side of me, his biceps a ripple of ink and muscle. And then he's devouring me.

Then again, I'm devouring him too, so fair is fair.

My body winds tighter and tighter until I'm sure I can't take anymore

But I can. I do.

"
G
ot to go
," Lucas murmured early the next morning.

"Where?" I wrapped a hand around his wrist in protest as he slid out of bed, trying to keep the connection with him even as he stood.

"Police station."

Immediately, I was up out of the bed and next to him. "What? Why?"

He pulled his jeans on and met my gaze head-on. "I'm wanted for questioning."

"Jared called the police?"

"Yes."

"He's saying you assaulted him? Are you turning yourself in?" I was gathering my clothes, prepared to go with Lucas to the station.

"Yes. And yes." He took me by the shoulders and stopped my frantic getting-dressed motions. "Please, stay here. It's better all around if you do. I can handle this, okay? Trust me."

I did. "I do."

"Good." He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. "After I talk to the police and my lawyer, I'll call you."

I wasn't sure how I knew he was lying about that last part, but I knew he was just the same.

* * *

T
hat afternoon
, the pictures concerning my date gone wrong with Jared appeared everywhere and anywhere, both in print and online. And someone had left a paper at my door so I wouldn't miss it. It'd been folded over to the picture and I wouldn't open the door, just in case. Brayden came down and brought it in when I called him about it.

He grimaced as he looked at it and then handed it to me. The first shot was me exiting, and then Jared following. And then Lucas and Jared fighting.

"This isn't good," I muttered. It had to be Dan Turner who'd left me that paper—I had no doubt about it. "Did Jared call the paparazzi there? Did he want these taken?"

Brayden shrugged. "It fits his publicity-hungry M.O."

My intercom buzzed and Brayden answered it. The doorman informed us that there was a police officer who needed to speak with us.

Brayden and I stared at each other after he'd agreed that the officer could come up, and we didn't speak a word until the knock at the door.

"Listen more than you speak," Brayden reminded me before opening the door and letting the man, who introduced himself as Detective Parker, in.

"You're Ryn Taylor?" Parker asked and I nodded. "And you're Brayden Hamilton?"

"Yes," Brayden said.

"I want to inform you both that Jared Connor is missing."

"Missing?" I echoed.

"What does she need to know that for?" Brayden demanded.

Parker eyed him calmly. "Because she was one of the last people seen with him, along with her boyfriend, Lucas Caine."

"He left the restaurant with someone—a friend or a driver, but he wasn't alone," I reminded the officer.

"Yes, he did. The employee drove Jared home. Jared called the police, gave a report by phone. He was supposed to meet with me this afternoon, and when he didn't show up we went to his apartment. Around the same time, his assistant called us to tell us that Jared hadn't shown for an important work event this morning."

"This is all fascinating," Brayden broke in, and I wondered what happened to the whole 'listen more and talk less' advice. "But this has nothing to do with us. We're not Jared's keepers."

"It has everything to do with Miss Taylor, as she was seen in an altercation with him," Parker pointed out.

"I didn't touch him," I protested.

"You fought with Mr. Connor and then your boyfriend punched him," Parker said.

"Maybe he ran off to lick his wounds," Brayden muttered.

"His agent said there's no way he'd miss a spot on a big morning news show."

"I thought you couldn't file a missing person’s report until after twenty-four hours had passed," Brayden asked.

"In this case, I'm making an exception."

I frowned. "I honestly have no idea where he'd be. I don't know him that well. Wait, he said he was fitting in the drink with me because he was leaving for the west coast late last night."

"He lied," Parker said flatly. But why would Jared lie about something so innocuous?

Just then, Grant appeared. His feet were bare and he wore sweats and a T-shirt, like he'd come over from another apartment. Except he didn't live in this building.

He walked in, saying, "Sorry to interrupt. I'm looking for Brayden."

Parker stared at him and then at Brayden. "How well do you know Grant Loughlin?"

"Well enough," Brayden said easily. Grant moved closer to him, casually leaning an elbow on the countertop next to him.

"Where were you last night between nine and midnight?" Parker demanded of Brayden.

"He was with me," Grant replied. After half a second, Brayden nodded.

Parker's eyes narrowed, not in a disgusted way. "Bullshit. You're alibiing each other."

Grant caught an easy hand around the back of Brayden's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. And for the love of God, that set my heart on fire, because if this was their first kiss, it reached implode levels immediately.

"Just because you're hot for each other doesn't mean I believe you," Parker told them as they pulled apart. "You'd better hope I don't find a trace of either of you on the security camera footage I'm pulling from the surrounding buildings today."

"You won't," Grant said with a smile. He hadn't let go of Brayden's neck, let his thumb trace the fading hickeys with intent. Brayden looked sufficiently stunned and more than a little shaken. Grant just looked pleased with himself.

Parker turned his stony gaze on me. "We'll be in touch, Miss Taylor."

I didn't doubt it, but I held my tongue until he left the apartment. I shut and locked the door behind him and watched him, through the peephole, go down the hall.

When I turned back to Brayden and Grant, I noted that Brayden had put as much space as he could between him and Grant, all while trying to appear not-freaked out about their kiss.

"How did you know he was here?" I asked Grant.

"He came to Lucas's looking for me," Grant explained. "I figured he'd come here next. You already had the hickeys and I needed an alibi."

"Next time, find a different one," Brayden muttered.

"You needed one too," Grant reminded him. "You both do."

And I had Lucas as mine, which was probably the least helpful alibi ever at this point. "Where's Lucas?"

"He had to go out of town for a bit," Grant said cryptically, and my heart sank.

T
wo days passed
, with no word from Lucas. I remained holed up, not reading about myself online. Brayden and Grant promised they'd keep me up to date on the Jared situation, but as of that evening, no one had heard from him either.

"He's probably doing it to draw more attention to his movie," Brayden had surmised. "Either that or he's trying to screw Lucas."

Which meant Jared would be screwing me as well.

But all the waiting was getting me antsy. I'd gotten wind of a gallery showing of up-and-coming artists. I was one myself but I'd had far more advantages than most new artists, and Brayden agreed with me that it would be good to lend a show of support by going. Brayden was able to snag two last-minute tickets from a fellow gallery owner who wasn't able to go.

Gabrielle called me right as we were getting ready to walk in. "Two minutes," I told Brayden and when he moved to talk to some industry people he knew on the improvised red carpet, I slid into the background and answered the phone.

"You're all over the papers," Gabrielle said by way of greeting. "TMZ too."

"I thought you didn't read that."

"I do when it's not about me." She lowered her voice. "Jared's not on set. It's the first day he's missed since filming's started." That was a punch in the gut, but she didn't seem as concerned about it as the police were. "The director's thrilled. Frankly, so am I. Maybe you can ask Lucas to beat Jared up more often so he's got to stay home and lick his wounds."

"Anything for you," I joked, even though my stomach soured a little. I wanted to believe that about Jared, that he was embarrassed and hiding or plotting and hiding, but the fact that the police were involved…the fact that Lucas left town…

For work
, I reminded myself.

We spoke for a few seconds more and then I hung up and joined Brayden to go inside, without mentioning what Gabrielle had told me. Brayden needed a break as much as I did. And even though people here would know about what happened, tonight also wasn't focused on me. Most people seemed to respect that.

I was sure the photographers wouldn't, which was why we'd avoided them and went in through a side door.

The event's venue was a full hotel ballroom and it was packed. There was a showcase of artists and the program explained that there would be scholarships and grants awarded that evening from several artist's foundations.

Most of those artists were deceased. One of them caught my eye. His name was Bane, and he'd died tragically, much too young. He became famous post-death, so much so that his art was worth millions. He'd been a big, blazing talent with a reputation for being crazy. He'd been well before my time, coming onto my radar not long after my hospitalization.

He'd died around that time and I studied his works for inspiration. I'd heard of Bane in that mythical way that young talent burns bright. Ultimately, it's unsustainable. Rumors said Bane was troubled.
Crazy
, some said, but I knew how easy it was to mistake extreme creativity for crazy.

Then again, I also knew they could be two sides of the same coin.

Brayden nudged me. “What’re you thinking about over there?”

“Where’s Zack tonight?” I asked brightly.

“No clue,” Brayden said with a tight smile. His hickeys had faded to almost nothing, but it’d been obvious how much they’d annoyed Grant. I was intrigued, but knew better than to ask about that part of it.

Instead, I pressed, “Do you want to have a clue?” as he sipped his Jack and Coke.

After a long moment, he replied with a simple, “Zack’s good for me.”

“And the problem is…?”

“I’ve never liked what’s good for me.”

I shook my head. “You seem to like it. Him.”

His grin was lopsided. “There’s the part I like, yeah. But the stuff that comes with it? No.”

“The relationship part?”

“Yes. That’s a drag. The 'tell me your life and I’ll tell you mine.' We’ll fuck each other up because of it. He’ll try to change me. What was once cool becomes annoying. I don’t want that.”

Neither did I, so I couldn’t blame him. “What if it doesn’t have to be like that?”

“Always is.”

I know he didn’t want to say it would happen to me and Lucas. It wouldn’t. Lucas wasn’t Jared. Lucas wasn’t like any man I’d ever met. He was too strong, too smart to bring that kind of shit into our relationship.

And when I told Brayden all that, all he said was, “So it’s a relationship now?”

“Like you didn’t know.”

He sat back. “From the second you two met, babe.”

He sounded a little sad though. I wanted so badly to reassure him, tell him that Lucas and I were fine. Better than fine—amazing, even—and that everything would work out. My past wouldn’t hurt me.

Because how could a past hurt me? Past was past, right? “I’m going to browse some paintings before the speakers start.”

“Go for it—I’m going to mingle and talk you up.”

I shook my head at his smile, knowing he absolutely meant it. And after several minutes and some beautiful artwork, I came upon a piece that grabbed me by the throat, shook me and then dropped me to the ground when it was sure I’d seen what I was supposed to see.

It was a piece tucked into the corner—maybe not Bane’s most famous work, one I’d never actually seen before anywhere.

I’d remember it if I had.

I never believed in coincidences, but my life to this point had been all about looking for signs, for anything that would point me in the right direction.

I’d convinced myself that I was so obsessed with my past that I was the one making more out of it than was there. That if I simply stopped, I’d learn the truth, and that truth would be “everything’s fine and the past is gone.”

Dust.

Dawn.

Both were represented in Bane’s piece, a moody, dirty, just before the sunrise painting. A tribute to Aerosmith’s song and I got chills looking at what hung in front of me.

The past wasn’t past. It was right here, slapping me in the face, planning on taking my future and strangling it between its guiding, all-knowing hands.

The name of his piece?
Past is always Present
.

“It’s not over.” I said it to myself, out loud. My words were lost, snapped up by the noise of the crowds, the melee surrounding my dawning understanding of the situation.

The past was
never
past.

I had to give it to Bane—he’d known so much more than I ever had. Maybe he’d died because of it.

I was still reeling from the truth in the work of a man I’d never meet when the squeal of microphone feedback startled me back into the present.

Then the speaker started his introductions and after a minute the room was quiet. "Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the hottest up-and-coming artists. Tonight, we have a special guest who will award the first of several grants in honor of an artist we lost far too soon. Please welcome Grant Loughlin."

Lucas's
Grant.

Brayden looked like he'd seen a ghost. He was staring at Grant as if seeing him for the first time. I looked between them as Grant approached the podium.

It was only then I noticed Lucas in the crowd. His gaze locked on mine, but then Grant began to speak, and his words most definitely caught my attention.

"I'm here tonight in honor of the artist you all know as Bane. He was an immense talent. A generous artist, as evidenced by those who knew him best. I'm one of those who did, because Bane was my brother," he began, and next to me I heard Brayden's sharp intake of breath, followed by a muttered, "Fuck me."

I was confused as to why Brayden would be so upset about Grant's connection to Bane. He'd never mentioned Bane in any context other than the man’s status as a famous artist.

Grant looked broken as he spoke, eloquently, about the loss of his brother and ended with, "I'm honored to be able to help young artists in Bane's name," before announcing the three young artists who would be awarded money to further their creative endeavors.

There was much applause and picture taking. Grant ducked his head for most of it. I noticed because I'd seen him do it before, as if he didn't want to have his picture taken at all.

I turned to where Brayden had been standing next to me, but he was gone.

In his place stood Dan Turner. "I didn't realize you were such a big supporter of the arts," I managed.

"Helps me when it comes time for the insurance investigations," he countered, then lifted a glass of what appeared to be water in my direction—a mock toast. "You're a smart girl, Ryn. Are you putting the pieces together yet?"

I'm not a girl
, I wanted to tell him, but the connections were like misfiring neurons and making it impossible to think in a straight line.

Grant. Bane.

Lucas.

Brayden.

And Dan Turner. "I want you to stop taunting me and tell me what you know. More than that, I need you to prove it…or leave me alone."

"I don't think you can handle it."

"Maybe not, but I'm not sure how that's any of your concern. You seem intent on my knowing this stuff, but I'm tired. And I'm prepared to report you and get a restraining order on you."

"I'll get you your proof. In the meantime, ask Brayden to fill in some pieces. He knows a lot of them." He leaned in. "Ask him how Bane died."

I narrowed my eyes, but before I could respond further, he was gone. I'll admit, I wasn't sure what I'd just demanded of him—it could be what threw my anxiety over the edge.

I went to look for Brayden to do just that, my brain reeling from information overload, and ran into Lucas instead, who was engrossed at looking at one of Bane's largest-scale paintings. I knew he saw me, so I stood next to him, stared at his profile and waited a few moments before asking, "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Supporting a friend," he replied without turning to look at me.

I looked away from him and joined his staring at the large, rough canvas, a brilliant wash of colors. On first glance it might look as though there was just maniacal paint slashes but no, emerging from underneath the vicious color was a beautiful sunrise. Night was over but morning light was coming fast. He'd held onto that, and I couldn't help but choke up thinking that he'd held onto himself, night after night, until one night, he couldn't. Whether it seemed like it was too long or he'd gotten upset with someone or his art wasn't coming out as he'd planned…he didn't fight. Not the way he had here.

"He was wrestling with some major demons." Lucas stood behind me, staring at the painting.

"Do you recognize them?"

I saw a small tic in his jaw before he simply glanced between me and the painting. "I can recognize a demon from forty yards."

He wasn't kidding.

I turned back to the painting, and it was only then I realized I was staring at a colorized, final version of Lucas's backpiece. His tattoo was gray scale, most likely a smaller-sized original artist's sketch of one of Bane's most famous works,
The Flame
. But before I could ask Lucas questions—questions he no doubt wouldn't answer, Brayden found me.

"Ryn, sorry, I—"

"I'm not in the mood for sorry," I told him, my voice shaking from anger. "How did
you
know Bane?"

"Who in the art world doesn't know him?" was his vague, bullshit answer.

"Fuck you," came out of my mouth next, and he paled.

"Ryn—"

"No. No more 'Ryn, it's for your own good' speeches. You're all hiding things from me." I looked between Lucas and Brayden. "Maybe it's the same things or maybe different things…but somehow they're all going to connect. I feel it. And I've got enough shit to deal with in my own life."

A hand closed over my shoulder. Grant. His eyes held the same haunted look I'd seen both Brayden and Lucas wear at times when he told me, "This isn't the time or place."

"It never is with you guys," I muttered, but I let him steer me away from Brayden and out the door. Once outside, he loosened his hold but remained on alert for whatever unknown dangers lurked.

"In there." He pointed to a coffee shop a few doors down and we walked to it quickly. It was relatively empty, and we took a seat in the back. He ordered up coffee and pie for both of us. "They've got the best pie here."

I wasn't hungry at all. I shifted, watching him stir the cream into his coffee intently. "Will Lucas be mad I'm here with you?"

He smiled. "Lucas is mad he's not here with you."

"Are you going to tell me the truth?"

He stared at me with steady amber eyes. "You know my truth. I'm Lucas's best friend and he's mine. I'd do anything for him. Bane was my younger brother, and, despite what anyone says to the contrary, he killed himself by jumping off the roof of a building in Miami when he was twenty-one years old."

That knocked the breath out of me. Grant had spoken in a no-nonsense way, but there was no hiding the pain he felt. "I'm so sorry."

"I was away—still in the military. On deployment on the other side of the world," he explained. I guessed that’s where the scar on his neck had come from. Up close, it was more impressive—a badge of honor. I could see the ragged edges and knew I’d have to paint him. "Bane left home when I did. I'd begged him to hold on for another year, until he turned seventeen, so I could save some money. But he wouldn't put all that on me. He said, 'One day I'll be sending you money, because you deserve it.'"

He stopped, took a shuddered breath and I reached out and touched his arm. "You took care of him growing up."

"That's how he saw it. But he took care of me just as much, and just as hard."

A fleeting thought of the possibility that I might have siblings crossed my mind, and I wondered what it would be like to feel that bond, to feel such incredible pain once it was broken. "Who disputes that he killed himself?"

"Turner."

"So Dan Turner's interested in me because of my connection…to you?"

"There's more to it than that, but Bane is a part of it." He sat back. "It's hard to talk about this with an artist, but I know you'll understand the most. Bane was an incredible talent, but there was a darkness there too. If he didn't have it, he wouldn't have been so good, and still, it cost him, every single day of his life. It was always a fight."