by Wren Weston
A knock sounded upon the door.
“Come in.”
Alex’s heels clicked against the hardwood floor. “I thought you were working,” she chided, snatching up the silver platter of leftover sandwiches.
“I was. Now I’m resting.”
“Smoking a cigar is not resting.”
“It is when no one’s around to nag.” Lila balanced her cigar on the ashtray’s edge, then dug into her desk for the second. She sniped off the head with a guillotine cutter and handed her friend a matchbook. Lila heard the sharp strike behind her, and Alex puffed and breathed out slowly, savoring the taste.
“Woodsy.” She chuckled, joining Lila at the window. “I haven’t smoked a cigar in ages.”
“You smoked one a few years ago with me.”
“That’s right. Your promotion. The last chief stepped down to open the florist shop with your cousin. I feel sorry for both of them, having to work under your Aunt Georgina. I don’t even understand why she retired.”
“She wanted to spend time with her grandchildren. I can’t blame her. She missed a lot of her children’s lives. I didn’t understand how much work it was being chief until I took on the role.” Lila puffed again. “I see Mr. Beaulieu in their shop all the time. Helping.”
“He should get a cut of their profits. I’m sure he’s earned it by now.”
“More than. The two fools didn’t know anything at all about roses. Still don’t, though if you ever want the heartiest strain of tomatoes or the sweetest peaches, Emma can grow them for you. They should have started an orchard.”
Her friend put her hand on the windowsill. A smile came to her lips as she watched the back of Johnny Beaulieu. A flood of leaves rained down, flashing in little bursts of yellow.
Alex was not entranced by the leaves.
Lila’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, Alex, you didn’t!”
“What?” she asked, taking a noncommittal puff on the cigar.
“Georgina ran off too many nannies. I used to babysit Johnny.”
“I didn’t babysit him. He’s not that much younger than we are, anyway. What’s five years? Besides, he’s fun and eager.”
“I hope you’re not making him any promises.”
Alex grinned. “Of course I’m making promises. I promise him every time he comes over that we’ll have amazing, toe-curling—”
“I’m not listening.”
“Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. If you think he can do great things with roses, you should see what he can do with a woman’s bud.” Alex giggled, a smug, satisfied look plastered on her face.
“It’s called a clitoris.”
“You need a vacation. Stick a week’s worth of condoms in your purse, find a good lay, and don’t come up for air until you’ve run out.”
Lila coughed on her cigar smoke, thinking about her dream with Tristan. Whenever she had dreams of impeded sex, it usually meant she was in dire need of it in reality. Perhaps Alex was right. She really did need a vacation.
A sex vacation.
She drooled a little at the thought.
“Is that what you’ve been doing with Johnny? Taking a vacation?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I’m never getting my mark back, not unless the Slave Bill passes, and we both know that’s never going to happen. Johnny is just a bit of fun after a very long day.”
“A bit of fun?”
“Fine. He’s a giant ball of fun. He’d be even more fun if I didn’t have to dodge Georgina. I swear, that woman knows.”
“Trust me. She doesn’t. If Georgina knew or suspected, she would have wanted you off the estate. She wouldn’t have asked nicely, either. If you want to sleep with him, fine, but make sure he’s worth it and try not to let her find out. I wouldn’t let the chairwoman transfer you to La Porte, not if I could help it, but I don’t want to think about what I’d have to trade to keep you here.”
Alex took a large puff and exhaled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Are you still seeing Sebastian?”
Alex smiled slyly. “When I’m in the mood. I’ll give you his number if you want. You could use someone with his—”
“I was just curious. He was never really my type.”
“I’m starting to think your type requires batteries.”
“Yeah, well, your mouth requires batteries.”
Alex snorted, smoke thickening in the air. The pair watched Johnny and the slave for several long, quiet moments.
“Alex, how long has it been since you’ve seen your mother?”
“My mother?” Alex asked in surprise, tilting her head. “I haven’t seen her since the day of the auction. Afterwards, I mean. In the garden. Why?”
Lila recalled the meeting. Immediately after Alex’s purchase, Chairwoman Wilson had cornered the purring Chairwoman Randolph. She had offered half the Wilson-Kruger estate in exchange for the return of Alex’s mark. Beatrice had laughed at the woman’s proposal, and said that she had no intention of settling for half of the Wilson estate when she’d get the whole thing in a decade or two. She was patient enough to wait.
Lila had tried to reason with her mother but to no avail. Chairwoman Wilson could not hope to match the price that they had paid for Alex’s mark, and the land under the estate was worth far more.
Beatrice Randolph had always been fond of land.
“You haven’t seen her since?” Lila asked.
“Of course not. When my mother took me into the parlor after the meeting, she told me that I was the stupidest, most selfish brat in all of Wilson history, including my great-great-aunt Sofia. I was worse than an assassin because I’d ruined the prospects of the family. Me, and all alone by her estimation. I was a disappointment to every Wilson and every Wilson ancestor, and she never wanted to see me again. She even went so far as to say that if I hadn’t belonged to your mother already, then she would have sold my mark herself. I’ve respected her decision and stayed away. Happily.”
“You don’t want to see her?”
“Not even if she was on her deathbed.”
Lila nodded and puffed again on her cigar. “It’s not your fault, you know. You couldn’t have known that Madeline and Lizette would…”
“Die? My mother warned me something like that could happen. She said I needed to stay, that spares were important. She didn’t sell me my mark out of the goodness of her heart, Lila. I blackmailed her for my freedom. It was my decision, and my family will pay for it.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s your fault. Maybe it’s not hers, either.”
Alex laid her cigar on the rest. “What’s going on? Why are you asking about my mother all the sudden?”
“Because she might be ill. Don’t ask me how I found out, Alex, I can’t tell you.”
“I don’t have to. You went to see Simon, didn’t you? I wish I had known. I would have gone with you.”
“I didn’t know I was going, or I would have brought you along. Keep it to yourself, okay?”
Alex nodded, suddenly looking tired. “Look, about Simon. He told me the same thing when I visited last time. Go see her. Time might run out for the pair of you. He’s worried about nothing. He’s made up some story about her, just to cope with his situation. It’s hard on him, harder because he was always her pet.”
“Are you sure it’s all made up? Are you sure it’s nothing?”
Alex shrugged.
“I wish I’d known before. I might have been able to help.”
“It wouldn’t have looked good coming from you and your mother. It would only have made things worse. That’s why I didn’t tell you. You’ve done enough for us already.”
“If you ever did want to say something to her, even if it’s just to tell her to go—”
“I already did that.”
“Well, if you want to reaffirm that or take it back, i
t should be soon, just in case. I’ll take you. Whenever you want to leave, even if it’s in the middle of the night, just say so.”
Alex shook her head quickly. “I’ve said what I wanted to say, and she’s said enough for the both of us. I’m done with her.”
Before Lila could say another word, Alex grabbed her empty dinner tray and pulled open the bedroom door. “Thanks for the cigar, Lila. Dinner’s in ten.”
With that, she slipped through the door and hurried away.
Lila turned back to the window. Johnny and the slave had finished planting the roses. The pair piled up the plastic pots, hefted them on their shoulders lazily, and carried them down the sidewalk toward the greenhouse. A laugh rose up between them, carried to her window on the back of the chilly October wind.
They turned a corner and disappeared behind Villanueva House.
Lila rolled out her cigar and dug in her closet, pulling out one of her formal uniforms, not all that much different than her casual one, just shinier and better tailored. She always wore the same thing to dinner with her family. It was a chief’s obligation to her matron.
The secret panel in the back of her closet caught her eye. She locked her bedroom door and closed the window, then pulled out a small chest from the hidden compartment. In it sat Captain Beauregard’s old bridle; Nubbins, her favorite teddy bear, rescued from the incinerator by Chef when the chairwoman deemed Lila too old for such toys; a ribbon from her first fundraiser for the hospital; a program from its opening; and a tattered notebook, filled with furious scribbling and conversations trapped in time. She sat on her rug and opened it to the back page.
I would have given it to you. Just ask next time.
The words had been written in Dixon’s block handwriting. She never understood how he had known that she would take it.
She traced his addendum, a smile coming to her lips. Keep it. I have loads. Bring me something of yours next time. It’s only fair.
She had brought him a purple scarf.
After he’d kissed her, Dixon admitted to following her back to the Randolph estate the year before. Or at least trying. It had taken him six months and a dozen attempts before he managed it successfully, and another four just to glimpse her face.
He’d put so much effort into the job.
She couldn’t help but wonder why.
Lila put the notebook away again and pulled out a palm-sized crimson bag, unfurling the strings carefully so that the contents would not drop onto the hardwood floor.
Alex’s mark tumbled into her fingers, nothing more than a small silver coin. Her mother had all the paperwork in a safety deposit box on the property. That and Alex’s name on the Bullstow slave registry condemned her to her fate. The coin was commemorative. The coin was meaningless.
It meant something to Lila and Alex, though.
Lila had never admitted to her friend that she owned it, that her mother had given it to her as a present on the same day that she had become the chief of security. It had spoiled Lila’s promotion ceremony, the happiest day, the day she felt the most freedom from her mother.
Perhaps the chairwoman had wanted to ruin it. She had been very plain in her words after she handed over the coin. “Even in your duties as chief, remember that friends, family, and slaves are not any less of a threat than your worst enemy.”
Family.
A mother could be a threat and an enemy as well.
Lila dropped the coin back into the velvet bag and shoved the chest into the closet, replacing the secret panel.
She was already late for dinner.
Chapter 14
Lila waited until ten o’clock before she shoved open the secret panel again. She tossed her ash-covered workborn clothes into a satchel and changed into trousers, a black sweater, her cheap work boots, and her leather riding jacket. Adding a star drive to the chain around her neck, a scarf, and her jammer, she slipped through the great house and started out for the garage, shivering as she stepped out in the cold.
Withdrawing her palm, Lila threaded through the dozen luxury cars and antiques and brought up a snoop program. She then passed the device over her silver Firefly, intent on finding any bugs. After several moments of searching, it was clear that the chairwoman’s people had not yet replaced the GPS chip or any other equipment. They had been about as productive as her own spies, for she had precious little new information on Muller and Davies that she didn’t already know, except that the pair had begun to spend a little more money than others of the same pay grade in the last two years.
Sloppy.
She put on her helmet and gloves, slipped the satchel over her head, and pulled out of the garage.
No one bothered her as she rode toward the guard post. Sergeant Tripp gave her a familiar nod, pushing back his young recruit from the road with a lazy jerk of his arm. After she lifted her visor, he blew out a burst of smoke from his pipe and waved her on.
It didn’t take long to reach the mechanic’s shop. As she sped past, she noticed a woman she’d never seen before, sitting in chair beside the dock door. She was dressed in a long hunter-green coat, the lapels more ruffle than collar. A dark gray knit cap had been stretched down low over her forehead, and the chill had reddened her nose. The butt of a gun bulged out of her front coat pocket.
Lila turned at the next intersection and cursed Tristan for the tenth time that night. She had called twice since dinner, but he had not returned her call.
That meant he was on a job, perhaps breaking into another office building so that he could plant yet another bomb. Dixon was probably helping him.
Lila parked her Firefly in front a closed Brazilian grocers, the same grocers she had been arrested in front of the night before. She traded out her riding jacket for her workborn coat and typed Tristan’s name in her palm one last time.
He did not pick up.
Lila bit her lip. She hadn’t the patience to deal with a lookout she didn’t know, and she had no desire to stand out in the cold until he came back. She had business with the man. It shouldn’t be too hard to break into the building and wait for him to return.
What a surprise it would be if he found her sitting on his couch.
Smirking at the thought, Lila pulled her helmet off and replaced it with her newsboy cap, tugging it down low over her eyes. She grabbed her satchel and leaned against the grocery store’s wall, pretending to fiddle with her palm, helmet balanced under the crook of her arm. Over the top of her computer, she watched the door of the apartment building just a few meters away.
It didn’t take long for someone to leave. A slim brunette opened the door, dressed in a threadbare coat. She opened the door so wide that it whacked against the wall. Shivering, she marched down the street, high heels clicking on the pavement.
Lila lunged as soon as the woman’s back was turned, catching the door at the last second, nearly slamming her fingers in the process.
Her boots crunched on shattered glass inside the entryway, the remains of a bulb still rolling on the floor. She crept up the dim stairs, finding yet another bulb on the ground, the only light peeping under the doors of each apartment. Whoever owned the building had not owned it for very long if they still used the delicate lights in a slum, rather than the nearly indestructible light strips across the ceiling. They would learn quickly, or else they’d go broke.
She climbed up to the top floor, the air stuffy and smelling of boiled cabbage. Sounds echoed through the doors and settled in the hallways: the howls of infants, the shouts of roommates and couples locked in arguments, the smashing of glass and fired clay, the sobbing of both women and men, and the moans of late-night sex.
At the end of the hallway, she reached a door and climbed up to the roof. The whirl of temperature-control units covered her footsteps as she approached the ledge.
Across the alley, three meters away, lay the mechanic’s shop.
She could jump over too.
Lila dropped her helmet and satchel in the darkest corner of the roof and squinted across the alley. A man paced around the perimeter on the other building, his hands stuck in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, a coat too small for his frame. The guns he hid inside them peeked out, a secret to no one.
Lila consider his walk, his expression, his limp. A man like him might not load tranq darts into his revolver.
Lila thumbed her Colt, which had been tucked into her waistband at the small of her back. A sleep dart might be effective, but the thought of bring harm against another innocent appalled her.
She ducked as the man turned and stalked toward her position. Counting his steps as he clomped by, she poked her head back up after he passed, then replaced her weapon in the inside pocket of her coat.
Down below, a woman prowled across the alley. Squinting harder in the darkness, Lila recognized the black derby hat, adorned with a purple feather. Samantha would help her get into the shop undetected. She’d probably even wait with Lila in Tristan’s garage, either to escape guard duty or to keep watch over her quick fingers.
But where was the fun in that? Lila had an image of Tristan returning to find that she had slipped through his defenses. She wanted to watch the self-important look drop away from his face and change from surprise to irritation.
It would serve him right for how he’d acted.
She took out her palm and checked her messages.
None displayed on the screen.
Sticking the device back into her pocket, she waited for the guard to cross by her position again. When he slipped behind the greenhouse on the opposite side of the building, she hopped up, sprinted across the roof, and launched herself across the alley.