Kate’s taxi honked out in the driveway. She swallowed hard.
“Love you,” Kate whispered, then gathered up her stuff and walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-three
Kate had her taxi take her to the Washington Inn—it was a hotel that she used to book clients into on one of her temp jobs, and it seemed pretty swank. Even better, it wasn’t too close to the Havens. The last thing she wanted was to look out her window and see another thing Thomas owned.
That snake.
So he wanted to use her for bait for the psychopath who had nearly killed her, huh? She wondered, absently, if the sex was just part of that idea—softening her up, encouraging her to do things his way. Because any secretary who would sleep with him probably assumed that he “cared” about her or that what they did “meant something.” Or because sex with him was so utterly incredible that she’d go gooey and stupid and ignore the fact that he was hanging her out to dry.
Not this secretary, asshole.
She took a long shower, then changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Pain and confusion seemed to hang around her like a cloud of cigarette smoke. She didn’t have anyone to talk it over with, and she needed more than a sulk—she needed a plan, now. Hanging out in the hotel room with what was left of her worldly possessions would only depress her, locking her up further. So Kate went to the only place she could think of to find solace.
“Welcome to Starbucks,” the barista said cheerfully. “Can I get a drink started for you?”
Kate let out a low sigh of relief. Temporary “home,” approximately two blocks in any direction.
Thank you, Starbucks.
“Venti Extra Coffee Caramel Frappuccino,” Kate said aloud.
“Do you want whipped cream on that?”
Kate stared at the girl. “Look at my face. What do you think?”
The girl’s eyes widened. “I’ll add as much as it’ll hold,” she said quickly, taking Kate’s Starbucks card. She even offered her a sample of molasses cookie with a very nervous smile.
Kate settled in on a purple velvet overstuffed armchair, clutching her drink like a talisman.
She was homeless, damned, and about to be dangled in front of a serial killer.
What would Buffy do?
“Mind if I sit here?”
She glanced up. It was a good looking blond guy, wearing a suit. He was gesturing to the couch next to her. She shrugged, taking a long, cold sip of her sugary drink.
“See you’re a Frap fan, too,” he said, holding up a matching one. “Can’t get enough sugar, myself.”
She shrugged again.
Go away.
They’re pretty busy this morning, huh?” he tried again. “Just loud enough music, friends catching up, people doing business meetings. Lot of bustle.”
Do I fucking look like I feel like talking?
She wished she’d thought to bring a book, her usual dodge for chatty coffee patrons.
“You could have pretty much any conversation, and nobody’d ever notice,” he continued affably. “Like, if I said your boss is probably going to get you killed… not a single person would realize what we’re talking about.”
She choked on her whipped cream.
“Now, now, you all right?” She noticed a hint of an accent, the smoothness of the South, with something a little more exotic.
She took a closer look at him. He was tall, almost skeletally thin, and his eyes were a pale, pale violet, like a lavender satin prom dress. The color, paired with his intensity, was disconcerting.
“Who are you?” she said, when she could finally speak.
“Glad you asked,” he replied. “I’m Cyril. Cyril Roman. And you must be Kate, Thomas’s newest… employee.”
“You,” she said, as the name clicked. “The guy who signed him.”
“Yes, indeed,” Cyril said, with a cheerful draw from his Frappuccino. “No, don’t get up. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She hovered at the edge of her seat, adrenaline kicking in. “Sure you’re not.”
“Just here to talk, darlin’.” He pushed the Southern, his whole attitude a sort of just-plain-folksy casual. “Wanted to discuss something is all.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Ah, but that’s not the question, is it?” he countered. “The real question here is, why should you trust Thomas Kestrel? Am I wrong?
”
“He saved my life.” At least, he did before he came up with his brilliant “let’s use Kate as bait” plan.
“Did he, though?” Cyril sent her a Cheshire cat grin. “Or did he just set you up to sign you? The more souls he has, the more power he gets. And odds are good you’ll die before he does. You’re a human shield, kiddo.”
She squirmed. Her father called her “kiddo.” Hearing this guy, who looked maybe twenty-seven if he were a day, call her the nickname was just weird.
“He’s using you. You need to get free.”
“And that’s where you come in, right?” She stood up. “I’m out of here.”
“I can help you.”
“Leaving,” she said, taking a few steps. He got up, followed her.
“You know how to break free, right?” he said, under cover of the non-descript quasi jazz, business travelers and, coffee-office patrons. “You just need to kill the one who signed you.”
“Okay,
that’s
not happening,” she said sharply. “Get away from me, or I’ll call a cop. And in this town, trust me, I know cops.”
“I’m not saying that
you
have to kill him, for pity’s sake,” he said. “I’m saying
I’ll
kill him.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you shitting me?”
He made an
X
over his heart with his finger. “Scout’s honor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If you want to kill him, you could just do it without telling me. So why are you here?” She waited a beat. “Because you want something from me. No—you
need
something from me.”
“I’m just trying to look for an opening,” Cyril said. “I signed him, sure, but he’s been—if you don’t mind my language—a real pain in the ass. If I’d known what a handful the guy was going to be, I don’t think I would’ve bothered.”
“Wow. Poor you.”
“He’s wily, I’ll give him that,” Cyril said. “I just need a little help setting him up. Then I’ll take him off your hands. How ‘bout that? You get to walk away a free woman. Little sadder, little wiser, but free. What do you say?”
She thought about it for a long, quiet minute.
“I say,” she murmured, “that the next time you’re in Oakland, asking if I’m going to sell a man out to his death, you might want to stay in your car. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
“Do you really think Thomas isn’t going to use you?” he said, and his voice had an edge that sounded older. No, it sounded ancient. “He signed his soul, Kate. He’s not some kind of ‘good guy.’ He’s as bad as me, maybe worse.”
She shook her head. Thomas was being an asshole with the whole bait thing, but really—her judgment wasn’t that far out of whack. Thomas wasn’t evil. Self-serving, maybe. Short-sighted. More than a touch narcissistic, and occasionally grossly insensitive.
Technically, that could describe every man she’d ever dated.
“Don’t believe me?” Cyril’s smile was like a wolf’s, fierce and dangerous. “Just wait. One day, probably soon, you’ll see. When it comes down to him or you, you’re the one who’s going to lose.”
“Life’s rough,” she shot back. “Wear a helmet.”
“I can sweeten the pot,” he said, his voice low, his expression persuasive. “I understand your family is in a bit of a financial bind. If it’s money you’re looking for, I can give you whatever you need… and I have quite a bit. Consider it a bonus.”
“You need to leave,” she repeated. “Now.”
“Here.”
She looked at the business card he held to her like it was a grenade. “No.”
“You can burn it. Throw it away,” he said, and pressed it into her palm. His hand was papery-dry, she noticed… and cold. “But I want to at least give you the opportunity to get yourself out.”
With that, he turned away, walking briskly. He threw out what was left of his Frappuccino.
She sipped at her own drink, now watered down and syrupy, the plastic cup covered in condensation. She looked at the card, then took a few steps toward the trash can.
If it’s a choice between him and you… would Thomas really choose you?
She let the card linger for a minute.
Then, slowly, she tucked it in her pocket.
Just in case.
…
Thomas circled Yagi on the mats in his private gym, on a lower floor in the Havens. He was wearing his suit, while Yagi was in his training uniform of black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, barefoot. They both held wooden knives.
“Keep in mind—you’ve got to kill him with the knife. He can shoot you,” Yagi said. “I will do what I can to protect you from outsiders interfering, but when it comes down to it, you
must
kill him
yourself
. That is crucial.”
“I know,” Thomas muttered, forcing himself to focus. Which would have been easier if he could just stop picturing Kate’s wounded expression from this morning.
You really could have handled that whole thing better.
It had been a while since he’d had sex, admittedly. As crazy as his life had been, especially since Elizabeth’s death—and thinking of Elizabeth brought on a whole new round of guilt, not surprisingly, especially when chained to Maggie’s fresh suicide—he just hadn’t pursued women. He couldn’t trust anyone, for one thing. And a combination of vengeance and need, plus being married to his businesses, had frankly made sex a low priority.
That said, last night had been really damned good. He knew that. It actually freaked him out a little, how good it felt to be with Kate.
Suddenly, Thomas found himself flat on his back, Yagi looming over him.
“That,” Yagi said, in his usual calm voice, “is going to get you killed. Do you need to meditate?”
“No, I do not need to fucking meditate,” Thomas growled, getting up off the mat, embarrassed.
“Because saying you lack focus is a gross understatement.” Yagi’s eyebrow raised. “Is this about Maggie?”
“No.”
“Kate, then.”
Thomas didn’t respond.
Yagi took a step away. “I have to ask again—are you serious about gaining your soul back?”
“I am serious about killing Cyril Roman.”
“It isn’t precisely the same thing.” Yagi frowned a little. “He has not survived all these years on luck. He is cunning and cruel. He will do what you don’t have the stomach for without blinking. That is how he wins. To beat him, you also must do the thing you don’t have the stomach for.”
“Is this about using Kate to trap Victor?” Just the words turned his stomach into a knot of ice, but he didn’t let it show. “Because I agreed to that.”
“Then we need to set it up, and quickly,” Yagi said. “Because I get the feeling this isn’t about—”
The house phone rang, surprising them both. Thomas frowned, getting up off the mat and heading for the phone. “Hello?”
“Thomas, my boy. Good to hear your voice. I trust I’m not interrupting anything?”
For a blink, Thomas froze. “How did you get this number?”
“Now, now, don’t play coy,” Cyril said, sounding amused. “I know you’re pretty fancy, what with your special hoodoo consultant and top notch security, but do you really think that you can keep me out of something I really want to get into?”
Thomas looked at Yagi, who already had his iPhone out and was tapping away quickly.
“Tell your friend he doesn’t have to trace. I’m calling from my house. And we both know you can’t touch me.”
“Not until I get the others,” Thomas pointed out, keeping his voice calm, almost bored.
“Yeah, that hasn’t really worked out, has it?” Cyril said. “I heard how badly you botched your first little foray into the big leagues. Embarrassing. Victor’s not even one of my A-list signatories.”
Thomas felt rage burn him. “I’ve got a year.”
Now Cyril sighed. “I mishandled you,” he said, his drawl a mockery of Thomas’s own. “I pushed too hard, and I got a little hot tempered. Totally uncalled for. But don’t you think you’ve postured enough? You proved you’re a big boy, that you can stand up to me, blah blah blah. Let’s patch this up, hug it out, do whatever men do these days. And move forward.”
“I’m not cutting a deal with you,” Thomas said. “I don’t want to be your slave.”
“I prefer the term
associate
.”
“Slave,” Thomas repeated. “You don’t have any leverage on me. Not since—”
“Not since you drove your fiancée to her death, right,” Cyril agreed. “Like I said, there’s strong, and there’s stubborn. You want to call your own shots; I can respect that. Come over to my house, sign some amendments, and let’s see what we can do about expanding that little empire of yours.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Thomas said mildly. “How about I locate all twelve of your power base, destroy them, and then grind you to dust?”
“Still touchy, I see,” Cyril said. “We’ll talk again when you’re not having your man period, shall we? ’Bye.”
Thomas growled at the phone, then slammed the handset into the receiver. Then yanked the phone off the wall.
Yagi’s eyes glinted like obsidian. “I’m surprised he hadn’t started putting out feelers sooner. He must be nervous if he’s trying to charm you or needle you.”
“He’d better fucking be nervous,” Thomas snarled.
Yagi crossed his arms. “If persuasion won’t work, he’s going to want to coerce you into cooperating. Barring that, I imagine capture will be the next best option, simply so you will stop your pursuit. I don’t think he’s ever had any signatory as intent on killing him as you are.”
“Which is why he formed the power base,” Thomas said, forcing himself to breathe deeply—to calm down. He wouldn’t give that sonofabitch the satisfaction of working him up. “See, Yagi? I have listened to your lectures.”
Yagi ignored his smart-ass remark. “I don’t think he’d torture you, for fear of killing you before the vesting period is completed or before you renegotiate the contract in his favor. His best chance of capturing you is when you are trying to kill
his
signatories.” He sighed. “Which explains Victor’s call. This Victor trap is about drawing
you
out. Cyril doesn’t care about Kate, even if Victor does. Cyril wants to get you, and he’s probably instructed Victor to help him do it.”