Honor’s Revenge: Masters’ Admiralty, book 4

by Mari Carr

  On the other hand, her brothers were, by the very fact that they were her brothers, at risk. Weren’t they? And what about her parents? They were traveling right now, but they’d be back. Would Alicia be willing to attack the people she loved in order to get to her?

  “What are you thinkin’ about?” Langston asked her. “You have that look.”

  “She’s trying to decide what to tell us,” Oscar snarled. “Dammit, Sylvia. What’s going on? No, don’t look at them. Tell us the truth.”

  “Do not speak to her that way.” Hugo’s words held no heat. It was a firm but gentle reprimand, and one that made all three of her brothers look at the seemingly mild-mannered Frenchman in shock. “She’s feeling guilty. She’s scared.”

  “Scared of you,” Oscar shot back.

  “Scared that you three are targets because of me,” Sylvia said softly. What did it say about her relationship with Hugo that he had known what she was feeling, had been able to read whatever was showing on her face when her own brothers couldn’t?

  “And why are you a target?” Walt asked in the slightly resigned tone of a doctor.

  She knew what she should do. She should tell her brothers everything. They were her family. Whatever secrecy rules the Masters’ Admiralty had didn’t apply to her, and even if they did now, her brothers—who’d come to rescue her, had helped her, and were trying to protect her—had a right to know they could be in danger.

  Yet she hesitated. She was reluctant to share someone else’s secrets.

  “It’s complicated…” she started slowly.

  “Oh? Really? A situation in which your old English teacher kidnapped you, and you’re suddenly sleeping with two foreigners, is complicated? Shocking.” Oscar threw his hands in the air.

  Walt wasn’t looking at her, but at Lancelot. “I think the Brit is the one who needs to talk.”

  All eyes turned to Lancelot. He sighed and seemed to sink into his chair.

  “Who are you?” Walt asked.

  Lancelot grimaced as he shifted. His body must hurt after yesterday, too. After all, he had leapt aboard a boat and dragged her drowning ass out of the ocean. “Who I am doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Alicia Rutherford is part of an international…crime organization. Maybe ‘terrorist group’ is a better term. She is directly responsible for the death of at least one man, and indirectly responsible for the death of countless others. Her husband was also involved and died as a result of his misdeeds.”

  “Criminal organization?” Langston repeated. “Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not a bunch of dumb hicks. Spread that pile of bullshit somewhere else. No one here is buying it.”

  “It’s the truth,” Sylvia said. “You didn’t hear the things Alicia was saying. Crazy things.”

  “Like what?” Walt asked, always the more peaceful of her brothers. Oscar and Langston had shorter fuses, always racing to the rescue, while Walt approached most everything in life with patience and logic.

  However, before she could reply, the electronic lock beeped and the front door opened.

  All five men stood up, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Oscar and Langston armed themselves with steak knives from a hutch in the corner, while Hugo and Walt moved to flank her, clearly ready to shield her with their bodies if necessary. Lancelot pulled his gun, and she marveled that she hadn’t even known he had it on him.

  Lancelot took charge, heading toward the front of the house. “Walt, Hugo, take Sylvia out the back door.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. There wasn’t time for any of them to escape, and Sylvia wasn’t prepared to simply run, leaving behind the five men she cared for most in the world to defend her.

  It was more than one person. She could hear that from the sound of the footsteps.

  Hugo hauled her behind the breakfast bar counter, his hand on her head, urging her to crouch. Walt joined them, a grim look on his face. Her brother wasn’t a coward. He’d flown through medical school, had his choice of top residencies, electing to go to Stroger Hospital in Chicago, where the ER regularly received the casualties of gang and gun violence. He’d gone where he could do the most good and finished his residency with a passion for battlefield medicine—he’d told her there were parts of Chicago that were without a doubt a battlefield—and a drive to change the way emergency surgery was performed.

  After his residency, he’d enlisted in the Army, entering as a U.S. Army Captain, and immediately deploying to a war zone. He’d served for three years, and came back even quieter than he’d been before, but determined to save lives by developing new techniques and tech that could be used in both ER and battlefield settings.

  He’d told her once that when the bullets were flying, he always took cover. Not because he was a coward. Not because he wanted to protect himself. Because his battle came later. He would fight for the lives of the wounded and dying, but he couldn’t do that if he was one of them.

  She couldn’t see what the others were doing. She could barely breathe she was so scared—not for herself, but for her brothers, and for Lancelot.

  Sylvia was surprised to hear a woman’s voice—not Alicia’s—coming from the dining room.

  “Well, you’ve broken every condition I gave you. And in record time. Where is the other one?”

  Hugo cursed quietly next to her, slowly coming to his feet. She looked up at him questioningly, then exchanged a confused glance with Walt. If Hugo was standing up, that probably meant he wasn’t expecting to get shot.

  “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “And you have all four of the Hayden siblings, I presume?” The woman had a Yankee accent.

  “I can explain,” Lancelot said slowly.

  Somehow that scared Sylvia more than anything. Lancelot didn’t explain himself. He didn’t defer to anyone. But for this woman, whoever she was, he sounded almost reverent.

  “I can’t wait to hear this,” a new voice said. A man. Another Yankee accent. How many people had entered?

  “If you want us to go easy on you, that pass to the catacombs would certainly help your case.”

  This man, a different one, had a Hispanic accent, but he sounded almost cheerful, whereas the other two sounded calm but mean.

  “Where is Sylvia and—” There was a long pause. “I’m going to guess you two are Langston and Oscar, so where’s Walt?”

  How the hell did this woman know them? Know them well enough to tell the triplets apart? Something Hugo and Lancelot hadn’t even managed to do.

  Walt squeezed her left hand. “Stay down.” Then he rose to his feet.

  Sylvia was now the only one cowering, and she hated that. She hated that more than she hated the fear still rolling through her.

  “You can come out, ma cherie,” Hugo urged. “You aren’t the one in danger this time.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked as she rose from behind the counter.

  Three people stood in the doorway to the kitchen area. A blonde woman stood slightly in front of two men. She was elegant and polished in a way Sylvia could never be, even if she tried. Her hair was a shiny gold, each strand in place. She wore a tailored navy-blue knee-length dress. Her shoes looked expensive. Sylvia didn’t know a lot about designer shoes, but she would have bet good money those had someone’s name stitched into the soles.

  On either side of her were bookends of handsome. Two dark-haired, attractive men. While their physical features were similar, the same couldn’t be said of their attitudes. The man on the woman’s right was brooding, angry, while the man on the left seemed completely at ease, at home even.

  When Sylvia looked at him, he smiled and waved. Sylvia blinked, then waved back.

  “Seb,” the woman said. “Do you mind repeating what my conditions were for Hugo and Lancelot?”

  “Stay in the safe house. Contact no one associated with the Trinity Masters. Update us daily on who you have talked to.”

  “Trinity Masters?” Sylvia and Walt said in un
ison.

  “I thought you said it was called Masters’—” Sylvia stopped at the sight of Hugo’s grimace. “Who are these people?”

  “Sylvie…” Lancelot started.

  Sylvia made her left hand into a fist and pressed it to her mouth, her eyes closed.

  She heard Walt suck in an alarmed breath.

  She’d learned this expression from her mama. It was her mama’s “I’m trying to get right with Jesus so I don’t kill this fool” posture.

  “Oh, you done fucked up good,” Langston said.

  That comment broke through the rage, startling a laugh out of her. She opened her eyes and pointed at Lancelot. “Every time you call me that, with that tone of voice, you pull the rug out from under my feet. You told me there were no more secrets. That means these three better not have something to do with a secret you’ve been keeping from me.”

  Hugo closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to his sockets, then started muttering in French. She kept her attention on the Brit.

  “I didn’t think…” Lancelot ran his hand through his dark auburn hair and blew out a long sigh. “Fookin’ ’ell. I couldn’t…we couldn’t tell you about th—”

  “Let’s take this conversation to the parlor.” The blonde looked at each person in turn, finishing with Sylvia. “It seems we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Are we in danger?” Oscar asked tightly. The question was directed at Lancelot.

  “You’re not.”

  Oscar’s brow rose. “She’s pissed at you?” He sounded cheerful as he looked at Lancelot.

  “Oscar,” Sylvia scolded. She was pissed, too, but damn it, she got first dibs on being angry at them.

  The blonde woman smiled. “Very. And I’m prepared to answer all your questions. I will answer questions you didn’t even know you had.” With that, she turned and walked into the foyer. Her companions followed her.

  Oscar wasted no time following the woman, delighted to suddenly have a comrade in arms in his campaign against her men. Langston looked at Walt, and they did that silent triplet communication thing she’d seen them do before. Walt put his arm around her waist. “Come on, Sis.”

  The blonde woman was offering answers. Answers were something Hugo and Lancelot hadn’t been willing to give her, not until their hand was forced. And even then, it appeared they hadn’t shown all their cards.

  She hesitated, not sure she wanted to hear the rest.

  She knew them—knew their bodies, but more importantly, she knew their hearts. If they couldn’t tell her about whoever the hell these people were, then there had to have been a good reason.

  She trusted them because she was in love with them.

  Hugo, who knew her so well, touched her shoulder. “We will all go.”

  Walt pulled Sylvia against his side, breaking the contact between her and Hugo.

  She walked with her brother out of the kitchen into the foyer, and then into the large front room where last night’s confrontation had occurred. Objectively, it was a lovely room, with large windows that looked out onto the front lawn, though the view was mostly obstructed by red maples. The blonde and her companions were standing with their backs to the window, facing the couch. Langston and Oscar had already taken seats there, and Walt led her to the open center spot. Once she was seated, he perched on the arm of the couch. Hugo dropped heavily into an armchair near the couch, but Lancelot stood behind them, facing the blonde.

  Sylvia may be the poet of the family, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think logically. She looked at the trinity of people standing before her. Whatever doubts she’d been having about what Lancelot and Hugo had told her were fading. Given what they’d told her yesterday about secret societies and trinity marriages, it seemed like these people were most likely members of the Masters’ Admiralty.

  But at least two of them were Americans. They’d said there weren’t any Americans. Or had that been a lie? Had they been trying to spare her feelings, pretend she was good enough, smart enough to be one of them, and the only problem was her nationality, when in reality she hadn’t made the cut?

  Oh God. This was the cruelest lie of all.

  “I’m Juliette Adams. And this is my associate, Sebastian Stewart, and my husband, Franco.”

  “They aren’t both your husbands?” Sylvia asked, feeling slightly numb. So many secrets. So many lies. She could feel herself shutting down. It was that or curling into the fetal position in a corner of the room.

  All three of her brothers looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

  “Sylvia, can you tell me what day it is?” Walt stood and reached under her chin so he could look into her eyes.

  “I’m fine, Walt.”

  “Maybe you’re concussed, and we didn’t notice because we were so focused on your hand.”

  Juliette cleared her throat. “Your sister’s question is perfectly normal. I do have two husbands; however, Sebastian isn’t one of them.”

  Sylvia noticed Juliette and Sebastian exchange a brief borderline horrified look, like just the idea of being married to each other was hilarious.

  “Oh good, they’re crazy people,” Oscar said.

  Langston’s brows had gone up. “Maybe y’all better start at the beginning.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” Juliette said. “What I’m about to say may sound fantastical. It’s one of the reasons that Franco is here. He can provide you with historical context and evidence for what I’m about to tell you.”

  Oscar, Langston, and Walt had their full attention on her.

  “I am a member of a secret society.”

  Oscar slumped. “Crazy people. Called it.”

  “Like the Masons?” Langston asked.

  “Well, they’re hardly a secret, are they?” Juliette said. “This is a society that is truly a secret. The only people who know are our members, and our enemies. The punishment for revealing our secrets is harsh, which is why it is a secret.”

  “Then why are you telling us?” Walt asked.

  Juliette considered him. “We have worked to shape the nation since its founding. You are currently in a safe house that belongs to us, to the Trinity Masters.”

  She’d said “the nation,” making it sound like she was talking about America, but the Masters’ Admiralty was in Europe.

  And she’d said Trinity Masters.

  And she was a member, and an American.

  Sylvia glanced at Hugo, confused. “You called it something else.” Whoever Juliette was, she must have messed up the details.

  “That answers one of my questions for you. I wasn’t sure if they would have told you anything, or at least anything that was true.” Juliette’s words were calm, kind. “I suspect Dr. Marchand has told you about the Masters’ Admiralty.”

  Oscar scowled. “Maybe we can argue about what to call it after you tell us what the hell it is.”

  Juliette didn’t take offense at Oscar’s impatience. In fact, she seemed amused by it. Sylvia figured that in a different situation, she’d probably like this woman.

  “You have older brothers?” Sylvia asked.

  “One, and that is more than enough,” Juliette answered, giving her a look that said she understood Sylvia completely when it came to annoying siblings.

  They shared a brief smile, but the moment of amusement was gone. The tension radiating off Lancelot and Hugo was palpable.

  “I will admit, we’d hoped to introduce you to our society in a different manner, different setting. Unfortunately,” she looked at Lancelot, “our hand has been forced.”

  Walt was looking from Juliette to Lancelot. “They’re members of your secret club, too?”

  Sylvia waited for Lancelot to say yes, but he was silent.

  “No,” Juliette said. “Hugo and Lancelot are members of the Masters’ Admiralty. A society not unlike the Trinity Masters, but based in Europe.”

  “Wait, there are two secret societies?” Sylvia asked before turning to Hugo. “Why didn’t you tell
me that last night?”

  “We told you about the Masters’ Admiralty,” Hugo said slowly. “About our reasons for being here.”

  “You said there were no more secrets, that you’d been honest with me.”

  Before Hugo could respond, Juliette answered for him.

  “I suspect that he didn’t tell you about us because he didn’t want to admit that they’re here on our sufferance.” There was a pause. “My sufferance.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Langston asked.

  “This is my territory. I allowed them to conduct their search for Alicia Rutherford as long as they met certain conditions.”

  “We met your conditions,” Lancelot said.

  “Oh, we’re going to play this game?” Juliette glanced at Sebastian.

  Sebastian crossed his arms. “You were to sleep in this house for the duration of your stay. Yet you spent two nights elsewhere. You were to send daily reports, and you missed yesterday’s. Those are incidental, really. You were not to contact anyone associated with the Trinity Masters, and yet here we are.”

  Lancelot didn’t back down. “Sylvia and her brothers aren’t members.”

  “Do you care to explain how you know that?” Sebastian demanded. “Our membership roster is hardly common knowledge.”

  Lancelot and Hugo were silent.

  “That’s true. They aren’t members.” Juliette’s voice was cold. “And yet they weren’t on the list of people you planned to question, were they, Seb?”

  “They were not.”

  “This means you were very aware that if you had included their names, I would have forbidden you from talking to them.”

  “There wasn’t time. The investigation changed.”

  Lancelot’s response only served to inflame Juliette more. “And if it did, you should have kept us informed. Yet you clearly came here planning to talk to, at the very least, Sylvia. Why else would you have brought a copy of one of her books?”

  “Why would it matter if they wanted to talk to Sylvia?” Oscar leaned forward. “Why are you protecting her?”

  That was a very good question.