Lover Avenged (75 page)

Her eyes went to the ledgers. Given what was in those records, father and son had been total opportunists. It was hard to believe that that kind of information wouldn’t have been used at one time or another. Very hard.

“Madam? I’ve brought you tea?”

Ehlena looked up at the doggen in the doorway. “I need to know something.”

“Of course, madam.” The maid came over with a smile. “What may I answer for you?”

“How did Montrag die?”

There was a sharp rattle as the maid all but dropped the tray on the table in front of the couch. “Madam…surely you do not wish to speak of such a thing.”

“How.”

The doggen looked at all the papers that had been scattered around the disemboweled safe. Going by the resignation in the female’s eyes, Sashla knew that secrets had been revealed, secrets that didn’t reflect well on her previous master.

Diplomacy and deference quieted the maid’s voice. “I would not wish to speak ill of the dead, nor to pay disrespect to the Sire Montrag. But you are the head of household, and as you have requested…”

“It’s okay. You’re doing nothing wrong. And I need to know. If it helps, think of it as a direct order.”

This seemed to relieve the female, and she nodded, then spoke in a halting tone. When she fell silent, Ehlena glanced down at the glossy floor.

At least she knew why the rug was missing now.

Xhex was on the graveyard shift at the Iron Mask, just as she’d been at ZeroSum. Which meant as her wristwatch flashed three forty-five, it was time to do sweeps of the bathrooms while the bartenders were doing last call and her bouncers were hauling the drunk and drugged-up out into the street.

On its surface, the Mask was nothing like ZeroSum. Instead of steel and glass, it was all about the neo-Victorian, with everything black and deep blue. There were a lot of velvet drapes and private, deep couch booths, and fuck the technopop shit; the music was acoustic suicide, as depressive as anything that ever carried a backbeat. No dance floor. No VIP section. More places for sex. Fewer drugs.

But the escapist vibe was the same, and the girls were still working, and the liquor was still going fast as a mudslide.

Trez ran the place in a very low-key kind of way-gone were the days of a hidden back office and the pimptastic presence of a flashy owner. He was a manager, not a drug lord, and the policies and procedures over here didn’t involve any knuckle-busting or pistol-whipping. Bottom line, there was a lot less to police because of the lack of wholesale and retail drug business-plus Goths were moodier and more introspective by nature, as opposed to the hyped-up, sparkly jackass set that had regulared ZeroSum.

Xhex missed the chaos, though. Missed…a lot of things.

With a curse, she hit the main ladies’ bathroom, which was by the bigger of the two bars, and found a woman leaning into the darkened mirror over the sink. With an intent look, she was sweeping her fingertips under her eyes, not to clean up her eyeliner but to drag it down farther onto her paper white skin. God knew she had plenty of the Cover Girl smudgible to go around; she was wearing so much of the shit, she looked like someone had punched her twice with an and-iron.

“We’re closing,” Xhex said.

“Okay, no problem. See you tomorrow.” The girl pulled back from her Night of the Living Dead reflection and hustled out the door.

That was the fucked-up thing about the Goths. Yeah, they looked like freaks, but they were actually a lot cooler than the frustrated-frat-boy, wannabe-Paris Hilton types. Plus they had much better tats.

Yup, the Mask was a lot less complicated…which meant Xhex had more than enough time to indulge in her deepening relationship with Detective de la Cruz. She ’d been down to the Caldwell police station twice already for interrogation, as had many of her bouncers-including Big Rob and Silent Tom, the two she’d sent to find Grady for her.

Naturally, both of them had lied beautifully under oath, saying they had been working with her at the time of Grady’s death.

It was clear at this point that she was going to get grand juried, but the charges weren’t going to stick. Undoubtedly the CSIers had gotten busy pulling fibers and hair from Grady, but they weren’t going to get much on her that route as vampire DNA, like blood, disintegrated quickly. Plus she’d already burned her clothes and boots from that night, and the knife she’d used was widely available at hunting stores.

All de la Cruz had was circumstantial evidence.

Not that any of it mattered. If for some reason things got too hot, she was just going to disappear. Maybe head out west. Maybe she’d go back to the Old Country.

For fuck’s sake, she should have left Caldwell already. Being so close and yet so far from Rehv was killing her.

After checking each of the stalls, Xhex went out and around the corner to the men’s room. She knocked hard and put her head in.

The rustling and gasping and pounding sounds meant there were at least one woman and one man. Maybe two of each?

“We’re closing,” she barked.

Evidently her timing was spot-on, because a woman’s high cry of orgasm echoed around the tile and then there was a lot of recovery panting.

Which she was not in the mood to listen to. It just reminded her of her short time with John… Then again, what didn’t? Since Rehv had taken off and she’d given up sleeping, she’d had many, many, many hours during the day to stare at the ceiling in her hunting camp and count the ways she’d fucked up.

She hadn’t been back to that basement apartment. And was thinking she was going to have to sell it.

“Come on, move it,” she said. “We’re closing.”

Nothing. Just that breathing.

Sick of the postcoital respiratory-theater group in the handicapped stall, she fisted up her hand and slammed the paper towel dispenser. “Getcha asses out of here. Now.”

That got their hustle on.

The first one out of the stall was what she thought of as a woman with crossover appeal. The female was dressed in the Goth tradition, with torn stockings and boots that weighed four hundred pounds and a lot of leather strapping, but she was Miss America beautiful and had a Barbie body.

And she’d been done but good.

Her cheeks were flushed and her overly black hair bed-headed, no doubt both effects caused by her having been worked out up against the tile wall.

Qhuinn was the next to leave the stall, and Xhex stiffened, knowing exactly who the third was in this trifecta of fucking.

Qhuinn nodded to her stiffly as he passed, and she knew he wouldn’t go far. Not until-

John Matthew came out in the process of buttoning his fly. An Affliction shirt was shoved up his six-pack, and he wasn’t wearing any boxers. In the glowing fluorescent lights, the smooth, hairless skin below his belly button was so tight, she could see the muscle fibers that ran down his torso and into his legs.

He did not look up at her, but not because he was shy or embarrassed. He simply did not care that she was in the room, and it wasn’t an act. His emotional grid was…empty.

Over at the sinks, John cranked the hot faucet on and pumped the soap dispenser on the wall. Lathering up the hands that had been all over that woman, he rolled his shoulders as if they were stiff.

There was stubble on his jaw. And bags under his eyes. And his hair hadn’t been cut for a while, so the ends had started to curl up at the nape and around the ears. Most of all, he reeked of alcohol, the scent coming out of his very pores, as if no matter how hard his liver worked, it couldn’t filter the shit from his blood fast enough.

Not good, not safe: She knew he was still fighting. She’d seen him coming in with fresh bruises and the occasional bandage.

“How long you going to keep this up?” she asked flatly. “This whole wino-slut thing?”

John turned off the water and came over to the paper towel box that she’d just put a spectacular dent in. He was less than two feet away from her as he snapped a couple of white squares free and dried his hands as thoroughly as he’d washed them.

“Christ, John, this is a hell of a way to spend your life.”

He tossed the wadded-up towels in the stainless bin. As he got to the door, he looked at her for the first time since she’d left him in her bed. There was no flicker of recognition or memory or anything in his face. The blue stare that had once sparkled was now opaque.

“John…” Her voice cracked slightly. “I’m really sorry.”

With deliberate care, he extended his middle finger at her and left.

Alone in the bathroom, Xhex went over to the darkened mirror and leaned in just as the Goth had been doing next door. As her weight shifted forward, she could feel the cilices dig into her thighs and was surprised to notice them.

She didn’t need them anymore, wearing the bands only out of habit now.

Ever since Rehv had sacrificed himself, she had been in so much pain, she didn’t need the extra help to control her bad side.

Her cell phone went off in the pocket of her leathers, the beeping sound a drain on her. As she took the thing out, she checked the number…and closed her eyes hard.

She’d been waiting for this. Ever since she’d arranged for everything that came in to Rehv’s old phone to be forwarded to hers.

Accepting the call, she said in an even voice, “Hello, Ehlena.”

There was a long pause. “I didn’t expect anyone to answer.”

“Then why did you call his number.” Another long pause. “Look, if this is about the money going into your account, there’s nothing I can do about it. It was part of his will. If you don’t want it, give it to charity.”

“What…what money?”

“Maybe it hasn’t kicked in yet. I thought the will had been certified by the king.” There was another long pause. “Ehlena? Are you there?”

“Yes…” came the quiet response. “I am.”

“If it wasn’t about the money, then why did you call?”

The silence wasn’t a surprise, given all that had come before. But what the female replied was a dead shocker.

“I phoned because I don’t believe he’s dead.”

Ehlena waited for a response from Rehv’s head of security. The longer there wasn’t one, the more she was certain she was right.

“He isn’t, is he,” she said with strength. “I’m right, aren’t I.”

When Xhex finally spoke, her deep, resonant voice was curiously reserved. “In the interest of full disclosure, I think you should be aware you’re talking to another symphath.”

Ehlena gripped her cell harder. “Somehow, that is not a news flash.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think you know.”

Interesting response, Ehlena thought. Not a he’s-not-dead. Not by a long shot. Then again, if the female was a symphath, this could be going anywhere.

Which meant there was no reason to hold back. “I know that he killed his stepfather because the male was beating his mother. And I know that his stepfather was aware that he was a symphath. I also know that Montrag, son of Rehm, knew about the symphath thing, too, and that Montrag was ritualistically murdered in his study.”

“And this math adds up to you how?”

“I think Montrag came forward with Rehvenge’s identity and he had to go up to the colony. That explosion at the club was to hide the fact that he is what he is from other people in his life. I think that’s why he chose to bring me to ZeroSum like he did. It was to get rid of me safely. As for Montrag…I think Rehvenge took care of him on the way out.” Long, long, long silence. “Xhex…are you there?”

The female let out a short, hard laugh. “Rehv didn’t kill Montrag. I did. And it had nothing directly to do with Rehv’s identity. But how do you know anything about the dead male?”

Ehlena sat forward in her chair. “I think we should meet.”

Now the laughter was longer and a little more natural. “You have giant brass balls, you know that? I just told you I killed a guy and you want to hang out?”

“I want answers. I want the truth.”

“Sorry to channel a little Jack Nicholson here, but are you sure you can handle the truth?”

“I’m on this phone, aren’t I? I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Look, I know Rehvenge is alive. Whether you’re willing to admit it to me or not, it won’t change a thing for me.”

“Girl, you don’t know shit.”

“Fuck. You. He fed from me. My blood is in him. So I know he’s still breathing.”

Long pause and then a short chuckle. “I’m getting a picture of why he liked you as much as he did.”

“So will you meet me?”

“Yeah. Sure. Where.”

“Montrag’s safe house in Connecticut. If you were the one who killed him, you know the address.” Ehlena felt a shot of satisfaction as the line went dead quiet. “Did I forget to mention that my father and I are Montrag’s next of kin? We inherited everything he had. Oh, they had to get rid of the rug you ruined. Why couldn’t you have just killed the bastard out in the foyer on the marble?”

“Jesus…Christ. You’re no little nursey, are you.”

“Nope. So are you coming or not?”

“I’ll be there in a half hour. And don’t worry, you aren’t getting a houseguest overday. Symphaths have no problem with sunlight.”

“See you in a few.”

As Ehlena hung up, energy drummed through her veins and she raced around to tidy up, gathering together all the ledgers and cases and documents and filling the now impotent safe’s belly. After she put the seascape back against the wall, she shut down her computer, told the doggen that she was expecting a visitor, and-

The gong of the front doorbell reverberated through the house, and she was glad she was the one who made it to the door first. Somehow she didn’t think the staff would feel comfortable around Xhex.

Swinging the huge panels wide, she stepped back a little. Xhex was just as she remembered, a hard-ass female in black leathers with hair cut short as a man’s. Something had changed, though, since she’d seen the security guard last. She seemed…thinner, older. Something.