Deep Deception (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Adin dropped his key card on the tiny desk and wheeled his luggage into the closet, where he automatically emptied its contents and hung up his suit bag.

He eyed the newest of his belongings, an elegant, shiny black walking stick with a silver skull handle and a lethal sword hidden inside that he’d received as a gift from Tuan. It was so much like the one used by Moriarty in the old Sherlock Holmes television series that he’d annoyed Tuan and Edward by laughing out loud.

While it was true he knew how to handle a sword without killing himself—from spending the time with a Kendo master at Donte’s home in Spain—it wasn’t likely that he’d survive against even a moderately experienced opponent.

But it made him look so very cool
.

Adin stood in front of the mirror, holding it, playing with it a little a la Fred Astaire, until he heard a knock on the door. He called out, and when he heard Boaz’s voice on the other side he opened it.

Boaz entered and looked at the cane in his hand. “You are going to get yourself killed with that thing.”

“That’s what I told Tuan, but he seems to think I should have it. Maybe he realizes that I’ll throw it to you and run away.”

“See that you do,” Boaz ordered.

“Dinner?” Boaz was silent for so long Adin asked, “What?”

Boaz let out a heavy sigh and dropped into the lounge chair next to Adin’s bed. It was as if his spirit just left him, all his masks dropped away, and he was wholly and completely unguarded. Adin had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing the real Boaz for the very first time. “
Gods
. I’m tired.”

“I could order in…” When Boaz didn’t say anything Adin frowned. “Are you affected by Bran as well?”

“Of course not,” Boaz snapped.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Would it matter if I were affected by Bran?” Boaz asked him roughly.

“Yes, it would matter. Of course it would. What do you mean? If you couldn’t be around Bran I certainly wouldn’t ask you to be. I certainly wouldn’t—”

“Since when do you ever
ask
?” Boaz rose and turned to him with the air of a man who needed to get something off his chest. “Since when does it matter to you what anyone else wants or needs?”

“
Excuse me
?” Adin stepped back

“You always do whatever you want. If we don’t like it, if it’s dangerous or stupid or just plain inconsiderate, you dance out of reach, move on, go home to your sister or your friends or your little house and your books.”

“What are you
talking
about?”

“
You
are Donte’s weakness.”
Boaz gave Adin a shove that nearly knocked him over.

Adin took a couple of steps backward. “Then Donte is safe because I would never, ever hurt him.”

“The hell he’s safe. Donte Fedeltà, who has survived for nearly five centuries, can be broken as easily as your arm, Adin. He willingly undertook the care of a boy who is toxic to him, for
you
. He sends his bodyguards away from his side to watch out for
you
. You don’t have to hurt him. That’s just exactly
it.
All you have to do is continue on as you are, and the inevitable consequences of your existence will
kill
him.”

Adin drew in a shocked breath. “That’s a hell of a thing to say, Boaz.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true. You leave him open to attack by his enemies, you bring something poisonous into his home, you refuse to commit to him, to be his partner in every way—”

“Because I don’t want to be turned? Because I don’t want to lose my humanity?”

“Humanity is vastly overrated. Donte adores you. He’s beyond loyal to you. If he allowed anyone—even you—to see how much he loves you, he’d be completely vulnerable to his enemies. He’s a true prince among ordinary men. I don’t know how you define humanity, Tredeger. I truly don’t.”

“He has no faith in me,” Adin whispered.

“That’s right. He doesn’t. Why would he?” Boaz turned on his heel and headed for the door. He opened it and then looked back. “What have you done that didn’t require one rescue after another since the day you met?”

The door closed behind Boaz with a metallic snap. After that, the silence was the deepest Adin had ever known.

Adin woke from a restless, dreamless sleep the next morning before dawn. He wasn’t surprised at all. Even when he was a kid, if something preyed on his mind, worry, or guilt, his eyes snapped open right around four a.m. and he could never get back to sleep.

It didn’t help that he felt spacey and jet-lagged. His circadian rhythms were all messed up. It would be hours before the hotel staff would lay out the coffee and Danish that comprised the continental breakfast on his floor, and he was still hungry from missing dinner.

Even with Boaz’s ugly words from the night before—or maybe because of them—he couldn’t help dressing warmly and heading out the door. It meant putting himself in possible danger. It meant annoying Boaz once more, by giving him the slip if he’d really come along simply to be his bodyguard.

Adin couldn’t help being a little annoyed as well. He hadn’t signed on for the lifestyle of a mafia princess. He didn’t
want
to live like the offspring of the American president. He was using a walking stick with a sword in it. He had both a phone, which was also a GPS tracker, and a light device that worked like a less pyrotechnic flash grenade to stun an enemy so he could make his escape. If he had human enemies he was certain Donte would insist he carry a gun on his person.

As each one of these things became necessary, he lost a little more of himself. He’d never imagined, even with all his travel, that he’d have the need for anything more lethal than a pair of reading glasses.

But Boaz had railed at him the previous night about his stubborn behavior
hurting
Donte. As if by remaining human he was costing Donte the time and energy and resources he needed to protect himself. As if he were costing Donte his health, and his well-being. Even his—for lack of a better term—life.

Was Boaz right?

He was right about one thing. Donte Feldeltà
was
a prince among men. And maybe it was past time for Adin to broaden his definition of humanity.

Adin took the elevator down to the lobby and exited out the front door. The doorman, dressed for the chill, misty weather, gave him a tired smile.

“Morning, sir.” His breath puffed out in wisps of fog. “Can I get anything for you?”

“I thought I’d take a walk.” Adin peered at the man’s nametag. “Kevin. I figured I’d head over to the wharf. By the time I get there it should just be coming to life.”

“Yes, sir, be sure to warm up with some nice hot coffee and sourdough bread. Nothing like it.”

“That sounds heavenly.” Adin took a few steps and turned. “Thank you.”

Adin first headed toward the Embarcadero from the hotel on Post. From there, if he took Hyde Street into the Russian Hill area, through the neighborhood where Edward’s painted lady Victorian stood, he would eventually come to the bay at the Hyde Street Pier near his dad’s beloved Balclutha, a short distance from Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a long walk, hilly and taxing, but his heart soared as he gorged on the unique smell of the city and he treasured the feel of fog on his skin.

Being back in San Francisco again more than made up for the energy he needed to expend. He drew its ambience to him like a cyclone. Out of all the places he’d lived, San Francisco and his tiny cottage in Bainbridge Island were the only two he’d ever really called home. San Francisco still held his heart like no place ever. He loved it, despite some painful memories. He rarely slept well, but he returned again and again, because it was home. He had spent the happiest, most carefree years of his life there.

Maybe that was his problem—the word,
carefree
. He never expected to spend his life carefree, yet he’d done a considerable amount of racketing around the globe, putting one mile behind another, satisfying his intellectual curiosity without ever touching down and taking on any personal obligations.

His home was cared for by a housekeeper in his absence, his job—on hold since he’d purchased Donte’s journal—had never required the commitment of a true academic career. He had no wife or family and no one to answer to but himself and very occasionally, his sister.

His relationship with Donte was new enough that he was still trying to understand what it would mean. Adin very much feared that Donte would be happy to substitute the word
reckless
for the word carefree.

Donte acted as if Adin had traveled the globe, pleasing himself, unattached, free from the distractions of a normal life, free from worries of an economic or domestic nature, daring fate to throw what it would at him,
because he had.

As if Adin were spoiled and thoughtless,
because he was
.

Maybe Boaz was right. Adin didn’t always think things through, and he rarely asked permission because he’d never had to make decisions with anyone else in mind.

When he’d first seen Bran, the horror of the situation completely eclipsed any other concern. He’d made the decision to get Bran out of there before he’d taken his next breath. A young boy—a child really—chained in a basement, fed like an animal, kept in the darkness, and left there for months to wonder why.

No
.

Taking Bran out of that basement had been the right
course of action whatever the cost. But to keep him? To make promises? To adopt him like a pet?

Adin should have asked—not informed—Donte. He should have weighed his options before he charmed the boy and bought him clothes and made any assurances to him.

What did he think? That they’d be one big happy family, two gay men still working out their
arrangement
and their slightly mysterious son?

However sincere he’d been, he could never have taken care of Bran without the protection of both Donte and Santos, without Boaz’s cooperation. He’d been foolish. Had taken everything for granted. And now Donte was ill, Boaz was angry, and Edward and Tuan had become involved, all consequences he hadn’t even considered.

Ah, shit.
Boaz was right.

For some reason, maybe because of past disappointment or maybe from a lack of confidence that he’d hidden from even himself, he’d been deliberately keeping himself out of Donte’s reach.

Keeping his heart untouchable.

Sure he’d been saying all along that he loved Donte—that Donte was his happiness—and yet he’d held himself aloof and apart because he believed
true love
was for suckers and fools.

He could almost hear Charles’s mocking voice.
We’re above all that, Adin. We’re sophisticated men of the world. We don’t need to tell ourselves lies. We take what we want.

Was that simply some shit Charles told him to get him to accept being treated like a toy? And when had Donte EVER treated him with that kind of casual disregard?

Adin frowned. There
was
that whole leaving-him-with-Santos-­to-die affair. Thank heavens Tuan had arrived in the nick of time…

Tuan.

How had Tuan known to be there at all?

Adin began walking at a ground-eating stride and eventually he came to the end of the trolley line and turned, not toward the wharves and the food but in the other direction, toward Aquatic Park on the San Francisco Bay trail, toward the beach and maybe Golden Gate Bridge if his feet held out, and he didn’t need to stop for food.

His mind was reeling.

By the time he got to the Palace of Fine Arts buildings, the sun had come up and the fog was dissipating. The seabirds could be seen wheeling overhead, looking for food. The city was waking up and so was Adin. He checked the time on his watches. Six fifteen a.m.; that meant three fifteen in the afternoon in Paris. He hesitated before taking out his cell phone. While he was making up his mind whether to try Donte again, or to phone Boaz or get a cab, it rang in his hands.

“Tredeger.”


“Are you
sightseeing
?” Boaz’s voice held undisguised contempt.

Adin closed his eyes. “Thinking.”

“It’s about fucking time.”

“I’m at the Palace of Fine Arts and I need—in no particular order—a ride home, breakfast, and to visit Bran at Edward and Tuan’s.”

“Anything else?”

“I’d like a pedal-powered airplane,” Adin told him. “Or a zeppelin.”

“
Adin.
” Boaz growled the word.

“Oh, all right. I’m sorry, Boaz. You were right and I was wrong and I’m so very, very sorry.” Adin swallowed. “I presumed a great deal. Maybe I don’t have
relationship skills
. I only hope I’m able to say that to Donte in person sooner rather than later, and to make up for allowing him to wonder whether he comes first with me.”

Boaz hesitated. “In that, you may be in luck.”

“
What
?”


“It’s possible that he might be on his way.”

“Don’t be cryptic. When?”

“I’m not being cryptic, it’s just something Santos told me, that Donte might be well enough to be on the move again. I have no idea if it’s even true.”

“Does he know where we are?”

“Yes.”

“Then why hasn’t he called, damn him?”

“We’ll have to ask him when we see him.” Boaz hung up.

When they arrived at Edward’s he ushered Adin and Boaz into the kitchen where Tuan was already sitting with his coffee, reading the paper. He looked up, owlish in his glasses, and grinned over a vase of freshly cut irises. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” Adin dropped into a chair, pathetically grateful to sit after his long walk.
Thank heaven he hadn’t had to walk back to the hotel.
“Boaz and I brought donuts and I’m ravenous.”

Boaz handed a bag to Edward, who opened it and exclaimed, “
Zeppole
! I love these.”

Adin sighed dramatically. “I asked for a zeppel
in
.”

“Technically, you asked for a ride, breakfast, to come here and see Bran, a pedal-powered aircraft,
and
a zeppelin.” Boaz seemed in a much better mood.