Consumed by Fire (37 page)

Half a dozen times she’d been about to push herself off the mattress, head to the front of the camper, and start an argument with him. By tonight he was going to be out of her life. Forever. Some small, self-destructive part of her wanted to hold on to anything for the last short time she had, even a fight. She didn’t move. The sooner he was gone from her life, the sooner she’d start to let go, and she wasn’t going to bother with any more questions, questions that he’d never answer. As far as he knew she was sleeping, and that made it easier on both of them.

He stopped once, to let Merlin out to pee, to make himself another cup of coffee, to glance at her supposedly sleeping body before heading back to the driver’s seat. By the time they were back up to speed, Merlin had paced back to her, nuzzling her face. Unlike James, he wasn’t fooled by her feigned slumber, and he wanted cuddles and games and attention, but she remained motionless. Finally, with a sigh of canine acceptance, he climbed up onto the bunk and curled up at her feet, taking a good third of the narrow bed. It was the first time he’d ever relaxed his guard enough to get on the bed with her, and it was almost enough to bring silent tears, the ones she’d fought since she’d left the shower. She slid a surreptitious hand down to scratch his head and he sighed blissfully. If there was only some way her life could be that simple.

It was growing dark earlier and earlier, particularly the farther south they went. Over the Canadian border the sun had been going down around 8 p.m.—it was a full hour earlier as they neared the Gulf of Mexico. Small night lights came on automatically in the back of the RV, but she and Merlin lay mostly in shadow; even the renewed sound of heavy traffic, the stop and start of the caravan, the street noise and raucous music wasn’t enough to make her lift her head, though it made Merlin jump down and pace to the front to sit at James’s side. They were in the city. They were near the end.

She wasn’t going to make it any easier for him, she thought, dry-eyed. He’d carried her into the camper—he could carry her out. He could set her on her feet and turn his back on her. If he could.

When the Winnebago finally came to a halt, she wanted to groan. Her body was aching from her enforced stillness, not to mention the activities of the night before, all she’d been through, the brutal and the beautiful. It took all her strength of will to lay perfectly still, to keep her breathing even. The lights came on fully, but she didn’t let her eyelids quiver, and she felt him approach her, then stand over her, looking down at her for an endless moment, as if deciding what to do with her. Would he pick her up and carry her inside? He seemed to have no trouble carrying her around—he was a lot stronger than his lean frame suggested. Or would he join her on that narrow berth, cover her body with his in a final joining . . .?

He did neither. “Merlin, come,” he ordered in a soft voice. And a moment later she was alone in the RV, in the darkness.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall of the van, staring sightlessly ahead of her. So that was that. It was over. She should thank him, really she should, for not prolonging matters. A clean break, fast and sharp, was the best way to deal with things. She drew her knees up, hugging them. Already she could feel the muggy heat of Louisiana infiltrate the camper as the artificially chilled air began to dissipate, and she wondered whether he’d locked her in. Maybe she’d die of asphyxiation before he could decide what to do with her. That would be just fine with her—she’d lost everything. Annabelle, her beloved camper, a goodly amount of her research, possibly even her job. She’d had a grant for the work she’d been doing, and it had all hinged on the last two American sites. Without that research she would have nothing to publish, and the college was going to take a very dim view of things. Which mattered less than she thought. She had money of her own—maybe she’d just disappear. She’d told herself she’d never go back to Italy—maybe it was time to lay that particular ghost.

She heard her own cynical laughter. In fact, she’d spent the last few days doing just that—laying that particular ghost. It was time to exorcise him for good, and a week or two in Venice should do the job nicely.

This time there would be no need to try to drive him from her mind and her body with a series of unsatisfactory love affairs. She’d accepted the truth, looked at it clearly and without sentiment. Something happened when they were in bed together, something unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she knew perfectly well what the magic ingredient was. Not his remarkable prowess and inventiveness or even his sheer gorgeousness.

It was the stupid, incontrovertible fact that she loved him.

She could only hope the condition wasn’t terminal.

She hadn’t heard the footsteps outside, and when the door opened and the lights flooded the space, she didn’t have time to slide down into the bunk again. It didn’t matter. The man who stood there was a stranger.

“Dr. Morrissey?” He stepped up into the camper and shut the door behind him, pushing the switch to keep the lights on. “I’m Matthew Ryder. Bishop has asked me to look after you.”

She blinked, unable to come up with a response for a moment. “Where has he gone?” she said before she could stop herself.

“He’s taking care of some legal business that was waiting for him. In the meantime I’m going to transport you to a safe place for you to stay for the duration.”

“The duration of what?”

Matthew Ryder looked vaguely annoyed, not at her, but at his absent friend. “He didn’t explain things to you?”

“Not much. Why can’t I just go home?” Now she was sounding positively plaintive, and she wanted to kick herself. She was made of stronger stuff than that, and she wasn’t going to pancake simply because James had finally done what he’d always done: abandoned her.

“I’m afraid we’re still in the midst of a very sticky situation, one that leads all the way back to when you first met James in Italy,” Ryder said. “The man who tried to kill you in Montana worked for a major crime family, one which has a large contingent of members and a very profitable business centered in this city, and they’d like nothing better than to get their hands on James. They blame him for the execution of Dimitri Corsini.”

She thought of that seemingly sweet old man. “I thought Claudia . . . er . . . Claude killed him?”

Only the lightest twist of a smile touched Ryder’s impassive face. She stared at him, trying to memorize his features, but he kept in the shadows, and she could find nothing particularly interesting or memorable about him. In fact, he looked like a pencil pusher, a civil servant of some sort, totally bland and forgettable. She suspected he was anything but.

“I’m afraid Claude knew his usefulness to the Committee was coming to an end, and he decided getting rid of you was a good idea,” he said smoothly. “If anything, you’re in even more danger than you were before, and I’ve promised James I’ll make sure you’re safe until this is dealt with. With luck it will only be a few weeks . . .”

“A few weeks?” she said, her resignation fading. “I can’t stay here that long! I have to start classes at the end of the month, I have to do something about salvaging my work.”

“Don’t worry, Dr. Morrissey.” His bland voice was soothing. “We’ve got it all in hand. You’ve got a leave of absence from your teaching position, and I promise, the time will fly.”

She stared at him in patent disbelief. “Don’t call me doctor,” she said finally, for lack of anything else to say. “I’ve got a PhD, and it’s pretentious. I’m Evangeline.”

“Bishop’s Angel,” he murmured, and she turned away so the man wouldn’t see her flinch of pain. “I hope I can count on your cooperation in this. It’s to keep you safe.”

“And if I don’t cooperate?”

His smile was very cool. “I’m afraid you’ll be doing it anyway. Bishop wouldn’t like it if I had to hurt you, but personally I wouldn’t hesitate.”

She looked into his eyes then; they were flat, black, and completely soulless. He was another man like James, one who did what he had to do with no remorse. “Would you kill me?”

“It wouldn’t come to that. I’m too good at what I do.” He held out his hand. “It’s getting hot in here, and there’s a nice apartment with clean clothes and food and cable TV awaiting us across town.”

“What makes you think I watch TV?”

He didn’t blink. “James has briefed me thoroughly. You have a preference for twisted mysteries and love stories and you don’t like sitcoms unless they’re British. Plus, New Orleans has some of the best food in the world and I’ve made arrangements to have meals delivered from any restaurant that takes your fancy.”

She swung her legs off the bunk, ignoring his proffered hand. “Where’s Merlin?”

“I’m afraid he can’t come with you. He’s too easy to track. Once everything is taken care of, you’ll be able to take him back to Wisconsin with you.”

For a moment she didn’t move, but then she did what she had done so long ago. She simply turned everything off, all feeling, all interest, all longing, regret, or memory. “I don’t have any shoes,” she said, as if that were the most important thing in the world.

“That’s all right. It’s only a few steps to the car. There’ll be shoes waiting for you.”

“And how do I know you aren’t one of the people who has tried to kill me? Why should I trust you?”

Ryder’s smile this time was less of a grimace. “James said you’d ask that. He said to give you these.” He took her hand and placed something in it, closing her fingers around it. She knew what it was, even before she looked.

Her aunt’s diamond earrings, the ones he supposedly stole in Venice. She wanted to fling them at him.

But then, he wasn’t Bishop. So instead she calmly put them on, sliding them into the piercings and fastening them. She looked Ryder straight in the eye. “I’m ready,” she said.

“How did she look?” Bishop was sprawled in the apartment where Ryder had been living the last month, partway through a bottle of Scotch. He’d spent the last few hours signing paperwork, checking in with Madsen, prowling around the ramshackle building Ryder had chosen, and he was in a thoroughly foul mood. Merlin had risen the moment Ryder had come back in, whining in anticipation, and then sank down on the floor with a sigh of disappointment when he realized Evangeline wasn’t with him. Bishop knew just how he felt.

“Your Angel? Just fine, particularly when she saw all her research papers and her laptop waiting for her. Jenkins and Thomas have the first watch, and Thomas had already stopped in at Commander’s Palace for food. She looked quite happy to be rid of your sorry ass, though I think she misses the dog.”

“Thanks,” Bishop said with just the trace of a snarl. “She didn’t argue?”

“Just a little. You were right, though. Once I handed her the earrings, she shut right up. Nothing like diamonds to make a woman behave.”

“You don’t know shit. Those were her diamonds.” Stupid idiot that he was, he’d carried them with him, ever since he left her in Venice. He’d kept meaning to give them back to her, but something had always stopped him. Now he had nothing tying him to her, apart from the legal trifle of a marriage. Now he could let go of her. “I took care of the paperwork. This wreck of a place officially belongs to the Committee on the Preservation of Democracy. How’s that for a bullshit title?”

“It’ll do for now, as long as we don’t have any skinheads crawling out of the woodwork. Now that you’ve finally gotten your ass here we can start work on retrofitting the place, plus I’ve bribed the right people. Considering New Orleans’s reputation, it’s surprising how twitchy the city gets about their old buildings.”

“You could have chosen a high rise,” Bishop said.

Ryder shrugged, unmoved. “I don’t like them, and neither do you. We’ll have an easier time keeping things on the down low here in the Garden District. You gonna see her again?”

The last bit was such a change in subject that Bishop snarled before he could control himself. “You said it. She’s better off without me.”

“Think about business for a change, why don’t you?” Ryder said, totally without sympathy, but then, he’d always been a cold bastard. “We’ve only got circumstantial evidence against His Eminence, not even enough to warrant an official investigation, and in the meantime ships go in and out of port, filled with cargo.”

“Human beings aren’t cargo.” Bishop took another drink. He could hold his liquor, which was unfortunate when he wanted nothing more than a few hours’ oblivion.

“Not to His Eminence and the Corsini family. And we can’t even get close enough to take him out. He keeps that cadre of priests around him at all times—the only chance we’d have would be to kill all of them.”

Bishop looked at him. “Why haven’t we?”

“Two reasons. You and I are sanctioned—the others aren’t—and I’m not sure you and I are enough to handle it. Plus, not everyone in the Cardinal’s entourage is dirty. You were raised a Catholic—how’d you like to face your God after murdering an innocent priest or two or three?”

“I’m not likely to face any God at all after the things I’ve done. And I’m a recovering Catholic. If I’d still kept any doubts, this whole mess would have put a stop to it.”