Chapter 20

Juliet went under the yellow police tape, with Rafe behind her, and entered Rage of Angels. Police cars, ambulances, and cops surrounded the club. A kid in a hoodie hovered.

She and Rafe stepped aside as men wearing coroner jumpsuits pushed a gurney.

It was true. Rafe’s hand pressed her lower back, and they went into the locker room. The warmth from his touch eased the tightness in her body. She appreciated the support as she took in the destruction. Bent lockers lay on their sides. Upside-down chairs leaned against broken mirrors. Glass crunched beneath shoes. Blood stained the floor.

Last night she hadn’t understood the force of Rafe’s anger, but today she was grateful. As confident as she was in her own strength to survive, Deke was physically stronger. If Rafe hadn’t appeared, Deke would’ve raped her.

She inhaled, exhaled, and met her next challenge of the day.

Detective Garza stood in a circle with Pete, Calum, and Samantha and said, “I’d like to speak to Jade. A witness said she’d been beaten last night by a suspect.”

Juliet swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth and said, “I’m Jade.”

Calum came over and kissed her cheek. “Hello, beautiful.”

Samantha hugged Juliet. Garza’s face shifted from assessment to astonishment to anger. Not that Juliet blamed him. Last night she’d lied when he asked what’d happened. And now that he knew the truth, she could only wonder what he thought of her.

“Is it true?” Juliet asked Samantha. “Is Sally dead?”

Samantha pulled away, wiping her cheeks with her palms. “Yes.”

Garza cleared his throat. His friendliness from yesterday was gone. “Sally’s body was found behind the Dumpster in the alley. A stripper named Marylou ID’d the body.” Garza motioned to Calum. “The body was left near a tag of the Prioleau sigil.”

Calum took out his phone and started texting. “Could it have been a heroin death?”

“No,” Garza said. “Sally was murdered. Near your family’s crest.”

“One has nothing to do with the other. My mark is near every building I own. Although it looks like graffiti, I assure you it’s not.”

“With respect, Mr. Prioleau, you don’t seem surprised to find a body on your property.”

Calum nodded as if expecting the question. “Like many women, Savannah is lovely and gracious during the day, but when the sun goes down, her demons appear.”

“That’s dark.” Garza’s voice reeked of sarcasm.

Rafe picked up two chairs so Juliet and Samantha could sit.

“Do you have any idea who did this?” Juliet asked.

“Possibly.” Garza held up an evidence bag with a cell phone. “We found this. It belongs to Deke Hammond. Marylou said Deke is the manager.”

They all nodded.

Garza put the cell into his coat pocket. “When was the last time any of you saw Sally?”

“Before I went on break at eleven,” Juliet said.

“On a pole around ten forty-five,” Rafe said.

“Samantha and I saw her at midnight,” Pete said. “After her last shift ended.”

Garza picked up his notebook and pen from the dressing table. “What do you know about Deke Hammond?”

Pete shoved his hands in the front pockets of his black combat pants. His lip piercings glinted. “Deke is the club’s manager who also runs two side businesses. One with women. The other with drugs. But Sally wasn’t a prostitute, and she didn’t use.”

Garza wrote while he talked. “You don’t think this is Deke’s work?”

“No,” Pete said. “Deke is an asshole, but Sally was making him money. His money stream is something he didn’t screw with.”

“Yet last night,” Garza shifted his focus to Juliet, “he attacked you.”

Juliet raised her chin. “I refused Deke so he tried to rape me. Rafe stopped him.”

Now Garza looked at Rafe. “How, exactly, did you stop him?”

“I hit him.”

Juliet glanced at Rafe’s hands, but they were in his jacket pockets.

“Did Deke need medical attention?” Garza asked Rafe.

“No.”

“What time did Deke leave?”

“Between eleven forty-five p.m. and one a.m.,” Pete said.

“You’re not sure?”

“It was a crazy night,” Pete said. “I left Deke in my office to keep him away from the women who wanted to pound him. When I returned, Deke had disappeared.”

“You didn’t call the police?”

“Didn’t have time.”

“Uh-huh.” Garza kept writing. “Do each of you have people who can vouch for your whereabouts the entire night?”

“Sure,” Pete said. “Bartenders. Dancers. Patrons. I closed the bar at two a.m. Samantha and I were the last ones to leave.”

Samantha squeezed Juliet’s hand and nodded.

“I need to speak to Deke,” Garza said. “Any idea where he is?”

“No.” Pete paused. “But I have his address.”

Calum looked up from his phone. “The club is closed.”

“Great,” Pete muttered.

Samantha laid her head on Juliet’s shoulder. Juliet could smell her friend’s honey-infused shampoo and feel her erratic breathing. She knew how much Samantha needed this job, and Juliet prayed she could save her own business and give her friend a raise.

Garza pointed to the cameras in the hallway. “The security tapes?”

“There aren’t any,” Pete said. “The cameras inside the club are live-feed only. The dancers don’t want their moves on the internet.”

“External cameras?”

“Not working.”

“Not surprised,” Garza muttered.

Calum cleared his throat. “Do you have a time of death?”

“After midnight.” Garza tapped his pen on his notebook. “No one saw Deke leave?”

The four shook their heads in unison.

“That’s enough questions, Detective,” Calum said.

Garza scoffed. “According to Marylou, Rafe beat up Deke so badly his face looked like he’d been crushed by a dump truck.”

Juliet bit her lip, hating the fact that she hoped the description was true.

“If you find him,” Rafe said, “you can see for yourself.”

“I will.” Garza’s gaze drifted to Juliet. “Could Deke be your store’s vandal?”

“No,” Juliet said. “I haven’t worked here in nine months and only did so last night to help pay back my loan. The loan I told you about. Could Sally’s death be connected to the death on the Isle?”

“Possibly,” Garza said.

“Dammit,” Rafe said harshly. “Stop throwing around veiled accusations and tell us your theory.”

Garza moved into Rafe’s personal space. “I believe someone killed Sally to send a message to you.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“And,” Garza continued, “I want to know every move you made last night until now.”

“Rafe was with me all night,” Juliet said. “He slept…nearby. Just in case.”

“The entire night?” Garza kept his voice level, but harsh undertones leaked out.

“Yep,” Rafe said.

She wasn’t sure if it was Rafe’s careless attitude or the confidence rolling off his muscled frame like paint fumes, but Garza’s face had turned red and sweat striped his neck.

“Detective?” Calum spoke casually, as if they were at tea instead of an interrogation. “Do you have evidence supporting your supposition?”

“I do. After studying Sally’s body and the body of the man killed yesterday, as well as speaking with my military contact, I believe Sally was murdered by a man with a tattoo of a sword piercing a heart, the mark of the Fianna.” Garza stared at Rafe. “And the only Fianna warrior I know of is you.”

* * *

Rafe’s jaw clamped, and he crossed his arms. “Ridiculous.”

“What are you talking about?” Pete asked.

“I’m talking about things that’ve happened since Montfort arrived,” Garza said. “The man shot yesterday had a tattoo of a sword piercing a heart, with Escalus inked below.”

“Maybe it was his mother’s name,” Samantha offered. “Or his lover’s.”

“I considered that, until hunters found a rental car with a journal in the glove box. The name Escalus was imprinted on the leather cover.”

Rafe wished he could kill Escalus again. That was a mistake that sent warriors to the Gauntlet.

“One of the interesting things in this journal,” Garza continued, with his arms crossed and focus completely on Rafe, “besides the fact that it’s written in Latin, is the page numbering. The left page number starts at 2018 and continues until the last entry, 4897. The right page number starts at 57 and ends with 512.”

Although Rafe played the clueless card, he knew that journal. They’d each received one. He’d cheated by writing in French while Escalus, a stellar student, had learned Latin. Writing in the book had become a nightly ritual for both of them until Rafe had gone to prison. “Do you know what the numbers mean?”

“Not yet,” Garza said. “According to what I’ve translated so far, Escalus worked for an arms dealer known as the Prince and the Prince’s secret army called the Fianna, a secret unit of highly trained, dangerous men.”

Rafe kept his piehole shut. Too bad Garza had read that journal, because when this was over, there was nothing Rafe could do to save the detective.

Juliet glanced up at Rafe before asking, “What does the Fianna do?”

“Assassinations,” Garza said. “Arms deals on the Prince’s behalf. They even police armies and militias. They follow strict rules regarding the way they talk, walk, and kill. Most importantly, they’re protected by lots of money.”

“The Fianna is a myth they told us in basic training,” Pete said. “If we didn’t follow the rules of warfare, the Fianna would find us. Torture us. Speak in verse. Bow before killing. Standard stuff to scare recruits.”

“Did it work?” Samantha asked.

“I never believed, but my buddies did.”

“You’re ex-military too?” Garza asked.

Pete shrugged. “Sure.”

“They speak in verse?” Juliet now stared at Pete. “What does that mean?”

Garza answered instead. “According to Escalus, when Fianna warriors speak to each other or a potential victim, they use Shakespearean language. They memorize every one of the Bard’s plays and poems and use the same types of words and speech patterns.”

“Why?” Juliet asked.

“They’re big on self-mortification and self-discipline. They train naked in the woods in winter and hunt each other, and if one makes a sound, he’s tortured. They learn how to move their bodies with stealth and silence. Before a recruit becomes a warrior, he makes a tithe and faces the Gauntlet.”

“Except,” Pete said, “they’re not real.”

“But it’s interesting,” Samantha said. “Go on, Detective. What’s the Gauntlet?”

“A lane formed by seasoned warriors. Up to forty on each side, holding different weapons. Whips, chains, knives. If the recruit makes it to the end alive and pronounces his tithe, he’s bound for life to the Fianna army. He can never leave.”

Rafe snorted. Although he wanted to correct Garza and refute the Wikipedia propaganda the Prince updated himself, anything Rafe said would put Juliet and his family in more danger.

“The man who died near my manor was a Fianna warrior?” Juliet asked.

“Yes. Escalus had a hand-drawn sketch of your house in his pocket. There were also notes about windows. Does that mean anything to you?”

“No.” Juliet kept her hands clasped in her lap. Rafe knew he’d be lucky if she ever looked at him again. “What’s a tithe?”

“A guarantee of fealty,” Garza said. “The recruit offers up the one thing that ties him to this world. After tithing, he’s in, body, heart, and soul.”

Rafe exhaled and kept his arms crossed and hands fisted. He needed to end this convo now. “Pete is right. The Fianna is a myth. Just ask Interpol. They’ve never found any evidence of the Fianna’s existence.”

“Because,” Garza said sharply, “everyone who knows about the Fianna is dead.”

Calum stopped texting long enough to say, “What does this have to do with Sally?”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Garza said, “that the death of a Fianna warrior on the Isle corresponds with Shakespearean verses left in the cathedral and two dead bodies—a young man we found near this club and Sally—both of whom I suspect were killed with misericords. A weapon Escalus describes in his journal.”

“How is Rafe—my client—involved?” Calum said.

Garza held up his cell phone. “Escalus wrote about his days as a recruit and the men training with him. One, in particular, went by the name Romeo.” Garza handed his cell to Juliet. “A man I believe is your ex-husband.”

* * *

Juliet took the phone, hoping no one noticed her hands shaking. Had Rafe left her to join the Fianna? To become an assassin named Romeo for an arms dealer and his secret army?

The screen photo showed three men near a European medieval church. Two men stood opposite, and another in the center held his hands out as if brokering a truce. “What’s this?”

“The man in the overcoat, with his back to the camera, is believed to be the Prince. The man in the center with the jeans and scarf is Escalus.”

She squinted. Escalus’s profile was shadowed. “How do you know?”

“There’s a wound on his thumb identical to one on the body yesterday.”

The third man, taller than the other two in leather pants and a hooded leather jacket, stood with his arms crossed. Although she couldn’t see his face, she’d recognize Rafe’s exasperated stance anywhere. “Is this you?”

Rafe’s jaw locked down, his dark eyes narrowed into knife edges directed at Garza.

Samantha leaned over to look at the photo. “Where’d you get this?”

“Interpol,” Garza said. “My military contact believes the third man is Romeo. At the time this photo was taken, Romeo was not only the most brutal Fianna warrior, he was the Prince’s second-in-command.”

Rafe’s pupils had darkened, and his nostrils flared. There wasn’t an apologetic feature on his face. Her blood rushed so fast a roar filled her ears. “Is this true?” she asked him.

“No.” Pete took the phone and tossed it back to Garza. “Rafe left his unit because he’s a traitor. Nothing more.”

“Juliet.” Rafe spoke her name on the exhale, breathy and deep with his drawl that softened the hard consonant. The same way he’d spoken when they’d been in bed together last night.

She faced Garza again. “That photo you showed me last night. The one with the tattoo of a heart and a sword and Escalus’s name beneath. Which arm was it on?”

“His left arm.”

If she took off Rafe’s jacket, yanked off the bandages, would she find a similar tattoo?

“This misericord that killed Sally,” Samantha said to Garza. “What’s that?”

“A small, sharp sword that, when shoved underneath the arm, pierces the heart. Or, if thrust behind the ear, takes out the brain stem. It’s a sudden, almost painless death that leaves little blood and a small entrance wound.”

“That doesn’t mean a Fianna warrior killed Sally,” Samantha said.

“No,” Garza said, “but after studying the ME reports on Eugene Wilkins and Detective Legare, I discovered they were all killed the same way.”

Juliet stood. “That’s not what we were told. Eugene died in a fire, and Legare hit his head.”

“I know the stories,” Garza said. “It’s also possible your father didn’t commit suicide.”

She clasped her hands behind her neck. While knowing her daddy hadn’t committed suicide would help her grieve, his murder made everything worse. It meant his paranoia about men who bowed had been true, and she’d ignored it. She’d left him in this nightmare alone. How could she not have believed her own father?

Calum snapped his fingers. “I figured it out. I worked against Garza getting this job. I wanted someone I could trust, except I was overruled. My sister hired you to find out who murdered her husband, didn’t she?”

Garza scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Calum’s eyes shuttered. “Now who’s telling lies?”

“This isn’t about me,” Garza said. “This is about the Fianna killing people in my city.”

“No, Detective. This is about my family. My people. My city.”

“Believe what you want.” Garza stood tall, taking Calum’s accusation on directly. “But two people, possibly three, were murdered within nine months. And yesterday I realized those deaths, Miss Capel’s vandalism, and the cathedral mess are tied to Montfort’s return.” Garza shifted his attention back to Rafe. “Do you remember your mother’s death?”

Rafe’s eyes blackened into polished stones. “Yes.”

That’d been an awful time. Juliet and Rafe had been married for two years, and his mother’s sudden death had devastated them all.

“We went to her funeral,” Juliet said. “After returning to Fort Bragg, Rafe’s unit left on a mission.” Then, months later, she’d received his letter, and her world had fallen apart. “Why does my mother-in-law’s death matter now?”

“Because,” Garza said, “when I pulled up her ME report, Detective Legare had added a handwritten note about a small hole beneath her armpit. I believe Tess Montfort may also have been killed with a misericord. Possibly by a Fianna warrior.”

The air in the room felt hot and heavy. The AC compressor kicked on, and Pete’s breathing echoed. But Rafe’s heart, beating fast and furious, had to be obvious to all in the room. His neck muscles bulged, and his hands balled.

Juliet licked her dry lips and asked him, “Is this true?”

“I don’t know.” The harshness of his voice offset his whisper.

No one spoke. Even Calum—who’d stopped texting—kept his peace.

“There’ve been so many secrets and lies.” Juliet’s voice shook. “So many people hurt. Sally. That teenage boy. Eugene Wilkins. Detective Legare. My daddy. Maybe your momma. Is Garza right? Are all those deaths connected to you?”

“For the record,” Garza said, “I believe they are.”

Rafe’s eyes turned into brown pools of melted glass. She could see her own reflection on their surface, feel the heat through her dress. All. True. “You worked as an assassin? And somehow our families got involved?”

No words, but he didn’t need any. The intensity of his regard said it all. Yes. He’d left her to work for some mythical army that killed without remorse or shame. And everyone else had paid the price.

Rafe’s voice shattered the fragile silence. “There is a Fianna warrior in town named Balthasar. He killed Sally. If you go after him, he’ll kill you too.”

“Detective.” An officer popped his head into the room. “Chief needs to talk. Pronto.”

Garza pointed at Rafe. “This isn’t over.”

“It is until I say so,” Calum said.

Garza pulled an envelope out of his jacket. “This is for you, Miss Capel. It’s what I was going to give you later this afternoon. Do with it what you want.”

Once Garza left, Samantha asked Rafe, “Are we in danger because we know this?”

“Yes.”

“If we’re already screwed,” said Pete, “we deserve the truth.”

Rafe crossed his arms and spoke through gritted teeth. “The truth is I’m responsible for every life here. Including Garza’s.”

Samantha took Juliet’s hand and squeezed. Juliet squeezed back. While she was furious about what she’d learned, there was nothing she could say or do to make this better. But maybe if she and Rafe could find that vial, this whole nightmare would end before anyone else got hurt.

“So…” Pete ran a hand over his head. “How do we work the mission?”

“We win.” Rafe sighed. “Where’s Nate?”

“Getting beat up at the gym,” Pete said.

“Give Nate this map.” Rafe took Juliet’s envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Pete. “Tell him to haul ass to the Savannah Preservation Office and talk to Sarah Munro. We need any info we can get about that map and Anne Capel. I doubt there’ll be anything online. Then take Samantha to Juliet’s Lily. Stay with her and watch out for anything strange.” Rafe turned to Juliet, his jawline sharp enough to cut steel. “Change and pack whatever you want to bring to the Isle. Bring your gun.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to your manor to see those windows. We’re going to find that vial before Balthasar kills again.”