Chapter 38

Balthasar stood near the window of his safe house. Coffee brewed while he scrolled through the photos Eddie had sent. Romeo holding Juliet in his arms, dancing, whispering in her ear. When he found one with Rafe’s hand dangerously close to her breast, Balthasar hit send.

Balthasar took no pleasure in destroying Philip’s dreams. Balthasar’s priority was finding the vial. But to do that he had to separate Juliet from all those she loved.

Snores came from the corner where Deke was sleeping off his meds. Steps sounded, and Eddie entered.

“It was so cool, man.” Eddie threw a bag down and beelined for the coffee. “You got my pics, right? I mean, they’re killer. Straight savage, my man. Straight. Fucking. Savage.”

Balthasar shoved his phone in his back pocket. “What else did you learn?”

“So.” Eddie took a long sip. “They talked to some girl from that Savannah history place.”

“The historian at the Savannah Preservation Office?”

“Yep. Didn’t hear what they said ‘cause I couldn’t get close enough. But then things went bam!” Eddie grinned. “The men of the Isle surrounded Rafe. Taunting him about going AWOL. Then I stepped in and came this close to taking him out.” Eddie put down his mug and held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Because Juliet was there, I backed off. But Rafe knew who was in charge.”

“Indeed.” As if Eddie could ever come close to touching a full-grown Fianna warrior.

“I get why Rafe came home. Juliet is smokin’ hot. Can’t imagine doing that.”

Balthasar grabbed Eddie by the neck, lifting him off the ground. The boy sputtered, his face turning red. “Although Romeo is my enemy, Juliet is the great love of a brother. She won’t be defiled in words or deed.”

The boy’s head bobbed as he gripped the fingers around his throat. Finally, the moment before Eddie passed out, Balthasar released him.

Eddie fell to the ground, clutching his throat.

Balthasar went back to his coffee. “Anything else?”

Eddie threw himself on the ratty couch. “Yeah.” He coughed, and Balthasar handed him a water bottle. “Rafe and Juliet were going to the cemetery to see Anne Capel’s tomb. But Escalus already did that, so they won’t find shit.”

Balthasar went back to the window and drank his coffee. The river flowed in the distance. “Is that all?”

“I took notes on my phone so I wouldn’t forget.”

Balthasar waited while the boy scrolled.

“The historian gave Juliet a book. Humor in history.”

“Hume’s History of England?” If that was the best the historian could offer, there wasn’t anything to worry about.

“That’s it. She also called the story of the lily Anne’s Lament.”

That jived with something Balthasar had read in Escalus’s notes. “Anything else?”

“The historian mentioned that Anne’s Lament was protected by three archangels, aaaaaand…” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Something about Juliet’s lily being a weapon.”

A weapon?

Balthasar went back to his desk, to his only real clue, to read the map for the millionth time. The broken compass rose and the leaves decorating the edges only added to his belief that it hadn’t been worth the pills he’d given to Walker.

“Apparently Rafe met a Fianna warrior named Sebastian when he was a kid.”

Balthasar raised his head. “Excuse me?”

“Crazy, right?” Eddie took another gulp of water. “Sebastian was looking for Juliet’s lily. And Rafe saved Juliet by pledging his life or his honor or something.”

“You learned this from eavesdropping?”

“No, man.” Eddie burped. “My cousin told me.”

Balthasar opened the laptop, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He’d read Escalus’s file on Sebastian, and there’d been no mention of Romeo. As Balthasar stared at Escalus’s notes, three things popped out: Anne’s Lament. Three archangels. The warrior Sebastian.

And the lily was a weapon.

Balthasar’s heart sped up with the sudden adrenaline burn. He stretched his arms over his head, enjoying the tight pain of his muscles stretching. His body hummed with growing aggression. He never felt more alive than when he was about to crush his enemies.

He pulled up RLM’s secure email.

B: Will have vial tonight.

RLM: Excellent. Bonus offered for JM and her grants.

B: Not sure about grants. Can provide JM but require backup. Will need extraction when operation concludes.

RLM: BBB mediator will fill you in on details and capabilities.

Once he signed off, Balthasar handed Eddie two twenties. “Get dinner. We’ve much business and little time.”

“What are we doing?”

Balthasar smiled. “Retrieving my vial and killing Romeo.”

Eddie smiled, his crooked teeth skewing his lips. “You met my cousin last night?” His voice sounded breathy, edged with awe. “You’re all in?”

Balthasar hit his chest and bowed his head. “I am.”

Eddie whooped and jumped around the room. “And you’ll tell my coz I did good?”

“Yes, Master Eddie.” Balthasar clapped him on the shoulders, and Eddie tried to hide his wince. “I’ll tell him you just won this war.”

“Straight. Fucking. Savage.”

* * *

Nate waited for Ivers to drive away before he slipped beneath the police tape, got into the club, and found the manager’s safe. He only took the cash he and Pete were owed. It wasn’t a lot, but Nate didn’t need much. Just enough for pills and two days of food. The way things looked now, on Friday he and Pete would be going back to Kells and admitting defeat.

It wasn’t just the day’s failures that had put Nate into a funk. After searching for the safe house earlier, Nate had texted Garza and Calum to announce that—big fucking surprise—the two he’d checked out were a bust. Garza’s three properties had been the same. Then Nate had met Ivers here at the club, and they’d picked up Sarah.

It’d been awkward in the back of Calum’s car. Going and coming, she’d sat against one window while he sat against the other. They’d talked about simple things like the weather and the previous night’s blackout. When they’d picked up the boxes for the SPO, she’d barely looked at him. If he asked her anything personal, she shut him down.

Even at Boudreaux’s, in that sensual atmosphere of barefoot dancing and sultry music, she’d kept her attention on Rafe’s phone and her history lesson. She hadn’t glanced at the dance floor and had had little reaction to Rafe’s confrontation with the men on the Isle. It was as if she watched everyone from behind a mask of textbooks and memorized facts. As if she studied the world but was afraid to be a part of it.

Yet when Nate touched her hand, a spark of desire shot through him, leaving scorch marks behind. He still burned from her touch, his body still rock-hard from the shock. And from her sudden inhale and instant withdrawal, he knew she’d felt it too. Why she pretended otherwise didn’t make sense. Nothing about Sarah Munro, PhD in early colonial American history, made sense.

The church bells rang as he entered the club’s alley, and he counted five chimes. Someone coughed; a young man stood in the shadows. Dirty jeans. Black Converse sneakers. A gray hoodie hid his face.

Nate moved slowly. His weapon was in his back waistband, and he pulled out a roll of four fifty-dollar bills. “Ten Z-pam.”

“Put it behind the Dumpster’s left back wheel.”

He did.

The kid hovered. “You sure, man? My shit is pure. More so than that asshole Deke’s.”

“S’all good.” As long as it kept the seizures at bay, Nate didn’t care how high he flew.

The kid took the money and left an envelope. “Straight savage, my man.” Then he ran.

Nate retrieved his pills and checked his phone. No news from Garza or Calum or Pete.

Once in the security office, Nate downed a pill. Then he went to set the alarm on his phone only to discover his phone was on low battery. Since he didn’t have a charger, he turned it off and set the alarm on the microwave instead. Then he lay on the couch listening to the rain tapping the roof. A horse and carriage clip-clopped by.

It didn’t take long for that weightless feeling to kick in. For him to fall into that space where regrets and recriminations floated away. For the silence to muffle the pain in his head so his body could rest. As the walls melted, his nightmares and fractured memories morphed into a woman with long brown hair and a name spoken on a single breath. Sarah.

* * *

Juliet kept the duffel with her daddy’s armory and the King’s Grants at her feet in the Impala.

Since they had left Pops’s trailer and grabbed the car, Rafe had driven like demons chased them. His knuckles crowned white as he death-gripped the wheel. His left foot drummed a hole in the floor. She closed her eyes and leaned back. She needed a hot shower and a fresh pot of coffee.

Once he hit the bridge leaving the Isle, she checked her texts. The first was from Bob.

Halted work in the square due to lightning. Still on schedule.

The second was from the payroll company.

Deposit received. Checks cut today.

Relieved, she glanced at Rafe’s profile. Her lie of omission was another problem for another time. As she texted Bob, her phone rang and she answered.

“Are you back?” Samantha said.

“On our way. We found my King’s Grants.”

“Wonderful! And the vial?”

“Not yet. But we have an idea where to look. We’ll be home within the hour.”

“No prob. Mr. Delacroix stopped by to drop off copies of the original plans for the Habersham gardens. I think he was looking for your renditions.”

“They’re not done yet.” She’d barely started. “Where are you?”

“At the shop, waiting to meet the bride we’d canceled. She sounded desperate, so I told her she could come at six. When I get married, please don’t let me lose my mind.”

“I promise.” Juliet put the phone on speaker so Rafe could hear. “Is Pete with you?”

“No. Pete got the job at the gym and is teaching his first Krav Maga class at six thirty. I’m fine alone. It’s just a bridal consultation.”

Rafe frowned. “Make sure Nate or Calum or Detective Garza is with you.”

Samantha snorted. “I can handle a bridal consultation.”

“I’m not asking,” Rafe said.

Samantha’s sigh sounded like an eyeroll. “Alright.”

After she hung up, another text came through.

Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of Heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night.

“Why are you quoting Shakespeare?”

She’d read it aloud? “It’s a text.” She threw her phone in her purse. “From the same man who’s been texting me Shakespearean verses since you left.”

“What were these texts about?”

“You. I received a few the first years you were away, and then after your arrest in St. Petersburg, your extradition, your trial and sentencing to Leavenworth.”

Rafe glanced at her. “That’s how you knew where to send the divorce papers.”

“Yes.”

“And you never asked the sender for his ID?”

“I did. But he refused. And I was afraid if I annoyed him, he’d stop texting me.” She turned her daddy’s gold ring on her thumb. “He was my only link to you.”

“Even though you hated me?”

“I couldn’t let you go.” She reached over to rub the back of his neck. “The texts never felt threatening.”

“Arragon probably sent them. He has a protective streak when it comes to women, and he never approved of my joining the Prince. The deepest scars on my back are from his blows in the Gauntlet.”

“Arragon wanted you to come back to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t.”

She sighed. “I wish I understood.”

“So do I, sweetheart.” The rain started again, and Rafe turned on the wipers. “So do I.”

* * *

Was it possible to be sad and joyful at the same time? Juliet was his everything. His heartbeat. His peace. His reason for breathing. That he was here with her, had been with her, was a miracle.

Last night had been about forbidden passion. Today was about clinging to the moments they had left. He’d been through every scenario in his head. No matter how he looked at it, there was no option in which he stayed with her. The Prince would never let him out of his tithe regardless of whether he won or lost this contest with Balthasar.

Holding the wheel with one hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. His sinuses felt full, and his eyes burned. He had no idea how much time they had because once he found the vial, he’d leave. And if the vial was in Gabriel, that would be tonight. He was driving toward his own doom.

“You’re mulling,” she said softly.

He watched the palm trees bend in the rising wind. “Not mulling. Remembering our wedding day. You were so beautiful.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I wore a white sundress. Nothing special.”

He smiled at the memory. “You carried a bouquet of gardenias, roses, and lavender. You wore your hair in a complicated knot with your grandmother’s silver hair combs.”

“And your mother’s sapphire bracelet.”

“Something blue.” When she dropped her arm, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you disappointed?”

He tightened his wheel hand and put the other on her thigh. “No. The fact that you survived on your own, after what Kells Torridan did to you, speaks to your strength.”

“I took my clothes off for money.” She stated it plainly, as if daring him to call her out on her actions. As if making sure he understood all that she’d done.

“I killed men for less. Sometimes brutally. After hunting and emotionally torturing them.” He squeezed her leg. “Nothing you did could come close to the horror I became.”

“When you left on your mission, after your momma’s funeral, did you know you weren’t coming back?”

“No.” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t wait to return to you. I was considering not reenlisting. I dreamt of returning to the Isle, rebuilding the manor, and living there with our children. I didn’t tell you because I was worried you were slipping away from me. When we were together, even though I knew you needed me, you’d disappear into yourself.”

“I was protecting my heart. You were gone so often, it was easier to keep you at a distance so the next time you went away it wouldn’t be so hard.” She paused. “What changed your mind?”

He turned the wipers on high and returned his other hand to the wheel. The blur was making it hard to drive. “I was planning our life together, and then Colin disappeared. When I went undercover to find him, I found Arragon and other warriors who were combat-tested, battle-hardened, broken by war. Highly trained men made whole by their commitment to the Fianna. They were men I understood. Men who craved self-discipline and penance. And…”

“And?”

“I suspected that my mother’s death wasn’t an accident.”

“How? Why?”

“It was something in the way Arragon spoke about her death. That was the first time Arragon mentioned you might be in danger as well.”

Rafe felt the heat of her gaze. Finally, she said, “Did you ever consider that Arragon found you? That maybe, because of Sebastian, Arragon was waiting for you?”

“No.” Rafe had never considered that. But maybe he should.

“The Fianna are masters at mind games.” She rubbed his neck again and whispered, “Maybe you weren’t the recruit. Maybe you were the mission.”