“Thanks,” Noah mumbled as he took it, slurping noisily.
“Raff is there.” Erasmus was reading something on his phone. “Thinks he’s got it. A key fob that isn’t a key fob. Could be what set off the bomb.”
“I am now convinced Howard Medina framed Patrick Allan for Jason Carbone’s death, and he had another partner or partners working with him who have had access to the Allan home,” Alistair announced. “Patrick, believing that we will kill him, remains in hiding… which is most unfortunate because he may be the one person now who can identify who was working with Medina.”
“The bomb,” Crybaby confirmed. “Medina had to have had help planting the bomb inside the house. Plus getting that whatever key fob thing he used to set it off.”
“And to lace the alcohol,” Erasmus piped up, reading more from his phone. “It’s been confirmed. The samples from the party and the one from Noah’s room were spiked with the blood pressure medicine. Lethal levels. The alcohol at the party was at least served with mixers and ice that helped dilute it, so no one died. Junior was right.”
“Shit.” Crybaby placed a thick gauze bandage over Alistair’s wound. “This is some sloppy work. The bomb? Seriously? All that for a little fire? There was no guarantee Noah was gonna be alone for Medina to go after him while all that was going down. This was stupid and desperate.”
“Just like there was no guarantee he was going to drink the alcohol in his room and drink enough of it straight to kill himself.”
“No, no, no. That one actually made sense.” Crybaby grimaced at Noah. “No offense.”
“But why me?” Noah asked suddenly.
Everyone turned and stared at him.
“Why me?” Noah sat up straighter. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything. I mean, I only got wrapped up in this crazy gangster crap because you guys came to my house.”
“You’re Patrick’s nephew,” Alistair said quietly. “If Medina and his unknown accomplices are trying to manipulate him, you make a logical target. I know your relationship is strained, but you’re still family. It is… the only thing I can think of.”
Noah hung his head, fighting the burn of tears filling his eyes. This wasn’t fair. None of it was. He hadn’t always been a great person, but he didn’t deserve this. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I want this to be over. I just… I want it to stop.”
“I am doing everything in my power to take care of you.” Alistair got up to join Noah on the chaise, pushing away the pillows so he could pull him close. “It will end. I swear it.”
“Yeah? Doesn’t feel like it. It feels like a giant nightmare. Like, it’s just gonna go on and on, and these people are gonna keep trying to kill me until they get me, and, and…” Noah didn’t realize he had forgotten to breathe, and he wheezed. “Shit.”
Alistair brought a strong arm around Noah’s shoulders, shushing him gently. “I swear to you, it’s going to end.”
Noah smothered a breathless sob into Alistair’s chest. He forgot all about his injury in his desperation to be held, trying to pull back when he felt Alistair wince. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry.”
“There, there, sweet boy. It’s all right.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop,” Alistair urged as he kept Noah close. “I will end this. No matter what it takes.” He kissed his cheek, glancing up to Crybaby and Erasmus. “I’m taking him to bed. I think he’s had quite enough excitement for one evening. Do not hesitate to wake me if there’s any news.”
“Of course, Mr. Star,” Crybaby said.
“Yes, Mr. Star,” Erasmus confirmed. “We will.”
“Come on, boy.” Alistair urged Noah to stand, guiding him up a narrow staircase to the second floor.
Noah went along without any fuss, and his only regret was that he only had this one glass of booze to drink and not the whole bottle. It was probably better he didn’t because he was in the mood to not stop drinking until he emptied it.
Alistair brought him to a bedroom with a thick claw-footed bed draped in heavy black curtains and set with sleek lime-green satin sheets. An equally masculine vanity was set up in the corner with tall racks of jewelry flanking either side of it, and a dresser covered with photographs sat across from the foot of the bed. A Tiffany floor lamp with a shade in greens and browns stood guard by the bedside, providing the only light in the room.
The decor here was muted compared to the rest of the home—and that was saying something, considering the neon green bedding.
Noah was drawn to the photographs on the dresser, finding they weren’t of people but places: a deserted tropical beach, a club front with big rainbow flags, and the stage at a theater with fancy rose carvings, and many more.
“Memories,” Alistair said, following him over and kissing his shoulder.
“There’s nobody in the pictures.”
“That’s because they’re all up here.” Alistair pointed to his head.
