26. Blane

CHAPTER 26

Blane

“ M y patience is wearing thin, Mr. Ziaroni.”

Two days until the deadline I’d set, and I’d decided to pay him a visit in person. His nose was still slightly swollen, and his black eyes were turning from purple to a greenish yellow. So far, he hadn’t challenged me to another duel, although Joseph had acquired suitable attire for both of us should we need to step into the ring again. No need to ruin another suit.

“You think you can do a better job, man? Find the bitch yourself. And it’s Zion, not Ziaroni.”

“Watch your language.”

I was beginning to think I might have to take on a more active role. Zion leaned back in his desk chair, then hurriedly righted himself when it nearly tipped over.

“She’s not at the beach house. So maybe she’s on the boat? Raph took it down to Huntington Beach, but it’s on the way back now.”

“Who’s Raph?”

“You know, Laurent. Raph Laurent. ”

Raph Laurent? He sounded more like a fashion label than a gangster.

“So Caria could have been left in Huntington Beach?”

Or worse, encased in concrete shoes and dropped into the Pacific.

“Nah, man, he doesn’t have a place there.”

“Do we even know if she’s still alive?”

Zion nodded, then winced at the motion. “Yesterday, she was.”

“How can you be sure?”

“There’s a picture.”

“A picture?”

He pulled a phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. The screen was cracked, and the back of the case said “Gangstas don’t cry,” which was a lie because I’d definitely seen a tear or two last Thursday. After a moment of scrolling, he handed it over.

“There she is.”

“Is that Laurent with her?”

“Yeah, man.”

It was the same woman I’d seen smiling in the photo on Wren’s phone. Caria was sitting on Laurent’s lap, and judging by the mascara streaked down her cheeks, she was far from happy to be there. He was grinning with an arm clamped around her waist. I peered closer and saw her dress was torn, as if someone had clawed it off her and then forced her to put the tattered remains back on.

It was the first picture I’d seen of Laurent, and he wasn’t quite what I’d been expecting. In my head, I’d pictured him as more like me, a businessman with a dark side. In reality, he was a hirsute fireplug of a man in Bermuda shorts. He had a man bun, for crying out loud.

“Where did you get this? ”

“From a guy who knows a guy. He wanted to check that this is the woman you’re looking for. It’s her, right?”

“Yes, it’s her.”

“That look like a boat to you?”

I studied the background. Laurent was sitting in a velvet club chair in front of a polished walnut bar. Another scantily dressed female was pouring a drink, but she looked bored rather than distressed. There were no windows. A statuesque blonde sat on a stool sipping from a martini glass, her hair styled in a poker-straight bob, but she was wearing a billowy emerald-green dress with long sleeves and ruffled edging. Not the hired help. A girlfriend? Was her expression of faint disgust there because Laurent was still dallying with Caria?

“I can’t tell from the picture, but it’s possible it’s a boat.”

“I got a man watching the marina. If they unload her when they get back from LA tomorrow, he’ll follow.”

“Keep me updated. The clock is ticking.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“How is Wren doing?” Vee asked when I swung by to check in at Tilt. Her hair was purple today. “Is she okay? We haven’t seen much of you over the past week.”

No. No, they hadn’t, because I’d been reacquainting myself with the pleasures of the female mind. Go with your heart, Aurelia had said, and I’d decided to take her advice. There were still so many things about the planes that I didn’t understand, that nobody truly did, and there was no point in dwelling on life’s mysteries when Wren was with me in the here and now.

“She’s hanging in there. ”

“And is there any news on her missing friend?” Vee asked as she settled onto the edge of my desk and helped herself to one of the candies I kept in a glass bowl. The bowl had been a gift from Aurelia, one of her thrift-store finds.

“I’m hoping we’ll have some news soon.”

I’d wanted a confirmed location by now, but Zion wasn’t as competent as he liked to think he was. At least he’d made a modicum of progress. And I’d been able to tell my angel that Caria was still breathing, which was better than nothing.

“I asked Jack about that guy. Laurent? He’s bad news.”

“That’s what I’m hearing too.”

“A few years ago, he was on the East Coast—New York and New Jersey. Jack thinks he had a falling-out with the Mob, although the details are hazy. And before that, he ran the biggest call-girl operation in the South of France. He used to brag about having ‘a bitch for every budget.’”

“A true businessman.”

Vee shuddered. “Apparently, he manages the logistics side of things, and his sister runs the girls. Jack thinks they’re doing the same in Vegas, but nobody’s been able to pin anything on him yet.”

A family business? This was news. “Nobody’s mentioned a sister.”

“Her name is Delphine, and she stays out of the public eye. Rumour says that she can be more vicious than him when the chips are down.”

My mind wandered back to the woman in Zion’s picture, the snooty blonde. I’d assumed she was a girlfriend, but maybe she was Laurent’s sister?

“The consultant I engaged to assist with the search for the missing girl is hopeful we’ll have news by tomorrow, but I’ll bear it in mind. ”

“That’s great news, but if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. I always liked Wren.”

“She’s a very special lady.”

Vee stared at me for a beat, and then her mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh! You hooked up with Wren.”

“How on earth did you reach that conclusion from ‘she’s a very special lady’?”

“It wasn’t your words, it was the look in your eyes. Kind of dreamy. Is she staying with you?”

What? I really had to work on that. “Dreamy” hadn’t been an issue in Plane Three. “Nightmarey” had been more appropriate. I blew out a breath and poured myself a glass of Scotch from the carafe on my desk. Thankfully, alcohol didn’t impact me the way it did humans—all I got was a pleasant buzz, none of the uncoordinated retching.

“Yes, she’s staying with me, but ‘hooking up’ trivialises the situation.”

“Glazing the donut? Letting her ride the baloney pony? Buttering her biscuit? Oh, wait, wait…” Vee’s eyes twinkled. “Doing the devil’s dance?”

“You’re fired.”

She tossed a piece of candy at my head. “You love me really.”

I sort of did, in a purely platonic way, of course. “The connection with Wren reminds me so much of my time with Nevaeh. And no, I haven’t told her that. I believe humans find that sort of thing creepy.”

“Promise you won’t hurt her, okay? If I have to kick your ass, that would be unpleasant for both of us.”

“How would that even work? I can’t suck out your soul because, technically, you don’t have one, and your ‘superior speed and strength’ schtick won’t work on me.”

“That’s a good point.” Vee pondered for a moment, her cheeks going hollow as she sucked on a piece of candy. “ Maybe I’d just cut the seat out of every single pair of your pants.”

Ouch. “That’s dirty.”

“Girls stick together. I take it you haven’t told Wren about the whole ‘Lord of the Underworld’ thing?”

I spluttered a mouthful of Scotch. “She has quite enough on her plate right now.”

“If this is more than a hookup, you can’t keep it a secret forever.”

“I managed with Nevaeh. And I don’t want Wren to run screaming to New Mexico.”

“Jack didn’t run screaming when he found out about my special diet.”

“The next time someone tells me miracles don’t exist, I’m going to use you two as an example.” I frowned at the staff schedule on my desk. “Were you serious about helping?”

“Of course.”

“Latisha’s on vacation and Carlene’s sick. There’s a bug going around, and Pandora’s struggling to fill the gaps. Would you work at Club Dead tomorrow night? We could put you in a mask.” The serving staff wore costumes, so a mask wouldn’t be out of place. When Vee didn’t answer right away, I continued, “I don’t think Voltaire is in town at the moment.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Joseph heard it on the lawyer grapevine.”

“Voltaire isn’t a lawyer.”

“No, he isn’t, but negotiations are ongoing with regard to the Devil’s Den. I outbid him, but the vendor wanted to allow time for Voltaire to make a counteroffer. Apparently, he went on a wellness retreat and is currently uncontactable.”

“A wellness retreat? No way. He probably went on a murder spree and left his phone at home so the cops couldn’t place him at the scene.”

“I’ll agree that seems a more likely scenario. Anyhow, the vendor’s lawyer wanted until Thursday, so I put a time limit on my offer.”

“When does it expire?”

“Midnight tonight.” Today was Tuesday.

Vee blew out a long breath. “I hate the thought of Voltaire staying here. Hate it. This is my home now.”

“And I hate seeing you unhappy. My offer was excessive.”

She reached out to squeeze my hand. “You’re a good friend.”

“At least I’ve mastered one part of being human.”

A tiny smile flickered at the corners of her lips. “I’ll work at the club tomorrow as long as I can hide in the VIP area.”

“That won’t be a problem.”