“’Kay.”
That’s Jason. Sometimes he’s so laid-back, I’m afraid he’ll melt. Unlike me. I’m not laid-back. Especially when it comes to letters for Lily, from Paris, sent to my address.
Shit. Damn. Merde.
I can swear creatively in a number of languages. When you drift around Europe and Africa for a decade or so, you pick up a lot. But sometimes the feeling is just too much. I had to get to the shop, now more than ever. I needed that cash, and what was in my safe, and I needed to find Lily. Because the letter could only mean one thing.
She’d lost custody of Geordi. Which wasn’t surprising. If there’s a judge in France who’s not in the Dioguardis’ pocket, it’s because said judge hasn’t been “informed” yet on which side the bread gets buttered. But Lily wouldn’t let a judge or anyone else stop her. She’d snatched Geordi—the letter was our prearranged signal, telling me where to meet her. She must have been frantic when she didn’t hear from me. She wouldn’t say or text anything on her phone, though, in case Nick had it bugged.
It hardly mattered. No matter how big her head start, he’d be right behind. And if he found her, he wouldn’t let her or Geordi go, ever.
Not alive, anyway.
****
I made it to my rendezvous with the Rousseaux in record time, luckily not passing any flics because I drove way over the speed limit. Which in my car is a rare feat.
A black Maybach 62 sedan was parked in front of my shop, looking like an expensive beetle with dead, unlit eyes. I only know the make because Nick coveted one, but couldn’t afford the half-mil price tag, despite his nefarious “business dealings.” The thing took up half the narrow street, and behind it, a good-sized box truck took up the rest. Even in my cracker-box Peapod, I had to jump the curb to get by, and then there was barely room to park.
The Maybach’s windows were so dark I couldn’t see anyone inside except the chauffeur, a stone-faced thug I wouldn’t want to meet alone after dark. Or before, for that matter. The driver of the truck wasn’t much better—or maybe it was the huge black cockroach painted on the side panel, surrounded by spidery lettering that read Les Rousseaux—Exterminateurs. At least now I knew how the brothers earned their keep. The knowledge wasn’t reassuring.
Good thing Jason knew I was here and would notice if I didn’t come back. Remembering his inebriated state, I tacked on an “eventually,” and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
I climbed out of my car, opened the hatch, and unloaded the last of the filled produce boxes. The Rousseaux got out of the Maybach, oily as ever, and I felt another twinge of anxiety. Evidently Claude was still the spokesman.
“Mademoiselle Finch. We had begun to doubt you were coming.”
“Sorry—got stuck in a construction zone. Let’s get this over with. You have the cash?”
“Mais oui.” If he was put off by my bluntness, he didn’t show it. He also didn’t whip out the cash. Not that I really expected him to. “I am sure you will not object if we verify the merchandise?”
“Of course. My, um, contact assures me this is the entire lot. But feel free to take a look.”
Claude signaled the truck driver and the chauffeur, who got out of their respective vehicles and grabbed a box each off the curb. The whole Band of Creepy Men waited while I unlocked the shop, then filed in behind me. My this-is-not-right feeling ratcheted up another notch, but what could I do? Inside or out, I was no match for four large men. Hell, one of them alone could “exterminate” me and dump my body off the Vieux Port into the Bay, without breaking a sweat.
I’d pushed back the display cases and shelves that took up the bulk of my floor space, to make room for the dozen neatly stacked boxes the shipping crates had dispersed to. The truck driver had a box cutter, while the chauffeur produced a pocket knife, and they went to work, slicing the boxes open and rummaging through them. So much for my careful packaging.
Like Jacques, neither spoke, their faces devoid of emotion in the dim light. They hardly seemed human, their movements robotic: slice the box open, lift an item, hold for inspection, drop it carelessly into a new box, turn back. They obviously didn’t know what they were looking for and didn’t care. As soon as Claude or Jacques gave a negative shake of the head, the item ceased to matter, and I winced as several relics cracked on impact. More and more it seemed the money I already had was enough to keep Lily and Geordi safe. But I’d made a deal.
As each box was emptied, Claude’s expression grew grimmer. They wanted the rock. I knew it. The question was, what would they do when they realized it was missing?
Jacques’ expression was impassive, worse than Claude’s frowns. That silent offer to kill the antlion still creeped me out, and now I knew how the poor bug felt.
When the two thugs had tossed their way through the last box, Claude turned on me, all pretense of civility gone. “Putain!” He shoved me so hard, my side slammed into the counter’s sharp metal corner. I wheezed and doubled over, but he yanked me up by my shirt and shook me hard. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” I managed, fighting for breath, and he backhanded me across the cheek, pain exploding in my jaw, blood filling my mouth. My vision grayed, and I swayed, grabbing the counter, then gave up and slid to the floor, my back against a display case. Through my pain-red haze, I saw Jacques murmuring to his brother, and I thought, so he can speak.
It’s funny what the mind does in dire circumstances. For one thing, who the hell cared if Jacques spoke or not? For another, when he glanced at me, I could swear his eyes glowed black, like coals in the deepest pit of a fire. Then Claude punched me between the eyes, white hot pain splitting my forehead, my skull bouncing off the cabinet, cracking the glass, blood trickling behind my ears. Dull throbbing from the back of my head pulsed forward to meet the sharp pain between my eyes, and when Claude raised his fist again, I held up my hands.
“Wait. Stop. I’ll get it.”
I’m not proud of the fact, but I’m basically a wimp. A rock—even a talking one—isn’t worth dying over. I only hoped the Rousseaux would let me live once they got it back. I wasn’t at all sure they would.
“Bon. You see reason.” Claude released the fist and instead hauled me to my feet. “Where is it?”
“Somewhere safe. I’ll bring it to you.”
His laugh was utterly without mirth, his voice hollow. “Ça me doute. You will not get a second chance to cheat us. I will come with you, and if you try anything, I will kill you.”
The last thing I wanted was them knowing where I lived, but I had no choice. He shoved me, and I stumbled to the door just as it opened, the bell tinkling cheerily.
“Tata Hyhy!” squealed my nephew, running inside and flinging his arms around my aching side.
Chapter Three
“When my father and my mother forsake me,
then the Lord will take me up.”
~The Bible, Psalm 27:10
Geordi smelled sweet and boyish and so-so good, and it was so-so wrong that he was in the middle of this. I inhaled the earthy scent of him, my heart freezing even as I clutched him close and prayed for a way to get him back out. He looked up from under curly black bangs, blue eyes hopeful. He’s the spitting image of his father, except where Nick is the Devil Incarnate, Geordi’s a little angel. Even when he’s trying to get something from me.
“Tata Hyhy—do you have any sugary slugs?”
Apricot delight is his favorite treat, but when I first offered him one, he was highly suspicious. Knowing his bug obsession, I’d made up the moniker, and to this day, I doubt he knows their real name.
“Maybe in my car,” I said, thinking fast. If I got him outside, maybe the Rousseaux would let him go.
Then Lily came in, her eyes clearly not adjusted from the bright, low sun to the dim of the shop. Her light hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her jeans and white blouse looked like they’d been slept in. Geordi sported his favorite Spider-Man backpack, and Lily wheeled an overstuffed pink carry
-on behind her. Whatever safe haven she’d counted on, Nick must have found it.
“Hey, sis—sorry to barge in on your sale. We tried to wait in the cab, but we’re low on cash, and Geordi has to go potty.”
Even with everything going on, I heard the strain in her voice. Lily and I are close, but not a lot alike, except for the blue-gray of our eyes. She’s blonde and willowy, where I’m a brunette and more solid. Not fat by any stretch, but I’ll never be a size two. On a good day I’m an eight, after a pint of ice cream, a ten, and I’m okay with that.
I tried unsuccessfully to dislodge Geordi. I had to get them out of here before the Rousseaux went ballistic or Lily noticed anything was up.
Too late. She caught sight of my battered face. “Oh my God! Hyacinth—what happened?”
“Get out of here!” I yelled, pushing Geordi at her, but at a signal from Jacques, the truck driver yanked Lily into the shop and slammed the door while Claude snatched Geordi and held him in an iron grip. Geordi’s eyes widened in terror, and he used all his seven-year-old strength, trying to get to his mother. Lily gouged the truck driver’s arm with her nails and kicked his shins, which only pissed him off. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, and looked ready to choke her in a heartbeat.
Claude yanked Geordi’s head back to examine his face. “Qu’est-ce qu’y a?”
Geordi shrieked and Lily flailed harder, and the driver pulled a big-ass gun out of his waistband, aiming it at her head. The soft click as he cocked it was almost inaudible over the racket in the shop, but it did the trick for me.
“Wait!” I shouted. “Stop! Lily—calm down!” I moved forward to reassure Geordi, but the chauffeur’s hands clamped down on my shoulders. “Let me go! I won’t do anything, I swear—at least let Geordi go to his mother—please.”
Claude’s grip on Geordi tightened, and he exchanged a look with his brother. Jacques lifted a shoulder negligently, as if to say the child is unimportant—don’t bother me with details.
Claude pursed his lips, but all he said was, “By all means, the child and his mother may go. When you have returned what you stole from us.”
I hadn’t thought anything could be worse than Claude invading my apartment, but I was wrong. Lily’s eyes were huge. Geordi’d stopped shrieking and trembled miserably in Claude’s grasp. And through it all, the two thugs stood silent and unblinking.
“Okay,” I said. “All right. You don’t have to do this—I said I’d get it.”
Claude pushed Geordi at Lily, so that the driver could train the gun on them both at the same time. “A little security, to ensure your cooperation. I will still accompany you, of course.”
Lily clutched Geordi tight and looked at me. “Hyacinth—what is this? What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later.” I tried to keep my voice calm, to make myself believe there’d be a later—that I’d hand over the rock, and Claude and his entourage would crawl back to whatever maggot-infested lair they came from, letting me and my family go. But deep down, I didn’t believe it. Here I’d thought Lily’s biggest danger was from Nick, when in fact, it was from me.
“Just do what they say,” I said. “I have to get something from the apartment. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes. It’ll be okay.”
Lily gave a quick nod, and Claude held the door open. Outside, the day was still hot. After the chaos of the shop, it was surreal to find the rest of the world running along like normal. Claude followed me to the Peapod and got in, his bulk out of place in the small car. I didn’t like the proximity. He smelled…off. Not unclean—elementally rotten. He had no gun or knife, but it didn’t matter. Lily and Geordi were all he needed to make me comply with his every demand.
I’d like to say I had a plan—that I knew a place where I could speed up and kick him out of the car, to fall off a cliff and never be seen again. Or a panic button to call one of my shadier clients to my rescue. But I didn’t. Not a damn thing. So, I made a tight K-turn and drove to my apartment, all the while trying to stop my heart from beating out of my chest, my stomach from kicking up my lunch.
Claude was silent, which was good, because it took everything I had to grip the wheel and force myself to drive. The route from my shop to home gives glimpses of the ocean, and by the time we reached my street, the sun rested on the horizon.
We got out, and Claude waited while I unlocked the gate, then trailed me up the stairs. Jason’s door was shut. I longed for him to stick his head out, so I could see his face. He couldn’t help me—even if he overpowered Claude, Lily and Geordi were still in Jacques’ control. But maybe on the way out I could get a message to him, to call the cops. As we climbed to the second landing, I felt a glimmer of hope. I wouldn’t give up—I couldn’t give up.
My burst of resolve lasted until I reached the top of the stairs and saw the man standing by my door, pointing a gun at us.
“Nick,” I said, strangely unsurprised. Somehow, it made sense on this utterly horrific day.
He was so close I smelled his expensive aftershave. He was lean and muscled, wearing a Swiss watch, French jeans, and Italian shoes, with a black tee under his leather coat. His wavy dark hair had been cropped, but his hard-blue eyes were the same. He still wore his family’s signet ring on his right hand, a big gold sucker I recognized from the falcon imprint it left on Lily’s cheek the last time he hit her. He also still wore his wedding ring. Since the Dioguardis are strict Catholics who simply ignore pesky little things like divorce papers, this didn’t surprise me.
He would not take Geordi. I would never let that happen. But at the moment, it wasn’t up to me. Frying pan, meet fire. And where did that leave me?
“Where the hell is my son?” Nick demanded. He was as pissed as the last time I’d seen him, running after my car, shooting at Lily, Geordi, and me on the day she left him. His gaze landed on Claude. “And who the hell is your boyfriend?”
Claude only smiled. “Mais, c’est merveilleux. You must be Geordi’s father.”
Nicholas Dioguardi is pretty much a tool, and a violent one at that. He brought the gun up and pressed it between Claude’s eyes. “You know my son. Tell me where the fuck he is or I shoot.”
Not very creative, but it got the point across. It didn’t faze Claude, though. His tone was conversational, even with the gun making a dent in his too-dark tan. “Mais bien sûr je le connais. A charming child. He waits with his mother, at the shop.”
“Lily’s there?” Nick frowned, considering, then lowered the gun.
Damn. I didn’t know what Claude’s game was, but in a non-weaponed fight, my money was on the Rousseaux. The Dioguardis are bad, don’t get me wrong. But by now I’d finally decided to trust my instincts, which screamed that the Rousseaux were flat out evil. Even though the Dioguardis were currently up one, thanks to the gun, Claude was smarter than Nick, so I held my breath and waited, trying to figure out some way this wouldn’t end with all of us dead, or maimed, or any of a hundred other unpleasant scenarios running rampant through my head.
Meanwhile, Nick decided Claude had something—or someone—he wanted. “Take me there. Now.”
“Of course.” Claude put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing possessively as though I really were his girlfriend. His fingers were hot, the light contact scalding, and I fought back a gasp while he continued genially, “We will be happy to reunite you with your son. Please—we had forgotten something and returned to retrieve it. Allow us to get it, and we will be on our way.”
Nick frowned again. “What is it?”
Claude shrugged. “Nothing of great import. A rock—it has sentimental value, that is all.”
Nick might be a cog in the great Dioguardi wheel, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. “Why do you need it now?”
“It is our anniversary.” Claude turned and smiled into my eyes. “The rock is from the place where we had our first date, is it not, chérie?”
To Nick, I’m sure it appeared we were lovers, sharing a private moment. But I could see Claude’
s eyes—so completely devoid of…anything…that a shudder passed through me. They held no emotion, no anger, just…emptiness. I looked away to find Nick watching us.
“Yes,” I managed, the searing pressure of Claude’s fingers reminding me that my first priority was getting the rock back. “That’s right. The rock is from the…beach…where we had our first date.”
Nick, creep though he was, thought himself a romantic. It was how he justified beating Lily up—he “loved her too much.” Disgusting, but today, it worked in my favor. His gaze took in the bruises covering my face, and he shot Claude an approving look. Claude smiled and shrugged, and I tried not to vomit.
“Fine,” Nick said. “You can get it. But only that, and I’ll shoot if you try anything.”
I nodded, then unlocked my door and led our little trio inside. I removed the painting from in front of the safe, ignoring the I-can’t-believe-you’re-this-dumb looks from both Claude and Nick. In another life, they might’ve been pals. And wasn’t that frightening?
I dialed the combination and took out the rock, careful not to unwrap it. Not only did it feel warm again, it seemed agitated. Frightened or upset or—I can’t explain it. I just got this vibe that something was wrong in Rockville. I had my own troubles, though. I’d tried to be surreptitious while opening the safe, but Nick got suspicious and shoved me aside.
“Well, well. Guess the antiques business pays better than I thought. You won’t mind helping your brother-in-law out, will you?” He reached inside and started stuffing his coat pockets with my hard-earned cash.
“No!” I grabbed his arm, but he laughed and shook me off.
“Now, now, chérie.” Claude pulled me firmly away. “It is good to share with family. We have our…souvenir. Let your charming beau-frère take his due.”
I’d had about enough of him, but I had to play along. Lily and Geordi were more important than the cash, and besides, there was still the Swiss account.
When Nick had cleaned me out, he gestured with the gun and we all paraded back to the landing and down the stairs, me clutching the wrapped, jittery rock, Nick with wads of cash bulging out of his pockets, and Claude acting like we were out for a stroll in the park.
Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1) Page 3