There. I was done with Miller Beaumont. No more Trouble for me. I’d had my fun, and now I’d focus on the damn job.
But when I fished in yesterday’s pants pocket for the ripped-up sketches he’d handed over, meaning to dump them in the trash, I found myself piecing them together on my table instead.
Damn it, he really did have talent.
* * *
Legs called me in to work a job with the crew downtown, and after that I spent the afternoon collecting from a couple of West Hollywood businesses that didn’t open at night—a gym and a luxury car dealer. It was a relief when night finally fell again. My mind worked faster when it was dark out. After a dinner of empanadas from the food truck at the end of the block, I returned to my task. The Boss had given me a job to do, and I would do it.
I’d made inquiries with some people who might know people, I’d texted Freddy, and I was waiting to hear back from a few well-known Hollywood dealers. I’d resorted to scrolling through the increasing online chatter about the whereabouts of Anaïs Beaumont when there was a knock on my door.
No one ever fucking knocked on my door.
Not even the landlord, who knew better. I paid my rent regularly with an extra ten percent on top to help him look the other way.
I slid up to the entrance with my gun for company and checked the peephole.
Shit.
Talk about Trouble strolling up to my front door.
I waited, my head against the thin plywood, praying that Miller Beaumont would leave, or that maybe this was some hallucination side effect from the drugs I’d taken to sleep last night.
My address wasn’t listed in any phone books, or anywhere it didn’t need to be. I wasn’t dumb enough to think I was anonymous, not the way the higher-ups could afford to be. The cops knew where to find me when they wanted to have a conversation. But I’d made itdifficultfor the average citizen to find out where I lived.
Apparently Miller Beaumont was much more than average.
“Hey, are you in there?” he called softly.
I waited some more, because there was no way I could let him into my apartment. Our association was over and done with. How in the hellhadhe found me, anyway? And beyond all that, what did hewant?
I checked the peephole again. He was looking to the side, but his gaze snapped back as I shifted my feet and brushed against the door. There was a part of me that wondered if I’d done that on purpose.
He knocked again. “JJ?”
I looked up at the blank ceiling, let out a sigh, and put the safety back on my gun before holding it behind my back. Then I cracked open the door.
He gave a small smile of relief, though his eyes were shadowed. “Oh, youarehome.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, but softly. He didn’t look like he’d be able to take rough handling, not right then.
“I need to talk to you.”
I leaned out and looked around. My apartment was on the second floor, and there was a small staircase that led up to my door and my neighbor’s across the way. I’d never seen her except over the shoulder of her gentleman callers.
Miller didn’t seem to have anyone with him. But he also wasn’t the kind of person who understood how to carry himself in this sort of neighborhood. He would have drawn attention coming up here, and attention was something I couldn’t afford.
“Listen, this isn’t a great idea,” I told Miller. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, and I cut myself off. “That’s not why I’m here.”
I’d been slapped in the face once in Vegas, by a guy who’d fallen in love with me. I’d let him down a little less gently than maybe I should have. I felt the same sensation right then at Miller’s words, without the physical strike. My head jerked back and my cheeks went hot. “Then I’m not sure what you want from me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He jammed his hands deep into his jeans pockets as though he had to keep them there to avoid forcing his way in. “Let me in and you’ll find out.” His jaw was hard, teeth clenched. “Please, JJ.”
I told myself it was just compassion that made me usher him in.
Really, though, it was the way he called me “JJ.”
