by AM Hartnett
She took a seat in the first row and strapped herself in. After conferring with the pilot, Reeve took his seat across the aisle from her and grinned as he hauled the seatbelt across his broad frame.
‘You don’t get nauseous flying, do you?’
‘I don’t need a barf bag, if that’s what you’re asking,’ she said, but her stomach fluttered in disagreement.
‘Sit tight. You’ve got a couple of hours ahead of you.’
Grace scowled. ‘It doesn’t take that long to go to Montreal. Are we landing in Quebec City?’
‘Further than that. We’re landing in Moncton.’
‘What for?’
‘I lied this morning. You’re not going to Quebec. You’re going to Mont Carmel.’ He stretched his arm across the back of the seat and shrugged. ‘Same difference. Buttfuck, New Brunswick might as well be Buttfuck, Quebec.’
With a fleeting sensation of vertigo, Grace wished she had looked Mont Carmel up when she’d had the chance. She hadn’t the slightest idea where it was, whether it was on the Fundy side of the province or somewhere along the Northumberland, or if she’d end up sitting on the US border.
‘Is it on the water?’
‘It is, but unless you like cliff-diving I’d take swimming off your list of things to do. It’s mostly surrounded by forest, but there’s one corner that sits on the edge overlooking the bay. It looks endless – you can see Prince Edward Island if you have a pair of binoculars.’
She buried her face in her hands. ‘Please tell me there’s liquor on this thing.’
‘After we take off.’
She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and prayed that ‘after’ came quickly.
* * *
Once she had two stiff drinks, she slept the rest of the flight and woke only when Reeve nudged her and told her to buckle up. They descended into the dusk, when the sun was a blinding sphere creeping further into the horizon. From the plane a car ferried them to a fenced-in lot, and Reeve took the wheel of a grey sedan for the rest of the ride.
They drove along the coast. Soon, the fiery glimpses of the sun-drenched sea gave way to the night. Grace had spent her entire life in cities. Now, faced with all this blackness, she caught an eerie feeling.
Portions of the twisting road sprang up out of nowhere and she had the urge to ask Reeve to slow down.
‘How much further?’
‘Not much.’
Not much at all. A few minutes later the car slowed down, and her heart jumped into her throat. Reeve turned the wheel and took them down a ragged dirt road.
‘How does he get things if he doesn’t leave?’
‘He has them delivered. He has a small staff here, a few distant cousins from his father’s side.’
‘And he never leaves?’
‘Not far, and never where there are a lot of people.’
A flash of light showed through the trees, and then another and another until Grace realised she was looking at the lights of a house through the brush. One last twist and the facade greeted them.
Taureau’s home was nothing like she had imagined. She had pictured Citizen Kane’s Xanadu. What she was looking at right now was more Wuthering Heights.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ she said, leaning forward to get a better look.
It was a perfectly square stone box, three storeys in height, the top floor marked with four little dormer windows jutting from the roof. Six windows on the second level were broken up only by the jut of a balcony. The bottom level looked like it was being consumed by the earth around it, with tall hills reaching up to the second floor at both corners.
The house was big, but not so big that she could imagine him being able to hide from her for long.
‘The property is massive out back, but this is the house,’ Reeve told her, and stopped the car directly in front of the door. ‘Creepy, isn’t it?’
‘I might need that tranquilliser you threatened me with, a whole handful of them if I want to get any sleep.’ She twisted her neck around to look at the long driveway they had passed through. ‘I would have thought there would be more security.’
‘We passed through a gate, but you mustn’t have seen it. He’ll have it armed by now.’ He cut the engine and pointed upwards. ‘There’s a lot of history to this place. I can only remember bits and pieces, but Jacques has the whole thing committed to memory. It’s called The Convent House. A former nunnery, obviously.’
‘Charming.’
They got out of the car, and the quiet nearly knocked her down. The only sound was the rustle of the leaves in the wind and a throbbing hush she presumed was the ocean.
She scanned the outside of the building and looked for signs of movement. Every light was on. She could feel eyes on her, not through a lens but actually looking down at her. It was a distinction that crawled over her shoulders and pricked her scalp, but she could see nothing in any of the windows.
With a shudder, she moved close to Reeve as he pulled her luggage from the trunk of the car. ‘Don’t look so scared. No one has been torn to pieces by something that lives in the cellar yet.’
‘If you say something like that again I’ll trip you.’
Her heart crawled into her throat and stayed there as he held open the door for her. Heavy and fitted with intimidating locks, it was the only thing she’d seen so far that looked modern, but once she was inside she saw that the house’s resemblance to Wuthering Heights ended on the welcome mat. Reeve led her into what could only be described as a cosy living room that gave the house away as a country retreat, from the elegant cream walls adorned with nautical maps and sketches of wildlife to the plump furniture set around the fireplace. The room opened into a thoroughly modern kitchen, all granite and chrome.
‘You’ll take the guest room down here for tonight, though I expect you’ll have better digs – and less private – soon enough,’ Reeve said, leading the way down a hall off the kitchen. ‘Excuse me for not giving you the tour, but you’ll have plenty of time to explore.’
He opened a door, not to a bedroom but to a library that was top to bottom wood panels, with stained-glass windows flanking a second fireplace.
‘The whole place is pretty much heated with the wood,’ he told her, and pointed to a wardrobe in the corner. ‘There’s a laptop in there for you to use for personal stuff. And this,’ he said, pushing another door, ‘and this is home sweet home for the night.’
The room was just lovely, with a big brass bed and a massive window just above it. She peeked into the adjoining bathroom and almost wept at all that marble tiling and fluffy towels, and the bathtub big enough for at least four.
She turned to Reeve as he sank down on the bed, then scanned the room in the futile hope that she’d spot some indication of where the cameras were. ‘Every room is being monitored?’
‘Indeed, and from multiple angles.’
‘And Taureau is where?’
He bobbed his head towards the window. ‘Command central. Everything feeds into the guesthouse out back. He would have gone out there as soon as we came in the front door. He’ll stay out there, skulking about, until I’m gone.’
‘Is there anywhere here that’s private?’
‘You could sit on the toilet.’
‘Right,’ she said, then laughed at the absurdity of it. ‘It’s nice to know I’ll be able to sit down if I find myself needing to plan an escape.’
Grace crossed the room to the small window over the dresser. She leaned as far as she could and peered out, looking for a light to show her where Taureau was, but there was nothing at all out there. She might as well have been perched on the edge of the world.
‘The fridge is fully stocked, and there’s a freezer in the cellar. You have to go to the door on the side to get in there. It should be unlocked.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tonight. Now,’ he said, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He looked almost pitying.
‘I feel like I’m being d
ropped off at the Overlook Hotel.’
‘Not quite as bad as that, but I wouldn’t go exploring too far on your own if I were you. Some paths just end with a dip in the ocean, and you don’t know it until you’re on your way down.’
She barely heard a word he said as he filled her in on the house and the area. She felt like she needed more time to adjust.
Make up your mind. Either you want to have your one-on-one with Taureau, or you want to put it off as long as you can. If it’s the latter, you might as well hitch a ride with Reeve right now.
They reached the front door, and her stomach flopped as he pulled it open and let the darkness flood in. As soon as he got into his car, there really would be no turning back. She clasped her hands behind her back and steeled herself against the urge to run from this terrifying, thrilling thing that had reared its head again.
Reeve reached into his pocket. ‘I almost forgot, this is still yours.’
He handed her the same phone that had been hidden in Caroway’s credenza.
‘I have my own, you know.’
‘Consider this an upgrade.’
She took it and ran her thumb across the screen. The signal was weak, but there was a signal, and it was connected to a WiFi network.
He opened the rear door and tossed his bag onto the floor. ‘You can text or call me if you have to. I’ll come and get you.’
‘You’re scaring me.’
‘Don’t be scared.’ He closed the door, then took her hand and squeezed his thumb into her palm. She barely knew him, but it felt as though he was the only person she had in the world at that moment. ‘I’ve known him a long time. Don’t let him run over you. Push back. It’s what he wants. It’s what he needs.’
‘What about what I need?’
‘Just take what you need.’
It was such a simple answer, but Grace knew it wouldn’t be that easy. She already had the sense that, if she left, she would leave a part of herself here, regardless of whether she was running from heaven or hell or something in between.
He let her hand go for the last time and slid behind the wheel. The engine growled to life, and his grin was playful again as he looked at her.
‘It’s been fun, Grace.’
‘It’s been bizarre,’ she said, and took a step back as the car began to move. She stood there long after he had disappeared, still warring with herself about whether she had made a mistake in not going with him.
‘Too late now,’ she murmured, and turned back to the house. ‘It’s just you and me now, Mr Taureau.’
* * *
She found some drugstore-brand sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet and took two. She crawled into the strange bed and listened to the creaking of the old house until she couldn’t stay awake any longer. She woke in the yellow glow of the stained glass above her window, and after a shower she sat on the edge of the unmade bed and listened, but like the previous night she could detect no other human noises in the house.
After slipping on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, Grace went to the living room and leaned against one of the large double windows flanking the fireplace while she took her first good look at the property.
Everything was so green, from the emerald hills that rose and dipped in the distance to the bushy trees scattered across the flat lawn. The thick forest around the house seemed to be trying to encroach on the living, and knowing that behind the tree line was nothing but water for miles added to the sense of isolation.
She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of grey amidst the greenery, then let herself out the French doors near the farthest corner of the living room. The grass was wet with morning dew and cold between her toes as she came around the house. She was startled to find the guest house Reeve had spoken of only a few feet away behind a green wall of Lombardy trees. It was almost the length of the main house, with a massive roof covered in vines that stopped short of swallowing the whole structure up. She wondered about its original purpose, reminded of the titbit about the property’s history as a nunnery, and guessed it had either been a barn or housed some industrial endeavour.
Now, according to Reeve, it was Taureau’s escape. He had been so close last night, and yet she had spent the night alone and in a druggy sleep.
She stopped midway between the main house and the cottage and stuffed her hands into her pockets. Was he peering at her through the shades? She turned her gaze to the door and imagined it opening up to her first sight of Jacques Taureau in the flesh.
Nothing happened. She was tempted to march over and knock, but instead she turned on her heel and went around to the other side of the house. She passed the yellow and blue pattern of the massive window she’d slept under, and took a peek in the tomb-like cellar, where there were rows and rows of wine bottles in every corner, and a small seating area surrounded by candles. She wondered if he ever entertained here. Surely there were people in his life who came here to visit, other than Reeve; surely even Taureau had those he trusted enough to share a bit of time with.
She checked the deep-freeze, which was partitioned away from the rest of the ambient space, then returned to the daylight and back to the house. She explored room after room: two dining rooms, one with a massive hearth and an old, pocked table-and-chair set while the other with a more elegant table, large enough for eight, positioned under another colourful window. The library wasn’t for show. She ran her fingers over the battered spines and pulled a few away from the shelves. Taureau apparently had a penchant for swashbuckler stories with some bestsellers thrown in. Nothing recent, she realised, and discovered an older-model e-book reader on the small desk by the window. She turned it on and found much of the same in his digital library.
He also seemed to have every book written about his attack. They were lined up neatly along the edge of the desk between two painted bricks. The spines were cracked on all of them.
From the library she ascended to the first floor. She peered into three gorgeous bedrooms, but there was nothing to indicate that any of them was Taureau’s.
The small office she came upon had his mark on it. This was the room with the small balcony attached. There were two large desks pushed up against each other, with a slimmer writing desk along the wall, and four cabinets overflowing with bound reports and binders neatly labelled by year. The desk had been left clean, but the papers in his inbox fluttered with the breeze coming from the window alongside the duo of desks. She dropped into his seat and turned the chair around.
‘I am supposed to be your assistant,’ she said out loud, ‘so I might as well get a good look at what I’m dealing with while I’m on my own here.’
She leafed through folders in his desk, reading through correspondence with various government officials and industry partners. She recognised many of the blurry facsimiles or printouts of PDFs as those she had typed and sent out into the world.
And she discovered a secret. One cabinet was filled with folders pertaining to TAJ Surveillance, a security and surveillance company Taureau was operating, apparently separate from the family business.
After a half an hour, she moved on and discovered the staircase to the upper level, hidden inside what she had mistaken for a closet. The wood creaked under her feet as she went up, and she caught a whiff of something that pushed her back.
Shampoo, or soap. Just a trace of it on the air, but enough to tell her she was about to enter a man’s bedroom.
Her breath left her as she wondered if he was watching her enter his most intimate spaces.
It was merely a clean, open space with an enormous low bed flanked with two stubby little nightstands. Closets had been built into one side of the wall and stained the same walnut shade as the beams above. There was a small sitting area closest to her, just two chairs on either side of a bookcase. More adventure stories, she determined with a quick look.
Of course he’s watching, she thought, as she took small, light steps across the uncluttered floor. There were no limits with Taureau, and if there
was anywhere he wanted the semblance of control, his bedroom was it. His bedroom had been where he was attacked in his sleep. Not this room, of course, but merely being here felt to her like an invasion.
She had almost turned to leave when something caught her eye on the bed.
As she drew closer, she wondered how in the hell she had ever missed it to begin with. It seemed so obvious now, peeking out from beneath his pillow, and as she picked it up she knew it had been left for her to discover in her exploration.
A hank of black rope.
Her anxiety had stifled her sex drive since her night with Reeve, but now it raged back to life as she fingered the soft cord. She no longer felt like an intruder. The rope was a signal that she belonged in this room. She took it as a promise that she wouldn’t be alone for much longer.
She replaced the rope and scanned the room in search of more clues.
The bookcase. She went to it, knelt and pulled out paperback after paperback but found nothing more exciting than espionage.
Of course. He likes his pornography to be personal.
On a mission now, she went to the wardrobe, and was thrown back the moment she slid the door open.
It was silly, but she hadn’t been expecting this rainbow of pressed shirts and pants, nor shoes lined up neatly along the bottom, nor ties and suspenders hanging from the door.
Grace leaned in and took a deep breath. She didn’t care if he was watching. She was overcome with the need to know what he smelled like, but all she could detect was laundry soap.
Except …
She drew out one of the shirts. It was a burgundy polo.
She’d seen it before. She was sure of it.
He’d been wearing it that first night.
Turning back to the bed, Grace wrangled the shirt off the hanger, which she tossed to the floor, and bunched it in her hands.
She buried her face in it.
Still, just soap.
And then …
There, between the neck and the armpit. The lingering smell of sweat and deodorant. One of the most common drugstore brands, but it was his smell.