The Merchant of Death (Playing the Fool, #2)

by Lisa Henry

  “Well, maybe I don’t need help from a criminal who quite literally hops in bed with the FBI when he needs to get his rocks off.”

  Henry sat there, stunned.

  “No one at the Court trusts you anymore, you know. Even Stacy thinks you’re nuts.”

  Henry tensed. Probably true. Probably fair. The others would see Henry’s association with Mac as a betrayal. But he’d hoped Remy wouldn’t turn on him.

  Remy went on. “What are you going to do, walk into a new life and that’s that? All clean, and sunny, and—and fucking straight?”

  “Keep your voice down.” Henry glanced at the door to the bedroom.

  Remy lowered his voice. “You probably will too. It’s probably easy for you. You can kick a whole lifetime of doing bad shit in the time it takes an FBI agent to come in your ass, while I can’t even kick one stupid habit.”

  Remy’s shoulders slumped, and Henry figured his anger was ebbing. Good, because Henry didn’t want to leave him here with Viola when he was acting like this.

  Henry tried to smile. “A life with Mac sure as hell wouldn’t be straight.”

  Remy dropped his gaze and shook his head slowly. Snorted. “Idiot.”

  “Seriously, Remy, I’m not planning on a new life. This thing with Mac—I don’t know what’s going on. But it’s not going to change anything.”

  It already had. But Henry didn’t want to think about that.

  “You can’t fucking trust him. You can’t really care about him?”

  “Nah.” Henry heard the lie but couldn’t stop it. “He’s useful, though.”

  “Oh, fuck off it. You like him. He’s a good guy, and you’ve always liked good guys.”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said again. He paused. “And he’s not some superhero. He’s in major shit at work right now.” He did, for some bizarre reason, want Remy to like Mac. And that was never gonna happen if Remy thought Mac was Super-Fed.

  “What kind of shit?” Remy turned to him.

  “Dunno exactly. Someone’s spreading rumors about him. I wanna . . . I wanna help him. I guess that’s the weird thing. He’s been helping me. Now I wanna do that for him.” It was strange to be talking to Remy about Mac. But Henry didn’t exactly have a Sex and the City–style bestie he could talk about his love life with. Remy was the closest thing he had. “Might come in handy,” he added quickly. “To have him on my side.”

  “Cute,” Remy muttered. But there was something odd in his posture now. He shifted slightly away from Henry.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I won’t talk about him if it bothers you.”

  “You can talk about him,” Remy said quickly. “You wanna help someone who can actually be helped. I get it.”

  Shit.

  “You think I don’t know how tough it is?” Henry asked softly.

  Remy still didn’t look at him.

  “I’m really proud of you.”

  “Condescending fuck,” Remy said. But there was no edge to the words.

  “You can take it or leave it. But I mean it.”

  “Henry, shit. I’m sorry.” Remy sank onto the couch beside Henry. “I don’t know why I said all that.”

  Henry put an arm around him and rested his head against Remy’s. “Because life sucks sometimes?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  Something was still odd about Remy, though. He couldn’t put his finger on what.

  Remy stayed there a minute, then pulled out of Henry’s embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m just pissed, that’s all. Lonny owes me money.”

  “You loaned Lonny Harris money?”

  “I know, and I wasn’t even high. He said he had a payday coming up, and it was only a couple of hundred bucks, and now the asshole’s skipped town on me.”

  “Be careful. Lonny’s a prick. I don’t trust him.”

  “I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you,” Remy pointed out. His tone was odd. Not quite snappish, but Remy was definitely keeping something from him. He figured Remy would let it out in time.

  “I know. Guess I’m just getting paranoid.”

  “Well, you are spending a lot of time around the fellows who staged the moon landing and burned the photos of the second gunman and all that.”

  Henry laughed. “You think Mac helped cover up treaties with the martians?”

  “Most definitely. I think he is a martian. All the suits are.”

  “Should I wear one of those foil hats?”

  “He’s probably read all your thoughts already.”

  Sometimes feels like it.

  Henry shifted. He was sitting on something small and sharp. He reached under him and pulled out a dried macaroni noodle. He turned it over in his hand, wondering what had become of his craft-time necklace.

  He nudged Remy. Handed him the noodle.

  “What’s this?” Remy asked.

  “For you.”

  “Thanks, babe. You shouldn’t have.” Remy took the noodle. Studied it.

  “Hey,” Henry said. “You see who died?”

  Remy looked confused for a moment, then his jaw tightened. “Yeah. Some justice in the world, maybe.”

  “Wish I could have killed him myself.”

  “No you don’t.” Remy half smiled when Henry rounded on him. “You’re a good guy.”

  Henry swallowed. He didn’t want to think about what it meant to be a good guy, or to have Remy think of him that way. “Fuck off. You think I wouldn’t have killed him? After what he did?”

  “I think you would have. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. He could see empathy and longing in Remy’s eyes, and it made him turn away.

  Remy bit at one of his nails and didn’t say anything else.

  Henry glanced at the black bag Remy had set on the couch. “This my disguise?”

  “How about your accoutrements?” Remy suggested. “You don’t need any more disguises.”

  Henry stood and picked up the bag. There was definitely something chiffon-y in there.

  “It was the best Jo and I could do on short notice.”

  “I’m sure I’ll look gorgeous.” He stepped into the bathroom. Started to shut the door, then stuck his head back out. “But if I don’t—lie to me. Okay?”

  Remy grinned. “Always.”

  He returned the grin, shut the door, and started to change.

  Mac wasn’t sure why they all drank at this sports bar. It wasn’t even the closest one to work, and it wasn’t that much different than the three you had to pass to get to this one. He thought maybe Calvin had been doing the girl behind the bar at one time, or trying to, or something. For whatever reason, O’Reilly’s had become their bar.

  “Hey, Mac,” Dennis said, clapping him on the shoulder gently as he passed. “You coming back to work soon?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow probably,” Mac said. He made sure he remembered to wince theatrically. As though the whole office hadn’t heard he’d been at Zionsville. “As soon as the doctor clears me, you know.”

  “Right,” Dennis snorted. He learned over the bar. “And a beer for Mac too.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dennis raised his eyebrows. “Is Henry with you?”

  “Don’t you start.” Mac headed over to the booth where Val was sitting.

  “Mac.” She fixed him with a level stare. “Ryan fucking McGuinness.”

  Now he winced for real. “Sorry, Val.”

  “Sorry?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re sorry you told OPR you were on sick leave, and then turned up in an unrelated fucking investigation in Zionsville with—surprise—the world’s most unreliable witness, Henry Page!” She stirred her drink with a dangerous intensity. “Or whatever the hell his name is. So help me God, Mac, if you’re going to take sick leave to avoid OPR, which I sure as hell understand, can you at least stay home and watch internet porn like a normal person?”

  “I’ll bear that in
mind.” Mac sat. “Look, at first it was just I went looking for Henry, and then it was like this thing, you know, this crazy Scooby-Doo shit he was doing, and suddenly it was an actual thing, and it kind of um . . . events overtook me a little.”

  “A little,” Val echoed. Her face softened. “Shit, Mac, you need to work on that story before they interview you again.”

  “I figured.”

  “And I need you to promise me, Mac, fucking promise me, that you never heard of this Lonny Harris guy before I gave you that file. Because it looks bad. Really bad.”

  “Jesus,” Mac muttered. “I promise, Val. I had no fucking idea who the guy was, and no idea that he was putting in a complaint about me.”

  She shook her head. “All right.” She might have been a little drunk. “You went to the crime scene. Shit like that doesn’t look good, Mac.”

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to investigate.”

  “Agent McGuinness thinks he’s a goddamn detective. That he’s gonna slip away from the office and go interview the weird neighbor. Bowm-bowm!”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Law & Order.” Val signaled for another drink.

  “Seriously, does anybody know how to do the Law & Order sound?” Mac slid over as Dennis sat down beside him and gave him a beer. “Thanks.”

  Across the bar, Calvin and Penny were playing pool. Calvin was trying too hard like always, messing up his supposed trick shots. Penny was rolling her eyes every time. Lina, perched on a barstool, laughed at the pair of them.

  “So Mac, when you’re not on ‘sick leave,’” Dennis said, making air quotes, “you should come along to one of my softball games. We could use a new umpire, though I bet you’ve got a great pitching arm too.”

  “Sure,” Mac said, although the idea of spending his weekends sweating out in a field with Dennis and his buddies wasn’t anywhere near appealing. He appreciated the gesture—the whole office knew OPR was investigating him, and here Dennis was being inclusive. He appreciated it a lot more than he would have thought. “I’ll keep that in mind when I get some movement back in the shoulder.”

  “You do that.” Dennis beamed.

  “In the meantime, maybe you should actually go to some of your doctor’s appointments,” Val suggested.

  “I will.” He lifted his glass in her direction. She was teasing him, but it was more than that. They were friends, and she cared. Which was not a bad thing, given that this shit with OPR would probably drag on for a while. Just because it could. That was how they operated. He’d need people on his side.

  He drank his beer, watched Calvin embarrass himself at pool, then said his farewells. He didn’t want a late night, and he was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to be drinking on his meds. Just to be sure, he walked the block twice before heading for his car.

  He could go back to Henry’s hotel, but then he thought about how stupid that would be. Either a grand romantic gesture or a horny guy looking for a hookup . . . neither would impress Henry very much when he was spending time with Viola.

  Henry. Henry was funny and reckless and sexy. But Sebastian wasn’t. Sebastian had a single point of focus in his life: Viola. A part of Mac pitied him for that, for taking on that massive load of responsibility and guilt. Another part admired him immensely, even if it meant there was no room for funny, sexy Henry to come out and play. And no room for anyone else either.

  He pulled his car into his driveway.

  The arc of the headlights caught a figure sitting on the front steps, and for a moment Mac froze. Why the hell was there a girl sitting on his front steps, waiting for him to come home?

  Recognition came a fraction of a second later.

  Viola?

  Why was she here? If she was here, was Henry okay? How the hell did she even find her way to Mac’s?

  And then, the realization: Not Viola.

  Henry.

  Mac turned the engine off and got out of the car.

  Okay, so shit just got interesting.

  Henry took a deep breath. Watched Mac get out of the car. No reaction yet.

  He was wearing a black chiffon skirt and a satin silver sleeveless top, the fabric knotted at the shoulders, the tails of the knots drifting against his bare skin. Silver bracelets. Black stockings. Heels. A little makeup.

  He could have sworn there was a time in the not-too-distant past when he wouldn’t have cared what Mac’s reaction was, just as long as it was a reaction. When he might have pulled a stunt like this just to get a rise out of Mac.

  But this wasn’t a stunt. This was, oddly enough, Henry showing more of himself than he’d ever shown anyone but Viola. The costumes, the disguises, the tangling of a story—this was who he was. Who he’d always been. This was what he loved.

  And he didn’t think he could handle a rejection.

  He’d seen the way Mac looked at him when he’d been dressed as Vi at St. Albinus. Mac had been interested. He wasn’t wrong about that. Couldn’t be.

  Mac walked up to the steps. Henry couldn’t think of anything clever to say. Didn’t want to be clever. Wanted to be fucked.

  There was a panicked scramble of thoughts in his head. He saw Remy, Vi, his mother. Heard Viola’s cry of surprise, and a thud in the dark. Saw Dreama coming at him with a needle, heard Viola tell him there was a bad angel. Saw Vi sleeping in the hotel bed, Remy’s face as he promised he could be trusted to look after her.

  And then there was Mac, just Mac. Taking Henry by the arms and helping him up so they stood face-to-face on the front step. Kissing him.

  Mac, who hadn’t been there for some of the worst shit, but who was here now.

  Here, in Henry’s corner.

  Sebastian loved Mac. Why couldn’t Henry?

  He cupped the back of Mac’s neck and pressed his lips more fiercely to Mac’s, trying to lose himself in the collision of their breath, in the scrape of Mac’s stubble, in the heat from Mac’s large body. He clutched fistfuls of Mac’s shirt when Mac pulled gently away, and felt a sudden terror. He was the one falling in the dark. The one who’d had everything he thought he knew knocked from his mind.

  He would have to start again.

  Mac just held him, guiding Henry’s head against his shoulder. He leaned toward Henry’s ear and whispered, “Easy. Don’t try so hard.”

  Henry mumbled into Mac’s shoulder. Not really words.

  “What’s that?”

  Henry lifted his head slightly. Nuzzled the side of Mac’s neck. “Want you,” he said. “Want to fuck hard. Fast. I want to fuck. I want to try hard. We both need to try hard. Don’t you get that? It’s never going to be easy.”

  “Henry, Henry.” Mac rubbed his neck, moving his fingers up through his hair. “I know.”

  Henry tried to move away, but Mac wouldn’t let go. “I can’t deal with this if you’re gonna . . . I can’t explain. So either fuck me now, or I’ll leave.”

  He had a brief vision of himself as some mythological creature, something that came out of the water just once, for the right person, knowing it didn’t belong in the human world, and then slipped back into the waves. A far more romantic notion of himself than he deserved, but it helped for a moment. It was almost an excuse for how fucking pathetic he was when it came to facing how he really felt, what he really wanted.

  I want you to love me. But that’s never gonna work. So let’s fuck.

  “Do you trust me?” Mac tilted Henry’s chin up.

  As much as I’ll ever trust anybody.

  He nodded.

  “Can we do this my way?”

  “If I like your way.”

  Mac smiled. “I think you will.”

  Henry tried to return the smile. “Pretty confident, Mac.”

  “I learned that from you.”

  He stared at the ground. Didn’t want to be looking at Mac right now. Confidence. Every lie was about confidence.

  Why couldn’t the truth be too?

  He lifted his gaze again. “I like you.” Not love.
The word still made Henry wince. The people he loved ended up in trouble.

  Mac said, “I like you too.”

  Not love.

  “And I trust you,” Henry added.

  “Come inside,” Mac said.

  He watched Mac jiggle the key in the door. Followed him in. Blinked when Mac flipped on the light.

  Mac turned and studied him. “You look good.”

  That made him a little breathless. Which was stupid, because he knew he looked good. He looked more than good. He looked fuckable.

  “Jesus.” Mac’s voice was pitched low. Almost predatory.

  Henry wriggled his shoulders, letting a knot of fabric slide down his arm. Tried to make it feel as sexy as it looked. Tried not to remember that he’d learned how to move like this from watching the girls on the street when he was a teenager. From mimicking the way they swung their hips as they walked, all the way up to a stranger’s car.

  “How much?”

  Weird, how they all sounded exactly the same in his memory. No accents, no ages, no faces. Henry pushed them away. He wasn’t a whore. Not tonight. Not for Mac. He was a fucking goddess.

  “Did you eat yet?”

  Henry swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “Mmm. Not hungry for food.”

  Mac closed his fingers around his wrist. Pulled him close and kissed him again. Pressed his tongue against Henry’s, and it was hot and knowing and holy-fucking-shit Mac could kiss. He moaned, clinging to Mac, feeling for the moment as though he’d really never done this before, that this identity, whoever she was, was a clean slate and a fresh start.

  Mac ended the kiss and rested his forehead against Henry’s. “You look . . .”

  “Hot?” Henry whispered hopefully.

  “Beautiful.”

  Henry closed his eyes. Grinned stupidly.

  “Upstairs,” Mac said, and led him toward the bedroom. Didn’t let go of his hand once. Inside the bedroom they kissed again, and Mac tugged at the knot on Henry’s shoulder. “Does this undo?”

  Henry reached for the hem of the shirt. “Might be easier if I just—”

  “Let me.” Mac drew the fabric up, his eyes fixed on every inch of Henry’s skin he unveiled. His face was serious, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth when he found the bra. “Well, this will be a challenge.”