A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,61

for my reply. He walks to the drawer, offering me his back in the process, his spine remaining stiff, his shoulders as knotted as they were when I’d found him in here.

The doorbell rings again.

Kace rotates, and in an out of character outward sign of frustration, scrubs his jaw. “I guess Savage isn’t answering the door. Let’s talk to Walker and get them out of here.” He heads for the door, but not without catching my hand and taking me with him.

I’m becoming accustomed to just how together we are, and it’s both wonderful and scary at the same time. Sometimes two people come together, but they are really only boats passing in a sea of possibilities, and they become nothing but a whispered wind, soon forgotten. I’m way beyond Kace ever being a whispered wind. If we part ways, I already know that my sails, and my heart, will be shredded.

Somehow he snuck inside me, settled in, and made me fall in love with him.

Once we’re downstairs, we find Blake, and only Blake, waiting on us. “I sent Savage and Adrian downstairs,” he says. “Sometimes too many voices drown out the ones I need to hear, which is yours. And I know you, Kace. You are not a ‘many is better’ kind of guy.”

It’s a statement that tells me that he and Blake have communicated one-on-one, and not just in passing. Blake seems to read my mind and he glances over at me. “I hitched a ride to Europe with him a few years back when I needed a cover story his events provided and learned a lot about him in the process.”

“And clearly you really did,” Kace says. “You alone is a good call today.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the living room, with Blake and I perched on chairs with a coffee table between us. Kace is standing in front of the window with the Hudson River at his back and so far, we’ve told Blake everything about the note, the song, my father calling Kace the one true daisy.

“Let me get this straight,” Blake says, leaning forward, elbows on his jean-clad knees. “You think Sofia’s letter was a setup by her or someone else to bring Aria to you?”

Kace’s hands settle on his waist. “I do. That’s what my gut is telling me.”

Blake glances at me. “What do you think?”

“Gio would know I’d check his office. He’d know I’d find that letter and if he wanted me to know about Sofia, he would have told me about Sofia. Therefore, there are only two options, at least in my mind. As I’ve said in the past, at least to Kace if not you, it reads to me like he left suddenly, without expecting to leave. Or now with this new information, perhaps the letter was planted. The question is why? Why would anyone push me into Kace’s path?”

Blake eyes Kace and arches a brow in a silent question.

“I don’t know,” Kace replies, “but that text she got reads more like someone trying to get her away from me.”

“So someone pushed her to you, and someone wants to pull her away,” Blake says, seeming to think out loud. His lips press together. “Hmmm. Unless it’s the same person with an agenda we don’t understand, but I don’t think so. I buy into the two different someones more than I do the latter.” He looks between us. “Let’s backtrack. Let’s start with what we know.”

Kace sits down next to me on the chair. “Obviously, it’s someone who knows I spent that time with her father.”

“And someone who knows he called you the one true daisy,” I add.

“No one knows that,” Kace argues. “Just me and your father.”

“What about Gio?” Blake suggests. “Wasn’t he there, too?”

“He was,” Kace agrees, “but he was never present when I was with her father.”

“Maybe her father told him about his time with you,” Blake offers.

“Gio doesn’t even play an instrument,” I say. “He didn’t ever want to play. He wanted to learn the business side of violin-making. Which to point out: Kace’s training wouldn’t have been a topic my father and Gio would have discussed.”

“You can’t know that,” Blake says. “You are assuming and we can’t afford to assume. That said, anyone close to your father, or even Kace, who had handlers and security, might have picked up on something between them. And as we all know, the formula is a priceless commodity.”

“We wrote a song,” Kace says. “Just a song.”

“You know that,”