“She’s fine. I can hear her heart beating.” McIntosh leaned against a wall a few feet away, partially in the shadows.
Cold air and street noises centered Avery. He took a quick look around. They were in an alley. From the strobing red and blue lights and the noise, he guessed they weren’t far from the warehouse. “Should I say thank you first or ask what are you?” McIntosh looked human, but then so did Roman and Reign.
“I’m too complicated for your small brain,” McIntosh said.
Avery detected a smirk though he couldn’t clearly see McIntosh’s face. Avery stood and cradled Emeline in his arms.
“The client you want me to take off your hands?” McIntosh pointed to Emeline.
Avery pulled her closer, regretting he’d ever made the call, even though he knew handing her over would be best.
“Keeping her puts both of you in danger.” McIntosh closed the distance between them and stepped into the yellow glow from a streetlamp.
Though they had the same muscular build and pretty much the same height, the similarities ended there. Avery would never admit it out loud, but the man—if that’s what McIntosh was—had a razor edge Avery had only seen in one other person, Reign. The Reign before Alexis and him became an item. The Reign that decimated three quimaera without raising a sweat.
Avery stared him down, didn’t blink. McIntosh hadn’t saved him from a fire to shank him in an alley. “She stays with me.”
“Regardless of the danger?”
Khuket came to mind as McIntosh said the words. Maybe letting her go would be best? Avery’s arms automatically tightened around his precious package.
McIntosh nodded. “Yeah. That bitch has a serious stiffy for you, but that’s not my problem.”
If Avery wasn’t holding Emeline, he’d have McIntosh up against the wall and no personal space would exist between them. “What do you know?”
“I know you Egyptians deserve everything that’s coming.” McIntosh stepped over to the darkest part of the alley. “Last chance to hand over the girl.”
Avery didn’t buy the Good Samaritan routine. “You have my answer.”
McIntosh shrugged. “Fine. You called me, remember?” Half of him vanished into the darkness, as sliced off by a giant scalpel. Avery blinked hard, trying to process the unexpected, preternatural nature of the man.
“Final chance,” McIntosh said.
Emeline stirred in Avery’s arms and snuggled against his chest. His heart seized. “She’s mine.”
A dry chuckle echoed in the small enclosure. “Good, because I don’t need a female on my hands. You owe me one, Avery Nicolis. And I will collect.” His voice faded at the end before completely vanished.
Not an empty threat, but one Avery wouldn’t worry about. McIntosh saved him and Emeline for a reason. Avery would add discovering that reason to his To Do list. Several steps below taking care of Emeline.
“What happened?” She frowned, but her confusion quickly cleared. Tears welled and streaked the soot on her cheeks.
She pulled away. Her body slid against his as she gained her footing and leaned into him. He held her loosely, hands on her hips while she stared at the buttons on his coat. “Grand! I gave him to an EMT.”
She sounded so hopeful. It took everything in him to let her go and follow her out of the alley. Police cruisers and fire trucks had gathered at the end of the block along with a crowd of onlookers. Emeline ran down the block and pushed her way through the people—and halted.
Avery stood directly behind her, viewing the awful scene. One hand on her shoulder, the other at her waist, ready to stop her if he must.
Grand lay next to a police cruiser. Two EMT’s: one shaking open a square of blue tarp, the other packing up the portable defibrillator and supplies. Her shoulders trembled, but she moved forward.
One of the men saw her and stopped what he was doing. “We’re sorry,” he said. Both moved away, leaving her alone with the body.
Emeline plastered her hand over her mouth, yet a strangled wail escaped. She dropped to her knees and touched his leathery face. “I’m s-sorry. S-so sorry.”
She hugged him, sobs racking her body. “I failed you. F-failed you.”
The crowd pushed closer. Cell phones were out, recording everything. Avery lowered himself next to her. “You didn’t—”
“He wanted to die at home. I promised him he would die at h-home. Not on a cold street. Like a bum. Like he had no one who loved him. When he had me. His final request and yeah…I failed him.”
A policeman came up to them. “Who are you two and do you know the deceased?”
“His name is Wilbur Gamble, my grandfather.” She hadn’t moved from her spot.
The detective studied both of them. “Show me some ID.”
Avery rose and handed over his ID and license to carry a concealed weapon.
“Okay, what happened in there?”
The best lies are layered with the truth. He told them about Grand leaving the hospital against medical advice and his disappearance from Mrs. Kelly’s home. He blamed the fire on an exploding light fixture. Again, the truth.
The EMT tried to cover Grand’s body, but Emeline ripped the plastic sheeting out of his hands. Avery grabbed her before the police intervened. “Look around you. There are people taking pictures of him. A news crew has arrived. Do you want his body on the news? On the internet?”
She latched onto his coat as if she needed extra strength to hold her up. “No,” came out as a broken whisper.
Avery nodded to the EMT waiting offside and led Emeline to the detective. “Are we done? Ms. Gamble is exhausted. Any more questions can wait until tomorrow.”
The detective glanced at Emeline leaning against a fire truck. “Yeah. We know where to reach you for more answers.”
Avery led her back to their stolen car, grateful he had double parked a block away.
“What now?” she asked after he climbed into the driver’s seat. Her voice wavered on the verge of breaking.
“We take things one step at a time, Emeline.”
“And then?” She hiccupped.
The hard part.
Chapter Thirty-Four
By the time Avery had parked inside the garage at RockGate, her weeping had quieted into broken sniffles and the sun flirted with cresting the horizon. “Why did you bring me here?” Her voice had gone flat, unemotional.
Truth: he hadn’t a clue about comforting a grieving woman and hoped Stella could help, but he couldn’t say that to Emeline. So he shrugged and climbed out of the car. She didn’t wait for him to help her but leaned against the open car door. Avery searched her tear-stained face, trying to judge if she was steady enough to enter the house on her own steam or should he carry her.
She dragged the sleeve of her wool coat across her damp cheeks, leaving them raw and puffy. Then straightened and met his gaze. Her pain resonated within him. His soul mourned her loss as if it were his own.
Avery took her hand and led her to the garage entrance. Voices echoed on the other side of the garage door.
Emeline’s steps faltered as he entered a code into a keypad. “This isn’t such a good idea.”
“Do you trust me?” He surprised himself with the question and his desperate need for an answer.
Her hazel eyes met his and she nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
He swept her off her feet and cradled her against his chest. Her arms circled his neck, comforting him when he should be comforting her. Instead of carrying her through the garage entrance and exposing her to the family, he walked around the exterior to the front door. He had made it across the marble foyer to the grand staircase when Hector cleared his throat.
Avery knew it was Hector; he was the only one in the house who had that annoying trait. He turned slightly, not wanting to upset Emeline who’d tensed and clutched his coat in a tight fist.
“Would you and your guest desire some refreshments, perhaps a meal?” Shoulders and jaw squared, spine fossilized, Hecto
r could be the newest statue decorating the foyer.
“Yeah, but leave the tray outside the door.”
“Your bedroom door, Sir?” The censorship apparent in his voice.
On the surface, an innocent question, though there were no innocent questions when dealing with their nosy butler. Anger boiled Avery’s blood. He’d never brought a woman here for sex, so the guilt was unnecessary. He had enough already with Hector adding to the pile.
And yes, he wanted her in his room, in his bed, but—“No.”
“Then the rose bedroom would be best.” Hector’s voice held a note of approval.
Rose bedroom?
“It’s two doors down from yours.”
“Was that Hector?” Emeline asked as Avery continued his trek upstairs.
She’d met him only once, yet she recognized Hector’s voice, knew every detail about the family. He wasn’t surprised, though annoyed by proof of her duplicity, while he continued to ignore his own. “Yeah.”
Decorated in chocolate and blush, a rose print wallpaper and cherry wood furniture, the Rose bedroom lived up to the title. He hadn’t known the room even existed, but it wasn’t hard to imagine her on the king-sized bed, spread across the coffee-colored sheets like a decadent dessert waiting to be consumed as rose petals played peekaboo with her succulent flesh.
He placed her on the bed and grabbed her left foot. A sharp tug and her boot slipped off. Red and black Minnie Mouse socks covered her feet. So cute and completely opposite of her tough demeanor. Expecting a cry of outrage, he was surprised when she held her right foot aloft.
She unbuttoned her coat and allowed him to help her out of it. He was tempted to try for her sweater and jeans, but she flopped back on the bed and rolled away from him. Words crowded his throat, but how to string them together without them sounding like useless platitudes. Comfort wasn’t his thing. He didn’t know how to do it when EJ was little and nothing had changed in the intervening years. Though, leaving her alone to wallow in pain and guilt felt wrong. Was wrong.
“Can I get a moment…alone, please?” she asked.
The request wasn’t what he expected, but understandable. “Umm. Yeah, of course.” Avery retreated to his room. Two doors away may as well be two miles. He showered and shaved, then listened at her door before trekking down to the kitchen for much needed fuel.
Staff bustled about the kitchen, each at a station working on a dish. This was more than just them making breakfast.
“You are in the way.” Hector handed him a cup of coffee.
“I didn’t realize breakfast was so complicated.” He gulped a mouthful of the black brew.
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
And Emeline’s birthday. Grand died on her birthday. “Shit.”
“I happen to like the holiday. With the wedding and the arrival of little Ember, this year the family has much to be grateful for.” Hector huffed.
But not Emeline. The date of Thanksgiving would vary, but never again would her birthday be a day of celebration. It would be the day the last member of her family died. Avery didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, but- “Hector, I need you to arrange a funeral service.”
He gave Avery his full attention as he explained the situation. “Her grandfather mentioned cremation at the hospital. Keep things simple. I’m not sure all she would like, but I think it would help take some of the burden off.”
Hector gave him an appreciative glance. “Sound logic. However, I won’t make any of the final decisions without her approval.”
“I’m not sure when they will release the body,” Avery murmured, thinking about the destruction in the warehouse and the investigation sure to follow.
“I’ll discover the details and inform you immediately,” Hector said.
“Thanks.”
Gladys, Hector’s sister, brought him a covered tray laden with food. “All of your favorites.” She smiled. All of the house staff were family members to their indispensable butler and privileged to some the family’s deepest secrets.
“Thanks.” He turned to Hector. “EJ here?” Hector shook his head. EJ’s absence didn’t worry Avery. His little brother did have a social life and Avery had never been as carefree as his sibling. “Don’t tell anyone I’m home yet.”
A question formed in Hector’s eyes, but he nodded and returned to his duties.
Avery returned to the rose bedroom. An empty bed mocked his expectation she would be in the same position he’d left her. Steam curled from the open doorway of the bathroom. She stood by the window between the bed and bathroom, bathed in morning sunlight, and wrapped in a robe. The curtains fluttered as she closed the panel, returning the room to shadows. Briefly, he thought of McIntosh and his disappearing act.
He placed the tray on a settee at the foot of the bed and studied her subdued approach. Defeat dragged every footstep as she made her way to the bed and sat on the edge. The fight seemed to have gone out of her. He didn’t like it and hadn’t a hint how to help.
“Hungry?” He lifted the lid off the dishes of scrambled eggs and steak omelets, a tall stack of pancakes, a plate of turkey sausage, and a bowl of fresh fruit. “I can get you something else if you’d like.”
Emeline turned away and curled into a fetal position on the bed. “Just tired.”
“You should—” Ordering her to eat wouldn’t help. He pulled a chair close and sat. Her words came back at him, prodding him to leave, give her the peace she requested…but he couldn’t pull away. Not from her. She was a magnet and he couldn’t resist the constant tug. He wanted to touch her, ease her into his arms, and shield her from the pain, but she’d made it clear they—he—was nothing more than a grind.
“Can you hold me…please?”
She whispered so low he almost thought he’d imagined the request. Yet, her lips had moved. Avery climbed in next to her. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her body against him. He tucked her close and filled his lungs with her desert rose scent.
“What am I going to do without him?”
You have me. “You’re a survivor.”
“Yeah, my life’s ambition.” She sucked in a sharp breath that caught on a sob. “Surviving isn’t living.”
Better than being dead. Not a good analogy. “But you are alive, and Grand would want it that way.” A platitude, but one that was true.
Her body trembled. Avery waited, unsure of what to do. He turned her over onto her back. Eyes squeezed tight, bottom lip crushed between her teeth, yet not a single tear shed. Though she cried on the way here, her tears were by no means done. She loved her grandfather. His death would haunt her for years. She had days of tears ahead of her. Avery wouldn’t let her bottle up her pain until it exploded and took a piece of her sanity.
“Let it out, Emeline.”
She shook her head, tossing her hair about.
He cradled her face, her soft skin rubbed against his palm. “It’s okay. I got you. Let go of the pain before you drown.” She opened her mouth and closed it. Opened again and hung there, suspended. She had to let go or the pain inside of her would fester and turn into a bitter stew no sunlight could reach. He knew this, had the Ink surfing his skin as evidence of the veracity of his claim.
“Emeline, listen to me.” He’d told the story once, and then he buried the memory deep. For her, he barreled through his knotted emotions. “I was ten years old and hungry. I sneaked into the kitchen while EJ cried in his crib.” He stopped and inhaled a slow, steady breath. The only people who’d heard his tale were a detective and a social worker.
Rehashing the past wasn’t a motto he lived by, but if it would help her—“My mother and stepfather had returned an hour before, hopefully with food and not more drugs or chems for their meth lab.” The memory unfolded as if they were at the forefront of his brain anxiously waiting a return visit.
He pinched his nostrils against the awful smell and looked between the glass beakers, burners, and tubing, for the pizza their mother ha
d promised when she’d left. No pizza, but they’d left a Styrofoam take-out container on top of the refrigerator. Placed there so he couldn’t get to it. His stomach cramped, but worse than his hunger was EJ’s. His baby brother had cried all day and all Avery could find in the kitchen was half a stack of stale Ritz crackers.
He dragged over the one remaining dining chair and climbed up. The container was heavy. His heart sped up and his mouth watered at the prospect of food. He pried open the lid to find a few chicken strips and a handful of soggy fries drenched in catsup.
“What are you doing?” His stepfather grabbed him by the collar. Eyes bloodshot, his unwashed odor competed with ammonia wafting from a bucket on the floor.
“Lemme go.” Avery kicked and connected with his stepfather’s soft abdomen. He grinned at his stepfather’s grunt. Even worth the slap across his face and blood pooling in his mouth. Wasn’t worth having the food knocked out of his hand and scattered on the filthy floor. He’d still eat it and feed it to EJ.
His stepfather stomped on the fries and chicken, destroying any hope for a meal that night or the next morning.
“I got angry, couldn’t feel anything but hate. I punched him, think I broke his nose. He dropped me and I knocked over the propane tank. The thing was old, rusted. Started hissing. My stepfather didn’t hear it, but I did. Knew what it meant. I tried to run out of the room. He grabbed me and flung me across the table. Chemicals spilled everywhere—” His voice became strained. “—on my back.”
The memory was so real, but now they clashed with what Roman had revealed in the library and the images that agreed with Roman’s narrative.
“My stepfather laughed. Thought it was funny…’til I started tipping everything over. I hated him. Hated her. I ran out of the room and grabbed his lighter on the coffee table. I lit it, stupidly thinking I could outrun the flames.”
Evermore (Descendants of Ra: Book 3) Page 29