Page 34 of Diamonds (Aces Underground #2)

MADDOX

A lissa’s living room is clear.

I check her bedroom next. Not a throw pillow out of place. I make sure to check under her bed, in her walk-in closet.

Then her bathroom. I peek behind the shower curtain.

She’s all clear.

I turn to her. “I think you’re okay to stay here.”

She widens her eyes. “But… What if someone was here? What if they just covered their tracks?”

I frown. “I suppose that’s possible. But it seems unlikely. If anything, I would think Rouge and her minions would want to intimidate you. Leaving your place in perfect shape wouldn’t exactly be accomplishing that.”

She gulps. “I suppose not.”

“But if you’d like, you can come with me to my place. We’ll check it out. And then we’ll come back here, and I’ll stand guard while you shower, get dressed.” I cup her cheek. “I’ll stay with you until you feel safe again, Alissa. I promise you that.”

She smiles. “I’d like that.”

“Okay. Let’s head over now.”

We leave Alissa’s apartment, making sure all the locks are engaged. She doesn’t have a security system, which I’ll be rectifying as soon as I can. We make the short drive to my place.

I park in my reserved spot behind the shop and turn to Alissa. “Heads up. It’s probably a little messy. And that’s if it hasn’t been searched.”

“I don’t mind a little mess.” She smiles, but her eyes are distant.

Once again I tell her to run as fast as she can away from here if something bad happens, and once again she agrees. But when I open the door to my place and walk in…

Again. Nothing. Everything is how I left it when I departed for the club last night. Not a cufflink out of place.

Just to be sure, I check every potential hiding spot while Alissa sits on my couch, tapping her fingers against the armrest.

And we’re clear.

No one came here last night.

But like I told Alissa, I’ll stay with her all day if she needs. I’ll keep the shop closed another day, spend the day with her. Make love to her. Cook her dinner. Whatever she wants.

I plunk down on the couch next to her. “I think we’re all set here.”

She nuzzles her head into my shoulder. “Thank God.” She sits up, looks into my eyes. “Do you think we’re okay?”

I draw in a long breath, rub at my left temple. “I don’t know if I’d say we’re okay. But we’re safe for now. We might want to keep a low profile for a while. Maybe take a trip. Wait for all the Bill stuff to blow over before we investigate in the club again.”

She widens her eyes. “A trip would be lovely! Maybe we could visit my father in the UK. It’s been years since I’ve been back home.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “That would be great. I haven’t let myself take a vacation for a long time. I’ve been married to the shop for so long. I’m not sure I know how to relax and unwind.”

She traces a line over my chest. “I’m sure you’ll think of something .”

“If I think hard enough.” I get to my feet. “Should we get back to your place? Get you cleaned up? And then”—I lift my eyebrows—“dirty again?”

She smiles. “I’d be amenable to that.”

I lock the door to my place—I’m just realizing this is the first time I’ve brought Alissa to my actual apartment; I’ll make sure to give her a proper tour next time—and we get back in the Rolls.

I’m about to put the key in the ignition when a crack of thunder shakes the entire car, rattling me and Alissa both.

“Shit. That was loud.” I look out the window. “The storm seems to be getting closer.”

Alissa nods, her eyes wide.

The rain is coming down more heavily now. My car window is dotted with raindrops. Some of them are stagnant, and some are running down, collecting smaller drops as gravity pulls them to earth. Some of them curve as they make their way down, and some go straight.

And some…

Wait a minute.

* * *

I hate campaigning season.

It seems to get longer every time Dad does it.

Mom and I, his smiling, picture-perfect family, have to attend every event with him.

He’s going for his third term as mayor of Chicago. He’s going to win—the polls aren’t even close. I don’t even understand why we have to go to so many events.

And the weather is terrible today. It’s a big storm.

I’ve got homework I could be doing. I’ve just started high school, which Dad loves to remind me is the first year that grades actually matter. Colleges will be looking over my transcripts.

Like it freaking matters. My name alone will get me into Yale, no question. I’m a legacy, and Dad will pull whatever strings he must to get me on the top of the admissions list. Study political science, just like he did. Go into politics, just like he did.

Just like my grandfather did. And my uncles and aunts. Nearly every Hathaway has served in an elected office since time began.

Everyone except for my great-uncle. Stephen Hathaway, who ran a haberdashery in Uptown.

Uncle Stephen was the black sheep of the family.

He was gay during a time when he couldn’t be open about it.

Certainly not when your family was rubbing elbows with the Washington elites.

He died when I was six years old, but I remember him being a lot of fun at family functions.

He was never allowed to bring his partner, so he ended up spending most of his time playing board games with the kids.

He loved Clue especially, and he would always make a big spectacle of it whenever he was making an accusation.

He would grab a blanket and pretend it was a Victorian cloak, flourishing it back and forth as he declared, “It was Colonel Mustard…in the ballroom…with…the candlestick!”

Then he’d pretend to throw a tantrum in the corner when it was revealed that his accusation was completely incorrect. Pounding fists on the floor and everything.

Dad would see it and roll his eyes, but my cousins and I loved it.

Until Uncle Stephen got sick. AIDS. Within a year he was gone. It was a blessing, to be honest. He really wasted away the last few months of his life.

Dad kept it all hushed up. After all, he had his eyes on the mayorship. The old mayor’s popularity had taken a dive, and it was time to pounce. He actually announced his candidacy the day after Uncle Stephen’s funeral. To take advantage of the sympathy vote.

What a crock of shit.

Then the worst possible thing happened. He won the damned election.

Then he won a second term.

Now Mom and I have to spend every weekend waving American flags with smiles pasted on our faces, rain or shine.

Today, it’s rain.

“Do we have to go to this, Dad?” I ask. “I’m going to get my nice suit all wet.”

Dad is next to me—we’re being driven by his chauffeur—and he rolls his eyes. “So you’ll get it cleaned, Maddox. Christ.”

“This is a wool suit. If it gets wet, it can lose its shape.”

“Then we’ll buy you another suit.” He glares at me. “This is important.”

“Whatever.” I stare out the window.

We’re in Dad’s Rolls-Royce Phantom V. He’s kept it in great shape, and it’s got lots of room in the back for me, Mom, and Dad to sit while the driver carts us around.

Mom volunteered to sit in the middle since my legs have grown like crazy over the last year. She hasn’t contributed to my argument with Dad. I think it’s because she agrees with me, but is afraid to defy her husband who provides her cushy lifestyle.

So I got the window. The raindrops are forming little trails down the side.

I like watching them grow bigger as they join with other raindrops.

Watch them race down the side of the window.

Try to guess which one will win. They look like small tears, like the Rolls-Royce itself is crying, joining me in feeling ? —

“And for God’s sake, stop staring at the raindrops,” Dad snaps. “I bought you a cell phone, didn’t I? Why can’t you play Tetris, text your friends, like a normal kid?”

* * *

God, he was an ass.

What the hell was wrong with me watching the raindrops? Most parents would be thrilled to not have their kid staring at a screen.

But as I watch the raindrops fall down my window, I notice something odd.

Most of them are going down in a straight line, like you’d expect. Occasionally some of them curve a little, but that’s not out of the ordinary.

But one trail of raindrops veers off, goes almost sideways. Toward my side-view mirror.

“What the fuck?”

“What is it, Maddox?” Alissa asks.

“I just noticed. The raindrops. They usually fall down in a straight line. But the ones toward the front of the car”—I point—“are swerving off in an unnatural direction. That shouldn’t be possible.”

Alissa narrows her eyes. “Maybe it’s just the shape of the windows.”

I shake my head. “I’ve been sitting in this very car for years, watching raindrops on the window. It was a way to stave off boredom when I was younger. My dad was super annoyed by it. Thought I was an oddball.”

“That’s rubbish. Rain is fascinating.”

“I’m not looking for comfort, but thank you.

” I scratch my head. “It’s just… I mean, I haven’t watched the raindrops in forever.

I used to watch them race, try to guess which ones would win.

” I chuckle. “In fact, one time, I even pretended they were tears, that the car was weeping along with me, like it didn’t want to go to the… ”

“To the what?”

I drop my jaw. “Oh my God . The river of tears.”

She cocks her head. “From the message you received from your father?”

I nod. “ Follow the writing raven through the river of tears . I thought the river of tears was referring to the river that ran through the nature preserve where we found May’s head. But maybe…”

She widens her eyes. “Do you think he meant the little trails the raindrops make on the car?”