“She was playing for me. She needs me to tell her story. Didn’t you hear her? The violin?”
“No one was out there but us,” I say. “There was no music when I came back.”
“She was there,” he insists.
“How do you know it’s a she?” Crap. Maybe I really do need to get him help.
“A man couldn’t feel pain like that.” He leans forward, intent now. “Her notes, her pacing, it goes straight to me. I feel the words, the emotion.”
I don’t.
He knows it, because he keeps going. “There’s heartbreak in it. Raw pain. Broken trust. It all comes through.”
“Is there any chance,” I say carefully, “that it’s just you hearing the piece you’re writing? Not someone physically playing?”
He considers that. Really considers it.
“No.” He shakes his head once. “What’s being played is too dark.” He tilts his head, listening to something I can’t hear. “Too much rage. Too much pain. I’ve never lived it. If it weren’t real, I wouldn’t hear it.”
I nod.
We grew up together. I know this about him. Erik can lose himself in the work, but he’s always been grounded in reality.
The server returns and sets our drinks in front of us. Erik grabs the water. She gives him a flirtatious smile. “I’ll be back with more water for you, darlin’,” she drawls.
He stares at me, ignoring her completely. Erik doesn’t see other people. They just don’t register.
I smile at her. “Thanks, that would be great. Maybe just a pitcher so you don’t have to keep running back and forth, if you’ve got one to spare.”
She nods and disappears.
I toss the black envelope onto the table. “I got this today when the crew found hidden passages under the stage.”
He opens it and reads.
“Why would she write you and not me?” he asks.
“I think you’re missing the point,” I say carefully. “This is a threat.”
He shakes his head, already elsewhere. “It doesn’t make sense.” He’s talking to himself now. “She plays for me. Why would you get a note?”
Chapter twelve
Erik
My fingers trace her signature. It has to be her. My Angel. There couldn’t be two.
I’m not so far gone that I don’t understand his concern.
I need to explain to her that she’s safe from us. This is protection. Nothing else.
“Fuck, man.” Remy’s sigh gusts over me. “This isn’t right. We need to move out of there.”
“No.” I realize I need to explain. It’s Remy, so I try. “She’s scared. She won’t hurt either of us.”
He stares at me, then reaches over without breaking eye contact, grabs my drink, and downs it. He’s already finished his.
“Listen,” I say. “We need to communicate with her. At least try.” I hesitate. “We both know the history. The problems didn’t start until the professor’s death. Maybe we should look into it. There were allegations. Then his family sued for wrongful death, and the bank ended up with the property.”
