All You Desire

by Kirsten Miller

  Haven clutched Adam’s arm and refused to be rattled. Her performance at the party would have to be perfect. Leah was still convinced that Haven’s memories held the clue that could save Beau. Haven desperately needed another vision, and that vision would only come at a price. Until she could identify Naddo, Haven would pretend to go along with Phoebe’s horrible plan. The old woman would be at the party, and she would be looking for evidence that Adam was smitten.

  When the front doors of the Society swung open to admit Haven and Adam, most of the crowd paid them no mind. They continued chatting or drinking or plucking hors d’oeuvres from the silver platters that floated on the waiters’ fingertips. But the few heads that did turn wore stunned looks, and several sets of eyes followed the couple as they strolled through the party arm in arm. Only one woman dared approach them. She was dressed in a flowing white frock, and her hair was tucked into a turban. Haven barely recognized Phoebe. Gone was the woman in the chic beige dress. In her place was a mystic with kohl-lined eyes and lips the color of dried blood.

  “Phoebe.” Adam acknowledged the woman with a curt nod.

  “Good evening, Adam. May I introduce myself to the lovely young woman you’ve brought with you tonight?”

  “There’s no need. You’ve already met.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened just a fraction. Adam had startled her.

  “At the Morton Street spa,” Haven added.

  “Yes, of course.” A streak of lipstick smeared across Phoebe’s front teeth made her smile look demented. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were destined for Adam’s side. The two of you have been married in many lives.”

  “Save your stories for the others,” Adam replied. “I know better than anyone that they’re nothing but lies.”

  “Perhaps, Adam, but lies are what most people prefer to hear,” Phoebe pointed out.

  “Is there something you need, Phoebe?” Adam asked coldly. “If not, there’s one person here who would be thrilled to receive the attention you’re wasting on me.”

  “Of course,” said Phoebe, letting the insult slide. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “You really despise that woman,” Haven remarked once Phoebe had been swallowed by the throng. She had almost enjoyed the terse exchange.

  “Never trust anyone who betrays those who love them,” Adam said.

  “Who did Phoebe betray?” Haven asked.

  “I’ll share the story with you some other time. At the moment there appear to be two people by the bar who are desperately trying to get your attention. Perhaps you should say hello.”

  Across the room, Alex and Calum were waving cocktail napkins like miniature flags.

  “Do you mind?” Haven asked.

  “Not at all,” Adam said, planting a kiss on her cheek. “You’re here to forget about your troubles for a while.”

  Haven squeezed past a well-known rock star who was putting the moves on a trio of tipsy socialites and then slid between a flamboyant fashion designer and a man dressed in the pin-striped costume of an investment banker.

  “Haven!” Alex gushed, grasping her in a hug. “You’re okay! We were so worried!”

  So worried that you didn’t lift a finger to help me, Haven thought. Calum seemed to read her dark expression.

  “Well, we didn’t worry that much,” he added quickly. “Everyone’s hero, Owen Bell, followed you and your escorts back to the OS. He was in the reception area when you were released from custody, but he said you didn’t look like you were in the mood to chat. So what was all of that in the café this morning? Some kind of lovers’ spat?”

  “It was just a misunderstanding,” Haven explained.

  “It must be over now if you’re here together,” Alex said. “By the way, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

  “Yes,” Calum agreed, giving Haven a once-over. “Though I’d go for regal over ravishing. Marie Antoinette would seem like a filthy little peasant standing next to Miss Haven Moore.”

  “So how long have you been seeing Adam?” Alex whispered.

  “A while, I guess,” Haven said. “It almost feels like forever.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Calum said. “Everyone who’s anyone is going to start kissing your ass. Just look over there. The mayor is trying to decide if now is a good time to come over and introduce himself. Go ahead. Be nice. Give the poor bastard a little wave.”

  “I’ll pass,” Haven said. “I don’t want to talk to anyone but you guys.”

  “Awww,” Calum said as he playfully pinched her cheek. “You should take up acting. That almost sounded sincere.”

  “Speaking of sincere,” Haven said, “where is Owen Bell? I thought I might see him here.”

  “He’s at home with Milo tonight,” Calum said. “Remember? He claims they’re prepping for a big speech tomorrow, but I suspect there might be some hanky-panky going on. Those boys sure do spend a lot of time together.”

  “Ewww! Calum!” Alex screeched. “Can you imagine? It would be like having sex with a mannequin.”

  “Oh, I’ve imagined it,” Calum said. “Many times. And it would be so insulting if Owen chose Milo when he could have had yours truly. But he swears he’s just making sure that robot boy says all the right things.”

  The phrase echoed around Haven’s head.

  “What was that?” she asked Calum.

  “Owen swears he’s not bumping uglies with Milo the automaton.”

  That wasn’t the phrase she wanted to hear, but Haven didn’t need the words repeated. Owen could make someone say “all the right things.” It was exactly what Adam had said in her vision—about Naddo.

  “So where does Owen live, anyway?” Haven asked, hoping the question would come off as casual.

  “You know the old police headquarters—that fabulous building in Little Italy that they turned into condos a while back?” Alex asked. “Owen has the penthouse.”

  “The penthouse?”

  “Owen has been good to the Society—and the Society has been very, very good to Owen Bell,” Calum snipped.

  “Haven?” Alex said. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale.”

  “Yeah,” said Haven, forcing a smile. “I just need a drink. I’ll be right back.”

  She started for the door, her anger building with each step. How could she have been so stupid? Beau’s kidnapper was the one person she never suspected—the person she’d been told was incorruptible. Forget Adam’s thugs, Haven thought. She was going to kill Owen Bell with her own two hands.

  “There you are.” Adam blocked her path. “I thought you might like to meet a few—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle at the entrance.

  “Adam Rosier!” someone shouted. The voice belonged to Iain.

  Silence spread throughout the party as guests craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the ghost marching across the room. Haven felt boiling hot blood rushing through her veins.

  “Where is he?” Iain’s voice demanded.

  No one answered, but the crowd parted to let Iain pass. Haven could hear his footsteps cross the hushed room. When he reached Adam and Haven, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. He was wearing a suit she had helped him choose from a store on the Via dei Condotti. Iain called it his James Bond costume. She’d tried to make the alterations herself, but he wouldn’t stop shooting imaginary villains in the mirror. Haven had laughed so hard that she’d stuck him with a pin, and the tailor down the street from their apartment had been forced to finish her work. This was the first time Haven had laid eyes on the finished product. Iain had been saving it for a special occasion.

  “Back from the dead, so soon Mr. Morrow?” Adam said glibly. “Perhaps you can teach the rest of us that trick.”

  “Why did you refuse to meet with me?” Iain demanded.

  “I thought it was clear. I have nothing to discuss with you. Now if you’ll excuse us . . .”

  Adam reached for Haven’s hand, and the gesture mad
e Iain’s fists clench. Two gray men grabbed Iain’s arms before he could act on his impulse.

  “No,” Iain said. “You’re not going anywhere, Adam. Now that I’m here, I have a few things to say.”

  “Go home, Mr. Morrow,” Adam ordered in the same flat tone he’d use to dismiss an underling. “You are disturbing my guests, and you’re making Haven uncomfortable. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want?” Iain repeated with a sly grin. “I’ll show you what I want.” He broke free from the gray men, lunged forward, and threw a punch. There was a sickening crunch, and Adam’s glasses flew across the room. Haven scrambled to retrieve them. By the time she held them out to their owner, the scuffle had ended. Adam looked none the worse for the wear.

  Please don’t hurt him, Haven silently pleaded. Please, please don’t hurt Iain.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Adam tucked the cracked glasses into the breast pocket of his tuxedo. “Surely you see?” he asked Iain. “Haven has chosen me this time. A gentleman would accept that decision.”

  “I’m not here for her,” Iain said. “I came to take away the thing you love best. And we both know it’s not Haven.”

  Iain turned his back on Adam and addressed the crowd that had gathered around them. “Do you know who this is?” Iain shouted. “This is Adam Rosier. He’s your real leader. Some of you know that. Most of you probably don’t. But I bet you’ve all seen him, haven’t you? You must be blind if you’ve missed him. He’s been skulking around here since 1925. And while the rest of you grow old, he never will. Because he’s not one of us. He’s not even human.”

  Adam smiled indulgently, and someone in the crowd tittered. Haven’s entire body was shaking. Just leave, she pleaded. Now, before it’s too late.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” Iain continued. “You’re the suckers here. He brought you all to New York and tricked you into selling your souls for Society points. He’s kept you from fulfilling your destinies. He’s taken people who were sent back to improve the world and turned them all into desperate, greedy addicts.”

  “Oh dear,” Adam deadpanned. “Is it really necessary to be so rude?” This time several people laughed.

  A woman stepped forward, a glass of champagne in her hand. She was slim and immaculately attired, with a sleek helmet of silver hair and cold blue eyes that radiated power. Only someone with an army of underlings could manage to present such an image of perfection. Haven instantly recognized her as Catherine Mason, the editor of Beau’s favorite fashion magazine. She was the host of the party, and she wasn’t pleased to see it being crashed.

  “What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Morrow? Are you implying that we’ve all made deals with the devil?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Iain confirmed.

  “Then I think it’s time you returned to the asylum. I assume that’s where you’ve been hiding for the past year or so?”

  “Call me crazy, Catherine, but you prove my point. You could use your magazine to help women, but you feed their insecurities instead. You hire perverted photographers who prey on your teenage models. You showcase designers whose overpriced clothes are sewn by children paid less than slave wages. You—”

  “That’s enough,” a man snipped in a high-pitched, nasal voice. Haven recognized his freckled, feminine face as well. He often appeared on television beside well-known organized crime figures. He was a mob lawyer—the most successful in the city. “Do you honestly think we’ll stand here and be insulted by someone who’s wanted for the murder of one of our members? Unless you have some sort of proof, I don’t think we need to hear any more of these ludicrous accusations.” He pulled a phone from his pocket. “Charles, get in here, and bring Martin with you.”

  “No one touch him!” Adam ordered as the lawyer’s two hulking bodyguards appeared at the edge of the crowd. “Mr. Morrow will leave this party on his own two feet. Good night, Iain.”

  Before Adam could turn away from the scene, Iain grabbed Catherine Mason’s champagne flute and broke it against the heel of one shoe. Left in his hand was a long, jagged dagger of glass, which he plunged into Adam’s chest. The crowd gasped. Haven screamed. Until that moment, she had prayed that the scene might end peacefully.

  “You want proof? There’s your proof!” Iain shouted.

  Adam grabbed the base of the flute and yanked the spike out of his chest. The glass was perfectly clean, and there wasn’t a drop of blood on the white shirt of Adam’s tuxedo.

  “You see! He’s not human!” Iain shouted as the bodyguards tackled him and threw him to the ground.

  “Give Mr. Morrow a tour of the Meadowlands,” the lawyer instructed his men, referring to the dismal swamp just outside the city that served as the mob’s favorite graveyard.

  “No!” Adam’s voice rippled over the crowd. “I forbid it. Iain Morrow is not to be harmed by any of you. Now or in the future.”

  Before the goons had a chance to release their captive, a woman shoved her way into the center of the crowd and helped Iain to his feet.

  “You heard him! Call off your thugs, Bruce, you despicable little turd.” The woman’s cheeks were hollow, and there were dark circles under her feverish eyes. She looked ill, underfed—and oddly beautiful. It took Haven a moment to recognize Padma Singh.

  “Everything Iain Morrow told you is true,” she informed Adam’s guests. “But I’m sure it won’t make a difference to most of you. So. Here’s a fact that none of you can ignore. Adam Rosier may run this place, but I was president of the Ouroboros Society for five long years. I personally monitored your accounts. I know who all of you are, and I know what each one of you has done.”

  Padma picked a plump, professorial man out of the crowd. He recoiled as she straightened his tie. “I know how helpful this gentleman is to all the young ladies here who need a few extra points. Is your wife aware of your philanthropy, Winthrop?” Padma moved along to the next guest, the host of a morning news show. “I know exactly how much cocaine it takes to get this upstanding citizen ready for work every morning.” She glided over to the mob lawyer. “And I know Bruce here started life as a female. Nothing to be ashamed of, but I bet his gangster friends might be a little surprised. As for the rest of you, I know each and every one of your dirtiest secrets. I know which of you have sold your bodies for points. I know which of you cheat the IRS. I know which of you have literally gotten away with murder. I kept very good records during my time as president of the Society. And I still have them all.”

  “Yes, Padma, the account system was abused while you were in charge,” Adam said. “But the Ouroboros Society will be a different place soon.”

  “Save it for someone more gullible, Adam.” Padma stopped in front of Haven. “You and I both know how dirty things got around here. Quite a few of our members disappeared over the years—and I can tell the police where all the bodies are buried. There are still plenty of cops in New York who don’t belong to your organization. And I doubt they’ll be as forgiving your new girlfriend seems to be.”

  “Get away from her,” Adam growled.

  “Or what, Adam? If anything happens to me—if anything happens to Iain—or if I just decide I need some excitement in my life, all my files will be made public. And your little club will be over for good.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “How about I send you an invoice?” Padma said with a smirk. Then she grabbed Iain by the sleeve of his suit and led him out the front door.

  Haven’s relief didn’t last long. Iain was safe, but Beau wasn’t. She turned to the figure beside her. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I have to leave.”

  “Now? With Iain?” Adam didn’t seem to notice the high-ranking OS members gathering around him.

  “Was Padma Singh telling the truth?” a man demanded. “Does she have files on all of us?”

  “Why were she and Iain Morrow allowed to live?” a woman asked.

  “What are you going to do about this, Adam?”

  Adam wasn’t listenin
g. He was waiting for Haven’s answer. “No, I’m not leaving with Iain. I found out who took Beau. I have to save him while I still have the chance.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You can’t,” Haven insisted. “You need to stay here and handle things before it’s too late.”

  “Iain was wrong, Haven,” he said. “I don’t care about the OS. You’re what I love. Please, let me help you.”

  “You need to stay here,” Haven repeated. “You can’t let Padma Singh destroy the Society. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

  “You’re disappearing now? After what Iain just did?” Phoebe caught up with Haven and tried to block her exit. “You’ll ruin everything!”

  “Go to hell, Phoebe,” Haven said, shoving her to the side.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Leah Frizzell was standing in a doorway on Centre Street across from the old police headquarters. Haven might not have recognized her if not for the sight of the girl’s bare, knobby knees. The rest of Leah’s body was wrapped up in one of Frances’s coats, and a scarf covered all of her face except her pale green eyes.

  “You okay?” Leah scanned Haven from head to toe. “You look like you’ve seen a haint.”

  “I’ve seen worse than that. How did you get here so fast? I only called you ten minutes ago.”

  “Taxi,” Leah said. “Maybe you should have taken one too. Some guy followed you.”

  Haven turned to see two gray men lurking near the end of the block.

  “The other one was already here,” Leah explained.

  “Did he get a good look at you?” Haven asked.

  “Naw, I think he figured I was homeless until you showed up. And I’ve kept my face hidden the whole time. But what about you?”

  “I don’t care if they’ve seen me,” Haven said. “I’ve found Beau. He’s in there.” She pointed at the imposing structure across the street. Modeled after Europe’s grand buildings, with a copper cupola and the statue of a goddess watching over its entrance, it was not the sort of edifice one expected to encounter in the shabby heart of Little Italy. And that was the point. When the police chose the site for their headquarters, the neighborhood had been little more than a slum. The magnificent palace sent a clear message to Manhattan’s poor. We have power, it told them. And you have none.