Greer handed his keys to the valet. For some reason it never occurred to me that he might own a car. The average person didn’t own a car in Manhattan. Those who did either spend a small fortune on garage rent, or spent hours looking for available street space, encumbered further by the complex parking regulations of New York City. Greer wasn’t your average anything, though. No one had said it, but by the looks of the elephant in the kitchen, I was pretty sure he was rich.
The valet pulled around with a black set of wheels. At first glance, it looked like an average sports car. Greer opened the passenger door, and I slipped into a cabin that was anything but average. The dashboard looked more like a cockpit, and the interior smelled just like speed and power should smell. I spotted the reared up black stallion and the letters ‘FF’ on the dash, identifying the make and model of what we were riding in.
“Is this what I think it is?” I asked.
“That depends on what you think it is.”
I smirked at the evasion. A less secure man would have jumped all over the opportunity to educate me on the fine points of owning a Ferrari. We hadn’t even made it off the curb, and I was already getting that glimpse of where Greer lived.
“I think it’s a Ferrari.” I ran my hands along the cabin interior and marveled at the softness of the leather.
“Then you’d be right.”
I wasn’t much of an autophile, but I did know that a car like this ran into the mid six figures. Greer was richer than I thought. Ordinary rich people drove Porsches, but really rich people drove Ferraris.
We took off under the city lights and headed toward Central Park West. New York is beautiful at night, but from the passenger seat of a Ferrari, it’s magnificent. We flew up the west side on what felt like a bed of crouching tiger—the potential of the machine held back by cool restraint. I beamed and let loose with ridiculous giggles each time the engine flashed its speed. Greer seemed amused by how easily I could be thrilled.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I bet you did the same thing the first time you drove it.”
He ignored the comment. His exterior was tough, but I knew there was something playful under all that starchiness. I wondered if he ever had a snowball thrown in his face, or if he ever dove into a pile of fall leaves. He must have done something fun at some point in his life.
I glanced at him as he drove and saw a softness around his mouth that suggested he might actually be experiencing a moment of pleasure. Greer Sinclair was having fun. The moment felt absolutely perfect. Even if I knew it would all go away in an instant, for that moment it was perfect.
“You look good when you’re happy,” I said.
“I am capable of it.”
That was the last word said as we drove deeper into the wealth of the Upper West Side. We turned left down a street I felt unauthorized to enter. Mere people did not live on streets like this and I felt like a trespasser, even in a Ferrari. We turned into an underground garage below a large gated brownstone. I’d figured him for a flashy high rise or a penthouse, certainly not the pre-war charm of a four-story brownstone. We rolled past a fleet of cars before pulling into an empty space. To a normal person, this would be the cue to open the passenger door and exit, but I just sat there looking at Greer for some sort of confirmation that I was indeed supposed to get out.
“Y…you live here?”
He looked at me like I had three heads and then proceeded to get out of the driver’s side. He walked around to the passenger side and rested his forearms on either side of the opened door as he bent down to look at me. “Would you like me to carry you?”
“Very funny.”
The elevator leading to the main floor seemed a little over the top, but since I just got out of a Ferrari, it really wasn’t that much of a stretch.
“This is it.” His hand absently jiggled the change in his pants pocket as he glanced around. “Make yourself at home.”
Lovely was the first word that came to mind. I’d envisioned something cold and unlived in, a place for getting in and out for the sole purpose of sleep or sexual exchanges not meant to last past breakfast—if she was lucky. This house was tasteful and warm. This was someone’s home.
“Greer, it’s—”
“Just a house, Alex.”
“Oh no, it’s not.” My head slowly shook as I looked around the extraordinary space.
The main room was expansive with a ceiling that must have been at least twelve feet high. The walls were a light cream color, accented by elegant crown molding at the top and wainscoting along the lower half. Antique Turkish rugs flanked beautiful hardwood floors that I guessed to be original to the house, because a patina like that couldn’t be faked. I’d spent years drooling over the pages of Southern Accents and House Beautiful, wondering what kind of people lived in houses like this. Now I knew. People like Greer lived in houses like this. Didn’t that add a whole new level of complexity to the man.
“You’re stinking rich, aren’t you?”
He responded by not responding.
“No, really, I’m impressed. Did you decorate this yourself? I figured you for the IKEA type, all convenience and practicality.”
I jabbered as my nerves lit up. Something was wrong. I was wrong. I didn’t fit here. This was my dream house, but instead of being excited about spending an evening as a guest in this beautiful space, a knot was forming in the center of my chest. I was a fake, a trespasser on a side of town where I had no business being. I was a pawn. Greer needed me to find the amulet. Once he had it, he’d discard me and go back to women like Leda who belonged in houses like this.
So naïve and stupid, I thought. Such an easy mark.
Greer’s hand wrapped around my wrist. “Come on, you can help with dinner.”
God, he cooks, too?
“Alex,” he nodded to the woman standing at the stove, “Sophia.” The woman looked at me with flat eyes, obviously recognizing the impostor in her kitchen. In her late fifties, she was the cast iron type of all hard work and no bullshit, the kind of woman who would accept nothing less than an act of God to relinquish control of her kitchen. She nodded and continued tending the large pot in front of her.
Greer placed a hand on her back and spoke quietly in a language that sounded like Italian. She listened without looking up and responded with a compromising “humph” as he motioned me into the kitchen.
“She’s a lamb, really,” he whispered. “Sophia takes care of the house for me. She’s also an amazing cook. I hope you like pasta.”
Who doesn’t? That’s like asking someone if they like pizza.
“Can I help with anything?” I asked. This time her look spoke volumes. I was another one of those women who showed up for dinner and stayed for breakfast.
“No, no.” She shooed us both out of the kitchen with the back of her hands.
“Sophia doesn’t like anyone in her kitchen.” He grabbed a bottle of red from the wine rack on the way out.
“You’re the one who suggested we help with dinner,” I said.
“Anything to get you out of that dark place you fell into the minute you walked through the door.” He turned into me halfway down the hall and stopped me in my tracks. “Self-deprecation is a worthless practice, Alex. Get over it before it buries you.”
I’d just been chastised, and it stung. There were no secrets with Greer, because he had this direct pipeline into my thoughts that played like an embarrassing act of mind reading rape.
“You could at least pretend not to know what I’m thinking. Really, Greer, it’s rude.”
“Would you prefer I let you wallow in your shame or educate you in the art of self-confidence?”
“God, you’re arrogant.”
“I know,” he said, ironically, without arrogance.
I sat down and waited for the spectacle to begin. I was less than thrilled about meeting a bunch of strangers, but if they turned out to be beneficial to my cause, I’d make their acquaintance with a big fat smile. My eyes closed as
I enjoyed a few minutes of peace before putting on my mask. There was no downtime before the circus though, because as soon as my lids fell, the doorbell rang. That’s the last thing I remembered before hitting the floor.
TWELVE
Do you have any of that…what do you call it?”
“Smelling salts?” Greer said. “No. Women usually don’t pass out on my living room floor.”
The room was completely black, but I realized it was because I was lying on the floor with my eyes shut. In spite of my brain telling my eyes to open, they wouldn’t. It was a not so gentle slap to my face that finally did the trick.
“Ow!”
“Back to earth, Alex.” My assaulter’s face came into focus. Leda knelt over me, poised for a second slap.
“Got it, Leda.” I put my arm up to block her from slapping me again.
“Alex, you really have to stop doing this,” she said, climbing to her feet to straighten the bottom of her dress.
My eyes roamed over the strange faces staring down at me, morbidly fascinated by the girl sprawled on the floor. Something had shocked me with enough force to temporarily pull my plug, and I needed to remember what it was—fast. It didn’t take long for a face to flash in my mind.
A woman moved from behind Leda and dropped to her knees next to me, and my own morbid fascination kicked in as her face came into focus. She looked scared as her eyes expanded and contracted like a baby bird opening and closing its mouth for food. I was not seeing this. My memory must have been short circuited, transposing her face on the face of a stranger.
“A—” I choked on the two syllables. “Ava?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation as the ghost acknowledged me.
She whispered something and took my hand. My fingers splayed over her chest as her heart pounded erratically. “It’s really me.”
My hand jerked back. “What is this?” I pushed myself up on my elbow and darted my eyes among the unrecognizable faces. Ava was dead. I know because I was there.
It was the day before my ninth birthday. When I got home from school that afternoon, Ava was gone. The neighbor had taken me to her house, and even though she told me everything was going to be fine, I knew that nothing would ever be fine again. Ava never left me alone, and I knew she was never coming back. I woke up that night when I heard the police radios in the living room. Ava’s car had been found in a river. Her body was never recovered. The police assumed it had been washed away by the heavy current and would eventually turn up down river. It never did.
“Sick! You’re all sick!” I screamed. “How could you do this to me?” I looked Greer in the eye. He’d drugged me before, so why not now? They wanted to control and manipulate me while they searched for the amulet. My limbs were still weak, but I managed to pull myself up against the chair and right myself on my shaky legs. How stupid of me to walk right into the den of lions like a lamb heading for slaughter.
The front door was about ten feet away. The thought was desperate and I knew they wouldn’t just let me leave. I went for it anyway.
An arm grabbed me from behind and wrapped around my chest like a vise. The only sound in the room came from the air leaving my lungs as I slammed backward against a wall of heat.
“Careful, Greer,” Leda said. “You’re bruising the poor girl’s ribs.”
He restrained me by grabbing my free arm and locking it at my side.
“I fucking hate you!” I kept screaming, but the buzzing in my ears kept getting louder until it muffled my own voice. The buzzing was replaced by a tremor as something inside of me looked for an exit, a single pore, a nick through the skin. Something was gunning for the surface. My head fell back against the hollow of Greer’s neck, and I could feel his hair brushing my forehead as he looked down at my face. I could smell food permeating the air, and for a second we were all just here to have a nice dinner. Every smell and sound in the house amplified as I began to give up and sink into his arms.
Get over it. Greer’s words replayed through my mind as the room faded inside the rim of a fuzzy frame, and for the second time that evening, I was out.
The voices were coming from somewhere nearby, but I couldn’t see anyone in the room. I couldn’t see anything at all.
“Alex! Alex!” Someone was yelling at me. The voice was coming from the trees that were standing across the walls of the room. I closed my eyes. When they reopened, the walls were gone and I was looking at a forest.
Don’t think about it, Alex. You’re trying too damn hard.
The ground was shaking, or maybe it was the vibration traveling up my legs toward my groin. When it hit the intersection at my hip, the pleasure flashed through me like a roller coaster whipping over its peak, and then it roared back down into the valley of my gut. I inhaled sharply and released a burst of giggles.
That’s it. Just relax.
Something was moving in the distance. My vision was blurred by a blue wave shimmering across the horizon, distorting everything except the figure moving toward me. The only thing discernible about the figure was the even brighter blue coming off of his or her eyes.
It’s a good day for a killing, don’t you think?
My eyes shot open as I sat straight up. I inspected myself, accounting for ten fingers and ten toes. I was in a strange bed, coming off an even stranger dream, and Greer’s scent was all over the place.
It took about ten seconds to remember everything that happened before I passed out—the Ferrari, the house, the doorbell, Ava. She looked good for a dead woman. A little gray, but other than that she hadn’t aged a bit. At first I thought it was part of the dream, but I know what I saw. The woman who raised me for three years after my mother died, and then disappeared herself, was somewhere in the house.
For a change, I was fully clothed under the blankets. I headed for the bedroom door but stopped when I heard voices. They were muffled, but I could tell there were several people talking, and then I remembered the reason for coming here. I walked down the hallway to the stairs and carefully descended the steps to minimize the creaking of the wood. The last thing I wanted was to announce my presence until I knew what they were up to. I was halfway down when I heard the conversation.
“If you don’t tell her, I will.” I recognized the voice as Ava’s.
“No, you won’t.” Greer shot back. “She’s not ready, and I have no intention of jeopardizing everything because you feel guilty.”
“When?” It was a voice I didn’t recognize.
Silverware clanked against china, and I realized they were eating. They’d proceeded with their dinner party and were discussing me. I must have been out for a short time if they were still eating.
The table went silent, and I could tell everyone was hanging on Greer’s words. “Tonight,” he said, “after everyone’s gone.”
“Tell me what?” I stood in the doorway between the hall and the dining room, staring at the table of half recognizable faces. Greer, Leda, Ava, and Thomas were there. The rest were strangers.
The clanking stopped as all eyes turned to me. Greer’s guests looked stunned as I walked in the room and stood defiantly in front of the table. The silence broke when my stomach growled.
“Alex.” Leda waved her hands around her chest in an awkward motion.
I glanced down and saw that my shirt was damp with sweat and unbuttoned halfway down to my stomach. “Excuse me,” I mumbled as I turned to button it.
When I turned back around, I glared at Greer. He held my stare for a minute before turning back to his guests. It was obvious he hadn’t expected whatever drug he’d given me to wear off so soon, and it was time for a little damage control.
“Are you hungry?” he asked without looking at me.
I laughed in a single short burst. The way I felt, I thought I might never eat again. “I was, but I lost my appetite.”
He got up and pulled a chair out from the table, motioning for me to sit. Leda was sitting across from me between two men I’d never seen before.
One of them had a head of spiky, blond hair and a wicked grin. His eyes were an unusual shade of sky blue that I couldn’t stop staring at in spite of my attempts to look away. He reminded me of one of those students with big black portfolios who hung out around the NYU art school. I doubted he was a student, though.
On the other side of her sat something much darker. The one with the shaved head was a little harder to wrap my warm fuzzy around. This was the type of guy you prayed you never ran into on a deserted street. He looked like an Italian hitman. Heavy muscles, dark-rimmed eyes, square jaw; he reminded me of a human Rottweiler. I’d describe him as handsome, but the menace written all over him conjured up a multitude of disturbing contradictions. While every other male at the table wore jeans or something equally casual, he wore a black suit that could have been plucked straight from Greer’s closet.
I was surprised to see Thomas sitting next to Greer.
“I guess that explains the whiskey,” I said.
Ava sat to my immediate left. I couldn’t look at her, but I knew her eyes were pleading for me to turn my head, because she loved me. At least she used to. But she also lied to me in the worst way possible.
The scary looking one was the first to break the ice. When he stood up, he was about six inches taller than I expected. He leaned across the table and extended his right hand. “Rhom. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Alex.” For a beefy guy, his voice was surprisingly eloquent. I pictured him at the head of a corporate boardroom table. I took his hand and felt an immediate connection. Greer looked pleased by my apparent acceptance of one of his own.
My eyes turned to the good-looking blond who was watching me. His vibes were making me flush, and it showed like a beacon on my fair skin.
“That one,” Greer said, “the one flirting with you, is Loden.”
Loden’s grin widened in direct correlation with the reddening of my face, and it was obvious he enjoyed the effect he had on women.
The Amulet Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
