Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) (21 page)

Karen turned, looked up at Sir Kendall.

Sir Kendall smiled. “But perhaps a spy from overseas is not lulled by familiar patterns. Perhaps such a spy would see things with fresh eyes.”

Overseas
. So he thought they were talking about his Englishness.

Sir Kendall walked around the couch and took Karen’s hand. “Karen, I presume.”

“Karen, this is Sir Kendall Nicholas the Third, Nick for short,” Alix said. “And Nick, this is Karen Alderman.”

Sir Kendall pulled Karen’s fingers to his lips, and he spoke against them while looking into Karen’s eyes. “My dear Alix, I think you’ve blown my Sir Langley cover.”

“Karen’s our friend,” Alix said.

Karen freed her hand and sat, making room on the couch for Sir Kendall. “Did you go to one of those English boys’ schools?”

“Indeed I did.” Sir Kendall took the place next to Karen, eyes twinkling merrily.

“What was it like?” Karen asked. “I hear they tend to be very drafty. And the boys are cruel to one another.”

Sir Kendall said, “I’ve heard that, too.”

“But is it true? Did they serve you gruel?”

He draped an arm over the back of the couch and smiled.

“What’s so funny?” Karen asked.

“You are, Ms. Alderman.”

Karen frowned. “I can’t be curious about your school?”

“But you’re not curious about my school, are you?” Sir Kendall tilted his head. With every movement, his dark, rich features took on an enhanced luxuriance, like cashmere velvet, wrapping the senses. “You’re getting at something else. I think you have a theory, and your questions are designed to test it.”

That
was
what Karen was doing! Alix marveled at Sir Kendall’s powers of perception.

Slowly, Karen slid her gaze sideways, away from Sir Kendall, and back to him, a playful little thing she did when she was about to say something obvious. To her, anyway. What was obvious to Karen wasn’t always obvious to others. “I don’t like to form a theory until I have all the facts.”

Sir Kendall studied her. He’d been looking at her all along, but this was different, a kind of deep looking, like he was trying to comprehend a hundred different things about her all at once. He lowered his voice. “Theories only blind a person to the truth when it appears.”

Karen simply adjusted her chic, black-framed glasses. “And has it?”

“Not yet.”

“Mmm.” Karen gazed up at the painting of Betsy Ross sewing the American flag. She seemed to be the one person in the whole party who was unimpressed by Sir Kendall. “Some say all theories are useless because they’re terminal. The rotation of the earth makes all theories obsolete.” She turned back to Sir Kendall. “All theories, all realities.”

Sir Kendall swirled his ice in his glass. “Rather sophomoric, if you ask me. The rotation of the earth doesn’t negate what’s true in the moment. One accepts a given reality. The moment-to-moment reality.”

She secretly raised her eyebrows at Alix. Like she wanted to make sure Alix got that.
One accepts a given reality, the moment-to-moment reality.

Alix swigged her beer, feeling like the kid at the adult’s table. “You lost me at the earth’s rotation.”

“Tell me, Sir Kendall,” Karen said. “Do you think a full understanding of a given reality is important, even if it destroys a man?”

“It depends on what you mean by
destroy
. Some types of destruction can be quite pleasurable.”

Karen eyed him over the top of her glasses. “I’m asking you a question I very much want you to answer.”

Sir Kendall tipped his head. “More knowledge is always superior to ignorance.”

Karen said, “I agree.”

“Of course you do. Which is why I’m hoping you’ll enlighten me. Alix here simply refuses.”

“Enlighten you about what?”

Sir Kendall frowned. “I thought we were speaking plainly here.”

“We were,” Karen said.

“
Were
indeed,” Sir Kendall said. “But the truth always comes out. The question is, do you take your chance to get in front of it, or do you let it trample you?”

Karen looked coolly at Alix—buying time, Alix realized. Karen was rattled.

Just then Alix’s mother came over, exhorting Sir Langley to start the Greek dance he’d promised. They had located the Zorba record.

“We’re in a conversation,” Alix said.

“Oh, the Kavanaughs have to go soon, and they were so excited…”

“We’re done here.” Sir Kendall rose, adjusted his jacket. “Make hay while the sun still shines, that’s what I always say.”

He strolled across the room with her mother. The hi-fi went on, Sir Kendall took Mrs. Kavanaugh’s hand, and the two of them began a complicated series of steps. A traditional Greek dance. Everybody started clapping rhythmically.

“Whoa,” Karen said.

“I know!”

“Was that a threat?”

“What?” Alix knit her brows. “I don’t think so.”

“It seemed sinister,” Karen said.

“But it’s true what he said,” Alix pointed out hopefully. “If you don’t get out in front of the truth, it can bulldoze you.” God, she’d wanted him to make a good impression on Karen.

“I don’t like this,” Karen said.

The doorbell rang. Nobody in the party seemed to hear or care. They were all mesmerized by Sir Kendall. “Don’t worry, everybody, we’ll get it,” Alix joked.

She and Karen made their way into the dark little foyer to the door.

“That’s the art of the threat,” Karen pointed out. “If he has to find out on his own, there’ll be trouble. That’s what he’s implying.”

“It’s his spy talk,” Alix said. “It’s called being in character. It’s just how he is.” With that she swung open the door and there, standing on the stoop, looking like a hungry, hunted animal, was Paul.

The area around his eye had turned outrageous shades of red, black, and blue, and the gashes on his eyebrow and cheekbone were swollen and red.

How fast had he driven here? Had he run up the drive? He was practically panting. “You’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” she said, stunned. “How’d you…”

“Wasn’t easy.” The sound of clapping came from the living room.

Alix had a déjà vu of sorts, standing there, looking at Paul. A flashback to an old Sir Kendall fantasy—he comes to her door injured, fleeing from some spy world threat. Except Paul wasn’t fleeing. He was running to her, to protect her.

Paul was so much more like that fantasy man than Sir Kendall could ever be. But beyond—more thorny, more dimensional, more exasperating, more intense, more….everything.

“Is he here?” Paul growled.

“Yeah, he’s here. As my guest.”

“Paul.” Karen stuck out her hand. “I’m Karen. Alix’s friend. We met back in that class. You probably don’t remember.”

“Of course I do. The partner in crime.” Paul shook her hand. “So you’ve met Sir Kendall. You get that this guy’s dangerous, right?”

“You think he’s dangerous?” Karen said. “Why?”

“Because he’s a delusional freak. You know what he was doing to her this morning?”

“Oh, come on, Paul!” Alix turned to Karen. “He’s been fighting Sir Kendall since the second he walked in the door.”

“For good reason,” Paul said.

“Why? What was he doing to her?” Karen asked.

“Paul misconstrued something.” Alix pushed Paul toward the door, pushing him away, though she was stupidly excited to be near him, like a breathless schoolgirl. “You need to get out of here, Paul.”

Paul let himself be pushed just two steps before he planted his feet. “We had a deal.”

“Which didn’t include anyone being chained to the radiator or you stalking us. Our deal was that I had twenty-four hours to prove the magic, that you’re on the porch at eleven-fifty tomorrow morning to see your stuff appear, and that you leave when you’re satisfied I’m telling the truth.”

“If I’m satisfied.”

“You will be. And you will leave. You will not pass
Go
.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” he said.

“I’m not alone with him.”

“This doesn’t sound like an all-night party to me. Where do you go after?”

“What was he doing to her?” Karen asked.

Alix scowled warningly at Paul. The hero, the fighter, the stand-up guy. His eye was so swollen it was partly closed. It pained Alix to look at it. “We’re sleeping over here,” she said. “It’s all fine.”

“Let me stay, too. That’s all I ask,” Paul said, “that I stay with you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I
need
to, okay?”

Alix sniffed her displeasure.

“I’m your guest, too, okay?” he said. “And I’ll ride back with you.”

“You can’t. The plan was to go back
after
your stuff appeared, so Sir Kendall wouldn’t see. And what about Lindy?”

“My buddy’s there taking care of her,” Paul said.

“You let a strange guy in my house?”

“You really want to talk about strange guys in your house? Fifteen more hours, okay? What do you have to lose?”

Cries of
Opa
! went up from the living room.

Paul furrowed his brow and beelined to the end of the foyer hall.

Alix followed him. “
You
aren’t setting the terms here.”

But Paul wasn’t listening. He stood at the threshold, mouth hanging open. “What the hell? What…
the hell?
“

Alix followed his gaze to the living room. The music had stopped—her father was at the hi-fi, turning the record, and Sir Kendall was talking animatedly to her sisters.

“What?” Karen asked.

“His face,” Paul said. “A few hours ago his face was messed up worse than mine. He should have a lip the size of a sausage right now. But he has no injuries or bruises. It’s as if...” Paul squinted. “Is he wearing make-up or something?”

“Try
or something,
“ Alix said.

Karen asked, “You’re saying he looked like
you?”

“Worse.”

“It’s true,” Alix said. “Sir Kendall’s lip was split. I thought he needed stitches.” Alix motioned to the side of her face. “Red all over. Puffy.”

“Broken rib. At least one,” Paul added. “Got his hand, too.”

“Shit.” Karen said.

“What the hell?” Paul said.

“Doesn’t add up, does it?” Alix said. “Unless there’s something different about him. Unless, perhaps, I’ve been telling the truth all along—”

Her mother caught sight of them. She left her little group and came over, a vertical furrow forming in her forehead above her glasses as she approached.

“Crap,” Alix muttered under her breath, thinking about Paul’s battered face, his likeness to Sir Kendall, the whole dark arts bit. Two strange and exotic men. It didn’t look good.

“You must be Mrs. Gordon.” Paul beamed at her through his injuries. “I’m Paul Reinhardt, a friend of your daughter’s.” He held out his hand, “I’m sorry to show up like this, I just needed to check on a few things. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alix’s mother introduced herself, taking Paul’s hand with concern. “Are you all right? Do you need medical attention, honey?”

“Nah, I’m a fighter. I’m used to this.”

“He’s my old martial arts teacher,” Alix put in.

“Right,” Paul said. “And I want to say, happy anniversary. Thirty-three years, that is such a big accomplishment. Alix is so lucky.”

Alix fake-smiled. He’d studied the invitation well.

Paul said, “You two look so much alike.”

“Not as much as you and Sir Langley,” Alix’s mother said.

Again the doorbell rang.

“Must be the Denali,” her mother said.

“I’ll handle it.” Alix said, escaping back down the front hall. She opened the door to find a delivery boy from the liquor store, holding a cardboard box containing three bottles. She took the box from the boy and handed it to Paul, who’d followed her, and then grabbed her purse out of the closet.

The delivery boy gaped at Paul. “Puma Reinhardt? Are you Puma Reinhardt?”

“Hey there,” Paul said, still holding the box.

“Puma, oh my god. I saw you in the fight against Brunswick. You were amazing. That kimura? Where you…” the boy did a quick pantomime, “
bop, bop.
Do you think...I’m sorry, do you think you could sign an autograph for me and this one friend of mine?”

“I’d be happy to,” Paul said. “Brunswick is an excellent fighter. I was lucky to get that on him.”

Karen took the box from Paul.

“I’ll get some paper for your autograph, honey.” Alix’s mother said to the boy, going into the kitchen.

“I’ll get it.” Alix followed her mother to the telephone-and-scrap-paper area of the kitchen. “We have this handled, Mom. You go enjoy your party.”

Her mother eyed her. “Alix…”

“What?”

“These two fellows. It’s just a bit strange…”

“What’s so strange about twins?” Alix pulled out paper and a pen. “Everything’s fine,” she snapped.

“I know that you have a good head on your shoulders.”

No you don’t know that,
Alix thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

“Can’t a mother worry?”

“I wish a mother wouldn’t. And that a mother would go back to her guests.” Alix fixed her mother with a serious gaze. “It’s all fine.”

Alix’s mother tapped her on the nose, a maddening little warning thing she’d always done, and returned to the living room.

Alix felt a rush of shame and guilt. Could she be more of a bitch? She brought the paper to the foyer and gave it to Paul, who was leaning in the doorway, answering the boy’s questions. So Paul was a known fighter?

Karen pulled her back into the kitchen, set the box with the Denali bottles on the counter, and spoke in hushed tones. “So Sir Kendall was injured what? Seven hours ago? You didn’t tell me that. Alix—why does his face look so freaking perfect?”

They gazed over the counter into the living room where the dancing had begun again.

“He’s the Denali man. It’s part of his thing to look good. We always knew he wasn’t natural.”

“We knew he wasn’t natural, but on the lines of Pinocchio or something. This…even Paul thinks he’s dangerous.”

Alix shot a look into the foyer where Paul spoke with the boy. “He’s the most biased person on the planet when it comes to Sir Kendall.”