Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 14

"Us."

I didn't realize I'd said the word aloud until I heard his chuckle. I twisted to glance over my shoulder but found I couldn't speak. Not with the way he looked, heat in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the tightening of his jaw. I swear I could smell his arousal. Or was it my own.

"Bran . . ."

I didn't know what I wanted other than him. And that was pure stupid.

He said nothing, as if waiting for me to dig both our graves.

I shook my head as if one or both of us had spoken. "Not a good idea."

His lips quirked upwards but no smile reached his eyes.

It took everything I had to move, to pull myself away, and stand up, locking my legs because they quivered. Not exhaustion this time but with a need I wasn't willing to admit. "It's late."

Stupid comment but better than asking where the nearest bedroom was, though that was my implication. Even I knew not to throw kerosene onto a fire.

He nodded toward a door I hadn't noticed yet. The s.p.a.ce felt more like it had originally been, a warehouse rather than a home, so it threw me for a few seconds as to what he meant by his gesture.

"Your room," he said at last, his voice raspy and raw, as if he was struggling as much as I was.

Thank the Spirits. I hated being the only puddle of need.

Fido Francois yawned at my feet, which helped give me enough umph to move. I'd forgotten all about his presence, which only went to show how far gone I was.

I waited until I was across the room, as far from Bran as possible before I turned and trusted my tone enough to say, "Thank you. For the back rub."

It was meant to be light and casual. But all I could see was Bran's look that promised we were not done yet. What smoldered between us was not over. Not by a long shot.

CHAPTER 28.

Jeb woke shortly after nine though it'd been after six when he finally returned to his bedroom last night, or better yet, that same morning.

The French police were less aggressive than he expected, or maybe the first go around was only meant as a warm-up. No questions about Alex. Most about his relations.h.i.+p with Philippe. From some of the questions asked Jeb realized his old friend had fingers in far more pies than even Jeb knew about. Business interests. Politics. International connections.

Before he'd closed his eyes, jet lag and grief pummeling him, Jeb had tried a journey to the other side, to see if he could connect with Philippe. No such luck. Not that Jeb held high hopes. One didn't dabble in the spirit world like a quick day trip to the seash.o.r.e. To really learn anything he needed to treat his gift as the responsibility it was.

Later then, after he asked some more questions of Pdraig. And after he found new lodgings. He didn't feel right being in his old friend's home alone. Not because of fear of a threat against his own life, but Philippe possessed a bounty of possessions and, in spite of the Frenchman's words to the contrary, Jeb didn't trust Pdraig enough yet. All the protege had to do was point a finger or raise some doubts as to what might be missing in the house and Jeb would suffer. One's reputation, once stained, remained stained.

Stretching and mentally reviewing what needed to be done first, Jeb's eye was caught by a piece of paper slipped beneath the door. The cream color stood out against the silk Isfahan rug of golds and blues.

How did someone get the note get into the house and know which door to slide it under?

Jeb felt the quality of the note as he picked it up. It was handwritten in older fas.h.i.+oned ink, in a style it took a few moments to decipher. When he did his heart stuttered.

Your son is in danger. Your daughter is not safe.

If you wish to see either again: Noon Small park behind 72 Rue de Varenne.

Come alone.

The last line felt like a kick. With Philippe dead, Jeb had no one else to come with him. He had no doubt he'd go. As soon as he figured out how to grab a taxi and find the location.

He dressed with a jerky, rough urgency, though he had several hours before he was supposed to arrive at the location noted. But he wanted to get a feel of the place, a sense if this was a trap or worse.

By the time he opened the door he had a rudimentary plan. But he didn't expect to see Pdraig waiting for him in the hallway. Last time he'd seen the young man was exiting his own interrogation last night. By the time Jeb finished with his and showed the police out of the townhouse Pdraig was long gone.

"What are you doing here?" he said, his voice brusquer than he meant as the younger man stepped back.

"I was sent to summon you to a meeting of the Council today." Jeb remembered that Pdraig was involved with Council business in a periphery capacity. Sort of a Sergeant-at-Arms, who had acted as Philippe's right hand. Most of the members, except for Jeb, had an a.s.sociate. That individual had no say in decisions made but was held to the same level of accountability and secrecy. Right now Pdraig looked as tired and strained as Jeb felt. "At one. Chamber locations."

Good. Whatever was going to happen at the designated park took precedence. Depending on the outcome there, whatever had been set up, Jeb would attend the Council meeting. Since there would only be six present it could not be a formal meeting, and no doubt it'd been convened as a result of Philippe's death. But the speed of calling all the remaining members told Jeb one thing for sure. The other a.s.sociates, who represented all seven continents, must be in close enough proximity with such short notice.

"Will all the Council be in attendance?" he asked Pdraig.

"Oui. We have been called to discuss the issue of the dress designer and the possibility of drugs that could expose non-humans to the human population."

But Jeb had not officially been summoned. Not yet at least. Interesting. Jeb's tone must have said as much as Pdraig cleared his throat and added, "Five of the members were at the soiree last night. Where . . . where, you know. . ."

"Where Philippe was killed?"

"Oui."

Jeb's radar just tilted from interesting to dangerous. Were some factions within the Council banding together against other members? "Was there Council business being held there?"

Pdraig gave an emphatic shake of his head. "Not that I was aware of, though Philippe might have had his own agenda, outside of the Council."

Then why have the Council members near? Unease rode Jeb. Too many coincidences happening. Van's disappearance. Jeb being in Paris at the summons of an old friend. The threats against Alex. What drew the other members here, too?

Something was going down, he just wished the h.e.l.l he understood what.

Without another word he started toward the door, his duffel bag clenched in his hand.

"You going somewhere?" Pdraig asked, a frown carving a groove between his brows.

"I'll be staying elsewhere." Jeb's tone indicated his mind was on more pressing issues. It was just half past nine but he felt the time pus.h.i.+ng at him.

"You seem disturbed. Did something happen after I left last night?"

"No." Jeb looked at the Irishman and reined in his impatience. This was still Philippe's friend, his protege. He deserved more. "I received some news. About my children. I'm going to look into it now."

Pdraig lifted his brows but said nothing.

"Did you leave a note under my door last night?" Jeb asked.

"No."

The word sounded sincere. But if the young man hadn't done, who had?

"May I help?"

Three of the most powerful words when one needed a.s.sistance desperately.

"How well do you know Paris?" Jeb asked, still hesitating.

"I've lived here for over ten years."

That surprised him. Pdraig didn't look older than his mid-thirties, no doubt because he was a druid, masters at illusions. They could give the fae a run for their money.

"I have a vehicle if that will help you." The Irishman's voice not only held a.s.surance, it offered a solution to one of the issues Jeb wrestled with-transportation.

"If you wish me to wait in the car I'll do that," he added. "Besides, it'll give me something to do. This d.a.m.nable business . . . I need to be doing something. Anything."

Pdraig sounded like Jeb felt, being driven to action to break the stupor of standing around drowning in uselessness. "Come with me, then."

The other man smiled, straightening his shoulders and for the first time since Philippe called, Jeb felt like the fog was lifting.

CHAPTER 29.

I woke up feeling like I'd been someone's punching bag and groaned aloud as I rolled over in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room, trying to orient myself. A slice of sun skimmed a streamlined armoire against a brick wall.

Where? Oh, yeah, warehouse. The dead man. Were attack. Bran.

I reached for my clutch purse that I hadn't lost, or someone had found for me and set on the nightstand, next to a gla.s.s water carafe and what looked like two aspirins. Thank the Spirits.

Until I realized Bran must have entered the room while I'd been asleep which, after last night, was too intimate for my stretched nerves.

At least I'd slept in my dress, not comfortable but in hindsight a smarter idea than sleeping in the buff.

An image of Bran sprang to mind, which I ruthlessly tapped down. Last night I'd been way too revealing. Enough of that. If I wanted to get Van free I needed to focus, focus, focus, on him and not a particular warlock.

Grabbing my second, or was it my third gla.s.s of water, still feeling parched, I went in search of my dubious roommates.

I had to clear up the business with Philippe Cheverill p.r.o.nto or dealing with the Council could prevent me from finding Van. I'd already come up with a plan to find the perfect witness who'd vouch that I hadn't killed the Council leader. The doctor who'd already been bending over the dying man when I reached Cheverill's side.

I should have thought of him last night but I'd been slightly distracted by a Were cougar and a s.e.xy warlock.

Today I had no such excuses.

But the moment I walked into the yawning warehouse, looking even barer by daylight than moon shadow, I knew it was empty. I didn't have my nifty Timex watch that I'd had since childhood. Francois had turned up his nose at even the hint of my wearing it with the Elie Saab dress he wrapped me in. Not that I had a clue who Elie Saab was. In fact I thought he was a she, which Francois quickly corrected.

Now I wished I hadn't listened because I couldn't tell what time it was.

It took me only a second to smell the tray with croissants, strawberries, and fresh orange juice on it.

How was I going to keep the distance I needed with Bran if he kept being thoughtful as well as too attractive? The warlock did not play fair.

Then I saw the scrawled note beneath the gla.s.s plate.

Stay put. We'll be back.

As if. But it did serve to snap some att.i.tude into my backbone.

"Give me one reason to hang around here." I said out loud, mumbling around a sinfully good croissant. The one thing I was definitely going to miss about Paris, if I lived long enough to leave.

It took me less than thirty minutes to scrounge around in the bedroom closets to find a replacement for the dress I wore, that would have made me look like I was doing the walk of shame rather than hunting for a killer. At last I found a guy's white dress s.h.i.+rt that hung long on me but with the cuffs rolled up at least it hid the jeans that I had to double belt to stay up.

By the front door I found my frou-frou sandals that Francois had carried last night and apparently tossed aside when we'd been attacked. They might look out of place with jeans but I wasn't going to have to traipse around Paris barefoot. Again.

I wasn't being too-stupid-to-live, leaving the warehouse after my own scrawled note: Gone to find doctor. TTYL. I was being proactive, especially after I discovered there were no messages from my teammates on my phone, nor did they answer their cells. I left a message for Ling Mai on her phone but didn't bother with the others. Wasn't ignoring them, but biggest hurdle first. And that described Ling Mai to a T.

I really did miss the team backing me, but I'm sure Ling Mai was keeping them busy. Very busy if I knew Ling Mai. So I'd try them again later, once I had more concrete information to share.

I had no idea where Bran and Francois had gone, but I wasn't waiting for them to save my f.a.n.n.y. My plan was simple. Return to the museum and try a casting spell before the trail grew too cold. If I got lucky it should lead me to the doctor. Once I knew who he was then I'd contact Ling Mai and give her his name while I finished looking for Vaverek.

The way I figured it, Ling Mai was no doubt focused more on finding Vaverek and his drug connections than Van right now. That issue impacted the balance of humans realizing non-humans existed among us.

But I wasn't finished. As long as I knew in my heart that Van lived, I'd hunt for him, regardless of anyone else's agenda. And Ling Mai knew that, so I was still playing within her guidelines here. Besides, she could always track me by my phone.

Since I didn't keep a wad of cash on me, or even a credit card, I would have to walk. I used a map app on my phone to find the museum, which looked a h.e.l.l of a long ways away.

It took me a little over an hour to arrive at the Nissim de Camondo Museum, which looked more imposing by daylight than it had last night. A cross between a fortress and a statement of wealth and grandeur from a time long gone. Fortunately it was also open, a fact I hadn't thought about until I stood outside the pale beige stone building.

I had just enough funds to get into the museum and waved off the auditory guide that was included with my ticket. The young girl behind the counter, with magenta hair and three lip rings shrugged as if I was being a fool. Maybe I was.

Since the death had happened on the first level I wasn't surprised to see the large parlor blocked off with stanchions and tape. I couldn't read the words on the tape in French but it was no doubt crime scene tape and a clear no-go barrier. As if that had ever kept a Noziak out of anything. It was more like waving a red flag at us.

I paused, looking into my clutch as if I'd lost my soul, because besides my phone there wasn't a whole lot of room in it to stash much else. Maybe I should have grabbed one of the audio guides. I didn't have to turn it on but it'd give me a reason for just standing around, cooling my heels.

What I was doing was waiting for what sounded like a German grandmother and her two fidgety grandsons to leave the area. They were standing in the curl of the stairway that swept to the second floor. It was where I'd been with Bran when the older man had fallen to the floor. There was a nude Greek statue there, a very well-endowed, graphic statue that I'd totally missed last night.

Leave it to Bran to distract me so much I'd missed the art. If that's what it was called.

The two German boys were snickering behind their hands and pointing, while their grandmother memorized the guidebook clutched in her hands.

"Come on, come on," I mumbled beneath my breath. "Don't have all day."