Until April (Until Her/Him #10)(53)

When I arrive at the building where Kenton’s office is thirty minutes later, I park in the lot, then head inside. The building is dark except for the light near the elevator, so I head up to the second floor, and as soon as the doors open, Gene is waiting for me. Without a word we walk into Kenton’s office together, and I find Justin sitting behind a computer with Kenton standing next to it, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Did you find where he’s staying?” I direct that question to Justin, a man who has been a friend of my father’s since before I was born. He’s also a guy who has a way of getting information that even the FBI would have a hard time finding.

“He’s staying in a rental near downtown.” He glances down at his computer, then back at me. “He’s been there the last few weeks. But he’s not there tonight.”

“Where is he, then?”

“Working in a studio on Music Row.”

“What’s the address?” I ask and see Kenton step toward me. I turn my head his way, and he stops midstep. “Do not,” I growl, “even think about trying to stop me from doing this.”

“I’m not trying to stop you.” He lifts his hand up between us. “I get that a message needs to be sent, one that cannot be misinterpreted, but we need to be smart about this. I want you to think about what you’re about to do,” he says softly, sounding a lot like my dad would in this situation.

“You were not there.” I point at him, then rumble, “Because of him, my woman could have died tonight, and if I hadn’t been there, she probably would have.” A flashback of seeing the gun and somehow shoving her out of the way plays through my mind.

“Then we’ll deal with him,” he says, and I look around the room and pull in a deep breath.

He’s right. I don’t need to go into this situation halfcocked. I need a plan and one that doesn’t involve a whole bunch of witnesses. And with the cops now involved I have to act smart, and make a point without causing damage.

“All right.” I walk across the room to the couch and take a seat. “Let’s come up with a plan.” I lock eyes with Justin. “And I want you to make sure that nothing about April being attacked tonight ever makes the news. She doesn’t need that drama; she has enough shit to deal with already.”

“I’ll handle it.” He lifts his chin, and I settle in.

After about forty minutes of going over the details, we head out of the building, and Kenton gets into his car while Justin and I ride with Gene in his SUV so we can head across town. As we drive, all the rage I felt earlier comes back full force, and even if I know it might not be smart to head into a situation pissed off, I need that anger, because I have a point to make.

When we reach the area the studio is in, we double park close to a stop sign, Kenton in his jeep in front of us, and we wait. From what Justin was able to find by tapping into Cohen’s credit card and footage from a couple of the cameras around the studio, the singer has kept a tight schedule most nights. He and his crew normally leave the studio around midnight, then head downtown to the strip, where they party for a few hours before heading back to the house they rent.

Only tonight, with any luck, we’ll pick him up before he has a chance to meet with his friends so that he and I can have a talk. As the minutes tick past midnight, I look back at Justin, who is sitting in the third row, and he lifts his eyes off his computer to meet my gaze.

“He’s here—just have some patience,” he mutters, then I notice Gene become alert, so I look out the windshield and see Cohen exiting the studio with another man.

The two of them stop at the back of a pickup truck and talk for a moment before they part ways, the guy getting into his truck while Cohen heads for a black Benz on the opposite side of the lot. After the guy pulls out and takes off, Cohen backs out of his spot, then heads for the exit, flipping on his turn signal to go left. Kenton, who was parked in front of us, takes a right ahead of him, then we follow, sandwiching him in.

“We’re right behind you,” Gene says when Kenton stops at the first stop sign, with Cohen stopping behind him. I get out, lift my chin, and remove the gun Kenton gave me from the back of my jeans before I approach Cohen’s car on the driver side. Going on instinct, I open his door, and his head spins my way while his eyes go wide.

“What the fuck?”

“Give me your cell and move the fuck over,” I tell him, and he swallows, handing me the phone already in his hand before unhooking his belt and moving over to the passenger seat.

“How much money do you want?” he asks, and I laugh, the sound gruff and foreign to my own ears.

“I’m not after your money.” I press down on the gas when Kenton pulls off, and I follow.

“Then what do you want?” he questions, and I see him reach for the door handle out the corner of my eye.

“You don’t want to do that.” I press the barrel of the gun against his thigh and click off the safety. “Not that I’d be upset about having a reason to shoot you.”

“What’s this about?”

“You and I are going to have a conversation.” I turn right and follow Kenton into a parking garage that’s in the middle of being renovated. When we get up to the fourth floor that is completely empty, I park and shut off the engine, grabbing the keys, and ordering, “Get out.”