The man turned to look at me in confusion. “Your friend—he asked for apricot delight.”
“By name? He asked for it by name?”
“Of course.”
He obviously thought I was off my rocker, but I had to be sure. “He didn’t call it sugary slugs, or ask Geordi—the little boy—to describe it to you?”
The man shook his head decisively. “Not at all. It was the first thing your friend said when they came in—Please tell me you sell apricot delight. Just like that.”
I was going to be sick. Or collapse. Or both.
Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.
The owner walked a few more paces down the aisle, and showed me the place on the shelf where Geordi’s favorite treat was stocked. Somehow, I got through picking up a box, paying for it, and returning to the street, but I don’t remember any of it.
“Quoi?” Eric demanded as soon as we were outside. “What is it? What has your friend done now?”
I said numbly, “He knows what sugary slugs are. And I didn’t tell him.”
“Perhaps your nephew described them to him?”
Oh God—I really was going to be sick. “No. Geordi doesn’t know what they are—if anything, he might say they’re orange slices. I don’t think he knows what an apricot is.”
Eric pursed his lips. “I do not like your friend. This is true. But, I am still not certain I understand…?”
I had to breathe. Had to force air into my lungs. Last night, Jason said he bought Geordi apricot delight, and I was too tired to notice. Now, wave after wave of nausea rolled through me. I’d been so grateful for the comfort he offered, so relieved to know he was my friend.
“It’s a family joke.” My tongue felt like lead and I had to work to get the words out. “No one knows about sugary slugs—there’s no way Jason could know they’re apricot delight—unless he’s been spying on me.”
Shit.
Right after Lily filed for divorce, that’s when Jason showed up. Worked his way in, made me trust him and…like him. Even after I knew he wasn’t who he pretended to be, he strung me along, providing everything I needed, right when I needed it. He’d said I would hate him, but, oh God, I’d refused to believe him. Possibly the only time he’d told me the truth, and I wouldn’t listen.
The question was, why? Why spy on me? Why come to Turkey? Why take care of me, of Geordi, only to snatch him now?
But there was something else, something far, far worse. Spying on me wasn’t the only way Jason could know about apricot delight—and there was one other person who knew the joke. I recoiled from the thought, then made myself examine it anyway.
What if Jason found out what sugary slugs were…from Nick?
Was Jason working for the Dioguardis?
My brain refused to accept it—not Jason—not the person I’d trusted most, next to Lily and Vadim. God, I’d kissed him—considered doing much more—he made me feel so safe.
The words he’d said in Marseille came back to haunt me: From what I’ve seen of the Dioguardi empire…
Shit. I’d even thought he’d make a good guardian for Geordi.
Which brought me up short. If he was working for the Dioguardis, why not take Geordi the night Lily died? She’d pushed him into Jason’s arms—why not run straight to Nick’s family and hand him over?
Oh, God. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel my hands or feet.
Eric pushed me to the curb. “Bend over. Put your head between your knees. It will help.”
I did what he said. It didn’t help.
Eric. He’d said all along that Jason looked familiar.
And then I knew—should have seen it before. Not that black hair and blue eyes are that unusual. But Geordi had them—and Nick, and Nick’s father—they all did—the signature look of the Dioguardis. I’d seen Jason’s blue eyes dark with passion, run my fingers through the soft black mane of his hair.
And the height.
At just over six feet, Nick was on the short side for his family. Unlike his son, who was shaping up to be taller, like Nick’s father, or his cousins.
Like…Jason.
The resemblance was there the whole damn time, and I’d never even noticed.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
Jason was a Dioguardi. And I gave him my nephew.
When I found them, I’d kill him before Eric got the chance.
****
In some bizarre way, I only felt worse when Eric and I trucked back upstairs at the hotel and found that not only had Jason left me the car keys, he’d also left a wad of cash. He’d betrayed me, destroyed any trust I’d ever had in him—did he have to be so goddamned nice about it?
He had cleaned everything else out of the room, though, including his belongings, Geordi’s backpack, and their fake passports. He even took their toiletries from the bathroom.
“So it is certain he left on purpose,” Eric said, as though I might still have doubts.
“Looks that way.”
At least he hadn’t said I told you so, though he had every right. He had told me—so had Jason. I had to stop going in circles.
“Alors—on y va? Where next?”
Every fiber in me screamed that I needed to get Geordi back. But sunset was only a few hours away. If I didn’t get the rock by then, I’d lose him to the Dioguardis forever.
“Rock first, then Geordi,” I said, pocketing the money and snatching the keys. “Let’s go.”
Eric grabbed my arm as I headed for the door. He vibrated with suppressed anger, but he drew a deep ghost-breath and blew it out. “I do not like Jason. Et puis, you know comme j’déteste les Dioguardis. But…I do not believe he will hurt your nephew. Truly.”
I nodded, unable to speak. Since I’d figured the awful truth out, I’d been a little worried that Eric would abandon me, too. Either to hare off after Jason himself, or because of my severely questionable judgment. Eric must have guessed some of my past by now. Once he saw me break into the Rousseaux’s villa, how long would it be before his morals killed his desire? For now, he was sticking by me, though, and I knew he meant what he said.
The Rousseaux were holed up half a mile from Pamukkale University in Çamlik, one of the more chi-chi parts of Denizli. I couldn’t believe they’d been so close this whole time. The villa was partway up a hill, with breathtaking views of Denizli, the river valley, and the far mountains. Pamukkale was a brilliant white slash near the base of those mountains, and I thought maybe the Rousseaux liked that they could see Satan’s doorstep from their living room. Like moving across the street from your parents, so you could run over for help when needed. I pictured the kind of “help” Satan could give his demons, and suddenly felt naked and exposed, as if he could look out from his hellish prison at any moment and see straight into my soul.
Eric saw me shiver and frowned. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Just want to get this over with.”
I drove past the villa once before parking around the corner a block away. We got out, and I grabbed the rope and a selection of the chisels I’d bought yesterday. I didn’t have a lock pick, but back in the day, I’d been pretty handy at an old-fashioned jimmy. Of course, the Rousseaux probably had a high-tech security system, but I didn’t know what else to try.
Eric led the way to a service road behind the block of villas. We were halfway down the alley, but I tried again to make him go back to the car. “It’s not too late—you can still turn around.” I hesitated, then thought, what the hell? It had to come out sometime. “You know…I’ve broken into bigger villas than this, all on my own.”
“Perhaps. But you should not attempt this one by yourself.”
“Then you don’t…mind? About my, er, career?”
He made a noise in the back of his throat that could have been a snort. “Mon ange. I am a detective. Did you not think I knew?”
“But do you mind?”
He stopped and took my hand, holding it lightly. To give him credit, along with n
o I-told-you-so’s, he’d also refrained from cashing in his Poaching Chips. I got the sense this was less about my feelings, and more about waiting for the right moment, but I appreciated it nonetheless.
“I removed the rock from the Plutonium,” he said, “I am in this, whether you like it or not.”
“But that’s exactly it. Satan’s power almost dragged you into Hell. Aren’t you afraid he or his demons will recognize you—your scent or your essence or something?”
“The only thing that frightens me more, is you confronting those same demons alone.”
“I did it before.”
“Ouais. And it got you killed.”
“I still survived.”
He smiled then, one of his rare full-watt, no-irony ones, that transformed his whole aspect. “Nevertheless. It is just as likely they will recognize you as me. I am coming with you. It is settled.”
He squeezed my fingers and let go, then started walking again. Damn his arrogance. Being “full Dead” didn’t make him immune to danger. I should know. Plus, he hadn’t answered the question of how he felt about my background. Which could mean anything, or nothing.
On the other hand, I really didn’t want to face this alone. Even if Jason hadn’t betrayed the hell out of me and absconded with my nephew, I hadn’t planned on bringing him along for this. Maybe Eric couldn’t do more than stand by my side, but at least I’d have that.
As alleys went, this one was nicer than the one behind La Boutique des Antiquités. Hell, it was nicer than the actual street my shop fronted. Decorative shrubs lined the backs of the properties it served, and it was wide enough to accommodate several landscape trucks parked on either side, and still allow for a full-size delivery truck to drive through, should the need arise.
The villas themselves gave off a definite air of Wealth and Superiority, similar to the homes of my clients in Marseille. Of course, chi-chi outer appearances often hide sad, petty lives. I’d seen how the other half lived and frankly, I was happier in my small apartment.
“Ah,” Eric said, stopping midway down the alley. “C’est celle-ci.”
In front of us was a heavy wooden gate, reinforced with iron bands across the top and bottom, flanked on either side by a tall cream-colored stucco wall. The gate sported a raised coat-of-arms in the center featuring a roaring black lion, standing on its hind legs and surrounded by three ornate green frogs, all on a blood-red background bisected by a wide gold band.
I looked up at what I could see of the villa beyond. The building was three stories high and essentially square, though the top floor stuck out past the ones below on two sides. Brown shutters framed the windows, and dark beams crisscrossed the stucco of the house itself. That combined with the coat-of-arms gave it a vaguely Tudor-esque look—which was immediately destroyed by the iron balconies jutting out in random fashion from the upper floors. Finally, a flat brown roof sat on top, making the whole look chunky and overbalanced, like a child’s blocks stacked lopsidedly and called a house.
“For a luxury villa, this isn’t very exciting,” I said.
“Perhaps not on the outside. But from what I have heard, your demon friends did not skimp on the interior.”
Apparently, they had skimped on security. The intercom lock on the gate seemed kind of paltry for Demons from the Last Circle of Hell. Then again, they had all the Dark Arts at their disposal, so probably the keypad was just to keep out casual burglars.
Wishing I was a casual burglar, I dropped the rope and chisels and placed a hand on the gate. There—the now familiar tuning-fork vibration rippled through my fingers and up my arm.
Thank God.
“It’s here,” I said in answer to Eric’s inquisitive look. “Muffled. But definitely here.”
“You are sure? It is the correct one?”
“Positive.”
And I was. Now that I’d felt another piece of the rock, I immediately recognized this one. The differences were subtle—I couldn’t pinpoint them. I only knew this was the same vibration I’d felt in Marseille. I took my hand away, and the sensation faded.
What I didn’t tell Eric was that even when not touching the gate, I felt the heat coming in waves from the villa. I’d felt it as we walked down the alley, and now it nearly singed my skin. Eric didn’t seem affected, but then he’d never been involved with demons. Still, I would’ve thought if he felt Satan’s energy from Hell, he’d feel the Rousseaux’s. I didn’t want to worry him, though, so I shut my mouth and went to work.
For the heck of it, I tried the keypad first. Six-six-six? Nope.
Eric quirked an eyebrow at me.
“Worth a shot.”
“Thirteen?”
That didn’t work either, and neither did other combinations in that vein, so, not having time to waste, I picked up one of the chisels. A screwdriver would’ve been better. From what I could tell, the keypad was rigged only to the gate’s lock, not the gate itself, meaning if I loosened the screws, we might get in without setting off the alarm. We might have tried scaling the wall, but I hadn’t brought a grappling hook, and there was nothing nearby to use as a ladder.
“Or,” Eric pointed out for the third time, “I could pass through the gate and retrieve the rock, as I did at the Plutonium.”
“No,” I said and went back to chiseling the screws.
“Mon ange—”
“No.” Sometimes, he was as bad as Jason. I felt a pang of nausea—Geordi—and shoved it away again. I had to focus. “You can’t pass through the gate. They’ll notice. They’ll notice me sooner or later, but maybe not until I’ve gotten the rock.” He opened his mouth, and I cut him off. “Besides, I told you—this piece is larger. No offense, but I don’t think you can move it by yourself.”
He made a frustrated sound, but what could I say? He might want to be Officer Ghost and save the day, but this time, I had to do it myself.
“Still talking to yourself?” said an achingly familiar voice behind us, and I dropped the chisel and whirled to find Jason lounging against a truck parked across the alley.
“Putain!” Eric said and took a step toward him. “J’vais l’tuer—” He raised his hands, and one of the larger chisels on the ground started to shake.
“No!” I told him, then picked up the tool myself and pointed it at Jason. “Where’s Geordi?”
“Safe.”
“Bullshit. You took him to the Dioguardis—to your family.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Figured it out, did you?”
“Who sent you? Nick’s parents? Did they think Lily’d run to me with Geordi, and you could snatch him?”
“Only half right. I was there to protect Geordi. I just didn’t know it would be from you.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Christ, Hyacinth. Get the fuck off your high horse—I know what you are.”
Eric put a hand on my shoulder. “Let me take care of him—I will make him say where your nephew is first, I swear it.”
It wasn’t an idle offer, and believe me, I considered it. But something in Jason’s tone bothered me. He genuinely believed I was more evil than he was.
He shoved off the truck and crossed the alley. Anger rolled off him in hot waves, and his eyes smoldered almost black. It struck me, after all this time, that his weren’t the only eyes I’d seen do that. But I couldn’t pull the memory out while he loomed over me, breathing fury, his chest rising and falling with the effort at control. Jason, the most laidback guy I’d ever known, looked about ready to explode.
“How the fuck did you hide it from me?” His gaze flicked over my face. “You must have one hell of a shield. No wonder you wanted Geordi for yourself.”
“Jason—you aren’t making any sense!” I took a step back, and he advanced. Even with everything else, I’d clung to my belief that he’d never hurt me. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Eric seemed to agree and moved as though to restrain him.
Jason lifted a hand and I cringed, but instead of hitting me, he used his
thumb to pull my eyelid up, searching for I don’t know what. Eric vibrated so violently, all the chisels rattled on the ground and the rope moved like a snake. But Jason didn’t notice. He dropped my eyelid and shoved me on the shoulder so that I stumbled back into the Rousseaux’s gate. It clanged like a gong, the security pad jiggling with it, which only seemed to piss him off more.
“God damn it, Hyacinth! Why the fuck are you breaking in?” He was shouting now, beyond caring if the neighbors—or the Rousseaux—heard us.
“I can’t just knock on the damn door!”
“Why? Are you double-crossing them? How could you be so stupid? How could you do this to Geordi?”
“Do what? For God’s sake, Jason, what the hell do you think I’ve done?”
“Mon ange,” Eric broke in. “You must lower your voices. They will hear us.”
Too late. The gate gave a loud groan and creaked inward, and I lost my balance. Jason’s arm shot out as I tried to right myself, tried to turn and run, but there was no time. The gate was already wide enough for a man to step through. An oily man, wearing an expensive suit, gold watch, and pricey shoes: Claude Rousseau, followed by his soulless chauffeur and the truck driver who’d killed Nick, Lily and me. Behind them came two more empty-eyed thugs, and in a matter of seconds, we were surrounded.
“Ah,” Claude said, looking at Jason, whose face was ashen with shock. “I thought so. You really should be more careful.” He made a tsking sound. “Letting your shield down. I would expect that of someone much younger. But it was good of you to announce your presence.”
Jason looked at me in horrified anguish.
“Dear God,” I managed. “Jason—what is going on? Who—what—are you?”
Claude turned to me, startled recognition flashing in his blue-black eyes before they went back to their emotionless void. “Mademoiselle Finch. I am very surprised to see you. As for him…” Claude looked at Jason and shrugged apologetically, before spearing me with his gaze again. “Your friend is a demon. And he thinks you are, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1) Page 23