by Sharon Wray
“They scrub the information. I’ve heard that the Prince updates his own online encyclopedic entries.” He glanced at her. “These texts are from the Fianna. Probably Marcellus.”
“The warrior we met last night?”
“Yep.” He pointed to the second text about the day’s issues. “This one is basically saying that whatever task you have to do today, your love will help you find the way.”
“Huh.” She moved in close to read as well. Why did Zack always have to smell so good?
“Look at the time stamp.” Zack expanded the screen. “It’s about the same time Alex and I were learning about my sister and how I needed your help to save her.”
“It’s also the same time that Lawrence was telling me I need to move out.” She glanced at Zack. His lips were so tight they’d whitened around the edges. “It’s not a coincidence, is it?”
“No.” He handed her the phone and started pacing the kitchen. “The third text is more cryptic.”
“Not really.” She finished her water. “It means that a woman’s worry and her love work together. A woman either doesn’t worry at all because she doesn’t love, or she worries too much because she loves too much.” Neither description really fit her. “The question is, now what do we do?”
Zack took a brownie and ate it in one bite. “First,” he said with a mouthful, “we get something to eat.”
Her stomach gurgled on cue, and she nodded. As she shoved her phone in her pocket, she felt something else and pulled out the key. “I have an idea. After we eat, of course.”
He took the key from her and turned it over. “You want to return to the Usher Society?”
“I want to scour Hezekiah’s office and find everything I can about what Stuart was doing.”
“It may be under surveillance.” Zack’s phone buzzed. He checked it, frowned, and shoved it into his pocket. “It’ll be dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as our next meal is going to be. I haven’t gone food shopping in weeks.” She opened the fridge and stared into the empty recess. Finally, she pulled out a jar of grape jelly and a can of tuna.
Zack took the food and gently pushed her aside. “I’m not just eye candy.”
She laughed. “You’re handsome, you’re a highly trained soldier, and you can cook? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
He found a flowered apron in a drawer. “I also kiss really, really well.”
She blushed and turned away to get the plates. Yes, he really, really did.
And she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever kiss her again.
Chapter 17
Isabel paced the garden courtyard behind the Gibbes Art Museum. The fountain’s mist cooled her, helping to soothe her racing mind. Gravel crunched beneath her sandals. Flashes of lightning and random raindrops forewarned an impending storm.
Seeing Alex again had been harder than she’d expected. She’d never loved him. She’d never even liked him. Yet she was torn. Stuart had been a kind and generous lover, and her feelings for him had been real. But Alex? No woman could forget the kind of passion a man like Alex brought to bed.
A whistle came from behind her, and she turned as Clayborne appeared at the cemetery gate near the corner of the courtyard. It seemed like every building in this city backed up to a cemetery.
She met him at the gate. “Any trouble?”
“No.” He handed her the tube and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “I gotta tell ya—Allison and her soldier are looking mighty tight.”
Isabel honestly didn’t understand what Zack saw in that milquetoast Allison. “I’ll deal with it. Now for your next assignment. I need you to find the appendix to the Witch’s Examination of Mercy Chastain. Check every library, special collection, and magazine rack in this city. Also, double-check Hezekiah’s office.”
“Why? Now that you have the Pirate’s Grille, it shouldn’t matter.”
She hated explaining herself to the hired help. And she was sure if Remiel had done the asking, Clayborne wouldn’t have questioned him. “Remiel will feel better if we take it out of play.”
“Right. My boys are on it.” Clayborne pulled out his phone and texted. “What about you?”
“I’m going to destroy this.” She raised the tube. “Then I’m going to pick a time and place to tell Allison what really happened in Afghanistan. I’m going to make sure she knows the truth about her hero Zack. Make sure she knows he’s a liar and a coward.”
Thirty minutes later, Isabel let herself into her suite on the top floor of the Belmond Hotel. She’d had to hide the Pirate’s Grille and had barely made it to the hotel before the storm hit. While she’d told Clayborne she wanted to destroy it, she’d had another idea. Once she found the treasure, she’d secretly sell the Pirate’s Grille and the witch’s examination appendix. As long as no one knew the treasure had been found, those two manuscripts would still be worth a ton of money. Money that could supplement her getaway account.
She dropped her handbag onto the couch…and froze. Alex Mitchell sat in the opposite chair looking masculine and bored.
“How did you find me? And how did you get in here?”
“I came to the most expensive hotel in the city and paid off the housekeeping staff.”
“With what? You’re broke.”
“Money isn’t the only currency.” His smile was deceptive. It drew you in until you realized his dark amethyst eyes were almost as cold as Remiel’s. “You’re looking chipper, Isabel. Could it be you found the Pirate’s Grille?”
She poured herself a seltzer water and took out a ginger ale from the fridge. Yes, she remembered his favorite. “Drink?”
“Sure.” He came over while she filled the glass with ice. “Tell me, did you set the fire? Or did you have hired help?”
She popped open the soda and waited for the initial fizz to settle before pouring the ginger ale over the ice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay. I’ll play your way.” Alex took the drink and went to the window. Normally, at this time of day, one could see Fort Sumter in the harbor. But with the driving rain, one could barely see across the street.
A huge clap of thunder hit outside the window and the electricity dimmed, only to come back on a second later.
Isabel kicked off her shoes, curled up on the couch, and drank her water. It was cold, and she was hot. Actually, she was exhausted. For the last few months, Remiel had had her moving at such a rapid pace, she wasn’t sure if she could keep up anymore. “Alex, why are you here?”
Alex came back to his chair and sat across from her. He placed his glass on the table between them and closed his eyes. “To find out more about Emilie. Except you don’t know anything else.”
“Alex?” Isabel kept her voice whisper level. “Do you ever just want to…run away?”
He opened his eyes, his focus entirely on her. While he watched her movements, she took out her hair band and let her long black curls fall over her shoulders. His eyes narrowed and his hands gripped the chair. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I do. I dream of running away to an island somewhere—an island with no tourists, no noise or tall buildings, just the sea breeze and lots of sunshine.”
“You sunburn.” Alex took a sip of his soda but kept his gaze on her. “I’ve seen it.”
Yes, he had. In Jamaica. “I remember that trip. The heat. The blue sea. The red bikini.”
Alex stood to pace the room. “There’s no running away for either of us. We’ve done too many things.”
When he walked by her, she grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Alex, we’ve both been used—me by a Fianna warrior first and then by Remiel, you by your brother and Kells. We’ve been lied to, mistreated, and blamed for things that weren’t our fault. We’ve even suffered abuse, albeit in different ways.”
Al
ex pulled out of her grip. “It doesn’t matter, Isabel. We’ve caused suffering.”
She stood. “Because we were forced to.”
“No one forced you to work for Remiel.”
“Remiel saved my life. After I was attacked when I was only seventeen, he took me in when no one else in my family would look at me. And your brother—”
“Did not save my life.” Alex waved her off as if she were an irritant, like a buzzing fly. “My brother used me and discarded me. Just like Remiel is using you. And trust me when I say this, Isabel. Remiel will discard you. Eventually. He has to. You know everything about him.”
“That knowledge protects me.”
“No, it makes you too dangerous to keep alive.”
“Remiel would never—”
“I’d beg to differ except I don’t beg anymore. Ever. And if you think either of us is due a happily ever after, you’re even more deranged than Fuckface.”
She hated when Alex called Remiel that awful name. She went back to the couch and sat, her feet tucked beneath her body. “What do you want?”
“The Prince told Allison and Zack they need to find Henry Avery’s treasure if they want to save Emilie’s life.”
She had figured that would be the plan. “So?”
“There are two ways to find that treasure: find out what happened to Mercy Chastain over three hundred years ago, or combine—and somehow use—the Pirate’s Grille and witch’s examination’s appendix.”
“No one knows what happened to Mercy because she disappeared.”
“Correct. That leaves the appendix and the Pirate’s Grille.” Alex sat next to her so he could meet her gaze head-on. “And we both know you have the latter.”
She shrugged.
“I want to offer a trade.”
She lowered her eyelids halfway and gave him a once-over. “You’d be willing—”
“Hell no.” He grabbed his soda and finished it. Ice cubes and all. “Earlier today you mentioned a meeting with my brother.”
“I’m not trading—”
“If you want to see the Prince, I want the Pirate’s Grille. That’s the deal.”
She rubbed the couch’s crushed-velvet armrest back and forth, forcing the nap to change colors from light to dark. “Remiel will kill me.”
“Not if you accept asylum.”
“I don’t trust the Fianna. Not after what they did to me.”
“No one should trust them.” Alex stood. “That doesn’t mean they can’t help you.”
She stood, her bare feet cushioned by the soft carpet. Without her heels, Alex towered over her.
“I need to think about it. I’m going to an event tomorrow.” She grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and wrote down the information. “Meet me in the bar. You’ll have my answer.”
Alex took the paper and turned to leave. He paused, one hand on the doorknob. “I know you’re scared, Isabel. But if I had the choice between facing Remiel’s wrath or the Fianna’s offer, I’d take the latter. The latter is more likely to offer you mercy.”
He left and she sank onto the couch, knowing in her heart that Alex was right. The Fianna might be brutal, but Remiel was merciless.
* * *
Allison stood in front of the door of the Satyr Club/Usher Society and turned the key.
Lightning flashed and Zack held the umbrella over them. “We should hurry.”
She nodded. Most of the alley had been blocked off with yellow police tape, and an empty police car sat at the other end. Zack had scouted the area and found no security cameras, curious tourists, or other cops. Still, someone belonged to that patrol car.
“I hope this place isn’t alarmed.” She swung the door open and they entered.
They waited for a moment and both exhaled at the same time when they realized no alarms had been tripped. Then she sucked in her breath at the AC. She was so acclimated to the city’s heat and humidity it was hard to go back and forth between Charleston’s suffocating outsides and frigid insides.
She’d no idea what they’d find, but since they had the key, it was the only plan she had.
Zack propped the umbrella by the entrance and took two flashlights out of her tote bag that had her dog’s face on it. Zack had filled the bag with a variety things they might need, like her pistol, extra ammo, and duct tape. She wasn’t sure why they needed the tape, but she wasn’t about to argue with a Special Forces officer.
“Allison”—Zack took out his weapon—“why do you have your dog’s face printed on your bag?”
“I made the bags for last year’s Fourth of July parade.”
“Interesting.” Zack turned on his light, but since she’d been here before, she led the way. The door where she’d paid her silver coin was unlocked, and inside all she found was an empty room. The bar, DJ table, couches—all gone. And there was no light switch. All the windows were boarded up; the only light came from their flashlights.
“Last night this place was full of people and furniture.” She walked across the dance floor, her sandals clip-clopping along the way. “It smelled like sweat and incense.”
“Now it smells like lemon furniture polish.”
Chills scurried up her arms. The sooner they did this, the sooner they could leave.
A minute later, she entered the Usher Society’s anteroom where she’d met Isabel. This room looked exactly the same, except without the people. Like the first floor, it was completely dark and they had to swing their beams around to see the situation.
Couches and velvet curtains? Check.
A bar in the corner? Check.
The double doors leading into Hezekiah’s office? Check.
Zack tried the office doors, but they were locked. She handed him the key, and, thank goodness, the office doors swung open.
She stepped into the room only to find documents strewn about everywhere. The floor, the desk, and the nearby credenza had been torn apart. Even the painting of Thomas Toban’s pirate ship was askew, as if someone had searched behind it.
Zack walked the room’s perimeter. “We’re not the only ones with this idea.”
“Apparently not.” She picked papers off the floor and threw them onto the desk. All of the credenza and desk drawers had been pulled out, emptied, and tossed into a corner. “This is a mess. I’m not sure where to start.”
“First, see if there are any electronics—computers, flash drives, hard drives.” He handed her the tote bag. “Second, we take every piece of paper we can find.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t have time to sort through it here and we have no idea what’s of value.”
“Okay.” She laid her flashlight on the desk and started stacking papers and maps. “Everything?”
“Yes.” He knelt next to the credenza and felt beneath it. He even peered into the open holes where the drawers had been. While she tried to organize the papers on the floor, he searched baseboards, beneath the chairs and desk, and every item that could hold anything.
Fifteen minutes later, she’d stuffed the tote bag, and he replaced the pirate painting on the wall.
“That’s it.” She shrugged the bag onto her shoulder. “Whoever got here first took the good stuff.”
Zack stood in the center and, using both flashlights, scanned the room. “With the appalling lack of security, I don’t think Hezekiah would’ve stored stuff in his drawers. There’s no wall safe. There’s no place to hide anything important.”
“Last night, I didn’t see a computer.”
Zack glanced at her. “If you were the oldest black-market book proprietor in the U.S., where would you hide those things you didn’t want others to find?”
“In books?” She took one of the lights and studied the room again. “Except there are no bookshelves. That’s strange.”
“Very s
trange.” Zack led the way back into the anteroom and did another perimeter search. He even tapped the wood-paneled walls. When one tap sounded hollower than the rest, Allison used her fingers to feel around the edges of the paneling.
“I don’t feel anything.”
He hit the wall with his fist. “I don’t—”
The wall suddenly swung open and Zack shone the beam into the closet.
“It’s a…library. I think.” Allison went in, dropped the bag, and stood in the center of a room that had floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Except there were only a few books on the shelves. She coughed as the musty smell hit her sinuses hard. There was no window to open to get some desperately needed fresh air.
“It’s not climate-controlled.” Zack came in, taking up the rest of the floor space. His light rested on a few volumes. “Considering the heat and dust, this has to be temporary storage.”
Allison swung her light and noticed a book on the shelf lying on its side. “What is this doing here?”
Zack came over and took it from her. “Stories Out of Stone by Allison Chastain Fenwick Pinckney, PhD. Did you write this?”
“Yes. My dissertation was published last year. I wrote about Southern headstones as forms of colonial-era personal narratives.” Zack stared at her with a quizzical look until she added, “It’s about how the symbolism in tombs and headstones, especially during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, told the stories of the deceased and their families.”
He handed her the flashlight while he flipped through the pages. “It says it’s a bestseller.”
Allison scoffed. “In a narrowly defined field.”
“What’s this?” He took an envelope out of the book and read the return address. “It’s from the anthropology department at the University of Virginia.”
“I’ve been looking for that.” She shoved it into the tote bag. “It’s from a colleague of mine. I gave a presentation for their graduate students. It’s a thank-you note.”
Zack frowned and took the letter out of the bag. “Why would it be in your book that was stashed in an Usher Society closet?”
“It’s possible…” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Stuart may have hidden it here because a few months ago they offered me a job. Stuart and I got into a huge fight about it. It’s not like I wanted to leave Charleston, but it’s a wonderful opportunity.”