As she talks, her voice breathless as a tween’s, Connolly’s frown deepens. I swear I can hear his thought process. Is this girl really as ditzy as she sounds?
“Code,” I mouth.
Ani catches my eye, and I shoot her a thumbs up. Hope really is fine. That’s what she’s telling us—that this isn’t a lie she’s been fed by her captors.
Tell your sister you’re okay. Tell her you’re in a comfy suite and all is good.
My sister has anxiety. Nothing major, but one way it manifests is seeing articles about an accident or a crime and needing to find a personal solution, in case it ever happens to her. A month ago, she mailed me a keychain window breaker, and I knew she must have read something about people drowning in cars.
Before that, there was an article about a girl whose live-in boyfriend wouldn’t let her leave the apartment and forced her to tell her family all was fine. For that, Hope wanted a code. A way we could let each other know whether we were speaking freely or under duress. If we talk about our shared past and tell the truth, everything is fine. If we lie, something’s wrong. Everything Hope said here is true.
She’s fine.
Held hostage, yes, but if there’s a danger meter to such a thing, she’s at the bottom of it. At least for now.
“Hey, someone here wants to say hi,” I say.
Both Connolly and Ani look over sharply. Connolly waves a “cease and desist,” gesturing at Ani.
“She can’t actually talk,” I say. “But she is listening. Say hi to Sophie. You remember Sophie, right? My cat.”
Connolly’s brows furrow in comic confusion. Ani reaches out and squeezes my hand. Sophia is Ani’s middle name, after our maternal grandmother.
“Oh!” Hope says. “Sophie! Hey, kitty-kitty. You being good for Kennedy?”
“She’s fine,” I say. “She got out last night, and she looks a little worse for wear, but she just needs some kibble and a good brushing. I’ll take care of her.”
“I’m sure you will. You take care of Kennedy, too, Sophie.”
We talk a little more after that. We don’t say anything important. We can’t. If Hope knows more—her rough geographic location or information about her captors—she chooses not to share it, and I understand that.
Hope doesn’t want us coming after her. That’s as much for her sake as ours. Right now, she’s sitting on a ledge, as comfortable and secure as can be. If we climb up—or throw a rope down—we might be able to rescue her. Or we could fall. Or she could fall. She just needs to sit tight and do as she’s told, and then her captor will eventually put up a ladder for her to safely descend.
That’s what she’s been told. Just wait a few days, uncurse the Necklace of Harmonia and they’ll let her go. She doesn’t know anything about Connolly or the “mission” I’ve been given to guarantee her safety, and I’m sure as hell not adding to her anxiety.
“We just need to wait this out, K,” she says. “I don’t like the way they went about it, obviously, but we’ll get through this, and then we’ll protect ourselves so it never happens again.”
Her captor cuts in, and then Hope is gone.
“I want daily calls,” I say to him, “to be sure she’s okay.”
“Proof of life?” His mechanically distorted voice snorts.
“I’m considering this a hostage taking. You’re holding her to ensure we both do as we’re told. I need that call.”
“Your sister will be fine, but yes, I will telephone this number once a day and let you speak to her.”
Chapter Fourteen
When I disconnect, I glance at Connolly, who’s deep in thought. I give him a moment and then clear my throat.
“Did you recognize anything about the voice?” I say. “I know it was distorted.”
“It’s definitely not the woman we were going to see. As I said, I didn’t think she’d resort to kidnapping, but this confirms it.”
“Could she have hired someone to call us?”
“No, she would insist on doing it herself. Otherwise . . . I’m relatively new to all this, as he said. Besides, I only know gray-market players enough to point them out at a party, and I have no idea which ones are bidding on the necklace.”
“Can you give me more insight into what’s happening here?” I ask.
“No need,” Ani says. “You’ve heard the terms, Mr. Connolly. Dare I hope you have enough decency to back out of the auction?”
“It . . . isn’t that simple.”
Ani surges forward, but I stop her with a look. Connolly’s hesitation and his sidelong glance tell me he’s not being an asshole. It really isn’t that simple.
“How much?” Ani says.
He frowns.
She presses on. “How much profit would you expect from this necklace if you were able to buy it, uncurse it and resell it. Name a figure.”
“It isn’t about the money.”
“Then what the hell is it about?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Aiden,” I say. My use of his first name must startle him. He looks up, eyes meeting mine, clouds swirling in his. “You know we can’t accept that as an answer. This is Hope’s life.”
“No one is going to kill her. That’s not how anyone operates in this world.”
“Fine. I’m not forcing your hand right now. I want to get Ani home. I want to talk to Jonathan and see what he’s come up with. And I want to think. Mostly, I want to think. Before we go further, though, I’m going to need a better explanation than ‘it’s complicated.’”
“Understood.”
“Can we leave?”
He nods, distracted, as if he’s already faded back into his thoughts. Then his head jerks up, and he turns toward the shack.
“That transmitter,” he says. “If it’s connected to a cell service, there might be a way to trace the number. I suspect it would lead to a dead end, but I should bring it.”
He does that. Then we continue on. We take the path I believe Ani’s captors used to carry her to the shack. I let Connolly walk ahead while I search for clues. In a movie, one of her captors would have dropped a lighter with his name engraved in it. Better yet, a stray business card would have slid from his pocket. I find only broken twigs and scuffed shoe prints.
I’ve caught up with Connolly when his arms shoot out, holding me back. He pauses, head tilting as he listens. Then, without a word, he strides forward. I jog after him and try to grab his shirt, but he strides at a remarkable pace.
“Please get off my car,” he says.
I hurry out to see three guys. One lounges on the hood of Connolly’s car like a neighborhood thug. A glance across the trio, though, makes me wish they were neighborhood thugs. They wear dark suits filled out with muscular builds. Short hair. Clean-shaven. While they look like federal law enforcement, menace swirls thick around them, the air of men who intimidate their way through life.
We should have been more careful coming out of those woods. Yes, the signal triggered that call, but it could also have recalled Ani and Hope’s kidnappers.
Connolly strides out, not the least intimidated, and normally, I’d find that hella sexy, but this is one case where I’d have argued for a bit more caution. It’s three of them against three of us, and that’d be better odds if I were armed with more than my fake derringer.
Connolly walks up to the guy on his car hood. The man is bouncing on it, grinning. He’s about Connolly’s age and Connolly’s height. Stocky bordering on beefy with a wide face and a pug nose that I’m sure was a lot cuter when he was five.
“Do I need to ask you again?” Connolly says. “I don’t think you want that.”
“Oh, I want it.” The guy meets Connolly’s gaze, his thick lips curving in a sneer. “I really want it.”
“Are you sure?” Connolly stops within striking distance. “I seem to recall the last time we had this discussion—”
The guy hops down, his hands slamming out as if to shove Connolly, but he doesn’t actually ma
ke contact. At a wave from Connolly, the other two men retreat silently to their car—a black SUV parked twenty feet away.
“Friends of yours?” I say to Connolly as I walk from the woods with Ani behind me.
“Friends of yours?” the guy says. He whistles as his gaze travels over us. “Please tell me they aren’t sisters. If you’re banging sisters, I might actually need to be jealous.”
Connolly’s eyes chill. “Show some respect—”
“Respect?” the guy says as he strolls toward us. “Girls like this don’t want respect. That’s where you always get it wrong, Aiden. This one here?” He waves at me. “What she really wants is someone to grab her pretty hair and—”
Connolly moves fast, but I move faster, getting between them so quickly Connolly’s fist glances off my shoulder.
I turn to face the other guy. “That’s where you get it wrong. Girls like me love respect. Can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of guys who show it, either. My sister and I were driving along with Aiden here, and we just couldn’t help ourselves. Insisted he pull off for a threesome in the woods over there. That’s where respect gets you.”
The guy pauses, not quite knowing what to do with this. Insulting women with sex talk isn’t nearly as much fun when they join in.
Finally, he says, “Well, if you’re into threesomes, you should try me on for size. I’m sure Aiden here didn’t quite scratch the itch.”
“Mmm, no. He scratched it very well.” I step back to run my hand up Connolly’s arm. “When a guy knows how to treat a woman out of bed, it’s a sure sign he knows how to treat her in bed.”
The guy snorts. “Yeah, that’s not what I heard. Remember Tiffany in sophomore year, Aiden? She told me—”
“Sophomore year?” I say. “Sex at sixteen is the starting point of a very long learning curve. Or it’s supposed to be.” I peer at the guy. “Please tell me you know that.”
“Wanna find out?”
I shudder. “God, no. That’d be like going from that”—I wave at Connolly’s car—“to a moped.”
Connolly moves forward. “And now that you two have met, perhaps a more complete introduction is in order. Travis, this is Ms. Bennett, Kennedy, this is Travis.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “He works for your father.”
“Mother, actually.”
I make a face. “Ugh. Sorry. That was sexist of me.”
Travis saunters back to Connolly’s car and hops onto the hood again.
I wince. “Really? You have a very limited repertoire, don’t you, Travis?”
“I don’t think we resolved this,” Travis says, chin rising.
“Yeah, we kinda did,” I say. “Aiden discreetly threatened to kick your ass, and you decided to get off his hood.”
“K,” Ani warns under her breath.
“Kick my ass?” Travis says. “Like hell. He was threatening to run to Mommy, as he always does.”
“As I never do,” Connolly murmurs. “All right, let’s go with that, Travis. I’m threatening to tell my parents. Now get off my car—”
“It’s not yours. It’s Mommy and Daddy’s.”
“No,” Connolly says. “It is mine. Bought with my money. Which I earned.”
“From a business Daddy bought you.”
Connolly’s mouth opens, and then he pulls back. He glances my way. He wants to defend himself, but he knows Travis is baiting him.
It doesn’t take a scrying ball to see the past between Connolly and Travis. From Travis’s cracks, they’ve known each other for years. I’ll go out on a limb and say they weren’t childhood buddies. Their families know each other. Most likely, Travis’s works for Connolly’s.
They’re the same height now, but Travis carries himself like a man who thinks he’s bigger, and Connolly getting defensive about his height suggests it’s a sore spot from his youth. Connolly was a small kid, and Travis was a big one. I picture Connolly as studious and quiet, but with the arrogance of privilege he still carries. Travis would have felt compelled to use his size to prove his superiority. Connolly might have been smarter and wealthier, but he was just a little redheaded punk, easily pushed around. That’s changed. Connolly’s still smarter and wealthier, but now, in a fair fight, I’d put my money on him.
“What do you want, Travis?” Connolly says, enunciating each word.
“Your mommy was wondering what you’re doing out here. You canceled lunch—oh, I’m sorry, brunch. She saw where you were and had me come find you.”
Travis smirks, as if waiting for Connolly to flush in embarrassment. Not even a touch of pink brightens Connolly’s cheeks.
“Tell my mother that I’ll call her,” Connolly says. “Thank you for the message. You may leave now.”
With that dismissal, it’s Travis who colors. He covers it by crossing his arms and walking up to Connolly. “If she trusted you to tell her what you’re doing, she’d have called you.”
“Yes, and perhaps someday we’ll no longer need to play this little game, but for now, we are both stuck with it. My mother doesn’t expect me to tell you what I’m doing. This is business. Family business. Your only job was to show up and report where you found me and what I seemed to be up to. And to convey the implicit message that I may have stepped beyond the circle of my mother’s trust, but I cannot escape the circle of her influence. Message delivered. Now leave.”
Travis spins to face me.
“No,” Connolly says. “You have no parting words for Ms. Bennett or her sister. You’ve insulted my guests enough. If you feel the need to toss one final insult, please aim it at me.”
Travis directs his glare my way, as if I’m puppeteering Connolly. He opens his mouth again.
“No,” Connolly says, the word harsher now. “That is your last warning. And before you say it, I won’t tell my mother on you. I’ll tell yours. That is always so much more effective.”
Ani stifles a laugh that has Travis starting to turn on her before muttering something about Connolly, incoherent but obviously unflattering. Then he stalks back to the SUV where the other two men wait.
Chapter Fifteen
I sit up front, and Connolly drives. He might seem calm, but as a kid, I endured the female version of Travis—the girl who decided it was her mission to grind my confidence into the dirt. As an adult, I look back and realize she’d been envious. She was the only child of divorced parents, both of whom seemed to want a child-free life. I had what she didn’t, and she took it out on me. Yet even though I understand and feel sorry for her, my stomach still clenches when I see her around town. Connolly may act as if he was immune to Travis’s insults, but that doesn’t mean he is.
He’s quiet, focused on his driving, which is actually really good once he’s not trying to multitask. He checks his blind spots and uses signals and everything. We’ve been on the road for about twenty minutes when he says, “I’m sorry you were subjected to that.”
“I loved the part where you were about to knock him flying.”
His lips twitch. “More like knock him staggering.”
“I suppose I should say that violence doesn’t solve anything, but I kinda like guys defending my honor. I’m old-fashioned that way.”
Ani makes a noise in the back seat. I ignore her.
“Moving right along,” I say. “Any chance Travis could be involved with our kidnapper? He doesn’t like you very much.”
“If not liking me very much is the criteria, our suspect list will be very long indeed.”
“Made a few enemies, have you?”
He goes quiet.
“I was kidding,” I say.
“I almost wish I could say yes. With power comes enemies, and I can’t claim more than disgruntled business rivals. In this field—the trade in magical objects and skills—I’m still a novice. Right now, I don’t intimidate more than hapless employees, and that’s unintentional. If anyone actually dislikes me, it’s because of my background.”
“Your family.”
&nb
sp; “For some, yes. With most, though, dislike stems from my station in general. I have money. I was raised in a certain way, with certain expectations, and it can make me”—a sidelong glance as his eyes twinkle—“a bit of an asshole.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it. This time.”
“But I can be. The point is that I would be more surprised if Hope’s captors liked me. In fact, I’d be disappointed. You saw how Travis behaves. He has always felt threatened by me, and he has always lashed out. Now that I can hit back, his behavior has only grown more juvenile. He feels more threatened by me at twenty-eight than he ever did at twelve. Hope’s captor’s insults are designed to belittle me. If that means he feels threatened, then I’ve made progress . . .” He trails off. “And that has nothing to do with finding your sister. I’m surprised you didn’t cut me off a while back.”
I shrug. “I decided to let you have it. In thanks for defending my maiden honor.”
Ani snorts at that. She knows I’m really just letting Connolly talk to clear his head after Travis.
“You said you’re new to this . . . whatever this is,” I say. “Trading in cursed goods?”
“No, no. I mean, yes, I’m new to this particular business, but it goes much deeper than cursed goods. There are many ways to turn a profit from our talents.”
“The gray market?” I say.
“Yes. There is a black one, but the gray market conducts an otherwise legal trade in magical goods and services. The gray comes from the fact that our powers give us an unfair advantage. One might say that you operate in this market yourself.”
He pauses, as if waiting for an argument. He’s right, though. My curse weaving gives me an advantage in the antique world. I’m not intentionally ripping anyone off, but I’d be the first to acknowledge that gray area.
When I don’t comment, he says, “What you’re doing now is small scale. It could be larger if you enlisted other curse weavers and expanded the operation, intentionally seeking out cursed objects across the country. The next step would be to involve others with magical talents, who would provide leads on cursed antiques.”
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