The Love Trap (Quicksilver Book 3)

by Nicole French

  Eric frowned. “Several times.”

  “And you must know that despite its Hellenistic references, the Janus society hasn’t been democratic since its inception. It’s a monarchy. And its leaders have been almost exclusively de Vries.” She cocked her head. “You’ve all been ‘making Caesar salads’ for generations. Isn’t that what Jake wrote?”

  Eric’s head exploded. Caesar salads. Caesar. His grandfather had been the Caesar, and the title had been passed to Jacob upon his death.

  “But it didn’t work, did it?” Jane’s voice, cut through his whir of thoughts with a renewed hopelessness that made Eric very uncomfortable.

  Heather turned to her sympathetically and shook her head. “No, dear, it did not. John could not seem to let go of…me. Us. A few years later, he tried to break up our wedding. In nearly the same manner as he did your own.”

  Eric’s eyes flew open. “What?”

  Jane, however, remained silent. And apparently unsurprised as she stared at her hands.

  Heather took a very long drink of her wine, draining the glass completely. “It wasn’t quite at the altar. It was on the street. He was waiting for me on the steps of the church when I arrived from the hotel. You can ask your aunt Violet. She was a bridesmaid, after all.”

  “What did you say?” Jane asked.

  “I told him—oh, God, I can’t tell you how mortifying it is, but I swear, I would have said anything just to get off that street and inside the church. Eric, your father was waiting for me, and all I wanted to do was go to him.”

  “Mom. What did you say?”

  “I had to,” she said. “He wouldn’t leave otherwise. He kept blocking the doors, and he wouldn’t let go of my arm. All I wanted to do was find Jake!”

  “Mom!”

  “I told him it wasn’t our time,” Heather whispered. “That I had made a promise, and now I had to keep it. For now.”

  “For now?” Eric repeated. “For now? What in the hell did that mean? Were you planning to stop later?”

  “Of course not! It meant I loved your father. But Johnny—he obviously took it differently.” She shrank toward her empty wine glass. “He said he would wait for me. As long as it took. But I think…oh, lord, darling, I think he decided at one point that he would stop waiting. It was after he and your father had a serious falling out. Over that business in Korea.”

  Eric glanced at Jane, whose brow had lifted above the rim of her glasses.

  Heather continued. “After Korea, John started coming around the house again, whenever Jacob left. It was worse when he went sailing—you remember how your father would leave on his trips, sometimes for weeks. It got so much worse. John would follow me on the street. On my way to the gym. Outside luncheons. He kept saying things like, it was our time now. It was his turn.”

  “Didn’t you tell Dad?”

  Heather shrugged. Her hopelessness, her utter weakness, was heartbreaking. “I did. But Jake wasn’t scared of anyone. To his own detriment.” With every memory, she seemed to wither even more. As did, Eric realized, the woman beside him.

  No, Eric thought. He couldn’t. It was too much. Could this really all be about a strange vendetta, about stealing a man’s life? But it was all clicking into place.

  He had to ask.

  “Mom,” he said carefully. “Did Carson have anything to do with Dad’s death?”

  Upon Jacob’s death, the heir apparent to the Janus society—Eric—was about eleven. Far too young to be tapped. Which, for the first time in literally two hundred years, freed up the leadership of one of the most powerful secret societies the world had ever known. For John fucking Carson.

  “I don’t know,” Heather said quietly. “Oh, Eric, I really don’t. He never said anything. He had an excellent alibi. He was in Hong Kong on business, attending several benefits, seen at nearly all hours of the day. But Celeste…oh, Eric, I do think she suspected some kind of foul play.” Heather stared at her nails. “I think she blamed me for his death. The day before he left, Jake and I had a terrible fight about John. And he…well, Celeste once suggested that if he had not been so angry, he might not have been so careless. And perhaps, he might have stayed home.” Heather shook her head. “But I checked. John Carson didn’t do it.”

  Neither Eric nor Jane said nothing. Jane seemed to be having a hard time breathing. Fuck. This was a bad idea. Even Eric wasn’t sure if he could take this revelation on top of everything else. Eric knew they were both thinking the same thing: just because John Carson wasn’t present for a death didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible.

  Heather poured another large glass of wine. Eric swallowed.

  “But why?” he asked finally. “If by some crazy reason, he did go after Dad, or at least planned to, why would it matter so much to him? The leadership of a stupid secret society? And years later, too.”

  “Perhaps. But on top of that, he was very angry. Not just with your father. With me.”

  Jane frowned. “What for?”

  “Because,” Heather said softly. “Because just before that day, I told him in no uncertain terms that I would never leave Jake. I told Johnny that I would never love him. And that he would never be half the man your father was.” She gripped her glass. “He demanded the following week that your father abdicate his position as Caesar with the society. As a show of friendship, or something like that.”

  “Dad couldn’t have done that,” Eric argued. “That position is for life.”

  “I know, dear. I know. And by rights, it should have belonged to you one day. But instead, your father died long before you were ever old enough to be a part of it. Had I known you had been tapped, darling, I would have done everything I could to keep you from it.” Heather sighed with clear regret. “But as it were, staying away from you seemed to be the only thing I could do to keep you safe. Once Jake died, John seemed to think I was available to be his again. He didn’t take it kindly when again, I said no.”

  “After Dad died, he still came for you?” Eric shook his head. It was beyond obsessive. It was sick.

  It was a sickness, he supposed. Considering the hatred and resentment Carson had nursed against his nemesis, was any wonder that the idea of his own offspring procreating with Jacob’s son had sent the man nearly insane?

  Heather nodded. “It’s the reason I married Horace so quickly. To keep us both safe. John was becoming unhinged. And, of course, incredibly powerful.”

  “Does Horace know?” Eric asked. “That you used him like this?”

  “Horace was a dear friend of mine from high school,” Heather replied. “He also happened to be a homosexual at a time where Wall Street wasn’t particularly forgiving of his tastes.”

  At that revelation, Eric’s jaw actually fell. “Horace is gay?”

  He glanced at Jane, expecting to see her eyes spring open. But she was still staring at her dress, ruminating. Unresponsive. Fuck, they needed to finish this up and get out of here.

  Unfortunately, they still needed to hear the rest.

  “It was Celeste’s idea. She thought the only way to keep John Carson at arm’s length was to marry someone else. And keep you safe with her. She was right, of course. Horace needed a wife. I needed a barrier.” Heather set her glass on the table and looked straight at her son. “Eric, you must remember how it was. I couldn’t have loved anyone else the way I loved your father. He was…” Her inhale was shaky. “Jake was everything to me.”

  Eric’s chest felt like it was caving in. Memories, so many memories of his parents’ tiny moments, all the ways they broke the codes of decorum of the Upper East Side. Secret glances across a cocktail party. Kisses when they thought no one was watching.

  Yes, he remembered. He understood exactly what his parents had shared, because he felt it now with the woman sitting beside him, the one looking very much like she needed a life preserver.

  Tentatively, he reached into her lap and pried her hand away from her dress, then raised her fingers to o his lips and pressed a long kiss t
o her knuckles. Jane vibrated, but her hand was limp. Shit. Shit.

  But something else was missing from the story.

  “Mom,” Eric said, “I understand why he might nurse a vendetta against you. But why me? Why now? Dad’s been gone more than twenty years. You’ve been long married. Why did Carson care so much that he has been actively trying to ruin my life since all this happened? Coming after me and Jane. Penny, even. Did you know he killed her too, Mom? He sent his fucking henchmen, but he killed her too!”

  His emotions got away from him at the end. Jane covered her face with her hands, like she couldn’t bear to hear anymore of it. But Heather, for her part, just looked sad as she watched her son fall apart. Sad, but not even one bit surprised.

  “Oh, Eric,” she said. “I keep telling you. You are your father’s son. John Carson doesn’t look at you and see a new person. He sees the next version of a man who, in his eyes, stole everything from him that ever mattered. You are the only ghost he can’t exorcise, just like I am that last treasure he can’t possess. For John Carson, the de Vries family has long represented the only obstacles to happiness. Control. Power. Belonging. Stealing from you and Jane—” She shook her head, as if only now she couldn’t believe the lengths this man would come to assert his control and dominance. “It was just an extension of the motivations he has had his entire adult life. He wanted me, Eric. He wanted your father. Our life. Now, I can’t even imagine what he thinks of his own DNA mixing with the flesh of his mortal enemy. The son of the man he blamed for ruining his life marries his only daughter?” She she picked up her wine glass and tossed back the rest of its contents. “It tipped him over the edge.”

  26

  The sky was darkening when Eric guided Jane to the car, keeping a hand at her back, though she barely seemed to notice him. If she had been quieter as the conversation with Heather had progressed, she was back to being a shadow. She didn’t seem to notice the heavy rain or the wind that howled up from the river. Even through his own shock at hearing the story, Eric was worried. Very worried. Something wasn’t right.

  They fell into the back of the car and just sat as Tony waited for Eric’s direction.

  “Well?” Eric said at last. “Where to?”

  Jane still hadn’t looked at him. It took her a moment to realize he was even speaking to her. “What?”

  “We did what I came here to do. And then what you thought I needed to do. Where do you want to go? Back to Boston, or—”

  “No.” Jane’s quick gaze darted up to find his. “I want to go home.”

  Home. There was only one place she could have meant by that. Not her parents’ old house in Evanston, or Skylar’s compound in Brookline. She glanced in roughly the direction of the west side of the island, where their apartment stood.

  Eric’s mouth quirked with satisfaction. “Wherever you go, pretty girl,” he murmured, then, watching her the entire time, tentatively picked up Jane’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, just like he had done inside the house.

  But instead of rolling her eyes and saying something like “God, you’re corny,” she simply let her hand drop to her lap once he was finished. Then she pressed her nose to the window, and it was like Eric wasn’t even there.

  Eric sighed, then signaled to Tony, who pulled away from the curb. Heather’s townhouse disappeared into the winter gloom. Eric pulled out his phone. He wasn’t ready to sink into his own thoughts completely. Not yet.

  “Zola, hey,” he said when the assistant DA picked up. “It’s Eric de Vries. I…look, Jane and I are back in town, and we just had a conversation with my mother that will interest you. If the DA is still building his own case against—”

  “We are,” Zola interrupted.

  That was all he said, probably because that was all he could say, depending on who was in the room. Or even the line.

  “Well, if you want to come by tomorrow morning, I can tell you what she said,” Eric replied. “But I’d like to talk about my father’s death too. There’s something strange about all of this, put together.”

  When Eric hung up, Jane was still staring out the window. She hadn’t moved an inch.

  Eric couldn’t take it anymore. “What is it?” He asked. Goddammit. That hopelessness was sucking her back in, like some twisted vortex, and had been doing so since they had gotten to Heather’s. What the hell had happened?

  Jane sighed and stared down at her hands, then rubbed a thumb slowly over her wrist. Her fingernails were plain and chewed down, missing the sheen of black or red polish. There were a few scabs on her cuticles, places where she had bitten too far or cut too much.

  “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I wonder if it’s the universe telling us something. I’m honestly not sure if this will ever end.”

  Eric took her hand again and played with it between his knees, pressing his thumbs into the center of her palm. Jane’s hands were so graceful—had he ever thought to tell her that? Her wrists were small enough that his thumb and forefinger could encircle them completely.

  And yet, she was the strongest person he knew in so many ways. He had never known anyone so indelibly herself. He wanted more than anything to help her find that again.

  He massaged each of her fingertips. “I thought today would help.”

  “Help what?”

  “You know.”

  She quieted yet again. Then: “It did. At first. I…” She shook her head, like she was clearing cobwebs. “I mean, it’s one thing to hear the stories about Penny from you. It’s another to see it, witness the relationships. I wish I had been more forgiving of you back then. When we met, I mean.”

  “Hey.” Eric released her hand so he could slip a finger under her chin, asking her to look at him. “That’s not why I took you to Queens.”

  But she pulled her chin away and refused to look at him. “Still. I wish I had been better. You deserved better.”

  “I thought it would be good to know…I don’t know. You’re not the only one he’s hurt, Jane. You’re not alone.”

  At that, she finally looked up, and the green in her eyes blazed with pain. “Aren’t I?” She said it so quietly, he almost couldn’t hear her.

  “No.”

  Her eyes watered like she wanted to cry. Eric wished she would. That was the real point of all of this. That by witnessing, talking, getting everything out, she could begin to let go of her own emotions too.

  Otherwise she was going to break. And he really had no idea what that would look like.

  But instead of crying, she just turned back to the window. And by the time they reached the apartment, she had withdrawn completely.

  They exited the car, flanked by the other two security. Their footsteps echoed up the turn-of-the-century stairs. Jane didn’t look at him once.

  “Thanks,” Eric said to the guards after they unlocked the apartment. “There shouldn’t be any visitors today, but you have the list.”

  They nodded and turned back down the stairs to their post. When the door closed, the abyss gaped again. Eric wanted to punch something.

  Jane stared around their place like she had never seen it, though she had changed her clothes here only a few hours earlier.

  “Do you…would you like another glass of wine?” Eric offered as he hung his coat on the rack. “Mom took care of most of that bottle herself, so I think we earned a few. There might be a few cans of PBR in the fridge. I was thinking about ordering in from Le Zie too, if that sounds good.”

  He was babbling like an idiot, but goddammit, her silence was unnerving. She was still just standing there, her trench coat dripping onto the hardwoods. The same floors she was always squawking about if he dared not remove his shoes.

  Eric approached and helped her coat off. Her arms were noodles. Fucking hell, where had she gone?

  “What would you have done if I had died too?” Her voice was a staggered whisper. “Would you have moved on quickly, do you think? Found another woman to help you keep your fortune?”

&nbs
p; Eric turned from the coatrack and frowned. “Where is this coming from?”

  Jane’s eyes were dulled behind clouded, rain-spotted lenses. “I’m sure you could have had your pick.”

  “Jane, don’t be stupid.”

  I’m not stupid, you asshole. Had he only imagined she had said that? Yes. She hadn’t spoken at all, was just standing there in the same spot, arms wrapped around her waist while she shivered.

  “You’re in shock,” Eric said, shooting for kindness this time. He reached out to rub her arm, but she stepped out of reach.

  “Can you be in shock for over a month?”

  Goddammit. This whole day had been a mistake, hadn’t it? One step forward at the Kostases’, five thousand backward with his mother. Fucking hell.

  They stared at each other for a long time. Jane’s chin quivered. Finally, she removed her glasses and started to polish them with a bit of her dress fabric. She kept doing it far past the point where they were cleaned.

  Eric turned over the mess of negative thoughts running through his mind again and again.

  “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes,” he said. “You should do the same. Take a hot shower or something. Then we can have a drink or two and just…process.”

  Jane didn’t answer. Eric slumped and turned toward the bedrooms. Five minutes. He just needed to five minutes to reset. And then he could come back to her. Because he wasn’t going let her slide into nothingness for another several weeks. Absolutely not.

  As he rifled through the folded shirts in his closet, it struck Eric, not for the first time, that this apartment didn’t fit. He hadn’t ever said anything, but he’d always hated the way he and Jane had never been able to cohabitate completely. Her things were still mostly kept in the bedroom she had repurposed as a studio. They were both such clothes horses, and the master closet simply couldn’t hold everything they owned. Meanwhile, there were two other bedrooms that served as an “office,” he never used, a guest room that sat empty.

  Even once they had finally come together organically within these walls, it had still always felt as though she was spending the night at his place, or he at hers. The living room, the kitchen—yes, they were shared spaces. But as units, Jane and he still existed apart. The apartment itself wouldn’t allow otherwise.