by Sharon Wray
He checked his cell, and so far there’d been no stressed texts from Nate. That meant that Kells didn’t know yet about Zack and Alex leaving. Now that they were settled, Zack was off to find Allison. But first he needed to make sure he and Alex were on the same team.
“Alex, are you sunbathing in jeans and a T-shirt?”
“Yep.” Alex smiled, his eyes closed. “As soon as you leave, brother, I’ll be swimming in that pool. Naked.”
Not something Zack needed to see.
He tossed a burner phone onto Alex’s stomach.
Alex sat up, almost knocking over his glass. “What’s this for?”
“That is our Charleston mission phone. I also have one and they’re both programmed with our new numbers. No one, besides the two of us, knows about these cells. They’re for this operation only. Got it?”
“Yep.” Alex pocketed the phone and went back to sunbathing.
“Hey.” Zack hit Alex’s shoulder. “This isn’t a vacation.”
“Miss Isabel Rutledge.” The housekeeper disappeared as soon as the words were spoken.
A moment later, Isabel appeared in a sleeveless yellow dress that clung to every gorgeous curve. Her long dark hair had been swept into a side ponytail to show off diamond drop earrings. She glided across the patio, laid her purse on the wrought-iron table, and poured herself a lemonade from the crystal pitcher.
Zack sent Alex a raised what’s going on eyebrow. Alex returned a shrug.
Isabel sipped her lemonade and ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Mmmmm. That’s refreshing.”
Alex moved to sit on the wide, white concrete railing separating the patio from the garden. He leaned against one of the pillars covered with wisteria and jasmine.
Zack stood on the other side of the table, so he wouldn’t have to smell Isabel’s sandalwood perfume. “You’re Isabel.” He ignored Alex’s frown. It wasn’t a great opening, but Zack wanted to get this thing started in order to end it.
“I am.” Isabel looked at Alex. “Still playing games, Alex? I thought prison would’ve matured you.”
Alex closed his eyes. “Not playing games. Just not caring about what you want.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you do care and you’re desperate to know what I want.”
“Wait,” Zack said to Alex. “Do you and Isabel know each other?”
She chuckled. “You didn’t tell Zack about our past friendship.”
“Friendship?” Alex scoffed, eyes still closed. “I fucked you to get close to Remiel. You knew it. I knew it. It was mutually agreed upon self-destruction.”
Holy. Shit. Zack rubbed the back of his neck. “You two were lovers.”
“Yes,” Isabel said as she sipped her lemonade.
Alex grunted. “There was no love involved. Now, what can I say that will make you go away?”
She moved until she touched Alex’s chin with a manicured fingernail. “Why would you want me to leave?”
Alex opened his eyes and pushed her hand aside. “Because you’re a coldhearted bitch?”
“Says the cold-blooded murderer?”
“Killing Remiel would’ve been a public service.”
“Not according to the U.S. Army.” She caressed his bicep and he jerked away.
Alex’s fists clenched, and Zack pushed his way between them. The last thing he needed was Alex in fight mode. “What do you want, Isabel?”
She smiled at Alex. “I need you to set up a meeting for me with the Prince.”
Zack laughed first, but Alex laughed loudest.
Finally, Alex was able to drag in enough breath to ask, “Why?”
“It’s personal.” She found her purse on the table and took out her cell phone. “I have something to give you in return, Zack.”
“You have to be insane.” Alex snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right. You are insane.”
Zack forced Alex back to the lounge chair. “Why do you think Alex can get you a meeting?”
She scoffed. “Alex is the only person to whom the Prince would grant such a request. I need to see him soon. It’s important.”
“Jeez, Isabel,” Alex sneered, “why would I do anything for you? Because we once fucked in a closet?”
She handed Zack the phone. “Convince Alex to help me. If you do, I’ll tell you everything I know about her.”
“Her?” Zack stared at the phone. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing so he tried to enlarge the photo, then move it around the screen. His throat went dry and he blinked. “Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She took her phone back. “What does matter is that the Fianna have her, and I know where she is. You help me get a meeting, I’ll help you save her.”
Alex grabbed the phone from Isabel and stood next to Zack, shoulders touching. “Isabel lies, Zack. You can’t—”
“You have to talk to your brother.”
“Hell no—”
“Alex.” Zack kept his voice low and level when what he really wanted to do was destroy everything around him. “You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because”—Zack pointed to the photo of the blindfolded woman holding today’s newspaper—“the Prince has my sister, Emilie.”
* * *
Now it was Alex’s turn to push Zack aside. “Isabel, why did the Fianna take Emilie?”
“Where’s my sister!” Zack moved until Alex shoved him into a chair.
“If you fuck up now,” Alex whispered in Zack’s ear, “you’ll never see your sister again. Keep your mouth shut while I deal with this.”
Before Zack could agree or disagree, Alex faced Isabel. “The Fianna wouldn’t kidnap a woman for no reason.”
Isabel’s smile exposed straight white teeth that could’ve been fangs. “No more information until you promise me a meeting with your brother.”
“I can’t just call him.”
“Alex?” Zack’s exasperated voice told Alex he was running out of time.
“You always were so childish, Alex. I’m surprised prison didn’t toughen you up.” Isabel ran her hands over his biceps and beneath his T-shirt sleeves. Her hands felt cold against his hot skin, and his muscles bunched involuntarily. Yet he didn’t move. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she unnerved him—or turned him on—in any way. “Although it did build you up.”
Five years of push-ups and pull-ups in a solitary cell did that to a man. When she licked her lips again, he grabbed her wrists and pushed her away. “Tell me why they took Emilie or I’m not helping you.”
She sighed and paced the patio. All of her graceful movements, from her swinging arms to swaying hips, were intended to seduce and entice. The problem was he knew her. He’d had her. She’d been a great fuck but was an even better liar. He’d taken a calculated risk in screwing her to get close to Remiel, and because she’d betrayed him, he’d ended up arrested for murder.
“I don’t know why they took Zack’s sister.”
Alex tossed the phone onto the table. “Does Remiel know you want to meet the Prince?”
Isabel clasped and unclasped her handbag. “No.”
Interesting. Dissension in the enemy’s ranks.
“Okay.” Was Alex agreeing to this? “I’ll try. I can’t promise he’ll say yes.”
“After you speak to Marcellus”—Isabel glanced at the darker recesses of the garden—“call me. I’ll leave my number with the housekeeper.” Isabel kissed his cheek and left the patio.
Marcellus?
“Fuck.” Zack stood and pointed beyond the pool.
Alex squinted and it didn’t take long to see a shadow in the back of the garden. The warrior wore a starched and pressed seersucker suit. He stood on spread legs, his head bowed over his phone. Even as he texted, he was a silent dare of a man.<
br />
Alex’s new phone buzzed, and he read the text.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
Zack read it and said, “What the hell does that mean?”
“No clue.”
Alex and Zack hopped over the wall, passed the fountains, and walked toward the shadow man. Alex would love to know how the warrior got Alex’s burner phone number when it’d just been activated. Then again, the Fianna probably owned the telecom company that made the damn things.
Alex and Zack stopped two yards away, making sure to stay within the shade of an oak tree. It was too hot to be doing this in direct sunlight.
“Zack? Let me do the talking.”
Zack grunted and crossed his arms.
Alex moved closer. “Marcellus.”
Marcellus hit his chest with his fist and bowed his head. “Welcome home, Master Alex.”
Alex held up his phone. “Translation?” He wasn’t too proud to ask for one. He wasn’t a Fianna warrior. He hadn’t memorized every play Shakespeare had ever written and didn’t speak only from words within those texts.
“Your guilt leads to suspicion and paranoia that reveals itself precisely because it fears to be revealed.”
“I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t kill Remiel, yet I suffered as if I had.”
“Your failure to murder the Fiend fuels your guilt. Your failure to end this civil war between the Prince and the Fiend, when you had the chance, fuels your hopelessness. Your failure to save—”
“This nightmare isn’t my fault.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t feel some responsibility for the tragedy that set this play in motion.”
“Screw you.” Alex waved a hand to get rid of the gnats around his head. “I’m not going to argue about what I do and don’t feel guilty about. And I sure as hell am not going to discuss the past with you.”
“Then why do you serve Colonel Torridan?”
“I don’t serve anyone. Kells got me out, which is more than my brother has ever done for me.”
“My lord was protecting you.”
“Whatever.”
Zack barreled between them, stopping inches from Marcellus’s face. “Where the fuck is my sister?”
Alex took Zack’s arm and pulled him back. Unfortunately, Zack was as strong and tall as Alex. “Let me handle this.”
Zack hissed, “You’re not handling this.”
Alex pointed to the iron bench beneath the tree. “Sit. Now.”
Zack sent a fierce scowl at Marcellus and sat.
Finally. “Marcellus, Isabel said you have Emilie Tremaine. Is this true?”
Marcellus centered his gaze on Zack. “’Tis true. ’Tis my reason for visiting.”
Alex moved in between Marcellus and Zack. “Yesterday, my brother asked for a meeting.”
Zack stood again. “What?”
Alex pushed him back to the bench. “I declined, but today I’m saying yes on one condition. I’m requesting a parlay between him and Isabel. It’s a simple thing.”
“Yet it’s not.” Marcellus texted while he talked. “You’ll meet your brother tomorrow night. Ten p.m. The Best Friend Lounge. Mills House Hotel.”
Alex felt a pain in his jaw and let up on the teeth grinding. “Isabel?”
“You can discuss it with the Prince.”
Zack pushed his way back into the convo, fists fully formed. “How do I get my sister back?”
Marcellus slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Lady Allison must complete her dead husband’s task.”
“Why?” Alex asked.
“Stuart Pinckney was indebted to the Prince. To pay off that debt, he was supposed to find Henry Avery’s treasure. Now that Stuart is dead, Lady Allison must retrieve the treasure and return it to the Prince four days hence. In return for the treasure, the debt will be paid and Lady Emilie will be released unharmed.”
“You want Allison to pay back Stuart’s debt? Which is why you don’t search for the treasure? Even though the Fianna have way more resources than Allison?”
“Aye.”
“This is bullshit,” Zack said.
Yes, it was. Dealing with the Fianna was always a back-and-forth of veiled threats and unfulfilled promises.
“Henry Avery’s treasure?” Alex asked. “In four days? And that’s all the intel you’re going to give us?”
“The Pirate’s Grille and the appendix from the Witch’s Examination of Mercy Chastain may help.”
“Fuck!” Zack slammed his fist into a tree.
Marcellus scowled at Zack, turned, and left.
Alex wanted to hit something too. Instead, he ran after Marcellus. Something wasn’t right. An impossible task and no info? What the hell was that about? “Do you have a problem with Zack?”
Marcellus sent a look of contempt at Zack, who was wrapping his hand with a bandana. “Many years ago, another Prince offered Tremaine a choice. He refused. As the former Prince predicted, Tremaine has proven himself to be a coward from a family of cowards.”
Alex stepped back. He’d not been expecting that.
Marcellus left and Alex returned to Zack, who was muttering curses and nursing his fingers. Alex dragged Zack to the patio and poured more lemonade, hoping to cool down both their tempers.
While Zack paced the patio, flexing his bruised fingers and cussing loud enough to scare the birds, another text came in to Alex’s phone. See you tomorrow night, little brother. Don’t be late.
Alex almost threw his phone into the lemonade pitcher. Life had been so much easier in prison.
Chapter 14
By the time Allison made it across the street, her mother had gone inside. Allison had only two questions for Rue. What was she doing here and how the hell did she get a key?
As Allison turned the knob, the back of her neck tingled. Next to the house was an iron gate that led to the narrow alley and the Pirates Courtyard behind the building. Adjacent to the gate was a pilaster holding up the elaborate iron railing that protected the cemetery. The sun partially blinded her, but she saw a man standing beneath the shade of a pink crepe myrtle tree. He wore a black T-shirt and an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.
He seemed familiar.
The moment he realized she spotted him, he hit his chest with his fist and bowed his head. Because that wasn’t at all creepy or strange.
She entered the house, shut the door behind her, and breathed in the cold, lemon-scented air. Since she leased out the building to Ashton Antiques, the first-floor rooms were filled with an array of furniture that required the house to stay in a ridiculously cold state. A stairway in the center hall led to the second floor that was closed off due to termite damage. “Rue?”
When she heard grunting and banging, she went to the end of the hall and entered the kitchen with windows overlooking the Pirates Courtyard. Her mother was lifting cardboard boxes and dropping them onto the kitchen table. Each of the four boxes had Stuart’s name printed on the side. They were personal items from Stuart’s office.
“What are you doing here, Rue? You’re going to wake the dead.”
Rue spun around and held a hand to her heart. “Oh, Allison. I didn’t hear you.”
“Probably because you’re making so much noise.” She pointed to the cemetery she could see through the patio walls made of brick and iron railings. “Seriously. They’re just over there.”
“Don’t disparage the deceased.” Rue lowered her voice. “You don’t know which spirits are listening.”
“Save the ghost tour nonsense for Lawrence.” Allison dropped her purse onto the table. “You didn’t answer my question. I’d also like to know how you got a key.”
“The bank told me they’d sent Stuart’s boxes here and the door was unlocked.” Rue started opening boxes and laying ite
ms on the table. “You should take better care of this place.”
Unlocked?
She grabbed a sweater out of Rue’s hands. It still smelled like cigar smoke mixed with pine. She folded it and placed it next to a stack of books and office supplies Rue had already unloaded. “These aren’t your things to go through. And in case you’ve forgotten, you’re not supposed to be here. I have a court order.”
Rue’s green eyes flashed, and she tossed a book onto the table. Yet, instead of hitting back verbally, she offered that sickly sweet smile Allison dreaded. “I thought we were way past that by now.”
Allison retrieved the book, closed up one box, and moved it near the colonial-era fireplace that dominated the small room. “We’re not.”
Like a defiant teenager, Rue opened another box and pulled out a stack of ledgers. “Is that why you didn’t invite me to Stuart’s service?”
Allison took a stapler out of Rue’s hand. She wanted to throw it against the wall but instead placed it near the other supplies. Her hard-won self-restraint may have saved the eighteenth-century wall but didn’t soften her tone. “How’d you find out about that?”
Rue laughed. “It’s a small town, Petal.”
Allison refilled one of the boxes and moved it near the fireplace. She despised that nickname and Rue knew it.
“You do know that Stuart was having an affair, don’t you?” Rue opened the third box. “I told you that would happen.”
Allison ignored the taunt and took that box away as well. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Fine.” Rue threw a pencil holder onto the table. “It’s not here anyway.”
“What’s not here?”
“Something Stuart saved for me.” Rue left the room and headed for the front door.
Allison followed, and just as Rue reached for the knob, Allison placed her body in front of it.
“Please move,” Rue said. “My acolytes are waiting.”
“Why are you really here?”
“It doesn’t matter.” When Allison still didn’t move, Rue spewed her favorite taunt. “You’re a stupid, naive fool, Petal.”