Masked Possession

by Alana Delacroix

  Maybe she should reconsider her masquerada ban. After all, her mother couldn’t be representative of all of them, could she? The same as there were jerk people and nice people, there had to be masquerada who were authentic and loyal. As hard as it was for her to believe, Eric had seemed honestly interested in her. The only thing that had stood between them exploring something was her.

  Caro was so caught up in her thoughts that the long black car almost nudged her leg by the time she noticed. She leapt back and managed to keep her cool until she noticed no one else was on the side street with her. Wait. Was it Eric? The breath-stopping fear faded.

  Then the door opened and she stumbled back. Her purse dropped to the ground as her hand instinctively rose to clasp the shoulder where one of her scars pulsed and ached.

  “You’re in jail,” she whispered. “In Washington.”

  “Surprise.” Frank Iverson sat revealed by the open car door. “I came for a little chat, Lynn. Or should I say Caro?”

  “Get away from me.” It was hard to croak out the words. Caro had heard of people’s throats tightening with fear, but this was the first time she’d actually experienced it. Even during her attack, she’d managed to scream. Until they’d punctured her lung.

  “I don’t think so. How convenient to have seen you the other day. I should have known you’d leave Washington. Not pleasant memories?”

  Caro still said nothing. Iverson liked that, and smiled.

  “I have a proposal for you.” He licked his lips.

  “No.” Nothing that came from Franz Iverson was good. The man was merciless. Why hadn’t she heard he was out of jail? With Iverson’s kind of money and power, it was easy for things to get brushed under the rug but she thought her Google alerts would have brought up any news about a parole hearing or an escape.

  “Shut up, bitch.” Iverson’s tone was pleasant. “You’ll want to consider this one.”

  A tiny bit of courage began to percolate up. Caro took a deep breath. “Or what? You’ll try to kill me again? Maybe you’ll have the guts to do it yourself this time.”

  “Or maybe I’ll kill you when I kill Eric Kelton.” Caro’s expression must have amused him because he laughed. “Paying attention?”

  Eric? What did Iverson have to do with Eric? The frantic thought crossed her mind that Iverson was a masquerada before she dismissed it as ridiculous. Arcana had their own courts. They didn’t go to human jails. What did she remember from her investigation? He’d invested heavily in a tech company, she recalled. Did he consider Eric competition? She shuddered. Iverson had allegedly—it had never been proven—had one of his rivals pushed from the top of an office tower.

  “Kelton won’t be in charge for long. He’s too soft.”

  Definitely business. She felt a burst of fury under her fear. Iverson didn’t need her to get to Eric. He wanted to torture her. Punish her for still being alive.

  Iverson was still talking. “Here’s the deal. It’s easy enough. You for Kelton.”

  “What?” Her for Eric? To do what?

  “Christ, you’re slow. Let me spell it out. I won’t kill you if you help me get access to Eric Kelton. Don’t bother lying about not knowing him, either. He dies, you live.”

  Caro didn’t take her eyes from him as she stepped away. “You’re insane.”

  “We’ve been saving those knives for you, so think about it, bitch. I’ll be in touch in a couple days with the details. It’s a good deal.”

  He shut the door and the car rolled away. Caro’s face burned and a bead of sweat slowly ran down her face. There were so many questions spinning in her head she couldn’t even focus on one.

  Eric. She needed to tell him. Whatever weirdness had happened between them, he needed to know. She knew from the many off-the-record interviews she’d had with witnesses, some almost shivering with fear, that Iverson treated business like a proxy for war—money and power were his drugs. She snatched up her purse and fumbled her phone out but her fingers trembled too badly to press his number. A dark shadow passed over her hand. Patricia had kept her long and it was overcast. Night would come soon.

  Night. There was no way she would be able to handle the dark so soon after Iverson. She glanced around. No taxi. She looked closer at the car at the end of the street. Two men sat there, staring at her. Iverson’s goons? Stifling a moan of terror, she stuffed the phone in her bag, and started a brisk walk, almost panting as she tried to hold back desperate sobs. Running would show fear.

  She could call Eric from home. As soon as she was safe.

  * * * *

  “You’re not going to believe this.” Tom said as he came into Eric’s study.

  “What?” Eric was deep into the documents lined up in a neat row in front of him. Why the hell would the Australians think he’d give up trade rights with South Africa? Greed. Always greed.

  Tom’s silence finally forced his attention away from the contract. Stephan stood behind the security chief, his face grim. Eric pushed aside the papers and prepared himself for some more unpleasant news. “Iverson?” Not much of a guess, to be honest. Reports were flowing in from across the city. Iverson was making his presence known in myriad provoking ways.

  “He made open contact with Caro Yeats,” Tom said, his voice tight. “With all due respect, I knew she couldn’t be trusted.”

  “What?” Eric shoved his chair back. “Contact how?”

  “A meeting on a side street after work. Quick, only a couple minutes. Enough for a report.”

  “The security tails we had on Caro saw them,” Stephan confirmed. “Came around the corner and saw her and Iverson talking. When she saw them, she stopped the conversation, tried to fake that she was making a phone call, then walked in the opposite direction. It’s clear she knew they were watching.”

  “Did they hear anything?” Eric asked. It was impossible. He knew his woman. But… He thought bitterly of Frieda. He’d been wrong before. Maybe Iverson had leverage on her.

  “No,” Tom said. “That’s not all. One of the tails recognized her. Caro’s the one who Iverson’s been meeting. She was at the Oasis.”

  Eric laid his hands, palms down, on the table. “Impossible. What would Caro have to gain from that?”

  “Power. Money. Safety.” Tom ticked them down on his fingers. “Who knows?”

  The phone rang, its piercing beep stopping all conversation. He picked up. “Eric Kelton.”

  “Eric?”

  He knew that voice. “Yes.”

  “It’s Caro. Caro Yeats. Is this a bad time?”

  Her voice vibrated in his ear and he closed his eyes. Play it cool, Kelton. Let’s see what she wants. “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

  “I just—” her voice was almost tearful. “This is crazy. Do you know a man called Franz Iverson?”

  Tom and Stephan were almost pressed against him as they tried to listen to his call. Eric waved them back impatiently.

  “Why?” he countered.

  “I, oh my God. I don’t even know how to say this. The whole thing is fucking surreal. He wants to kill you. He wants me to help kill you. Jesus. Who does that sort of thing?” She sounded dazed.

  “How do you know?” Eric kept his voice calm but inside he felt like jumping. He knew Caro wouldn’t betray him. It was all a mistake—the woman that Iverson was meeting looked like Caro. There were plenty of lovely brunettes in the city, and in a dark room…well. Mistaken identity could happen.

  “He saw me. He stopped me. He told me so.”

  That was strange. “Why you? How did you know who he was?”

  “He told me who he was. He said because I know you. He said he knew I did. He must have been following me. He must have seen us meet.” Her voice wavered.

  Eric sat down heavily in a chair, hand over his eyes. She didn’t need to know how loathsome Iverson was. She was alrea
dy alarmed about being accosted. Telling her that Iverson would more than make good on whatever he’d threatened her with would have little benefit. He straightened his shoulders and made his voice as comforting as he could, despite the anger that bubbled through him.

  “Caro, listen. I’m sorry you were dragged into this. Iverson and I have never seen eye-to-eye on certain things and you shouldn’t have been involved in what is essentially a private matter.”

  “Is it your business? He’s ruthless with competition, did you know that?”

  “I suppose you can call it business.” Eric shrugged. “He wants the throne.”

  Even through the phone, her gasp was raw. “He’s a masquerada?” Her voice was no more than a breath on the air.

  “He is.” There was no reason she should have known that, but her surprise seemed unusual.

  “Masquerada. Oh my God.”

  Eric frowned. “Caro, it’s almost dark. I’d like you to come here, so I know you’re safe.”

  Beside him, Tom stiffened.

  “Dark? No. No, I’m fine here. I can see you tomorrow.”

  “Caro, Iverson is ugly. You need to be—”

  “I said no.”

  “Then I’m coming to you.”

  “No!” Her voice rose. “I need to be alone. I have to think. Please.”

  He couldn’t drag Caro out by force, but why was she reluctant to come? What was there to think about? “Fine, but tomorrow. First thing in the morning, I’m going to get you.”

  “After work.” She sounded firm now. More controlled.

  “First thing.”

  “I’m not the one in danger, Eric. I’m not going to change up my life for him. After work.” She hung up.

  “Damn it.” Eric dialed back and got nothing but her voice mail.

  Stephan and Tom both shook their heads. “She’s hiding something,” Tom said. “She knows him. She wasn’t randomly targeted by Iverson. You heard her voice. I’ve seen six-year-olds who were better actors. If she was as scared as she pretended, she’d be here in a second.”

  “It could be a trick, part of their plan for you to get your defenses down,” Stephan agreed. “From now on, I suggest you not leave as Eric Kelton. Take on another masque.”

  “No. The increased security is a necessary precaution but I’m not doing anything else that could be perceived as weakness.” This had the benefit of being plausible while covering up the lie he was living about his inability to shift.

  “I don’t like it,” Tom said.

  “You don’t have to like it.” Eric stared hard at his security chief until the man lowered his eyes.

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Stephan, get a room prepared for Caro.” He glanced at them both and held up a hand to counter Tom’s unspoken yet clear objections. “I want her where we can keep an eye on her. Double the security on her apartment as well. No, triple it.”

  Tom looked slightly cheered by that. He and Stephan left the room, and Eric to his thoughts.

  Iverson threatened Caro. Eric frowned. He must have been watching her. A cold fire ran down his arms.

  That bastard had dared to come after Caro.

  The phone rang again. Wondering if Caro had changed her mind, he answered to find it was Michaela.

  The Head Councilor had more bad news. “Iverson’s arguments are making inroads here, Eric,” she said. “We were right. The lineages that support the old ways weren’t swayed by our debates—they decided to stop arguing.”

  “Do you know what they have planned?””No, but I think whatever it is will wait until after the defie. You need to win that, and it needs to be decisive. A message.”

  “It will.” They spoke for a few more minutes, then Eric ended the call and stared out into the night. His predecessor had never had to fend off a challenge but he had read her diaries. She was tough. A line from one of her entries came into his mind then, written in spidery writing. Cut out the poison at the root, lest it fester.

  Sage advice. He pulled out the knife Iverson had tried to taunt him with and examined it closely. It was sharp. Sharp enough to cut through the poison that was Iverson.

  Chapter 22

  Caro made so many mistakes by noon that she seriously considered faking sick and calling an end to the whole day. What had she been thinking, agreeing to stay at Eric’s house? Morosely, she nudged the overnight bag that sat tucked under her desk. She had been a mess when she phoned him last night, no doubt about that. She squeezed her eyes shut with a shiver of shame at openly freaking out. Sleep had calmed her down a bit, so at least she wouldn’t collapse weeping on his shoulder today.

  That being said, Eric wasn’t lying when he called Iverson dangerous. Iverson was not one to screw around with. She probably should have packed her bags and left for Vancouver, or Moose Jaw. Tokyo. Anywhere far from the city.

  She kicked the bag hard and heard her makeup rattle. She was a fool. An absolute ass. She’d spent most the night staring at the thin beams of light from the streetlights, creeping through the shades of her bedroom. A masquerada. That’s how Iverson got out. There would have been a visit, a switch, and now some poor minion sitting in jail in Iverson’s place. It made sense, so much sense. She’d sifted through her memories of the case, making the associations that had eluded her before. Then she nearly groaned out loud as it all came together. How could she be so dense? Here she was warning Eric about his work when Iverson was after nothing less than the throne. Unbelievable. It was just that she didn’t go around assuming everyone she met was a masquerada, but clearly, that was going to have to change.

  “Want to go for coffee?” Estelle popped her head around the door, then disappeared when Caro shook her head and pointed at the monitor as though swamped with work. When she was gone, Caro stared thoughtfully at the door. Was that Estelle? How could she tell? How would she know that it was Eric who arrived to pick her up tonight?

  It was too much. She needed to keep some perspective. Not everyone was masqued. Most masquerada wouldn’t even be able to make such drastic changes. Of course, it was the ones who could that she needed to worry about. She laid her head in her arms on the keyboard and it beeped in protest.

  One thing she was sure of after last night was to keep her past as Lynn Butler to herself. The nightmares last night, as well as one surprise shift that she managed to get out of without dissolving into a full-blown panic attack, much to her intense relief, were enough to want to keep quiet about what Iverson had done to her. No matter what the Oprah-approved TV doctors said, it wasn’t always necessary to talk about one’s problems. Sometimes ignoring them was the way to go. The less she thought about it, the better for her mental health. It didn’t matter—Iverson’s focus was on Eric, not her. She was only a tool. If Iverson wanted her dead, he’d already had plenty of chances. Telling Eric wouldn’t change anything and would only lead to conversations she didn’t want to have about her past. That part of her life was over. It was time to move on, and she would.

  By the end of the day, Caro was a mess between wanting to see Eric and not wanting to go to his house. Hiding at his place like a fugitive would acknowledge that Iverson had her running scared. Which he did, but she didn’t want to feel weak by admitting it.

  Estelle came into her office with a folder and stopped dead. “You’re here.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “I thought you were in Julien’s office.” Estelle looked confused. “I could have sworn I saw you there.”

  “Nope. Been here for an hour.”

  “Yeah, now that I think about it, the other woman was dressed in gray.” Estelle eyed Caro’s jeans and striped shirt. “Definitely wasn’t you.”

  That was the only break in the afternoon. Caro surfed the web, did some mindless tasks and waited for the end of what seemed like an endless day. She looked at her phone every few minutes, hoping Eri
c had texted and simultaneously wondering how much a one-way plane ticket to Sydney cost.

  At exactly five minutes to five, Julien popped his head into her office. “Good day, Caro?”

  She pasted on a smile. “Yes, actually.” She reeled off a couple of the small tasks she’d managed to complete, making them sound much more intense than they were. Not that she cared if Julien thought she was slacking off, but she wanted to avoid any discussion that could lead to a talk about feelings.

  “Bien, bien.” Julien hadn’t even been listening. “Look, how about dinner?”

  “What?”

  His lips tightened. “Dinner. To get to know each other. You’ve been here a year already and you’re still a mystery to me, Caro. I think we should know each other better. Much better.”

  Oh, no. Caro could feel her eyes widen. “Uh, Julien, I’m not sure—” Luckily her phone began to vibrate across the desk. She glanced down, grateful for the distraction. A text from Eric. I’m here. She fumbled the phone into her bag.

  “I’m sorry, Julien, but I have plans.” She stopped herself from adding “Maybe another time” out of an awkward sense of politeness. She wanted there to be no other time.

  Julien’s tan face turned a pasty yellow and he turned without a word.

  Trying to forget that her boss tried to hit on her, she dragged out her bag. Julien and Patricia, wearing an outfit so dull she almost blended into the carpet, chatted in low voices in the hall. Maybe he could get his jollies with the new woman. That would be excellent. Caro managed to get out without anyone seeing her.

  Eric waited by the car.

  Who looked that good? She eyed Eric up and down as though trying to pick him out of a police line. Dark wavy hair, slightly longer on the top and tight on the sides. Fierce features with eyes that changed from silver to storm-cloud gray. That body. Hard and confident. Today he wore dark jeans with a black fitted shirt that had the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The top button was undone, highlighting the muscles of his neck and the vulnerable flesh at the base of his throat. That small bit of skin was so flat-out arousing that Caro stopped dead and checked him out openly, like some of the men and every other woman in the street. The tension trickled out of her shoulders and, for the first time all day, she was able to take a breath deep enough to fill her lungs.