She shook her head, partially retracting the fangs. “No, if you can’t tell the difference, it’s not my problem. And I don’t know where you got the stupid idea I’m looking for another guy.”
“I don’t know where you got the stupid idea I don’t want you anymore.”
“You just refused to sleep with me, in spite of being very turned on. Isn’t it obvious?”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t about you. It was—”
“About you.” She rolled her eyes. “Right.”
Perfect. He didn’t want to explain all this. Yet he had no choice. “You deserve the truth. It was about Titania. That phone call brought it all back to me…” He trailed off.
Seeing her face, he braced himself for a blast of allure. It didn’t come. The tips of her fangs gleamed, but her voice was placid. “Earlier, you swore you weren’t interested in Titania anymore. Wasn’t that the truth?”
“Of course!”
She raised supercilious eyebrows. “And yet you just refused me because of her? It doesn’t add up, Jack. And to find out that you were thinking about her while you were with me…” She cocked her head. “You must be way more twisted than I thought.”
He far preferred the furious Rose to this coldly amused one. “I was—”
His cell phone rang, so he tossed the keys onto the futon and extracted it from his pocket. Unbelievable. As if he hadn’t already dreaded this call. In fact, he’d hoped to initiate it himself, to rehearse it in his head first. Now he had to handle it in front of Rose.
He opened the phone. “Titania.” He hoped he sounded as pissed off as he felt.
“Iachimo, darling!” Titania cooed. “You finally answered my call. What a charming surprise!”
“Who the hell gave you my new number?” he snarled.
Rose draped herself across the futon. She gave him a sultry look and mouthed, Iachimo, darling.
Meanwhile, Titania tittered in his ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Not really. He shouldn’t look at Rose. Long legs, lush thighs…He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had no clue how to play this phone call, and with Rose distracting him…
“It’s been sooooo long,” Titania whined.
The instant he opened his eyes, Rose batted her lashes at him. So long, she mouthed, and made a crude gesture. You’re sooooo long. With her acute vampire hearing, she was picking up Titania’s every word.
Jack choked back a laugh. Into the phone he said, “You are one hell of a persistent woman.”
Titania purred. “I always get what I want in the end.”
Rose gripped her ass and mouthed, Ooh, that smarts!
Jack sputtered and used the joke. “In the end? Most women don’t like that much.”
Silence over the airwaves, and then a repulsive gurgle of laughter. “Now, this is the Iachimo I remember. The Iachimo who likes to get down and dirty. The Iachimo whose gorgeous big dick I’ve been missing for so long.”
Rose snorted. Jack glanced at her. Did this mean his dick wasn’t gorgeous or wasn’t big? She’d seemed to enjoy it plenty earlier, but it wasn’t making much of a showing now. At the sound of Titania’s voice, it had shrunk so rapidly it was practically cringing. Maybe his dick had finally reconnected with his brain.
“I’ve been busy,” he said. “Luckily for you, I’m in Bayou Gavotte tonight, but not for long. I have things to do, places to be, so…”
“I don’t need long.” Titania laughed. “And neither do you. I’ll be at the Threshold.” She hung up.
Rose surged up from the futon. “Let’s get going.”
“You need to stay here. Constantine will come with me to the Threshold.”
“With both of us,” Rose corrected.
Jack cast his eyes toward heaven and shook his head. Why was she so intent on putting herself in danger?
She grabbed the keys to the minivan; clearly, she’d made up her mind. “Fine. I’ll see you there.” But as she opened the door, her phone rang.
So much for security and keeping out underage kids. Juma walked unhindered into the brightly lit rear vestibule of the Threshold.
Since the guard might return any minute, she hurried up the corridor toward the music and the inviting dimness ahead. She’d mingle with the crowd, pass unnoticed for a while, and then leave. She followed the music to the dance hall and hovered by the wall, but even with the low light and flickering strobes, she felt curious eyes upon her. Hungry eyes. Although maybe that was just her imagination. Either way, this place seriously gave her the creeps.
She looked ridiculously young without makeup, so she found a restroom—the weirdest she’d ever seen, with naked people all over the walls in lewd poses and gross sex magazines in a rack. There were handcuffs and vibrators hanging in the cubicles, and a coiled whip on the wall. She rolled her eyes, wishing she had someone to laugh with about this bizarre place, and applied eye makeup and lipstick. She didn’t have a driver’s license—Grandma wouldn’t allow it—so at least they couldn’t prove she wasn’t eighteen.
She pulled the door open just as a toilet flushed in the men’s room across the hall. Hurriedly she pushed it shut, leaving only a crack to peek through. The door of the men’s banged open and Stevie came out. Crap! Wasn’t he on a date with the woman in purple? He turned left down the corridor toward the back of the club.
Juma slipped out of the restroom and softly closed the door behind her, following at a safe distance. Stevie perched on the chair at the back door and lit a cigarette. She wouldn’t be able to get out that way anytime soon. She couldn’t leave by the front, either, where she would certainly be noticed. And she couldn’t stay hidden forever.
She went looking for a phone. The intermediate area of the club had a funky smell, which she didn’t like one bit. She tiptoed back down the corridor and tried a few doors: storerooms for toilet paper and cleaning supplies, costumes and props, and a kitchen, but none of these had telephones. A long dim hallway branched off the corridor. Flickering sconces along the wall showed swords and knives, scimitars and spears hanging there, and even a medieval-looking poleax. She put her ear to each door before trying the handle. Sensual music came from behind one; from the last one, just as she touched the handle, a low, creepy moan. She jumped back, shaking.
Hurriedly, she retraced her steps along the hallway, too creeped out to listen at any more doors, but then she lucked out: halfway back was a door marked OFFICE. This time, the handle turned smoothly, opening on a silent room lit only by a standing lamp. She let out a relieved breath and locked the door behind her. At the front stood a row of filing cabinets and a shelf full of books about either accounting or sex. Rose would laugh at that strange juxtaposition. A folding door at the end of the room might lead to a closet. And by the window, a desk, with—finally!—a phone.
She’d been told to call Jack, but she’d already decided against it; she’d blown her one chance with him by coming in here. Rose would understand, however, and Rose could also tell Jack about Gil’s plight. Juma rummaged in her backpack for Rose’s card.
Rose flipped her phone open, turning away from Jack’s idiotic protests. It was Juma.
“Rose? Thank God. I’m at the Threshold, and I need help.”
“You’re at the Threshold?” Rose put her phone on speaker for Jack’s benefit. She wasn’t trying to keep secrets. Jack shook his head and ran a hand over his face.
“I’m fine, but they arrested Gil. Someone has to get him out of jail.” Her voice filled with suspicion. “You’re on speaker. Who’s there?”
“Just Jack and me.”
Jack raised his voice. “Who arrested Gil, and why?”
“Grandma told the cops he’s a white slaver. She said he kidnapped me. She did this before to a guy who gave me a ride, and it cost him a fortune to get free. Please, please go to the cop shop and save Gil. They’ll treat him like a child abuser, and maybe the underworld will kill him, and really he’s an angel!”
“I�
��ll get right on it.” Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then flipped open his phone and dialed. While he waited for an answer, he asked Juma, “How did you get in the Threshold?”
“I was in the restaurant next door and Grandma came in, so I ran out and into the back of the Threshold before she saw me. Stevie’s guarding the door, but he was in the restroom when I got here. I know it’s a horrible place, but she’ll never look for me here. I’m in an office halfway down a hall near the back, and there’s nobody around. I’ll be fine. Just take care of Gil, please.”
“Will do,” Jack said. Then, when his call went through: “Violet? This is Iachimo Tallis. I need your help.”
Rose gaped. Jack was asking a favor? Violet must have been just as surprised, for there was a brief pause at the other end of the line, and then: “I refuse to negotiate with Titania for anything, no matter whose life is at stake.” Another pause. “Is Rose with you? Is she all right?”
“She is and she’s fine,” Jack said. “I need you to go to the police station and rescue Gil.” He explained the situation.
“Who? I’ve never heard of her. She what?” Violet cried. “How dare she even suggest such a thing about darling Gil!” Indignant huff. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever That Bitch may think, I’m the Queen of Bayou Gavotte.”
Jack hung up, muttering, “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
“It was an excellent idea. You asked for a favor, and you didn’t mention a thing about owing.” Rose leaned across and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Taken care of,” she told Juma, who’d probably only heard bits. “He’ll be out in no time, and I’ll be right there to get you.”
“Good,” Juma replied. “This place sucks. It smells really weird, and—whoa!”
“What?”
“Your gown. The Elizabethan one. What’s it doing in the closet here?”
“It was stolen,” Rose said. “Thank you for finding it. Now, sit tight. I’m coming right away.”
Jack braced himself for another argument as Rose closed her phone and said, “I’ve got to go get her.”
“Titania must be there already. And Gino, because she wouldn’t cart the gown around by herself. It’s not safe for you.”
“It’s not safe for anybody. Miles may be there, too, and what if someone finds Juma and tries to use her for a…a mutilation scene?”
Jack grimaced. “They won’t start that kind of show until later. I’ll get her out of there, I swear. I’ll get Miles out, too, but it’s too dangerous for you.”
“I will not be left out, Jack!”
“Rose.” Stubborn chick. “I value you highly as a rescue partner, but—What the hell is that noise?”
It sounded like Constantine, but his singing was punctuated by hoots and howls. Jack stuffed Stevie’s gun in his belt and went through the secret room and up the stairs to the roof. Rose followed close behind.
“What’s the matter with him?” she asked. Constantine leaped around the roof garden of the Impractical Cat, singing into a mike, which explained the appalling volume. He yowled about love and revenge, whooped and threw white porcelain coffee cups, hollered and sailed saucers off into thin air.
“He’s lost it,” Jack muttered. “Too much stress, I guess. I’d better go—” No. If he left Rose here, she’d go straight to the Threshold without him.
That annoyingly persistent helicopter was returning. Constantine stopped caterwauling, laid his mike on a table, and picked up something else: a rifle.
The helicopter ticked closer, searchlights whirling. Lazily, Constantine tested the sights. He leaned back, taking a long, calculated look at the helicopter hovering overhead. Fuck. He’d gone out of his mind.
“I have to go stop him,” Jack said.
“Oh, my God. If he shoots that helicopter, anything could happen. You could all go up in flames!” Rose’s eyes were wide and frightened in the darkness. Frightened for others, maybe even afraid for him.
Why couldn’t she just be afraid for herself? “And if you go to the Threshold,” Jack said, “you could be tortured and bled.”
“I have to go,” Rose said. “And so do you.” She flung her arms around him, clinging tight. “I love you, Jack, but it doesn’t matter that you don’t love me. Just come through this safely. Please.”
She loved him?
She released her hold and made as if to turn away, but he took her face between his hands and kissed her hard. “Of course I love you. Just be careful, damn it. Stay away from the front part of the club, because there’s where Titania will be. Her idea of a party is a huge crowd fawning all over her. She has no reason to go anywhere near that office at the back. Get Juma out and take her to Violet’s. I’ll take care of Dufray and then go rescue Miles.”
It was too dark to see her clearly, but he could feel that mulish look on her face.
“I’ve spirited people away from her clutches before,” he said. Too often, they’d gone right back, but that wasn’t his problem. “Don’t worry, I can do it again.”
He squeezed her arms, giving her rapid directions to the office at the Threshold, and let go, sliding rapidly into semicamo and leaping over the parapet to the roof next door. He shinnied up the drainpipe on the wall of the adjacent building. Two more rooftops to go. The helicopter had retreated to a safe distance. Constantine had laid the rifle on the table and was contemplating a handgun. Fat lot of use he was turning out to be.
Across another roof, down the drainpipe on the other side, then into total camo and a crawl as the searchlight ticked over his head. Up the ladder, over a parapet to the roof next to the Impractical Cat.
Oh, hell. Constantine was aiming the handgun at his own stupid head.
Bullshit. Constantine wouldn’t kill himself. He was way too gifted, way too strong, way too…screwed up.
Jack would not let his friend die. He bellowed, “Don’t be an asshole, Dufray! I need your help tonight.”
Miraculously, Constantine heard him over the beating of the copter blades. The rocker threw up his hands, tossed a few more plates around, gathered up the weapons, and sang his way to the door. A blast of loud voices from inside joined the cacophony without. Who the hell was in there? Why hadn’t they tried to stop him?
Constantine went through the door and closed it behind him. The copter hovered for a moment, then ticked slowly away.
Jack reached the roof garden a minute later and went straight indoors. Constantine lounged on the sofa in the dark, eyes closed, while three radio stations and a TV news station blasted him for singing with that street band. They blamed him as usual for the poisoning of his wife, and said the deaths at his concert were his fault, too. Far worse was the barrage of sick horror bombarding Jack from Constantine’s mind.
Jack shut it out, then one by one turned the lights on and TV and radios off. “Those deaths weren’t your fault.” The guns lay on the table beside Constantine.
Constantine didn’t open his eyes. “How do you know? You’ve tasted the power of my godforsaken mind.” He let his head fall back. “Before you start lecturing me, you might as well know the rifle’s jammed—I was trying to fix it when those assholes came along in their chopper—and the handgun isn’t even loaded. I don’t have the guts to kill myself.” He sounded disgusted.
Christ. The three of them could have a pity party later. If he got Rose out of that hellhole in one piece.
“Get off your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Du-fray. We’re going to the Threshold to save some lives.”
Juma froze at a familiar voice bitching in the hall. Totally freaking, she stuffed the catalog of sex toys back on the shelf, ripped Gil’s phone and its charger out of the wall, and dashed toward the closet. Good thing she’d locked the office door. It gave her the extra second she needed to shut herself inside before the door banged open and Grandma stalked in, Stevie behind her.
She handled darkness pretty well—she’d had practice—but the peephole in the closet door was a new twist for Juma. W
hat was Grandma doing in a club with peepholes in the doors? What was she doing in a club at all?
“You’re an incompetent boor.” Grandma poked her cane at Stevie. “If you’ve dragged me all the way here for nothing, I’ll have you fired. You had the goddamned tracker. How did you manage to lose her?”
“I told you,” Stevie said. “She was kidnapped.”
Juma muffled a snort. A lame excuse, even for Stevie.
“Bullshit.” Grandma dumped Poopsie’s tote on the floor beside the desk and sat down. She still gripped the cane. “I saw her with my own eyes only a few miles from here. She ran away when I hollered at her and went off in an SUV with a white slaver. They found him, but Juma’s still missing.”
“Maybe she escaped.” Stevie shook a cigarette from his pack.
“That wouldn’t surprise me. She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s got plenty of guts.”
Juma knew Grandma far too well to get all toasty about this.
“Unlike her wimp of a father.”
Juma stuck out her tongue.
Poopsie poked her head out of the basket and sniffed, little black nose twitching. She whimpered. Oh, shit.
Juma tiptoed behind the Elizabethan gown. The closet went back a ways—it was really a long, narrow room filled with junk—but she couldn’t risk tripping over something and making noise. She set the cell phone’s volume to low and dialed Rose.
There came the whack of Grandma’s cane connecting with Poopsie’s nose, and Juma cringed. “Shut up, or I’ll feed you to a pit bull. Stevie, put that cigarette away. I’m allergic to smoke.”
Rose picked up. “Juma?”
“My grandma’s here!” Juma spoke lower than a whisper. “Come quickly, please!”
Amazingly, Rose heard. “I’m on my way.”
Juma let out a breath of pure relief and shut the phone. She crept forward and put her eye to the peephole again.
A Taste of Love and Evil Page 28
