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

by Lisa Henry

  “You like Remy.”

  “I know. But I can stay on my own.”

  “That wouldn’t be safe.”

  “I used to stay on my own,” Viola said, scowling up at him.

  Shit. He didn’t want to turn this into a thing, but experience told him that’s where it was headed. Sometimes Viola got stubborn when she was told what to do, and sometimes that stubbornness transformed into a full-blown tantrum. He wasn’t sure he could deal with that today.

  “I know you did.” He lowered his voice. “I know you can look after yourself. But it was good you were here to look after Remy too, okay?”

  Viola’s face lit up. “I can look after Remy!”

  Henry forced a smile. “You did a good job. He’s sleeping soundly.”

  “I did.” Viola closed the book. “I didn’t let him hurt himself again.”

  Henry’s stomach twisted. “Hurt himself?”

  “With Carson.” Viola frowned once more. “He fucks Carson, even though Carson is mean to him.”

  God. A few days in the Court of Miracles and even Viola knew what was going on.

  “That’s a bad word,” Viola said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “but it’s true.”

  “I know it is.” Henry laid his hand over hers. “Remy . . . He’s . . . he’s . . .” He had no idea how to even begin to explain the cycle of addiction to Viola.

  “He’s like Mom,” Viola said.

  Shit. Henry hated it when he underestimated her. Of course she knew addiction. They’d both lived it, every day for years, with their mother.

  Viola pulled her hand away. “He’s unhappy.”

  “Yeah, Remy’s unhappy.”

  “So is Carson,” she said solemnly.

  Henry made a face.

  “Do you have to go away again?”

  “Not yet. Now I just want to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow we can go to the museum or something.”

  “Okay.” Her attention was caught by the book again.

  He squeezed her shoulder and got up. Turned. “I’ll be in the other room with Remy. You can call me if anything’s wrong.”

  “I know.” She waved at him without looking up from the bird book.

  “Good night, Vi.”

  “Bye, Sebby.”

  “Not good-bye,” he told her. “Good night.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He closed the door quietly, and headed for the bathroom. He showered and pulled on a pair of track pants. Checked himself out in the mirror, marveling at the change. His lean, flat chest and the muscles cording in his arms as he leaned on the sink. No trace of femininity in him now. He’d discarded it on the floor in his bundle of women’s clothes.

  He returned to the main room and climbed into bed with Remy.

  “Hey,” Remy mumbled as the bedsprings shifted. “Vi’s asleep?”

  “She’s reading your book.”

  Remy blinked at him. “You have a good night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You want me to go?”

  “You can stay if you want.”

  “Okay.” Remy yawned. “Henry?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your fed’s okay?” There was that odd tone again. Henry wished he knew what the fuck was going on in Remy’s head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mac? He’s okay?”

  Henry allowed himself a grin as he tucked Remy’s body closer to his. “Better than okay.”

  Remy was tense.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t . . . I dunno.” He was silent for a moment. “Gonna . . . Was thinking about rehab. Gonna get clean, Henry. Get better for you.”

  Henry swallowed.

  For you.

  Wasn’t that what he’d almost said to Mac tonight? It’s what he’d meant. And maybe why he hadn’t believed it. He was just as fucked up as Remy, wasn’t he? Just as much an addict in his own way. Just as hopeless.

  “Okay,” he murmured, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Love you, Remy.”

  “Love you too.” Remy smiled, already dozing again.

  Henry lay awake and stared at the ceiling.

  Some relationships just didn’t work. People like Henry, people like Remy, they lied, they manipulated. It was twisted into the strands of their DNA. They didn’t get better. Good people didn’t raise them up. They dragged good people down.

  Which should have meant that Henry and Remy were perfect for each other, shouldn’t it? Except they weren’t. In moments like these, the quiet, peaceful moments, they were perfect. But these moments didn’t last. They shattered with the dawn, always.

  He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the fantasy: Remy clean, and Henry going straight. He and Mac together, for real.

  It came from the same part of him where his mom was still alive, and like she’d been in the good times. Where there was no constant parade of dealers and boyfriends, who were often the same guy, in her life. Where there was no J.J. Where Viola hadn’t been hurt. Where she was as clever and vibrant and healthy as she’d always been. A fantasy where Sebastian was happy too. It was a fantasy where there was no Henry at all, because there had never been any need for him.

  He fell into an uneasy sleep and woke with Remy sitting beside him, staring at the wall and twisting the blanket.

  “Rem? You okay?”

  When Remy didn’t answer, Henry sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  Henry rubbed his eyes. “Nowhere. Just, uh . . .” He yawned. “You’re up early.”

  Remy gazed at Henry for several seconds, and he felt Remy’s pain like it was his own. Henry had never been in unrequited love before, but he imagined it sucked.

  “I have to tell you something,” Remy whispered.

  His tone made Henry uneasy. “Yeah?”

  “Um . . .” Remy fussed with the blanket, which was piled around his slim body. His nails were bitten to red jagged slivers. They hadn’t been like that when Henry had left him last night. “I didn’t want to say anything. I thought it was nothing. But then you said . . .” He stopped.

  “Rem?”

  “Last night you said Mac was in some shit at work.” Remy paused again. He pulled on a thread at the edge of the blanket until it unraveled partway. “And I thought you should know Lonny . . . Lonny told me he was getting paid to help bring down a fed.”

  “What?” Shock too huge and cold to register at first. Then it piled into Henry, and he stood so fast his vision went shadowy. “Lonny was gonna bring down an agent? How? Who bought him?”

  “I don’t know! I swear, Henry, I don’t know. He didn’t say much. He was nervous, didn’t trust the guys he was dealing with. And now I’m thinking . . . What if something happened?”

  “Remy, what the fuck? You think the fed was Mac?”

  “I didn’t think so until you said something.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me last night?”

  “I didn’t— I don’t know for sure,” Remy pleaded. “And I don’t— You know I don’t think it’s a good idea, you being involved with the FBI.”

  Henry didn’t trust himself to get any closer to Remy without lashing out. It was irrational, he knew, because in Remy’s place, he might have done the same thing. But last night—Remy had had this information last night, when Henry had told him Mac was in trouble. And he’d kept it from him.

  “Jesus Christ,” Henry muttered, grabbing his phone. He dialed Mac’s number. No answer. He dialed again. Voice mail. “Mac. Call me,” he said to the machine.

  Motherfucker.

  He rounded on Remy.

  “Can I trust you to do something for me?” He couldn’t fucking think straight. What if Mac had already been arrested? Who knew what damage Lonny Harris had managed?

  “I don’t wanna get involved.” The hardness in Remy’s tone didn’t do much to cover his fear.

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to stay here with Vi whi
le I go to the office and find Mac. Can you do that much for me?”

  Remy stared at him a moment, then nodded.

  “Just stay the fuck here until I get back.”

  “All right,” Remy said. “But then I’m outta here, Henry.”

  “Fine,” Henry said coldly.

  Remy sighed and leaned back against the headboard. “I knew you’d be pissed.”

  “Yeah, well.” Henry pulled on his clothes. “Then you should have told me last night.”

  “I didn’t have to tell you at all!”

  Henry ignored that. Stalked across the room and peered into the bedroom. Viola was asleep, a half smile on her face as though she was dreaming of something wonderful. He wondered what her dreams were like now, and if they were ever the same as his own. But maybe Vi didn’t remember what had happened. Maybe she didn’t see it over and over again, or hear the awful sound of her head cracking against the floor.

  Her heart had stopped on the way to the hospital. Henry’s had as well, and it felt as though it had never beat the same again.

  And now, for the first time in his life, he wanted to protect someone besides his sister. He wanted to let someone new in.

  He didn’t have a future with Mac. But he had right now.

  And right now, Mac needed his help.

  Mac lay in bed, drifting in that pleasant place between asleep and awake.

  His bed smelled of the perfume Henry had worn, and sweat, and . . . other things. It had been a long time since he had needed to change the sheets for that reason. And while it was nice that he’d finally broken his dry spell, and broken it with Henry, of course it had been a mistake as well.

  Mac groaned.

  Yep, here came regret, right on cue.

  Because Henry was a criminal. He was also a witness. The rules still applied, or should have. It was just so damned easy to ignore them when it came to Henry Page and all of his incarnations. Even with OPR breathing down his neck, it was still too damned easy.

  Mac rubbed the gauze over his wound. He’d definitely overdone it last night. He hoped he hadn’t pulled any stitches. He should probably swing by his doctor’s office before going into work.

  Work.

  His eyes flashed open and he turned his head to check his alarm clock. Which he hadn’t set last night. It was ten past nine. Shit. It was ten past nine . . . and fuck it, he was on sick leave, wasn’t he? Except he wanted to be at the office when OPR spoke to Henry. Mostly to see the looks on their faces when they came out of the interview room after trying to get a straight answer out of Henry Page.

  And, of course, to make sure Henry actually showed up.

  Mac climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He fumbled with the plastic bag and duct tape system he’d come up with to keep his gauze dry, then stepped under the shower. Took the soap and washed off all traces of Henry, a little regretful as the suds swirled around his feet.

  Henry Page.

  Sebastian Hanes.

  Whatever he called himself, Mac still wanted him. He was like sugar, like cake. One taste didn’t kill the craving at all, however unhealthy you knew it was. No, just one little taste, and you wanted the whole thing.

  He turned the shower off. He reached for his towel, dried himself, then peeled the plastic off his gauze. The tape pulled at his skin.

  He returned to his bedroom.

  He wasn’t worried about what Henry would tell OPR.

  What happened at Altona was completely aboveboard. Mac had shot and killed the man who’d come to shoot Henry. He’d been protecting a witness, as simple as that. Shit. He hoped Henry didn’t mention the impromptu Shakespeare performance beforehand. And the discussion about spanking.

  He wouldn’t, he tried to reassure himself. Even Henry knew where the line was. Mostly.

  Henry would back him.

  It was Lonny Harris that Mac worried about. Shame the guy was dead. If he hadn’t been, Mac would have been asking him some pretty hard questions. Like why the fuck he was trying to ruin his life. And who had put him up to it.

  Jimmy fucking Rasnick.

  Well, not actually Jimmy. But the fact Lonny had been shot in Jimmy’s signature style couldn’t have been a coincidence.

  THIS IS ON YOU, PIG.

  It wasn’t rocket science. He was being set up because of Jimmy Rasnick. So why the hell couldn’t OPR dig a little deeper and see that?

  Because someone had handed Mac to them on a platter, and they couldn’t see any further than the hard-on they got from the chance to bring him down.

  Janice Bixler had suggested he get a lawyer.

  He would. Some fast-talking hotshot asshole who’d run rings around OPR. And then Mac would demand a written apology so that he could print it out, roll it up, and shove it up Bixler’s ass.

  Fucking bitch.

  This wasn’t a fight Mac was going to lose.

  Eye of the tiger and all that.

  He headed downstairs to grab some breakfast before going in to work.

  Henry didn’t even bother with the elevator when he got to the field office. He took the stairs to the fifth floor and did some on-the-go reflecting that the last time he’d been in this stairwell, he’d been making an escape. And here he was, willingly going into this den of rules and regulations and men with the same exact haircut.

  He was glad Mac was bald.

  It showed style.

  He burst onto Mac’s floor and would have run straight for his office, except that two women were standing directly in his path. Their faces were so close to each other that they were either about to make out, or rip out each other’s throats. One was Val. The other was a woman he’d never seen before. She had dark hair in a low ponytail and wore a navy suit.

  Everyone was watching the confrontation from their cubicles. Penny had her hand frozen inside a giant bag of M&M’s.

  “If he’s not here, that’s hardly my fault,” Val said tightly to the other woman. “He’s on leave.”

  “On leave?” Navy Suit raised her brows. “Funny, I have it on good authority he’s spent most of his ‘sick leave’ in Zionsville.”

  Shit. Henry quickly stepped into the alcove where the restrooms were.

  “I’m not in the habit of tracking the movements of my agents when they’re on leave.”

  “If you’re protecting him,” Navy Suit shot back, “I promise you, I will have you arrested too.”

  “If you think you have any shot at making your charges against Mac stick—”

  “I have reason to believe Agent McGuinness has conducted himself inappropriately with his witness.”

  Val fell silent. Henry pressed closer to the wall.

  Depended on your definition of inappropriate.

  And charges? This must be OPR. What were they going to charge Mac with? Being too sexy for his shirt, pants, and boxers?

  “You’re out of your mind.” Val’s tone was cold.

  Navy Suit had to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact, since Val was about a foot taller, and yes, Henry decided, it definitely looked like they were going to make out. Except that Val’s expression was terrifying.

  So it looked like they were going to make out, but then Val was going to suck the short bitch’s soul out through her mouth.

  “We found cocaine,” Navy Suit went on smugly, “in his office.”

  Henry actually laughed. Cocaine? Mac didn’t even let himself have donuts.

  Except that one time.

  Crazy OPR lady didn’t seem to hear him, but Val’s gaze definitely flicked to the alcove. Oops.

  But a second later, Val’s attention was on Crazypants again. “Yes, because Mac would keep his cocaine in his desk next to the stapler.”

  As if on cue, two guys in navy suits walked out of Mac’s office holding two small bags. The “evidence,” Henry supposed.

  “Agent Kimura,” Navy Suit said, “I understand you are close with Agent McGuinness, but this looks very bad for him. I suggest—”

  “What this look
s like,” Val interrupted, “is a farce. Anyone can see it’s a setup. Ms. Bixler, I really don’t have time for this.”

  There was no trace of a smile on Ms. Bixler’s face. “I’d be careful, Agent Kimura. I don’t think you know what you’re dealing with.” Bixler stepped back. “We’re going to pay a visit to Agent McGuinness’s home. If he’s not there—and if he remains absent for any significant length of time, I’ll be back here with a pair of handcuffs for you.” She looked at the two navy suit guys. “Come on.”

  The trio headed for the elevator. Henry sort of wished they’d all simultaneously put on sunglasses first.

  He was so busy watching them go he didn’t realize Val was beside him until she said, in a low voice, “Can you get there first?”

  He whirled. “Huh?”

  “To Mac’s place. Can you get there before they do?”

  Henry stared at her.

  “Henry, are you conscious?” Val snapped.

  “Uh, yeah. I can get there first.” Was she asking him to . . .?

  Suddenly Penny was there too, and she was handing him a key. “Take my car. The black Honda, first floor of the garage. Third space on your right. I’ll wait as long as I can before reporting it stolen.”

  “What should I . . . I mean, where should I . . .?” He’d arrived here in full hero mode, ready to warn Mac he was in danger and spirit him away if necessary. But with two law enforcement officials staring at him, he felt decidedly nervous. He wasn’t sure he was understanding them correctly. It didn’t make sense to find himself on the same page as the FBI.

  He wondered if this was one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

  “Take him somewhere safe,” Val said. “He needs to stay away from Indianapolis.”

  “Okay.” Henry frowned. “I, um, I’ve got my . . . my sister at the hotel. I’ll have to take him back there for just a minute.”

  “That’s fine, whatever.” Val waved him off. “Just go.”

  That’s fine, whatever?

  Things sure had changed at the Indianapolis field office since he was last here.

  Something clicked in his mind, and he remembered why he’d come in the first place. “Val,” he said. “It’s Lonny Harris. Someone’s paying him to bring Mac down. I can’t prove it yet, but I know a guy who—”