Authors: Kate Perry
The silence was painful as they both stared at me.
Finally Rhys nodded. "We'll talk later. I'll take care of your blood-soaked clothes." At the door, he picked up the bag and looked over his shoulder at me. "We are
not
done, Gabrielle."
And he walked out of my house.
"Blood-soaked clothes?" Wu hovered next to me. "What blood-soaked clothes?"
Ignoring him, I headed for the kitchen. There was still one more thing to take care of before I could rest. Or fall apart. Both were viable options at the moment.
"Are you injured?" Wu demanded, following me into the kitchen. "Whose blood was it?"
"Jesse's, the guy who stole the scroll," I said tiredly as I took out the paper bag from the refrigerator. "And Paul's."
"Paul?" He stilled. "What's Paul doing here? To help you? He was always a conscientious older brother. I wouldn't expect any less from him. He understood the importance of our legacy."
Anger roused me from the dazed disbelief of the night's events. Why couldn't he have revered his son like this sooner, and to his face? I wanted to tell him how Paul was the reason Mom died—not to mention the cause for his own death—and that with a little attention from him it could all have been avoided.
But as I glared at him, my mouth opening, I just couldn't do it. Instead I asked what just occurred to me. "Why didn't you heal Mom?"
"Heal?" His glow diminished. "What do you know about that?"
"Answer the question."
His shoulders slumped, making him look more like an old man than ever before. When he spoke, it was without his usual arrogance. "I never learned how."
Gripping the counter, I nodded. At one time, I would have rejoiced to find out the incomparable Wu didn't know how to do something. Now I just felt sad.
One thing was certain: if I didn't buck up and learn what I needed to, it'd just get worse and worse. I felt that in the pit of my stomach. More earthquakes, more alienation, more deaths. I shuddered, imagining something happening to Madame. Or Carrie.
Or Rhys.
I heard Carrie's words from earlier in my mind and knew she was right. I needed to own this. I needed to make it work. All of it. The Guardianship, my career, my life—all of it. The sooner I did that, the sooner I'd have balance again.
I could do it. I had to do it.
Because my jacket was trashed, I pulled on another sweatshirt and wrapped a thick scarf around my neck.
"Where are you going?" Wu drifted beside me. "I have questions."
There was so much mingling inside me, I didn't know which emotion to focus on. Anger felt safe, so I faced him and let it rise to the top. "I
will
learn to be a proper Guardian. On my own terms. With or without any of you, I will learn about the scroll and
tu ch’i
."
His mouth snapped shut on whatever he'd been about to say, and he gawked at me in stunned silence. Finally he nodded, said, "Good," and disappeared.
Picking up the bag, I headed out.
No one followed me. No one watched. It was like I was the only person in the world. Walking through the Mission this late at night was often like that, but tonight it was especially stark.
I walked all the way to Noe Valley. I dropped the knife in a trash bin. For good measure, I went to a kiosk that offered a free publication, crumpled up a few copies, and tossed them in, too. Then I slowly walked home.
By the time I got back, it was early morning. I was crawling into bed when I saw the picture of me and Paul on my nightstand.
Fury rose in my chest, suffocating me. Grabbing it, I gripped it in my hands. I'd tear it into pieces. I'd burn it and forget about Paul—he deserved no less.
But I couldn't do it.
A tear fell down my cheek and onto the picture, landing on my five-year-old face. I'd trusted Paul. I'd trusted Jesse.
Would trusting Rhys have a different outcome?
Don't think about it.
Tucking the photo under my mattress so I wouldn't have to see it, I pulled the covers over my head and hoped my nightmares would be forgiving.
I
nspector Ramirez was waiting for me—alone—outside the Pour House when I arrived to open the next day.
The second I saw him my heart started to beat triple time, but I allowed only a small frown to show. His shirt was buttoned all the way and his tie was cinched tight, so I knew he was here on business. It didn't take a genius to figure out that business had to be about Jesse and Paul. "Inspector Ramirez. What a surprise."
"Do you have a minute? I have some questions I need to ask you."
I went still at his overly somber tone. Had they found Paul? Was he dead? Tears rose to the surface—tears of anger and bitterness instead of sadness and regret. At least that's what I told myself. Because Paul didn't deserve the latter.
Tipping my head so he wouldn't see the telltale moisture, I pretended to be flirtatious. "It sounds like I have no choice."
"I know you're opening." He took my elbow like he was afraid I was going to bolt. He escorted me in and locked the door after us. "I'll make it short."
Disengaging from him, I flipped on a couple lights and walked to the bar. "You're minus your partner today."
"He's covering other ground."
I could feel his eyes on me. I hoped he was watching my ass and not calculating how long he could throw me in jail for.
Calm down. It wasn't like he had anything on me— from last night or the night with the thug. At least I didn't think he did. "So what brings you out today? Need to harass a few honest citizens?"
"Are you honest, Ms. Sansouci?" he asked from right behind me.
I whirled around. "Jeez. Respect the personal space, will you?"
He didn't crowd me anymore—at least not physically. Mentally he was right on top of me. I backed up until my lower back hit the rim of the bar.
Ramirez studied me with his dark eyes for what stretched into forever before he spoke. "Jesse Byrnes was found shot to death last night in his garage."
But what about Paul? I wilted onto a barstool. Tears popped back into my eyes. A part of my mind was satisfied by my reaction—made me look credible.
Sometimes I hated that part of me.
He pulled out his notebook and pencil from a breast pocket. "I understand Byrnes was your boyfriend."
Not even close, especially after the news Paul dropped on me last night. I swallowed thickly, forcing the tears down. "Where did you hear that?"
"A source."
The source definitely wasn't Vivian. "Jesse and I had, um, a relationship. Of sorts."
"Of sorts?" Rick stopped jotting his notes and stared at me. The pencil creaked in his hand. "What does that mean?"
"It means we dated casually. But we'd been platonic for over a year."
"What about the rich guy from the other night?"
Rhys. I didn't know how to explain him, and I didn't want to. One thing I did know was I didn't like Ramirez's accusatory tone. "Excuse me, but I think judging me is not part of your job."
"I'm not judging you. I'm trying to establish your relationship." He studied me carefully. "How close were you and Byrnes?"
"We were friends for a couple years." A couple years where he was reporting my comings and goings to my brother. My lip quivered. I bit down on it—now wasn't the time to get distracted.
"Did you know he was leaving the city?"
I nodded. "He said he was going out of town for a bit."
"He wasn't leaving for a bit. He'd sold his shop to one of his mechanics and was leaving for good." He watched for my reaction. "Did you have a fight?"
"No. We weren't even dating anymore. I'm sure his decision to leave had nothing to do with me."
A partial truth. Jesse
had
planned to leave because of me—not me directly, but me in conjunction with the scroll. Only that was none of Ramirez's business.
"But you didn't fight?" he asked coolly.
"There was nothing to fight about," I replied sadly.
"Not even your new boyfriend?"
"I don't have a new boyfriend." Crossing my arms, I glared at him. "And if I did, Jesse wouldn't have cared."
"I bet the rich guy would, though."
"What are you saying?"
Ramirez leaned in, his eyes narrowed. "I'm saying maybe your new friend didn't like Byrnes hanging around you and decided to get him out of your life permanently."
Stunned by the scenario, I laughed incredulously. "Trust me, if Rhys wanted Jesse gone, he wouldn't have to resort to murder."
"I'll still need his contact info."
"Here." I reached for a pad of paper and a pen next to the register and scribbled Rhys's number. How pathetic was it that I knew it by heart? As I handed it over, I said, "Be careful with him. I bet he'll have a team of shark lawyers waiting to take a bite out of your ass."
He tucked the scrap into his breast pocket. "Did your brother have reason to fight with Byrnes?"
I started at the abrupt shift in questioning, conscious that he watched me like a hawk. "My brother?"
"There was another person's blood found at the scene. I'm assuming it was your brother's, since the murder weapon was registered to him."
Shit—I forgot all about the gun. "Is Paul a suspect?"
"The lead suspect."
That meant he was still alive, damn it. And if he was still out there, he'd come after me. I didn't doubt that for one second—arrest warrant or not.
"Do you know why he'd have cause to be at Byrnes's garage in the middle of the night?" Ramirez asked.
"I didn't even know they knew each other." As soon as I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to admit.
Ramirez lifted his head like he scented something amiss. "You didn't know your boyfriend and your brother knew each other?"
"No." I crossed my arms and glared at him. "I wasn't close to my brother. I hadn't seen him in fifteen years, not until he came in here recently. Our father left me something in his will, and Paul wanted to make sure I got it."
"What did he leave you?"
"None of your business."
"It is if it's the reason Byrnes and your brother were fighting."
How ironic that it was. But I couldn't very well tell the inspector that. The scroll was supposed to be kept a secret, and too many people knew about it already. I shook my head resolutely and lied my ass off. "It was a family heirloom. I'm positive it wasn't the reason Jesse and Paul fought, if that's what happened."
He tapped the pencil against the pad. Then he said, "Is that the story you want to stick with?"
"That's the truth."
"Damn it." He slammed his notebook down on the counter. "I can tell you're lying to me."
"I'm not." I was just giving him an abbreviated version of the truth.
"Let me tell you the way I see it." He leaned in on his hand, crowding me so his anger-darkened eyes filled my vision. "I've got two corpses on my hands, both killed by bullets that came from the same gun. A gun registered to your brother. Which makes him wanted for questioning as the lead suspect for two murders. To top it all off, the first corpse was seen asking about you hours before he died, and the second was actually involved with you."
Gulp. "Put that way, it doesn't sound good."
"What it sounds like is you're the key to the whole mystery."
A key was good—I could be a key. Anything as long as I wasn't a suspect. "I wish I could help you."
"Do you?"
I nodded. "Jesse didn't deserve to die."
He frowned. "You sound upset."
"How could I not be? Despite everything, I"—I swallowed—"liked him."
Ramirez stared at me like he was peeling all my layers down to the core. Finally, he took a step back. "Don't leave town."
I hadn't planned on going anywhere, but I bristled at being told what to do. "Why? I thought Paul was the suspect, not me."
"He is, but I can't get past the feeling that you're mixed up in this somehow." He picked up his notebook. "I'll find out, you know."
Not if I could help it. "There's nothing to find out. I haven't broken any laws."
"There's an APB out for your brother." He pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to me. "I recommend that you contact me if you hear from him."
"I have your card already." But he didn't waver, so I sighed and took what he offered. "For the record, there's no love lost between me and Paul. I'm the last person in the world he'll contact."
Ramirez shook his head. "Why don't I believe that, either? See you around, Ms. Sansouci."
"Not if I can help it," I called after him. But I knew I wouldn't be free of him until Paul was captured.
I knew I wouldn't be free of Paul, either.
Chapter Thirty-six
Arrête, Gabrielle
." Madame La Rochelle managed to frown at me even while she smiled at a nicely dressed couple that walked by. "You make me nervous."
"
Désolée, Madame
," I said apologetically as I fidgeted some more. "I can't help it."
"Have a glass of champagne."
I shook my head. That's all I needed—to get a buzz going at my first solo art opening. "You know I don't drink."
"Perhaps this is the time to make an exception,
non
?" She lifted her fluted glass to her lips. "I do not comprehend why you worry. You are
un grand succès
. All your paintings sold."
A fluke. Or a joke. I was waiting for the moment I'd wake up to find I'd dreamed it all.
I looked up at the gallery walls where all my paintings hung—the older canvases as well as the new series I'd painted—each with a small round sticker that signified they'd been purchased.
I'd been so apprehensive about the director accepting the new series, which I'd titled
Dark Forces
. But in the end she'd been more enthusiastic about that than the previous works she'd contracted. I glanced at the room in the back where she'd showcased them. I hadn't been able to go in there yet. I couldn't handle seeing them—especially the last one, which depicted a body wrapped in darkness and a woman's form reaching out to it. In the top left corner, a pair of brown eyes glared—so like my father's, only malevolent and envious.