by Sharon Wray
To his credit, he seemed focused on everything except the women. While he buttered his muffin, he studied every exit, every camera, and every other man. It was as if he was evaluating all the variables involved, in case they had to run.
She finished her second muffin and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Do you always check out every room you’re in?”
“Habit.” He mopped up his last bite of gumbo with the buttered muffin. “I’m always looking for escape routes and other men who are armed.”
When they were done, the bartender cleared their plates.
“How long?” Zack asked him.
“Soon.”
Zack hopped off the stool and led her to the dance area near the trio. He took her in his arms and held her close. The tune, a Creole lullaby, was a slow-moving waltz. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes again. She let him lead while she drifted to the sound of his heartbeat.
“May I help you?”
Allison opened her eyes to find a man standing near them in black slacks and a black silk shirt, holding Stuart’s planner. The same man in the photo with Stuart and Isabel.
Zack held out his hand, keeping his other palm on her lower back. “I’m Zack Tremaine. This is Allison Pinckney from Charleston. We’re looking for Mack McIntyre.”
The man frowned. “What do you want?”
Allison took a step forward. “I need to talk to him about my husband, Stuart.”
The man looked away. Then sighed. “We can talk in private.”
“I’m Mack McIntyre.” He led them up a flight of stairs to the empty roof. He motioned to a table with four chairs near an unattended bar. High brick walls surrounded the area that held six tables and a dance floor. LED lanterns along the floor lined the walls. White lights hung from the pergola above the tables. She sat while Zack stood nearby.
With the sun almost set now, the view of the lit-up church’s bell tower was even more spectacular.
Mack laid the planner on the table. “I’m sorry about Stuart.”
“Thank you.” Allison nodded at Zack. “I’ll get to the point. Before he died, Stuart sold the witch’s examination. But the appendix is missing. We were hoping you could tell us where to find it.”
Mack shrugged. “I didn’t know there was an appendix or that it was missing.”
Allison gripped the edge of the table. “Do you have any idea who sold the witch’s examination to Stuart? Maybe they kept the appendix.”
“A few months ago, a woman named Tarragon found the witch’s examination in an old barn and gave it to Stuart after he promised not to give it to Remiel.” Mack looked away. “The last time I saw Tarragon, Remiel had taken her hostage. If she’s alive, she can’t be…right.”
Zack paced between the bar and the table. “The Prince has my sister, Emilie. If I don’t find that appendix and Henry Avery’s treasure, he’ll send her to Remiel.”
“I’m sorry.” Mack turned to leave. “I can’t help you.”
“That’s it?” Zack grabbed Mack’s arm. “You worked for Remiel, and you’re fine letting him torture my sister?”
Mack threw off Zack’s grasp. “It’s not my fight anymore. And a word of advice? If you don’t want to end up dead, leave your men behind and start a life on your own. Kells Torridan will not protect you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mack scoffed. “Why do you think two years passed before your unit could put together a rescue mission? The commanders of the two A teams were being tortured daily, yet it took twenty-four months for your team to plan an extrication, get approval, and save your men. Then when you got to the POW camp, most of the guards were gone.”
“We had resistance.”
Mack shook his head. “Two days before you showed up in that Afghan POW camp, there were three hundred guards. When you arrived, there were less than forty. You didn’t save your men until Remiel was ready to let them go. And your boss knew that. Kells waited for that.”
Zack took a step back. “That can’t be true.”
“Yet it is.” Mack’s phone buzzed and he checked his text. “If you can’t find that appendix, your only chance to save your sister is to find a fifolet.”
“You’re joking about ghosts guarding treasure?” Zack asked. “My sister’s life is at stake.”
Mack sent a text before saying, “My granny believed that Mercy Chastain was Henry Avery’s fifolet because he killed her and buried her with his treasure in Charleston. That’s why everyone in that town claims to see Mercy’s ghost.”
“That’s absurd,” Allison said. “Why would Henry kill Mercy? They were lovers.”
“Henry Avery and Mercy Chastain disappeared on the same day.” Mack took an envelope out of his jacket and dropped it on Stuart’s planner. “I can’t help you find the treasure, but there are things you should know about your husband.”
“You mean like his affair with Isabel Rutledge?” Allison snorted. “I know about that.”
“I’m talking about the spreadsheet in that envelope.”
Allison opened the envelope and took out a sheet folded into thirds.
“That spreadsheet contains numbers for private offshore accounts,” Mack said. “That’s proof Stuart was helping your mother embezzle money from her absinthe business. He’d set up her Pink House gallery as a shell corporation and moved the money into offshore accounts.”
“Why?” Allison asked.
“I believe to get away from her husband.”
Was this what Rue had been looking for in Pirate House?
Zack took the spreadsheet and his eyes darkened. “Stuart’s accounts are held by RM Financial. They’re owned by the Fianna.”
Allison sat and stared at the planner. “Stuart was supposed to find the treasure for the Prince in exchange for something. Were these accounts that something?”
“Yes.” Mack took the spreadsheet out of Zack’s hand, shoved it into the envelope, and slipped it into the planner. “Stuart was indebted to the Prince because the Prince helped him move this money quietly.”
Zack snorted. “Something that’s hard to do nowadays with the antiterrorism financial laws in place.”
“Exactly.” Mack crossed his arms and leaned against the pergola. “In exchange for the Fianna’s help, Stuart not only told the Prince what Isabel and Remiel were looking for, but Stuart also agreed to find the treasure before anyone else. Stuart was working for the Prince to help your mother, and now so are you.”
Chapter 34
Allison clutched the planner. “I don’t understand.”
Mack sighed as if he were dealing with teenagers. “Stuart started his affair with Isabel but ended up involved with Remiel. When Stuart realized the danger, he went to Vivienne Beaumont, who contacted the Prince, who made Stuart an offer. In exchange for finding the treasure, the Prince would help Stuart embezzle money for Rue and protect him from Remiel.”
“Why would Stuart help Rue?” Allison asked Mack.
“From what Stuart told me, he felt sorry for her. Apparently her husband is an ass.”
“Except,” Zack said, “Remiel found out and killed Stuart.”
Mack nodded. “My guess is Stuart realized what the Fianna were doing to him and protected Allison by hiding the appendix. He didn’t want the Fianna using her like they’d used him, and he needed to give her leverage over everyone. The only other thing he told me was that he had another man helping him. A man named Danny.” Mack’s cell phone rang and he answered. A moment later, he said to Zack, “Were you followed here?”
“No.” Zack went to the edge of the brick wall and peered over it. “Why?”
“Because my guards said there are two suspicious-looking men in the alley.”
Allison bit her lip and threw the planner into her tote bag.
Stuart had had Danny’s help?
Her dead brother? What the hell did that mean?
The lights overhead, as well as the lights in the church’s spire, flickered and went out. The sun had set and clouds obscured the half moon. Except for the battery-powered lanterns lining the perimeter, the city had gone dark. They were in a citywide blackout.
* * *
Minutes later, Mack led Zack and Allison down a different staircase and stopped on the landing. “The power in the city is out,” Mack said, “including cell service and Wi-Fi. According to my guards, the men following you work for Isabel and are still in Cabildo Alley. This door will lead you to Saint Peter street. From there, you’re on your own.”
“Can you make a call for me?” Zack asked.
“If my landline works.”
Zack rattled off a number and a message, shook Mack’s hand, and pulled his gun from his leg holster. “Our car is near the river. If we can get there, we should be fine.”
Allison’s eyes widened at the if and should, and he squeezed her hand.
“Good luck.” Mack opened the door to expose a street that was surprisingly busy. Panicked people wandered around with their cell phones. “The outage may work in your favor.”
“I hope so.” Zack held his gun close to his body and with his free hand took Allison’s wrist.
The door behind them closed, and he whispered, “If I release your hand, stay close. If we get separated, head toward the cathedral. I’ll meet you there.”
From the noise, it was hard to determine if people were panicked, partying, or rioting.
“Let’s go.” He kept her behind him and held his weapon low. The only light came from cell phone flashlights.
He turned right onto Royal Street, which was even busier. He forced his way through a group of young men who were whooping and hollering and blocking the entrance to Saint Ann Street. In the crush, he lost Allison’s hand and his heart rate ratcheted up.
Once he broke through, she stumbled out. He noticed one of the men, wearing a long-sleeved Boutique du Vampyre shirt, eyeing her. Only tourists and people trying to blend in wore things like that. When the man spoke into a radio on his wrist, Zack took her hand again. “Run.”
By the time they made it to Jackson Square, which was filled with panicked people, his heart was racing and Allison was breathing heavily. Helicopters flew overhead and a dozen cop cars appeared on Decatur Street. Red and blue lights flashed around them, sirens blasted.
“They’re going to start blocking off the city.” Zack spoke against her ear. “We need to get to the car. Whatever you do, don’t let go of me.”
She nodded and glanced back. “Zack?”
He turned to see the vampyre-shirt man, along with a buddy in a Reverend Zombie T-shirt, working their way through the crowd.
“Let’s go.” Zack’s goal was to get through the square and across Decatur Street.
More helicopters flew by, and the cops were trying to get everyone to move back toward the cathedral. When they were halfway across the square, he accidentally bumped into a woman. She turned, saw his weapon, and yelled, “Gun!”
People screamed and scattered, leaving Zack and Allison in the open, where Isabel’s men noticed them.
Zack ran, pulling Allison along with him. Cops shouted, people cried, and the bad guys gained. Once they reached the edge of the square, Zack dropped his weapon into Allison’s tote and hurried toward the only cop protecting the square’s gated entrance.
“Over there,” Zack said to the cop. “Those men have guns!”
The cop spoke into his shoulder radio and ran toward the bad guys. Once the exit was clear, Zack and Allison raced across the street and paused behind a palmetto tree. Café du Monde was on their left, the parking area a block away, down the incline, toward the river on their right.
Zack reclaimed his gun and noticed Isabel’s men talking to the cops and pointing in their direction. “Stay here.” He moved into the shadows of Café du Monde, found a storm drain hidden behind a delivery van, and fired a shot into the water below.
The harsh sound of the gunshot set off another round of screams and sirens.
Zack took Allison’s hand and hurried in the opposite direction, toward the parking area. Once they found the car, he ordered, “Get in!”
* * *
Alex tried to stretch out his shoulders. An act made difficult by the fact he was handcuffed to a ring bolted into a table in the Charleston Police Department’s interrogation room. At least he was out of his cell.
Bright lights overhead gave the room a bluish tinge. Or maybe it was the gray cinderblock walls and chipped blue linoleum on the floor.
He hadn’t been there twenty-four hours yet so couldn’t cry about his constitutional rights. Apparently the city was having trouble keeping cops and judges on their payroll, which might have been why Detective Waring, originally from Boston, had taken his job.
Detective Waring came into the room, sat, and tilted his chair back. “Heyward Ashton has filed charges. He said you two were arguing and you accused him of hurting his daughter, which he denied. Then you hit him. He said he was defending his honor by having you arrested. I then reminded him that dueling became illegal in South Carolina in 1880.”
Alex smirked. He wasn’t saying a word until his public defender appeared.
The door opened and a man entered. Rafe Montfort? In a suit?
Detective Waring stood.
Alex saw Pete White Horse and Detective Garza outside the door just before it shut. Since there was no way in hell Kells had sent them, they must’ve come on their own. For him.
“Good evening, Detective Waring.” Rafe held out his hand and introduced himself as Alex’s public defender.
Detective Waring shook and dropped. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Mr. Montfort.”
Rafe smiled. “I’m new.”
Good grief. They were in trouble now.
“I heard,” Rafe said, “about Mr. Mitchell’s incident. I’ve also met with Mr. Ashton and he’s agreed to withdraw the assault complaint. The two men just had a misunderstanding.”
Detective Waring rose to his full height. “I need to check this out.”
Rafe smiled. “Please do.”
Detective Waring left the room and Rafe motioned to the two-way mirror. That meant there was no talking or any other kind of communication until they were out of the station.
A few minutes later, Detective Waring appeared with a frown. “It appears Mr. Ashton has dropped the charges. Your client is free to go.”
Alex raised his hands, still in handcuffs.
Detective Waring produced a key. “Mr. Mitchell, I suggest you leave town and don’t return.”
“Sounds good to me.” As Alex left the room, he bumped against the detective. “Excuse me.”
Detective Waring’s frown turned into a scowl.
Rafe waved toward the door. “After you, Mr. Mitchell.”
Alex and Rafe left the station and headed for a white truck parked behind a gray sedan. Garza sat in the sedan’s driver’s seat and Pete was next to him. Both wore facial expressions similar to Waring’s.
Rafe unlocked the truck. “Get in.”
Alex hopped into the front seat and leaned back. The sun had just gone down and shadows lined the sidewalks.
Rafe turned the ignition, switched on the headlights, and pulled into the street. “What happened?”
“I allowed Isabel to manipulate me. Then I hit an asshole and got arrested.” Alex studied Rafe’s granite profile. “How’d you find out?”
“Horatio told us. I think he was worried.”
“I doubt it. Did my brother send you?”
“No. I came on my own. That’s why it took me so long.”
Alex stared at the passing houses. It must’ve rained while he’d been inside because everything glistened like it was shiny a
nd new. “Aidan didn’t send anyone the first time either.”
“I know.” Rafe turned left, then right, and headed toward the battery. “Most of the warriors argued on your behalf, but the Prince refused.”
Of course he did. “How’d Pete and Garza find out? Did you call them?”
“Yes.” Rafe turned right and drove through a puddle. “Thank God Nate picked up the phone, realized what was going on, and convinced Pete and Garza to come along without telling Kells.”
“Kells doesn’t know?”
“He knows you and Zack are in Charleston.” Rafe sent him a sideways glare. “But not about your arrest.”
Alex went back to staring out the window streaked with raindrops. “Where are we going?”
“Vivienne Beaumont’s house. She told us we could use it. And her housekeeper is providing food.”
Great. Alex was starving.
Rafe made a sharp right and turned into a hidden driveway. He parked and pulled the emergency brake. “I had to terrorize Heyward Ashton into dropping the charges.”
They both got out and Alex shut his door. “How?”
Rafe locked the truck. “You don’t want to know.”
Alex followed Rafe into the house. “Now what?”
“Pete and Garza are behind us. Then we need to decide what to do next.”
Twenty minutes later, Alex and the rest of the men were in Vivienne’s study drinking coffee and eating sandwiches with potato chips. Pete and Garza sat in club chairs near the fireplace while Rafe and Alex stood near a desk with Rafe’s cell phone on speaker.
“Alex?” Nate’s voice came in clear over the phone. “You good?”
“Sure,” Alex said around a bite of his turkey sandwich.
Rafe wiped his face with a napkin. He’d already changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. “Heyward dropped the charges once I threatened him.”