Dead Weight

by Kat Faitour

  Margaux was barely aware of the iPod clattering to the floor when she dropped it. She fell to her knees, desperately searching for a pulse or some sign of life from the man she considered both employee and friend.

  She was shaking so hard she couldn’t feel anything. Leaning close, it was obvious the gash had bled considerably. However, not even a sluggish trickle seeped from the wound now.

  She prayed to God he’d clotted. The alternative—that his heart had stopped, halting the flow of blood in his veins—was unthinkable.

  Margaux rose to her feet, her knees trembling so much she had to stop and lock them before she fell down. Sticky blood soaked the fabric of her pants where she’d knelt beside Andrew.

  Swallowing a gag, she steeled herself before racing out of the lab and down the hall to her office. Later, she would realize that door was also unlocked. But for now, the need for an ambulance outweighed the observation.

  The room had been ransacked. Papers were strewn from one end to the other, carpeting the floor. Filing cabinets were hanging open, their files upended. Drawers had been completely pulled from the desk and dropped on any available surface. Their contents were flung everywhere, as if the person responsible had been enraged beyond reason.

  But Margaux couldn’t worry about any of that. Not yet. Picking up her desk chair, she restored it to upright and sat, pulling the landline phone across the debris on the desk to sit in front of her.

  It took three attempts for her to dial emergency services.

  Once she delivered the necessary information, Margaux dropped back in her chair, the phone still in hand. After several minutes, the loud tones unique to a disconnected line brought her back to herself, and she dropped the receiver back into its cradle.

  She rubbed her face then abruptly stopped as she realized they were covered in blood from where she’d pressed on Andrew’s neck, fruitlessly searching for a pulse.

  She couldn’t leave him, not alone like that in the lab. From the looks of things, he’d been there too long as it was.

  The realization was sudden and unwelcome. Had this happened when he’d come in late last night to meet her? Had Andrew surprised his attacker before being left for dead in a pool of blood?

  She stood, her body jerking upright as if pulled by invisible strings. As she stumbled across the chaos of her office, she noticed two things. One, the door protecting a private vault was badly damaged, its exterior showing signs of extreme abuse where someone had tried to force it open.

  They’d failed.

  Frankly, she was shocked. The vault was an antique that appealed to her father’s sense of history and style. But rather than state of the art security, it relied on a numerical combination lock. Granted, the mechanism had been recently updated with a touchscreen panel and the ability to randomize and scramble codes based on user frequency. But it was still old, outdated compared to newer, more secure options.

  The keypad was smashed and destroyed while the door itself was bashed and dented.

  But it had held.

  The second thing Margaux noticed was her painting. It was a modern abstract, an explosion of color and texture from where she’d applied layer after layer of oil paints to achieve the effect she wanted. It was one of her early favorites.

  And it had been annihilated.

  Angry slashes tore across the canvas, their ragged edges open and gaping like stab wounds. Margaux stared for a single, transfixed moment before hurtling back down the hallway to return to Andrew.

  A few minutes later, as the sounds of paramedics and police crews filled the lab, she was left to contemplate the sheer magnitude of emotion exhibited by whoever had attacked Andrew and raided her office.

  It almost seemed personal. And a lot like hatred.

  * * *

  Mason placed the last of his personal items in his suitcase before pulling the zipper closed. All he had to do was pack his laptop into his carry-on and he’d be ready to leave the hotel and Johannesburg.

  His flight back to Belgium wasn’t for hours yet, but he found himself unable to settle in the room that had served as his base for the past ten days.

  It was Margaux’s fault, of course.

  Most of their nights were spent here, reveling in the luxury and comfort the Four Seasons was happy to provide. They’d taken to sharing early morning breakfast where Mason was amused to learn Margaux could eat a man-sized steak alongside potatoes and egg.

  He chuckled, sitting down on the bed. Honestly, he didn’t know where she put it all. She was a connoisseur of South African slap chips, which were really the same as thick-cut fries in the States or just ‘chips’ in the UK.

  Of course, she only referred to them as frites, like they would in Belgium. He supposed she spent enough time there that she’d picked up some of the French/Dutch jargon.

  Every facet he uncovered about her only served to fascinate him further. In fact, he was having a much more difficult time leaving her than he was comfortable admitting.

  But after his conversation with Clara, he knew he must. He’d crossed the boundaries of his ethical code when he’d become intimate with Margaux while still seeing her as a potential target to either exploit or reveal as a fraud. Now the best he could do was leave while she would have charitable memories of him and he could still live with himself.

  He rose and walked to the table where his laptop sat open with emails pulled up. He stared for long seconds, thinking.

  No.

  He wouldn’t send her a cold digital message informing her of his departure. He also didn’t want to say goodbye in person, fearful he might lose his resolve to end things and, worse, beg her—again—to accompany him to Antwerp.

  But he could do better than email.

  So instead of the table, he went to the desk. After sitting down in the padded leather seat, he pulled out a drawer, which held hotel paper, pens, and envelopes. Not exactly ideal, but his personalized stationery was back at his estate in Antwerp.

  With a blank page in front of him and pen in hand, he stared out the French doors leading to his balcony outside. Johannesburg—or Jo’burg, as he’d grown up calling it—was spread below, big and urban yet surprisingly verdant because of the massive numbers of trees that were planted after its settlement. It was a complex city, one with a painful history and a challenging present. Only the future would tell how it might evolve—and heal—from its origins of greed, injustice, and oppression.

  Unfortunately, Mason’s feelings about it were no less conflicted.

  Returning had served to remind him of his own bad history here. But then came Margaux, and she helped him recall what was good.

  And now it was time to leave both the city and the woman.

  Mason uncapped the pen and placed it on the fine paper, still unsure what he would say.

  Margaux,

  Well that was an auspicious beginning.

  He rolled his shoulders and stared harder at the paper, picking out the subtle texture of its cotton weave while searching for an invisible muse to supply him with words. He ran his fingers along the page’s edge, noting its thick weight. Finally, he began.

  This week has been a great pleasure, and I’ve enjoyed our time together.

  Good God. He was practically illiterate.

  A knock at the door interrupted his torture. Mason sent a silent thank you to the gods then rose to answer it.

  Before he could get there, the knock came again, urgent and insistent.

  He’d no sooner turned the bolt before Margaux pushed the door open and fell into his arms. The metal briefcase from the first night he’d met her dropped to the floor in a heavy thud. Her face was deathly pale and streaked with dried blood.

  Mason’s heart stuttered. Without hesitation, he scooped her up, carried her to the suite’s sofa, and laid her down. Quickly, he ran his hands over her, assessing whether her bloodstained clothes hid grievous injury.

  After several long moments where all he could hear was the labored sound of his own b
reathing, Margaux folded her hands over his, pausing him in his search.

  “Mason.” Her voice was weak and straining.

  He linked his fingers with hers and realized they were both trembling.

  “Margaux, what happened?” He blew a lock of hair out of his eyes and clawed for some semblance of control. “What am I doing? We need to get you to the hospital.”

  She squeezed his hands. “I’ve just left.” A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye to trail down her cheek. “It’s not my blood. It’s Andrew’s—my lab manager.”

  Another tear joined the first. Mason pulled one hand free from hers and used his thumb to catch the moisture.

  “I was supposed to meet him last night. But I forgot—and stayed here, with you.” Her breath caught, and it sounded like she swallowed a sob. “Meanwhile, he was attacked and left for dead.”

  “No.” Mason scooted onto the sofa and pulled her into his arms. “Margaux, no. You can’t blame yourself for this. If you’d been there, it would be you in the hospital along with him.” Mason paused, quite unable to breathe for one second. “How is he? Is he awake? Does he know who did this?”

  This time the sob escaped. Mason allowed her to cry, knowing she needed to release some of the horror or else let it fester inside. He reached for a tissue, pulling it from a discreet dispenser on the side table.

  He rubbed her back in long, slow strokes designed to soothe while his mind raced to process the shocking events of the day. All along, since the first day and the botched mugging, he’d tried to convince Margaux that more than an anonymous assailant was to blame. He’d planted the seeds that someone targeted her specifically.

  He hadn’t believed a single word of what he told her.

  Until now.

  It had been convenient to inspire fear and some terror into Margaux. She was normally strong, brave, and fearless. Otherwise, she’d never have gone out with a case of diamonds in the first place. But for someone to break into a secured building and lab facility? To assault an employee that happened to be present at the time?

  He needed answers.

  As Margaux’s breathing returned to normal, she looked up at him, her pale-green eyes tragic. “Andrew is unconscious, has been since I found him this morning.” She hiccupped then continued. “I thought he was dead, Mason.” The words came out on a wail. “And now the doctors are saying he may never wake up. He has a traumatic brain injury, and anything could happen. We just have to wait.”

  “Do you have any idea why he was attacked? Was anything out of place in the lab?”

  Margaux straightened, and Mason loosened his hold so she could sit upright. Her hands, still shaking, smoothed her pants. When she reached her bloodstained knees, she stopped, then folded her arms over her waist instead.

  Mason’s heart ached. He’d come to admire her verve and vitality. But the day’s trauma had muted her essential spirit. Subdued it. Seeing the effect on her made Mason hurt in ways he’d forgotten he could.

  “Not the lab, no,” she answered. “But my office was ransacked. Torn apart. Whoever it was tried to get into the safe but didn’t.” One hand rose to press over her heart. “They destroyed a painting.”

  Mason continued to rub her back but gently pressed on. “Do you normally keep stones in the safe?”

  “No, only ones we’re processing in the lab. I would have stored the recent lot there but forgot to take them over until this morning.”

  His eyes drifted to the case where it had been left laying near the door.

  There had been two attempts to steal those diamonds, not counting his own intention to do so.

  The latest effort had resulted in an employee being nearly killed. The stakes had definitely risen.

  But why?

  He cleared his throat but kept his voice low. “I don’t like this, Margaux.”

  She raised her head. “What?”

  “Someone wants those stones.” He nodded toward her case. “And they’re willing to hurt someone to get them.”

  She closed her eyes, highlighting the bruised shadows underneath. “I can’t think about that right now. I need to get back to Andrew.”

  “No.” Mason was gentle yet adamant. “You need a break. You’re going to shower. Change. Rest.”

  “I can’t leave him alone, Mason. I shouldn’t have left.” She was starting to get worked up again, but Mason prevented her from rising by simply laying his arm over her shoulders.

  “Call Julian.”

  “What?”

  “Julian. Your assistant. Call him. Tell him to go to the hospital and see to Andrew.”

  She cupped her hands over her mouth, rocking forward slightly. “Right. Oh God, Julian. He has no idea. I don’t want him going to the lab and seeing the crime tape.”

  Mason reached for the hotel phone and handed it over. “Do you need for me to dial?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath, and Mason was gratified to see some color return to her cheeks.

  Before she completed the call, he interrupted. “Margaux?”

  She held her hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Tell him to stay with Andrew here in Johannesburg. But you’ll be leaving.”

  She pressed a button on the phone, cutting the call before it could be connected.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not leaving you here. Not when someone is clearly after you, your diamonds, or both.” As her chin settled into a stubborn tilt, he tempered his tone. This was about so much more than diamonds. His heart couldn’t stand seeing her hurt. “Please don’t ask me to do that.”

  It worked. She nodded, her throat working as she swallowed. “Okay.”

  “Good. We’ll leave for Antwerp tonight. You can stay at my estate until we figure out the rest.”

  Margaux nodded. But her next words left Mason gaping.

  “I’ll take you up on that. And thank you for taking care of me.” She pressed a kiss to the small divot in his chin. “I can’t wait to see where you live,” she said. “And after, I can show you my place.”

  Puzzled, he narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Simple. I live there too.”

  A tiny, secret smile tilted her lips. It was good to see some of her spirit return, but her mouth quickly flattened again.

  He rose to give her some privacy for her call. And to give himself space to think.

  In all the times he’d mentioned Antwerp, why hadn’t she said she lived there too? Had she ever planned to tell him?

  Chapter 6

  Mason looked up from the newspaper he was reading when Thomas thunked a mug of coffee on the table in front of him. Within the earthenware pottery, a mini tsunami unleashed itself, causing a small dribble of coffee to overflow and run down the exterior.

  Mason caught the drip on his thumb then dabbed his finger on his napkin.

  “Good morning, Thomas.”

  The older man grunted in response.

  “Something bothering you?”

  Another grunt.

  Mason shrugged. Besides being a stellar butler, Mason valued Thomas’s opinions, and most importantly, his friendship. Obviously, something had the other man’s nose out of joint this morning.

  And Mason had a good guess what it was.

  It so happened she was still in bed, sleeping upstairs.

  Thomas shuffled over to the range and picked up a small saucepan. He ladled enough oatmeal to fill a bowl, then grabbed another bowl and filled it with brown sugar, berries, and a spoon and walked back to Mason.

  He plunked all of it down on top of the newspaper.

  “Thank you.”

  Thomas glared. “You need to eat something healthy for once. All those steaks, and eggs, and potatoes first thing in the morning will kill you.”

  Mason dutifully spooned a generous bite of soggy porridge and ate it. He swallowed his grimace along with the oatmeal before heaping brown sugar on top and stirring it in.

  Another taste
confirmed only marginal improvement.

  “Maybe some cream?” The cereal had the texture of paste. At Thomas’ frown, he explained, “Just to loosen it a little?”

  “What did I just say?” the old man demanded as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “You don’t need any more fat in your diet.”

  Mason instinctively looked down to see if he’d developed a paunch in the past weeks. Reassured, he patted the tabletop next to him. “Why don’t you grab a bowl of gruel and come join me?”

  Thomas turned away, but not before Mason saw his lips begin to curve upward. Thomas puttered with his coffee, adding a small spoon of sugar. Mason cocked an eyebrow when he returned to the table empty handed except for his mug.

  “We haven’t really had a chance to catch up.” Mason and Margaux had returned a week ago. “Anything important happen while I was away?”

  “You mean with your group?” Thomas never referred to them as the Orphans. “A couple of them stopped by. Cullen wondering where you were. What was taking so long. Hope to say hello and visit the horses.”

  “Nothing from Noor or Ruby?”

  “You know Noor likes to keep to herself.” Thomas shrugged. “That one’s tough to read.” At Mason’s raised brows, he explained. “Always polite. Kind to the animals when she’s here. But she doesn’t give away much, does she?”

  Mason remembered her as a small girl at the Academy, set apart from the other students who lived in the dormitories. Her mother had been a teacher, so they’d lived in housing for staff. The other kids never let her forget she attended the school not because her parent afforded the membership, but because her education was a perk of her single mother’s employment.

  She’d closed herself off from the mean remarks, which had also included references to her mixed ethnicity. Noor had turned inward, choosing to spend her time alone or with a select few.

  Mason believed she still held true to that today.

  “No, she doesn’t share much, Thomas. But please be patient with her—and kind. She’s been through a lot.”

  “I would never be anything but kind.” Thomas’s face was a perfect picture of affront. “I care about every single one of you, and you should know that.”