Zack kept his hand on Allison’s back as they walked into Vivienne’s drawing room. After being escorted from Fenwick Hall, Zack had received a call from Vivienne. She wanted to see them immediately, no questions allowed.
Nicholas Trott ran toward the tea table covered with cookies until Susan’s voice said, “Nicholas Trott!”
The dog jumped onto Susan, who sat on a sofa near the window. Nicholas Trott rested on her lap with his front legs around her shoulders, as if hugging her. The book she’d been reading fell onto the floor, next to the leash’s handle.
“Hi, boy.” Susan buried her face in the dog’s neck. “Oooooh. You smell like river mud.”
Allison dropped her tote bag on one of the chairs surrounding the tea table. “He needs a bath.”
Vivienne swept in on high heels, and Maddie followed with a leather portfolio. Vivienne kissed Zack on the cheek and then Allison.
“Susan.” Maddie smoothed back her brown hair which had been pulled into a tight bun. “It’s time to leave.”
Susan, with her head still tucked into Nicholas Trott’s scruff, gave a muffled “No.”
Allison took Maddie’s hand. “Is everything alright?”
Maddie lowered her voice. “Susan is supposed to go to her father’s this afternoon, but she doesn’t want to go.”
“Daddy’s girlfriend is a cow,” Susan said without lifting her head.
Maddie frowned. “That’s not nice.”
“That’s what Miss Vivienne calls her.” Susan sniffled into the dog’s fur.
Zack, Allison, and Maddie stared at Vivienne, who threw up her hands. “It may not be nice, but it’s true.”
Maddie sat next to Susan and rubbed the dog’s head. “It may be true, but it doesn’t help.”
“Nonsense.” Vivienne went to the table and poured a cup of tea. “Lying to a child only causes more problems. I learned that the hard way.”
Zack knew that comment was directed at him. He’d gone through a period of life—called middle school—when he’d resented Vivienne for what she’d told him about his parents’ death. No kid wanted to know that their mentally ill parents had killed themselves, but they also didn’t want to believe they’d been murdered.
“I’m still not going.” Susan had her arms wrapped so tightly around Nicholas Trott now he began to squirm. “You can’t make me.”
Zack knelt in front of Susan and drew her hair away from her damp face. “Hey, kiddo. I have an idea. Why don’t you and your mom take Nicholas Trott home for a bath and a nap. He’s had a busy day and needs to rest before the service. Then, you can bring him to the church. I’m sure your mom can make your dad understand.”
Maddie snorted elegantly, but Susan raised her head to ask, “Can we, Mom?”
Maddie rubbed her forehead, then nodded.
Susan took a deep breath and looked at Vivienne. “May I give Nicholas Trott a treat?”
Vivienne picked up a bell from the tea service and rang. “Of course.”
Susan got off the couch and released the dog. “Will Mr. Mitchell be at the service?”
“Why?” Zack stood and handed Susan the leash. “Would you like Mr. Mitchell to be there?”
She nodded. “I think he’s lonely.”
“Then I’ll text him and make sure he comes.”
Maddie picked up the book from the floor. “Please tell Mr. Mitchell no knives.”
Zack tried not to smile. “I’ll let him know.”
“Mr. Mitchell?” Vivienne handed Allison a cup of tea. “Is that your friend who’s staying in one of my guest rooms? Next to your room that doesn’t look like it’s been slept in at all?”
“Yes, Nénaine.” Zack wasn’t about to discuss his sleeping arrangements. “Alex has been helping us with things.”
“You mean your missing sister?” Vivienne glanced at Maddie. “Yes, I know all about your sister being kidnapped and I told Maddie about it.”
He drew in a breath. “Why?”
“Because I know Emilie,” Maddie said. “I run an antiques shop with my sister who lives in Paris. When we were opening an auction house in New Orleans, I needed a lawyer. Vivienne mentioned your sister, and we became friends.”
“You do understand that no one can know about this, right? My sister’s life—”
“Zachariah.” Vivienne tapped him on the arm. “Maddie is not stupid. And neither am I. Once I heard your sister was missing, less than an hour ago, I had a friend go through Emilie’s cell phone record, and Maddie was the last person Emilie called. Therefore, I took it upon myself to investigate.”
Zack pulled out his phone and texted Alex. Then he reminded Alex about the service and what time to be there. “Maddie? What did you and Emilie talk about?”
“Emilie called me about a project we’re working on together. I’ve had a number of requests recently for decorative iron objects and was worried one was stolen. Emilie knew of a firm in Boston who could help. That’s the last I heard from her.”
“What’s special about iron objects?” Allison asked.
“I’m searching for ironwork wrought in the early seventeen hundreds. Since Stuart and I were both directors on the Charleston Architectural Board, he’d been helping me identify the iron pieces.”
Zack glanced at Allison. Maybe that’s why the CAB/ILL notation had been in Stuart’s planner.
Allison took a cookie from the tray and asked Maddie, “Any chance Stuart mentioned Henry Avery’s treasure?”
“Unfortunately, no. Too bad you don’t have a treasure map.”
Zack glared at Vivienne. “I think we need to discuss the idea of operational security.”
Vivienne waved, brushing away his concerns.
“Mom?” Susan said with a mouthful of cookie. “Henry Avery didn’t like treasure maps. In the pirate ghost stories I’ve been reading for my summer project, I learned that Henry Avery changed how pirates hid their treasure. He made his men measure things in leagues, he liked ciphers, and he used Poland coordinates to get around.”
“Polar coordinates.” Zack took a few cookies himself and popped them in his mouth. He was on the edge of starving. “What else did your book say about Henry Avery?”
“Not much.” Nicholas Trott pressed up against Susan again, and she rubbed his neck. “Henry Avery was really superstitious. His ship had special witch marks carved into it because he was so afraid of ghosts and curses.”
“When one has a treasure worth millions,” Vivienne said, “one would be paranoid.”
“Susan,” Allison said, “do you have any idea where Henry hid his treasure?”
“Henry was too afraid to bury it, so his friend Thomas Toban, another pirate, helped him hide it with a fifolet.”
“Ridiculous,” Vivienne said.
“What’s a fifolet?” Maddie asked.
“It’s a pirate ghost legend,” Allison said. “When pirates buried their treasure, they’d kill a crewman and bury his body on top of the chest. This ensured the murdered man’s spirit would bind to the treasure and become a ferocious guard. If the location was disturbed, these ghosts would manifest as blue lights. When treasure hunters saw a blue light—a fifolet—they’d follow it to a remote area, where the spirit would kill them.”
“If Susan is right,” Vivienne said, “if Henry Avery was smart enough to steal the world’s largest treasure and bold enough to hide himself in plain sight in Charleston, he wouldn’t have done something as ordinary as bury his treasure.”
A maid appeared with a silver tray and a rawhide bone. “Master Trott’s snack.”
“Thank you!” Susan gave the bone to Nicholas Trott. “Can we go now, Mom? Mrs. Pickles is waiting and Nicholas Trott needs his bath and his nap.”
After saying their goodbyes, Maddie and Susan left with the dog.
Vivienne poured herself another cup of tea. “Zachariah, I assume you have a plan to save your sister?”
Zack squeezed Allison’s hand before sitting. He wasn’t a tea drinker, but he did love scones. “First, we need to find the appendix, figure out how to decipher it without the Pirate’s Grille, and get the treasure. Or we figure out what happened to Mercy Chastain and discover the treasure. Either way, we trade the treasure for Emilie.”
That didn’t sound so bad. It wasn’t until one tried to define the details that one realized the entire situation was a clusterfuck.
Vivienne sipped her tea and raised a single eyebrow.
“We’ve found apotropaic marks, but I’m not sure what they mean.” Allison told Vivienne how Stuart had been looking for the apotropaic marks and what they’d been doing for the past few days—except for the private things.
Zack didn’t stop Allison from giving away all of their intel because there was no point. The big a-ha moment of the day? Vivienne didn’t blink when Allison told her about the Prince and the Fianna. Clearly, Vivienne ran in circles far beyond Zack’s imagining. Then again, Vivienne had always kept her business separate from her life. If she knew Remiel Marigny, then she’d know about the Prince.
What irritated him was that he’d never realized it before.
Vivienne peered at them over her teacup. “Do you have any clues to the location of the appendix or Mercy or the treasure?”
“One. Emilie mentioned a bell tower in a city of bell towers.” Zack sat back and closed his eyes. “I have no idea what to do next.”
Allison took his hand and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze. She was so quickly becoming his touchstone he knew he couldn’t live without her. He even wondered if he could leave his men and start his life over—again—in Virginia.
Vivienne went to a desk near a picture window. “I know where you can start. An invite-only restaurant called the Belltower. It’s on the second floor of a nondescript building in the French Quarter of New Orleans.”
She wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Zack. “A man’s life depends on your discretion, Zachariah. Talk to him, but don’t allow yourself to be followed.”
Zack stared at the address and name she’d written. He didn’t know the man, but he knew this street. It wasn’t far from Vivienne’s mansion. Not the one he grew up in. The one where she held her salons.
“Zachariah, I didn’t used to care who won this war between the Prince and Remiel. But now I know Remiel was responsible for what happened to your men—”
“Wait!” Zack stood, his clenched fists pressed against his thighs. “How could you know what happened to my men?”
“Almost three months ago, Stuart told me his problems. I knew about him and Isabel.” Vivienne nodded toward Allison. “Yes, dear, I did try to talk him out of the affair. But he believed himself to be besotted.”
Allison put down her teacup. “You don’t think he was besotted?”
Vivienne scoffed elegantly. “He was lonely. While a woman’s greatest need is to be desired, a man’s is to be loved.”
Zack squeezed Allison’s shoulder. “What does Stuart’s affair have to do with my men?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is Stuart was afraid. He’d discovered Isabel worked for Remiel and had begun to realize the danger he’d put Allison in and came to me for help. I’d heard rumors that the Prince and Remiel had had dealings, so I asked a friend to contact the Prince.”
Now it was Zack’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You asked a friend to call the Prince?”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes.”
“Because reaching out to a man who leads a secret army of assassins isn’t suicide.”
“Not for me. The Prince—three different Princes—have attended my salons in the past.”
Zack sat down because his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“Last night I didn’t know that Emilie had been taken.”
He hated it when she was right. “What happened?”
“The Prince met with Stuart in private, here in this house. Stuart made a deal with the Fianna. After Stuart left, the Prince stayed for a nightcap.”
“You drank with the Prince?” Please God, let that be all that happened.
“Yes, and that’s when he told me about you. The boy I raised on my own who has kept me out of his life for years.”
“That’s not fair. I’m a Special Forces soldier. It’s not like I can talk about what I do—did—at the dinner table.”
“Perhaps not.” Vivienne picked up her teacup again. It was as if she drank it just to keep her hands busy. “The Prince told me about the Wakhan Corridor Massacre, the ambush in the Pamir River Valley. The two A-teams sent to POW camps in the bowels of Afghanistan. How you and your men spent two years trying to rescue them. Then the convictions of these two A-teams, their imprisonment, and the dishonorable discharges for the rest of the unit.”
“And?”
Vivienne lifted her chin. “The Prince also told me you refused to lead your men into the Pamir River Valley. That you weren’t fit to be a Special Forces Officer. He believes you’re a coward.”
“What do you believe, Nénaine?”
“What I believe doesn’t matter. It’s what you believe about yourself that’s important.”
Zack stood to pace the room. It was either that or hit something. “Why would the Prince tell you any of this?”
Vivienne raised an elegant eyebrow. “You know what I do, Zachariah.”
“You’re a madam. A high-end one, sure. But—”
“I do not manage prostitutes,” she said with enough disgust in her voice that he took a step back. “The men and women who attend my salons come voluntarily and only by my invitation. Those who seek my favor will never be invited.
“The men and women I choose are always equal in wealth and power and social status. My guests are from every country, and of all races and religions and political beliefs. The women pick their lovers, not the other way around. There is no coercion or payment between parties, and I never invite anyone under the age of twenty-six.”
“Huh.” He crossed his arms. He’d not known about the age restriction.
“My guests, both male and female, pay the same entrance fee and are guaranteed access to others with power, money, and influence.”
“Why?” Zack asked.
“Because those with power, money, and influence appreciate others with the same traits. How do you think your grandfather became governor of Louisiana? How do you think I was able to hide your parents’ codependent mental illness for so long? The fact that your mother killed your father and hanged herself? How do you think I was able to raise two orphaned children in a protected household and send them to the best private schools without any hint of scandal?”
“I don’t—” He ran a hand over his head. “I never thought about it.”
Now Vivienne stood to meet his gaze. “For all your experience with death and destruction, you’re naive about the world. I offer a safe place for the powerful, wealthy, and influential to meet, deal, and fuck. That includes the Prince.”
“And his warriors?”
“No. I don’t issue invitations to foot soldiers. But at the Prince’s behest, I have offered invitations to Remiel…which he’s turned down.”
Zack narrowed his gaze. “You told me you’d never met Remiel.”
“I haven’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t know who he is and what he’s capable of. Information is my currency.” She came over to touch his chin. “Hezekiah Usher was my friend. He was also my business partner. He had a small stake in my salons, and I had one in the Usher Society. I don’t appreciate it when men like Remiel kill my friends.”
Zack held up the address. “This man in New Orleans? Is he a friend?”
“An acquaintance. That man used to work for Remiel until he came to Hezekiah for asylum. Hezekiah and I helped him escape Remiel’s wrath, although Remiel doesn’t know my part in that yet. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Zack leaned a shoulder against the window and watched two birds play in a long fountain with four sprays. “Remiel killed Hezekiah because he helped this man escape?”
“That’s one of the reasons.” Vivienne touched his shoulder. “Go to New Orleans, Zachariah. Find the appendix, dig up that treasure, and save your sister.”
“It’s a twelve-hour drive each way. I have less than two days left.”
“Then it’s lucky for you I just inherited a plane.”
He met her brown gaze that reminded him of his sister. “You’re joking.”
“Compliments of the Usher Society.” Vivienne found her cell phone on the desk and dialed. “I’ll have the plane ready for you at a private airfield on John’s Island. You can leave after Stuart’s service.”
She held the phone to her ear and looked at her watch. “We don’t have much time. You two should get ready.”
Zack took Allison’s hand and pulled her up. She hadn’t said anything during Vivienne’s confession. “Are you alright?”
She smiled but it didn’t reach her green eyes.
“Zachariah?” Vivienne put a hand over the phone. “May I speak with you alone for a moment?”
“I’ll wait for you outside.” Allison touched Zack’s shoulder and nodded to Vivienne. “Thank you for the tea.”
Once Allison left the room and Vivienne hung up, she said, “I’ll bring the details of the flight with me to the service.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s one more thing.” She went into the foyer and paused at the front door. From the side windows, Zack watched Allison wait near the fountain outside the front door. “Allison is a strong woman, but she’s also fragile. Fragile women fear being broken and run before they shatter. I know you love her. You’ve loved her since you were in college.”
It wasn’t as if it was a big secret. “And?”
“I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”
“I’m a grown man.”
“Who’s in love with a woman who can’t let go of the guilt surrounding her dead husband. She doesn’t feel like she served him well in life. Now that she knows he’d chosen another, she may try to prove to herself and others that she loved him, that she was worthy of being his wife.”
Zack crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about?”
Vivienne touched his wrist, near the eyes of the dragon tattoo she’d been against. “This is my job, dear. I read men. I read women. I know the difference between lust and love. While Allison is attracted to you—of that there’s no doubt—I don’t know if she loves you.”
“Again, Nénaine, I’m a grown man. I’ve spent my adult life in hostile countries getting shot at. I think I can manage a broken heart.”
“How many women have you dated seriously?”
“I brought a girlfriend home for Thanksgiving once.”
“She left the next morning.” When he stepped back, she asked, “How many women have you fucked?”
He exhaled loudly. He didn’t want to discuss this with her, yet she was the closest thing he’d ever had to a parent. He knew she was worried about him. “A lot, actually.”
He just didn’t like to think about all the women he’d given himself to in a desperate attempt to forget Allison.
“Don’t hand your heart to a woman who doesn’t know what to do with it.”
He kissed her on the cheek and, for the hell of it, pulled her into a hug. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m well trained and hard to kill.”
“But I do.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Some wounds are worse than death.”
He let go of her, surprised to see her eyes full of tears. In his entire life, he’d only ever seen her cry twice—the first time at his mother’s funeral, the second time when she and Emilie pinned his Special Forces tab onto his uniform. Vulnerability was not a trait Vivienne fostered. “I’ll see you at the service?”
She nodded and opened the door. “You should know…”
Uh-oh. “Know what?”
“I asked Berlin’s Tailoring to send clothes to Allison’s house.” Vivienne motioned to his jeans and boots. “When I see you next, I expect you’ll be properly dressed.”
* * *
Alex stood in front of the computer terminal in the Charleston Architectural Board building. Apparently, one had to be a member to log in and search the catalog.
The building, as well as being blessed with the world’s strongest AC, had three floors. The first was a bookstore, the second held reading rooms, the third contained the library. Other than the teenager handling the cash register on the first floor, there was no one around to help.
“Nicholas Trott!” Susan’s voice rang out in the hallway. “Wait!”
A moment later, Nicholas Trott ran in and jumped on Alex’s legs. Alex rubbed his scruff. “Whoa, boy.”
Susan appeared, out of breath. “Nicholas Trott! Where—oh. Hi, Mr. Mitchell!”
“Hi, Susan. What are you doing here?”
She grabbed the dog’s leash. “My mom is a member of the board and had to pick up some papers.”
“Susan?” Maddie appeared in the doorframe in a pink A-line dress and flat sandals, her hair pulled back into a braided bun. “Mr. Mitchell. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m just helping Zack and Allison with…things.”
“Henry Avery’s treasure?” Susan asked.
Alex tilted his head at the little girl. “How could you know that?”
“Remember, Mr. Mitchell”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I listen.”
“Oh.” He smiled at her. “Right.”
“Actually, Mr. Mitchell…” Maddie paused just beyond the ray of sun that cut across the mahogany table and settled on the polished wood floor. “Vivienne told me about Emilie and how Zack and Allison have to find the treasure.”
So much for operational security. “How does Vivienne know?”
“I’m not sure, but Zack and Allison confirmed it.” Maddie motioned toward the computer while Susan and the dog crawled beneath the table. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you look lost.”
“I am.” He ran his hands over his head. After telling Maddie about the CAB/ILL notation in Stuart’s planner, he said, “Allison thinks Stuart requested a book on interlibrary loan.”
“It’s possible.” She laid her purse on the table and came over next to him. “May I?”
He stepped back. “Please.”
“A few months ago”—Maddie clicked on the login button—“I found Stuart here doing research. Since he couldn’t remember his password, I let him use mine.”
After Maddie logged in, she clicked on the Recent Transactions button. “He didn’t tell me what he was looking for, but at the time I had no reason to ask.”
Alex glanced at her profile. Her long eyelashes made tiny shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were red, but not too red. When she breathed, her breasts rose just enough to show the outline of a lace bra.
And she smelled like fresh air and lilacs.
He wiped his forehead and leaned forward to put his arms on the raised table. He didn’t want her to see his very physical reaction.
She squinted at the screen. “Stuart requested a book titled Notorious Pirates and their Secrets, 1650–1781. According to the log, Stuart checked it out and it hasn’t been returned.”
“Shit.” He looked at Maddie. “Sorry.”
Susan and the dog crawled out from under the table. “Mom, Nicholas Trott needs his bath and his nap.”
Maddie glanced at her watch and nodded. “You’re right.”
“I appreciate your help, Maddie.” Alex swallowed at the realization that that was the first time he’d said her name aloud.
As if realizing that as well, her face reddened. “You’re welcome. I hope you find it.”
“Mom,” Susan said from the doorway, clutching the dog’s leash.
Maddie paused on her way out. “Are you going to Stuart’s service later today?”
“Yes.” He didn’t want to, but Zack had asked him, so he’d agreed.
She took Susan’s hand and said, “I’ll see you there.”
When she left, Alex sank into a chair and covered his eyes with one arm. While he was annoyed at the dead-end, he had another more important concern. His intense attraction to a still-married woman with an almost-eight-year-old daughter.
And if his brother—or Isabel—found out? That wouldn’t be good for any of them.