Yield (17 page)

Stepping inside, the first thing he saw was the wall of guitars. The video scan didn’t quite prepare him for how many she had. “Jesus, Kate. Where did you get all of this?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as she followed his gaze. “Around.”

The rest of the space was just as impressive. Two pianos picked apart faced each other as if comparing war wounds. “So, which key made my ring?”

She ran her finger over an empty space. “D sharp.”

“Funny girl.”

“How did you know I gave it to you?”

“That was Jace’s guitar. Do you know how much those go for now that he doesn’t play?”

She nodded. He gave everything a more thorough look. Plucking up a black drum stick that he knew he had once held, he twirled it through his fingers. There weren’t just garage finds in this place. There was history. The stairs were against one wall and beneath the upper floor was the kitchen. Curiosity took him upstairs to see some lethal looking tools. There was a shit ton of expensive items in here. All it took was one asshole to figure out where she was and pick this place clean.

He began to tap the drum stick against his thigh as he went back downstairs and finally headed to the tables. “Jesus, Katey.” Draped around a faceless head, the necklace was intricate, made up of thin metal strings that looked like they had come from one of the violins. She had somehow managed to recreate the illusion of the F-holes in the negative while gemstone notes danced over the wires.
 

He looked from the necklace to Kate, then back. Sheet music was tacked up on the wall.

“The tough part,” she said as she reached out to adjust the impressive piece, “is making it look like the music when it lies on the body and when it lays flat. She wanted her husband to literally play the music off her. It’s taken a long time, but it’s going to open a lot of doors for me. One, the money is insane. Two, the exposure. The strings actually came from his violin and we spent a lot of time debating what gems to use.”

“What if he hates it?”

“He won’t.”

The self-confidence made him study her. She hadn’t lied, he realized. This really was her world. “Who’s the client?”

“Jens Homstead. He once played with the Royal Philharmonic. He’s now one of their conductors.”

“How the hell did the daughter of a Canadian rocker hook up with a conductor in England?”

She shrugged. “Luck.”

“Kate. Luck is finding five bucks on the ground. This is impressive, girl. This is truly impressive.” On the other table there was a sketchpad with a spider web. Something about it was familiar. Instead of asking, he turned and braced his hands on the drawing table’s edge. “Look at what you’ve done.” She shrugged, but he saw her small, pleased smile even as she blushed.

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and walked over to the twin bed that was where a kitchen table should be. A place to crash if she was up late working. He barely fit, especially when he drew her down so she was snuggled up against him. Tucking one arm behind his head, he gazed at her workshop.

There was a slight tension to her that hadn’t been there for a while. He had done that. “Breathe,” he told her as he gazed at her wall of stringed instruments in various states of dissection. “Let’s just lie here and gaze at your world. For the record, you’re not a fuck toy. A fuck toy is what I happily use on you. Claire was right.” Glancing at her, he saw her head rested on his chest as she too looked at what she was creating.
 

Kate lifted her head, her forehead crinkling as she frowned. “About what?”

“You’re stronger than you know you are. You’re doing this all on your own and you let me in to see it.”

“I already showed you it.”

“No. You gave me a peek.” Impulsively, he kissed the tip of her nose. A tiny smile escaped from her before she lowered her head. He didn’t know what he said, but he felt the muscles relax. “Wanna see mine?”

What the hell? What? He tried to process what had come out of his month. His world was on a small Gulf island where his girls randomly popped by whenever they wanted. It was not a place he invited a lot of people. Just his friends, no bands, no subbies from the club, nobody casual.

But hadn’t he just realized that she wasn’t somebody casual? That she wasn’t just a girl from the club?
 

“Yes,” Kate answered quietly. “I’d love to.”

This time he was the one to relax.

****

Kate - 2003

There was going to be another party. A big one. Twisting her knot, she watched as the catering team set up. A deejay was taking up a wall in the living room while all kinds of lights were put in place. She watched it all unfold. It was Jace’s birthday and he was thirty. Unlike at Christmas, there was no camera crew recording all of this. She had left his present in his office because she hadn’t seen him for a few days. That everything was going on was the only hint that something was happening here.

It was hard to get a present for a man who could buy anything in the world. She was twelve so it wasn’t like she could find a drug dealer to get him drugs, which he would probably appreciate more than the vintage poster she had found of one of his favorite musicians.
 

The shine of Jace Jennings had faded a long time ago. The dream of a father had turned to ashes but there was still that one percent chance of hope. Hope that he’d suddenly realize that he had this daughter and she wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. Hope that one day he’d remember her birthday. Hope that he’d just see her.
 

That one percent was killing her.

The nanny was gone, replaced by some model who didn’t look that much older than Kate. Sometimes she envied Shaelynn and Sandy, the former nanny. At least they got their one percent smashed to dust and were able to leave. She lived here and that one percent refused to die.

A bartender was setting up right in front of the front doors. There were even waitresses in skimpy uniforms who would be serving drinks. Probably sex.
 

Unlike the New Year’s Eve party, Kate wasn’t going to go looking for Jace. The presents from the man had escalated so now that every time she came home from school, there was a present waiting for her. Her room was no longer safe to her. Nightmares had her sleeping under her bed and if anyone noticed how perfectly her bed was made the next day, no one cared.

She felt lost and alone in this house. She had tried to talk to Jace a couple of times, but it never went well. She was terrified
he
would be here tonight and so she needed a better hiding place than her bedroom, because he could get in there. Someplace no one was allowed to go. But she needed to go now before it was too late. She had a key. She needed some food so she raided the pantry and ran downstairs. Sneaking the key from Jace’s keys had been the most terrifying moment of her life. A stranger she didn’t know scurried by, readying the basement. The bar down here was fully stocked and two bartenders were getting everything organized.
 

Her stomach hurt as she waited. She darted to the door, slipped the key in and snuck into the room.
 

This was the one room Jace had forbade her to go into. Not even with him. This was sacred. Once she had the door locked and the key in her pocket, she turned on the light and stared at this sanctuary for her father.

Guitars hung on the wall, along with framed gold and platinum albums. Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, she walked along the wall, looking at the history of Cyanide. Album covers, pictures of Jace with other stars. Her A computer was set up and there was even a microphone. Jace’s music room.

She moved the stool in front of a picture of Jace when he was young, opened her bag of chips and nibbled, gazing at him. She wished he loved her. She wished he liked her. Because she had all this love inside her for him and he didn’t want it. Like Mom.
 

Kate couldn’t hear anything through the walls. She napped on the leather couch, she touched the guitars, she even stole a guitar pick that sat forgotten on a table. She curled up on the couch and fell asleep, wishing that her life was different. Just a bit different. Not a lot. Because she wasn’t living in a trailer where there was a chill through the window above where she slept, she didn’t have to worry about food. She just wished that Jace loved her.

One percent. It was killer.

When she woke up, her watch said it was five and she tidied up, erasing her presence. She snuck out and saw the bartenders were gone, though some people were still here, passed out in various states of undress. The house looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Bottles and glasses were everywhere, someone’s shoes. A bra was dangling from the round lights that hung down the stairs. There was even a woman, naked on the stairs, her bare bum sticking up as she snored.

On her toes, Kate went up to her bedroom and was relieved to see it was still locked. Once she was in her room, she leaned against the door. Safe. Now she just had to get Jace’s key back to him. Shoving the garbage from her snacks into the garbage can in the bathroom, Kate turned.

“Hello, Pretty little No One.”

Chapter 13

Kate tucked her hair behind her ear as she gazed around. The house was a lifestyle away from both Jace’s over the top house and the penthouse. It was a simple two-storey built for a guy who liked open space. The main floor was open with the deck facing the water. Kate looked at him and then at the living room. He folded his arms over his chest and watched her explore. Her fingers brushed over the fireplace made of river rock. There was no glossy black marble like in Jace’s, no stark modern lines like the penthouse.
 

“It’s so…” She pushed open the sliding door to the deck and rested her forearms on the railing. He followed her out. A dog could be heard barking and a girl’s laughter drifted through the trees. The view, though. The Strait of Georgia was right there, his grass bleeding into a rocky beach. One of the things she loved about living in Vancouver was the water. She loved the clear, vastness of it. Trees formed a protective barrier around his house. “Oh, this is pretty.”

A small A-frame house was tucked in the corner, the log cabin exterior matching his house. It seemed to blend in with the nature around it so you didn’t notice it, unless you were carefully studying every inch of his world.

He braced his hands on the pine railing on either side of her, his body heat welcome against her back. The nerves that had been eating her alive faded away, as if they had nothing against the sheer dominating power that was Doyle Kole. They had been quiet on the ferry ride over, taking her car because his stayed on the mainland so he had something to drive. It was currently parked at the loft.

Never in her wildest dreams would she think that this was where he lived, and yet looking at it now, she realized this was him. Strong lines, everything open.

“Let me show you my home.” He took her hand and led the way inside. A round table with four chairs was in the small nook where she had exited. The kitchen was massive. An abandoned coffee mug sat on the island. Everything was wood, giving his house a warmth to it that was absent in both the penthouse and Jace’s house. This, she realized, was a home. There was a difference.

He took her upstairs, the dark cherry-colored hardwood floor cool beneath her socks. Again, it was open from the main floor and up so you could stand anywhere on the stairs and see into the living room. Pictures decorated the wall. Pictures of Doyle with the girls, school pictures, one of the girls playing the guitar while another played with a dog, baby pictures, even a picture of his ex-wife in a wedding dress as another man kissed her. “You have a picture of her marrying someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They’re family.” The simple statement made something sad and wistful slide through her. “This is Willy’s room.” He pushed the door open and she saw an unmade bed and clothes on the floor. Posters of favorite bands and some cute teen boys were on walls printed a vibrant turquoise color. “Dani’s.” It was at the other end of the short hall and she found herself staring into a bedroom of her childhood fantasies. It didn’t have the fairy tale images, but the double bed had a canopy where Christmas lights draped under sheer blue fabric and coiled around the frame. It was a little messier. “I won’t even let you see the girls’ bathroom.” He rapped his knuckles on a closed door. “They used it this morning so it’ll be a fright. Closed doors are a rule here. No intruding. With two pre-teen girls, privacy is almost a requirement.”

The low wall at the top of the stairs ended and he pushed open a closed door. “This is mine.”

The walls were a dark grey color that somehow managed to not look institutional. A large king bed dominated one wall and the one across from it was all glass. On the other side was a balcony that looked like it matched the one downstairs. “You have a thing for windows.”

“I can spend up to a year on a bus where there’s nothing to look at but three other assholes. My bed is a bunk with no windows and light is pretty sparse. I’m a big guy. A bunk sucks ass. When I’m not there or in a hotel, I want to be surrounded by nothing but space.”

Made sense. She wandered around, looking at his bedroom. A sensual painting of a woman in shadows made her pause. It wasn’t the overt sexuality to it, it was the name Evers slashed boldly over the bottom right corner. “That’s a Jensen Evers.”

“Mm.” He stretched out over the foot of his bed, his feet braced on the floor while he rose up on his elbows. He looked casual and sexual, relaxed yet not, as he watched her.

She turned back to the painting and the more she looked at it, the more she caught the subtle nuances of submission hidden in dark, smoky shadows. Only her lower leg was lit from the knee down. Her toe was pointed, a delicate chain on her ankle could’ve been jewelry but for the fact that the end of the chain disappeared into the darkness. One hand rested on her opposite hip, her arm blocking the view of her sex while her other arm was bent so nothing of her breasts were revealed. Her fingers touched her neck that arched in the dim light, her head disappearing into the dark but she could imagine a hand holding the hair, tilting her head back so her dom, could Kate see her face. Sexual, erotic, sensual and yet if you didn’t know what you were looking at, you wouldn’t see it for what it was: an erotic painting of submission. It made the back of her neck feel hot and her stomach feel tight. Her own sex had an aching fullness. Carefully clearing her throat, she went onto the next painting. Another Jensen Evers, this time it was a mermaid in a turquoise ocean. Seaweed coiled through her hair as it floated on invisible drafts. An octopus’ tentacles were wrapped menacingly around her arms, arching her back in a graceful blow but for her hands which curled around the dark bonds.