CHAPTER ONE
“There is still time to run, Ava.” The silk sash hissed as the precise knot was formed at the base of Ava’s spine. “Seriously, I’ll even get the getaway car. Just say the words.”
The offer was sweet and nothing less than what she would have expected from her eccentric and dramatic best friend.
“I’m fine.” She turned to the six-foot man watching her with the look most people got when going to the funeral of a loved one. “Really, you can stop worrying.”
Robert Rachiele pursed his lips. The muscles in his rugged jaw flexed with his uncertainty. His eyes, the soft color of damp grass, searched hers, flicking back and forth in morbid dejection. Any moment, she expected him to take her hand, pat it apologetically, and tell her he was sorry for her loss.
“I just feel like you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”
“How is that possible?” She ducked around him quickly and moved to the velvet settee holding the rest of her outfit. “It’s not like I’m getting married to the guy. It’s only dinner.”
“A birthday dinner … with your parents,” he added with a disgusted twist of his lips. “That’s kind of a big deal, Avs.”
“How?”
“It’s dinner with your parents,” he repeated with great emphasis on each word. “And not just your parents. Everyone you know is downstairs. Lord knows what they’ll think of all this. They’re going to get the wrong idea.”
She flicked back a coil of auburn off her pale shoulder and twisted her chin over to glance back at him. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. We’ve been together six whole months. I care about him.”
“And that’s the problem. You care about him.”
Snatching up her Jimmy Choos pumps in an elegant black, Ava turned back with them in hand. She balanced against the sofa with her hip and worked them onto her manicured feet.
“That makes no sense.”
“Yeah, it does. You care for him. I care for toilet paper, but I wouldn’t invite it to dinner.”
Ava shot him a disgusted glower. “That is a horrible analogy.”
“Maybe, but…” He knelt in front of her and helped with the straps. A wisp of pale gold flopped over his brow. “You’re not supposed to care about the guy you’re introducing to your parents. You’re supposed to love and adore him. You’re supposed to want him with a passion that leaves you breathless and a desire that makes you feel crazy if you don’t make him yours forever.” Task complete, he rose. His gray suit rustled. “I know you don’t feel that way about Patrick the Dick.”
“Of course I do!” She swatted at him. “And don’t call him that. Besides, I’m not really introducing him to my parents. John Paul is the one who introduced us.”
She twisted towards the mirror and busied her sweaty, trembling hands down the soft front of her sleeveless cocktail dress. The slinky material hugged the dips and hills of her curves in an elegant sweep. Lace panels lined the sides and the back, leaving the wearer no choice but to forgo undergarments. The mini hem clasped around her bare thighs, leaving her long, limber limbs exposed all the way to where the straps on her shoes began. Robby had done her hair. He’d scooped the heavy, auburn strands into a chic knot at the back of her neck. In all, she looked ready to attend a dinner party commemorating the start of what she hoped was her new life.
“I’m not trying to tell you this is a bad idea, but…” Robby set a tender hand on her shoulder. “Baby girl, this is a very bad idea.”
“It is not.” Drawing in a breath, Ava faced him. “I need to do this, Robby. Patrick isn’t … he’s not…” she broke off, realizing there was no way to fully explain the exact reason why Patrick was imperfectly perfect for her. “He’s good for me. He’s dependable and safe, and he has a good, strong future ahead of him.”
Robby’s eyes narrowed. His eyebrow lifted even as she stopped talking.
“Are you getting a man or a golden retriever? This is insane, Ava!”
“It’s not insane,” she protested, feeling the anxiety she’d been wielding back beginning to make a steady climb back up her chest in a molten flood of regret. “It’s only dinner, for Christ sakes. I’m not eloping with the guy. He’s been to John Paul’s parties before. Only now he’s going with me.” She paused to catch her breath and calm down. “Please, Robby. I am begging you to please just … do this with me. I really need you to have my back.”
He exhaled. His arms crossed over a magnificent chest, straining the sleeves of his green top around his bulging biceps. His nostrils gave an indignant twitch she recognized as a win for her before he let his arms drop back down at his sides and shook his head.
“Fine, but it’s under severe protest.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
His shoulders rose and dropped. Hot breath that smelled of chocolate and mint bathed the side of her neck.
“I’ll never stop having your back, Avs,” he murmured. “But I really just … I wish you’d reconsider this.”
She pulled away from him and stalked to the high windows overlooking the gardens. The night was dismal. An angry knot of clouds had settled over the estate, occasionally spitting at the glass as though agreeing with Robby about her bad decisions. But what did it know? What did any of them know? How could they ever understand just how important tonight was?
“Everything is going to change with this party,” she told her weary reflection.
It stared back at her, doubtful, forlorn, slightly exhausted, a hollow little girl locked behind a sheet of damp glass. But there was determination in the tension of her shoulders, in the set line of her mouth. She would go into the fight and she would win, or die trying.
“All right.” Robby’s reflection joined hers in the dark pane. “Let’s go make bad choices.”
Ava faced him, moved by the strength of his friendship. It was the one thing she knew with an absolute certainty that rivaled all else. No matter what turn her life took, Robby had always been a constant. For that, she would move heaven and earth for him in return. She would kill for him without hesitation. There was no doubt in her mind of that.
She set her hand on his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” she told him.
An eyebrow lifted. “Just how much bail money am I going to have to come up with for tonight?”
Ava wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’re right.” He puffed out a dramatic breath. “I’m just going to be in there with you anyway. We might need to bring John Paul into this. He’s the one with deep pockets.”
She rolled her eyes and started to turn away.
He caught her hand, stopping her. “I love you, too, turd.”
Her laugh tangled with his. “How could I ever doubt it? Come on.” She squeezed his fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mood slightly lifted, Ava tugged him through the doors of her childhood bedroom. His wide strides had to be shortened to accommodate her dainty, restricted ones, but they made their way down to the lavish main floor of her mother’s extravagant estate. The low hum of chatter and music drifted up the grand staircase in a steady stream. Ava had spent the majority of her youth descending those very steps to that very sound. It was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. The only difference was her own lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t very often she brought a man home. The only one that ever had that honor was Robby. Ava wasn’t in the habit of jumping the gun and being proven wrong. Patrick would never have seen the inside of the Morel foyer if it weren’t important.
“You ready for this?”
Ava glanced at her best friend, at the beautiful lines that made his perfect features, and exhaled. “As I’ll ever be.”
He extended her his elbow and she accepted it with a clammy hand. Together, they descended into the crowd.
Built in the nineteenth century, the structure was a glorious splendor of Tudor and Goth architecture that had been upgraded as the era had changed. As a little girl, Ava had felt like a princess walking through the maze of ivory, marble, and gleaming wood. Every bend, nook, and cranny had been an adventure and she had gone wild with her imagination. There wasn’t a cupboard she hadn’t explored, no curtain that hadn’t been utilized as a cape. She had loved that house with a passion most ten year olds would have shown a new doll. She still did. It was her sacred haven. The place nothing bad could ever touch her. Not because of its ten-foot-high privacy walls, or iron gates. It was because of the man who owned it. The only other person besides Robby who had ever loved her simply because.
He stood with her mother amongst a sea of faces, a dashing sight in his form fitting tux, bow tie, and gold cufflinks. His once dark hair had begun to streak with gray at the temples and there were deep creases fanning out at the corners of his golden eyes, but John Paul was as handsome now as he had been all those years ago when she’d first met him in the open doorway of that very house. He’d been wearing slacks then and a heavy, wool sweater in gunmetal gray. He had stood there, snow drifting down around them, eyes contemplative as he studied her, this wary little thing in a red coat. She remembered thinking he was about to tell her what all her mother’s … friends, had told her, why don’t you go along and explore. Even as a nine-year-old, she had known what that meant; she wasn’t wanted around. But John Paul had narrowed his eyes, then, to her surprise, he’d knelt down so they were eyelevel.
“You must be Ava.” He’d extended her one slender hand, palm open, long fingers stretched to her. “I’ve been expecting you.”
He’d taken her inside, helped her out of her coat, and spent that entire afternoon talking to her. No one had ever done that. She had never been the center of anyone’s attention. But he had made her feel like maybe she really mattered.
She’d loved him ever since.
Next to him was her mother, a dainty thing in a poppy red Armani. Her auburn curls were pulled back from her pixie features to show off the cluster of diamonds circling her delicate throat and dripping from her ears. She hung on John Paul’s arm while they chatted to the couple Ava didn’t recognize. Whatever the conversation was about, her mother looked thrilled. John Paul mildly amused.
“I’m going to find Patrick,” she told Robby. “He should have arrived—”
“Ava!”
The man in question broke out of the crowd, the picture perfect imitation of success in his designer tux and artistically styled hair. He peered at Ava with a smile that could have doubled as spotlights. Each tooth glinted with its own light and drew the eye to the dimples indenting either side of his cleanly shaven face and the hard cut of his slanted jaw.
There was very little not perfect about him. At a glance, he was a specimen of a man, fit, gorgeous, rich, and influential. His father owned one of the largest boxed desserts companies in the north, or neatly packaged diabetes, as Charlotte liked to call it, and Patrick was set to take over the moment his father stepped down. Ambition and unwavering drive were the backbones of Patrick’s entire existence.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.” Blue eyes the perfect shade of a summer sky darted to Robby. “Rachiele.”
Robby said nothing, but the look on his face stated very clearly that he wished Patrick had been run over by a car, or a herd of elephants.
“Sorry,” Ava said. “I was just getting ready.” She looked him over. “You look very nice.”
Patrick tugged on the lapel of his coat. “Bought this new for the occasion.” He gave her a grin that suggested they shared some intimate secret. “Wanted to look my best.”
“It’s very lovely.”
Pleased, Patrick glanced at Robby once more. He looked the other man over, taking in the dark jeans, the boots that had seen better days, and the faded, green t-shirt with surprised interest.
“Robby doesn’t do tuxes,” Ava explained.
That only seemed to make Patrick uncomfortable. He shifted on the spot and quickly glanced away.
“It’s a really good turn out,” he decided. “I thought I saw the mayor earlier.”
“Probably.” Ava chuckled. “He and John Paul play golf on the weekends sometimes.”
Patrick cleared his throat. He tugged at his lapel again, but with less finesse.
“So, do you know all these people?”
She glanced at the familiar faces around them and nodded. “Most of them.”
That only seemed to amplify his nervousness. His fidgeting increased. The restless shuffling from foot to foot was beginning to make her sweat.
“Is something wrong?”
His palms made a sweaty, squeaky sound when he rubbed them together. “No, I’ve just never been this close to so many important people.” He flashed her a pained smile that only intensified her unease. “It’s a bit nerve wracking.”
For Ava, she’d been around influential people all her life. It wasn’t uncommon for the mayor to stop in for supper or some foreign diplomate to spend the night. The novelty of it had never affected her. But she could see how it could make someone as ambitious as Patrick sweat.
“It’ll be all right,” she assured him. “You’ll see.”
“Haven’t you been to a hundred of these things?” Robby cut in.
Patrick flushed. “Yes, but not … not like this.” His blue eyes shifted to Ava and back. “Feels different.”
Releasing Robby, Ava slid up next to Patrick and touched his arm. It was meant to reassure, but he jumped like she’d waved a live snake in his face. The unexpected jolt had her snatching her hand back.
“Sorry! Christ. I’m so sorry! I don’t … I don’t know why I did that.”
Not willing to risk another slap down, Ava didn’t reach for him again. But she offered him a comforting smile.
“Why don’t we get some drinks? Calm our nerves?”
“Not me,” Robby muttered. “I’m going to find the food.” He turned his gaze to Ava. “You’ll be all right?”
Assuring him she’d be fine, Ava waved him off, waited until he was out of sight before facing Patrick.
“We don’t have to do this,” she told him. “It really isn’t anyone’s business anyway.”
He looked so miserable that she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He reminded her of a beaten dog and all she wanted to do was pet his head and tell him he was such a good boy. That was probably not the type of reaction a girlfriend was supposed to have when their man was in the dumps, but she really was no better at all this than he was.
“No, I’m all right.” He straightened his shoulders and peered around the room. “Did you want to make the rounds, or…?”
Ava was trying to make up her mind when her mother caught sight of them in the doorway and her expression blossomed into one of pure delight.
“There she is!” Her mother’s girlish squeal cut into the hum of chatter like a butcher’s blade. It made everyone give a jolt of surprise.
She broke away from John Paul and drifted over to them with a grace that always gave the impression she was floating inches off the floor. Her pale arms shot out and closed around Ava’s neck in a suffocating embrace of woman and floral perfume.
“You look beautiful, darling!” Charlotte breathed, pulling back to inspect the dress she herself had picked out for the evening. “I just knew that dress was for you.”
“Thank you, Ch … Mom.”
It was never clear how Charlotte would react to the M word. For the first half of her life, Ava was introduced to people as Charlotte’s niece, or a friend’s daughter. Ava had been given strict directions never to use the dreaded M word in public.
“I’m not old enough for that,” Charlotte would say.
John Paul had put a stop to that as soon as their relationship had gone public, just a week after the ink had dried on the divorce papers to husband number four. Ava had already been nine by that point, too old for such a drastic change, but she had done it—grudgingly—for his sake. Her mother had embraced the new reality of being a public mother as she did her beauty regiment—with grace, a martini, and two valiums. But it had turned out in her favor, because everyone applauded her for having a twenty-five-year-old daughter and still managing to look so young. Life was rainbows and sunshine once more.
John Paul joined them. His hand automatically went to the small of her mother’s back.
“You look lovely, Ava,” he said in the fluid lilt of a French diplomate.
She offered him a smile in thanks.
He glanced past her to Patrick, who looked seconds away from vomiting on his own shoes. “Carmichael?”
“Yes sir?” His voice only squeaked a little, but the green tinge had begun to climb up his throat to taint his cheeks.
“Everything all right?”
His throat muscles worked rapidly, like he was trying to swallow a large chunk of rubber. “Yes sir.” He squared his shoulders like that might help with the sweat that had begun to gather across his brow. “Congratulations … no! Wait … uh…” He squeezed his eyes shut tight, gave his head a little shake as though to clear it. “To you.” He gestured at Ava. “Congratulations … I mean, happy birthday.”
She started to reach for him again, but quickly caught herself. She offered him a sympathetic smile instead.
“Why don’t you get us drinks, hm?”
His shoulders lifted and dropped, possibly in relief, but he inclined his head in an almost bow before turning and practically bowling his way out of sight.
“He’s very nervous,” Ava said once he was gone. “I don’t think he understood the implications when I suggested we … go public.”
“It’s adorable,” Charlotte decided. “Being nervous just shows he cares.”
John Paul nodded slowly. “I was extremely nervous when I met your mother.”
“You were not!” Charlotte scolded him playfully. “I have never met a more confident man. You were shameless.”
“Only on the outside, love,” he assured her smoothly.
Ava cut in quickly before the pair could start kissing. “Would you mind talking to him? Maybe introduce him to some people and get him comfortable?”
John Paul turned his attention back to her. His gaze lifted over her head to where Patrick had disappeared.
“I suppose, but—”
“Thank you! I just—”
“Ava!” Myrtle Pearson bustled over, a short, round, pasty thing in a puffy princess dress and tiara. Her arms swung around Ava’s middle, nearly taking them both to the ground. “Happy birthday, darling!”
Stubbornly keeping her expression fixed in one of delight, Ava beamed and patted her lightly on the back in return, trying not to notice how clammy she was.
“Hello Mrs. Pearson! How are you?”
“Dreadful.” The woman immediately pulled back. “Have you heard the news? It’s dreadful.”
“The news…?”
“Perhaps we should save that for later—?”
John Paul’s suggestion went completely ignored, now that the woman was on a roll and had a captive audience.
“The Attaway’s were robbed last weekend,” Mrs. Pearson rushed on in a loud, conspiratorial whisper. “During their anniversary dinner. I wasn’t there, of course. Princess, that’s my Yorkie, was a bit under the weather, poor thing. The thief broke right into Bill Attaway’s office safe and made off with everything. Then left behind his signature red rose and the card with the D on it. Can you imagine? The Devil has struck again!”
“That’s terrible…” But even as the words escaped her out of habit, Ava’s gaze darted to John Paul’s. They were both thinking the same thing, but neither of them could say a word. “Are the Attaway’s all right?”
“Well, they won’t be throwing another party any time soon, if that’s what you mean, but they’ll recover. Mostly what was taken, from what I hear, were bundles of money, some jewels, and a few other useless things. Nothing that can’t be replaced.”
“Good,” she whispered. “That’s good. I’ll be sure to call Mrs. Attaway and see if she needs anything.”
Mrs. Pearson beamed, showing a smudge of bright, red lipstick on her two front teeth. “You’re a darling girl, Ava love. But this is exactly the type of thing that happened last month at the Livingston’s gala, and the Goldberg’s the month before that…” she trailed off, some type of realization beginning to dawn across her doughy face. “It’s a bit of a routine, isn’t it? Do you suppose the police know about this?”
“I’m sure they do,” John Paul assured her. “They are the police after all. It’s their job.”
Mrs. Pearson nodded slowly, her expression determined. “I’d better let them know, just in case.”
She was already digging into her purse when she turned away.
Ava shot John Paul a panicked glance, urging him silently to do something without alerting her mother.
“Mrs. Pearson?” He lightly took her arm. “Would you like to dance?”
The other woman blinked. “Oh, but I should—”
“It can wait.” He gave her most charming smile. “It’s a party after all and I would very much love a dance with you.”
“Oh!” Cheeks pinkening, Mrs. Pearson glanced hurriedly at Charlotte. “Would you mind?”
Her mother, having already spotted a group of her frenemies, had to work extra hard to focus on the question. “Hm? Oh, no, not at all.” She smiled widely. “I’ve just seen someone I must catch up with. I’ll see you in a bit, love,” she told John Paul.
Then she was gone. John Paul was hauled off to the next room where the band had been instructed to play all of Ava’s favorite melodies, all of which had been converted from hard rock to classical. She hadn’t thought it was possible and yet … but the important thing was that Mrs. Pearson had been properly diverted off mentions of The Devil. While the police had probably figured out something so simple, Ava wasn’t about to give them further assistance on the matter than necessary.
“These bits of cheese taste like rubber.” Robby appeared at her elbow, cheeks stuffed. “But they’re like mini squares of crack.” He popped two more bits of canapé into his already bloated mouth from the small heap on the plate he held.
“Are you really going to eat all that?”
Robby blinked. He garbled something that had wet bits of cracker spraying out.
“Ew!” Ava laughed. “Chew your food.”
He glowered at her, but said nothing else.
It was around that time she realized Patrick hadn’t returned. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t cause concern, but given his behavior earlier, she figured she ought to at least attempt to find him.
“Can you help me find Patrick?”
Mouth mostly empty, Robby looked up from the snack he was inspecting and raised an eyebrow. “Have you lost him already?”
“I haven’t lost him,” she argued. “I’m just worried he’s…”
“What? Hidden himself in a closet?”
Ava frowned at him. “Will you just help me find him, please?”
“Fine, but if he is in a closet, I am totally posting that on Facebook.”
Rolling her eyes, Ava turned and headed in the direction Patrick had taken, pausing every few steps to thank someone for coming or accept a birthday greeting. A few stopped to ask if she’d heard the news about the Attaway’s, or about the string of other burglaries that had been taking place almost frequently since … the incident.
“I’m telling you,” Abigail Sinclair hissed at her husband. “It’s all been going rampant since what happened.”
As short as his wife was tall, Howard Sinclair pursed his fat lips in defiance. “That’s ridiculous. Crime has always been a thing of concern, even before his death.”
It was apparently an argument they’d had before, but now they realized they had a new, third party to assault with their bickering.
“What do you think, Ava?” Abigail demanded, peering at Ava with that long, narrow face of hers.
“I think…” She cleared her throat. “I really don’t have much of an opinion on the matter, honestly.”
“Of course you don’t,” Howard broke in. “It’s nasty business that was. The man was a criminal. He got what was coming to him.”
“An alleged criminal,” Abigail squawked. “He was a hero.”
“The man massacred twenty people.”
“Christ, Howard, it’s bad luck to talk about death at a birthday party!” Abigail cried, gray eyes enormous in her horror.
“You brought it up, Abigail!” Howard shot back. “The man’s been dead two bloody months. I don’t think it even counts as a real death anymore.”
“Of course it counts,” Abigail argued. “The man is dead. It’s a horrible tragedy.”
“He was rather an important person,” Ava piped in. “People respected him.”
“Yeah, for a criminal.” Howard snorted. “Ever met him?”
It had been years ago and only for a few seconds as he was leaving John Paul’s office, but Killian McClary had been the type of man women remembered vividly. Both gorgeous and terrifying, he’d done no more than incline his head in polite acknowledgement, but it had simultaneously made Ava want to giggle and run for cover. The conflicting emotions had been severely daunting for a seventeen-year-old.
“Once,” she admitted. “He seemed nice.”
Howard huffed as though she’d just insulted everything he stood for. “Nice,” he grumbled. “He was a murderer was what he was.”
Ava swallowed back her laugh. “He was never convicted of any crimes. Besides, I don’t know if I disagree with the things he allegedly did.”
Abigail beamed. She shot her husband a haughty smirk that was met with his face growing splotchy with color.
“You mean brutally slaughtering twenty people?”
“Allegedly!” Ava stressed. “He was never even questioned.”
Howard snorted into the rim of brandy glass. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. I mean, we all know he did.”
Ava opted to let it drop. Conversations like that always led to her asking, so what if he did? So what if a bunch of even worse criminals are dead. I think he was a hero. Not everyone agreed with her philosophy. They didn’t understand that sometimes evil was required to fight evil, because, in her society, the people in it enjoyed their blissful ignorance. They relished in the knowledge that the really bad things only happened to people just on the other side of Harrison River. People like her, good people with fat portfolios and Jimmy Choo shoes would never associate with the riffraff that called the underbelly home. All any of them knew was that there were unpleasant ripples in the water and they were all children, playing much too close to a sink hole. No one knew what to do, nor were they clever enough to pull away.
There weren’t many who would agree with her. Most would argue the law and who had the power to take another man’s life, but Ava wasn’t so sure the law was as black and white as that. Powerful men dodged justice every day. Bad men. The cancers of the world. So what if someone made them pay for their crimes when the courts turned a blind eye? Sometimes, it was necessary.
But maybe a lot of that mindset came from the fact that the man Ava loved more than anything was a member of that shadowy world. Not many knew, not even her mother, but Ava wasn’t so lost in her own needs not to recognize her stepfather for what he truly was. So, by condemning the city’s organized crime, it always felt like she was condemning him and that was inconceivable.
“I should actually go.” She began to dodge around the pair still bickering about the rights and wrongs of the world. “But it was lovely to see you both.”
She made her escape before either of them had a chance to react. She hurried through the room and back out into the hallway, gaze scanning every face for some signs of Patrick.
She was just beginning to think maybe he’d gone home when she spotted him. He stood in the midst of a group of men well into their fifties, chatting on as though they’d been friends for ages. Ava recognized most of them as judges and a couple of lawyers. She knew them by face, but their names completely escaped her. She opted to leave him there.
“Ava.” Her mother appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Ava felt the woman’s claws sink into her arm before she was there, propelling Ava from the room. “What are you doing?”
Dislodging her limb from the death grip, Ava faced Charlotte. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re just standing there, lost to the world … slouching!” Charlotte sucked in a quick, calming breath. “That is an original Valentino gown, Ava. You do not slouch in an original Valentino gown! What are you thinking?”
“I wasn’t slouching.” She totally was. She knew she was. But she’d never mastered the ability to shove a stick that far up her own ass to keep it from happening. “I’ll stop.”
“Do!” Charlotte’s nostrils flared. “And mingle, for Christ sakes. This is your party.”
Ava’s posture was the bane of her mother’s existence, along with a lengthy list of other imperfections, but her inability to remain straight-backed all night was the current topic of mortification for Charlotte Morel.
It never made sense to Ava why John Paul married the woman. There really wasn’t a more selfish person on the face of the planet, yet he’d put up with her for an astonishing fifteen years and he’d done it without losing his mind. That alone earned him Ava’s respect. He was clearly far stronger than she ever was. Her goal the first eighteen years of her life had been to get as far away from her mother as possible. She had saved every penny she came across, building a large enough nest to take her somewhere her mother wouldn’t be. It had all been meticulously planned until it wasn’t.
On her eighteenth birthday, she had lapsed into a false sense of unrealistic expectations that had cost her more than her plans. She had foolishly allowed herself a reason to stay, had embraced it for all it was worth, had cherished it and urged it to grow as high as any girl could allow those feelings to grow. But it failed her as those things usually did. She had, in those moments, actually believed she was worthy of another person’s affections and wound up waking up to an empty bed and no explanation. But it was that push that sent her packing that very day and leaving for Paris for a year. Then Australia, and finally returning two and a half years later a different person. Ava regretted nothing, except that she’d allowed her plans to be detoured in the first place.
She never would have returned. The occasional holiday visit was enough for her. Plus, John Paul flew out every month for a week or a weekend. It had all been fine, until the accident.
The memory still sent a cold chill through her. It was the singular most traumatic moment of her life. She would never forget picking up her mother’s call and hearing the hysterical woman tell her John Paul had been in an accident and was in the hospital. Ava couldn’t even recall the rest of the conversation. She might have dropped the phone or hung up. It was all a blur as she had left work without notice and caught the first flight back home, not even bothering to stop at her apartment for clothes.
It had taken twenty-five hours to get to him. Twenty-five hours of fretting and praying and crying. She had been as hysterical as her mother by the time she’d crashed through the hospital doors. But it was those hours that convinced her she was too far. Those were hours that she could have lost him. It didn’t even matter that her mother had over exaggerated the diagnoses, that the car had barely tapped the back of John Paul’s. It was the fact that he could have died while she was waiting for the stupid plane to fly faster.
She’d packed up her apartment in Sydney a month later and moved back. She got a job at Chaud, a fashion and health magazine as an editor, an apartment a block from John Paul’s estate, and started her life in the city she’d grown up in. She didn’t regret that either.
“So, I didn’t find your boy toy.” Robby was back, a fresh plate of canapé’s in hand. “But they have these new crab things that I swear melt—”
Ava gawked, astounded. “Did you seriously go to get more food?”
Robby paused in the midst of stuffing another hors d’œuvre into his mouth. “This isn’t food. This is like … okay, don’t judge. I’m starving.” He shoved the cracker into his mouth and chewed. “So, what are we doing?”
Ava shrugged. “Just standing here, trying not to slouch.”
“Huh.” He swallowed. “Your mom was by, eh?” He offered her his plate. “I have crabs.”
Ava burst out laughing. It was a loud, horrible sound that rang over the chatter, the music, and the low snickers from Robby. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Ava only laughed harder. It was mortifying, because unlike normal girls with their adorable giggles, Ava had a laugh too big for her size. It drew attention no matter where she was and she fought like hell to contain it, but Robby always thought it was hilarious and did his best to poke one out of her every chance he got.
“I hate you!” she wheezed, struggling to contain herself.
Robby merely smirked and shoved another canapé into his mouth.
John Paul appeared at Robby’s elbow, slightly more rumpled than normal. He glanced sideways at Robby’s chipmunk cheeks, raised an eyebrow, then must have decided it wasn’t worth asking, because he turned straight back to Ava.
“She’s very handsy for someone so short.” He rolled his shoulders as though to shake off the phantom touches of Mrs. Pearson’s hands. “Kept insisting it was because she couldn’t reach higher.”
“I’m sorry.” Ava struggled to contain her giggles. “But it was for a good cause.”
John Paul sniffed, the closest he’d ever gotten to a snort. “Debatable.”
“What’s happened?” Robby glanced from one to the other. “What did I miss?”
She was about to tell him. Her mouth opened and words collected when the entire room inexplicably went silent. The air thickened in an odd sort of hum that resonated through the crowd of onlookers. A faint rustle collected as bodies turned, heads swiveled, and attentions were pivoted away from conversations to The Devil in the doorway.
Title: The Devil’s Beauty
Series: Standalone
Release Date: July 16, 2016
Genre: Dark Contemporary
Pages: 506
The offer was sweet and nothing less than what she would have expected from her eccentric and dramatic best friend.
“I’m fine.” She turned to the six-foot man watching her with the look most people got when going to the funeral of a loved one. “Really, you can stop worrying.”
Robert Rachiele pursed his lips. The muscles in his rugged jaw flexed with his uncertainty. His eyes, the soft color of damp grass, searched hers, flicking back and forth in morbid dejection. Any moment, she expected him to take her hand, pat it apologetically, and tell her he was sorry for her loss.
“I just feel like you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”
“How is that possible?” She ducked around him quickly and moved to the velvet settee holding the rest of her outfit. “It’s not like I’m getting married to the guy. It’s only dinner.”
“A birthday dinner … with your parents,” he added with a disgusted twist of his lips. “That’s kind of a big deal, Avs.”
“How?”
“It’s dinner with your parents,” he repeated with great emphasis on each word. “And not just your parents. Everyone you know is downstairs. Lord knows what they’ll think of all this. They’re going to get the wrong idea.”
She flicked back a coil of auburn off her pale shoulder and twisted her chin over to glance back at him. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. We’ve been together six whole months. I care about him.”
“And that’s the problem. You care about him.”
Snatching up her Jimmy Choos pumps in an elegant black, Ava turned back with them in hand. She balanced against the sofa with her hip and worked them onto her manicured feet.
“That makes no sense.”
“Yeah, it does. You care for him. I care for toilet paper, but I wouldn’t invite it to dinner.”
Ava shot him a disgusted glower. “That is a horrible analogy.”
“Maybe, but…” He knelt in front of her and helped with the straps. A wisp of pale gold flopped over his brow. “You’re not supposed to care about the guy you’re introducing to your parents. You’re supposed to love and adore him. You’re supposed to want him with a passion that leaves you breathless and a desire that makes you feel crazy if you don’t make him yours forever.” Task complete, he rose. His gray suit rustled. “I know you don’t feel that way about Patrick the Dick.”
“Of course I do!” She swatted at him. “And don’t call him that. Besides, I’m not really introducing him to my parents. John Paul is the one who introduced us.”
She twisted towards the mirror and busied her sweaty, trembling hands down the soft front of her sleeveless cocktail dress. The slinky material hugged the dips and hills of her curves in an elegant sweep. Lace panels lined the sides and the back, leaving the wearer no choice but to forgo undergarments. The mini hem clasped around her bare thighs, leaving her long, limber limbs exposed all the way to where the straps on her shoes began. Robby had done her hair. He’d scooped the heavy, auburn strands into a chic knot at the back of her neck. In all, she looked ready to attend a dinner party commemorating the start of what she hoped was her new life.
“I’m not trying to tell you this is a bad idea, but…” Robby set a tender hand on her shoulder. “Baby girl, this is a very bad idea.”
“It is not.” Drawing in a breath, Ava faced him. “I need to do this, Robby. Patrick isn’t … he’s not…” she broke off, realizing there was no way to fully explain the exact reason why Patrick was imperfectly perfect for her. “He’s good for me. He’s dependable and safe, and he has a good, strong future ahead of him.”
Robby’s eyes narrowed. His eyebrow lifted even as she stopped talking.
“Are you getting a man or a golden retriever? This is insane, Ava!”
“It’s not insane,” she protested, feeling the anxiety she’d been wielding back beginning to make a steady climb back up her chest in a molten flood of regret. “It’s only dinner, for Christ sakes. I’m not eloping with the guy. He’s been to John Paul’s parties before. Only now he’s going with me.” She paused to catch her breath and calm down. “Please, Robby. I am begging you to please just … do this with me. I really need you to have my back.”
He exhaled. His arms crossed over a magnificent chest, straining the sleeves of his green top around his bulging biceps. His nostrils gave an indignant twitch she recognized as a win for her before he let his arms drop back down at his sides and shook his head.
“Fine, but it’s under severe protest.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
His shoulders rose and dropped. Hot breath that smelled of chocolate and mint bathed the side of her neck.
“I’ll never stop having your back, Avs,” he murmured. “But I really just … I wish you’d reconsider this.”
She pulled away from him and stalked to the high windows overlooking the gardens. The night was dismal. An angry knot of clouds had settled over the estate, occasionally spitting at the glass as though agreeing with Robby about her bad decisions. But what did it know? What did any of them know? How could they ever understand just how important tonight was?
“Everything is going to change with this party,” she told her weary reflection.
It stared back at her, doubtful, forlorn, slightly exhausted, a hollow little girl locked behind a sheet of damp glass. But there was determination in the tension of her shoulders, in the set line of her mouth. She would go into the fight and she would win, or die trying.
“All right.” Robby’s reflection joined hers in the dark pane. “Let’s go make bad choices.”
Ava faced him, moved by the strength of his friendship. It was the one thing she knew with an absolute certainty that rivaled all else. No matter what turn her life took, Robby had always been a constant. For that, she would move heaven and earth for him in return. She would kill for him without hesitation. There was no doubt in her mind of that.
She set her hand on his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” she told him.
An eyebrow lifted. “Just how much bail money am I going to have to come up with for tonight?”
Ava wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’re right.” He puffed out a dramatic breath. “I’m just going to be in there with you anyway. We might need to bring John Paul into this. He’s the one with deep pockets.”
She rolled her eyes and started to turn away.
He caught her hand, stopping her. “I love you, too, turd.”
Her laugh tangled with his. “How could I ever doubt it? Come on.” She squeezed his fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mood slightly lifted, Ava tugged him through the doors of her childhood bedroom. His wide strides had to be shortened to accommodate her dainty, restricted ones, but they made their way down to the lavish main floor of her mother’s extravagant estate. The low hum of chatter and music drifted up the grand staircase in a steady stream. Ava had spent the majority of her youth descending those very steps to that very sound. It was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. The only difference was her own lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t very often she brought a man home. The only one that ever had that honor was Robby. Ava wasn’t in the habit of jumping the gun and being proven wrong. Patrick would never have seen the inside of the Morel foyer if it weren’t important.
“You ready for this?”
Ava glanced at her best friend, at the beautiful lines that made his perfect features, and exhaled. “As I’ll ever be.”
He extended her his elbow and she accepted it with a clammy hand. Together, they descended into the crowd.
Built in the nineteenth century, the structure was a glorious splendor of Tudor and Goth architecture that had been upgraded as the era had changed. As a little girl, Ava had felt like a princess walking through the maze of ivory, marble, and gleaming wood. Every bend, nook, and cranny had been an adventure and she had gone wild with her imagination. There wasn’t a cupboard she hadn’t explored, no curtain that hadn’t been utilized as a cape. She had loved that house with a passion most ten year olds would have shown a new doll. She still did. It was her sacred haven. The place nothing bad could ever touch her. Not because of its ten-foot-high privacy walls, or iron gates. It was because of the man who owned it. The only other person besides Robby who had ever loved her simply because.
He stood with her mother amongst a sea of faces, a dashing sight in his form fitting tux, bow tie, and gold cufflinks. His once dark hair had begun to streak with gray at the temples and there were deep creases fanning out at the corners of his golden eyes, but John Paul was as handsome now as he had been all those years ago when she’d first met him in the open doorway of that very house. He’d been wearing slacks then and a heavy, wool sweater in gunmetal gray. He had stood there, snow drifting down around them, eyes contemplative as he studied her, this wary little thing in a red coat. She remembered thinking he was about to tell her what all her mother’s … friends, had told her, why don’t you go along and explore. Even as a nine-year-old, she had known what that meant; she wasn’t wanted around. But John Paul had narrowed his eyes, then, to her surprise, he’d knelt down so they were eyelevel.
“You must be Ava.” He’d extended her one slender hand, palm open, long fingers stretched to her. “I’ve been expecting you.”
He’d taken her inside, helped her out of her coat, and spent that entire afternoon talking to her. No one had ever done that. She had never been the center of anyone’s attention. But he had made her feel like maybe she really mattered.
She’d loved him ever since.
Next to him was her mother, a dainty thing in a poppy red Armani. Her auburn curls were pulled back from her pixie features to show off the cluster of diamonds circling her delicate throat and dripping from her ears. She hung on John Paul’s arm while they chatted to the couple Ava didn’t recognize. Whatever the conversation was about, her mother looked thrilled. John Paul mildly amused.
“I’m going to find Patrick,” she told Robby. “He should have arrived—”
“Ava!”
The man in question broke out of the crowd, the picture perfect imitation of success in his designer tux and artistically styled hair. He peered at Ava with a smile that could have doubled as spotlights. Each tooth glinted with its own light and drew the eye to the dimples indenting either side of his cleanly shaven face and the hard cut of his slanted jaw.
There was very little not perfect about him. At a glance, he was a specimen of a man, fit, gorgeous, rich, and influential. His father owned one of the largest boxed desserts companies in the north, or neatly packaged diabetes, as Charlotte liked to call it, and Patrick was set to take over the moment his father stepped down. Ambition and unwavering drive were the backbones of Patrick’s entire existence.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.” Blue eyes the perfect shade of a summer sky darted to Robby. “Rachiele.”
Robby said nothing, but the look on his face stated very clearly that he wished Patrick had been run over by a car, or a herd of elephants.
“Sorry,” Ava said. “I was just getting ready.” She looked him over. “You look very nice.”
Patrick tugged on the lapel of his coat. “Bought this new for the occasion.” He gave her a grin that suggested they shared some intimate secret. “Wanted to look my best.”
“It’s very lovely.”
Pleased, Patrick glanced at Robby once more. He looked the other man over, taking in the dark jeans, the boots that had seen better days, and the faded, green t-shirt with surprised interest.
“Robby doesn’t do tuxes,” Ava explained.
That only seemed to make Patrick uncomfortable. He shifted on the spot and quickly glanced away.
“It’s a really good turn out,” he decided. “I thought I saw the mayor earlier.”
“Probably.” Ava chuckled. “He and John Paul play golf on the weekends sometimes.”
Patrick cleared his throat. He tugged at his lapel again, but with less finesse.
“So, do you know all these people?”
She glanced at the familiar faces around them and nodded. “Most of them.”
That only seemed to amplify his nervousness. His fidgeting increased. The restless shuffling from foot to foot was beginning to make her sweat.
“Is something wrong?”
His palms made a sweaty, squeaky sound when he rubbed them together. “No, I’ve just never been this close to so many important people.” He flashed her a pained smile that only intensified her unease. “It’s a bit nerve wracking.”
For Ava, she’d been around influential people all her life. It wasn’t uncommon for the mayor to stop in for supper or some foreign diplomate to spend the night. The novelty of it had never affected her. But she could see how it could make someone as ambitious as Patrick sweat.
“It’ll be all right,” she assured him. “You’ll see.”
“Haven’t you been to a hundred of these things?” Robby cut in.
Patrick flushed. “Yes, but not … not like this.” His blue eyes shifted to Ava and back. “Feels different.”
Releasing Robby, Ava slid up next to Patrick and touched his arm. It was meant to reassure, but he jumped like she’d waved a live snake in his face. The unexpected jolt had her snatching her hand back.
“Sorry! Christ. I’m so sorry! I don’t … I don’t know why I did that.”
Not willing to risk another slap down, Ava didn’t reach for him again. But she offered him a comforting smile.
“Why don’t we get some drinks? Calm our nerves?”
“Not me,” Robby muttered. “I’m going to find the food.” He turned his gaze to Ava. “You’ll be all right?”
Assuring him she’d be fine, Ava waved him off, waited until he was out of sight before facing Patrick.
“We don’t have to do this,” she told him. “It really isn’t anyone’s business anyway.”
He looked so miserable that she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He reminded her of a beaten dog and all she wanted to do was pet his head and tell him he was such a good boy. That was probably not the type of reaction a girlfriend was supposed to have when their man was in the dumps, but she really was no better at all this than he was.
“No, I’m all right.” He straightened his shoulders and peered around the room. “Did you want to make the rounds, or…?”
Ava was trying to make up her mind when her mother caught sight of them in the doorway and her expression blossomed into one of pure delight.
“There she is!” Her mother’s girlish squeal cut into the hum of chatter like a butcher’s blade. It made everyone give a jolt of surprise.
She broke away from John Paul and drifted over to them with a grace that always gave the impression she was floating inches off the floor. Her pale arms shot out and closed around Ava’s neck in a suffocating embrace of woman and floral perfume.
“You look beautiful, darling!” Charlotte breathed, pulling back to inspect the dress she herself had picked out for the evening. “I just knew that dress was for you.”
“Thank you, Ch … Mom.”
It was never clear how Charlotte would react to the M word. For the first half of her life, Ava was introduced to people as Charlotte’s niece, or a friend’s daughter. Ava had been given strict directions never to use the dreaded M word in public.
“I’m not old enough for that,” Charlotte would say.
John Paul had put a stop to that as soon as their relationship had gone public, just a week after the ink had dried on the divorce papers to husband number four. Ava had already been nine by that point, too old for such a drastic change, but she had done it—grudgingly—for his sake. Her mother had embraced the new reality of being a public mother as she did her beauty regiment—with grace, a martini, and two valiums. But it had turned out in her favor, because everyone applauded her for having a twenty-five-year-old daughter and still managing to look so young. Life was rainbows and sunshine once more.
John Paul joined them. His hand automatically went to the small of her mother’s back.
“You look lovely, Ava,” he said in the fluid lilt of a French diplomate.
She offered him a smile in thanks.
He glanced past her to Patrick, who looked seconds away from vomiting on his own shoes. “Carmichael?”
“Yes sir?” His voice only squeaked a little, but the green tinge had begun to climb up his throat to taint his cheeks.
“Everything all right?”
His throat muscles worked rapidly, like he was trying to swallow a large chunk of rubber. “Yes sir.” He squared his shoulders like that might help with the sweat that had begun to gather across his brow. “Congratulations … no! Wait … uh…” He squeezed his eyes shut tight, gave his head a little shake as though to clear it. “To you.” He gestured at Ava. “Congratulations … I mean, happy birthday.”
She started to reach for him again, but quickly caught herself. She offered him a sympathetic smile instead.
“Why don’t you get us drinks, hm?”
His shoulders lifted and dropped, possibly in relief, but he inclined his head in an almost bow before turning and practically bowling his way out of sight.
“He’s very nervous,” Ava said once he was gone. “I don’t think he understood the implications when I suggested we … go public.”
“It’s adorable,” Charlotte decided. “Being nervous just shows he cares.”
John Paul nodded slowly. “I was extremely nervous when I met your mother.”
“You were not!” Charlotte scolded him playfully. “I have never met a more confident man. You were shameless.”
“Only on the outside, love,” he assured her smoothly.
Ava cut in quickly before the pair could start kissing. “Would you mind talking to him? Maybe introduce him to some people and get him comfortable?”
John Paul turned his attention back to her. His gaze lifted over her head to where Patrick had disappeared.
“I suppose, but—”
“Thank you! I just—”
“Ava!” Myrtle Pearson bustled over, a short, round, pasty thing in a puffy princess dress and tiara. Her arms swung around Ava’s middle, nearly taking them both to the ground. “Happy birthday, darling!”
Stubbornly keeping her expression fixed in one of delight, Ava beamed and patted her lightly on the back in return, trying not to notice how clammy she was.
“Hello Mrs. Pearson! How are you?”
“Dreadful.” The woman immediately pulled back. “Have you heard the news? It’s dreadful.”
“The news…?”
“Perhaps we should save that for later—?”
John Paul’s suggestion went completely ignored, now that the woman was on a roll and had a captive audience.
“The Attaway’s were robbed last weekend,” Mrs. Pearson rushed on in a loud, conspiratorial whisper. “During their anniversary dinner. I wasn’t there, of course. Princess, that’s my Yorkie, was a bit under the weather, poor thing. The thief broke right into Bill Attaway’s office safe and made off with everything. Then left behind his signature red rose and the card with the D on it. Can you imagine? The Devil has struck again!”
“That’s terrible…” But even as the words escaped her out of habit, Ava’s gaze darted to John Paul’s. They were both thinking the same thing, but neither of them could say a word. “Are the Attaway’s all right?”
“Well, they won’t be throwing another party any time soon, if that’s what you mean, but they’ll recover. Mostly what was taken, from what I hear, were bundles of money, some jewels, and a few other useless things. Nothing that can’t be replaced.”
“Good,” she whispered. “That’s good. I’ll be sure to call Mrs. Attaway and see if she needs anything.”
Mrs. Pearson beamed, showing a smudge of bright, red lipstick on her two front teeth. “You’re a darling girl, Ava love. But this is exactly the type of thing that happened last month at the Livingston’s gala, and the Goldberg’s the month before that…” she trailed off, some type of realization beginning to dawn across her doughy face. “It’s a bit of a routine, isn’t it? Do you suppose the police know about this?”
“I’m sure they do,” John Paul assured her. “They are the police after all. It’s their job.”
Mrs. Pearson nodded slowly, her expression determined. “I’d better let them know, just in case.”
She was already digging into her purse when she turned away.
Ava shot John Paul a panicked glance, urging him silently to do something without alerting her mother.
“Mrs. Pearson?” He lightly took her arm. “Would you like to dance?”
The other woman blinked. “Oh, but I should—”
“It can wait.” He gave her most charming smile. “It’s a party after all and I would very much love a dance with you.”
“Oh!” Cheeks pinkening, Mrs. Pearson glanced hurriedly at Charlotte. “Would you mind?”
Her mother, having already spotted a group of her frenemies, had to work extra hard to focus on the question. “Hm? Oh, no, not at all.” She smiled widely. “I’ve just seen someone I must catch up with. I’ll see you in a bit, love,” she told John Paul.
Then she was gone. John Paul was hauled off to the next room where the band had been instructed to play all of Ava’s favorite melodies, all of which had been converted from hard rock to classical. She hadn’t thought it was possible and yet … but the important thing was that Mrs. Pearson had been properly diverted off mentions of The Devil. While the police had probably figured out something so simple, Ava wasn’t about to give them further assistance on the matter than necessary.
“These bits of cheese taste like rubber.” Robby appeared at her elbow, cheeks stuffed. “But they’re like mini squares of crack.” He popped two more bits of canapé into his already bloated mouth from the small heap on the plate he held.
“Are you really going to eat all that?”
Robby blinked. He garbled something that had wet bits of cracker spraying out.
“Ew!” Ava laughed. “Chew your food.”
He glowered at her, but said nothing else.
It was around that time she realized Patrick hadn’t returned. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t cause concern, but given his behavior earlier, she figured she ought to at least attempt to find him.
“Can you help me find Patrick?”
Mouth mostly empty, Robby looked up from the snack he was inspecting and raised an eyebrow. “Have you lost him already?”
“I haven’t lost him,” she argued. “I’m just worried he’s…”
“What? Hidden himself in a closet?”
Ava frowned at him. “Will you just help me find him, please?”
“Fine, but if he is in a closet, I am totally posting that on Facebook.”
Rolling her eyes, Ava turned and headed in the direction Patrick had taken, pausing every few steps to thank someone for coming or accept a birthday greeting. A few stopped to ask if she’d heard the news about the Attaway’s, or about the string of other burglaries that had been taking place almost frequently since … the incident.
“I’m telling you,” Abigail Sinclair hissed at her husband. “It’s all been going rampant since what happened.”
As short as his wife was tall, Howard Sinclair pursed his fat lips in defiance. “That’s ridiculous. Crime has always been a thing of concern, even before his death.”
It was apparently an argument they’d had before, but now they realized they had a new, third party to assault with their bickering.
“What do you think, Ava?” Abigail demanded, peering at Ava with that long, narrow face of hers.
“I think…” She cleared her throat. “I really don’t have much of an opinion on the matter, honestly.”
“Of course you don’t,” Howard broke in. “It’s nasty business that was. The man was a criminal. He got what was coming to him.”
“An alleged criminal,” Abigail squawked. “He was a hero.”
“The man massacred twenty people.”
“Christ, Howard, it’s bad luck to talk about death at a birthday party!” Abigail cried, gray eyes enormous in her horror.
“You brought it up, Abigail!” Howard shot back. “The man’s been dead two bloody months. I don’t think it even counts as a real death anymore.”
“Of course it counts,” Abigail argued. “The man is dead. It’s a horrible tragedy.”
“He was rather an important person,” Ava piped in. “People respected him.”
“Yeah, for a criminal.” Howard snorted. “Ever met him?”
It had been years ago and only for a few seconds as he was leaving John Paul’s office, but Killian McClary had been the type of man women remembered vividly. Both gorgeous and terrifying, he’d done no more than incline his head in polite acknowledgement, but it had simultaneously made Ava want to giggle and run for cover. The conflicting emotions had been severely daunting for a seventeen-year-old.
“Once,” she admitted. “He seemed nice.”
Howard huffed as though she’d just insulted everything he stood for. “Nice,” he grumbled. “He was a murderer was what he was.”
Ava swallowed back her laugh. “He was never convicted of any crimes. Besides, I don’t know if I disagree with the things he allegedly did.”
Abigail beamed. She shot her husband a haughty smirk that was met with his face growing splotchy with color.
“You mean brutally slaughtering twenty people?”
“Allegedly!” Ava stressed. “He was never even questioned.”
Howard snorted into the rim of brandy glass. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. I mean, we all know he did.”
Ava opted to let it drop. Conversations like that always led to her asking, so what if he did? So what if a bunch of even worse criminals are dead. I think he was a hero. Not everyone agreed with her philosophy. They didn’t understand that sometimes evil was required to fight evil, because, in her society, the people in it enjoyed their blissful ignorance. They relished in the knowledge that the really bad things only happened to people just on the other side of Harrison River. People like her, good people with fat portfolios and Jimmy Choo shoes would never associate with the riffraff that called the underbelly home. All any of them knew was that there were unpleasant ripples in the water and they were all children, playing much too close to a sink hole. No one knew what to do, nor were they clever enough to pull away.
There weren’t many who would agree with her. Most would argue the law and who had the power to take another man’s life, but Ava wasn’t so sure the law was as black and white as that. Powerful men dodged justice every day. Bad men. The cancers of the world. So what if someone made them pay for their crimes when the courts turned a blind eye? Sometimes, it was necessary.
But maybe a lot of that mindset came from the fact that the man Ava loved more than anything was a member of that shadowy world. Not many knew, not even her mother, but Ava wasn’t so lost in her own needs not to recognize her stepfather for what he truly was. So, by condemning the city’s organized crime, it always felt like she was condemning him and that was inconceivable.
“I should actually go.” She began to dodge around the pair still bickering about the rights and wrongs of the world. “But it was lovely to see you both.”
She made her escape before either of them had a chance to react. She hurried through the room and back out into the hallway, gaze scanning every face for some signs of Patrick.
She was just beginning to think maybe he’d gone home when she spotted him. He stood in the midst of a group of men well into their fifties, chatting on as though they’d been friends for ages. Ava recognized most of them as judges and a couple of lawyers. She knew them by face, but their names completely escaped her. She opted to leave him there.
“Ava.” Her mother appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Ava felt the woman’s claws sink into her arm before she was there, propelling Ava from the room. “What are you doing?”
Dislodging her limb from the death grip, Ava faced Charlotte. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re just standing there, lost to the world … slouching!” Charlotte sucked in a quick, calming breath. “That is an original Valentino gown, Ava. You do not slouch in an original Valentino gown! What are you thinking?”
“I wasn’t slouching.” She totally was. She knew she was. But she’d never mastered the ability to shove a stick that far up her own ass to keep it from happening. “I’ll stop.”
“Do!” Charlotte’s nostrils flared. “And mingle, for Christ sakes. This is your party.”
Ava’s posture was the bane of her mother’s existence, along with a lengthy list of other imperfections, but her inability to remain straight-backed all night was the current topic of mortification for Charlotte Morel.
It never made sense to Ava why John Paul married the woman. There really wasn’t a more selfish person on the face of the planet, yet he’d put up with her for an astonishing fifteen years and he’d done it without losing his mind. That alone earned him Ava’s respect. He was clearly far stronger than she ever was. Her goal the first eighteen years of her life had been to get as far away from her mother as possible. She had saved every penny she came across, building a large enough nest to take her somewhere her mother wouldn’t be. It had all been meticulously planned until it wasn’t.
On her eighteenth birthday, she had lapsed into a false sense of unrealistic expectations that had cost her more than her plans. She had foolishly allowed herself a reason to stay, had embraced it for all it was worth, had cherished it and urged it to grow as high as any girl could allow those feelings to grow. But it failed her as those things usually did. She had, in those moments, actually believed she was worthy of another person’s affections and wound up waking up to an empty bed and no explanation. But it was that push that sent her packing that very day and leaving for Paris for a year. Then Australia, and finally returning two and a half years later a different person. Ava regretted nothing, except that she’d allowed her plans to be detoured in the first place.
She never would have returned. The occasional holiday visit was enough for her. Plus, John Paul flew out every month for a week or a weekend. It had all been fine, until the accident.
The memory still sent a cold chill through her. It was the singular most traumatic moment of her life. She would never forget picking up her mother’s call and hearing the hysterical woman tell her John Paul had been in an accident and was in the hospital. Ava couldn’t even recall the rest of the conversation. She might have dropped the phone or hung up. It was all a blur as she had left work without notice and caught the first flight back home, not even bothering to stop at her apartment for clothes.
It had taken twenty-five hours to get to him. Twenty-five hours of fretting and praying and crying. She had been as hysterical as her mother by the time she’d crashed through the hospital doors. But it was those hours that convinced her she was too far. Those were hours that she could have lost him. It didn’t even matter that her mother had over exaggerated the diagnoses, that the car had barely tapped the back of John Paul’s. It was the fact that he could have died while she was waiting for the stupid plane to fly faster.
She’d packed up her apartment in Sydney a month later and moved back. She got a job at Chaud, a fashion and health magazine as an editor, an apartment a block from John Paul’s estate, and started her life in the city she’d grown up in. She didn’t regret that either.
“So, I didn’t find your boy toy.” Robby was back, a fresh plate of canapé’s in hand. “But they have these new crab things that I swear melt—”
Ava gawked, astounded. “Did you seriously go to get more food?”
Robby paused in the midst of stuffing another hors d’œuvre into his mouth. “This isn’t food. This is like … okay, don’t judge. I’m starving.” He shoved the cracker into his mouth and chewed. “So, what are we doing?”
Ava shrugged. “Just standing here, trying not to slouch.”
“Huh.” He swallowed. “Your mom was by, eh?” He offered her his plate. “I have crabs.”
Ava burst out laughing. It was a loud, horrible sound that rang over the chatter, the music, and the low snickers from Robby. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Ava only laughed harder. It was mortifying, because unlike normal girls with their adorable giggles, Ava had a laugh too big for her size. It drew attention no matter where she was and she fought like hell to contain it, but Robby always thought it was hilarious and did his best to poke one out of her every chance he got.
“I hate you!” she wheezed, struggling to contain herself.
Robby merely smirked and shoved another canapé into his mouth.
John Paul appeared at Robby’s elbow, slightly more rumpled than normal. He glanced sideways at Robby’s chipmunk cheeks, raised an eyebrow, then must have decided it wasn’t worth asking, because he turned straight back to Ava.
“She’s very handsy for someone so short.” He rolled his shoulders as though to shake off the phantom touches of Mrs. Pearson’s hands. “Kept insisting it was because she couldn’t reach higher.”
“I’m sorry.” Ava struggled to contain her giggles. “But it was for a good cause.”
John Paul sniffed, the closest he’d ever gotten to a snort. “Debatable.”
“What’s happened?” Robby glanced from one to the other. “What did I miss?”
She was about to tell him. Her mouth opened and words collected when the entire room inexplicably went silent. The air thickened in an odd sort of hum that resonated through the crowd of onlookers. A faint rustle collected as bodies turned, heads swiveled, and attentions were pivoted away from conversations to The Devil in the doorway.
Title: The Devil’s Beauty
Series: Standalone
Release Date: July 16, 2016
Genre: Dark Contemporary
Pages: 506