Kissed by Moonlight (18 page)

"Yes. That. Despite my training, I did not see through the man's guise until after I'd shared a few tidbits of information with him." Nicolas held up his hand to forestall Jack's protest. "Nothing of import, mind you. Nothing about the book or the chapel or even about you, but enough to send him in the right direction. There seemed little harm back then, but now I know it was a mistake. Especially when I discovered who the man became." With shaking fingers Nicolas reached for something on the table beside his bed. He handed me an old newspaper clipping.

The lettering was in French, so I couldn't read it, and the ink had faded with time. But what I saw made my heart beat a little faster. I held it up to better catch the light, to make sure, but there was no mistaking the man in the picture. The man who had become Public Enemy Number One: Alister Jones.

Chapter 26

Father Nicolas insisted Alister had never returned to visit him, and the book had never been mentioned during their conversation all those years ago. But somebody had managed to discover its location, and there was no doubt in my mind that somebody was Alister Jones. Still, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that Jones had, with such limited information, managed to discover the location of the book. My guess was he'd come across something recently to point him in the right direction; otherwise he'd have stolen it decades ago.

"Now what?" I asked Jack as he softly closed the door to Father Nicolas's room behind us.

Before Jack could answer, Father Nicolas's nurse appeared from somewhere within the depths of the apartment. The kitchen, no doubt, since she was carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of what smelled like split pea soup. I love split pea soup, especially when generously dosed with chunks of ham.

Jack stopped the woman, rattling off a string of French. Since my language skills only went so far as to ask for the bathroom and order wine, I stepped back and let him do his thing. A quick back and forth between the two, and she was on her way to serve Father Nicolas his lunch.

"Okay, what was that about?"

Jack led the way toward the front door. "I asked her if anyone had been to visit in recent weeks."

"Good idea. What did she say?" I pulled the door open, and we started down the steps. There was an elevator, but it was a little sketchy, and I was leery of getting caught in it, what with the whole claustrophobia issue. Besides, a little cardio never hurt anyone.

"She hasn't seen anyone other than the usual church visitors, but she gave me the phone number and address of the night nurse," Jack said. "I think we should pay her a visit. She's more likely to cooperate face-to-face. It's possible someone visited in the evening."

I nodded. It made sense. Come in the evening when the old man was tired and vulnerable. Coerce the information out of him.

I pushed through the main door and out onto the street. I could hear the faint strains of an accordion playing "La Vie En Rose" as a couple of teenagers strolled by licking ice cream cones from Berthillon. I waited as Jack carefully shut the front door behind us.

"Wouldn't Father Nicolas have told us if he'd had a visitor?" I asked. "He didn't seem like the kind of person to lie about something like that."

"He wouldn't lie," Jack said. "Not to me. But it's possible he didn't remember."

I shook my head. "I don't think he's got dementia, Jack. He was in control of his faculties our entire visit."

"Oh, he's sharp as a tack," Jack agreed, "but you and I both know memories can be meddled with."

I gave him a look. "That means JP's memories could have been messed with, too."

His face turned hard. "It's possible," he admitted, "but we need to find out more."

"I agree. Let's go talk to the nurse."

***

Jack and I decided to check into our hotel before speaking to the night nurse. The hotel was only a few streets away, and I felt the need to take a breather. Plus I wanted to call Drago and check on Inigo.

The hotel was what they call "boutique," which, as far as I could see, meant cramped as hell with rude staff and the world's smallest elevator. I did think it was a bit ironic that while Jack owned an enormous penthouse apartment in the heart of Paris, we were stuck in hotel rooms the size of postage stamps.

I tossed my overnight bag on the the floor next to the bed before pulling out my cellphone. Sinking down onto the hard mattress, I rang the number to Drago's private line, the one he kept for close friends and family.

He picked up on the fourth ring. "Morgan, how are you?"

It always startled me when people did that. My brain went to "psychic" before it went to "caller ID." What could I say? I'm programmed for the weird and wonderful. "I'm fine, Drago, just... busy. Got a case."

"Oh, yeah? More murder and mayhem?"

"Something like that." I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the next question. "How is he?"

"Same."

Hot tears burned at the back of my eyes. "Okay. Thanks."

"I'm sorry, little one." His voice was a soothing rumble in my ear. "I wish I could give you more hope, but these things take time."

"Yeah, I know. I just miss him." I couldn't help the little sob that spilled out at the end because I'd heard what he didn't say: that even time might not fix this.

"I know you do, little one." Drago's voice was unusually gentle, as if he thought I might break. He cleared his throat. "You know no one would blame you if you moved on. Not even him. He'd want you to be happy. Have a real life."

"Yeah, thanks. I'll call you in a couple days to check on him. Bye, Drago." I hung up before he could say anything else. I swallowed hard and shoved my phone into my pocket. I would not cry. I wouldn't.

"What did Drago have to say?"

I glanced up, startled. I'd left the door unlocked, and Jack had invited himself in. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. How are things in the Highlands?"

I shrugged, pulling out my phone to fiddle with it. I didn't want to look at him. "Same."

Jack sank down on the bed next to me. He reached over and took my hand. I stared down at our entwined fingers. His hand was warm and sent delicious tingles up my spine, but it also made me sad and a little pissed off.

"I know you don't want to hear this, Morgan, but I think it's time you moved on."

I yanked my hand away. "What? And come running to you?" I spat out.

"You heard what Drago said. He won't come out of that coma for decades. Maybe even centuries. If he even survives."

It didn't escape my notice that Jack hadn't agreed with me or even acknowledged my comment about him. Typical. He wanted me to be free from other men, but he didn't want to commit to me himself.

"I could still be alive in a century. You said I was a Sunwalker." For the first time since this whole Atlantis thing started, I wanted it to be so. I wanted to be different, other, immortal.

Jack touched my cheek. "Maybe. Maybe not. But even if you do live forever, how long are you willing to wait for a dead man?"

I swallowed hard. Jack was right. And yet, he was so wrong. This was it. The moment where I had to make my choice. I scooted back out of reach, shaking my head slightly. "This is why we'll never work, Jack."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything always has to be your way, in your time. You want me, but only on your terms. I'm just supposed to drop everything and come running."

A muscle flexed in his jaw. I'd definitely hit the mark. "That's not true."

But I could tell from his tone he knew it was true. It was the curse of the alpha male. It was why in real life, real relationships, alpha males rarely worked. Not unless the woman was willing to give up her very essence for him. That wasn't me. I wanted a partner, not a boss.

"I'm sorry, Jack," I stood up and headed for the door. "But this, between us? It's got to stop. No more flirting. No more teasing. No more you want me, and then you don't. I want to be with someone who loves me and wants me all the time. Not just when it's convenient."

***

Father Nicolas's night nurse, Genevieve Collett, lived in a tiny studio apartment way out in the Eighteenth Arrondissement, an area famous for such historical places as the Sacre Coeur and Monmartre. Genevieve, however, lived in the working class neighborhood of Goutte d'Or, where tourists and their rich pockets were few and far between. Probably why she'd chosen it. She could actually afford the rent.

Jack led the way through the crowded, narrow streets. The trip over had been what one could call awkward. Outwardly, he was calm, but inwardly I sensed his seething rage. Under that, there might even have been hurt.

I felt completely calm, almost Zen-like. I'd made my choice, and it was the right one. Inigo was mine. Always. As I was his. And if I had to wait a century, well, Jack had better be right about my Sunwalker status, otherwise Inigo was going to have to get used to having a ghost for a girlfriend.

My mouth watered from the spicy scents emanating from copious North African restaurants as we moved through the streets. My stomach growled. I wondered if I could convince Jack to stop at one of them for lunch after our meeting with Genevieve.

Ducking into one of the many old apartment buildings, we hiked up to the third floor. High enough to be relatively safe and to get a fair amount of exercise, not high enough for exorbitant rent. Smart.

I knocked on the door, standing so the person on the other side of the peephole would be sure to see me, not Jack. I could look innocent and non-threatening when I wanted to.

"
Un moment s'il vous plaît
." The voice from the other side of the door was muffled but distinctly feminine.

There was the scrape of a bolt from the other side. The door slowly swung open, revealing a chain still firmly in place. A sleepy brown eye appeared in the narrow gap between the door and the frame.

"
Oui
?"

"Genevieve Collett?"

"
Oui
."

"My name is Morgan Bailey. I'm a friend of Father Nicolas's."

No answer, just confusion in that brown eye. I winced. She probably didn't speak English. I tried again, stumbling over the unfamiliar French words.

"
Mon ami
Father Nicolas." Crap. That wasn't right. "Jack. Do your thing."

Jack stepped into view, which caused Genevieve's visible eye to widen. I wasn't sure if it was in fear or lust. I was going with the latter. Jack was insanely good looking in a rugged, former Templar kind of way. Definitely the type that made women swoon. I should know.

Jack cleared his throat, then let out a string of French. After a pause, Genevieve rattled some words back, and then quietly closed the door. I glanced at Jack.

"She's letting us in," he said. His expression was stoic, and he didn't quite meet my eyes.

I nodded. "I take it she doesn't understand English."

"Not a word."

I sighed. Figured.

The chain rattled and the door swung open, revealing a dainty woman with dusky skin, dark hair, and equally dark eyes. She was exotically pretty in her simple, white cotton robe and bare feet, naturally curly hair sexily tousled from sleep. I felt an irrational stab of jealousy. I never looked that good just out of bed. Mostly, I looked like somebody had whacked me in the head with a two-by-four before letting a wolverine loose on my head.

Genevieve said something in French that was clearly a welcome and waved us to a rust-colored couch. As we sat, I caught a glimpse of an unmade bed behind a Japanese screen. I felt sort of bad waking her up, but we needed information.

She offered us coffee, which we politely refused, before settling into a chair opposite us. Pulling a cobalt blue afghan over her lap, she and Jack got down to business. I sat there feeling dumb. I really should have learned some foreign language or other, but it honestly wasn't my strong suit. I knew every word to
Guantanamera
by heart, but damned if I could speak Spanish to save my life. It went in one ear and out the other without sticking, no matter how hard I tried.

"This is interesting," Jack said, interrupting my train of thought. "She says there was a man that came to visit Father Nicolas a few nights ago. She didn't want to let him in, but he claimed it was an emergency, that he needed to speak with the Father about Jean-Pierre."

"JP? Why didn't Father Nicolas tell us about this?" It seemed weird he'd leave that out.

"She says when the man left, Father Nicolas seemed fine, but he was very tired and went to sleep almost immediately. He didn't tell her what the emergency was, and he was still asleep when she left in the morning. The next evening, when she mentioned the visitor, Father Nicolas claimed not to remember."

I frowned. I could understand the priest not telling his nurse about the visitor's mission, but I was certain he would have told us about it, what with the book and everything. "Double check with her about Father Nicolas's faculties. I want to make sure this isn't dementia." Not that I believed it was for a second.

Jack asked Genevieve a question. She shook her head emphatically, dark eyes wide, a rush of words spilling from her.

"She says he's as rational as you or I. She says him forgetting any conversation was very odd, and it has troubled her, but she didn't know what to do about it. The day nurse just laughed it off as old age."

I mulled it over. "The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced someone managed to manipulate the Father somehow. Caused him to forget the visit and whatever it was they discussed. Maybe even forced him to reveal secrets without realizing it."

Jack shrugged. "Anything is possible, and I'd say that's very high on the list of possibilities."

He was right about that. This whole thing just smelled rotten. "Can you ask her to describe the man?"

He turned back to Genevieve and asked the question. She nodded eagerly, rattling off another string of words before hopping off the chair and rushing behind the Japanese screen.

"She says she can do better. She took a picture of him when he wasn't looking."