Dark Carousel

by Christine Feehan

  Then there was Tariq Asenguard. It was definitely the wrong time to be attracted to a man, but for the first time in her life she had a real interest in someone--she was attracted both physically and intellectually. Tariq had put his life on the line for Genevieve and her. He was courageous, and the last thing she wanted to do was appear weak in front of him.

  "I'm not going to fall down," she denied, but she wasn't certain if it was a lie or not. She couldn't stop the body tremors.

  "No, you're not," he agreed in his soft, way-too-mesmerizing voice. "Because I've got my arm around you. See over there, by the lake? The little house?" He waited for her to nod her head before continuing. "It used to be the boathouse, but I have a very nice couple living there. Donald and Mary Walton. Good people. You will like them. I met them one evening coming out of the club. I had taken a walk after the club closed because I couldn't sleep. They had been sleeping in their car and woke when a couple of thieves, bent on robbing them at gunpoint, trying to take what little they had, pounded on the roof of the car. I heard the noise and went to their assistance. They were a very nice couple, just down on their luck."

  She stared up at his face, a little shocked that the very elegant Mr. Asenguard, owner of several nightclubs, could talk about saving a couple so casually, as if it hadn't mattered at all, just that they were a delightful couple. "And you invited them to live on your property?" She couldn't keep the astonishment from her voice. Why would he do that? She didn't know a single person who would do something like that.

  "Yes. They needed a home. They are good people, Charlie."

  She wasn't certain if there was a hint of censure in his voice, as if he didn't get that her astonishment was because people just didn't do that kind of thing as a rule--take in complete strangers. He acted as if anyone would do it.

  "Donald has a job now. He's a damned good accountant, but his old firm got rid of him because he was getting older and has a few health issues. He helps with my books and has been a huge help to my accountant but doesn't have to work full-time and can take off when his illness flares up. Now he earns enough for them to pay for a few extras, and they help look after the children."

  "Children?" she echoed faintly.

  His property was beautiful and very, very expensive. Every detail was perfect. The landscaping, the mansion rising three stories into the air with gables and balconies. It was Victorian architecture at its most stunning. The house had wings and bays running in various directions as well as generous amounts of gingerbread. A large octagonal tower with a steep, pointed roof rose up from the third story, forming one corner of the ornate house. A large wraparound covered porch with ornamental brackets and spindles provided a tremendous view of the lake. The other homes were some distance from the main house, but all were smaller replicas of the larger mansion.

  "I have four orphans living on the property." Tariq turned to indicate the house that would have been the guardhouse. Or a home for bodyguards or servants. "A boy and three girls. They were living on the streets as well."

  "Children?" Genevieve repeated, sliding out of the car to stand beside them. "Shouldn't they be in some form of government care? Why would they be living here?"

  "I am their official guardian, or will be in a few days when the paperwork goes through. They have someone very dangerous after them. The men Fridrick runs with killed their parents, although there is not any proof of that. Vadim and Fridrick kidnapped the girls. By the time we were able to rescue them, one of the girls had been severely injured and the baby was traumatized. Thankfully I have enough money to provide the best care possible for them. I also can keep them safe."

  This time there was no mistake. Tariq's voice did hold more than a note of censure, as if he thought perhaps the two of them were criticizing him for taking in children and a homeless couple.

  "I think that's wonderful of you," Charlotte said immediately, because it was the strict truth--she did think he was wonderful. Almost too good to be true. Were there still men in the world who looked out for others, were gorgeous, courtly and courageous? She couldn't believe how attracted she was to the man. It was so unlike her, but everything about him appealed to her.

  Tariq looked puzzled, as if she wasn't making sense. "They are children. All of them are traumatized, although Danny would never admit that he is. He is fifteen and already thinks of himself as a man. I have to go carefully with him so as not to step on that protective trait of his or his pride. Amelia is fourteen, Liv is ten and Bella is three. She is the right age to hopefully become friends with your little Lourdes."

  More and more she was prepared to accept his offer of staying and working on his carousel horses. She couldn't protect Lourdes indefinitely, not from Fridrick. And there was still the puzzle of the three men who were following them. She gasped, pressing her fingers to her mouth, biting down on the pad of her index finger as she thought of the memories she'd pulled from Daniel Forester's mind.

  "What is it, sielamet?" He shackled her wrist with deceptive gentleness, tugging until she let him remove her fingers from her lips. He pulled her hand to his chest, resting her palm over his heart, covering her hand with his own and pressing it there. "You thought of something disturbing."

  Charlotte had no idea what he'd called her, but the way he said it, soft and low, his voice a caress, had her stomach doing a slow roll in spite of her agitation.

  "The three men following us. I know this sounds crazy, but they're killers as well. Genevieve and I were going to try to find out more about them. We went to the club with the idea of luring them out into the open."

  "You did what?"

  He interrupted her, and the air was suddenly thick with heat. Oppressive heat. Uh-oh. Her gorgeous man had a temper after all. His eyes, a deep blue, had gone turbulent, a sea storm out of control. He suddenly looked much larger. Although he retained that sophisticated air, it looked more a veneer when he was very predatory.

  Charlotte moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. His gaze dropped to that small, nervous gesture, and she wished that she'd been more careful. She'd parked the car a distance from the house because she'd wanted to get out and see his property. The high fence had scared her a little and she hadn't wanted to jump into any commitment, but she definitely needed a safe haven for Lourdes. For the first time, she was really uneasy.

  "We needed to draw them out into the open," Charlotte said.

  "We're sick of being afraid all the time," Genevieve added, her voice trembling.

  That told Charlotte that Genevieve saw the predator in Tariq as well. She tried to step back, to put distance between them, but Tariq pulled her closer to him, bending his head until his eyes stared directly into hers. The irises were dark, wide, and she could see flames burning there. Up that close, he was still gorgeous, maybe even more so, but he was also mesmerizing, a strong, angry male, trapping her in his stormy, turbulent gaze.

  She drew in her breath sharply. Moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. Tried to find her voice, even though her throat seemed to be closed. "Tariq." His name. Not his last name. Just his name. An intimacy she hadn't expected or wanted, but she'd put it out there in a low, trembling voice she hadn't meant to use.

  "Sielamet."

  Just that. Another language, one she didn't understand, but the way he said it, so softly, so intimately, she felt the name like a caress moving over her skin.

  "Why are you angry?" She had to understand. That was important. Extremely important. She rarely thought it was prudent to run, but his anger was a tangible, living entity, so oppressive, the air around them thickened.

  "You put yourself in danger." An accusation. Plain. Stark. Raw.

  She glanced at Genevieve, because she needed to look away from that unblinking, focused stare. He reminded her of a large wolf watching prey. Waiting for an opportunity to leap. But he was right. She had put herself in danger. She'd put Genevieve in danger as well. They hadn't known whether the three men following them were involved in the
murders of their friends and family, but they'd known what they were doing was dangerous.

  She nodded. "Yes. That's true. I did that, but we weren't safe. Lourdes wasn't safe. We had to know what we were dealing with, and we didn't know about Fridrick. We hadn't realized there were two threats, not one. So good came out of it."

  His fingers tightened around her wrist and he pressed her hand tighter against his chest. So tightly she felt the steady beat of his heart. Strangely, her heart reacted, slowly picking up the same rhythm so that she thought the two hearts drummed one beat at a time together. It was such a strange phenomenon that she paused, her brain still scrambling for a defense, when her mind and body was totally tuned to him.

  "Good came out of it?" he repeated slowly, each word enunciated tersely. "Fridrick could have taken both of you. Do you realize how dangerous he is? You wouldn't have been able to stop him or his men from taking you and believe me, life would have become a living hell for you."

  She didn't doubt that for a moment. She knew he had saved them. He hadn't put it in so many words, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt in her mind that if Tariq and his intimidating friends hadn't come along, she and Genevieve, and most likely Lourdes, would have been in deep trouble. On that thought came another much more disturbing one.

  Charlotte pressed her fingertips against Tariq's broad chest, feeling the muscles beneath his immaculate shirt ripple in response to her touch. "How did he know where Lourdes was?" She tipped her head up so she could meet Tariq's eyes again. The jolt was hard to take. It felt as if their souls connected and he could see right into her. "How could he have known?"

  "She is safe and will be here soon," Tariq reminded, very gentle again. He stroked a caress along the back of her hand. "Breathe, sielamet; you have forgotten to take a breath. If you do not, I will have to do it for you."

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her entire body wanted to convulse with heat. How did he do that? She didn't respond to men, not with a terrible, almost brutal need that seemed to sweep through her with just his voice or the smallest of touches. It was crazy to be so completely attracted to a man when danger surrounded her and every move she made could be putting her niece and friend in even more peril. Deliberately she took a breath, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath the palm of her hand. Her breath followed his in the same way her heartbeat followed his.

  "Thank you. If I didn't say that before, I'm saying it now, with tremendous gratitude. I was already terrified of that hideous man and afraid we might not be able to get away from him, but I had no clue he wasn't alone. He was afraid of you." She made the last a statement, wanting an explanation. If Fridrick was a serial killer, able to tear out throats and drain bodies of blood--which was too theatrical for words--and he was afraid of Tariq, what did that make Tariq Asenguard?

  "We knew each other a long time ago. I've hunted him before. He's cunning and cruel and willing to sacrifice his friends in order to save his own hide. He respects me, but fear? I do not know if Fridrick is capable of feeling true fear. He wants to live, and he will retreat if he believes the odds are not in his favor. I had enough of my friends near, and when they showed up that tipped the scales against him. He wasn't willing to accept those odds or there might have been a bloodbath."

  Fridrick had been afraid of Tariq no matter what spin Tariq put on it. That meant . . . Tariq was extremely dangerous, as every instinct she had screamed at her. She wasn't certain whether that was because he was dangerous to her heart, maybe even to her soul, certainly to her body--he could own her. She was certain if she ever gave in to the craving she was feeling for him, he would own her body and soul.

  Charlotte looked around her at the high fence and the several houses. "Emeline is here?" Somehow knowing the woman she'd met in Paris was living on the property as well as the couple and children he'd taken in made her feel safer.

  "Yes. She's staying in that little house over there." He indicated a two-story Victorian that looked beautiful even in the night. There were no lights on, but then it was three in the morning.

  "You do not have to stay, Charlie," he said softly. "I am not holding you hostage, only offering you sanctuary until this is over. There is another house for Genevieve, you and Lourdes if you wish to take it. Tonight, the three of you are welcome to stay in the main house . . ." He turned and gestured toward the mansion. "As you can see there is plenty of room. In the morning, you can decide if you wish to stay longer and I can show you the other house. Maksim's property borders mine, and he guards as well. My friends are close and they will help to look after the safety of all the children as well as the two of you and Emeline."

  He dropped her hand and stepped back, giving her space. Instantly she felt cold. Alone. Her body trembled as fear swept through her. He'd been holding all that at bay. She glanced at Genevieve, one eyebrow arched in inquiry. "What do you think, Vi?"

  "I want to stay, Charlie," Genevieve admitted. "I'm so sick of being afraid all the time. It's beautiful here, and if we stay, I can't imagine Fridrick or those other three getting their hands on Lourdes or us."

  Charlotte turned back to Tariq. "Then we thank you once again for this. We'd love to accept your offer of a place to stay." She wasn't going to commit to working for him, but she had to admit, the carousel horses were part of the draw. Mostly, it was Tariq. Still, staying close to him would be a danger in itself.

  "It's settled then. Come with me, ladies. I'll show you the house, you can pick your rooms and then I can ask the police to come if you wish to speak to them tonight. I know a detective and I trust him. He would come immediately if I called." He stepped back to allow them to precede him.

  "I should tell you those other three men may have followed us here, and they're just as dangerous as Fridrick. They've killed, too. I saw them drive a stake through the heart of a man and he was alive." Charlotte felt compelled to confess. "You have to know that if you allow us to stay here, those men might go after you. I don't know what they want or why they followed us from Paris, but I know they did."

  Tariq's face was devoid of all expression. Lines were etched deep. He looked rugged and tough, but still as sophisticated as ever. Charlotte had to wonder how that was even possible. God, but he was gorgeous.

  "Tell me about them."

  "One is named Daniel Forester. When you called that young boy Danny, it reminded me. Mostly because Daniel made a big production about his name and how he didn't want anyone calling him Danny. His friends tweaked him a bit about that. He had two friends, Vince Tidwell and Bruce Van Hues, with him. I saw them as well at the murder scene."

  "Where was this?"

  She couldn't tell by his stony features, his cool eyes or his matter-of-fact voice if he even believed her. She wouldn't have believed anyone telling her such a thing without proof, especially after what she'd told him about Fridrick killing so many people. Thankfully, he knew Fridrick and had "hunted" him. What did that mean? She should have asked when she'd had the chance. It was such a strange word to use, especially for the owner of a nightclub.

  She remained silent as they made their way along the stone walkway to the steps leading to the wraparound porch. There was no explaining that she "saw" Daniel Forester kill another human being by driving a stake through his heart while she held a cocktail glass in her hand. Tariq and the police would think she was the crazy one.

  "I don't know where the murder took place, but it wasn't the only one." That made it worse. If Fridrick was a serial killer, then she was telling Tariq that there were two separate serial killers. She almost didn't believe herself.

  "You do not know where the murder took place, but you know there was one. I take it you weren't there when it actually happened. Did someone tell you about it?"

  "Of course not," Genevieve snapped, answering for her. Defending her. Getting her into even more trouble. "Sometimes Charlie 'sees' things. It's a gift. That's one of the reasons we went in for psychic testing. It may have been on a whim, but both of us have a
couple of very real gifts." Now she just sounded defiant. She glared at Tariq, daring him to dispute the possibility.

  "So you do not have anything concrete to tell the police about these three men."

  Tariq sounded as if he was talking to himself, not them. He didn't object or scoff at anything they said, and that was a relief to Charlotte. She hadn't realized until that moment that she really didn't want Tariq Asenguard to think she was crazy. He seemed to be taking them seriously. He'd admitted to having a gift or two of his own, so maybe that contributed to his believing them.

  "No, not really. Not even with Fridrick. He admitted killing in Paris and again, here, with Charlie's brother," Genevieve answered, "but there's no proof. The best we can do is maybe point the cops in the right direction." She yawned and quickly tried to cover it. "I'm sorry. This is all very exhausting."

  "Let me show you to a room. Enter of your own free will." Tariq held the door open for them courteously, using his old-world charm to let them pass first.

  Charlotte glanced at him sharply, hesitating as Genevieve walked right in, even reaching for her as if to stop her. Genevieve was far too fast, moving quickly into the entryway and peering around her. Charlotte stood just outside the door, feeling the pull, the longing to go inside. A sanctuary of sorts, and somewhere, on this property, was her dream job of restoring very, very old wooden carousel horses. She'd seen the pictures, and she had longed to go with Ricard Beaudet to help restore them. She yearned to get her hands on them, to feel the life in them, the treasure trove of memories locked in the wood.

  "Can I look around?" Genevieve asked.

  "Of course. My home is yours. You are welcome to choose any room on the ground floor."

  "Thanks. If I find one I like, I'm going straight to bed. I can barely stay awake. If I get up before you, Charlie, I'll take care of Lourdes."

  "Thanks, Vi." They'd been trading off getting up with the little girl, and Lourdes already loved Genevieve, so Charlotte was grateful for the help.