The Devil's Due (21 page)

After a few moments, the butler returned. “Mr. Thorn is waiting for you in his office.”

“Remember your focus point,” Simon said, tapping his chest, as they were led through the foyer. “Everything will be all right.”

She smiled up at him. “I know.”

Thorn sat behind a large mahogany desk. He lifted his head and smiled in a way that made Simon rethink his abandoned, throw-Elizabeth-over-his-shoulder strategy.

“Come in,” Thorn said. “I've been wondering when you might stop by.”

He rose from his chair and came around the desk to greet them. Simon and Elizabeth didn't walk too far into the room. They stayed on the far edge of the Persian rug, sure to keep some distance between Thorn and them.

Thorn gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please?”

“No, thank you,” Simon said. They wanted to stay alert and focused.

Thorn shrugged diffidently and leaned back against the front of his desk. “As you wish. Although,” he said turning his attention to Elizabeth, “you can't really appreciate my collection from there.”

He drew their attention to a large case mounted on the wall behind his desk. Behind the glass, pinned to black velvet were dozens of butterflies, their iridescent wings open as if caught in midflight.

“Aren't they beautiful?” he said, almost lovingly. “These are a few of my favorites.”

Simon looked down at Elizabeth and saw the anger and disgust in her eyes. He squeezed her hand. “We're here to discuss Alan Grant.”

Thorn didn't look away from his collection. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “We want you to release him from his…contract.”

Thorn chuckled. “Do you?” He eased off the desk, walked back around it and sat down again. “Surely, that's a matter between Grant and the studio.”

“That isn't what she meant,” Simon said.

Thorn placed his palms on the edge of the blotter on his desk and pushed himself back more deeply into his chair. “No?”

Elizabeth started forward, but Simon's touch on her arm kept her where she was. “You know what we're talking about.”

“I'm sure I don't,” Thorn said. “Why don't you tell me?”

“Your agreement with Grant,” Simon said sharply. “Whatever coercion you used, it won't work in the end.”

“Coercion? Is that what he told you?” Thorn steepled his fingers in front of him and looked at Simon in a way that felt as though the man was seeing right through his soul. Simon's hand slid down Elizabeth's arm and gripped her hand tightly. Focus.

Thorn touched his index fingers to his lips. “No, I don't think he did. He told you the truth.”

Simon tamped down his growing feelings of unease. “What he thinks is the truth.”

“And you're unconvinced.” Thorn leaned forward. “It might be fun to convince you,” he said more to himself than to them.

“Whoever,” Simon said, struggling to keep his mind clear, “whatever you think you are, it doesn't matter to me.”

“Oh, but it does,” Thorn said with a soft laugh. “So much, so
very
much.” His eyes shifted to Elizabeth.

Simon's heart stuttered and then raced. He could feel his control slipping away. He gripped Elizabeth's hand even more tightly and clenched his other hand into a fist. This man standing in front of him was flesh and blood, he told himself. This was no devil he was talking to. Just a man. “Your lies won't work on us.”

“The only lies I need are the ones you tell yourself,” Thorn said. “You're quite adept at that aren't you, Cross?”

The tension in Simon's muscles intensified until he could hear the rapid thrumming of his own heart.

“I can give you what you want,” Thorn said, and then he glanced at Elizabeth. “I can keep her safe.”

The sound of his own blood rushing through his ears was white noise against the world.

Simon.

The voice sounded like it was underwater — distant and muffled, but insistent. “Simon…Simon!”

He felt her tug on his arm and, still dazed, he turned to look at her. Elizabeth's eyes were wide with worry. “Focus,” she said, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look into her eyes. “Remember? Focus on me.”

Simon felt the clouds begin to part, and Elizabeth turned to Thorn. She pulled herself to her full five foot four and met Thorn's gaze with a calm assurance Simon envied. “Our souls are not for sale.”

Despite the confidence in her declaration, Thorn didn't seemed convinced, but didn't press the matter. “We'll see.”

Elizabeth didn't relent. “We're here about Alan Grant.”

Thorn grew instantly bored and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “There's no point in that. His contract has nearly been fulfilled.”

Simon pushed the last bit of haze from his mind. “We'd like to see it. The contract.”

“I'm afraid only the contract holder has the right to ask that.”

“That's convenient,” Simon said. “A contract no one else can see.”

“I assure you, they are quite legitimate. I went to great lengths to ensure my contract was drawn up according to the laws of man. Jurisdictional issues and all.” Thorn smiled. “In my line of work, you become well acquainted with quite a few attorneys.”

“What do you get out of it?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.

Thorn shrugged. “Their souls.”

“Assuming that's possible,” Elizabeth continued. “Why?”

Thorn was surprised at that. He arched an eyebrow and put down the pen he'd been toying with. “In all my years, which are considerable, no one has ever thought to ask me that. Fascinating.” He paused to give the matter some thought. “I'm not sure I can put this in a way you can understand.”

“Try me,” Elizabeth said lifting her chin defiantly.

Thorn's eyes lit up; he obviously enjoyed the sparring. Simon did not.

“I began because I enjoyed the challenge and the pride in collecting something valuable. A man has nothing of greater value than his soul. But now…I think it's what I'm meant to do. It's who I am. It's why I'm here. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “We feel the same way.”

“Do you?”

“We're here to stop you,” she said. “That's who we are.”

Thorn smiled, amused. “Pity,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “Time is not on your side.”

“We still have a day left.”

Thorn grinned. “Less than that.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and smiled as if she had the most wonderful secret in the world. “You're not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve.”

Thorn arched an eyebrow in expectant pleasure. “I look forward to it.”

What in God's name was she talking about? Simon gripped Elizabeth's arm and edged her toward the door.

“Me too,” she said as if they were arguing about next week's football match.

When Simon had finally led her out of the room and out of Thorn's home, he turned to her and asked, “What was that all about?”

“I don't know,” she said angrily. “He makes me cranky.”

Simon ignored that and led her further down the street. The farther away from Thorn they got, the better. “And the tricks we have up our sleeves?”

“It's a bluff.”

Simon sighed, although he knew that was going to be her answer.

Elizabeth surprised him and stopped walking. “Daddy always said, when you get a handful of nothing, bet 'em like you got 'em.”

She looked up at him with such fierce resolve he almost believed her.

“Yes, but wasn't your father a rather poor poker player?” Simon said as kindly as he could.

Elizabeth's face crumpled. “I was hoping you wouldn't remember that.”

Jack leaned back against the warm sand and felt it cling to his wet skin. The sun hung low in the sky and cast a bright yellow path from West to East along the surface of the ocean. Betty walked back and forth along the shore as the gentle breakers foamed around her ankles. She looked up and waved at him. He lifted a sandy arm and waved back. It was the beginning of their goodbye.

He knew after dinner with Simon and Elizabeth that it had to end. Hell, he knew before then. Even before Cross' warnings, he'd sensed deep down inside that this couldn't be. He'd thought losing her the first time had been hard, but it was nothing compared to this. Every moment was a torture.

She walked toward him, her hips swaying as her feet dug into the softening sand.

“That was great,” she said, bending down to pick up a towel and drying off. “We sure don't have that in Fort Wayne.”

When she'd asked him to come here today, he should have said no. He should have broken it off right then and there. But he hadn't. He wanted one last day, one last day to sear everything into his memory including the pain. He deserved that and more.

Betty wrapped the towel around her as if she'd just come from the shower and sat down next to him. The setting sun made her skin look like gold. She leaned in to Jack and bumped him with her elbow. “You in there?”

She smiled at him and the wind blew a wet tendril of hair across her eyes. She brushed it away and tilted her head. “John?”

“I'm fine,” he lied. How many had he told? “Just,” he said, nodding toward the ocean, “it makes you think.”

She leaned into his side and wrapped an arm across his back. He felt her soft cheek rest on his shoulder as she gazed out at the ocean. It was wonderful and perfect and he'd never been so miserable.

He'd been a damn fool to have started it in the first place. Deep down, he must have known it would end this way. Could only end this way.

God, he'd been so selfish. He'd wanted her and everything else had fallen away. He'd put all the people he cared for at risk, the whole damn war at risk, just to be near her. And he was being punished for it now. If he'd just stayed in the shadows that day in the alley or walked away any of the days since, this wouldn't hurt so damn much. And, of course, he thought with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, in the end, he'd ended up hurting her the most. Or he would, when he finally found the courage to say goodbye.

Just one more sacrifice for the war.

He felt Betty shiver and burrow closer to him for warmth. “What do you think for dinner tonight? Maybe that little Italian place again?”

“I can't,” he said and she leaned away. Jack sat up and pulled one knee toward his chest. “My sister and husband have some event or something, and I'm supposed to go and be supportive.”

Betty was disappointed, but she tossed her head to the side. “That just means more meatballs for me.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, wishing she could know how much and knowing she never would.

Every scenario - his staying, her leaving and none of them could be. This could never be.

“That's okay,” she said waving it off. “We can go tomorrow.”

“Sure,” he said. He brushed some sand from her shoulder. “I'll miss you.”

“It's just one night, silly.” She leaned in and kissed him. Just a quick, reassuring kiss, but he caught her cheek in his hand as she started to pull away. He looked into her eyes and then down to her lips and gently guided her mouth back to his. Her lips were soft and tender.

When the kiss was over, she eased back and looked at him in such an odd way. Whatever it was in her eyes, it passed. She smiled and turned back to watch the sun kiss the horizon. He watched her and felt his heart ache and knew that it would never go away.

Simon and Elizabeth went over everything they'd seen, everything they'd learned again, looking for some clue, any clue to help them save Alan. There must have been something they'd overlooked. Elizabeth refused to accept anything else.

They'd called Alan to see if they could look at his copy of the contract, but of course, he didn't have one. “Paperwork was never my strong suit,” he'd said.

She and Simon talked in circles through the rest of the afternoon until a knock on the door interrupted them. A messenger carried in several large boxes, a bouquet of flowers and a note from Alan. They were cordially invited to his house for cocktails, formal attire required. God only knew what Alan was planning for his last night. Or what he saw as his last night, Elizabeth corrected herself. Even if he saw it that way, she wasn't ready to give up. For now, though, all they could do was stay with Alan and be there when the time came and hope for a solution.

Elizabeth reread Alan's note, looking for some clue as to what he had planned for tonight, but all it said was something about “cocktails and fun”. Formal fun.

Simon still had his tuxedo, but Elizabeth's only formal dress was still in need of repair. Of course, Alan knew that and had taken the liberty of sending several gowns for her to choose from. A small token of thanks, the note had said, for their friendship.

Every dress fit perfectly, not too surprising considering Alan was hardly a novice when it came to women's figures. Elizabeth settled on the pale gold silk brocade floor length gown. The red was too wicked city woman and the black, well, she refused to think about how that one made her feel. Alan had also sent a white fur stole. Elizabeth wasn't comfortable with the idea of wearing fur, but it was a cool evening, by Los Angeles standards, and she couldn't bring herself to do anything to insult Alan's generosity.

At six o'clock the front desk rang letting them know that a car had arrived for them. Alan had certainly thought of everything.

The drive to his home was quiet. Simon tried to reassure her that the night wasn't over. They would stay with him through the night and when midnight came, they'd find a way. She just wished Alan didn't seem so resigned to it all. He obviously loved being a movie star, but if he just had something else to live for? Or someone, she thought as the car turned up Camden Drive. Walking down the side of the road was a familiar figure. It was the girl who'd been at Alan's the other day. Elizabeth had a hunch and called for the driver to pull over.

“What on earth are you doing?” Simon asked as she jumped out of the car.

She poked her head back in through the open door. “Following a hunch. You go ahead and I'll catch up.”

“Elizabeth—”

She pointed at Grant's driveway barely one hundred feet up the road. “It's right there. I want to talk to the girl. Alone.”

Simon swallowed his protest and nodded curtly. Elizabeth closed the door and the car pulled away.