Compact with the Devil: A Novel (31 page)

Nikki checked her phone. No calls. At this point, she was afraid to call Jane, and Mrs. M wouldn’t appreciate being nagged. But she needed help! She dialed Jenny and got her voice mail. Ellen’s number was the same story. Nikki felt herself flush as she realized that they probably knew about Z’ev and Nina Alvarez. They probably weren’t answering because they didn’t want to tell her about it. She felt a hot wave of humiliation wash over her.

Breathing deeply, Nikki tried to control herself. She needed to maintain control. People were counting on her. She cracked the curtains and scanned the street. No thugs in evidence, but she spotted a familiar bulk lurking in the leeward side of the pharmacy. She glanced back at Kit, who was sprawling out to take up her side of the bed, burying his head under a pillow to avoid the light she was letting in the room. Nikki let the curtain swing shut
and looked around for something to write on, finding only Kit’s chicken-scratch-covered hotel stationery.

Where we’re going can’t be half as hard as where we are now / I was dying, but I’ve been saved from the final bow …

Various permutations of the lines evolved across the page. Farther down, some new lines sprang up.

There’s a price you pay for greatness, there’s a cost for all this fame, / And they tear a hole in my soul every time they scream my name.

Followed by:
And I’ve been needing something, better than I had before / A new way to fill this emptiness, a better kind of cure.

There were arrows moving the lines and words around, and a few other phrases, followed by a crabbed set of musical bars and notations that Nikki couldn’t read. Feeling slightly guilty for peeking, she flipped the sheet over and wrote her own note.

Everything’s fine. Just stepped out for a minute. Don’t go anywhere.

She paused to consider and then, feeling bold and slightly whimsical, wrote,
Love forever, Nikki.

The window at the end of the hallway overlooked the back alley, and Nikki had carefully noted the night before that it opened onto a fire escape. She opened the window, climbed down the fire escape, and dropped into the snow. The sudden updraft blew a cold current of air up her pant legs, and she shivered. Huddling into her scarf and jacket, Nikki walked briskly down the alley and around the corner, circling the block. She forgot the chill as she rounded the corner and came within view of her quarry. She took her hands out of her pockets, swinging them loosely at her sides, stalking her target.

Buried under a knit cap and Helly Hansen jacket, the man leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the drugstore could have been almost anyone, but there was a certainty to his stance that Nikki recognized. She walked quietly, letting the flurry of pedestrians
mask her approach. She would come up on his blind side and surprise him.

“Do you think this is the first time I’ve pulled him out of a sleazy hotel with some tart?” he called out when she was still five feet away. Nikki paused. So much for the blind side.

“The hotel isn’t that bad. And I am not a tart,” she said, realizing that she probably should have started with that and then gone on to the hotel.

“No, you’re Carrie Mae.” He finally turned to look at her, and his pale blue eyes bored straight through her skull. Nikki found that she was holding her breath. “I keep him safe. Do you really think I wouldn’t know that?”

“Do you really think I don’t know you’re his uncle?” Nikki fired back. His stark silence told her she’d made a hit. He pushed away from the wall and in two swift strides had cut the distance between them. “I searched your room; I found a picture of Declan and Camille. You look too much like Declan not to be related, and so does Kit. Declan’s dead. That just leaves one missing uncle. What is it you want from Kit?”

“Missing …” Duncan gave a bitter barking laugh. “I was in prison when Declan was killed. But Camille blamed me anyway. She said I ratted Declan out to Cano.”

“Did you?”

Duncan’s eyes flicked to hers; he was clearly startled by her bluntness. “No. I think Declan told Cano himself. Declan wanted to bury the hatchet. Put it all to rest so that he and Camille could raise their baby in peace. Didn’t work out that way, and when I got out Camille threatened to kill me if I went near Kit. I lost myself in Africa after that and when I came back … It was like I’d never existed. Camille had moved Kit and my mother to London and sworn everyone to secrecy about our past. Then I saw Kit on TV
one day and I thought I’d tell him. I’d worked up my courage. I figured, damn Camille, I’d just tell him. Called Mum; she told me where he was at. Only when I turned up they thought I was applying for the bodyguard position and I … I chickened out. And now, five years on, here we are.”

“How does Camille not know?” groaned Nikki.

“She doesn’t visit that often. I can usually just call in sick or schedule a vacation. Mum helps.”

“Ellen is going to eat it up with a spoon,” muttered Nikki.

“I don’t want anything from Kit. I just want to make sure I don’t lose him the way I lost Declan,” said Duncan, as if he hadn’t heard her. Nikki frowned, not sure whether to believe this. “But just what is it that you want from Kit?” he asked, looming over her.

“Same thing as you,” she said, holding her ground. “To keep him safe.”

He relaxed a bit and backed up half a step.

“You want to keep him safe?” He seemed incredulous. “So you decided to take him to a bar and do karaoke? He doesn’t need help falling off the wagon; he can do that on his own.” He paced to the drugstore wall and back.

“He didn’t drink, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Someone is trying to kill him.”

Duncan paused in his pacing. “The tour bus? The stage? Those were Trista and Camille,” he said dismissively.

“And yet you didn’t do anything about them,” said Nikki accusingly.

“And what was I supposed to do?” said Duncan. “‘Oi, Kit, your favorite auntie Trista is trying to scare the shite out of you. She’s part of an international ring of female spies, and she’s probably under orders from your mother, who wants you to hang up
the rock star gig to become an accountant. Oh, how do I know? Well, I’m actually your uncle and I knew them when I was in the IRA.’ Yeah, that’d go over like a lead balloon.”

“And maybe you didn’t say anything so that you’d have the perfect fall guy when you had Antonio Cano kill him.”

Duncan’s face went white. “C-cano knows about him?” he stuttered.

“I saw Cano meeting with someone who was carrying a Hotel Hell backstage pass five days ago. I chased that person back to the concert, which is where I lost them. Someone on the tour is in league with Cano and I’ve been trying to figure out who. That’s why I’m here.”

“I thought Camille sent you,” said Duncan, sagging against the wall. “I’ve been trying to figure out your angle. When you told Kit about the stage accident … I couldn’t figure it out.”

“What does Kit’s look like?”

“He’s not going to bloody need a will!” roared Duncan, bursting upright. “I will
not
let anything happen to him!”

“You misunderstand my question,” said Nikki, trying not to flinch. “I’m asking who stands to inherit if he dies.”

Duncan checked. “You’re asking about suspects. No, that doesn’t follow. It’s Camille and Mum and Brandt. Maybe a couple of other bequests, but no one with any reason to kill him.”

“What about Camille?” asked Nikki, and Duncan snorted in derision.

“She may not be the most hands-on mum, but she loves him. She’d never let anyone touch her precious baby.”

“OK, so assuming that’s all true, we’ve got a problem. Because someone is definitely trying to kill him. Someone on the tour is tied to Cano. And if it’s not you or Trista, then I’m fresh out of suspects.”

“Another accident?” repeated Duncan, frowning. “How? Trista’s not here.”

“Thugs in the Metro last night,” said Nikki, shivering a little in the biting wind.

“That was you!” he exclaimed, pushing off the wall and into her space again. “I saw a report on the news. Is Kit OK?”

“He’s fine,” answered Nikki, suppressing the desire to back up. “I’m fine too, thanks for asking.”

“How do you know they weren’t after you?” he asked, going back to pacing.

The wind was kicking up, and it blew flurries of sleetish snow against her back. The gray light from the Parisian dawn gave everything an odd, ambient, shadowless look.

“I don’t have any enemies,” said Nikki with a shrug.

“You’re young yet,” he said with a snort.

“And besides,” said Nikki, talking over his sarcasm, “they weren’t aiming at me.”

Duncan walked to the drugstore and back twice before stopping in front of Nikki, his hands behind his back—a military pose from a nearly forgotten past.

“Right; it doesn’t matter who or why, because here’s what we do. You go get him; I’ll call a car. We’ll go straight to the airport and straight back home to Ireland. I’ve got friends there. I can protect him.”

“He won’t go,” said Nikki, shaking her head.

“London then. I can make that work.”

“He won’t go,” repeated Nikki. “He wants to do his show. He says people paid to hear him sing and he’s going to sing.”

“Now he gets a work ethic?” demanded Duncan.

Nikki shrugged. “If not now, when?”

Duncan threw his hands into the air. “I’ll talk him out of it,” he said firmly. “Let’s go see him.”

Nikki shrugged again but followed Duncan into the street.

“You won’t tell him, will you?” asked Duncan. “That I’m his uncle.”

“I won’t,” said Nikki, considering briefly as they dodged cars in the crosswalk, “but you should. He deserves to know. He deserves a family.”

“Yeah, a family, but I’m not that. I’m not much of anything. And besides, his mother … If she found out …”

“She’d totally freak?” Nikki filled in for him, and Duncan nodded. “I hear that, but if you don’t tell him soon, I will. He deserves to know.”

Duncan reluctantly nodded. “I’ll tell him. Afterward. If we don’t keep Kit alive I guess none of it will matter anyway.”

“Nikki,” said Kit, yanking open the door at her knock and sounding slightly panicked. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, seeing Duncan.

“Next time look through the peephole, Kit,” said Nikki, entering with Duncan trailing after her. “Duncan’s not the sort of person you want to be surprised by.” Duncan grinned and then took good stock of Kit’s shirtless state and bandages.

“Jaysus, son!” Duncan exclaimed, his Irish accent sweeping in, as it usually did when he swore. “What’d you do? You said he was fine!” he shot angrily over his shoulder at Nikki.

Kit’s eyes lit up, and he ran to the mirror.

“Do I look rugged and tough?” he asked, peeling off the bandages.

“No, you don’t,” said Duncan heavily. “You look like you should be in hospital. We’re going back to London.”

“Bollocks,” said Kit. “I’ve got a show to do.”

“People are trying to kill you!” exclaimed Duncan.

“I know, but that’s why I’ve got you and Nikki.”

“We can’t catch everything. Why put yourself at risk?”

“Because,” said Kit, pulling on his T-shirt and sweater, “I want to sing.”

“What’d you do?” Duncan demanded, turning to Nikki.

“I didn’t do anything!” she exclaimed, protesting.

“She gave me dinosaurs,” said Kit, unexpectedly kissing her on the temple. “Come on, we’ve gotta check out, so I can get to the venue for rehearsal.”

“What is he talking about?” asked Duncan. Nikki shrugged.

“I’m writing again, Duncan,” called Kit from the hallway. “It turns out that creativity is a renewable resource. Dinosaurs dropping dead every minute—more oil on tap.”

“Writing?” Duncan chased after him. “Wait, he’s writing again?” he asked, turning to Nikki, who was bringing up the rear.

“He had some stuff he was working on last night,” answered Nikki with another shrug.

“Oh,” said Duncan. Then he smiled, and even underneath the mustache Nikki could see that his smile was twin to Kit’s. How had no one noticed? “Well, that’ll do then.” His face straightened itself out, and Nikki realized no one had noticed because Duncan didn’t smile.

“That’ll do what?” she asked.

“That’ll bring the lad round. He hasn’t written a note since rehab. To tell the truth I thought he’d go back to the drugs just to get the words back, but if he’s writing again … Well, things are all right, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are!” shouted Kit from ahead of them.

“You’re both nuts,” said Nikki.

“But you love us anyway,” said Kit, walking backward so he could see her. “Forever, right?”

Duncan stopped to see her reaction. Nikki sighed, looking at the pair of them. They were a ragtag little family, clinging together in spite of all their secrets, lies, and faults. Who couldn’t love that?

“Forever,” she said, rolling her eyes and wondering just what she’d gotten herself into.

“Jeez,” said Kit as they got into Duncan’s car. “I turn off the phone for a couple of hours and all hell breaks loose. Mum’s in town and freaking out because she can’t find me. Brandt’s freaking out because he can’t find me. Ditto on Angela. It’s pretty much a mass freak-out. Ahhhhh, freak out!” He added the last part in a disco falsetto.

“Your mom’s in town?” repeated Nikki, ignoring the vocal flourish and exchanging glances with Duncan.

“What? Nothing on that one? That was good, that was.” Kit sighed and then answered her question. “Yeah, she’s called about fifteen times. I think she’s waiting for me at the hotel,” said Kit offhandedly, still poking at his phone.

“Uh, well,” said Nikki, just as hers rang. They all jumped at the sound. “Sorry.” She apologized as she picked up. “This is Nikki.”

“Ah, Nikki,” said Mrs. Merrivel. “It appears that you are having some problems with our Paris friends.”

“Uh, yes, problems,” said Nikki, and Mrs. M clucked her tongue.

“So unfortunate.” Nikki held a sigh in; understatement was Mrs. M’s métier. “Well, since Madame Feron is being extremely difficult I’m officially ordering you to suspend activities while I work on matters.”