Red After Dark (Blackwood Security #13) - Elise Noble Page 0,130

of that. Unfortunately.”

Beth laughed. “At least I can still type with my ankle bandaged.”

“I think you’ve earned a few weeks of sick leave.”

“Honestly? I’d rather stay busy. And don’t we still have a painting to look for?”

Emerald. The cursed painting that had started all this. At this particular point in time, Alaric was inclined to leave her to rot wherever she’d ended up rather than risk angering the gods again. But there was a tiny problem. He’d promised Harriet the reward money if they found that green-ringed bitch, and she desperately needed the cash.

“Do you think we should keep looking? Emerald’s jinxed. I don’t want to risk my future with you by chasing after a ghost.”

Maybe he could find another way to give Harriet the money? Emmy had mentioned that commercial production was starting at the vineyard this year—how much would that bring in? Alaric would gladly send Harriet every cent. But Emmy had also mentioned they’d found Dyson, and that made the decision even harder.

“I’ll agree that sometimes it’s better to cut your losses, but that painting’s always going to haunt you. And it seemed as though we were getting closer. How about having one last stab at finding it? At least then you’ll know you’ve done everything you can.”

“I feel like she sucks out parts of my soul every time I get close,” Alaric muttered.

“Well, I’ll just have to put them all back again.” Beth pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you.”

The front door opened, and Ravi, Naz, Judd, and Rune burst in. The men had taken Rune over to the games room in the big house in an attempt to take her mind off things. Judging by her smile, it had worked to some extent.

“Busted,” Judd said. “Get a room, mate. Ravi needs the couch back, unless you want to have a threesome.”

Ravi laughed, and Rune poked him in the chest, but Bethany went bright red. Interesting. Alaric’s mind flitted back to fantasy number three, and a seed of an idea planted itself. He’d meant it when he said he’d give her anything she wanted. Although for the first time, he also understood Black’s insane jealous streak. At least he had that sapphire ring back on Beth’s finger now.

“Okay, okay, we’re going.”

He carried her upstairs despite her protests, then got her a drink while she dressed for bed. Or rather, didn’t dress. When he slid in beside her, she wasn’t wearing a thing. Be still his twitching dick.

Or maybe not. Beth palmed him through his pyjama pants, and the temperature in the room rose a notch.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Keeping his hands off Beth had been hard, as had other parts of his anatomy, but he didn’t want to push her.

“I’m sure. But I haven’t been taking my pills for the last few days, so…”

Alaric almost suggested she didn’t bother taking them ever again, but it wasn’t the right time for that, not if they were continuing the search for Emerald.

“Bradley keeps the bedside tables well stocked. Flavoured or ribbed?”

“I have to choose?”

Oh, Beth. His filthy little temptress. He’d fuck her six ways from Sunday, Monday, and every other day of the week.

“No, sweetheart. You’ll never have to choose.”

“Been a hell of a week,” Emmy said over breakfast.

She had three cups lined up beside a pain au chocolat—espresso, Americano, and cappuccino.

“Got enough caffeine?”

“Why choose?”

That was going to be Alaric’s new motto. He could actually do with a coffee himself with the amount of sleep he hadn’t got last night. Just thinking about it made him yawn.

Emmy pushed the espresso in his direction. “Here. You look as if you need this more than I do. What did you want to discuss?”

“Emerald. You really found Dyson?”

“Yes, we really did.”

Emmy passed her tablet over, and Alaric found himself looking at a picture of the man who’d starred in his nightmares for eight long years. Killian Marshall. In the headshot, he didn’t look like a master criminal. Wearing a collared shirt and V-neck sweater, he looked like the guy who shovelled snow off his neighbour’s drive in the winter and barbecued for the grandkids in the summer. The caption framed him as a local philanthropist.

“Whoa. Not quite what I was expecting.”

“We got a bit sidetracked so we haven’t done much research yet, but Mack’s found out the basics. Marshall was born in Penngrove, but he moved away to attend university—he read Art History at Cambridge.”

“Smart guy.”

“Yup. Then he did a year as an assistant at Sotheby’s before moving