delicate-faced wife was a whore, just as his mother had been.
He was going to give her a beating she'd never forget.
Imagine her having the nerve to take off. The tucking gall to transfer
her money and cancel the credit. He'd been humiliated at Bijan when the
clerk had taken back the cashmere duster Drew had decided to purchase,
with the cool comment that his credit card had been canceled.
She was going to pay for that.
Then to have that snotty lawyer serve him with papers. So she wanted a
divorce. He'd see her dead first.
The New York lawyer hadn't been any help. Some bullshit about a
professional courtesy to another firm. Mrs. Latimer didn't want her
whereabouts known. Well, he was going to find her whereabouts all
right, and he was going to kick ass.
At first he'd been afraid she'd gone to her father. With the benefit
coming up and all Drew's plans to go solo about to bear fruit, he didn't
want someone as influential as Brian McAvoy coming down on
him. But then Brian had called about Emma's old lady dying. Drew was
pleased that he'd been able to cover himself so quickly. He'd told
Brian that Emma was out for the evening with a couple of her
girlfriends. And he was certain he'd had just the right tone of
sympathy and concern in his voice when he'd promised to tell Emma the
news.
If McAvoy didn't know where his bitch of a daughter was, then Drew
figured none of the other band members knew, either. They were all as
thick as bloody thieves. He'd thought of Bev, but he was nearly sure
that if Emma had gone to London, her old man would've gotten wind of it.
Or maybe they were all playing with him, laughing at him behind his
back. If that was the case, then he'd pay her back, with interest.
She'd been gone for over two weeks. He hoped she'd had herself a high
flying time because she was going to pay for every hour.
He hunched his shoulders against the brisk wind as he walked. The
leather jacket kept out the worst of the early spring chill, but his
ears were ringing from the wind. Or maybe it was fury. He liked that
idea better and grinned a little as he crossed the street to the loft.
He'd taken the subway, something he found degrading but safer than a cab
under the circumstances. He would more than likely have to do something
... unpleasant to Marianne. Unpleasant for her, anyway, Drew
thought with a laugh. It wowd be a great pleasure for him.
Emma had lied to him. Marianne had been at the funeral. He'd seen the
pictures of them together in the paper. As sure as God made hell,
Marianne had been in on the whole thing. She'd know where Emma was
hiding. And when he got through with her, she'd be damn delighted to
tell him.
He used the key he'd gotten from Emma months before. Inside, he punched
in the security code to unlock the elevator. As the doors closed him
in, he rubbed the knuckles of one hand against the other. He hoped she
was still in bed.
The loft was silent. He moved quietly across the floor and up the
stairs with his heart pounding happily. There was disappointment when
he saw the empty bed. The sheets were tangled, but cool. The