CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“THAT DID
NOT
GO THE WAY I THOUGHT IT would.” I stared down the hospital hall at the friends gathered outside Victor Esteban’s room in the ICU, Jillian and Richard among them, and rubbed my hands along bare arms to try and warm them. Nothing helped, however; the cold had sunk in too deep.
You’re still in shock,
the clinical part of my brain pronounced.
Well, no shit there, Sherlock.
No shit, indeed. I’d been so intent on finessing an incriminating statement from Victor that the thought he would become the killer’s latest victim—fighting for his life inside a coma the doctors couldn’t break through—had never occurred to me. Which had given Meritton just the opportunity he needed to strike. So Victor was an evil, manipulative slimebag, but he wasn’t, apparently, a killer.
Scott inched over and placed his arms around me, which helped ease my shivers. A little. “You and me both, baby. Shit, I was so convinced he
had
to be the killer . . . I still don’t understand how Meritton got past all my Hounds, though.”
Trinity turned her gaze from the gathering down the hall on to us. “To be fair, we were all prepared for Victor to make a break for it, not for someone else to break
into
his place.”
Raised voices behind had us spinning and catching sight of an anguished-looking Harper running our way, Penn and Tariq struggling to keep up with her. She skidded to a stop in front of me and knew from my expression that it was bad. “Victor?”
Trinity answered when I couldn’t find the words. “He’s alive, Harper, but . . . in a coma.”
Anguish increased tenfold, but suddenly disappeared. In its place came cold, hard resolve. “The wedding rehearsal tomorrow. We’re gonna nail his ass there.”
I managed to say, “
His
ass?”
She gave me her best sardonic look, which was pretty damned good indeed. “Paul
the Bastard
Meritton. It
has
to be him, based on everything Scott told me earlier today.”
Scott probably should have kept his mouth
shut
a little bit longer, considering Harper’s emotional ties to the case, but hell, I couldn’t really fault him—or Harper. Penn, on the other hand, apparently disagreed.
Having just caught up with his runaway bride, he glared at his cousin and then turned his frustration my way. “Absolutely not. The wedding is
off
.”
Normally someone would have made a joke about cold feet, but in this situation, humor was the last thing on anyone’s mind.
Harper turned an angry glare on her fiancé. “Absolutely not,” she turned his words on him. “We’ve not come this far to chicken out now. Don’t you see, that’s what he wants! That’s why he attacked Victor—my man of honor—the night before the rehearsal. He thinks this will stop us, but it’s not going to. I won’t let it. I
can’t
live like this anymore.”
Penn’s frustrated look melted away, and he pulled his now-crying lover into his arms, consoling her with softly murmured words and caresses. Seeing the moment of absolute love between the two made the icy shock gripping me fade away at last. I became every bit as much hardened in my purpose as Harper, and in that moment, inspiration struck.
“Nobody outside this hallway knows that Victor’s so close to death.”
Harper pulled back from Penn enough she could meet my thoughtful gaze. “Which means the killer doesn’t know, either.”
“Exactly. What if
someone
lets it leak to the press that Victor made it through the attack just as unscathed as Meritton and that the show is most definitely still going on. That Victor will be performing his duties tomorrow as planned. I doubt that the killer—that Meritton—will let the opportunity pass him by.”
Penn frowned. “But Victor
isn’t
unscathed, and he
won’t
be performing his duties tomorrow.”
“Ahh,” I drawled. “But there’s where you’re wrong. Victor
will
put in an appearance tomorrow night. Or at least, a Shadowhound in Victor’s clothing.”
Scott made an approving noise beside me at the same time Trinity gave a low chuckle. “Oh, Riss, it’s perfect. I’m sure he’ll enjoy playing the part, too.”
Harper took pity on her still-confused fiancé. “One of Mutt’s mercenaries is . . . a master of disguise. By the time he gets done, Victor’s own mother wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them. And he’ll make the
perfect
bait tomorrow night.”
“Abso-frigging-lutely.” I let out a breath. “So, you sure you’re up to this, Harp?”
She bared her teeth in not quite a smile. “Abso-frigging-lutely.”
“Atta girl. Okay, so here’s what we need to do . . .”
EXCESS NERVES GOT ME THROUGH MOST OF the next day, which was lucky considering I’d been thrust back into the role I thought I’d left behind forever. If we were going to lure Meritton out of his hiding place, however, the show did indeed have to go on. Part of that meant Sierra attaching herself at the hip to Harper and the master of disguise now posing as a hale and hearty Victor Esteban. My brother Mac.
While we had yet to “come out” to the world that Mac was the first male Fury in history, it had become fairly common knowledge over the past few months that he was part Sidhe. Most people assumed his abilities were limited to the illusionary powers of half-breed Sidhe rather than a full-blooded Sidhe’s ability to shape-shift into that person’s actual physical form. They assumed wrong.
Not that we were about to admit that today or anything. We had quite enough missiles to dodge, thank you very much. Including the five-and-a-half-foot-tall, hundred-andtwenty-pound missile barreling straight toward us in the exclusive Back Bay hotel where the wedding rehearsal was set to begin in little less than half an hour. Mac—I mean
Victor
—turned to me with a panicked look on his face. Seeing my normally composed baby brother fidgeting in his three-piece suit and midnight blue tie (okay, Victor’s suit and tie) took me momentarily aback.
“Um, think I’m just going to check on Harper one last time, then,” he said in that low throaty voice that used to drive me crazy but now—thank the gods—did nothing for me. I watched him skirt around elegant, fabric-draped chairs so he could avoid the “missile” while scurrying to the rear of the room where bride and bridesmaids congregated near the room’s entrance—leaving me alone to face down an annoyed-looking Mama Hound.
“There you are, child, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours.”
Apparently not very hard, since I’d been here setting up things for tomorrow’s ceremony and reception most of the day. I nearly opened my mouth to say that out loud but fought back my inner perversity just in time. “Mrs. Banoub, what a pleasure. How can I help you?”
Very good, Riss, you actually sound like you care about her latest disaster that isn’t!
By the end of tomorrow—assuming the worst happened and we failed to flush Meritton into the open—I’d deserve an Oscar for playing this role all the way through. That or I’d be ready to voluntarily commit myself.
“You can start by telling me why that—that
man
is still involved in my grandson’s wedding.”
Her dirty glare at Mac’s—Victor’s—retreating back clued me in to who
that man
had to be, though I was a little confused by her sudden venom. She’d never seemed to care one way or another about Victor before now. I watched as my brother ambushed Harper, and then I caught sight of Penn and the groomsmen entering to take their places at the front of the room. All except Scott, who’d been intercepted by Trinity and was now heading back past Harper and Mac toward the hallway. That’s when I saw Neema Banoub’s eyes following their exit with eagle eyes and got another jolt. She wasn’t bitching (ha) about Victor, but Scott.
“I—uh—I’m not sure what you mean.”
She sniffed and curled her lip as she glanced back at me. “Why am I not surprised to hear that? You have not lived up to your sterling credentials throughout this farce, so why would you end your obtuseness now?” Her arm waved in Scott’s direction. “That Murphy mongrel, child. The one my grandson decided to involve in this affair for some insane reason—only to discover the mongrel had just such a thing with his ”—another lip curl—“Harpy of a bride.”
Oh bloody hell. My worst fear confirmed—word had gotten out that Scott and Harper had had a
thing
in the past. Chances were that, if Neema Banoub had found out, the killer would have by now as well. Which meant Scott could be in as much danger here as Victor or Penn. Maybe more, considering he’d just ducked out of the bustling room with Trinity as his only companion. My spider sense went crazy—and my tact went flying out the window.
“Mrs. Banoub, I hope you take this with the exact amount of respect that’s intended, but perhaps it would be best if you pulled your supercilious nose out of your blue-blooded ass long enough to notice a few things. One: That ‘Murphy mongrel’ is here to help protect the wedding guests. Even bitchy ones like you.”
Her face went red and she started sputtering, but I continued on ruthlessly.
“Two: Harper is a beautiful woman, inside and out, and your grandson is a lucky SOB to have convinced her to marry into his tight-assed, self-absorbed family.”
Her face changed from red to a most interesting shade of purple, and her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Which, I was willing to bet,
had
to be a first.
“And three: This
obtuse child
has more important things to do than stand around listening to you blow hot air. So if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me . . . ”
My gods, the pleasure it gave me to watch her rendered speechless before I stalked out into the hallway was
priceless
.
Damn, guess that’s one less reference to put on Sierra’s résumé.
My lips twitched with amusement, but I tried to focus on the task at hand. Tracking down Scott and Trinity to make sure everything was all right. I activated the headset and learned they were just checking in with each team of mercs scattered around the hotel and surrounding areas. Rather than following them to our makeshift control room, I told them to get a move on since the rehearsal was starting soon, and I retraced my steps toward the ceremony site.
Mac ducked out of the men’s room across the hall and seemed surprised to see me. I grinned and stopped to adjust his tux’s crooked bow tie. “Nice addition there, Mac.”
He blinked before responding. “Addition,
querida
?”
I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, little bro, but stop with the act.” I gestured to the fading yellow and purple marks on his face. “The bruises are a nice touch, but unnecessary. Everyone here’s already seen you
sans
bruises, so you can lose them for now. Hurry, though, the rehearsal’s about to start.”
He nodded when I motioned toward the restroom door. “Of course, I’ll just do that, then.” His fingers brushed mine briefly as I gave the tie one last tug. I gave a smile and hurried back into the room to oversee the last few minutes until show time.
Rashida waylaid me before I got very far, and I winced, expecting her to lay into me for how I’d spoken to her mother. Instead, she told me in a very low voice that it was about
time
one of the
help
—her words, not mine—stood up to the termagant—again, her words. Before I could formulate a coherent response, she hurried to the front of the room and her place with the groom’s family. Sitting, of course, right next to the “termagant.” Leaving me to wander bemusedly toward Harper and her bevy of bridesmaids, plus Mac. I mean
Victor
.
My gaze moved from him to Harper, and then snapped back to my brother in his three-piece suit and midnight blue tie.
Not
a bow tie, and most certainly
not
a tux. What the
hell
was going on? I frowned and thought back over the past few minutes and the hallway encounter with Mac. How shocked he’d been to run into me. The way he’d called me
querida
. No, not Mac after all. Victor. The
real
Victor.
My pulse galloped out of control as horror battled adrenaline. Harper caught my expression of panic and broke away from the others, followed closely by Mac. “Riss, what’s wrong. You look like—well—like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No,” I choked out, feeling sudden color flood my cheeks. “Not a ghost—a dead man walking.”
THEY WATCHED ME WHIRL AND SCRAMBLE TO the hotel hallway with surprised expressions. Voices broke out behind me, but I didn’t care. Only one thought pounded though my brain, inspiring another panicked burst of speed.
It’s not Meritton after all. Victor left the hospital, and he knows about Scott. Knows I’m a Fury. Oh gods, no. Don’t let me be too late!
But I was, oh gods, but I was. I came across an unconscious Trinity sprawled just down the hall from our control room. She moaned when I bent and shook her gently, but she didn’t come to. Knowing what I’d find, I checked her neck anyway and, sure enough, found the telltale pinprick proving she’d been drugged. Only she was
mortal
, which meant the drug intended to knock out arcanes could affect her worse than Cats—or better. I just had no way of knowing.
Still, she was breathing steadily, so that was
something
. But my mind finally turned to the realization I hadn’t wanted to give form to: If Trinity lay out here, alone, that could mean only one thing. Scott had been taken—by Victor. The killer.
The time for playing Ms. Nice Hound had come to an ugly end. I pulled partial Fury form around me like a wellworn jacket, leaving off the wings and—for now—the Amphisbaena. Then, channeling Rage-fueled strength, I gently scooped Trinity into my arms and hustled to the nearby control room. I
might
have accidentally ripped the door from its hinges rather than wait for it to be answered, but the man I loved had been abducted by a vicious killer. Cut me a little slack.