Dark Descendant (21 page)

properties that didn’t look like they had convenient burial spots. Of course, for all I knew, Emma

was buried under someone’s basement, but I figured I’d try the places with significant amounts

of land first.

I did a series of drive-bys, hoping for some kind of supernatural X-Marks-the-Spot, but

no such luck. I tried not to worry about what would happen to me—and to Steph—if I didn’t

make any demonstrable progress soon. Jamaal wasn’t the most sociable of Anderson’s
Liberi
, so

I didn’t run in to him often. But each time I did, his expression seemed darker, more full of

accusation. And a little less sane.

One day, when I returned to the mansion after another round of fruitless drive-bys, I

noticed that the potted plants on the porch were looking ragged and overgrown. Hoping that

manual labor would shut down the gerbil wheel in my brain and help me Zen out enough to think

straight, I decided to do a little impromptu gardening. Anything to escape the feeling of futility

that kept trying to creep up on me.

I started off by plucking dead leaves, of which there were many. Shortly afterward,

Maggie came out to join me. Without a word, she set to plucking leaves by my side. When I

looked over at her, I saw a sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Maggie? Are you all right?”

She sniffed and nodded, a faint smile on her face. “Yeah. It’s just that these plants were

Emmitt’s babies. Big, macho death-god Descendant that he was, he’d talk to them like he

thought they’d talk back.”

I guessed that explained why they were starting to look ragged now that Emmitt was

dead. “Should I keep my hands off them?” I asked, worried that someone would be offended at

the idea of Emmitt’s killer touching his beloved plants.

“Emmitt would want them taken care of,” was her response, so we continued plucking.

There were several plants that needed pruning, and a couple that needed repotting.

Possibly, I should have been using my time more productively, but I was enjoying the peace of

playing in the dirt too much to quit. When Maggie dabbed at her eyes, I pretended to ignore it.

In the back corner, there was one plant that looked completely dead. I pulled the pot out

of the corner, then looked up at Maggie’s gasp of dismay.

“Oh!” she said. “We should have brought that inside before the sleet storm the other

night. I guess Emmitt was too busy killing himself to take care of it.” Her eyes looked all wet

and shiny again.

I poked at the dead foliage, not recognizing the plant. “Maybe it’s just dormant and will

come back in the spring.” I grabbed a pair of shears and started snipping, hoping to find

something green and alive at the core. We’d only had one really cold night so far, so there was

always a chance…

Maggie shook her head. “It’s a night blooming jasmine. They aren’t cut out for Virginia

winters. It was Emma’s. And Anderson is going to be very unhappy if he sees it’s dead.”

I wasn’t finding any signs of life, but I kept snipping compulsively anyway, until I’d

removed enough dead leaves to see the soil. There was something shiny in the dirt, and for

reasons unknown, I found myself poking at it.

Probably a piece of mica in the dirt
, I told myself, but my fingernail caught on

something, and it wasn’t mica. I dug my finger into the soil and pulled out a silver band, dotted

with moonstones and what looked like diamonds.

“Look what I found,” I said, scraping some of the dirt away as I laid the ring on my palm

to show it to Maggie.

“Where did you get that?” Maggie asked, and there was something off about her voice.

“It was in the pot. Why? Do you recognize it?”

She nodded. I didn’t like the way she was looking at me, like she suddenly thought I was

scum. “It’s Emma’s wedding ring.”

I shivered, though I wasn’t cold. Finding Emma’s ring while I was searching for Emma

had to be some weird sort of coincidence, right? I just happened to be in the mood to prune

plants, and I just happened to pick up the dead jasmine, and I just happened to keep snipping at it

even when I knew it was dead. It could happen.

But what if it wasn’t coincidence? What if it was a sign that my supposed supernatural

powers were coming out?

Maggie was still looking at me strangely. Her usually friendly face was closed off, and

there was suspicion in her eyes.

“Anderson and Emma had marital problems,” she said, and there was a caution in her

voice that hadn’t been there before. “But Emma
never
took off that ring. She was wearing it on

the day she disappeared.”

I swallowed hard, realizing that my finding the ring like this could look bad, especially to

people who didn’t entirely trust me in the first place.

“You can’t possibly have that ring,” Maggie continued. “Not unless you have access to

Emma.”

“Come on, Maggie,” I said. “You’ve been with me the whole time. You
saw
me find it.”

“I saw you poking around at the pot. That’s not the same thing.”

“If I’m working for the Olympians, then why would I pretend to find the ring when I

knew Emma was wearing it when she was taken?”

“You were going to use it as a sign of progress. ‘Hey, I haven’t found Emma, but I’ve

found her ring.’”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

She bit her lip and shook her head, though I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced. If

someone like Maggie, who’d given me the benefit of the doubt since day one, thought finding

the ring made me look guilty, I didn’t want to imagine how someone like Jamaal would take it.

“Maggie, I swear to you, I just found it in the pot. You said this was Emma’s plant.

Maybe she repotted it and lost her ring in the dirt on the day she disappeared.” According to

Anderson, no one was sure exactly when Emma was captured. She’d apparently been prone to

storming out in a huff when she and Anderson argued, and it had been hours before anyone had

realized she wasn’t anywhere in the house or on the grounds. “Maybe she was pissed at

Anderson and hid the ring there so she could pretend she tossed it or pawned it—without having

to actually toss it or pawn it.”

“That does sound like something Emma would do,” Maggie agreed. “Maybe it happened

exactly that way. But maybe it didn’t.”

“I’m not one of the Olympians.”

Her look of polite skepticism hurt. She’d been the closest thing I had to a friend in this

house, and it sucked to lose her over something like this.

“Are you going to tell Anderson about this?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong,

but my job’s going to be a lot harder if he starts being all suspicious again.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I really
should
tell him. He has a right to know.

And I’m sure he’d want the ring back.”

“I’m not asking you to keep him in the dark forever,” I assured her. “I just need a little

more time to locate Emma, and I won’t be able to do that if Anderson decides I’m a spy after

all.”

“How much time?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Should I take the finding of the ring as

some kind of good sign? I had no way of knowing.

What I
did
know was that Maggie wasn’t going to keep her mouth shut forever.

“Give me one week,” I said, wondering if the ticking clock was going to make the job

even harder. “If I haven’t found her in a week, I’ll talk to Anderson myself.”

Maggie thought about it a minute, then nodded. “All right. You have one week. Make it

count.”

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Despite the looming deadline, Wednesday night rolled
around, and I reluctantly got

ready for Steph’s charity auction. I’d held out a faint hope that our fight would get me out of it,

but no. Steph called and informed me in no uncertain terms that I was going. She seemed content

to pretend our fight had never happened, and I was happy to go along with it.

I wore the admittedly nondescript little black dress I’d bought on our shopping trip and a

pair of stiletto-heeled pumps that would have my feet hurting in fifteen minutes flat.

Remembering Steph’s gorgeous red dress, I knew I was going to spend most of the night feeling

like one of the ugly stepsisters from a fairy tale. I’d have to try to keep to myself as much as

possible, because I wasn’t exactly feeling like Little Miss Sunshine.

I left the house around six thirty to get to the pre-dinner cocktail party. That would be the

most painful part of the evening—I wasn’t a big fan of mingling with the rich and snooty. But I

knew Steph would want me there the whole time, and I’d have done just about anything to

smooth the waters. Even stand around in high heels drinking cocktails and talking to people with

whom I had nothing in common.

The country club that was hosting Steph’s auction reminded me a bit of Anderson’s

mansion, if only in its attempt to hide from the sight of passers-by. There was even a set of

gates—though these were usually kept open and were more ornamental—and an artificial forest

lining the driveway. The “forest” was as well-manicured as the one at the mansion, devoid of the

weeds and underbrush that would accompany natural growth. The driveway, however, was a lot

straighter, and there were actually streetlamps to guide the way.

The patch of woods didn’t last long, giving way to the inevitable golf course. This being

the height of winter, it was already too dark for even the most fanatical of golfers, so at least I

didn’t have to dodge golf carts on my way in. There was convenient valet parking if I drove right

up to the clubhouse, but I chose to park myself in one of the outer lots. It meant an

uncomfortable walk in my high heels, but by the time the night was over, the last thing I would

want to do was wait for someone to retrieve my car for me.

The glittering crowd was just starting to trickle in as I headed into the bar and lounge

area. My eyes were immediately drawn to Steph in her fire-engine-red dress. She looked even

more fabulous than usual, with her blond hair swept into an elegant up-do and her long neck

adorned by a pearl and diamond necklace.

Standing right beside Steph, with a proprietary hand resting on her lower back, was

Blake. I had to admit, he looked good enough to eat in his conservative black tux, the perfect

Ken to Steph’s Barbie. I didn’t like the way he was touching her, though, not one bit. Despite

Blake’s promise that he would behave like a gentleman, I was all too aware of the malice that

lurked beneath his cultured exterior. He was a dangerous man who used sex as a weapon. Was it

any shock I didn’t want him around my sister?

Steph caught sight of me while I was giving Blake the evil eye. I tried to blank my

expression as she made her way across the room toward me, Blake following in her wake. She

stopped right in front of me and smiled brilliantly, and I wondered if she’d thought I was going

to stand her up. Sad to say if I had, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Have I mentioned how

much I hate these affairs?

“You look gorgeous!” Steph said, giving me a warm hug. She was busy enough hugging

me not to see the way Blake rolled his eyes at her words.

Steph released me from the hug, then looked back and forth between me and Blake. His

expression was one of polite disinterest. I have no idea what my own face looked like. I hoped

my flush of embarrassment had faded. Bad enough to be pathetically insecure about my looks,

but to have others know it was almost unbearable.

“I take it you two know each other,” Steph said with a raise of her eyebrows. I could tell

by the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes that Blake hadn’t made up a story about how we’d met.

Which was a good thing, since I’d have had no idea what the cover story was and would

probably have blown it the moment I opened my mouth.

“We’ve met,” Blake said drily, but he held out his hand for me to shake.

It felt like a challenge, so I didn’t hesitate. Of course, he then lifted my hand to his mouth

and kissed my knuckles. It was all I could do not to jerk my hand out of his grip and make a

scene.

“Charming,” I muttered under my breath, and he laughed softly at this evidence that he’d

gotten to me.

Steph kept looking back and forth between us, no doubt hoping one of us would cave and

tell her how we knew each other. She knew, of course, that I didn’t like Blake, but Blake wasn’t

giving any overt signs of how he felt about me. Not signs that
Steph
could read, that is.

Blake held on to my hand a little longer than necessary, and Steph looped her arm

through his, forcing him to let go. Her action might have been subtle, but I knew beyond doubt

she’d done it because I looked uncomfortable.

“We still have some serious mingling to do,” she said, and I was just as happy to let her

and Blake go.

I hoped the look in my eyes gave Blake the message that I would feed him his balls if he

hurt my sister. There was no way of telling from the little smirk on his face as he and Steph

stepped away into the burgeoning crowd.

I worked my way to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine, then found myself a

convenient corner shadowed by a large potted plant where I could mingle by myself without

drawing too much attention. Yes, I was playing the part of wallflower and wasn’t particularly