Free Emerald (Steele Investigations) by Kasey Millstead Page B

might be spending the afternoon at the local Police
station).  Sweeping his hand around in a gesture to the space he tells me, “My
place.”
    “Wow.  It’s huge.”
    “You haven’t seen the half of it, babe,” he says sweetly. 
“Tour?”
    “Yes,” I agree readily.
    He guides me through, showing me his living room, kitchen,
dining room, office, a games room, three spare rooms and finally his room,
which includes a closet the size of my apartment and monstrosity of a
bathroom.  All his furniture is utilitarian and very manly.  Most of the
furnishings are black or white, he has a massive television hanging on the wall
in the living room, an even bigger one in the games room and a smaller one in
the kitchen (and by small I mean fifty inches).  The kitchen is stunning –
sleek black countertops with smooth white cupboards and what is clearly a state
of the art fridge.  I love his fridge!  It is shiny and black, and has a
myriad of buttons on the front.  I’m not sure what they do, but it looks as
though it could fly us to the moon, detour to Jupiter and bring us home safely
before dinner.
    His walls are covered in candid photographs of him and his
family and detailed artworks.
    “The art is from a local Artist, Claude De Plume.  He’s an
old friend.”  He says by way of explanation when I can’t seem to tear my eyes
away from the pieces.  He’s clearly very talented.
    “He’s very gifted; your friend,” I murmur, still engrossed
in the paintings.
    “Babe?” he says, snapping me out of my perusal, “Got
somethin’ to show ya.”  He grabs my hand and leads back down the hall.
    Mmm yeah I bet he does.  He’s so yummy.  Selfish
Jemma is blotting her harlot red lipstick on a tissue and practicing her
eyelash flutter and hair toss. 
    Jemma, you should just tell him something came up.  That
you need to be somewhere.  What if the surprise is in his bedroom?  What if the
surprise is him – naked – in his bedroom?  How are you going to get out of
that? Rational Jemma is panicky and nervous and totally the voice of
reason.
    If he wants to fuck us, we’re gonna let him . Selfish
Jemma retorts in a tone one would use when they say “duh”.
    Both of you just shut up!  We won’t be doing anything
with Travis, so you , stop being a little slut, and you, stop being so
anxious.   I should just leave.  This is wrong on so many levels.  My just
being here is putting Travis in danger.  The last thing I want is for my father
to get the wrong impression and think that I have blabbed to Travis.  Of
course, I know that my father won’t fulfill the threats he made when I was
child, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt Travis is another way.  The
thought of Travis being hurt, in any way, but especially because of me, hurts
my heart.  No, I definitely have to go.
    “Heard you and Tom talkin’ a few weeks back ‘bout what kinda
music you like,”
    “Yeah?” I reply sounding like a question because I’m not
sure where he’s going with this.  Tom and I had been discussing our music likes
and dislikes and we were amazed to discover that we both have very eclectic
tastes in music.
    “Yeah.  Thought you might like these,” he smirks as he
separates two oblong shapes pieces of laminated paper between his index and
middle fingers.  In bold letters at the top, I recognize the words – Backstage
Pass. 
    Wow.
    Holy shit! A real live concert.  We have to go.  You
can’t say no.  We’ve always wanted to go to a concert.  This could be our only
chance.   Selfish Jemma is screaming in my ear and jumping up and down.
    What if your dad finds out?  It would be fun though… Rational Jemma whispers.
    “Well, who are the tickets for?” I grin big.  Honestly, I
don’t care if we’re going to see Swan Lake at the Ballet (though, somehow how I
don’t think macho man Travis Steele would be seen dead at the ballet), I’m
still giddy with excitement.
    His answer is thrust the tickets