Blood Score Part 12

But she still could have slipped out to commit the murder and returned without being noticed. A guard who knew her everyday routine would a.s.sume she never strayed from it and he might be tempted to back up her story. An attractive woman had that kind of effect on men.

"So try again," Angel said. "You talked to Olivia for five minutes on the night she was killed. Fill in the gaps. And this time, cut the bull."

"I had called to make sure Olivia would be at the restaurant on time. We had words and she laughed at my meddling. She thought my concern for Ethan was pathetic. After her typical abuse, she a.s.sured me that she'd be there, but when I called Ethan at the restaurant around nine, he told me she never showed. That infuriated me, so I called her again, to give her a piece of my mind. Only this time she didn't answer. I let it ring a few times and hung up. I refused to leave that b.i.t.c.h a message she could gloat over."

Rachel wasn't done. She kicked back her chair and walked toward her window with her arms crossed, seething.

"I figured she was with Bryce or some other loser. That b.i.t.c.h had lied to me. She probably never intended to show, especially after she heard how much I wanted her there, for his sake. She had the nerve to make fun of me on top of it," she said. "Ethan...he was always forgiving her, but I can't blame him. He's got a good heart, and she made sure he never saw what she did to him. Olivia got really good at making me look bad."

Rachel grew very quiet, and he noticed in the reflection off the window that she was crying. When she wiped a tear from her cheek, Cronan had all the proof he needed to know Rachel had fallen hard for her client.

"But I guess in the end, Ethan was right," she admitted.

"What are you talking about?" Cronan slouched back in his chair.

"I had Claire retrieve Ethan's mail from the post office. He got another letter today. From the stalker." Rachel turned to face them, shaking. "Olivia couldn't have been the one stalking him. Now I'm really worried. For Ethan."

Ethan's last rehearsal before a performance normally calmed him, but not today. He felt restless and unsettled. He had spent the last few hours alone in his sound proof studio, a special chamber he had built for his home that prevented his neighbors from being disturbed by his odd hours when he felt the urge to play. The room was a vacuum of solitude. Nothing could be heard outside the confines of his studio. When he opened the seal of his sound proofed door-cradling his precious Stradivarius-the noise of the outside world rushed in.

A familiar ring got his attention first.

His answering machine had a special ringer that let him know he had messages, and he'd heard it loud and clear. He made his way to the phone and punched the b.u.t.ton to retrieve the calls. He had two calls from his agent. The man was good at his job and thorough, but his last few calls had crossed the line into personal ground that made it hard for Ethan to return his calls.

The last call had come from a neighbor. He had a package delivered in error that had been addressed to him. Ethan found it odd that the man didn't rectify the problem through the building manager to avoid dealing with it himself, but since his neighbor told him that he lived one door down, it would be simple enough to pick it up on his own. Besides, he was curious how the neighbor had gotten his private home phone number to make the call. He wanted to know who would have sent a package to his home. The delivery must have been from someone he knew. Only friends and close acquaintances knew his home address. He had a post office box for everything else.

But when he heard the second call, it got his attention. It was from Bryce Peterson. His longtime friend had left a message.

*I just heard about Olivia. I'm sorry, man. I'd like to come over. Call me.'

Bryce sounded edgy and strung out. Ethan had heard that in his voice before. He returned the call right away, but had to leave a message.

"Hey Bryce. I got your call. Come on over and let yourself in. You've got a key. I don't have any plans, but with my performance tomorrow, I can't make it a late one. See you soon." Before he hung up, he added, "Oh, and please don't talk to any reporters. They're camped out front. Come in the back way, like Rachel taught you. I don't want anyone to know who's coming to see me."

After he hung up, he thought about his friend. He'd already sent Bryce tickets and backstage pa.s.ses by courier, but it sounded from his message that he wanted to talk about Olivia. With the chaos backstage after a performance, they wouldn't have any alone time. He had planned for a quiet evening tonight, but his plans had suddenly changed.

"That d.a.m.ned package," he muttered, not feeling the least bit social.

He only hoped his neighbor wouldn't want to chat. Ethan checked his watch to make sure he'd have time to pick up the delivery before Bryce came over. He definitely wasn't in the mood for polite conversation. After Bryce's call, his thoughts had turned to- "Ah, Livie. Why did you...?" He heaved a deep sigh before he grabbed his cane and headed out the door.

After Tim McFarland heard the knock, he peeked through the peephole of his front door and grinned. Nervous energy swept through him when he saw who stood outside his door. Wasting no time, he looked in the mirror hanging on a wall near the door and brushed a hand through his short dark hair before he realized what he was doing.

"He's blind, dim wit. He won't care what you look like," he chastised with a smile after one last look in the mirror. "I'd say that's a good thing."

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat before he unlocked his deadbolt, but the sight of Ethan Chandler standing on his threshold stole his breath. The guy was too beautiful for words and seeing him up close always made him jittery like a dumbstruck boy with his first man crush. Ethan wore his wavy dark hair a little long, and it curled at the nape of his neck. He looked great in faded jeans and a blue cashmere sweater. His sleeves were pulled up to the elbow to show his muscular forearms, and the v-neck of his sweater was low enough to show the curves of his broad chest. Ethan Chandler was appealing in every way.

"Sorry to bother you, but I believe you left a message on my phone that you had a package for me?" Ethan said with his white cane in hand.

Yeah, I've got a package for you. It's got your name written all over it, Tim thought.

"Just curious, but how did you get my number?"

When Ethan asked that question, Tim stammered, "Uh, I don't remember, exactly. Is that important?"

"Guess not. Sorry." His good-looking neighbor smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Ethan Chandler."

"Yes, believe me. I know who you are." He grasped his hand. "I'm Tim McFarland, your neighbor. Please come in. We met once or twice before, but I doubt you'd remember."

When Ethan only smiled and didn't bother to correct his a.s.sumption, Tim shrugged and backed away from the door to let his guest into his home. He was disappointed the violinist hadn't remembered him, but he found it hard to contain his excitement nonetheless. His heart was on full throttle, and he felt weak in the knees. He couldn't stop staring at the younger man. This was the first time since Tim had moved in two years ago, that he'd been alone with Ethan Chandler in the flesh-and behind closed doors-his.

"Three yards straight ahead, and you'll be in my living room." He shut his front door and locked it. "Here, let me help."

Indulging himself, Tim breathed in Ethan's cologne. When he grabbed his arm to usher the young man to his sofa, Ethan surprised him and reached for his elbow instead.

"Works best if I can hang on to you. Please...lead the way." Ethan stared straight ahead with his dark gorgeous eyes and stood a foot taller than him.

"By all means, go ahead and grab. I'm all yours." Tim grinned and dared to fan his face with a hand, knowing his gesture wouldn't be seen.

His living room was filled with bright light streaming in from the windows and the vivid colors of the decor made the room cheery, but Ethan would have no real appreciation for his efforts. Heaven forbid, if he were an utter slob, it wouldn't matter to a blind man.

Feeling wicked-and perhaps a little devilish for the snub of not remembering him-Tim made a gutsy move and decided to entertain his guest in a very special room. When he walked across the floor and opened a door adjacent to his living room, Ethan had noticed.

"I thought we were in your living room. What's this room?"

He felt Ethan's body tense as the young man held out his arm, unsure where he was being taken. But Tim patted him on the shoulder to rea.s.sure him.

"It's a hobby room that I find more comfortable for entertaining." Before Ethan asked questions, Tim distracted him with a change in subject. "Can I get you a drink? I've got an excellent Merlot or perhaps you'd care for Macallan single malt Scotch. It's my favorite."

"Mine, too." His guest smiled.

Yes, I know, he wanted to say.

"I really should be going," Ethan insisted. "I've got-"

"No, please...please stay, at least for a few minutes. I insist. Now what can I get you to drink?"

"Ah, scotch on the rocks sounds good. A short one please," Ethan told him. "You said this is your hobby room. What are your interests?"

Tim helped him sit down after escorting him to a sofa on the far wall of the dimly lit room. With Ethan asking about his favorite pastime, the hair on Tim's neck p.r.i.c.kled. Before he answered, he turned to look at Ethan sitting in his special room. The blind musician clutched his white cane and stared straight ahead, waiting for his reply.

"Oh, I'm a-"

Tim was breathless, seeing his guest poised in front of a wall of photos-his personal collection. Every photo was of Ethan Chandler, from candid snapshots taken on the street to performance photos. The entire room had been filled with concert programs, professional headshots, newspaper clippings, and music CDs. He even had items that he'd picked from Ethan's garbage when he had become obsessed with what he loved to eat and drink.

Every face was Ethan's. His smiles and moods were captured in every shot. Tim's favorite moments were frozen in time for only his enjoyment. That's what Tim saw when he turned back toward his guest. Seeing the real Ethan amidst his obsessive indulgence had made the years of his devotion complete. Everything had come full circle. Ethan was finally here.

"I'm a photographer, of sorts. Only a hobby," Tim said.

"What do you like to photograph?"

Tim found it hard not to burst into giddy laughter. The adrenaline rush of having the target of his obsession sitting in the very room he'd created for him had made him dizzy with excitement.

"I take pictures of...things I love." Tim grinned. "I'll be back with your Scotch. While you're waiting, I'll put on some music. You should recognize it."

He knew it had been over the top to play Ethan's latest CD, but he wanted to let the young man know that he was an avid fan and bought his music. After making a mad dash for his kitchen, Tim poured him a stiff drink. When he looked in his fridge-filled with contents that would have reminded Ethan of his own refrigerator if he could see-Tim quickly threw together a plate of the musician's favorites. He took great care in placing the food on the plate and making a presentation of it. He knew Ethan wouldn't see it, but that didn't matter. He did it because he wanted to make the moment perfect.

It had to be perfect. For Ethan.

Tim took a deep breath before he returned to his guest. His heart pumped too fast. If Ethan could see, he'd know how much his visit meant to him. If he could see, he'd know Tim was openly gay with a mad crush on his famous neighbor. And if he could see, he'd probably have nothing to do with such a mediocre looking man with no discernible talent.

But that was the beauty of it all. He could get away with murder because Ethan was blind.

"I thought you might like a snack, so I whipped up something." Tim set the appetizer plate in front of his guest and reached for his hand. When he pulled away, Tim rea.s.sured him. "I just want to show you what's on the plate."

"You didn't have to do this. I'm not hungry, and I really must be going."

"Please, you trust me, don't you?"

Ethan relaxed his arm and let him guide his fingers around the plate as he described each appetizer. Touching the gifted violinist sent a rush of excitement through him. When his body reacted, he forced himself to continue.

After he was done with his explanations, the young man said, "When you're blind, trusting others isn't easy."

"Yes, I can imagine, but you don't have to worry, Ethan." Tim smiled. "You're safe here, with me."

Chapter 10.

Trump Tower a Downtown Chicago "Ethan must have been right. Olivia wasn't the one behind those terrible letters," Rachel said with watery eyes and a shaky voice. "He got this one from the real stalker this morning."

She pulled open a drawer in her desk to retrieve another letter, but Cronan stopped her.

"Don't touch it. Let me." With a gloved hand, he took the letter and an envelope from her drawer and placed it on her desk. Angel stood and read over his shoulder.

"This time, the stalker talks about Olivia...and how he killed her for Ethan's own good." Rachel crossed her arms with a noticeable s.h.i.+ver. "It scared me to death. Whoever did this is fixated on Ethan."

"Or people around him." Cronan blurted out his thought, more for Angel's benefit. But when he glanced up, he saw the look on Rachel's face and knew he should have kept his theory to himself. "I'm sorry. Cops get pretty cynical. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Don't be silly. I'm a big girl. I can take it." Rachel swallowed, hard. "I'm just worried about Ethan...I mean, my client. Some lunatic is watching every move he makes. It's him you should be worried about. Ethan needs protection, and I expect the Chicago PD to help."

Cronan's first reaction was to tell her they were homicide detectives and wouldn't be the cops a.s.signed to any stalker investigation or be on Ethan Chandler's protection detail if one was ordered, but Rachel wouldn't want to hear the *not my job' excuse. Struggling against his inclination to speak his mind, Cronan held back and tried something new.

His version of diplomacy.

"Lady, you haven't even filed a complaint on the stalking yet. But considering how much you like to order people around and tell them how to do their jobs, you should hire a private security firm. With you paying the bill, they'd have to listen to your abuse. That's a win-win."

Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm worried for Ethan, that's all."

When her back was turned, Cronan rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Of course, it's up to you to hire protection for him," he said. "You should discuss it with your client, but I have a feeling when we find Olivia's killer, we'll put a stop to the stalking." When she turned to face him, he shrugged and said, "Guess you could say we'd be working together on this."

It was as close to an apology as Rachel Blevins would get from him. The woman had lied too many times to win him over with a few tears.

"I suppose you'll both be at his performance Sat.u.r.day night," Rachel said. "Ethan told me he gave your partner two tickets and backstage pa.s.ses when he met her at Bogart's last night."

"Bogarts? Last night?" he asked, s.h.i.+fting his gaze to his partner. But after she only shrugged, Rachel filled in the blanks.

"Yeah, Ethan met up with your partner last night. He told me to expect Detective Ramirez so she wouldn't have to show her badge backstage at the concert. People could misconstrue the presence of law enforcement. The media could blow it out of proportion. But with just the two of you, the security could be discreet."

"What are you talking about?" Cronan narrowed his eyes. "Security? For Sat.u.r.day's performance?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," the publicist apologized. "I a.s.sumed you knew about his concert...and that the second ticket and pa.s.s Ethan gave your partner last night was for you."

"I...ah, yeah. I've got a ticket for you." Angel nodded. "We've just been too busy. I didn't have time to tell you."

"Uh, huh." Cronan narrowed his eyes at his partner.

From the corner of his eye, Cronan noticed that Rachel saw the glare he'd given his partner, but kept on talking. She had a front row seat and enjoyed it.

"Well, you know how it is when a celebrity is in the public eye," Rachel went on. "The media will be out in force at his performance. They've been hounding me for an interview with him. This will be his first public appearance since Olivia's death."

The publicist sat back in her chair and waved a hand at both of them. "But if you both were at his Sat.u.r.day performance, you could meet his agent, Harrison Reeves. He'll be there. And you can keep an eye out for any suspicious people in the crowd. That would buy me time to talk to Ethan and line up suitable security, if he agrees."

"How did you know about Bogart's?" Angel directed her question at Rachel. "Do you discuss everything with your client?"

"Not everything, but with the news media camped on his doorstep, he called me to arrange for a secure way out of his building last night. He couldn't stand being cooped up at his place any more. That's why he picked a place nearby where he knew the owner and his staff would show some discretion about his visit." Rachel stared at both of them. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing. We'll be there on Sat.u.r.day," Cronan said.

From the look in Gabe's eye, Angel knew her partner wouldn't settle for the *I forgot' defense. She had hoped to find another, more subtle way, to tell him about her meeting with Ethan. Now it was too late.

Yet a bigger question lurked in her mind.

Rachel had known about her private meeting with Ethan at Bogart's, but she didn't have to share those details with Gabe to get her point across. She'd blurted out the time and place to see how much her partner knew, hoping she'd stir up friction. At least, that was her take on it. Maybe Rachel had questioned her motives for taking the meeting that night with her client. h.e.l.l, she wasn't clear on that point herself.

But Rachel had lied to cover up her animosity toward Olivia. She claimed her interference had been for Ethan's welfare, but coming from a woman p.r.o.ne to spinning a story for a living, Angel wasn't sure what to believe. Rachel had stepped between Ethan and Olivia, on more than one occasion, to sabotage their relations.h.i.+p. She'd even played a part in their break up not too long ago.