Icky passed the bottle back. “Satisfied?”
“Okay, that was pretty neat.” Ethan waved his knife at the cork. “You could rescue a kitten out of a tree for sure with those skills.”
Icky set the cork down on a napkin, and Frederick placed the bottle aside to breathe as he sat. “All right. What is it that Kane actually wants?”
“Well, to help people,” Ethan answered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s simply what he says that he wants.”
Icky raised an eyebrow. “You think it runs deeper?”
Frederick spread his hands and lay them on the table either side of his plate. “I haven’t met the fellow, so all I am able to go on is your testimony, but I would consider his actions as indicative of a wider vision.” He tapped the table with an index finger. “Consider his behavior. He has chosen to take on waifs and strays and bring them all under one roof. I think we all know that it would be considerably more affordable to live in multiple smaller properties beyond city limits, but he chooses a premium location in one of the most expensive cities on this coastline. Why? Well, either delusions of grandeur, or because he has reason to want all his ducklings under one roof.”
“It’d make them easier to control,” Laurence mused.
“Correct. We do not know whether his gift works over the phone, and also he is clearly a control freak, so there’s always the likelihood that he prefers to have his wards all together so that he knows where they are at all times. I say that he is a control freak,” he added, “because he seems unable to stop himself from issuing imperatives within the first few seconds of meeting someone.” He tutted faintly. “The man lacks subtlety. He is wholly used to getting his own way. He could readily have secured the funding to set these young people up in smaller homes. Houses on the outskirts of San Diego are preposterously cheap, especially for a man who can cobble together fifteen thousand dollars a month.”
Laurence and Ethan looked about ready to protest his use of the word ‘cheap’, then both grumbled in agreement.
“Therefore you suspect that he has an ulterior motive for selecting a mansion in La Jolla,” Icky nodded. “I understand. But it is hardly what one might call a central location.”
“Correct.” Frederick nodded. “Thus centrality is not his primary requirement. Which is dubious at best for a man who wishes to create a team of super-powered emergency first-responders, don’t you think? If I were to do such a thing I would want to be in the heart of a city so that I could dispatch the correct people to the most suitable emergency and have them arrive while they’re still relevant.” He reached for his knife and fork, and began to slice up some of the meats on his plate. “This returns us to the fact that prancing around rescuing people from burning buildings and the like will undoubtedly reveal you to the world sooner or later, and if Kane is indeed a control freak then it is reasonable to conclude that doing so is not a side-effect. It is his goal.”
Laurence popped a maki roll into his mouth and chewed on it before he spoke. “That can’t be his endgame though, right? What would he gain from that?”
“Nothing,” he admitted. “Or rather, nothing that a control freak would enjoy. Chaos, anarchy, murder in the streets, his own life in danger…” Frederick shook his head and reached for the wine to pour himself a glass. “You’re quite right, Laurence. It’s a stepping stone, not his end goal. He has himself a fortress, a retinue of super-powered bodyguards and spies, survival supplies, body armor, and we must assume that he also possesses weapons. One does not accumulate all of that and not gather a few weapons together at the same time.”
“Sebastian is former military,” Icky offered. “He was in the US Army until recently. Honorable discharge.”
“So Kane has access to the knowledge required to militarize a small base of operations.” Frederick neatly set the bottle aside and returned to dissecting his dinner. “I dislike it intensely. It smells off.”
Ethan nodded slowly. “But if Laur and Quentin both say no, he’s gonna continue, right?”
“Unless we stop him. If one removes the head, the snake will die,” he murmured.
Laurence shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like Kane at all. But we can’t just straight-up murder the guy for being suspicious.”
“Murder is such a harsh choice, Laurence.” Frederick chuckled. “Goodness, whatever do you think of me?” He tucked a chunk of ham onto a cracker and popped both into his mouth, feigning innocence.
Laurence watched, and then his shoulders relaxed. “You meant take him out of the picture,” he said slowly. “Like, send him away. Frame him for a crime or something?”
Frederick shrugged at Laurence’s inference. Once he swallowed, he said, “I cannot possibly suggest such a thing, dear boy. I am training to be a barrister.”
Icky forced himself to eat at least some of his dinner as he listened. “Perhaps it would be best if we were to accept. That way we will have a front-line view of whatever it is Kane intends to achieve.”
“I can’t,” Laurence countered. “His gift works on me. I can lie until I’m blue in the face but the moment he makes me tell him the truth we’re blown.”
“But it doesn’t work on Icky,” Frederick mused. “Honestly, do you think you can infiltrate this organization, learn what they’re playing at, and all without them working out what it is you’re up to?”
Icky pressed his lips together as he met Frederick’s gaze. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But it seems to be our only option, does it not?”
“Just so long as you don’t get hurt.” Laurence pushed his plate away with a sullen stare.
Icky reached for Laurence’s hand and inclined his head. “I shall do my best, I assure you.”
It didn’t take a mind-reader to see that Laurence was not particularly comforted by that.
7
FREDERICK
The most concerning thing to come out of last night’s meeting, Frederick felt, was Laurence’s list of psychic abilities. Most notably that he could see the past.
Could Laurence find out who or what had killed Mother?
Frederick sat at the table and watched the ocean. He wasn’t a fidgeter, he didn’t naturally pace or play with detritus. Instead when deepest in thought he stilled himself and watched the world as his brain ticked over.
This new data was a game-changer. He needed to know how it worked, whether Laurence could control it, how far it extended, and all sorts of other factors Frederick was sure he had yet to think of. It could even impede his own movement choices lest Laurence find out what he were up to. Nobody responded well to having investigators dig into their lives. Not even those who had nothing to hide.
He disliked intensely the idea of having restricted movement on the off-chance that Laurence caught him in the act of nosing around in things the florist might prefer stay buried. It was like working with one hand tied behind his back, and he faced a decision.
Should he continue as normal and attempt to deflect Laurence’s attention elsewhere, or should he curtail his extracurricular activities?
It wasn’t a choice to be made lightly, that was certain. Wrangling Icky was a delicate enough task without alienating him completely through a mis-step, but the fact of the matter was that Frederick had already set investigators on Laurence. That was done before he even left London. It was too late to change that.
It made more sense to proceed. Not without caution, of course, but if Laurence were to find anything to damn Frederick by he would do so simply by looking far enough into the past to find it. Without more information on how Laurence’s gift functioned, Frederick could not allow it to derail his plans.
The priority, then, would be to ascertain precisely how the thing worked. And the best way to do that would be to urge him to use it in Frederick’s presence. Frederick could eavesdrop on Laurence’s consciousness throughout the whole thing and know what happened every bit as intimately as Laurence himself did.
> He drew his attention from the ocean and eased his laptop open. Now that he was sure of his path, there were steps required to lead toward his goal.
HE HAD the background checks he requested within two weeks. Brennan’s came through first, but he had to sit on his hands another four days until he received Wilson’s. Neither were the prettiest reads, but one was considerably worse than the other.
Wilson made Brennan look like a model citizen.
Frederick drew his phone across the table and tapped out a number, then thumbed the speaker icon.
“Sloane Investigations, Jane speaking.”
Frederick hadn’t ever met the investigator or any of his staff, and he preferred to keep it that way. Jane sounded alert and professional, and that was all that mattered.
“Good afternoon. This is Frederick d’Arcy. Is Mr. Sloane available to talk?”
“One moment, sir.”
He skim-read some of the news articles Sloane had forwarded to him while he waited. None of it was pretty. Wilson was, it seemed, all too eager to kill off anyone he didn’t like.
“Mr. d’Arcy.” Sloane’s voice cut into his thoughts. He sounded like he smoked twenty a day for at least thirty years. “You get my email?”
“I did, yes. Thank you. I wondered if I might trouble you further?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
Frederick leaned back in his seat. “Do you have experience in covert surveillance?”
“Yes, sir.” Sloane’s gravelly chuckle was short. “Which one?”
“Wilson.” Frederick brushed hair back from his forehead while he considered how best to impress upon Sloane the caution required. “I’m sure that you can see he’s rather dangerous,” he murmured.
“Convenient how all his enemies run away to kill themselves, huh?” Sloane’s tone was one of agreement.
“Indeed. I don’t want him to so much as lay eyes on you or whomever you hire to follow him. Let’s not have another convenient death, hm?”
“I got no plans on getting bumped off. Don’t worry. I’ve got a former FBI agent on the payroll, she’s good with drones and telephoto lenses. Price still no object?”
“Correct.” Frederick closed his laptop. “I want to know where he goes, who he meets, whether any money changes hands, and if possible I’d like full backgrounds on anyone he has dealings with, especially these people whose parties he’s been attending.”
“Done,” Sloane said. “I’ll send an email daily and if you want to change the scope or cancel altogether give me a call.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Frederick hung up and pocketed the phone as he stood.
The news articles combined nicely with his knowledge of Wilson’s gift. It appeared that Wilson had no compunction at all against using his power in front of — or even directly involving — witnesses, which in itself ran contrary to Wilson’s claims of benevolence. Not only was he a serial killer, he was messy too.
Frederick loathed mess. Icky wasn’t the best tool to mop it up with, but it was infinitely better than exposing himself to Wilson. Nothing good could come of that
One thing was certain. While Icky was well within Wilson’s circle of influence, Frederick couldn’t leave the United States. And if that was the case, he may as well make good use of his time. He grabbed a light jacket on his way to the door, stopped to select shoes, and then called his concierge.
It was time to take a risk.
THE CAR MUST HAVE stood out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. From within his comfortable air-conditioned cocoon Frederick could see the run-down homes and broken fences, yet they were barely ten minutes away from his hotel. The tires dipped in and out of potholes and he could feel the faint shudder as the vehicle’s suspension coped with the rough road surface.
It would draw attention. More so than usual. Frederick was still undecided on whether that was a good thing, but it certainly influenced his plan. To stop and get out here was unwise. While it would be no difficulty to erase the memory of his presence from any and all witnesses, life was far simpler if he got it right the first time, rather than dedicated additional resources to fixing the error.
He thumbed the intercom. “No stopping,” he murmured into it. “Continue on and return to the hotel.” His thumb released the button before the driver could respond.
That one.
Frederick’s eyes were drawn to the house which managed to be worse than all others in this already-awful area. It was the foul cancer at the heart of a sickened and dying area, draining anything good from the homes nearest to it and spitting out only bile. The fence was mostly rust held together by the occasional spiderweb. What was supposed to be a yard had long been left to turn wild, and probably housed entire empires of rats. The house’s walls were grotesque with mildew.
He couldn’t stop his nose from crinkling in disgust. The rot was so potent he imagined that he could smell it, despite the protective environment he had surrounded himself with.
No, he would not enter that place. That Brennan even survived living in it suggested the boy had a robust pair of lungs on him, and possibly the finest medical insurance money could buy. He certainly had very little money for a drug dealer, so perhaps that was where it all went. That and bribing the police to fumble evidence and let him go.
The car continued on as though it had taken a wrong turn, and Frederick called Sloane’s office.
“Jane,” he said smoothly before she could finish her introduction. “Frederick d’Arcy again. Please ask Mr. Sloane to add surveillance to Mr. Brennan also.”
“Of course, sir.”
Frederick concluded his call as swiftly as he was able, and then tapped the intercom.
“Change of plan,” he told the driver. “Take me to the Jack in the Green.”
If he intended to root around in Laurence’s past, he would have to learn precisely how the florist’s powers worked.
8
FREDERICK
The car slowed to a halt directly outside the Jack in the Green, and Frederick exited into the oven of San Diego’s sidewalks. It was five steps from car to shop, and enough for him to feel the sweat begin to dampen his forehead. How anyone lived in this ridiculous environment was beyond him.
He pushed the door open and escaped the oppressive humidity as swiftly as he’d entered it. Before the door could even close at his back, Laurence turned to face him with the most entertaining look of guilt on his face, and Frederick couldn’t help but skim his thoughts to find out what that was about.
No, I wasn’t totally just thinking about boning your brother, man.
Frederick bit the tip of his tongue as Laurence gulped down tea. Perhaps it would have been better not to assuage his curiosity at that particular moment.
The woman by Laurence’s side was very obviously the florist’s mother. While her curls were auburn and her eyes hazel, she had the same warm tone to her skin, and she stood by his side far more closely than a casual acquaintance or fellow employee should.
“It’s Freddy, isn’t it?” Mrs. Riley cooed. “Quentin’s brother?”
“It is.” He gave her a warm and gracious smile as he offered his hand. “You must be Laurence’s mother. Where else could he have gained his ridiculous good looks from?”
Frederick caught a speck of doubt in her gaze as she reached for his hand.
Don’t trust him. He’s dangerous.
Frederick had maybe a split second in which to make a decision. He’d done nothing to earn Mrs. Riley’s enmity, and yet for some reason he had it, and he didn’t have time to allow her judgment to interfere with his relationship with her son.
He reached out and brushed away her doubts, then replaced them with the exact opposite. Perhaps he could find the time to work out why she distrusted him at some later date, but for now things had to proceed smoothly.
The hesitation in her gaze vanished, and Mrs. Riley laughed as her fingers finally reached his. “Oh, aren’t you terrible?”
�
�I do try my utmost.” He dipped his head to kiss the back of her hand, then flashed the most dazzling of smiles. “I wondered if I might borrow him for a little while?”
“Of course, dear!” She tittered like a teenager. “Do be sure to bring him back in one piece, won’t you?”
“I shall try very hard not to break him!” He flashed his most charming smile and plucked the cup from Laurence’s hands to set aside on the counter. His reward was a further reddening of Laurence’s cheeks, and he turned on his heel to lead the way to the car with a wave over his shoulder.
THE CAR PULLED AWAY ONCE they were settled within, and Frederick waited until Laurence had stopped himself from dwelling on Frederick’s overt displays of wealth.
“What’s up?”
“I thought it best to talk,” Frederick murmured. “To touch base, as it were. It has been a quiet fortnight. Things are proceeding well?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t think we’re any closer to working out what Kane wants, but I don’t think we expected it to be that easy.”
“Indeed.” He chuckled. “A man who finds trust difficult is hardly about to open up so soon. How is Icky bearing up?”
“Yeah, good.” Laurence nodded. “He seems to enjoy it. I don’t think they suspect him for anything.”
“Good.” Frederick dipped his head. “Do be careful. Icky is an idealist. He’s also a terrible pacifist. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. If we leave him there too long they might fill his head with all sorts of nonsense.”
Laurence narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Okay. What’re you suggesting?”
“While Icky is off being dreary and heroic,” he murmured, “we must get our hands dirty.”
He disliked the turn of phrase, let alone actually intervening in this situation, but the fact of the matter was that Icky would get himself up to his eyeballs in trouble without the adults to back him up.
Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4) Page 5
