Chapter Seventeen

"W ho took her? They paid you to hand over Suzanne, didn't they? You better fucking answer me!"

Nicolas grabbed Raoul's upper arm to hold him back. His friend leaned over Lili Foucher, who sat on a tatty velvet divan, her pudgy face fixed in a sullen pout. So far, she'd remained tight-lipped under their questioning, only admitting that Suzanne had dropped by the Sirène that morning at her behest.

"I already told you, I don't know nothing," she muttered.

"So she vanished into thin air, then?" Raoul growled, pulling against Nicolas's arm. Goddamn it, it was like trying to hold back a rabid bear. "What kind of fucking idiot do you take me for? If you'd were a man, I'd have you spitting out your rotten teeth!"

By God, he was tempted to let Raoul give in to his anger, but that would get them nowhere. After all, the main reason he'd come with Raoul was to make sure his friend didn't burn down the entire brothel in a fit of rage.

"There, my friend. No need for violence. Suzanne will do the honors herself when we get her back. You wouldn't want to deprive her of that pleasure, would you?"

"Fuck you!"

Raoul wrenched free and turned away, prowling to the back of the small salon.

Nicolas crossed his arms over his chest. It took all his energy to remain calm and not throttle answers out of that woman.

"Try harder," he snapped. "Your profits wouldn't be nearly as much if Malenfant decided to take a larger commission."

Because every brothel in this city belonged to either Malenfant or the Boneman, and brought their respective organizations innumerable francs.

She scowled. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Anyone who paid you to turn Suzanne over to them is working for the Boneman. Trust me, you'd rather deal with me than tell Malenfant directly. Better pray the time you're costing us won't have dire consequences for everyone involved."

Lili snorted, but her dull brown eyes sharpened with fear. "Fine. It was a man with brown hair. Handsome, tall, well built."

He frowned. "Go on."

"He talked like a gentleman. Paid in full, too."

Lenoir. It had to be him. Running another one of the Boneman's grisly errands.

"I didn't take him for a thug," she added, as if that excused her actions. "I thought he was just another one of Suzanne's lovers."

Raoul pounded his fist against the wall, and Lili jumped in her seat. Blast, Nicolas was going to have to get him out of here before he demolished something.

"Did he come alone?"

"Yes."

Raoul glared at her over his shoulder. "You're lying. I've seen Suzanne fight off men twice her size. She wouldn't have let anyone carry her off like that."

Lili looked sideways, her expression shuttered once again. Tapping her foot. Nicolas tightened his fists.

"You gave her something to drink, didn't you? Drugged her wine?"

She pressed her lips together, her eyes hardening. Devil take it, they were wasting precious time with the wench. Either way, the result was the same.

He buttoned his coat. "Charming. But we have no time to deal with you now. Come, Raoul, let us go."

Raoul shot Lili a murderous look, but reluctantly pushed himself away from the wall, leaving a fist-sized crater in the plaster.

Outside the brothel, the street lanterns glowed, but their light seemed feeble and fleeting against the winter gloom. A quiver of panic rippled in Nicolas's gut. Blast, that interrogation had taken longer than he'd expected. Longer than necessary. He must get back to Violette soon… but then what to do about Suzanne? He couldn't simply leave Raoul to search by himself while he sat waiting for Estienne to send a ransom note.

For Estienne would undoubtedly demand a trade. Violette for Suzanne. The worst possible exchange he could imagine.

Raoul stalked toward Capucine Boulevard. "Damn that whore. This has gotten us nowhere."

Nicolas lengthened his stride to catch up. "At least now we're certain Suzanne must be in one of the Boneman's haunts. If Talloche got my message, reinforcements should be here soon."

"By God, if only I'd gone with her… Yesterday, I told her…" His voice caught, and he paused for a moment. "I told her I was worried for her safety, but she simply laughed, said she could handle herself… You know how she is."

Yes. Nicolas did know. But he couldn't reply. Raoul's words struck too close to the knot of fear that was building in his chest. His pace quickened. He needed to get home, make sure Violette was safe.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they turned toward the barbershop, Nicolas spotted a silhouette pacing in front of the door. Someone was waiting for them. He squinted.

Pierre .

His breath froze in his chest, blood turning to liquid ice in his veins. If Pierre was here…

"What are you doing here?" He broke into a jog. "Where is Violette?"

Pierre's eyes were wide with shock, watery with fear. " Monsieur , she… She's gone. Left the apartment. I don't—"

A black torrent of rage swirled up in an instant, drowning all reason or restraint. He grabbed Pierre by the shoulders and shook him. " She's gone ? How the bloody hell is that possible? Did you just let her walk out, damn you?"

Raoul grabbed his shoulder, pulled him back. "For fuck's sake, Nicolas, don't kill the man before he explains."

Yes. Yes, Raoul was right. Listen first, then decide whether he should break every one of Pierre's limbs, bone by bone. Raoul unlocked the door and ushered them inside.

"I'll stand guard out front," he told Nicolas. "You take him to the back room."

Nicolas nodded. Pierre followed him through the front of the shop.

Nicolas flung his hat onto the table. "Sit. You have ten seconds to explain."

Shoulders trembling, Pierre sank into the seat. "She found the hidden staircase, monsieur . I swear I didn't hear anything. I ran here as soon as I noticed she was gone."

Nicolas curled his fingers around the back of a chair, grip tightening until his palms burned. "No sign of damage?"

"No, the door was intact, opened from the inside. One moment, I left Mademoiselle to read the post, and when I came back to ask what she wanted for dinner, not half an hour later…"

"Wait a moment." He leaned over the table. "The post? Someone sent her a letter?"

Pierre swallowed and nodded shakily. "I… I thought you might have sent word of her whereabouts to her family and…"

Nicolas rubbed his hands over his face. Pierre was ever a dutiful servant. Never peeking at the messages Nicolas sent out, always minding his own business. Nicolas hadn't divulged the gritty details of Violette's situation, and Pierre hadn't asked. How could he possibly guess that a simple letter might be as deadly as a bottle of poison?

"You stupid whoreson," he growled.

But he wasn't talking to Pierre. He was talking to himself. He was so anxious to keep Violette safe and protected, so certain that Estienne would either contact him first offering this impossible trade or attack with brute force, that he'd been blind to any other possibility.

He should have known better. Estienne never did the expected. No, he favored the crueler, more unusual path. Creeping in the darkness from the smallest of cracks instead of forcing a door open. The guilt Violette must have felt learning that Suzanne was missing… Small wonder she'd sneaked out.

"I… I looked, but I couldn't find the letter anywhere and I knew I must warn you as quickly as possible," Pierre said. "Perhaps if I conducted a more thorough search…"

She must have taken it. She didn't want to leave a trail. The instructions must have been clear.

Think. Think, damn you. Fix your mistake.

Nicolas raked his hand through his hair. "Right, I suppose there's not much else you can do. Try to find that letter and hold the fort while I'm gone."

He needed to get his hands on Lenoir. Yes, Lenoir would be easier to catch, and if he already knew where Suzanne was…

The crash of shattering glass echoed from the front room. Nicolas reached into his pocket and whipped out his knife.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Raoul bellowed from the other side of the door.

Nicolas wrenched it open. Raoul crouched next to a box, shards of glass scattered at his feet, his face entirely drained of blood. Greenish, as if he was about to be sick.

Strands of matted brown hair peeked out from the open top.

"Lenoir," Raoul managed.

Nicolas took careful steps toward the box. Looked. And felt nothing.

All thoughts, all feelings fled from his mind, retreating to the dark room that had formed the day he'd stood amid the crowd at the Concorde, watching his brother and father dragged to the guillotine. The swish of a silver blade, a torrent of blood, the executioner brandishing the head by the hair to savage cheers…

He must lock the room. Keep everything there. If he didn't, his confrontation with Estienne would end in disaster, just as it had before.

He stared down at the mangled head. No note. Just letters carved into the cold flesh of the forehead.

E-N-F-E-R.

Hell. Where Estienne was waiting for him.

*

Rough hands dragged Violette down a flight of stony steps. A foul, musty smell invaded her nostrils. Down and down they went, and the air closed in around her. Panic clenched her throat.

Estienne's men had blindfolded her and bound her hands the moment she descended from the fiacre. They'd made her walk, then tossed her into another fiacre, and finally brought her here. Probably still in Paris, or just on the outskirts, as it had not taken very long to reach their destination.

Violette nearly tripped. The stairs had given way to a flat surface. Her captor wordlessly held her up by the elbow and shoved her forward.

A burnt smell now. Torches. Men's voices echoing in the distance. And the atmosphere strangely warm, almost hot. She kept walking. Just one more step. Just one more step.

"Stop. Sit here."

She held out her tied hands for balance and slowly lowered herself to the dusty ground.

"Don't move."

The footsteps moved away, and she was left alone. Minutes ticked by, or maybe hours. Her limbs were numb, her muscles stiff, her wrists chaffed by the rope. Would she simply be left here to die?

Footsteps again. Different. Lighter. Fingers loosened the knot of her blindfold, and it fell around her neck.

The Boneman loomed over her. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Her gaze darted to and fro.

Bones. Bones everywhere. Piles of them as high as the wall, yellowed with age and the light of the torches. The skulls' empty sockets stared back at her, but they were far less frightening than the man who hovered above her.

"Don't worry, my dear, you won't be here long. You're just bait to catch a bigger fish."

Nicolas . It was Nicolas he wanted. Hope and dread warred within her, tearing at her gut and leaving a sheen of cold sweat on her skin. Hope that he would come, and dread because that was the Boneman's plan.

"As soon as that's done, I'll have you moved to a brothel in some piss-soaked back alley. You won't find it much more enjoyable than servicing Cransac, but as my whore of a mother used to say, you made your bed, now lie it in. Literally."

A dreadful smile stretched his lips, as if he'd just made a pleasant joke.

"Nicolas will kill you," she spat. "You'll be left here to rot with the other corpses."

His grin widened over his large teeth. "Oh, he tried once, did he tell you that? It didn't quite work out the way he'd planned."

A man emerged from the dark corridor that led into the room. "Lefevre is here."

"Splendid. Bring him in." He took his knife from his pocket, snapping it open, and seized Violette's arm to haul her to her feet. "Let us see if he thinks twice before making the same mistake again."