“Well, I know that you’ve seen all those photos Fletcher left behind in his boxes,” Mosley said. “And by now, I imagine that you’ve identified everyone in the pictures. The folks who are still alive, anyway.”
Finn and I both nodded.
“But other than that, I don’t think I can be of any help,” he continued. “Fletcher never told me much about the Circle. Just that the people in those photos were some of the members, that they were all extremely dangerous, and that I should be careful if I ever had any dealings with them. All I ever really knew was that Fletcher was keeping an eye on those folks. I asked him about the Circle, of course, more than once. But for some reason, he just didn’t want to talk about it. He always seemed…sad and a bit…regretful whenever I brought it up.”
Frustration surged through me, but I wasn’t surprised. Fletcher had loved keeping secrets, and he would have been especially careful with one of this magnitude. I doubted he would have told Mosley anything about the Circle if he hadn’t had to rent those safety-deposit boxes from the dwarf in order to keep the information safe.
Still, I wondered at Mosley’s assessment of Fletcher’s emotions. Why would the old man be sad about the Circle? Much less regretful? This puzzle still had a lot of missing pieces, so I decided to focus on one of the few leads I had.
“What about Mason?” I asked. “Did Fletcher ever mention anyone by that name to you? Anyone at all?”
I held my breath, hoping, hoping, hoping that I might finally get an answer about who Mason really was, other than the mysterious leader of the Circle and the man who was ultimately responsible for my mother’s murder.
Mosley drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. But after a moment, his fingers stilled, and he shook his head. “Not that I recall. There are a lot of Masons in this town. I’ve done business with several folks with that name, but no one sticks out or seems like they could be the person you’re searching for. I’m sorry, Gin.”
My breath escaped in a loud, disappointed rush, but I forced myself to smile at him. “It’s not your fault. Sometimes I think Fletcher was far too sneaky for his own good.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Mosley smiled back at me, but sadness tinged his expression. “Ain’t that the truth.”
* * *
The waiter returned with our food, and we dug into our meals. My black-pepper-crusted steak was perfectly cooked and seasoned, while my potatoes au gratin were baked to a delicious, crunchy golden-brown and loaded with gruyere cheese, sour cream, chives, and bacon. It was hard to beat a gourmet steak-and-potatoes meal, especially at Underwood’s, where it was always done right.
While we ate, Mosley regaled Finn and me with all sorts of tales about Fletcher, from the silly to the serious. The two of them had been far better friends than I’d realized, and they’d done everything together from fishing to facing off against various bad guys.
Fletcher’s death would always be a cold sting in my heart, and I would always feel guilty that I hadn’t been able to save him from being murdered, but it was nice to reminisce about the old man and how much we had all loved him. It eased the ache of his loss, at least for tonight.
We were eating dessert—caramel-apple cheesecake topped with vanilla-bean whipped cream, warm caramel sauce, and dried apple chips—when Mosley snapped his fingers.
“You know what? I do remember something else, an old book that Fletcher left with me. I think he was going to put it in a safety-deposit box.” His cheerful expression faded away. “But he never got the chance to tell me what to do with it before he died.”
Hope sparked in my chest.
Finn leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement, as eager as I was. “Where’s the book?” he asked. “Do you know what’s inside it?”
Mosley shook his head. “Nope. I respected Fletcher’s privacy, so I never looked through it. All I know is that the book is in my new house, buried in a box somewhere. I’m almost done putting stuff away from my move, and I’m down to my last few boxes. I should be able to find it in a day or two—”
His phone rang, cutting him off. Mosley picked up the device and grimaced as he stared at the number on the screen. “If this damn auction doesn’t kill me first,” he muttered.
“Problems?” I asked in a wry tone.
“Unless I miss my guess, there’s been some new crisis with the flowers.” His lips curled in disgust, and he shook his head. “I would ignore it, but she’ll probably just keep right on calling until I answer. Please excuse me.”
“Of course,” I murmured. “Take your time.”
He flashed me a grateful smile, then got to his feet and swiped his finger across the screen. “This is Mosley.”
He started talking into his phone and slowly wandered away from our table.
And that’s when I realized that we were being watched.
A woman sitting alone at the end of the bar swiveled around on her stool, her dark gaze sweeping back and forth across our table, watching Finn and me.
Finn didn’t notice her, so I scraped up the last bite of my cheesecake, ate it, and set my fork and plate aside, acting perfectly normal. All the while, though, I stared at her out of the corner of my eye so she wouldn’t realize that I’d spotted her.
She was quite lovely, with long, wavy brown hair, dark eyes, and bronze skin, and her little red cocktail dress hugged her body in all the right places. The bright scarlet made her stand out against the backdrop of dark suits, and more than one person eyed her with obvious interest.
A guy decided to try his luck, and he swaggered over and started chatting her up. But the woman ignored his attempt at suave charm and leaned to the side. Her gaze focused on Finn and me for another moment, then skittered away to someone else.
Stuart Mosley.
Even though that guy was standing right in front of her, still talking, the woman was squarely focused on the dwarf, who was now pacing back and forth along the wall, growling into his phone.
My eyes narrowed. Why was she interested in Mosley?
My spider rune scars started itching and burning again, almost as if they were trying to warn me about this potential new threat. Or perhaps that was just my own always-simmering paranoia immediately boiling up to red-alert levels.
The guy asked her something, probably offering to buy her a drink, but the woman shook her head, grabbed her red clutch off the bar, got to her feet, and walked away from him. She headed toward the dining area and started skirting around the tables, her gaze still fixed on Mosley.
I elbowed Finn in the side, making him drop his last bite of cheesecake onto his gray silk tie. He gasped in horror, tossed his fork aside, and dabbed his napkin at his tie. He managed to wipe off the cheesecake, but a big blotchy spot remained behind from the caramel sauce.
“This tie is a Fiona Fine original that Bria gave me for Christmas,” he muttered, shooting me a dirty look. “It is my very favorite tie, and now it has a stain on it, a stain that will probably never come out.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.” I discreetly tilted my head in the woman’s direction. “Focus, Finn, focus. You ever seen her before?”
He finally quit glaring at me and shifted his attention to the other woman. After a moment, he perked right back up again. “No, and that’s a shame. Because yowza! Remember what I said about clothes helping to make a man? Well, that dress is doing the same thing for her.”
“She’s not a bank client?”
He studied her a little more closely, then shook his head. “Nope. I’ve never seen her at the bank.”
The woman left the maze of tables behind and made a beeline straight for Mosley. She also popped open her red clutch and reached for something inside.
I dropped my hand below the tabletop and palmed a knife. I started to surge to my feet to cut her off from Mosley, but Finn touched my arm, stopping me.
“Wait, Gin,” he murmured. “Wait. Relax. She’s not going to do anything to him in the middle of the restaurant. Besid
es, Mosley can take care of himself. Let it play out.”
I stayed seated, although my fingers tightened around my knife. The feel of the spider rune stamped into the hilt pressing against the larger, matching scar in my palm steadied me and helped me rein in some of my worry.
Finn was right. Whoever she was, the woman wasn’t going to hurt Mosley in front of all these witnesses. Not even the most brazen assassin would do something that stupid.
Mosley finished his call, and the woman sidled up to him. She favored him with a wide, dazzling smile, showing off the fangs in her mouth that marked her as a vampire, and then leaned forward, giving him an up-close and personal look at her impressive cleavage. I tensed when she pulled her hand out of her purse, still half expecting her to come up with a weapon…but she only drew out a gold tube of lipstick.
The woman uncapped the tube and ran the red lipstick over her pouty mouth, giving Mosley her best come-hither look and letting him know that she was available for whatever he wanted.
“See?” Finn leaned back in his chair. “She’s just trying to pick him up. She probably wants someone to pay for her drinks and dinner. Quit being so paranoid, Gin.”
He might be right, but if that was the case, then why hadn’t she let the other guy at the bar do that? That man had been right in front of her and more than eager to buy what she was selling, but she’d ignored him in favor of walking all the way across the restaurant to try her luck with Mosley instead.
I shook my head. “I still don’t like it.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because neither does Mosley,” Finn replied.
Sure enough, the dwarf politely shook his head, turning down whatever the woman had proposed. He started to walk around her, but she moved in front of him, blocking his path. She tried again, but Mosley shook his head, the same as before. This time, he did move around her, heading toward Finn and me.
Mosley had his back to the woman, so he didn’t see her dark eyes narrow, her red lips pinch together, or her manicured fingers curl around her lipstick tube like she wanted to bean him in the back of the head with it.
But I did.
I had never seen her before, but in that moment, I realized something important: she wasn’t the kind of woman who took no for an answer. Whatever she wanted from Mosley, she was determined to get it.
Finn had been wrong before. I wasn’t paranoid, and tonight wasn’t going to be awesome.
It was going to be dangerous.
Chapter Two
Mosley returned to our table, sat down, and tossed his phone aside. He let out a long, loud sigh and massaged his temples again.
“The death of me,” he muttered. “These people are literally going to be the death of me.”
He downed what was left of his Scotch, then grabbed his fork to eat the rest of his cheesecake. I discreetly tucked my knife back up my sleeve so that he wouldn’t see it.
“Who was that woman you were talking to?” Finn asked in a casual voice, fishing for information. “Someone involved in the auction coming over to say hi?”
Mosley shook his head. “Nope. I’ve never seen her before. She said her name was Vera. She wanted to buy me a drink, but I told her that I was happy with my current companions.”
Finn opened his mouth, probably to ask more questions about the alluring Vera, but I elbowed him in the side again. He shot me another dirty look, but he kept quiet. There was no use worrying Mosley with my suspicions, especially since nothing had happened.
Yet.
I pulled my own phone out of my purse, pretending that I was checking my messages, while I discreetly watched Vera.
She stared at Mosley for a few more seconds, still silently fuming, then whipped around on her red stilettos and stalked back over to the bar. She signaled the bartender and handed over her credit card. Five minutes later, she strutted out of the restaurant without a backward glance.
I frowned. I’d expected her to put up much more of a fight. Maybe send a drink to Mosley or even come over to our table and try to flirt with him again. Not just walk away. A cold finger of unease crept down my spine, but once again, I kept my suspicions to myself.
Mosley finished his dessert and pushed his plate away just as his phone beeped with a new text. He stared at the screen and sighed for the third time. “I hate to cut this short, but duty calls. As do floral arrangements.”
“Of course,” I said. “Good luck with the auction.”
He harrumphed. “At this point, I just want the whole bloody event to be finished. I will be quite happy if I never have to debate the costs, merits, pollen counts, and elegance factors of orchids, roses, or any other flowers ever again.”
Mosley signaled for the check, and the waiter handed him a black leather folder. The dwarf started to reach for his wallet, but his phone beeped again, and he passed the folder over to Finn.
“Here, Finn. Take care of this, will you? I’ve got to answer these crazy people.”
“But—”
He started to protest, but Mosley had already picked up his phone, pushed his chair back, and walked away from the table. Finn stared at the folder in his hand, then over at his boss, but the dwarf was focused on his call and completely ignored him.
I snickered at my brother’s forlorn expression. “What were you saying about how awesome it was going to be not paying for dinner?”
Finn stabbed the folder at me. “Don’t push your luck, sister. Dad taught me how to kill people too, remember? I can still murder you with my dessert fork.”
I just snickered again.
* * *
Ten minutes and several hundred dollars on Finn’s credit card later, we left Underwood’s, rode the elevator down to the ground floor, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was after eight o’clock now, and so frigid that the snow flurries had hardened into pellets of ice that stung my cheeks with their sharp, cold intensity.
Mosley had finished his call and followed us outside. Now he tilted his face into the wind and drew in a deep, appreciative breath. “Ahhh. There’s nothing quite like a brisk walk to aid in the digestion. Isn’t that right, Finn?”
He clapped Finn on the shoulder, but my brother pulled his gray cashmere scarf even higher up on his neck.
“Yeah. Brisk. Right.” Finn’s response was far less enthusiastic, although his sour mood had more to do with paying for dinner than the chilly weather.
“Did you check on the Barnes account before you left the office?” Mosley asked. “I meant to mention it earlier, but I got distracted with all the floral crises.”
Finn nodded. “Of course. I even called to let him know that we had discovered the accounting error…”
While the two of them talked a final bit of bank business, I tucked my purse under my arm and zipped up my black fleece jacket. Not because I was cold like Finn but because the motions let me discreetly study my surroundings.
Expensive sedans and SUVs lined both sides of the street on this block and the two beyond, a clear sign of the crowd inside Underwood’s, but the other businesses had already closed for the night. The rest of the area was deserted, except for the lone valet shivering in his red parka and sitting on his stool behind the wooden podium at the restaurant entrance. No cars cruised by, and the only sounds were the faint whistle of the winter wind and the resulting spatter of ice against the sidewalk.
The peace and quiet should have reassured me, but it didn’t. Even though I didn’t spot anyone lurking around, I still felt like we were being watched again.
Finn and Mosley finished their conversation, oblivious to my subtle surveillance and increasing concern. The valet started to get up off his stool, but Mosley waved him off.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “My car’s only two blocks down. It won’t kill me to walk that far.”
He tipped the valet anyway, then turned back to Finn and me. “I’ll start looking for that old book of Fletcher’s first thing in the morning. As soon as I find it, I’ll give you a call. It might take me a few d
ays, though. At least until the auction is over and the items have been shipped out to the buyers.”
I would have happily gone over to Mosley’s house right this second and torn his things apart searching for the book, but I made myself nod politely instead. The book had been buried in a box somewhere for years. It would keep for a few more days. “Thank you for that and for a lovely dinner—”
Finn snorted, reminding me that he had paid for dinner, but I ignored him.
“And thank you especially for all the stories about Fletcher,” I finished. “It was nice to talk about him, to remember him.”
Mosley smiled back at me. “Yes, yes, it was nice.”
On an impulse, I stepped forward and hugged him. Mosley seemed surprised by my gesture, but after a moment, he hugged me back. Despite the fact that he was more than three hundred years old, he was still quite strong, even for a dwarf, and he easily squeezed the air out of my lungs.
Just when I thought he was going to crack my ribs, Mosley finally let me go. I discreetly sucked down breath after breath, while he clapped Finn on the shoulder again, making my brother stagger back.
“Well, then,” the dwarf rumbled, still smiling. “I’ll let you two get on with your usual shenanigans. Good night.”
Finn regained his balance and murmured his good night, and I managed to wheeze out mine as well. Mosley waved at us, then walked away. My brother pulled his keys out of his coat pocket, and the two of us crossed the street to his silver Aston Martin.
Finn unlocked the car, opened the driver’s-side door, and slid inside the vehicle. I had started to do the same on the passenger’s side when I spotted a faint movement off in the distance.
My head snapped up, and I looked around again. I didn’t see anyone except Mosley, still heading toward his car, and the only other thing stirring in the night was a cloud of snow drifting out of a dark doorway that the dwarf had just walked past.
My eyes narrowed. No, not snow—smoke.
Venom in the Veins Page 2
