Fool's Gold (5 page)

“Miss Kane.” He bowed formally. “Madam Hartshorne will receive you and your guest in the drawing room.”

I nodded and stepped over the threshold into a massive, two-story foyer. A winding staircase was across from the doorway and led up to a balcony with wrought-iron railings. The butler, who had delicately pointed ears peeking from under his black hair, led us to a room on the right.

This space was obviously where the girls who worked in the house received their guests. From what I'd heard, the procedure was for the males to sit in one of the comfortable leather chairs with a brandy or pint of blood while they looked over a lineup a fae “escorts.” Each of Hartshorne's girls had a specialty so as to accommodate any customer's more adventurous tastes.

“She'll be with you shortly,” the butler said in his refined accent. “Please have a seat.”

Slade and I exchanged a humorous look at all the formality. Considering there was probably a ton of kinky sex going on upstairs, it was hard to reconcile the elegant surroundings of the main floor.

“This place is no joke,” Slade observed. He settled into one of the wingback chairs beside the fireplace. “I feel like I should be wearing a smoking jacket in this thing.”

I smirked, but before I could respond, a swirl of red appeared in the doorway. Liliana Hartshorne wore layers of cherry-red chiffon and an emerald-green silk turban with a sparkly brooch in the center. She had large green eyes like a china doll's with heavy lids and thick lashes. The audacity of her getup was probably chosen to compensate for her diminutive stature. Like most female faeries, she was well below five feet tall, and the kitten heels on her feet probably added three inches.

“Sabina.” Her voice was husky, as if she swilled whiskey and smoked cigars to achieve the affect. “Please introduce me to your friend.”

Slade rose from his seat and moved forward. “Slade Corbin, ma'am,” he said, doing my job for me. “A pleasure.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Not yet, but it might be if you play your cards right.” She extended her fingers, which were studded with jewels, to the vampire for a kiss.

The corner of Slade's mouth tilted up, but he bent over dutifully and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you for receiving us,” he said, smooth as silk. “We know your time is valuable.”

I suppressed the shock that followed watching him work the madam so smoothly. But I supposed one didn't spend so long being an assassin without picking up some skills at manipulation. Either way, the madam ate it up like a cat lapping cream.

“Impudent boy,” she said. “Wherever has Lavinia been hiding you?”

He released her hand and stepped back a respectable distance. “No place respectable, that's for sure.”

She threw back her head and brayed like an ass. I barely managed not to roll my eyes.

“We're here on a matter of some urgency,” I prompted.

She flicked a glance my way, as if she'd forgotten my presence. “Everything with the Dominae is urgent. Why don't we have a drink first?”

Slade opened his mouth, but since he appeared to be about to accept her offer, I interrupted. “Perhaps another time,” I said. “We really are in a hurry.”

The madam sniffed. “Suit yourself.” She turned a cold shoulder and went to the bar to help herself to a drink. Slade shot me an annoyed glance, but I ignored it.

“Have you ever had a customer named Zeke Calebow?”

She paused in the process of pouring a clear liquid into a tumbler and looked up. “Doesn't sound familiar, but I can't be sure. I meet so many people in my line of work.”

I didn't believe that for an instant. A businesswoman like Liliana made her business to know everything about her customers.

“Perhaps you could check your records?” Slade asked.

She smiled at him. “I'm afraid my personal secretary is otherwise engaged at the moment.” She looked up toward the ceiling, as if to indicate the secretary was taking a special kind of dictation. “Do you perhaps have a picture of Mr. Calebow? I never forget a face.”

Slade held up the picture of Zeke that Tanith gave us. She sauntered over with her drink and took the photo from him. Looking down at it, she paused and looked up with a frown. “This is Jacques Dubois.”

I tilted my head. “No,” I said slowly. “That's Zeke Calebow.”

“But that's impossible. Not three nights ago, this man came to this very spot and introduced himself as Monsieur Dubois. He had a passport and everything.”

I exchanged a confused look with Slade. “The man in that picture isn't French; he's American, and he's trying to extort a large sum of cash from the Dominae.”

The faery blanched. “Impossible.”

“I assure you it's very much possible. My guess is he secured the fake passport in preparation for fleeing the country.”

“Goddess help us,” she said. “This is horrible.” Gone were the affectations she'd displayed like peacock feathers earlier. In their place was a hand-wringing female. “Hold on.” She minced over to a harvest yellow rotary phone on the wall. It took a good thirty seconds to compose the number using the rotary dial.

“You want to fill us in on what's got you so upset?” I asked.

She held up an impatient finger, which was topped with a long red fingernail. Then she ignored us completely as she spoke rapidly into the phone. I leaned forward to catch the words, but she quickly hung up the receiver.

She sighed loudly and turned back toward us. “The head of my security team is on his way down.”

“Why?” Slade asked.

“Because three nights ago, the man you're looking for strolled into this establishment, pretending to be a French aristocrat, and rented by best girl for the entire week.”

My mouth fell open. “Wait, you let him walk out of here with a female?” The idea of the freckle-faced vampire in the picture affecting a convincing French accent was ludicrous, which meant Liliana was more convinced by the promise of money than any sort of good sense.

She nodded with an expression on the border between panic and rage. “And that's not even the worst part.”

“I can't imagine what would be worse than that,” Slade said in an arid tone.

Liliana crossed her arms. “I believed him when he said he was from a wealthy French vampire lineage, so I let him walk out without paying!”

I shook my head. “You're joking. What kind of madam are you to let a complete stranger walk out of here with one of the females you're supposed to protect?”

The madam's back went up. “He had letters vouching for him!”

Slade's eyebrows shot up. “Which are easier to forge than a passport.”

She opened her mouth to respond, and from the looks of things the shine, she'd taken to my partner had definitely dulled, but before the words left her mouth, a male arrived. Judging from his height and the copious amounts of body hair, he was a werewolf.

“Rolf, thank goodness,” Liliana said. “We have a bit of a situation.”

The were came forward. He wore a brown business suit with a cream colored shirt that had a butterfly collar. His shaggy hair made him look like one of the Bee Gees—the manly one with the beard. “Who are they?” He nodded toward Slade and me.

Liliana quickly performed introductions and filled her head of security in on the situation. As she spoke, his expression went from curious to downright predatory. “I knew there was something off about that piece of shit,” he growled.

“There's really no sense in beating yourselves up about the mistake,” Slade said in a calm tone. “The important thing now is to figure out where he took her.”

Gods, he was smooth. He acted like we were doing them a favor, but we needed them more than they needed us.

Rolf crossed his arms. In his right hand was a file folder. “Why would we give you any information? This is our business now.”

I mirrored his stance. “Because I'm fairly certain neither of you want the girl you sent off with him killed.”

Liliana's expression became stricken. “You wouldn't dare.”

I shrugged. “It's not up to us, really. You know how Lavinia is.”

The madam's face hardened as she looked at me. But to Rolf, she said, “Give them the address.”

The werewolf didn't look happy, but he followed orders regardless. He opened the folder and removed a handwritten receipt. At the top was the name Jacques Dubois, along with an address in Long Beach. I scanned lower to see the services listed as a week of escorting by a faery named Pansy Foxglove. The amount listed as the amount due was more than I paid for rent on my house in a year. Underneath the amount due, a messy scrawl spelled out the name Jacques Dubois. It had the insecure slant of a man unused to signing the name.

I looked up. “You really let him walk out of here owing this much?” My question was mostly rhetorical.

Liliana's chin came up. “He left collateral.”

I raised a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded. “An heirloom brooch he said belonged to his grandmother, the Duchess of Foie Gras.” Two red spots appeared on her overly made-up cheeks, as if saying it out loud brought home the extent of her errors in judgment.

“If I were you, I wouldn't go pawning that brooch anytime soon,” Slade said.

“What assurances do we have that you will not kill Pansy?” The madam's demeanor shifted from embarrassed to determined. Despite the ridiculous decisions she'd made, it was clear she actually cared a lot about her girls.

Slade pursed his lips and thought it over for a moment. “You agree to give us twenty-four hours to make our move on Calebow, and we'll ensure your girl gets home safe and sound.”

Rolf turned to look at his boss, his expression clearly indicating he was not in favor of this plan. I didn't know a lot about werewolves, but it didn't take a genius to know the breed had fierce hunting instincts. The prospect of hunting down a shitbag like Zeke Calebow had to have his predatory instincts thrumming.

But Liliana Hartshorne was no fool—despite her weakness for promissory notes from fake European royalty. “It's a deal,” she said. “I'll expect updates.”

Slade nodded and stepped forward. The madam held out her ringed hand to shake on it. But my smooth-operator partner grabbed the tips of her fingers and looked her in the eye as he kissed the knuckles again. The move elicited a growl from Rolf and an eye-roll from me.

The madam, however, was charmed. “After you bring Pansy home, I'd be happy to offer you the works—free of charge.”

Slade's smile didn't waver, but his Adam's apple bobbed as if fighting a dry heave. “You're far too kind.”

The madam pulled her bright eyes and seductress's smile from my partner to look at me. “You too, of course,” she said in a grudging tone.

I frowned. “Thanks, but I'm not into faeries or females.”

She tilted her head. “Hmm. I thought maybe you followed in your grandmother's footsteps.”

My mouth fell open.

The faery smiled. “Lavinia loves her some faery pussy.”

All the blood drained from my face, leaving nothing but coldness and nausea behind. Before I could comment—or vomit—Slade grabbed my arm and led me out of the room, trailing behind us promises to be in touch.

When we made it outside, I bent over next to the van with my hands on my knees. I sucked in a few lungfuls of the cool night air, hoping it would scour the images Liliana's parting shot had planted in my brain. From my bent-over position, I saw Slade's boots appear to my right.

“If you're going to vomit, do it before you get in the van.”

“I'm fine.” I pressed my lips together and pushed myself back into a standing position. He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Do you think she was telling the truth?”

“About Lavinia?”

I nodded.

He shrugged. “Who cares?”

I stepped forward. “You're joking, right? Lavinia Kane is the ultimate Enforcer of the Black Covenant. If it got out that she had sex with faeries, it would be devastating for the Dominae.”

Slade crossed his arms and shot me a level look. “Sabina, are you really going to believe the catty comment of a woman who believed that a schmuck like Zeke Calebow was fucking French aristocracy?”

I tilted my head and thought it over. “Guess you're right.”

“Of course I am.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Most likely she was just trying to start some shit because she's still pissed at Lavinia for killing that girl you told me about when we got here.”

“Good point.” I nodded and sighed. I glanced at my watch. “You want to head to this address they gave us now?”

Slade glanced at his watch. “It's getting early. The address is in Long Beach, which is like forty-five minutes away at least. Let's call it a night and I'll see if I can figure out whether the address is a residence or a business.”

I nodded. “I'd feel a lot better going in prepared than showing up to ambush so close to sunrise, too.”

“It's settled then,” he said. “Tomorrow night, we terminate the bastard.”

When I got into the van the next night, Slade tossed a page from the phonebook into my lap.

“What's this?” I held the page up to the light. An advertisement for a hotel called Jack's Hideaway was circled in red pen.

“I tracked down the address last night. From what I can tell, it's a no-tell motel not far from the
Queen Mary
.”

“Did you call?”

“I called. Looks like Mr. Jacques Dubois checked in four nights ago.”

“What an idiot,” I said. “Let's go.”

We hit the 710 about six o'clock. Big mistake. Traffic didn't just crawl; it oozed. I settled into my seat, prepared for a long wait.

“Thanks for the pep talk last night,” I said.

Slade looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “No problem. We all need a good kick in the ass every now and then.”