by Mari Carr
The door was closed, so Mateo kept his eye pressed to the peephole. He’d pulled his compact Taurus model 85 polymer-frame revolver from the back waistband of his jeans, the safety off, his finger on the trigger.
His fear became a reality when a young man stopped right outside the room, his hands rifling through his pockets in search of the keycard.
Mateo gestured for everyone else in the room to move away from view of the door with a quick wave of his gun.
Percy quickly stepped in front of the admiral, shoving him to a corner of the room where Mateo could no longer see him. The admiral’s wife stayed beside Arthur.
The man slid the keycard into the door, but before he could open it, Mateo jerked hard, pulling the man off balance.
Mateo pressed a gun to the man’s head as he shoved him farther into the room, the hotel door closing behind them.
The man tried to jerk away from Mateo’s grip, but Derrick was there, reaching out. No one wanted to pull a trigger. They needed this man alive, needed to question him.
Mateo released the man briefly to secure his gun, tucking it away as Derrick—a brute in his own right—wrestled the stranger to the ground. The battle was over quickly, and the fight seemed to leave the man when he realized a two-ton wrecking ball wouldn’t dislodge the knee Derrick had in his back.
“Check him for weapons,” Lorelei demanded.
The man raised his head, his eyes taking in everything in the room. His perusal stopped on Manon.
“Are you okay, my sparrow?” he asked.
For the second time, Mateo saw genuine emotion on the cold woman’s face. Her eyes softened, glistening with tears.
Tristan went to shove Percy out of the way, and the stump of his right arm jerked inside the sling. He winced and growled, “Move, Percy.”
Percy looked over his shoulder then stepped to the side. Percy didn’t have his sword—that would have been a dead giveaway as to what, if not who he was—but he looked ready to do some serious damage even without a weapon.
Tristan wanted an unobstructed view of what was happening. Derrick had the newcomer facedown on the ground, hands held behind him with zip ties. Manon was now jerking against her own restraints, tears streaming down her face.
When no one spoke, Tristan realized he was the highest-ranking person in the room.
Huh.
He stepped forward, and Percy fell into place slightly behind him and to his right. Sophia was on his left.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The man on the floor raised his head and glared. Mateo grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back. “Answer the admiral’s question.”
“Scout Sniper. Primary 0317.”
“The accent. He’s American.” Lorelei tipped her head to the side and examined him the way other people looked at a car they were going to purchase. “This must be the owner of that very nice gun.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to get my gun back.”
“Oh, I’m keeping the gun,” Lorelei assured him.
“Who are you?” Tristan asked him again.
He glared.
Sophia walked over, crouched beside him, and reached under the collar of his shirt. She pulled out a pair of dog tags.
“His name is Griffin R. Rutherford. He has O positive blood and is a Baptist.” She rose, all graceful limbs and dark hair, the chain of the man’s dog tags hanging from one finger.
Tristan grinned at his wife. Derrick and Mateo had the grace to look chagrined.
“Griffin, you opened fire on a roomful of people. You killed some. You shot off my arm. Now, I took a vow, as a knight. That vow will prevent me from torturing you for information, but I think Mateo would be happy to start cutting pieces off until you talk.”
“I’ll do it,” Lorelei volunteered.
“So will I,” Sophia said.
“Look at that, plenty of people willing to torture you.”
“Don’t tell them anything,” Manon snarled at her young lover.
“I won’t,” Griffin assured her.
“Stand him up so I can see him,” Tristan ordered.
Derrick eased away from him, then grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up.
“Check his hands. Is he wearing a ring?”
Mateo slid around behind him. “No.”
“Why a ring?” Percy asked quietly.
“Members of the Trinity Masters wear rings,” he replied in an equally quiet voice.
“So they can be easily identified? Bloody idiots.” Percy shook his head in disgust.
Tristan shifted his attention back to Griffin. “Are you a member of the Trinity Masters?”
Griffin looked blank, then narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I am.”
“He’s not.” Lorelei was watching him closely.
Tristan sent up a small prayer of thanks for that before moving on to his next question. “What do you know about the Domino?”
That got a reaction from both of them. Manon laughed softly, but the man went eerily still, emotionless.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “The Domino? Surely you’re joking. He’s not real.”
“Why leave us the clues in Italy?” Sophia asked. “Why tell us what you were going to do?”
Manon’s gaze flicked to Sophia, then around the room. She swallowed heavily, confusion creasing her forehead.
“Ah, yes, yes, yes,” Sophia murmured. “You didn’t know. Who betrayed you, Manon?” Sophia patted Griffin’s cheek. It wasn’t a gentle pat. “Was it your young lover?”
“I would never betray you,” Griffin assured Manon.
Manon licked her lips like a toad. “Fine. I didn’t expect it to end this way, but you’re right. I am the Domino. I was trapped by the Masters’ Admiralty. Made a slave. I will see this society on its knees, and I will—”
Griffin jerked back, away from Sophia, Mateo, and Derrick. He bent at the waist, lifted his arms, stretching them toward the ceiling, and then jerked them down.
The zip tie holding his wrists together snapped.
He took advantage of everyone’s shock and reached for Sophia.
She didn’t freeze, didn’t play the submissive captive. Even as Tristan, Percy, Mateo, and Lorelei all reached for her, she stepped closer to Griffin, raising her knee to connect with his balls.
He twisted at the last moment and shoved her back. Sophia hit Mateo, who caught her, taking a step back to absorb the impact.
Derrick had his gun in hand, and was raising it toward Griffin’s head when the young sniper stepped into his stance and grabbed his wrist. Using what looked like a martial-arts move, Griffin disarmed Derrick as he turned, and in the same motion, raised the gun, firing twice.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mateo looked down at the floor, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Griffin had swung the gun toward Manon, firing directly into the woman’s chest before lifting the gun under his chin and pulling the trigger again.
Griffin was lying near him, half his head missing, a huge puddle of blood and brain matter marring the beige carpet.
Manon was still tied to the desk chair, her head lolling to one side. If not for the blood gushing from the hole in her chest, Mateo could almost believe she was just asleep.
Her death mask was different from the attitude she’d projected during her last hour of life. Before, she’d been angry, vicious, arrogant, now her lifeless face registered surprise, shock. She’d been killed by a man she loved, and while Mateo was a firm believer in Karma, he couldn’t help but feel her death had come too easy. She hadn’t suffered enough for her crimes, for the unspeakable pain she’d left in her wake.
He recalled Kacper’s last year of life, the way the poison she’d been slowly feeding him had robbed him of his physical strength.
Then he remembered Greta’s face when he’d left earlier today. He’d told her of Arthur’s suspicions. She was still deep in grief over losing Kacper, and she’d refused to believe Ma
non was responsible. All she’d said as he left was, “Bring my wife back home safely to me.”
Yet another way he’d failed.
However, he wouldn’t regret that. Not when he considered Manon’s crimes. She wasn’t worth Greta’s grief, but he wasn’t looking forward to telling her their suspicions had been correct. It would break the dear woman.
“We need to search the room,” he said. This wasn’t the time or the place for any of those thoughts. He’d have plenty of sleepless hours in the weeks—God, probably years—ahead to ponder the mysteries of life and death, crime, and punishment.
For now, he had a job to do.
Derrick was already following his command, opening and closing the dresser drawers, rifling through the clothing there.
Mateo walked to the closet and pulled out a suitcase. It was light, nearly empty. He almost put it back, but he heard something clanking inside.
Tossing it on the bed, he unzipped it. In the inside pocket, he found a small bag of dominos. He retrieved them, handing them to Lorelei.
“Guess that proves it,” Percy murmured, looking over Mateo’s shoulder and catching sight of his find.
Mateo nodded, but realized Lorelei wasn’t as easily appeased. The dominos weren’t enough for her. She wanted more.
“I’ll continue to check into Manon’s past,” Lorelei said to Arthur.
“You’re not convinced?” Arthur asked.
Lorelei shrugged. “Simply knowing isn’t enough. We need to know the why. I want to know what the connection was between Griffin, Manon, and the trinity that was killed in Italy.”
Sophia stepped forward, nodding. “I’d like to know that as well. I’ll contact my father and brother, make sure they give you their full cooperation. It seemed to me that Manon didn’t know about the first three murders.”
Lorelei blew out a long breath. “I don’t think she did either. Which means she was only active, only aware of the things that happened on the Isle and here in London. I’m struggling to believe she is the Domino.”
“So she did all of this for revenge? Let herself be used as a pawn for some guy who resurrected an ancient enemy just to punish us all?” Mateo asked.
“What if the guy on Man was the Domino, and Griffin his apprentice? Griffin had a gun that was controlled by a computer. He might have had the skills to create the drone,” Tristan mused.
“And Manon was…? What Mateo said? A pawn?” Lorelei asked.
“Possibly. She was recruited and seduced because she would know how to get to the fleet admiral. That would explain why she didn’t know about the message in the cave. That part didn’t involve her.”
Sophia nodded. “The Domino always leaves signatures, taunts those who try to track him down. He’s not an emotionally detached professional assassin who doesn’t leave clues. For the Domino it’s emotional and personal. The clues are as important as the crime. It’s part of the game for him.”
“So, she just thought she was the Domino?” Mateo asked. “And Griffin killed her to keep her from saying anything to prove otherwise?”
Tristan nodded. “That scenario makes sense. And I think Griffin killed himself for the same reason.”
Tristan was tired and his arm hurt. He wouldn’t admit it, and he wasn’t going to go home, not when they were still looking through the hotel room. But he was relieved when Sophia managed to book the hotel room next door while helping Lorelei with crisis management in order to keep the authorities away. He went into the other room and sat down in an armchair, sighing heavily. He’d spent the past few weeks—hell, the past few months, if he considered his time following Wes around in his search for the truth about the purists—rushing around all over the damn world.
He just wanted to lie down for a couple of years and sleep.
Worst of all, his right hand hurt.
Logically, he knew it wasn’t there, but right now it was aching. What was left of his forearm was twitching because he was trying to open and close his fingers in order to ease the ache.
“Tristan?” James rushed into the room.
From the hall, he could hear Lorelei saying, “Oh good, another random civilian. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
James dropped to his knees beside Tristan’s chair. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just tired. But don’t make a big deal about it.”
James nodded in understanding.
Someone whistled next door. “Kinky.”
James raised his brows.
“Shit. Go see what that’s about,” Tristan told him.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” James went to the open connecting door and leaned his head in. He came back a moment later. “They found a nice-size strap-on.”
Tristan snorted.
“Where’s Sophia?” James asked.
“At the front desk. Damage control.”
“Did anyone hear the shots?”
“Two rooms called the front desk to ask, but no one called the police directly. We’re lucky,” Tristan said. Although it wouldn’t have been a hard thing to cover up. Their membership had a long reach that included several high-ranking officials in law enforcement.
James covered his left hand and gave it a squeeze. “We are.”
Lorelei came in and pulled out the desk chair, dropping into it.
“You look worried, Vice Admiral.” James rose from his crouch and perched on the side of the bed.
“I am.” She pursed her lips. “What if there is a third person?”
Tristan sat up. “There were three people. Manon, Griffin, and the man on the Isle of Man. That’s already one person too many when you look at the Domino’s previous methods. It’s always just been two—the master and the apprentice. So now you’re actually suggesting there’s a fourth? Why?”
“The strap-on.”
Tristan snorted out a laugh. Lorelei didn’t crack a smile. “Oh, I thought you were joking.”
“I’m not joking. That’s a nice strap-on. Not the kind of thing heteros buy for International Women’s Day.”
James laughed, but Tristan didn’t.
“What are you saying, Lorelei?”
“What if there was a third? A woman?”
“You got all that from a strap-on?” James asked.
Tristan shook his head. “I doubt it. Manon made it pretty clear she didn’t like our lifestyle. I doubt she would have been in a trinity.”
Lorelei frowned. “Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t like her trinity. She felt trapped. She didn’t say anything about the ménage lifestyle.”
Tristan nodded. “You’re right. Check the bathroom. How many toothbrushes are there?”
Lorelei rushed away, then came back. “Two toothbrushes. Only two suitcases. The sizing on the clothes match two people, not three.”
“Then there isn’t a third. It’s done. We stopped them.”
Lorelei nodded. “You’re right. Thank you, Admiral.” She got up and walked out.
“Tristan?” James asked, concern replacing his previous humor.
He forced himself to smile at his husband. Damn Lorelei for planting that seed of doubt. It was done. They were safe.
Then, he looked up to see Mateo standing in the door. The other man was stone-faced.
“Mateo,” he started, but stopped. Tristan needed time—and sleep—before he spoke to the Spartan Guard Captain. The beginnings of a task were rumbling around in his exhausted brain, but he wouldn’t say anything more just yet. “Can you stay in London for a few days?”
Mateo nodded slowly.
“Good. I’ll be in touch.”
Mateo glanced toward the other room. “We’re almost finished with the cleanup.”
“Thank you.” Tristan pointed to the connecting door. “Please close that on your way out.”
Mateo turned to leave, nodding a silent farewell to Sophia as she slipped into the room. Mateo closed the door behind him and Tristan was finally alone with his partners.
“James,” Tristan began, u
nable to settle his thoughts just yet. “You said your cousin, Cecilia, is in Singapore.”
James nodded.
“Can you ask her to come home? I’d like to speak to her.”
Sophia, who’d taken a seat on the bed next to James to pull off her shoes and rub her tired feet, tilted her head. “Cecilia is the historian? The one who confirmed your initial suspicions about our killer being the Domino.”
“Yeah,” James said. “Why do you want to talk to her?”
“I’d like to show her all the evidence in this case, to get her opinions on everything we’ve found.”
“You don’t think we’ve caught the Domino,” Sophia said.
Tristan could tell from her face she wasn’t convinced they had either. “The murders in Italy are a loose thread. I’d like to tie a knot in it. Cecilia may have more information regarding the Domino’s past methods that might help us be sure that the master and the apprentice are dead.”
“I’ll call her first thing in the morning,” James said. “Knowing her, she’ll be on the first plane back. She’s mad for stuff like this.”
“Good.” With that plan in place, Tristan began to relax. He’d gather as much information as he could from Cecilia and plot the rest of his course from there.
Sophia reached her hand out to him. “Come on, my knight. Let’s go home.”
He accepted her strong grip and rose. James took her other hand, smiling, and for the first time, Tristan noticed the tight lines of anxiety by his husband’s eyes.
“Okay, James?” he asked as they walked down the hall to the elevator.
James sighed. “Had a few bad minutes there when Sophia texted to say the two of you were going into the hotel. Being married to the admiral—and a former knight—who doesn’t have the sense to stay behind the front lines is going to take some getting used to. Doesn’t help that our headstrong wife never hesitates to follow you into the fire. I don’t like being left behind. I feel a very strong need to protect what’s mine.”
