Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (5 page)

“Just wait, Scar.” His hand landed on my upper arm, and he closed his fingers in a reassuring squeeze as he passed by me again.

“You bring your car?” He spoke in low tones to the woman who sent at least her twelfth venomous look toward me. The two of them conversed quietly, and again he motioned for me to stay put as he escorted the other woman outside, presumably to the little red sports coupe that matched her little red shirt and shoes. I had assumed the car belonged to Gage when I’d walked past it in the drive.

Wandering down the hall a bit, I peeked into impressive rooms until I came to a large kitchen. I crossed to the fridge, slid open the door, and was thankful to find an entire shelf of bottled waters. I’d almost emptied one when Gage entered the room.

“You didn’t have to send your groupie home.”

“She’s not a groupie.” He took on a hostile tone.

“Girlfriend?”

Maybe he was still offended, because he didn’t answer. Instead, he also nabbed a bottle of water, and the fridge made a soft thump as it glided closed. Truly, I shouldn’t have goaded him, but I couldn’t help myself. I was still furious over being left at LAX.

“Whatever. I didn’t come to get in your way. I didn’t expect you to drop everything for me. But I thought you’d at least pick me up at the airport like you said.”

“You should have texted.”

“I DID.”

“No! I didn’t get a text.” But guilt flashed across his face. He was remembering something. Perhaps his phone had died. Or perhaps he’d been too busy pounding blonde pussy to look!

“Like you would have noticed.” I sucked down the last of the water. “Go get your phone. The texts are there.”

For several alternating minutes, I’d seen glimpses of the old Gage. The boy I’d known. But now he exploded full-on into pompous-ass-rock-star mode. “Look, it’s after midnight. Why didn’t you arrange for a cab in the beginning?”

“Because
y
ou offered
.” Crushing the plastic, I looked for a trashcan to dispose of it, but when I didn’t see one, I closed my fist tighter, abusing the bottle even more. “Furthermore, you
didn’t
give me your address. As if I would hype it all over the internet or something!”

“I never know!”

His eyes blazed, and I read in them past betrayals I could definitely relate to. But he had no right to believe that of me.
Or did he?
I was, after all, the spawn of my own mother. Women like Henni Smythe were the reason celebrities now had even their own relatives signing non-disclosure agreements.

I dropped my gaze away from his, and it landed on his chest. His indecent state had been one of my disappointments earlier—that he would answer his door wearing the ‘engaging smile’ as the media had cleverly dubbed his sexy smirk, and with no care of his near nakedness. But whatever I felt now, prompting my eyes to skitter away from all of that skin, ink, and muscle confused me.

Sure, I’d seen pictures of my rock star brother and marveled over the tattoos he’d collected. But seeing them on a computer screen and seeing them real on his bare, breathing body were two different things.

“Where am I sleeping? It was a long trip. And where’s the damn trash?”

“Just leave it wherever.” He gestured vaguely and set his own bottle on the butcher block his hip had been propped on.

My demolished water bottle clattered to the countertop.

He turned, dancing to keep his equilibrium when he almost tripped over his dog, and I followed him from the kitchen. He hooked his fingers into the handle of my bag as he passed it in the hall and began to stalk up the grand staircase. A few steps up, he wrestled with the bulky weight and grabbed the banister to restore his balance. Instinctively, I moved behind him, also clutching the rail in case my body had to take his weight to block him from falling. The luggage piece bumped down a few stairs and landed on its side. Hopping back down, I grabbed it up and apparently acceding to his lack of coordination tonight, he didn’t reach for it again.

I watched, saddened, as he continued to stagger and drag himself up to the second floor. With one hand on the wall, he led, stopping a few doors down.

“Here.” He twisted a knob, pushed the door open, took an unaided step from one side of the wide doorframe to the other, and leaned against the wall again as he walked.

Abandoning the suitcase, I felt along the wall and flipped a switch, illuminating a stylish room. The décor had the clean cut lines of the early Seventies, but the furnishings seemed edgier. The bed was on a platform, and despite its ultra-modern look, it appeared fluffy and cozy with plenty of pillows.

“Wait! This room…” Standing in the doorway, I spoke to his retreating shoulders. “Is it… Who uses this room?”

“You worried about orgies and sex parties?” He spoke without looking back. “Good call. But the sheets are clean.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for that?”

He’d reached a door at the end of the hall, and he turned before disappearing into the lamp lit room. “I really don’t give a fuck. Night, Scarlette. Sleep well, Sis.”

T
he next morning, I turned off my phone alarm and slept to my heart's content. It was a few minutes after noon when I fiddled with the water temperature and flow in the large tiled shower. I'd briefly noted the beautiful bathroom the night before, but now I leisurely took in the ornate tiling pattern and the trendy fixtures.

The view from the window built into the shower held me transfixed. The house, as I’d suspected during the cab ride last night, was indeed on a mountainside, and the city was blanketed below with a wisp of smog or fog hovering above.

An assortment of shampoos and gels lined the ledge in the shower. Spicy or flowery. All looking new. And the bath linens… I marveled how soft the washcloth felt and buried my face into the steaming rag.

Dressed in jeans and a bohemian shirt, I peeked into the hallway, listening to the silence of the house. Scanning the closed doors, I wondered if Gage was still asleep.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I found a young housekeeper in uniform standing at the sink. The woman offered me coffee and breakfast. I declined food and took a steaming cup of coffee to the enormous glass window in the large adjoining room, which overlooked an elaborately furnished patio.

“Would you like me to open it?” Drying her hands on the frilly apron at her waist, the exotic woman moved to a control box. “Lovely day.”

To my surprise, the glass slid back into itself and then into the wall until the outside blended with the inside. Smiling and thanking her, I wandered onto the polished planks, drawn closer to the view down the mountainside. One level down was an infinity pool, and I descended the steps to stand at the edge of that patio, viewing the steep decline.

The city lay below—a slightly different view than I had from my bathroom. I checked the texts and emails on my phone while finishing my coffee and made my way back up to the house. The maid was no longer in sight, but a plate of muffins covered in plastic wrap adorned the butcher-block island.

I wrapped one in a napkin and strolled to the other windows in the kitchen and adjoining great room. The first bite halted me in my tracks, and I took another, savoring the lemony sweet goodness and burst of flavor from the seeds dotting it. There was still no sign of Gage or the dog I’d seen the night before. After throwing my trash away, I explored the rest of the house while mentally working out my search plans for Ivy.

The outside walls of the bottom floor were almost all glass, with plank patios and cushy outside furnishings beyond. I assumed they might all be slide-back walls like the one in the great room. Besides what I’d already seen, the downstairs included a bedroom, which the maid was moving about in, and a locked door.

Spying a descent of stairs beyond an arched doorway, I moved in that direction.

Framed press clippings and gold and platinum singles and albums decorated the walls on either side of the curving stairway. The last step dropped me into a room resembling a movie theater, and I paused in awe.

Directly in front of me was a bar with four stools behind it, facing the large screen on the wall several levels down. Behind the stools were shelves of liquor and boxes of snacks. A popcorn machine looked at home in the corner of this area. A level down, pushed up against the front of the bar was a giant lounging pad with numerous pillows of all shapes and sizes stacked along the wall that made up the bar front. I easily imagined sprawling out on it right now and watching a movie.

But I walked down the next level to the back row of recliner seats. There were four on this level, and then two, each wide enough for two people on the next levels. Narrow tables with cup holders nestled between the cushy leather lounging chairs.

And on the last level, directly in front of the large screen, was a thick white furry rug.

My thoughts went again to the night before, wishing things had gone differently, and that Gage and I had ended up in here watching Spiderman or The Fantastic Four. He had changed into such an ass. I couldn’t see a movie night happening now, even if I ended up staying a week while searching for Ivy.

Picking up the nearby remote, I sank to the footrest of one of the comfy chairs. My thumb pressed the power button, and the screen flickered to life.

The scene was a guitar close up with long, strong fingers spidering up and down the frets. Surround sound pounded out the tune of the performing band, and I hastily lowered the volume. The camera backed away, bringing the guitarist slowly into full view, and I gasped when Gage appeared, larger than life. His head bobbed with the beat as he played, his restless feet moving a step here and there. The camera panned out more, and gradually the entire band came into view.

Many times, I’d listened to Fire Flight or watched the band’s videos. After all, Gage was the closest I’d ever had to a big brother, so I was proud of his talent and accomplishment. However, it was odd watching him onscreen now when I was immersed in his world.

The enjoyment he found in his playing was evident in the euphoric expressions playing over his face and his body language. Every move was an assimilation of the sound.

And then he stepped closer to the mic and began to sing as he played. His voice sent shivers shooting through me. He was beautiful and oh-so-talented. It was hard to believe the asshole who was either sleeping off a hangover upstairs or had left without a word before I woke was the same man.

My mind drifted away from the stress of my missing friend. I settled more comfortably in the chair and watched until the set came to an end and faded to black. From what I could tell, I’d been viewing a recorded version of one of Fire Flight’s live performances. A video company and contact information were the only credits that rolled when it ended.

A menu appeared on the screen with the choices repeat, main menu, or guide. I chose guide and channel surfed. When was the last time I’d whiled away a half hour watching TV? Besides, I was uneasy wandering around his house while he was nowhere to be seen. So I stayed put, pausing on one channel or another, here and there. Not necessarily because something caught my interest, but because my thoughts were once more rampant with where to begin my search for Ivy.

Should I bother my stepfather while he was out of town on business? Gage might be able to point me in the right direction or make an introductory phone call for me.

Another flip of the channel had me catching my breath again. I’d landed on the Playboy channel or some similar station. The passionate couple onscreen were getting sexy beneath an outdoor shower. Instead of navigating to another network, I glanced back to the open door at the foot of the staircase and darted up the levels to close it. Interestingly enough, it had a lock, and I twisted it before sitting back down and propping my feet up.

My fascination with porn was something I had fought in my teen years. But as I grew older, the guilt gradually faded. It wasn’t as if I was into the hard stuff. I simply liked to watch sex. It cleansed my mind of my problems.

Also, it did what it was supposed to do—stirred my libido. And this aided me in my own stress relief. Sex had never been what it was hyped up to be. Although Derrick got me close, no one had ever really rung my bell. Watching sexy films or looking at pictures allowed me to take care of myself—no men needed.

Not that I was comfortable enough to do that here even with the door locked. Besides, seeing so much skin—and body parts—on a large screen was weird. After a quarter of an hour I turned the power off and headed back upstairs to see if Gage had appeared.

The first floor was quiet. There were no sounds or sign of the housekeeper even. Trekking up the stairs, I passed my bedroom. Pausing before the door at the end of the hall where I’d last seen Gage, I knocked. When there was no answer, I twisted the latch.

Despite the time of day, the room was pitch dark except for the illumination cast from the muted television. Wearing only black Diesel briefs, Gage was sprawled atop the sheets in a huge bed with his dog lying near his feet. The canine’s ears perked as he eyed me, but the animal made no sound or move to leave his sleeping master.