“Hey,” Andre barked.
She laid a hand on Andre’s forearm, trying to stop him from making a bad situation worse. “Daniel, please. Get out of here and let us get dressed. You and I can talk privately about this.”
“Oh, right. So now you worry about discretion? A little late for that.” He kicked a leg of the tripod and sent her favorite camera crashing to the floor.”
Her jaw went slack. “Daniel!”
Andre bolted off the bed, stark naked and pissed. Daniel’s eyes widened right before Andre grabbed him by the front of his collar and hauled him up against the wall. “Not one more fucking word, asshole. You did this to yourself, so don’t you dare try to insult Evan over something you gave her permission to do.” He twisted Daniel’s shirt tighter in his fist. “And don’t think I won’t kick your ass—with or without pants on.”
A little gasp passed Daniel’s lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Andre paused, glanced down, and stepped back a bit. “What the hell?”
Evan’s gaze followed his, and even in profile, she could see the bulge in Daniel’s pants. Oh, fuck. Apparently Daniel’s body had a very different reaction than fear in response to Andre’s naked form and dominant handling of him. Andre let go of Daniel’s shirt and looked to Evan then back to Daniel. Once. Twice. She could almost hear the click when the puzzle pieces snapped in place for him.
She stood, keeping the sheet tucked around her. “Andre, please. Just go, okay? I’ll be fine. Let me talk to Daniel.”
Daniel turned away, his shame at his body’s betrayal obvious. “I’ll meet you at home, Evan.”
Andre stalked to his pile of clothes and got dressed without looking at her. He didn’t bother strapping his gun belt back on, just slung it over his arm. The silence between them was thick enough to choke on. He spun back around, all the tenderness he’d held in his face a few minutes earlier gone. “Is it the fame thing, Evan?”
“Andre—”
“Or are you really just money hungry?” he asked, the words as sharp as barbed wire.
She reeled back, the accusation stinging as much as if she’d been slapped. “You can go.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”
TWENTY-TWO
The sharp smack of the door slamming reverberated through the loft and almost made Jace drop the beer he’d grabbed. He kicked the refrigerator shut with his foot and peeked around the corner of the kitchen to find Andre storming through the living area, fury on his face.
Hell. Jace had thought he’d had a bad day, but based on Andre’s grand entrance, someone had already cornered the prize for shittiest day.
“Um, hey,” Jace said cautiously.
Andre threw his keys onto the glass coffee table with a loud clink and collapsed into the armchair. “Hi.”
“You look like you need a drink.”
Andre looked up, glanced at the beer in Jace’s hand. “We have any Jack Daniels left?”
Uh-oh. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll grab it.”
Jace pulled the nearly full bottle out of the liquor cabinet and poured a shot into a juice glass.
“He’s fucking gay,” Andre announced without preamble. “Gay!”
Andre stared at him as if he should know what he was talking about. Jace frowned. Considered the glass. Made the shot a double. “Okay . . . who are we talking about? Your suspect?”
Andre’s eyebrows knitted. “What? No. Dr. Dan.”
Jace gripped the glass. “What?”
“Evan’s fiancé. She’s going to move away from us to marry a guy who doesn’t even like girls.”
Jace stared at him. Digested the words. Downed Andre’s whiskey.
The liquid burned the back of his throat and he coughed. “And you know this, how?”