Lanyon, Josh - Adrien English 04 - Death of a Pirate King (27 page)

He didn’t speak.

I let my hand fall and stared up at the ceiling. Neither of
us said anything for some time.

Then he bent over me and kissed my forehead, his mouth
drifting down to the bridge of my nose…my mouth -- lingering -- my chin…the hollow
beneath my ear…the pulse at the base of my throat…my breastbone. My heart beat
quietly and steady beneath his touch. He kissed me. His lips were soft as rose
petals, his breath warm on my skin. “Don’t take a chance with this, Adrien,” he
whispered.

I didn’t answer, stroking his head, feeling the short silk of
his hair beneath my fingers. After a time my lack of response must have
communicated itself to him. He drew back, studying me.

“What?”

“You must know,” I said finally. “Even if you weren’t sure
before, you must know now.”

“I don’t want to talk about that. This is what matters right
now. You and me.”

“You and I are together right now because of Paul Kane.”

“No.”

“Come on, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to ignore
murder? He’s manipulated us every step of the way.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.” His eyes glinted. “About
all of it.”

“Nothing else makes sense. How would anyone else have got the
poison in that glass? Having me hand the glass to Porter is exactly his sense of
humor -- so was bringing me in to ask a bunch of questions that any cop could
have asked.”

“Where would he get the digitoxin?” And I could tell by the
ready question that he had been mulling this over -- of course he had. He had
an instinct for this kind of thing. The hunter’s instinct.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I know it’s a lot more
important to prove how the poison was introduced to Porter’s glass than where
the poison came from. The digitoxin could have been acquired a lot of different
ways, but realistically only two people could have poisoned Porter’s drink. Me
and Paul. It wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t Paul.”

I didn’t say anything.

Jake said in a goaded voice, “And Paul’s supposed to have
killed Jones because of this autobiography Jones was writing. Is that it?”

“I’m almost positive it has to do with Langley Hawthorne’s
death.”

“That is total, wild speculation on your part.”

“Jake. Who else had a motive to get rid of Porter? The man
was dying.”

“If Jones knew a murder had been committed, why would he have
covered it up all these years?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t know what it was that he knew.
I mean, maybe he didn’t realize there was something incriminating in what he
remembered about the night Hawthorne died.”

“You’re
guessing
,
for chrissake!”

“Yes, I am, but nothing else makes any sense. You either
don’t see it or…”

“Or what?” he asked evenly.

“You see it but you can’t arrest him without outing yourself.
And as far as you’re concerned, that’s as good as committing suicide.”

He made an impatient sound.

I said, “You can’t even afford to antagonize him because he’s
got you over a barrel. And he knows it -- and gets off on it. It’s just the
kind of game he likes. He reminds me of my old friend Rob in that respect.
Except he’s got a cruel streak Rob never had.”

Jake ignored the digression. “Are you suggesting Paul’s
blackmailing me?”

I met his eyes -- he was very angry but I felt strangely
unmoved by his anger. “I don’t think he’d be clumsy enough to put anything into
words, but you both know where you stand. He knows what you’re willing to
sacrifice --”

“You think I would let him get away with murder to keep him
from outing me?”

“But you don’t think he committed murder,” I pointed out.
“You won’t allow yourself to even consider the possibility, right? So that
solves that problem.”

He rolled up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“That’s a great opinion of me you have. No wonder you wouldn’t see me for two
years.”

I opened my mouth to refute this, but indirectly, he was
right.

I said, “The real problem for you is what happens next. If he
gets away with this, if January dies or can’t remember what happened, and Paul
gets away with murder -- and you let him -- basically you’re handing him carte
blanche over you. And who knows what favor he’ll ask next. Maybe he’ll ask you
to get rid of me.”

“Funny,” he said thickly.

Not really.

“Even if I’m totally wrong about him killing Porter -- even
if that’s completely unfair -- you’re in a dangerous position with him. I saw
that -- I think you did too -- last Sunday when he staged that little tableau
with the three of us. He likes yanking your chain.”

“Bullshit.” But he wouldn’t face me.

“He’s arrogant and he’s cruel.” Of course, maybe that was the
attraction. What did I know?

For a time neither of us spoke. At last Jake looked over his
shoulder at me. “What’s your suggestion?”

I sat up. “Come out. Remove his leverage over you.”

“
Come ou
t
?” His face tightened. “You have no
idea what you’re talking about.”

“If you take away his leverage --”

He didn’t let me finish. “Do you have any idea what it’s like
out there for a gay cop?”

Oh man, they were playing our song.

“Doesn’t it depend on the cop?”

He was off the bed and across the room, dragging his clothes
on. “Jesus, you’re naive. It’s hard enough to do this job without turning
yourself into an outcast with your fellow officers. Did you see that asshole
Alonzo in action out there today? And he doesn’t even know anything. He just
suspects
.”

“Okay, I’m naive,” I said. “But I kind of thought that if you
allowed yourself to be blackmailed you became an accessory after the fact. Or
an accomplice or something. You’re not just contemplating compromising an
investigation -- you’re contemplating letting a murderer go free.”

“Paul is not a killer!”

Was my jealousy of Paul and Jake blinding me to reality?
Warping my view of events? Was
I
the
one who was just seeing what he wanted to see?

“You sure as hell know that he’s a blackmailer.”

He didn’t respond.

Well, hell. We all put up with a little emotional blackmail
now and then, right?

It was sort of funny that Jake, who ordinarily saw the world
in black-and-white -- in every possible sense -- would suddenly develop night
blindness on this. I understood his fear -- I did -- but I was disappointed all
the same. And disgusted.

Swiftly buttoning his shirt -- well in flight mode now -- he
jerked out, “It’s not just the job. It’s my family.”

“There I can’t help you.” I thought of all the little
compromises I had made through the years, the roster of eligible ladies I’d
escorted to various functions for the sake of appearances -- for the sake of my
mother. But I had never tried to deny who I was -- wouldn’t have the strength
or energy for the kind of deception he’d lived his entire life.

“My dad. My brothers. I’m
married
,
for chrissake.”

“Oh yeah,” I said dryly. “I keep forgetting.”

He stopped. “Okay,” he said, meeting my look, “but what the
hell did I go through these two years for, if I’m just going to flush it all
down the toilet? If anybody ought to understand, you should.”

I was still trying to work that out when he left.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“You’re not drinking?” Paul inquired.

“Not at the moment,” I said.

A private smile tugged the corner of his sensual mouth.

We were sitting at Café Del Rey at a table looking out over
the marina. Yachts bobbed gently in the midnight blue water. A few forlorn
stars blinked in the midnight blue sky. A young woman with a midwestern accent
approached our table and asked for Paul’s autograph. He signed the little
brochure for Starline Tours she was carrying. “You see,” he told her. “There
are
movie stars everywhere you look in
California.”

She laughed delightedly, and they chatted a few minutes more.
He was infallibly gracious.

“I admit I was a little surprised to get your phone call,”
Paul said, turning back to me without missing a beat. “Not that it isn’t always
a pleasure.” His eyes seemed bright with that inner mirth. I wondered yet again
what Jake saw in him. Yes, I thought he was beautiful, but it was such a
strange, hazardous beauty. A little on the exotic side for Jake, I would have
thought. But maybe I wanted to think that.

I hadn’t heard from Jake since Friday evening when he’d fled
my place like a creature of the night with a whole village of torch-wielding fanatics
on his tail. I hadn’t heard anything from anyone. No one had tried to arrest me
or even interrogate me. It was Saturday evening now.

The last time I’d phoned the hospital was that afternoon. Al
January’s condition was reported critical but stable.

“Were you surprised?” I asked. “I can’t imagine a lot
surprises you.”

“You,” he said -- and it was straight out of one of his
films. “
You
were a surprise.”

I sputtered into my water, and his fawn-colored eyebrows drew
together. “I’m sorry?”

“No,
I’m
sorry,” I
said, although I clearly wasn’t. “Actually, what I was sort of wondering was
what you wanted me to do next.”

The fawn-colored eyebrows drew together. “What I…?”

“Well, the case isn’t over. What should my next move be?”

“Your next…?” He let that trail, adding thoughtfully, “I
suppose the case
isn’t
over.
Interesting.” He suddenly chuckled. “Well, I shall have to consult the stars.”
He winked. “The other stars. Did you know I had gypsy blood?”

“I did not know that.”

“On my maternal grandmother’s side.” He held out his hand,
palm up. “I’ll read your fortune.”

“Another time.”

“Come on.” He was amused by my reluctance.

“Shouldn’t I cross your palm with silver?”

He shrugged. “We’re friends. No charge.” He took my hand in
his, gently turning it heel up.

“Here’s your lifeline.” He traced a line with his thumbnail
halfway down my palm and stopped. “Oh dear.” He quirked his eyebrows and gave
me a wry, commiserating look.

I tried to jerk my hand away, but he laughed.

“I’m teasing you, dear boy. You have a perfectly ordinary
lifeline. Your loveline, on the other hand --” He shook his head, his eyes full
of wicked amusement, and let my hand go.

I reached for my glass, the condensation chill on my palm --
washing away the feel of his fingers, washing away whatever fate he pretended
to see in the lines of my hand. I swallowed ice water, set the glass down.

“You know Nina’s been released? They can’t seem to figure out
how she got the poison into Porter’s glass.”

“Yes, I’d heard,” he said indifferently. He lifted his cocktail
-- something called an Admiral’s Tea. He did like those sweet, flavored drinks.
“I suppose it will be Ally next.”

“You suppose what will be Ally?”

His eyes locked on mine. “I suppose the police are looking at
her closely as a possible suspect.”

“Oh!” I chuckled. “I thought you meant…well, people around
you
have
been dropping at an alarming
rate.”

He stared at me.

I said gravely, “You know about the attack on Al January, of
course.”

“Of course.” He continued to stare at me. “A tragedy.”

“Hopefully not,” I said. “Hopefully he’ll pull through.”

He licked his lips.

I smiled confidingly, “Granted, your original interest in
this investigation was the same as mine. Mostly. We neither of us wanted to be
suspects in a murder investigation --”

“And to that end, you succeeded beautifully,” Paul assured
me. “Neither of us are suspects any longer.”

“Aren’t we?” I arched my brows, mirroring his own elegant
surprise. “But suppose the police don’t arrest Ally? Suppose they look
elsewhere? There’s only you, me, and Valarie left. Al getting clobbered pretty
much puts him out of the running.”

“The attack on Al might not have anything to do with Porter’s
death. He told me once they have a great deal of crime in that neighborhood.”

“Jake may successfully be redirecting that investigation, but
I don’t think there’s much doubt that the attack on Al was connected to
Porter’s death.”

He sipped his drink and said nothing.

“Jake’s influence will only stretch so far,” I said. “Someone
is going to be arrested and eventually tried for Porter’s murder. The LAPD take
a very dim view of homicide -- even among the rich and famous.”

He gave me another of those long, bright looks.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “This isn’t going to go
away on its own. In fact…yes, this is rather perfect timing. I’m having a small
get-together on the
Pirate’s Gambit
tomorrow. Just a few friends from the party. Why don’t you join us? You’ll be
able to do what you do so well. Snoop.”

“Is that what I do so well?” I mocked. “I was sure Jake would
give me higher marks for…well…other things.”

His eyes locked on mine, and they were glacial blue. Then he
smiled. “Tens all across the board, I assure you. I’m planning to seduce you
myself.”

“I’m planning to let you,” I said. “But maybe tomorrow we can
chat some more about getting this movie made from
Murder Will Out
.”

He said slowly, “You know, Adrien, that might not be so easy
now. Porter was our financial backer and Al was writing the script…”

“Oh, I can write the script,” I assured him blithely. “And
I’m sure you’ll come up with the money from somewhere.” I raised my brows at
the expression that fleeted across his face. “No?”

He smiled -- and I blinked at the radiance of shining eyes
and all those teeth.

“Oh, yes,” Paul said. “I’ll come up with whatever is
necessary.”

* * * * *

When I got back to the Cloak and Dagger, I found the cat
dying outside the side entrance.