Winter's Knight (12 page)

“Luke,” Shea rumbled a laugh and shook his head as he tightened his embrace. Then with a sigh, Shea stroked Lucian’s arm, flank, and leg in long, soothing, slow lines. “Real. This is real,” Shea said quietly, almost to himself. “You asked me back, and this we thing is real.”
Lucian got his hair out of his face and met Shea’s cloudy eyes. “Yes. Very.” He touched Shea’s jaw, smiled. “Good to know that a blow job can actually make a dent inthat stubbornbrainofyours,”he teased.
“Better a lick than a kick to the head, huh?” Shea finally focused on Lucian, and his next words matched the smile crinkling the edges of his eyes. “Yeah, Luke. I think youfinallygot through. Took youlongenough.”
“Glacial speed is some of the most effective,” Lucian said with a sniff, rolling away from Shea. “And on that note, let’s get cleaned up so you can keep me warmfor the rest ofthe night.”
“Yes, my prince,” Shea said amiably and got up to follow Lucianinto the shower.
Chapter 6
Frost crunched beneath Lucian’s boots as he climbed the stone stairs leading to the front entrance of Club Bliss. Early morning fog crept along the ground, and Lucian waved a keychain in the shape of a crown over the sensor next to the two-story wooden doors. Clouds obscured the view of the city that the cliffside location offered, and the first terrace parking lot was empty save for the cleaning crew’s vehicles, Clark’s Jag, and Lucian’s Rover.
Sunday morning mass at Bliss was not heavily attended. Sunday night mass at Club Break, however, would see manymore penitent souls.
Lucianwaited for the cathedraldoor to swingopen, stepped into the narthex, and swiped his pass over the entryway sensor. The interior service lights were on, and the harsh fluorescence stripped away any hedonistic atmosphere fromthe coat check, host stand, and mural above the two doors leading into the dance club. Somebody was whistling inside the men’s room, a bucket and mop parked in front of a gothic mirror, and Lucianturned to the right. Another swipe ofhis passkey granted himaccess to a hallway lined with more doors: storage, private bathrooms, and the communal owners’ office. There was also a wide, black pair of ominous doors leading to the basement and Club Break. It was one oftwo entrances into the underground BDSM club. The other one was through the Tomb Entrance, a small building in the woods next to the rear parking lot that took guests through the Gauntlet Tunnel and into the hallwaysurroundingthe mainpart ofthe club.
Today, one of the Break doors was open, and Lucian heard another member of the cleaning staff rustling in the storage room. All employees from janitorial service to bartenders to performers were vetted through Clark and interviewed by all four owners. Being employed at the clubs meant free membership to Break, quite the discount, and it was amazing how the chance to play in a fantastical environment stifled the urge to gossip.
Then again, in this day and age, belonging to a kink club was hardly newsworthy. Even if some enterprising idiot decided a picture of the head of the school board on bent knee was something the Times would enjoy, Lucian, Clark, and Chance had people at every major newspaper, TV, and radio station in the city. The network was vast, trust was made through blackmail, favors, and mutual desires for privacy, and, so far, it had always been easy to find the leak and deal with it appropriately.
Luciankeyed himselfinto the office and went inside. The room held a conference table, two desks, and a variety of seating. Clark sat in a blue winged back chair with a netbook on his lap, but stood in greeting. The man looked pensive, and Lucian’s anxiety immediately ratcheted. “Good morning,” Lucian said, removing gloves, scarf, and coat.
“Such a pleasant surprise to see you here,” Clark answered, putting the computer aside while Lucian sat behind one ofthe desks.
Lucian snorted. “And by ‘surprise’ you mean, ‘So nice ofyou to be where your schedule said you would,’ yes?”
“Your translation skills are getting rusty,” Clark said soberly. “Because I obviously meant it’s so nice of you to be earlyfor your appointment withthe ITguy.”
“It’s a chronic problem, earliness,”Luciansaid.
“As is being a workaholic. You do realize it’s Sunday?”
Lucian cocked an eyebrow. “Are you implying that there are days ofthe week not meant for business?”
Clark sighed. “Hopeless as I thought, though since you’re here and youbringit up...”
“What do youhave for me?”
“Good news and bad news. Which would my fearless leader like to hear first?”
The diction sent a shiver down Lucian’s spine, and he let himself remember Shea’s lips forming the words, ‘My Prince’ and ‘Sire’ before scooting his chair closer to the desk and folding his hands on top of the mahogany wood. “It’s been a pleasant couple of days. Let’s not ruinit immediately. Good news first.”
“I don’t think sending anyone into Haze to gather intelwilldo us anyrealservice.”
“Avoiding such risks is good news.” Lucian studied Clark, the drawnmouthand dullgaze. “Now tellme the bad.”
“I looked into the name Shea gave you -- Michael Sandias?”
Lucian’s heart crept into his throat. He gestured for Clark to continue, but he suspected he knew what was coming.
“It sounded like a realname as opposed to an alias, so I did a generalsearch. He’s dead.”
“Dead, how?”Lucianasked.
Clark’s smile was unkind. “The brakes in his brand new Lexus gave out, and he drove into a lake.”
Lucian sat back in his seat, sorting through the implications. “Shea mentioned that Mike played with some ofthe deceased women.”
“Yes,” Clark agreed, slowly. “You also told me in your message the morning after your party that you thought Shea was hidingsomething.”
Lucian dug the nails of his index fingers into the pads of his thumbs because they tingled with the tactile memory of tracing scar tissue on inner thighs, and beneath a brand new tattoo covering an increasingly familiar chest. “He’s not being completely honest about the depth of his experiences with the late Michael.” Something about Lucian’s tone and glare made Clark flinch. “But my Shea would not lie to me about his knowledge ofMichael, the girls, or the club.”
“Ofcourse he would,”Clark said easily.
Lucian’s jaw tightened, and he gripped the arms of the chair. “And on what tenuous thread ofbiased reality do youbase suchanaccusation?”
Clark sighed through his nose, dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “The same one that knows that if it meant protectingDaniel, I would lie myever-lovingass off.”
Lucian grunted, the sound somewhere between affirmation and unimpressed snarl. “What piece of information is it, exactly, for which you believe he’s championingfalsehood over truth, Maxwell?”
“I don’t know,” Clark lied, and Lucian worked very hard to stop the sinking feeling in his guts. “He’s told us he was there, that he knew some of the girls, that he played at Haze with a dead man we can presume was murdered by the same people killing the women.”
“Dead ends and assumptions,”Luciangrowled.
“Precisely, sir.” Clark ran a hand through his hair. “If I weren’t already gray,” he audibly murmured to himself. “Look, I feel the need to point out that continuing to dig into this may prove dangerous for our body and minds, not to mention that it may uncover things about Shea that you--”
“You feel the need to point this out now?” Lucian interjected, voice level and calm but dripping with the irritation and indignant outrage he harbored on behalf of his lover. “We’re using legally questionable means to ascertain information about a string of victims all slain with only the bare hint of attention from the authorities. We’ve been told to get out of the line of fire and let the powers that be have their cover-up and pay their dues to whomever or whatever is behind it all, and now that there’s one more body to add to the accumulating pile over multiple years of violence, you decide to remind me that what we’re doing may, conceivably, be dangerous?” Lucian cocked his head. “Do you believe me temporarily vacated of my considerable senses or just a child inneed ofreprimand?”
“Neither, sir.” Clark sat straighter, eyes fixed somewhere inthe vicinityofLucian’s nose.
“Very well, then,” Lucian said. “I’ll take your cautions under advisement, and you will leave me to handle my affairs with my lover. The expression of his painful past will not be something I require of him in order to further my desires for justice. He has given us what he will give us for the time being, and it’s led us into yet another wall.” Lucian sighed, chair creaking as he adjusted his weight. Clark was not an enemy from whomLucian needed to protect Shea, and Lucian tried to let go of his irritation to focus on solutions. “You mentioned before that you had one last lead to tap for information?”
“I do, sir. Yes, sir.”
“Youhesitate. Why?”
“You previously stated you wanted to focus on Shea.”
“I do,” Lucian agreed. “But my beloved is now intrinsicallyentwined withthis damned case.”
Clark nodded, spine still stiff. “I see the need to sate your curiosityinorder to help Shea, somehow.”
“And to shut down the operation that caused him grief,” Lucian added, dryly. “As though I needed another reasonto burnthat fuckingclub to the ground.”
Clark smacked his lips. “My lead is Kris Fawkes, sir.”
Lucianfroze, hummed, and leaned forward onto the desk, again. “How in the world could he be of the kind of help that would benefit us more than the cost would buryus?”
“I realize the risks, believe me,” Clark said, rueful. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him and his connections with international influences for years, now, but in the last six months, he’s been making overtures to our camp.”
“Overtures?”Lucianrepeated.
“Subtle hints that he would like to be of assistance to me and mine. Usually fed to me through my connections. One of his men gets in touch with one of my people. Tells my guy that Fawkes may be of use in a particular matter if I’d like to arrange a meeting. I’ve never takenhimup onit.”
“Mm,”Lucianhummed, thoughtful.
“Always seemed like too much darkness to call upon,”Clark said, quietlypoetic.
“Better the enemy we can control to be our street spy than the ones without leashes.” Lucian chewed the inside of his cheek. “What do we actually know of Mr. Fawkes? That’s not just rumor and hearsay.”
Clark laughed, slightly manic, and waved his hands. “That’s the bitch of it all. The guy’s as good as I amat hiding in plain sight. Fucking infuriating.” Clark’s tone indicated a kind of respect, and Lucian paid closer attention. A puzzle in Clark’s world was an intriguing power, indeed.
“I know he owns a chain of grocery stores, little things that carry mostly foreign foods,” Clark said. “Locations in Chinatown, in the Korean district, the Russian market. All very obviously placed and all very obviouslyfronts for other ventures.”
“Doesn’t he have a small store in the Fashion District, too? That tea shop?”
“Which opened three months after my bar,” Clark deadpanned. “Coincidence? I think not.”
“So he’s keepinganeye onus, too. Interesting.”
“I thought initially that it was a way to keep tabs on us and report to Hendrick, but now I’mnot so sure.”
“My father knows of him,” Lucian said quietly. For a heartbeat, he was thirteen and standing outside the door to his father’s home office. Hendrick was speaking low and level to someone who kept weeping. If I have to call in favors to Fawkes, I still have a few I cancash. And we don’t want that, do we?
It wasn’t until later that Lucian realized his father didn’t say, “Fox” but “Fawkes.” Like the man who had tried to blow up the British Parliament. An apt cognomenifever there was one.
“Knows of him,” Clark agreed. “Sometimes may eventap himfor information, muchlike I do for you, but Kris’ sphere of influence is usually outside your father’s jurisdiction.”
“Explain,” Lucian commanded, smoothing a palm down one arm like the memories were sticking to his shirt, and he had to slingthemaway.
“In the hierarchy ofcorruption, your father operates at the top of the local level,” Clark answered, gesticulating with graduated, progressively lower flat circles of his hands. “The city, the state, drugs and favors to support a regional power base. A crook, but more of an opportunist who likes having some sway in how people above himget into office. He’s never made any move to go beyond that because, well...” Clark grinned. “He’s not that smart. Or he’s smart enough to know whenhe’d get inover his bald head.”
“Indeed,”Lucianencouraged.
“We operate in a connecting circle to Hendrick, but a level down and away from him. Work with the cops whentheyruninto a wallofbullshit, tryto be the divider of those seas, and make things harder for Daddy Dearest.”
“While not being obvious in our pursuits,” Lucian said.
Clark nodded. “It’s key, yes. Hendrick’s getting old and tired, and he still harbors hope that if his son keeps playing in the muck, eventually you’ll dive in and seek bottom.”
“It keeps the Christmas cards civil, at least.”
“For the time being,”Clark quipped. “Kris operates at the bottomof the pile, and most of his resources are foreign. He stays off our radar because despite being neck deep in blood and dirty money, he’s also the bogeyman that keeps the lowlifes in his sector living up to the promises theymake.”
“A real entrepreneur of back alley deals, hm?” Lucianmused.
“I’m sure we could all sit down and have a lovely pot of tea and a nice chat about the benefits of vigilantism.”
“I’ll have Melody mark it on my calendar,” Lucian said in jest, considering. “So this man is making motions to want to playfor our team. Why?”
Clark shrugged. “I have no idea. But he is, and I have reason to believe he might actually know somethingofrealuse for this particular case.”
“Oh?”
Clark leveled his calculated focus on Lucian. “One ofFawkes’ areas ofexpertise is the skintrade.”
The pieces fellinto place for Lucian, assembled in a diagramforming the shapes of dead girls in ditches and Shea’s haunted eyes. “And if anyone would know anythingabout a stringofmurdered hookers...”
“Precisely.”
Lucian stood up, crossed to the coffee maker, and took his time pouring two mugs full. He put an obscene amount of cream and sugar in Clark’s and added nothing to his own before returning to the desk and handing Clark a cup. “And you don’t know what’s real about the manas opposed to fiction?”
Clark sipped the coffee with a happy noise entirely out of place for the conversation. It made Lucian smile. “The guy has murdered his own family, lived all over Europe, is ex-CIA, was British special forces, is an undercover cop, was adopted by a Chinese family whose daughter was sold into prostitution, and now Kris makes his living screwing pimps with baseball bats before he cuts their throats.” Clark chuckled. “I sort of hope that last one’s true.”