Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4)

by Amelia Faulkner

  “It appears that the Theophrastus is a rental,” Frederick murmured. “Not privately owned. More of a floating function room, really.”

  “So it’s like a party yacht?” Aiden asked. He eased around the table to look, and Myriam slipped away to put the kettle on.

  “It seems that way,” he agreed. “Alas as one might expect they do not list their upcoming events on their website.”

  “So there’s no way of guessing why the gun’s even there,” Ethan said. He came around the other side of the table until Frederick was flanked by them both peering at the phone screen.

  Laurence slipped quietly back into the room and settled on a stool as he reached for pizza. “Why even make Kim get the gun on board in the first place?”

  “Ah, that would seem obvious.” He cast a smile toward Laurence. “During an event, attending guests are likely screened for weapons.”

  Laurence grimaced. “But if a weapon’s already on board, a guest can go get it.”

  “Which implies Kane isn’t going to use a crew member.” Aiden tilted his head. “Why not?”

  “Because that doesn’t fit his narrative,” Frederick answered. “Kane wishes to frame the gifted as the benefactors and saviors of mankind, not the perpetrators of crime or as any sort of threat. If he commands a regular crew member to take a gun onto a yacht and shoot someone with it, that person will give evidence to that effect: that he was ordered, and he could not resist. But if Kane has a guest attend an event, sneak off, pick up the gun, kill a target, and then toss the weapon overboard, there is no evidence of a psychic’s presence whatsoever. Particularly as he has taken the time to include a suppressor, which will ensure that the sound will not be heard over the noise of a crowd.” He propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead. “I wish I could remember where I’ve seen the yacht’s name before.”

  “Theophrastus,” Laurence mused.

  “Well if it’s a party boat,” Ethan reasoned, “then maybe you saw it advertised, or on an invitation or something?”

  The lightbulb came on, and he looked to Laurence, who stared at him at exactly the same moment.

  “Invitations,” they both said as one.

  Laurence leaped to his feet just as Myriam set tea down in front of him. “Mom, can you look after Kim? I’ve gotta run.”

  “Of course, dear.” She frowned at him softly. “Be careful.”

  “What?” Ethan waved his hand. “Wait, what? What’s going on?”

  “Invitations,” Laurence breathed as he grabbed some keys. “Quentin has an invitation to something on the Theophrastus. He gets like a dozen invitations a week, rarely looks at them any more, but Freddy and I went through them and that’s where we’ve seen the name.”

  “You think Quentin will have an invitation to the right party?” Ethan lifted his chin. “What’re the odds?”

  “I would say high,” Laurence muttered, “if Kane’s played his cards right.”

  Frederick hurried after Laurence as he strode out into the alley. “You believe Wilson played a stronger game than we imagined?”

  Laurence nodded grimly. He used the remote to work out which van he had the keys for, then dropped into the driver’s seat. “Worse,” he grunted.

  “How can it possibly be worse?” He eased into the passenger seat as Laurence started the engine.

  “I think he’s sent Quentin off to get him out of the way.”

  Frederick buckled up.

  There was no need to say anything further. It was clear as day in Laurence’s thoughts, and he was inclined to agree.

  Icky had been sent off on a fool’s errand so that Wilson could set his own plans into motion without interference. But then why was Kimberly allowed to come to the Jack in the Green? The only possible conclusion was that this was a trap. And it was not one which Laurence could survive without a little help.

  Laurence was about to drive them straight into Wilson’s clutches, and he didn’t even realize it.

  Thank God the brains of the outfit was here, frankly.

  37

  FREDERICK

  Laurence drove like a maniac all the way up to La Jolla, and Frederick kept his mouth shut to avoid distracting him. When they reached the apartment and got though the electronic gates, the truck crunched to a halt on the gravel and Laurence leaped out like his arse was on fire.

  Frederick hurried after him. “Is he likely to have thrown them out by now?”

  Laurence unlocked the door to the apartment and shouldered it open, almost tripping over the dogs in the process. “Goddess, I hope not!” The dogs clustered around his thighs. Pepper wagged up a breeze as she rasped her tongue over his hand, and Grace’s nose pressed into the back of his calf.

  “They need the loo,” Frederick explained as he darted around the roadblock.

  “Is that a d’Arcy thing?”

  “Hm?”

  “Understanding animals?”

  “Oh.” He shook his head slightly and grabbed the stack of envelopes from the dining room table. “We had a lot of dogs around as we grew up. You get used to the way they communicate.”

  That and, of course, the minds of dogs were staggeringly easy to read.

  “Yeah.” Laurence snorted. “That used to be Quentin’s explanation, too.”

  Frederick paused and frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I dunno, man. What if Quentin’s gifts run in the family like mine and Mom’s? What if it’s more than just familiarity with dogs?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Frederick sifted through envelopes and tossed aside one after another. It was best to dismiss any suggestion of psychic prowess right now.

  “Yeah.” Laurence nodded. “He said that, too. C’mon, girls. Let’s go to the bathroom, huh?”

  Frederick glanced to Laurence as he led the dogs out of the apartment, then returned to sifting through envelopes until he found the one he was looking for.

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember, but people found those with clear and precise memories to be highly unnerving. Humanity as a whole operated on a level of vagueness which would drive him ‘round the bend, but since they were the majority it was usually he who was considered strange. The truth of the matter was that if he were to get on board the Theophrastus without overtly utilizing his gifts, he would require Icky’s invitation. There was a gun on board, events were going to go awry, and the expectation that security footage would be reviewed after the fact was high.

  He had no intention of being the focus of an investigation as to how he got on board when a detour to collect some paper would make that all go away.

  The right envelope was cream colored, on heavy paper, with black type on the front. He sifted it out from the mountain of others and plucked the card from within, then eyed it just to be certain.

  Mr. Glen Lansky extends a most cordial invitation to Lord Banbury and guest for an evening of charitable fundraising aboard the Theophrastus.

  Ah yes. The man whose aide had been killed by rogue wildfire. It was no surprise that Wilson’s move would be against such a visible target.

  He took his phone out to text Michael while he waited for Laurence.

  I may be some time. Do not return to the penthouse. Do not reply to this message.

  Then he closed the messages app and idly Googled pictures of kittens.

  Laurence returned a couple of minutes later, preceded by two dogs who seemed very much relieved by the opportunity to go outside. “You got it?”

  “I have.” He nudged the invitation toward Laurence. “The Theophrastus.”

  Laurence swept it from the table and flipped it open. “This is today,” he breathed.

  “It is,” Frederick muttered as he minimized all the kittens and tapped out a quick email to his concierge service. Laurence would require a tuxedo for this to work, and he very much doubted the florist owned one.

  “Wait.” Laurence looked up at him in alarm. “Lansky?”

  “Correct.”

  “Fuck
,” Laurence gasped. “You think Kane’s going after Lansky himself?”

  “It could be any guest there.”

  Realistically, though, they both knew that it wasn’t.

  Frederick slid his phone away and launched to his feet. “Come along. Bring the invitation.”

  Laurence ran after him. “Where are we going?”

  “The Palomar. We have to change.”

  “Now?”

  “Dear boy, they will hardly allow us aboard dressed as we are.”

  Laurence stared at him as they headed for the van. “Shit,” he said. “You’re as crazy as he is!”

  IN THE HALF hour it took to reach the Palomar, the concierge emailed Frederick to confirm that their task was completed, so he emailed them back with a request for a car.

  “How the hell do you get this shit done?” Laurence held the tuxedo up and eyed it. It was a deep forest green, so dark that the green only showed under direct light.

  “That’s what a good concierge service is for, Laurence.” He hurried up the stairs. “It may not be a precise fit, but it should suit our purpose.”

  “You can’t think they’re gonna mistake you for Quentin,” Laurence called after him.

  “Possession is nine tenths,” he called back.

  Laurence snorted. “I take it back. You’ll be a lousy lawyer. You’re almost twice his size, man.”

  “We don’t need to convince the attendees. We must only convince the doorman, and I will have both the invitation and you.” He stripped as quickly as he could and drew a tux from his wardrobe. He spoke loudly enough to be heard downstairs as he slipped into it. “Once inside our only job is to get rid of that gun before it can fall into the wrong hands, and we will be able to leave without ever setting foot anywhere risky. It can sink to the bottom of the marina as we saunter off into the sunset like heroes. Nobody is harmed, then we catch up with Icky and work out what to do about Wilson.”

  For a plan he’d formulated in the passenger seat of a badly-driven truck, it seemed reasonably sound. It wasn’t the whole plan, but it was all that Laurence needed to know.

  Wilson would not see daybreak tomorrow, and if Frederick played his cards right Icky would pull his thumb out of his arse and actually get into a fight.

  “Right.” He hurried down the stairs and grabbed the invitation. “Ready?”

  “Sure.” Laurence pocketed his phone, then gaped up at Frederick as he descended into the living room. “Hell,” Laurence muttered. “That runs in the family too, huh?”

  “Hm?”

  Laurence shook his head while lewd imagery of Frederick skittered through his head. “Nothing,” he said thickly.

  A LIMOUSINE WAITED at the hotel’s entrance, and the doorman swept them into it without a word.

  “Concierge service?” Laurence snorted.

  “Mine, although I’m sure they liaise with the hotel’s.” Frederick waved a hand. “So long as a task is achieved, I really don’t care how they go about it.”

  Laurence disappeared into meaningless concerns over the cost of such things, and Frederick slid into the limousine after him while the American tried to work out how exactly he felt about wealth. The car pulled away and there was peace for a few minutes.

  “Penny for them?” Frederick murmured.

  Laurence looked out the window as the car headed west. “Quentin brought me this way once. A few months ago, before we were dating. We went to a party on a yacht.” He smiled wistfully. “It was the first time we danced.”

  “I imagine that was quite the sight.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah.” Laurence grinned. “He was.”

  Frederick laughed softly. “You’re hardly the back end of a horse yourself, dear boy.”

  “Pff. I know.” Laurence flicked hair back from his eyes. “I’m gorgeous.”

  He groaned, and Laurence laughed in return, but he also relaxed a little.

  Now all Frederick had to do was get them onto the yacht, keep Wilson from killing them both, and wait for Icky to turn up.

  Easy as pie.

  “LORD BANBURY,” he drawled as he handed his invitation to the doorman. “Plus one, of course.”

  These are very much the droids you are looking for.

  Laurence flashed a dazzling smile as hung off Frederick’s arm. “Laurence Riley,” he purred.

  The doorman at the base of the gangplank eyed the invitation and then handed it back. “Welcome, sirs. If you could proceed one at a time, please?”

  “Of course. Darling?” He gestured for Laurence to go ahead. “You first. That way I can watch your arse.”

  Heat rose in Laurence’s cheeks, but he dropped the contents of his pockets into a tray and then walked through the arch of the metal detector.

  “Thank you, sir.” The security guard the other side of the detector handed Laurence his tray, and Laurence stuffed everything back where it came from.

  “Wonderful,” Frederick cooed as he stepped through. “Thank you so much.”

  Laurence took his arm and they strode up the gangplank side by side. “Goddess,” he whispered as he leaned in toward Frederick’s ear. “That was kinda easy, don’t you think?”

  “I believe they call it a confidence trick for a reason,” Frederick answered with a smile. “Those who appear to belong are rarely questioned. It’s when people dart around furtively that they draw unwanted attention. That, and Icky is hardly an A-List celebrity. Not everyone in this city would recognize his face.”

  “I guess. Which is the main deck?” Laurence breathed as they stepped off the gangplank.

  “This one,” Frederick murmured. He strolled toward a walkway which led past the yacht’s interior. “That way—” he gestured to stairs leading down “—is the lower deck, which is a mainly crew-only area. Above us, the upper deck, and above that the bridge deck. The top is the flying bridge.”

  “I get it.” Laurence peered into windows as they passed. “What’s in there?”

  “Most likely the event itself. I don’t fancy I’ll be able to pass myself off as Icky in there. Much more likely to be the occasional bugger who’d see right through us. Best to circumvent the lot and head straight for the cabins.”

  “Okay.” Laurence stopped trying to see inside. “I’m glad you know your way around a boat. I wouldn’t have a clue where to start.”

  “We’re a good team,” he chuckled. “It’s a shame you’re already taken, or I’d snap you up.”

  “Huh.” Laurence’s blush returned in full force. “I thought you were straight.”

  “Oh, please.” Frederick snorted. “As if I would cut off my nose purely over what anyone had between their legs.” He pushed a door open and held it for Laurence.

  The interior was a welcome relief from the summer heat. They passed into the cool embrace of an air-conditioned corridor, and the chatter of the party could be heard through the double doors to their right. The corridor extended left and lights flicked on as they made their way down it.

  “Which one, do you think?” Frederick dropped his voice to a whisper as they moved further down the corridor.

  He knew precisely which door the gun lay behind, and as they eased along the corridor it became apparently that the trap was indeed primed and waiting. There was one mind in that room.

  Wilson.

  Frederick chose not to probe too deeply. He would rather face Wilson to determine whether or not the man sensed his intrusion.

  “I guess we check ‘em all.” Laurence nodded. “C’mon.”

  As happenstance would have it, Laurence tried the correct door on the first try without any steerage from Frederick whatsoever. He cracked the door open slightly, and Frederick glanced back toward the party as he reached out to ascertain how many people were on this yacht.

  There were easily over a hundred people in that room alone, let alone the crew dotted above and below this deck.

  “It’s empty,” Laurence whispered.

  Frederick turned his attention back to the matter at h
and and darted into the room after Laurence. The lights flicked on and revealed a large suite, so they both stepped further inside.

  Wilson sat on one of the sofas. He had waited for them in the dark, and just out of direct line of sight of the door.

  Quite smart, really.

  Frederick eyed the man who had caused so much kerfuffle. He was nothing impressive to look at, really. A good shave wouldn’t hurt matters, and it seemed as though Wilson couldn’t find a decent barber for love nor money.

  “Come in,” Wilson said. “Both of you.” He smirked and pointed to another couch. “Sit.”

  Wilson’s orders sloughed off him like water from a duck’s back. Frederick’s sense of triumph was absolute.

  This should, he felt, prove highly entertaining.

  38

  FREDERICK

  Laurence sat without any volition, and so Frederick sat beside him. Wilson’s wording clearly intended for them both to do as they were told, and he didn’t wish Wilson to realize it wasn’t working quite as expected.

  “There.” Wilson smirked. “Neither of you so much as move without my say so. You’re going to sit right here and allow me to tell you both what to do this evening.”

  Laurence snarled. The spike of fear, denied the ability to run, was transforming into something darker. With his option for flight removed, fight was desperate to rear its head. “You sent her to us,” he growled. “You used a kid to get us here, didn’t you?”

  “Well, you seemed so reluctant to meet with me yourself.” Wilson chuckled, then turned his attention to Frederick. “And this is the elusive Frederick d’Arcy. What a pleasure to meet you at last. Tell me—” he licked his lips and leaned forward. “Why did you buy my house?”

  Oh, this really was too wonderful for words.

  Frederick did his very best impression of a man trying to resist compulsion. He grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “To force your hand.” He followed that up with a slowly-dawning alarm that words were forcing their way out of him without his permission.

  An Oscar-worthy performance, with nobody to appreciate it. It was a true shame.