Page 26 of The Love Destroyers

“Why are you here?” I asked when I opened the door and saw her standing there. With a hat pulled low over her bright pink hair and an outfit that was all New York—black sweater and black jeans with a black peacoat over it—she looked almost normal.

She pushed past me and walked into the apartment. I peered out beyond her, but there wasn’t any sign of her big husband. Presumably he was close by, though. He had a protective vibe.

I figured she had no intention of watching her mouth, so I shut the door to keep our conversation quiet.

She made herself comfortable on my old leather futon, or as comfortable as my futon allowed, and then said, “Do you haveanything to drink? I’m parched. I’ll take some of that whiskey you brought to the wedding.”

“First tell me why you’re here,” I said, feeling a painful itch for a cigarette.

Had Nicole found me out?

Was she going to turn me in or, worse, tell my brother what I’d done?

“I’m going to level with you,” she said, propping her arms over her knees and settling her chin on them. “I want you to move to Asheville with Chuck. He’d be a good influence on you. And, hell, you might even be a good influence on him. God knows that man needs a backbone.”

I’d figured she’d come back to have another poke at my past. This was unexpected, but I played it cool, lifting my eyebrows and saying, “I won’t ask how you know, since I’m guessing he told his daughter and she told you. What I would like to know is why you care—and don’t give me some b.s. about us being the perfect odd couple.”

“This is about Emma,” she said, surprising me again.

She noticed me flinch, of course, and grinned.

“Which Emma?” I asked. “You mean Rosie’s sister-in-law?”

She gave me the flat look of someone who was unimpressed and wanted me to know it. “Were you doing all that internet research on another Emma?”

“What the fuck?” I said with feeling, glancing at my laptop, sitting on the round table next to the old stove. It had been running more slowly than usual, but I’d figured that was because it was old and I treated it like a beater car. “I told you I wasn’t wrapped up in any of that shit anymore. You had no call to spy on me.”

“I’m slow to trust,” she said. “Besides, I’d already put tracking software on your laptop when we had that conversation. Waste not, want not, right? It was shockingly easy, by the way.You should be more careful. Anyway, you and I are good with each other—”

“We absolutely are not,” I snapped.

“We’re about to be. Because I happened to notice you were looking into her extra special situation. You’re interested in her problem, aren’t you? Like,reallyinterested. Stalkers got nothing on you.”

The last time I’d blushed was probably in second grade, but I could feel heat filling my cheeks. Fantastic.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I figured we could make a little bargain. I won’t do any digging about what you may or may not have done in the past if you’ll help me with my little plan…”

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMMA

“What have you done?” I ask Nicole in a seething whisper, because she’s obviously behind this. I think I’m pissed about that, but I also feel…good. Energized. I’ve spent the last month and a half trying to find something I can latch onto—something that will make me feel in control—and I haven’t found it. Now,something is happening, and even if I didn’t orchestrate or ask for it, I feel more myself than I have in weeks.

“What you should have done yourself,” Nicole tells me haughtily. “No offense, but you’re pretty shit at interior decorating. I sat in that chair for thirty seconds, and my ass instantly went numb.”

“It’s pretty.”

She gives me an unimpressed look. “You buy pictures to look at. You buy chairs to sit in. You’re bad at this. Don’t you want to do something you’re good at?”

Yes, dammit.

“You’re obnoxious,” I snap, my gaze following Seamus as he claps Chuck on the back. He goes to take off his jacket—the leather jacket that I know from experience smells like smoke and spice and man.

“Yes, that’s somethingI’mgood at,” Nicole says. My gaze is on Seamus, though—hooked there. The first sleeve of the jacket comes off, revealing a close fitting sweater that hugs his defined arms.

Nope. Not happening. He may live in this apartment, but he’s not scooting in here like it’s no big deal that he up and moved to Asheville after running in the night on New Year’s. I need an explanation of why he’s here and how he fits into Nicole’s plans. Because he obviously does. I’ve been trained to identify causality, and there’s no way in hell this is some big, cosmic coincidence.

“Leave that on, Seamus,” I say loudly, grabbing Nicole’s arm and scooting her toward the entryway. “We’re going outside for a smoke break.”

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