“Do you know where she is? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Sandra examined her perfectly manicured pink nails as if deciding whether or not I was worth the salt. “She had a doctor’s appointment with the obstetrician down the road.”
“Thank you,” I said earnestly, and made my way toward the wind chimes again.
Wait! Holly’s voice called in my head. Check the dressing room!
I screeched to a halt with my hand on the door.
“Yes?” Sandra asked.
I grabbed a random blouse off of the nearest rack. “This is adorable! Do you mind if I try it on real quick?”
Before she could reply, I swept past her toward the modest dressing room near the rear of the store, pulled the curtain shut, and looked around. Then I spotted it. A neatly-folded origami crane waited for me to find it beneath the small bench for trying on shoes. I snatched it up from the floor to unfold it. It was a copy of a sonogram, printed out on a square sheet of flimsy computer paper. In pencil, Holly had scrawled, Refuse to be the godmother.
I plopped down on the bench, crumpling the sonogram in my fist. Hot tears rolled off the end of my nose and dropped to the carpet below. I couldn’t do this anymore. It was one thing to cause trouble between Bill and Emily. Even after all these years, they expected it from me. I was even okay with leading Emmett on. For as long as I’d known him, he did whatever he could to please me. But asking me to do this to Autumn was going too far. It would break her heart, something that Holly’s captors were obviously aware of. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.
You have to, Holly said in my head.
“I hate this,” I mumbled to her. “Holly, I absolutely hate this.”
She’ll forgive you.
“No, she won’t.” I wiped snot from my nose. “I’ve been the worst friend to her. She won’t talk to me after this.”
After all of this is over, we’ll explain what really happened, Holly said. We’ll tell her that you didn’t have a choice. Autumn will understand.
“Maybe.” I peeked through the curtain of the dressing room to make sure that none of the other customers were waiting for me to finish. “Hey, this is the longest conversation we’ve had in a while. Are you feeling better?”
Not really, she replied, but I thought you could use the reminder that everyone’s counting on you.
Her voice faded out. She was right. I did need the reminder. The short conversation gave me the courage to wipe my eyes, leave the dressing room, and exit the boutique. I trusted Holly’s judgement. I had to. I held on to her words. Once Holly was back, I would be the first to host an apology party and explain everything. Hopefully, my relationship with Autumn could weather the storm until then.
I waited outside the doctor’s office, neurotically checking the time on my phone every few minutes. I had no idea how long a pregnancy check-up was supposed to take, but if Autumn was missing for much longer, I’d march into the office myself to make sure that she was all right. Thankfully, my determination proved unnecessary. My best friend appeared shortly, although all was not right with the worried set of her mouth. When she saw me leaning against the wall of the building, her frown deepened.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, checking for cars before crossing the street.
I kept pace with her. “Sandra said you’d be here. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Autumn, I know that face,” I said, stepping up to the opposite curb with her. “It was the same one you had on when you told me that Veronica Mars got cancelled.”
“Leave me alone, Bridget.” She tripped over a raised crack in the sidewalk and stumbled. Automatically, I caught her arm. She yanked it away. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” I told her. “But you shouldn’t have to all of the time. Where’s Christian? Isn’t it customary for the father of the baby to attend all of these appointments as well?”
Autumn scowled. “Christian couldn’t make it.”
“Why not?”
“He said he had to run an errand.”
I stopped short, realized that Autumn had no intention of waiting for me while I processed this information, and jogged to catch up with her again. “Hang on a second. He’s not working? Meaning he was totally available to come to your appointment and he blew you off? That doesn’t sound like him.”
“How would you know?” Autumn asked, sniffling. She took her pink sunglasses from where they were perched on her forehead and slipped them on. “You never bothered to get to know him in the first place.”
“Yeah, but it’s obvious that he’s obsessed with you,” I said. “I can’t believe that he wouldn’t go to something like this.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “It’s better this way. It’s—”
She broke off, choking up. I tugged at her hand, pulling her to a stop under the cover of a cherry tree near the dog park.
“Hey.” I ducked to catch her eye as she began to cry softly. “Autumn, what’s going on? Is something wrong with the baby?”
She shook her head, blotting her tears with the collar of her white shirt. “No, not with the baby. There’s something with me. I have preeclampsia.”
The admittance was accompanied by a fresh wave of tears. Autumn momentarily forgot that she was mad at me, falling forward to rest her forehead against my shoulder as her hormones got the best of her.
I rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Um, I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s a pregnancy complication,” she explained, her voice thick with tears. “It causes high blood pressure and kidney damage, and the earlier you develop the condition, the more severe it is. I’m only halfway through my second trimester, Bee. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“It’s better to know about it as soon as possible though, right?” I offered, unsure of what else to say. My knowledge of pregnancy didn’t extend far past the basic human biology bits. “The doctors will keep an eye on it. They’ll take care of you.”
“It could lead to seizures, Bee. Seizures!” She stood up straight again, her mascara smudged down her cheeks. “And if it gets to be too bad, they’ll have to deliver the baby early, and then there are side effects of prematurity and other complications—”
I tugged her back into my arms before she could complete the sentence, hoping to calm her down a little bit. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I murmured. “You and the baby are going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, but you have to fine,” I told her, untangling her hair from the breeze’s sticky fingers. “When Holly comes back, she’s going to want to love you and that baby until you’re sick of her face.”
Autumn laughed sadly. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. Maybe there was a way to turn down Autumn’s godmother offer without breaking her heart or ruining our friendship.
“Autumn, I think you should make Holly the baby’s godmother.”
She drew back. “What? Why? You don’t want to do it?”
“No, it’s not that,” I answered hastily. “It’s just that I don’t how long I’m going to stick around in Belle Dame, you know? And your baby deserves someone who’s going to be there for her when she really needs it.”
Autumn disengaged from my hug entirely and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re leaving again.”
“Did you expect me to stay?” I asked her. “Come on, you know me. There’s way too much history in this town for me to make a life here.”
“Yeah, but I thought—”
“I’m here to find Holly,” I said firmly. “When she gets home, I’m going to make damn well sure that nothing like this ever happens again, but after that, I have to go again. This place—I can’t take it. It’s like being boxed into a packed chicken coop. It’s claustrophobic.”
Autumn turned and continued walking toward the boutique. “God, I should’ve known this was going to happen. In ten years, I still haven’t learned not to
rely on you anymore.”
“I’m not trying to make you mad,” I said, falling into step beside her again. “I just want to be honest. Please. Make Holly the godmother. She would love it.”
“And what if Holly doesn’t come back?” she demanded.
The harsh truth of the statement stopped me in my tracks. Autumn turned around to look at me.
“Face it, Bee,” she said. “She’s been gone for two weeks. It’s not looking good. I love Holly as much as you do. I don’t want to believe that she’s gone for good, but you and I both know that this kind of thing doesn’t usually turn out well. For all we know, Holly could already be dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m just trying to remind you of the reality of this situation,” she said.
“Yeah, I have plenty of people to cover that,” I replied. “What I don’t have is someone telling me that everything is going to be all right, that we’ll find Holly and get her home safely. I thought I could count on my best friend for that.”
Autumn took a deep breath. “And I thought I could count on you for so much more.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but a cheerful ringtone interrupted me. Autumn rolled her eyes and walked away as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “Autumn, wait! Yes, hello?”
“Make I speak with Bridget Dubois?” a cool male voice on the other end of the line asked.
“Yes, this is she.”
“Hi, Miss Dubois. This is Daniel from the Belle Dame Assisted Living Facility. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your aunt, Annette Louis, has suffered a heart attack.”
8
The Rook
The private lounge in the cellar of L’hotel Douloureux was Fox’s favorite place to relax with the other men. Cigar smoke made the room hazy as the ringleader and his cohorts reclined in leather chairs, drank whiskey, and talked business. Only the best girls were allowed in the lounge, the ones that Fox trusted to not repeat what we heard during those business conversations with the others. That night, Fox balanced me on one knee and Noemie on the other, his hands wandering from me to her and back again as he pleased. The smooth caress of his fingers against my skin made me sick, and I clenched my stomach to keep the nausea from rising in my throat.
“Another five girls just today,” Fox announced to the room in French. He smacked my thigh as the other men cheered and whistled. “This beautiful woman is too good at her job.”
Noemie’s hard gaze bore into me, but I avoided her eyes. Months had passed since I’d taken on my “promotion.” Because of me, we had amassed a collection of young, beautiful, empty-eyed girls for the rich and desperate men who passed through Paris to do what they pleased with.
Leo—the man who managed Fox’s offshore bank accounts—chuckled. “Soon you will need another hotel to house all of your assets.”
“So we’ll buy another hotel,” Fox said simply. He seized the back of my neck, dragged me toward him, and forced his lips against mine. “And we’ll bless every room.”
The men hollered again, lifting their glasses to toast Fox’s declaration. I toyed with the idea of biting straight through Fox’s bottom lip—let him suck on a few stitches for a little while—but resisted the urge. There were more important things at stake, and if I wanted things to go my way, then I had to play along with Fox’s idea of romance.
I stroked Fox’s face. “I need some air. Do you mind if I go for a walk? I promise to bring back a fresh bottle of wine. Maybe a croissant to share. Hmm?”
“It’s late, mon chéri,” he said. “What bakery is open now?”
I lifted myself from his lap and winked. “I know a place.”
He tucked Noemie closer to his chest, petting her long, dark hair. She shivered at his touch. “I’m sure you do. All right. Off you go. But stay close to the hotel. It would pain me to lose you.”
It was more of a threat than a lamentation. I was one of the only girls that Fox allowed to leave the hotel without supervision. Theoretically, I could make a run for it, but I wasn’t stupid. His network stretched across all of France, with sectors in each of the major cities. He had men stationed on every Paris street corner, and most of them knew exactly who I was. If someone saw me beyond the borders of Fox’s playground, they would immediately take action to return me to him. It would take more finesse to outrun the entire city of Paris.
At the lobby of L’hotel Douloureux, I banged three times on the surface of the check-in desk.
“Yes?” a slow voice replied from out of sight. An acrid wisp of smoke curled up to meet my nostrils.
“It’s Bridget,” I said. “Got anything good?”
“Enter, please.”
I hopped over the desk and dropped to the other side, crouching next to a skinny boy with messy black curls and a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips. I knew better than to assume he was smoking tobacco. This was the youngest of Fox’s recruits, a mastermind of the French underworld. No one knew his real name. We called him Phantom on account of his pale, ghost-like appearance and innate ability to disappear when trouble came calling. He was a street urchin and a thief, down on his luck until Fox picked him up out of the gutter. Now he ran another aspect of Fox’s business, one that I often took advantage of.
“Well?” I prompted. “What did you pick up?”
Phantom lazily gestured to a filing box under the counter of the desk. “Have a looksie, my dear.”
I rifled through the box, which contained every manner of prescription and recreational drug that you could buy and sell on the black market, and picked out the ones that I needed. Sedatives, antidepressants, painkillers, and sleeping pills were the most useful to the girls who waited in the locked rooms of the upstairs corridors. I had to be careful with my distribution though. It was one thing to help the girls cope with the situation. It was another to provide them with the means to conduct a desperate version of escape from L’hotel Douloureux. If an overdose came to Fox’s attention, Phantom would no doubt sell me out. It would be the end of Fox’s favor for me.
I shoved the plastic baggies down the front of my shirt then tucked several bills into Phantom’s outstretched palms. “You know the drill. Don’t tell anyone you’re dealing with me. Especially not Fox.”
“Fox is a fox,” Phantom replied, his voice slow and tepid. “I am a hound. A stray dog. I get around.”
I snapped my fingers in front of Phantom’s glazed eyes before he could continue his impromptu poetry session. “How high are you? You promised to show me the other tunnels tonight. The ones that lead out to the train station, remember?”
“You are a rat,” he said, tapping my nose with the unlit end of the cigarette.
I plucked the cigarette from his fingers and dabbed the end against the carpet, extinguishing the cherry of fire there. “You know how this goes, ghost boy. Fox wouldn’t be pleased if he knew your drugs were making their way upstairs to his girls. If I go down, I’m taking you with me. Show me the damn tunnels.”
Phantom pouted as I tucked the cigarette into the pocket of his shirt. He shifted, crawling out from behind the desk on his hands and knees. “All right, my dear. After you. Tonight, we go to the empire of the dead.”
“I’ve already been there,” I grumbled. I grabbed Phantom by the back of his shirt. “Wait. How good of a thief are you?”
“The best.”
“I need a copy of the master key for the rooms upstairs,” I told him. “Fox keeps it in the front pocket of his suit jacket.”
“That will cost you.”
Phantom didn’t question why Fox’s favorite girl wanted the key to every room. He was stuck at L’hotel Douloureux as much as I was. The streets of Paris afforded him nothing but trouble, and he only needed Fox long enough to get back on his feet. Never once had he spent his hard-earned money for a few hours with one of girls upstairs.
“I can pay.”
The atmosphere at the assisted living facility was too calm for the way my heart was drumming in my chest. Apathetic
elevator music tinkled through the lobby, a pair of elderly gentlemen discussed the best make of mandolins at a table in the corner, and the various employees did not appear to be the least bit concerned about the possibility of one of their residents suffering from a heart attack on the third floor. Then again, in a place like this, medical emergencies were a daily occurrence. To the employees, it was another mundane part of the job.
Over the phone, Daniel claimed that further information related to Aunt Ani’s condition would be available to me in person at the facility. When I arrived, there was no ambulance parked outside. Had Ani already been transported to the hospital? I rushed to the front desk and banged on the bell to get the attention of the woman behind it.
She pressed her lips together as she set aside a clipboard with a checklist of duties on the first page. “May I help you?”
I glanced at her shiny name tag. “Hi, Caty. I got a call—” I checked my phone for the time “—about fifteen minutes ago concerning my aunt. They said she suffered a heart attack.”
Her attitude shifted at once. She shook the mouse of the computer to disturb the screensaver. “We haven’t had any emergency services arrive today. Patient’s name?”
“Annette Louis.”
Caty clicked through a few information files. Her furrowed brow evened out. “Hmm, no. Annette’s fine. An aide filled out her afternoon report just a few minutes ago.”
“That’s impossible,” I said. “An aide called me—”
“What was the name of the employee?”
“Daniel.”
“Last name?”
“He didn’t give me one,” I huffed, slumping against the counter.
Caty closed the windows on her desktop. “We have one Daniel that works for us, but I don’t understand why he would call you with that information. He doesn’t tend to Miss Louis’s floor. One moment, please.” She dialed a number on the desk phone and put it to her ear. “Hello, Daniel? Would you mind coming the front desk, please? Thanks.” She hung up and smiled at me. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
Deadly Visions Boxset Page 80
