Frederick gasped and gripped the handrail as his knees bucked. The snap left him reeling, and he’d lost his hold on the fleeing partygoers as a result.
That was unexpected, to say the least.
He rubbed his forehead as he rallied. His fingers slipped through sweat and blood, and he wiped it off onto his sleeve then ran for the stairs.
Icky couldn’t be dead. God, Frederick couldn’t have cocked this all up that badly, surely?
He sped down the stairs and shot through the saloon like a hot knife through butter, only to find the corridor beyond utterly doused in fire when he arrived.
There was nobody here.
Sodding hell. There was nothing but an inferno, and no sign of Laurence or Icky or any bodies, so Frederick backed into the saloon. A flicker of motion grabbed his eye, and he turned just in time to see Laurence streak past the windows with Icky in his arms.
Frederick bolted to intercept them.
Things had gone from entertaining to downright worrisome, and he didn’t like it at all.
40
FREDERICK
He steered Laurence through the throng and toward the road. Wagner was ahead, pushing people out of their way.
The look on Laurence’s face suggested he wasn’t able to speak right now, and Icky looked like death warmed over, so Frederick chose to rifle through Sebastian’s memories than risk any backlash from Laurence at this precise moment.
It quickly became apparent that Icky hadn’t done a bloody thing to stop Torres from killing him, and Frederick felt as though everything he’d worked for had just slipped right through his fingers.
Bloody fool would be dead if Laurence hadn’t killed Wilson.
That came with its own set of woes, too. If Wilson’s compulsions had worn off the instant he died, then who knew how many people out there remembered being given orders they didn’t wish to obey and were now free to discuss it?
What a complete clusterfuck.
“Have you got a car?” Wagner called back to them.
Frederick nodded and gestured toward the curb. “I’ll have it collect us.”
“Okay. I’m gonna go back and make sure Torres got out, then…” He shook his head. “I guess we go to the house, make sure the kids are okay. There might be some who didn’t wanna be there in the first place. If Kane’s thing’s worn off…”
Frederick nodded. “I understand completely.”
Laurence hugged Icky tightly to his chest and pressed his cheek to the top of Icky’s head, but he managed to spare a look at Wagner. “Thanks, man.”
Wagner shrugged. “You have no idea how much I owe you. I’ll be in touch.”
Frederick pulled out his phone and tapped out a message. “Perhaps we should get Icky to a hospital?” he offered softly as he typed.
Laurence curled his lip and looked like he might tear Frederick’s throat out. “He’ll be fine,” he snarled.
Frederick slid his phone away and eyed Laurence, then pursed his lips. “What happened?”
“He wouldn’t hurt either of them.” Laurence bowed his head to Icky’s again. “Not even in self defense. Goddess, what does it take to get him to look after himself?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if you work it out, would you be a darling and let me know?”
Laurence sighed and some of the anger bled out of him. “I saw it,” he muttered. “In a vision, like, three years ago. I saw him in there, with everything on fire. I didn’t know it was a yacht from the vision, and I’ve kinda been waiting for that day ever since. Especially once I met Quen.” He pressed his lips to Icky’s hair. “I thought I was gonna lose him.”
Frederick nodded grimly. There was no point saying anything. This was his doing, and he wasn’t proud of it. He’d miscalculated so badly that Icky damn near died.
The car snaked past all the others which jockeyed for position to try and collect their passengers, and Frederick hurried forward to meet it and open the door for Laurence to save their driver having to get out. Laurence gently eased Icky inside, then Frederick joined them.
“Hotel Palomar,” he instructed the driver. “Take it gently.”
As the car eased away from the curb just in time to deftly avoid the mass of incoming emergency vehicles, Frederick sat back and came to the realization that, for the first time in years, he was utterly without a plan.
HE INSISTED on carrying Icky up in the elevator. Laurence had begun an adrenaline crash in the car and his hands were shaking, and the last thing Frederick wanted was for anyone to drop Icky on his head. He passed Laurence his keycard and took Icky in his arms, and when they reached the penthouse he continued on up the stairs to the room Michael had vacated earlier.
He lay Icky down on the bed and pressed the back of his hand to Icky’s forehead, frowning at the cold, clammy skin. “Will he be all right?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Mia says he will.” Laurence shut the door. “I should get him out of these clothes. Maybe wash him. He reeks of smoke.”
Frederick nodded. “I’ll fetch pajamas. I’d best have his dogs brought here, too. That way they won’t be left to starve until you’re able to go home.” He pocketed Icky’s keys from the sideboard and withdrew to the door.
“Thanks, Freddy.” Laurence began to remove the bloody, tattered shirt from Quentin’s body.
Frederick inclined his head as he slipped from the room. At first he thought perhaps his own pajamas might suffice to offer Icky some decorum, but once he had picked through them it became bleedingly obvious that they just wouldn’t do.
Ah, well. He had to call the concierge anyway.
He pulled his phone and tapped it. When the concierge answered, he murmured, “Yes, I need fresh pajamas. 32inch waist, 34inch inside leg, 36inch chest. Also I need for you to come fetch some keys off me and then go to an address to collect a couple of dogs. Thank you.”
Once that was done, he returned to Icky’s room and knocked on the door. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah, just about,” Laurence called from within.
He eased inside and frowned worriedly at Icky. Laurence had hastily covered him with sheets, but they were thin, and once more Frederick was reminded of just how flimsy Icky looked. Coupled with the bloodied arm and smoke-streaked skin, he looked a right bloody mess.
He exhaled softly. Twice now, since his arrival in San Diego, he’d seen Icky laid up in bed through his heroics. He tore his gaze away and eyed the ruined clothes which Laurence appeared to have thrown onto the floor without care.
This could well be his one opportunity.
But to do what? Why did Father want this? What the hell would he gain from it?
The only way to find out was to do as he asked. As with buying Wilson’s house, it would bait the hook. Father would move once he had what he wanted, and it would reveal his intent.
God, it was a risk.
Frederick reached down and scooped up the discarded clothing. He picked through the pockets and emptied them out onto a sideboard. “Well,” he said, “this is ruined. I shall dispose of it.”
“Thanks.” Laurence smiled to him.
Frederick backed out of the room and drew the door closed. He carried the clothes through to his own room and laid them out on the bed.
There was a whole lot of dried blood encrusted on that once-white shirt.
He crossed his arms and regarded the clothes. He bit his thumb as he paced. He wasn’t a man for allowing his thoughts to affect his composure, but this had been an extraordinarily trying evening. His head still ached faintly from being forcefully ejected from Laurence’s mind, Icky was unconscious, Laurence refused to take Icky to a bloody hospital, and Frederick was about to risk an absolutely unknown quantity just to try and find out more about Father’s own machinations.
It was bonkers.
Perhaps if he could just let everything go he could resist this, too. If he could accept that mother had died of natural causes, if he could forget that Ic
ky had once overheard Father threaten to kill her, if he could walk away from them all and go back to his life unmolested, he might be able to find some measure of peace.
But he couldn’t.
Icky was right. Father could ruin Frederick. He could undermine Frederick’s investments, drip words into the right ears to wipe a fortune off whatever portfolio he built, and destroy his entire career with a few phone calls. With his gifts, Frederick could always build himself back up, but how often would Father knock him down before Frederick grew weary of it?
He huffed in frustration and stormed from the room, sweeping downstairs and into the kitchen like thunder. There were ziplock bags in one of the drawers, and he fished one out, then paused as the doorbell rang.
For a moment, he thought it could be Michael. That would add more complications to an already awful night, but thankfully when he made it to the door and checked the spy-hole it was a young lady in a neat suit.
He tugged the door open.
“Concierge,” she said with a smile. “I’m here for the keys?”
Frederick nodded and handed Icky’s keys to her as he recited Icky’s address. “Two dogs,” he added. “Very friendly. Wouldn’t harm a fly. If you could bring them here along with their harnesses and whatnot I would appreciate it.”
“No problem at all, sir.” She took the keys and smiled. “I’ll be back in under two hours.”
He nodded as she retreated to the elevator, closed the door, and ran back up the stairs with the ziplock bag still in hand.
The shirt lay where he’d left it, bloodied and torn, silently accusing him. Frederick grit his teeth and folded it, stuffed it into the bag, then sealed it up and buried the lot at the back of a drawer.
“I have no idea why the hell you want this, you crazy old bastard,” he muttered to himself as he shut the drawer. “I swear to God if I get arrested trying to get it through customs you’d better make sure I get out clean.”
THE DOGS WERE DELIVERED ONLY an hour and a half later. Frederick let them into the suite and recovered his keys from the concierge, then thanked her and steered the sleepy animals through to the lounge. Best to keep them from heading upstairs just yet.
As he settled them and poured a bowl of water, Laurence drifted downstairs, looking dead on his feet, so Frederick poured him a glass of water also and pressed it into his hands.
“Thanks,” Laurence croaked. He sipped from the glass as the dogs’ tails thumped lazily against the carpet.
“You are welcome.” He steered Laurence toward a seat, then settled down himself. “Now. What happened?”
Laurence blinked. “Like, earlier?” He sighed. “Quentin managed to disarm me in the middle of the party. Took the gun apart, and I think once I couldn’t possibly complete Kane’s orders anymore my brain just kinda got over it. I guess if he orders… ordered people to do things that were outright impossible it didn’t work.” He swallowed from the glass.
“Mm. Quite clever of Icky there,” Frederick mused.
“Yeah. Genius move.” Laurence’s gaze warmed with pride. “He’s so smart it kills me every time he says he isn’t.”
Frederick nodded a little. “What happened next?”
“Oh. He’d thrown Kane overboard, so I jumped in to get him. I figured if I couldn’t hear him, if he couldn’t speak, then I couldn’t do anything he told me to, so I went underwater and dragged him down.” He shrugged. “He got away once but I found him again and broke his neck.”
“Now who’s the smart one?” Frederick grinned at him.
Laurence shrugged and reached down to pet Pepper between the ears while the dog dozed. “He wasn’t ever gonna stop. I got a text from Sebastian. He says like half the kids already wanna leave.”
Frederick leaned back and crossed his legs. He rested his hands in his lap. “You know,” he said almost absentmindedly, “I do own that house now. It would be a frightful shame to let it go to waste.”
Laurence blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he replied, “that you and Icky should move in. You can’t keep dogs the size of these two cooped up in a tiny flat like Icky’s.”
There was a moment’s pensive look to the dogs, then Laurence sighed. “It’s like twice the size of mine.”
He gaped at Laurence. “No. Absolutely not. You must take the house. I insist. It’s the least that I can do.”
“We can’t afford it, man!”
“You don’t have to. It will need redecorating. You do that for me and we can call it even.” Frederick gestured up toward the bedroom and changed the subject before Laurence could object further. “He looked horrendous. Why are you so sure he doesn’t need hospital treatment?”
Laurence opened his mouth, shut it again, then huffed. “Mia stopped his heart. But she started it again like seconds after. She can control electricity. She says he should be okay.” He scowled, regardless.
“I see.” Frederick pulled out his phone to search for himself. Damned if he was about to trust the opinion of someone he’d never met. “She has no reason to lie, I suppose,” he mused as he skim-read articles.
“No, though she said it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes for him to come ‘round and it’s been like two hours now.”
Frederick shrugged slightly. “In her defense in that regard, he’s been shot, too. Looks to be birdshot in his arm. Did you get a look at it?”
Laurence’s head bobbed in exhaustion. “I gave him a bath. He kinda just slept through the whole thing, but I think there might still be a couple of pellets in there. I didn’t wanna fuss with it too much. I put a dressing on it to keep it clean. We can check it when he’s awake.”
“All right.” Frederick sighed softly. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll check in on you both in the morning.”
Laurence bit his lip. “You sure?”
“I have an entire spare bedroom,” he said dryly. “What would be the purpose in kicking you out of it? Go on. Go to bed. You’re about ready to drop, dear boy.” Frederick stood, and gestured for Laurence to precede him.
“Thanks.” Laurence forced himself to stand. “I mean it.”
“Oh stop, before you make me blush.” He shooed Laurence toward the stairs, then followed.
He’d have to text Michael and let him know not to pop up first thing in the morning, or things could get far too interesting around here.
41
FREDERICK
When he woke, it was to the absence of Michael in his bed.
Frederick frowned at that. What on Earth was he thinking? One little blow to the head and suddenly he wanted to wake up next to a warm body?
It was Michael’s fault. The boy was habit forming.
He threw back the sheets and got himself out of bed, then strode through to the bathroom. A quick shower before bed last night had removed the worst of the smell, so he eyed his reflection in a mirror to check for anything he might not have noticed in the rush.
Everything seemed acceptable. He hadn’t been shot and not noticed it. All the arms and legs were accounted for. All things considered, a net positive result.
The line above his left eye bothered him, though. It didn’t belong there. He had done what he could to mitigate Wagner’s violence, but he still had to allow a small percentage of it to occur to avert any suspicion, and so here he now was, with a cut on his face. It wasn’t any worse than any he’d gained through years of rugby, but this one irritated him.
Someone had done this to him.
No, that wasn’t quite it. Rugby players bashed into each other all the time. Cuts and scrapes were de rigeur, and bruises even more so. This cut would grow a lovely bruise around it by the end of the day, he was quite certain.
No. This cut was a badge of failure, a mark he had accrued through a failure to fully grasp the ins and outs of a situation. This happened because he had misjudged everything from Wilson’s fervor to the depths of Icky’s pacifism.
The cut was a reminder that Icky could
be dead right now, all because of Frederick’s mismanagement.
It was such an innocuous little thing, too. Probably wouldn’t even leave a scar. It only bled down his face last night because it mingled with sweat.
The reason Michael wasn’t there was that Frederick hadn’t earned it.
No, that didn’t feel quite right either. The boy wasn’t a reward, like a bloody dog treat for good behavior. He was, loathe as Frederick was to admit it, a human being. Constructed in a hurry, shaped by trauma, treated like rubbish, and with so much wasted potential. Nobody’s life would be improved by Frederick reducing the boy to a prize, a trophy to be won for some absurd act of heroism.
Michael wasn’t here because Laurence was, and Laurence was here because Frederick had cocked up.
It was time to try to fix things.
HE HEADED downstairs and ordered something edible for the dogs from room service. They would need the loo soon, but Laurence could take care of that, so he headed upstairs to check in on the lovebirds.
The dogs clattered up the stairs hot at his heels, although Grace had to take it carefully and feel for every step. He’d probably have to carry her down again, but she could smell Icky and Laurence and wouldn’t be held back, so he shrugged and pushed the door slightly open.
“You’re dirty!” Laurence’s voice was cheerful, at least. “You can help me with that any time you want, baby. Like, seriously. Any time. Maybe even several times.”
Oh God. He had to stop this before they started shagging in front of him. He pushed the door open fully. “But not right now. Ugh, it’s sickening. Put it away, children; you have guests. Go on, in you go.” He glanced down to the dogs and gestured them forward.
Icky grabbed his sheets like a Victorian girl and hid beneath them, then unwound as he realized Frederick meant dogs, not human guests. The dogs thundered past Frederick, and Pepper launched herself up onto the bed to drown Icky with her tongue. Grace fussed around Laurence, her tail whirling in circles.
Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4) Page 26
