Midnight gamble, p.11
Midnight Gamble, page 11
"If he is there and the opportunity presents itself, why not?"
Why not, indeed? Why not play one off the other until she had the answers she sought? She knew what Quinn was—a clever, ambitious predator. But was he the power behind the recent deaths? Was his the hand behind the attempt to turn suspicion toward Darcy? Rica didn't think so. He didn't have the right connections for such an undertaking.
But perhaps she could learn something while in his company, and even if she didn't, he would provide an emotional buffer in her next meeting with Darcy. She was afraid of what would happen if she didn't have some saving distance there.
She was afraid she would run right back into his arms and fall just as quickly into his bed.
And that would not do.
She let Quinn wait in the living room while she quickly dressed, afraid to leave him alone for too long with the temptation of Chloe so close at hand. But he was still waiting, a smile of anticipation on his face, when she emerged moments later from the bedroom.
"Well, this is a surprise. It takes Chloe an hour just to decide what she doesn't want to wear. You ready?"
Snatching up her bag and coat, she nodded.
As ready as she'd ever be.
* * * *
An infectious mood was in full swing as an ample-chested black songstress belted out “This Joint is Jumping” from the raised bandstand.
Anxious and edgy, Rica found the frivolity grating upon her already raveling nerves. Expectantly, she scanned the room, searching out the one figure who would make the evening of boring revelry worthwhile. But Darcy was nowhere in sight. Instead, her gaze touched upon Vanko's hulking form. The bodyguard acknowledged her with a faint nod before scowling at the sight of Quinn beside her. Immediately, he slipped from the room into the back.
It took a second request for her to realize that Quinn had asked her to dance. She gave him a brief, impatient glance.
"I don't dance."
"How about a drink?"
"I don't drink."
"Then why are you here?"
The unexpected seriousness of the question brought him her full attention. “What do you mean?"
"I know who you are and what you are. I just haven't been able to figure out what you want."
Startled, then forced from her daze by the necessity of keeping him quiet amid this dangerous company, Rica's plan to drag him from the room to discover all he knew, was forgotten when he spoke again.
"If it's D'Arcy you're after, maybe we can help each other out."
"What?"
He explained as if to a simpleton. “Eduard D'Arcy. That's his real name. Isn't he the one you were sent for?” At her blank look, he threw back his head for a delighted laugh. “You didn't know who he really was? It's nice to be better informed than someone for a change."
She grasped his upper arm in a crushing grip that would have broken the bones of a mortal man. “You'd better explain yourself. Now."
He laughed again. “My dear, you are the one who has explaining to do. Don't you think D'Arcy would want to hear it? I know I do, Day Walker."
His laughter taking on a slightly hysterical edge, he followed Rica indulgently as she pulled him from the congested center of the room to a more private corner. There, she faced him with a fierce demand.
"How do you know these things?"
"I have influential friends, too,” he gloated. Then his mood grew sulky once more as more of his true character revealed itself. “But I'm thinking I need to find myself some new friends soon. Perhaps we could be friends, eh, Miss Lavoy? You'd be a handy one to have."
"Perhaps we could,” she said tersely as her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was hearing. She felt for the world as if she'd been dropped into the second scene of some foreign opera with no program to give direction. Too many things were happening at once, and each demanded her full attention. Keeping Quinn silent about her identity was her first concern. “What would you want out of this friendship?"
"Protection."
Now that was a surprise. “From whom? Darcy?"
He laughed harshly. “D'Arcy's days are numbered."
That factual claim sent an arrow of dread through Rica's heart. “By you?"
"Hah! I'm the least of his worries. I want you to protect me from your father and his friends. I haven't always been ... a good boy, you see, and I know it's only a matter of time before he sends someone, perhaps even you, after me."
"And what do I get out of this arrangement?"
"My silence. D'Arcy isn't convinced that you are a threat to him. Not yet. But Vanko doesn't trust you. He's your real enemy now. There are larger things going on here, things you know nothing about."
"What things?"
His smile was smug. “I'll keep those secrets for now, if you don't mind."
"And you'll keep mine?"
He grinned, the gesture lending an unexpected evil to his usually placid features. “Isn't that what friends do for one another?"
"Then tell me, Quinn, since you claim to know so much. Who's after Darcy?"
"Besides, you? I cannot give that away. Not yet. Let's let things heat up a bit first, shall we?"
"You'll find yourself heating up in the sun if you think to play games with me."
He smirked at her threat. “Games. Games. I do enjoy a good game. But not when I stand to lose more than I might win.” Greed brightened his gaze, the sheen like that of madness. “Can you get me a spot at D'Arcy's tables?"
"Will you stay away from Chloe?"
"Chloe is nothing to me, an amusing convenience, is all. But lately, I've grown impatient with her demands. She wouldn't have made me that much money anyway."
Rica drew a slow, seething breath, battling with the want to break him in two.
Quinn waved his hand magnanimously. “Take her. You put up with her nonsense."
"Gladly."
"Fondness for a mortal? You remind me of someone else I once knew who suffered from that same weakness. In fact, you remind me a lot of him."
But Rica was no longer listening to him. Her gaze was fixed upon the far side of the room, where Darcy, or was it Eduard, and Vanko had entered the party.
And very much in the arms of the man who'd held her through the night, was another woman.
Quinn followed her stare. “Ah, there he is. Remember your promise to introduce us. I hear there's a good game going on in back already. I could sure use some ready cash just in case I need to leave town in a hurry."
She was only vaguely aware of his request and was of no mind to comply with it. Approaching her former lover while he was busy seducing her replacement was the last thing on her mind. She'd spare herself that humiliation, at least.
Darcy—no, she would have to remember to think of him as Eduard—met her wounded look, then he turned from her with supreme indifference to nuzzle the neck of the willowy human at his side. As if Rica, their night of passion, and the pain he caused her meant absolutely nothing to him at all.
"Frederica, now. Introduce me before he's mobbed by these other beggars."
But Rica was walking away, quickly, with head held high, before tears could blur the way.
Quinn stared after her in disbelief.
The bitch had lied to him, deceived him. Had used him and cast him away as unimportant. And now his plan to secure his future by playing both sides with easily bartered loyalty escaped him as D'Arcy and his henchman returned behind the mirrored doors. Quinton cursed under his breath.
It was a mistake to trifle with him.
A big mistake.
One Frederica would never make again.
* * * *
** She'd run the length of the long hall before realizing the only thing chasing her was her disappointment. No amount of self-recriminations could lessen the sting of betrayal. Nothing could ease the hurt. The enchanted evening that had shaken her foundation to the core had obviously meant less than a passing entertainment to the man Quinn called Eduard D'Arcy.
And if he could treat her with such cruel disdain, perhaps he was the cold, calculating killer she sought.
Except for one fact: Eduard D'Arcy wasn't a vampire. He was mortal.
She stopped, having gone as far as she could go and unwilling to retrace her steps past the ballroom doors to reach the elevator. An unmarked metal door concealed a narrow flight of stairs. She took them without a second thought.
Her throat burned. She struggled to breathe through the constriction without breaking into sobs. She had to escape the humiliation.
For the first two floors, her steps made a lone staccato but as she rounded the next landing, she heard a door open above and the padding of several pairs of men's shoes. Though distracted, she made a cursory scan, finding them to be human and therefore, no threat to her. She continued, her own unsteady footfalls and the throbbing in her head disguising the hurry of the pursuing steps growing ever closer.
Then she reached the final landing only to have her shoulders gripped from behind. Her gasp was cut short as her face was pushed into the wall, stunning her senses long enough for one of the men to snatch her bag.
"What's she got in there? Any cash?"
"Cab fare,” another grumbled. “How's that going to make this worth our while?"
The one holding Rica banded both her wrists in a single hand, freeing the other to move roughly up her thigh. “I think we can come up with something, boys."
It was with more weary resignation than true anger that Rica turned to face the three leering young men. Handsome young collegiate types in expensive clothes who were probably short on pocket change and too drunk to think straight, who could have had any of the fox trotting debutantes in the ballroom above for the purpose of a quick roll in a back seat. But bored and irritated and dulled by alcohol, they'd arrived at another solution. The wrong one.
Rica smiled and relaxed her posture, throwing the young men off guard. Her voice was a honeyed drawl. “Are you sure you want to throw your lives away on something this stupid?"
They looked between one another and snickered, completely missing the point of her warning.
"Our daddy's are rich enough to cover up any scandal. Besides, who'd believe a little twitch-skirt like you didn't come with us willingly?"
The speaker pressed close, his breath fouled by cheap hip flask whiskey and most likely quickened by the idea of taking by force that which could easily be coaxed by charm. Their bullying meanness overcame any compassion Rica might have felt for them and their fate.
"I'm not talking about going to the police and squawking loud enough to cause your parents’ embarrassment so that they'll take your allowance and maybe your fancy cars away. I'm not talking about having the dean of your university slap your wrists over an incident that won't even make an ink blot on your records,” she said with a cold matter-of-fact calm that was beginning to unnerve them.
"Yeah?” the bold spokesman of the trio demanded. “What are you talking about, then?"
"About the wisdom of you walking away now, alive."
The speaker laughed incredulously and was turning to his friends to share the joke when Rica struck like a tornado. Whirling, she yanked him off balance, using the brace of her forearm across his throat to silence his outcry as he stumbled and went tumbling down the remaining flight of stairs. In that same movement, her arm swung back, catching another boy full in the face, pulping his nose and ruining his pretty looks as he swallowed pieces of his two front teeth.
The final assailant was no glee club fellow. Once he'd recovered from his surprise, he assumed a boxer's stance and flung a lethal punch. And was confused when it met empty air. As did the second blow. And the third as the slip of a girl dodged his fists with an agility he'd never seen in even the most seasoned professionals.
But then Mashed Nose got a hold of her from behind, ending her ability to feint and duck his attack. He was winding back for what would be a cheekbone shattering blow when a flutter of sound from above caught his attention.
They looked up toward the source of that odd sound only to stare, slack jawed at the impossible sight.
A man dropped down from the top floor, sailing toward them as if in slow motion, his dark coat flaring out about him like wings as he plummeted down through the open center of the stairwell. It wasn't an uncontrolled fall, though it should have been. When he reached their landing, incredibly, he slowed his descent, actually stopping it to hop over the railing to confront the gawking college boys.
With a wild yell, first one, then the other fled the scene, scrambling frantically down the last bend in the stairs, tripping over their partner then dragging him out into the sharp burst of night air. The outer door closed softly, leaving just Rica and Eduard D'Arcy face to face.
"I can take care of myself,” Frederica stated fiercely as she smoothed down her dress and hair. “I thought I already proved that once before. You didn't need to abandon your ... guests to protect me."
"I wasn't worried about you,” he corrected coolly. “I couldn't let you hurt them."
"Me, hurt them?” She blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Had you killed, maimed or seriously injured them, I would have had to explain to the police. Now, it's just three intoxicated boys with a wild story no one will believe even if they dared tell it."
Panting with outrage rather than exertion, Rica glared at him. “So it's all right that your company assaults women as long as your reputation as a genial host doesn't suffer for it. Is that it?"
"That's not what I meant at all. I in no way condone their methods or their intentions. In fact, I would have arrived sooner, but you seemed to have matters well in hand."
"And that was quite an arrival, Mr. D'Arcy. Care to explain how it was accomplished? Wires, perhaps? Some hidden parachute? Or perhaps just some rather unique powers that have nothing to do with the natural world."
He took her arm. His grip was gentle, unbruising but authoritative, nonetheless. “Come upstairs with me, Rica. I believe we have much to discuss."
Her battered pride demanded that she throw the request back into his face. But her mission had nothing to do with aggrieved feelings and everything to do with discovering what manner of man ... or myth ... Eduard D'Arcy was.
"No invitation to dinner and dancing?” she chided, brushing off his grip disdainfully.
"This is business not courtship."
"I thought the two were one."
Her bitterness was unmistakable, and Eduard suffered a pang of regret for the scene he'd staged upstairs for her benefit. He'd meant to discourage her, not see her hurt. Either at his hands or at the hands of others. But he couldn't let her see his sympathy.
"In my case, or your own?"
Ignoring his question, she started up the stairs, letting him follow at a more leisurely pace, pondering over what the next moments would bring.
It was time for certain truths to be told.
Chapter Ten
Rica sat in the tastefully impersonal living quarters of the man she now knew as Eduard D'Arcy and realized how dangerous her situation was. Her father would never have approved of such a confrontation but, because of what had transpired between her and Eduard, she felt the momentary truce warranted. She wanted to hear his explanation.
And she needed to find a way to end the relentless ache within her.
"Everything about you is a lie,” she began in flat summation.
Eduard gestured toward a silent Vanko, who poured them both a drink. “And you have been so transparent in your motives,” he countered smoothly.
"Since you seem to know who I am, perhaps you'd oblige me with a few details of your own."
Ignoring the head shake Vanko gave him as the drink passed into his hand, Eduard merely smiled. “You know my name already. What else has you curious? Our first morning together? You thought perhaps that you were the only one of our kind who could withstand the sunrise?"
"No small feat, you must admit,” she remarked, as if their civility was not strained by preternatural influence. She took the glass from Vanko without sparing him a glance, but awareness of him in the room had her nerves alive. “The other things I can dismiss as parlor tricks, but not that."
"I have not spent my centuries in a mindless feeding frenzy. I have spent them in study."
A mild arrogance coated his words with pride. Considering the magnitude of his achievement, she didn't begrudge him the self-congratulations.
"The books you have seen are but a small selection of the library I've amassed in my travels. I learned this parlor trick, as you call it, in the mountains of China, a sort of self-discipline, rather like that used by fire walkers. A bit of irony there, don't you think? It's something any one of our kind could learn with the proper conditioning and concentration. Not easy, but not impossible. Our powers are limited only by our impatience with discovering more about our world. I have been to the far reaches of the globe to learn, to improve what I am, to seek a balance so that I might better serve."
"Serve whom? Yourself?"
He smiled at the sarcasm in her tone. “I suppose I deserve that. I mean, look around. All these magnificent trappings would suggest a pursuit of creature comforts and financial gain. You still think me a mobster, though the description fits in a general way. I skirt the law to get things done, to instill a degree of respect and fear for who and what I am. To keep the curious at an arm's length. Though that has not always been successful.” His gaze was bittersweet as it touched upon her. “Those are the illusions behind which I conceal the purpose of my true work."
"And what work is that?” She remembered what Rudolph had told her. “Philanthropy? In whose behalf? And to what end? Giving money to the family of a slain police officer to garner future favors? Ah, yes. Such a selfless endeavor."
"How little you must think of me.” He actually sounded as if her opinion could wound.
"I don't know what to think. That's why I'm here. Tell me something I don't know. Tell me about all those coffins stored below."
