Grave Secret (Secret McQueen #5)

Grave Secret (Secret McQueen #5) Page 10

The only reason I knew where the new apartment was was thanks to Dominick. He’d come by shortly after Desmond moved out to tell me where his brother was living now. Good old Dominick, ever trying to get me back into the Alvarez family. It was a forceful push I was willing to take.

Unfortunately, the big problem with Desmond living in a Rain building was that all Rain residential properties had a doorman.

“Help you, miss?” The middle-aged man in a fancy suit standing inside the door looked pleasant enough, but I was preparing myself to get kicked to the curb any moment.

“I’m here to see Desmond Alvarez.”

“Is he expecting you?” The man was consulting a list on his computer as he asked me. Reviewing a list of preapproved visitor names.

“No,” I admitted.

“Your name?”

“Secret McQueen.”

The doorman didn’t balk. The folks who worked at Rain Hotel had a thing or two to learn from this guy. A bit more tapping at his computer and then he glanced up with a small smile. An apologetic smile? I held my breath.

“Of course, Miss McQueen. You can go right up. Seventeen-oh-five.” Without further explanation, he hit a buzzer, and the door in front of me made an unlocking sound.

I walked through like I wasn’t totally shocked.

Desmond had put me on his list.

Maybe hope wasn’t lost after all.

Getting past the front desk was easy. Knocking on Desmond’s door proved to be the hardest part of my night to this point. I lurked out in his hallway like a creep for a good five minutes until finally the door to seventeen-oh-five opened and the man himself leaned against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest, fixing a serious look on me.

“You know they call from downstairs when a guest arrives, right?”

“I—” My voice squeaked. Where had the massive lump in my throat come from? Trying again, I said, “I was on the list.”

His lips twitched, betraying the dark look he was trying to project. “I know. I made the list.”

That was all it took. I cleared the space between us in a heartbeat, launching into his arms and hugging him like he had just come off the boat after being away at war. He smelled like only Desmond could smell—clean like fresh linen and woodsy, of cedar, and faintly like sea salt. All that was missing was the taste of lime in my mouth, a sign of our soul-bond. Too bad Lucas had helped sever that tie forever.

The bond itself was still there, unbreakable, but the taste indicator was gone now. I still tasted it the way a memory can call up all sorts of weird sense responses. I wondered if he could still remember the sugary flavor he used to get from me.

It killed me, the curiosity of whether or not he missed me as much as I missed him.

His arms looped around me, tugging me close and expertly avoiding my hidden weapons on his way to threading long fingers through my curls, giving them a familiar, teasing tug. His nose grazed my collarbone, and in doing so the rough stubble of his cheek rubbed against my own smooth one.

“I missed you,” I whispered confessionally.

“Me too.” It was the reply I’d longed to hear, but the heavy sadness with which he said it didn’t strike me as altogether promising.

Desmond released me, easing me back down to the floor and brushing a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. He looked as sad as he’d sounded. I remained close, touching the spot on his chest where I knew there would be a small bullet scar. Werewolves can usually heal anything, but a silver bullet does permanent damage.

That bullet had had my name on it, not his.

He caught my hand and placed a gentle kiss on my fingers. I got the message. He didn’t want to talk about that, or acknowledge it. Not yet, anyway. Fair enough.

“Come in, let me show you around.”

Around his new house. The home he was making without me. I wanted to say no and insist he come back to our apartment. Instead I nodded and followed him through the open door.

His new living room could have held my entire basement suite with some wiggle room to spare. He was on a low-enough level to warrant a balcony, and the back wall of the apartment was all big windows and sliding glass doors. It looked like he had a barbeque and some lounge chairs outside, but the reflection of the interior lights made it hard to tell for sure.

There was a large, cozy-looking brown sectional couch in the living room facing a huge TV with a baseball game playing.

“Isn’t it a bit late for a game?” I teased.

“Yankees are in Seattle. Game just started, actually.” As if to illustrate the point, the announcer on TV made a joke about all the diehard Yankees fans who had to stay up late to watch West Coast games.

I knew few Yankees fans more diehard than Desmond. If there was a top five list of things Desmond loved most in life it would be his family, the pack, me, the Yankees and sex. I wasn’t sure if I ranked above the Yankees anymore.

“How do you feel about the Dodgers?” I asked, by way of segueing into the reason I’d come.

“National League?” His nose wrinkled up. “I’d become a Kansas City Royals fan before I started rooting for an NL team.” His jab at the expense of one of the worst American League teams wasn’t making this any easier.

“Don’t tell that to Lucas. He might get some ideas about sending you to Missouri instead.”

“Huh?” With a hand on the small of my back, he guided me to the couch and took a seat right beside me rather than on the opposite side of the L shape.

“You know Kellen is gone, right?”

He picked up the beer from its coaster on the coffee table and pointed to it as an offer. I shook my head. He spoke cautiously. “Yeah, of course. But I also know Kellen. She’ll turn up.”

“That’s what I said, but Lucas has gone off the deep end. He’s convinced something has happened to her.”

“He’s been strung somewhat…tight lately. I’m sure Kellen is just toying with him. She was pissed about what he did to you. This is how she would retaliate best.”

I slid the ballet flats off and kicked them under the table before pulling my feet up under me on the couch. “You’re not telling me anything I didn’t tell him. Except maybe the revenge part. He didn’t look like he could handle thinking she would do that to him.”

“He went to see you, then?” The words were more than a little curious. He wanted to know how my visit with Lucas had gone, though what his reasons were I couldn’t tell.

I thought it was better to lump both visits into one, rather than admitting to Desmond that Lucas had first found me in bed with Holden. “He asked for my help, which I was more than happy to give. I mean, I love Kellen.” Desmond nodded but didn’t interrupt. “But then he took it a step further, in true Lucas fashion.”

“Sounds right. What did he do?”

“He said if I don’t find Kellen within a week, he’ll transfer you to the Los Angeles office permanently.”

Desmond stopped mid-drink, choking on his mouthful of beer. Perhaps I should have timed my big reveal better. “He said what?”

Without waiting for him to stop sputtering, I recounted the story of encountering Mercy’s minions, the case of Petey Giambi, and all the things I had on my plate that had nothing to do with finding a missing heiress. Desmond toyed with the label on his beer bottle while he listened, and then when he finally sensed me winding down, he set the bottle on the table and placed a big, warm hand on my knee.

“He won’t do it.”

“How can you be sure?” I found it hard to look directly at him, considering how nice he was being to me. It was because of me he was being threatened with an unwanted move. So much of what was shitty about his life was my fault.

“You know how Lucas is. He’s the most spoiled toddler in the sandbox, and if he doesn’t get his way, he packs up his toys and goes home. He’s acting like I’m a toy in his sandbox, but he’s overlooking one of the most important details. There’s no way he can send me away without undermining his own power structure.”

I gave him a perplexed look.

“His own wife refuses to be in the same room with him,” he continued, making me flinch. “His third in command defied his rule so completely she had to be sent to Siberia. One of his alphas tried to seize his throne via violent uprising.” With each new point, he ticked off another finger on his hand. “He isn’t in a position to send me away. Without having his second beside him, he’ll lose all respect for his leadership. No one will believe he’s a fit king. In short…he’s talking out his ass.”

I frowned, my brows knitting together. I didn’t like to be threatened. I liked idle threats even less. If Lucas thought this was going to boost my esteem for him in any way, he had another thing coming. And that thing was going to be my size-seven foot planted firmly up his royal tush.

“I’m going to kill him,” I said.

“You won’t.”

“I really want to.”

Desmond got off the couch and disappeared from the room. Rustling and clinking told me he’d gone into the kitchen, and when he returned, he handed me an open bottle of Bud Lite Lime. I made a face at him. “Girl beer?”

“First…you’re a girl. Second, it’s summer beer. I’m getting a head start.”

He propped his feet on the coffee table and tapped his own bottle against the one I was grimacing at. I caved in and took a sip. The faint limey taste of the beer reminded me of him in such a painful way it almost made my eyes water.

“Des…”

“Shh, Jeter is up to bat.” He pointed to the TV.

“Oh, fuck Jeter.”

The werewolf at my side gave me a wide-eyed look of faux shock. “Heathen.”

“This is serious.”

“And a man with over three thousand career hits isn’t? It’s Derek Jeter.”

I kicked his thigh playfully, and he caught my foot, pulling it into his lap as smoothly as any natural habit. The future Hall of Fame batter in question got his three-thousand-and-somethingth career base hit while I stared at Desmond across the space of a few inches.