A Taste of Love and Evil (26 page)

“What did the busboy find out?” Juma tried to look innocently eager. “He came in a minute ago looking like he was bursting with juicy news. And a TV reporter just went by!”

“You don’t want to know,” the waiter said in a fatherly voice.

“Yes, I do. I’m not a baby.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are,” the waiter replied. “I’ve had about enough of kids coming here for dirty stories about what goes on in the Threshold.”

Huh? “What’s eating you, mister? I’m not interested in any stupid club. I’m just wondering what’s going on out there. I’ll see it on the news anyway, so what’s your problem?”

He sighed. “Something about a guy kidnapping kids to be sex slaves.”

“Oh, no!” Juma half rose from her seat, got a hold of herself, and sat back down. What could she do?

“Don’t have a cow, kiddo. They caught the guy.”

I know!
But if she ran out there and gave herself up, it wouldn’t get Gil out of jail. Once Grandma got her claws into someone, it took lawyers and money and endless time to get free. Juma would be locked in her room again, maybe for weeks, and meanwhile, Gil, as a suspected sex offender, might be beaten up or even killed in jail. And in Bayou Gavotte, the underworld might get him first.

“But what if he didn’t do it?” She realized she was wailing. Get
a grip, Juma.

The waiter gave her a look. “You’re a strange one, taking the bad guy’s side.”

Juma improvised in a hurry. “I’m a teenager. I’m
always
being wrongfully accused, so you bet I side with the underdog.” Okay, this was working. Steer the guy away from your screwup. “You know the nondiscrimination signs in schools? It says they don’t discriminate because of age. Bullshit. If you’re a kid, you’re scum.” Just to make sure, she added, “Not that I’m for seeing true pedophiles go free.”

The waiter chuckled and left her to her food.

She was halfway through her gumbo when she heard the tapping. After a jolt of fear, she told herself not to be stupid and took another spoonful. The waiter, who had just passed Juma in the direction of the kitchen, said in a wooden
voice, “Mrs. Loveday, what a pleasant surprise. Long time, no see.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Juma choked on the soup. Her heartbeat ramped up. Impossible. There were plenty of Lovedays in the world.

Tap.
Grandma never came to Bayou Gavotte.
Tap, tap.
For sure, nobody here knew her. Even if they did, she wouldn’t come in through the back door.

“Give me a table by the window,” Grandma said, as if she were the queen and the waiter were dirt. “My granddaughter’s been kidnapped by a sex slaver. The police are taking their goddamn time looking into things. They have no consideration for a terrified, grieving old woman!”

The waiter, like every other adult, would buy this sob story, just like they bought the cane, which she didn’t need at all, except to clout Juma with now and then.

Grandma continued, “I snagged one of those reporters that are milling in the streets.
They
listened to me.”

Juma slunk down in her chair behind the urn as her grandmother clacked past on her nasty rhinestone-studded heels, tapping her cane ominously with every step, carrying a huge pink tote out of which poked a sharp, black nose. Poopsie! Crap! Grabbing her backpack, Juma took off at warp speed down the restroom hall to the sound of Poopsie’s frenzied barking and the waiter’s protests.

“Mrs. Loveday, I’m sorry about your granddaughter, but health rules prohibit pets inside the restaurant.” Poopsie was cut off in midyap, and, by the sound of it, ducked whimpering into the basket.

“Have some sympathy, you boor!” Grandma shouted. “What pet? You’re imagining things. Get me a wet cappuccino and make it snappy.”

Juma found the back door and pushed it open. She hurried into a small, empty yard lit by a solitary yellow bulb. On one side was a brick wall, on the other a rickety wooden
fence covered with ivy. A Dumpster sat just beyond. She stumbled over the lid of a trash can, righted herself, and crept carefully to the end of the yard. Peering up and down the alley, Juma saw there was no way she could go left; that would bring her back to the melee on the street. The alley yawned long, dark, and unwelcoming to the right. The yard next door was in darkness, except for a thin streak of light from a partly open back door.

The helicopter whap-whapped closer again, its searchlight heading straight for the alley. Juma ran at a crouch into the next yard and squeezed down between the fence and the Dumpster, covering the pink of her jacket with her backpack, pulling a mass of ivy over her head. The helicopter didn’t linger, but she would never make it down that entire alley in shiny pink clothing. She stood, dug out her suit jacket, and had it half on when a floodlight came on in the restaurant yard.

Grandma! She ducked, but not fast enough. But it wasn’t Grandma, just the waiter, looking mighty pissed.

Oh, crap, she hadn’t paid for her food. She scrounged in the pocket of her jeans for Gil’s twenty. “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning over the fence. “I forgot about paying. Keep the change.” When the waiter took the money but didn’t leave, she added, “Thanks for the meal and the great service. I’ve got to go.”

“You’re Mrs. Loveday’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

Juma’s chest tightened. She squeaked, “What are you talking about?”

“No other reason I can see why you’d take off the minute she walked in. You had money to pay me, so that can’t be it. The dog recognized you, right?”

“Look, mister…”

“I’m not saying she’s a sweet old lady or anything, in fact she’s one hell of a bitch, but she really is worried about you,
kid. She even shed a tear or two just now. Better come inside and set her mind at rest.”

“Never.” Juma yanked the suit jacket on. “I hope she cries until she shrivels up and dies. You know what? I’d rather die than be locked up by Grandma again. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.” She put the backpack on and all at once figured out where she was: in the yard of the Threshold, with an open door inviting her and no security guard in sight. “Don’t believe me?” she taunted, passing the Dumpster and heading for the door. “Just watch.”

“Hey!” The guy went ballistic. “Don’t go in there! That’s the last place you wanna go, kid. I won’t tell your grandma you’re here.”

But Juma didn’t dare believe him. Maybe she’d met a few good adults, but she had no reason to believe this was one of them. She marched firmly toward a fate worse than death. Anything was better than Grandma.

Rose looked pissed off—and also sexy as hell, which was killing him. “She wants to do the job herself, just like with me,” she said. “She wants to take revenge on you herself.”

Jack couldn’t lie, so he temporized. “Maybe. Forewarned is forearmed, however, and—”

Rose muttered something that sounded like
idiotic male.
“You should have told me. Does Constantine know?”

“He may have figured it out—and it has nothing to do with you.” This was getting old. Not only that, his mind had
stuck several sentences back, when his prick had decided to join the party again. Why couldn’t he just stay in control? He put on his best soothing voice. “I care about you. I’m trying to protect you, Rose. I’m trying to keep you out of—”

“I can protect myself!” she raged. “I’ve taken care of myself all my life, and I don’t intend to start depending on someone else. Not only that, this is my fight as much as yours, and I refuse to pander to your rescue complex when you don’t even want me anymore.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s all tarted up to find another guy.” Why else would she be dressed up like that? He felt like an idiot, standing with two sets of car keys in his hands and a burgeoning hard-on.

Rose’s fangs slotted full down. “Tarted up? I’ll show you tarted up!”

His eyes followed her chest as it rose and fell. Her nipples hardened through the fabric, and for a distracted but hopeful second he thought she might jump him. But no. He didn’t want that, remember? Not now. He couldn’t afford it right now.

She shook her head, partially retracting the fangs. “No, if you can’t tell the difference, it’s not my problem. And I don’t know where you got the stupid idea I’m looking for another guy.”

“I don’t know where you got the stupid idea I don’t want you anymore.”

“You just refused to sleep with me, in spite of being very turned on. Isn’t it obvious?”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t about you. It was—”

“About you.” She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

Perfect. He didn’t want to explain all this. Yet he had no choice. “You deserve the truth. It was about Titania. That phone call brought it all back to me…” He trailed off.

Seeing her face, he braced himself for a blast of allure. It didn’t come. The tips of her fangs gleamed, but her voice
was placid. “Earlier, you swore you weren’t interested in Titania anymore. Wasn’t that the truth?”

“Of course!”

She raised supercilious eyebrows. “And yet you just refused me because of her? It doesn’t add up, Jack. And to find out that you were thinking about her while you were with me…” She cocked her head. “You must be way more twisted than I thought.”

He far preferred the furious Rose to this coldly amused one. “I was—”

His cell phone rang, so he tossed the keys onto the futon and extracted it from his pocket. Unbelievable. As if he hadn’t already dreaded this call. In fact, he’d hoped to initiate it himself, to rehearse it in his head first. Now he had to handle it in front of Rose.

He opened the phone. “Titania.” He hoped he sounded as pissed off as he felt.

“Iachimo, darling!” Titania cooed. “You finally answered my call. What a charming surprise!”

“Who the hell gave you my new number?” he snarled.

Rose draped herself across the futon. She gave him a sultry look and mouthed,
Iachimo, darling.

Meanwhile, Titania tittered in his ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Not really. He shouldn’t look at Rose. Long legs, lush thighs…He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had no clue how to play this phone call, and with Rose distracting him…

“It’s been sooooo long,” Titania whined.

The instant he opened his eyes, Rose batted her lashes at him.
So long,
she mouthed, and made a crude gesture.
You’re sooooo long.
With her acute vampire hearing, she was picking up Titania’s every word.

Jack choked back a laugh. Into the phone he said, “You are one hell of a persistent woman.”

Titania purred. “I always get what I want in the end.”

Rose gripped her ass and mouthed,
Ooh, that smarts!

Jack sputtered and used the joke. “In the end? Most women don’t like that much.”

Silence over the airwaves, and then a repulsive gurgle of laughter. “Now, this is the Iachimo I remember. The Iachimo who likes to get down and dirty. The Iachimo whose gorgeous big dick I’ve been missing for so long.”

Rose snorted. Jack glanced at her. Did this mean his dick wasn’t gorgeous or wasn’t big? She’d seemed to enjoy it plenty earlier, but it wasn’t making much of a showing now. At the sound of Titania’s voice, it had shrunk so rapidly it was practically cringing. Maybe his dick had finally reconnected with his brain.

“I’ve been busy,” he said. “Luckily for you, I’m in Bayou Gavotte tonight, but not for long. I have things to do, places to be, so…”

“I don’t need long.” Titania laughed. “And neither do you. I’ll be at the Threshold.” She hung up.

Rose surged up from the futon. “Let’s get going.”

“You need to stay here. Constantine will come with me to the Threshold.”

“With
both of us,”
Rose corrected.

Jack cast his eyes toward heaven and shook his head. Why was she so intent on putting herself in danger?

She grabbed the keys to the minivan; clearly, she’d made up her mind. “Fine. I’ll see you there.” But as she opened the door, her phone rang.

So much for security and keeping out underage kids. Juma walked unhindered into the brightly lit rear vestibule of the Threshold.

Since the guard might return any minute, she hurried up the corridor toward the music and the inviting dimness ahead. She’d mingle with the crowd, pass unnoticed for a while, and
then leave. She followed the music to the dance hall and hovered by the wall, but even with the low light and flickering strobes, she felt curious eyes upon her.
Hungry
eyes. Although maybe that was just her imagination. Either way, this place seriously gave her the creeps.

She looked ridiculously young without makeup, so she found a restroom—the weirdest she’d ever seen, with naked people all over the walls in lewd poses and gross sex magazines in a rack. There were handcuffs and vibrators hanging in the cubicles, and a coiled whip on the wall. She rolled her eyes, wishing she had someone to laugh with about this bizarre place, and applied eye makeup and lipstick. She didn’t have a driver’s license—Grandma wouldn’t allow it—so at least they couldn’t prove she wasn’t eighteen.

She pulled the door open just as a toilet flushed in the men’s room across the hall. Hurriedly she pushed it shut, leaving only a crack to peek through. The door of the men’s banged open and Stevie came out. Crap! Wasn’t he on a date with the woman in purple? He turned left down the corridor toward the back of the club.

Juma slipped out of the restroom and softly closed the door behind her, following at a safe distance. Stevie perched on the chair at the back door and lit a cigarette. She wouldn’t be able to get out that way anytime soon. She couldn’t leave by the front, either, where she would certainly be noticed. And she couldn’t stay hidden forever.

She went looking for a phone. The intermediate area of the club had a funky smell, which she didn’t like one bit. She tiptoed back down the corridor and tried a few doors: storerooms for toilet paper and cleaning supplies, costumes and props, and a kitchen, but none of these had telephones. A long dim hallway branched off the corridor. Flickering sconces along the wall showed swords and knives, scimitars and spears hanging there, and even a medieval-looking poleax. She put her ear to each door before trying the handle.
Sensual music came from behind one; from the last one, just as she touched the handle, a low, creepy moan. She jumped back, shaking.

Hurriedly, she retraced her steps along the hallway, too creeped out to listen at any more doors, but then she lucked out: halfway back was a door marked
OFFICE.
This time, the handle turned smoothly, opening on a silent room lit only by a standing lamp. She let out a relieved breath and locked the door behind her. At the front stood a row of filing cabinets and a shelf full of books about either accounting or sex. Rose would laugh at that strange juxtaposition. A folding door at the end of the room might lead to a closet. And by the window, a desk, with—finally!—a phone.

She’d been told to call Jack, but she’d already decided against it; she’d blown her one chance with him by coming in here. Rose would understand, however, and Rose could also tell Jack about Gil’s plight. Juma rummaged in her backpack for Rose’s card.

Rose flipped her phone open, turning away from Jack’s idiotic protests. It was Juma.

“Rose? Thank God. I’m at the Threshold, and I need help.”

“You’re at the
Threshold?”
Rose put her phone on speaker for Jack’s benefit.
She
wasn’t trying to keep secrets. Jack shook his head and ran a hand over his face.

“I’m fine, but they arrested Gil. Someone has to get him out of jail.” Her voice filled with suspicion. “You’re on speaker. Who’s there?”

“Just Jack and me.”

Jack raised his voice. “Who arrested Gil, and why?”

“Grandma told the cops he’s a white slaver. She said he kidnapped me. She did this before to a guy who gave me a ride, and it cost him a fortune to get free. Please,
please
go to the cop shop and save Gil. They’ll treat him like a child
abuser, and maybe the underworld will kill him, and really he’s an angel!”

“I’ll get right on it.” Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then flipped open his phone and dialed. While he waited for an answer, he asked Juma, “How did you get in the Threshold?”

“I was in the restaurant next door and Grandma came in, so I ran out and into the back of the Threshold before she saw me. Stevie’s guarding the door, but he was in the restroom when I got here. I know it’s a horrible place, but she’ll
never
look for me here. I’m in an office halfway down a hall near the back, and there’s nobody around. I’ll be fine. Just take care of Gil,
please.”

“Will do,” Jack said. Then, when his call went through: “Violet? This is Iachimo Tallis. I need your help.”

Rose gaped. Jack was asking a favor? Violet must have been just as surprised, for there was a brief pause at the other end of the line, and then: “I refuse to negotiate with Titania for
anything,
no matter whose life is at stake.” Another pause. “Is Rose with you? Is she all right?”

“She is and she’s fine,” Jack said. “I need you to go to the police station and rescue Gil.” He explained the situation.

“Who? I’ve never heard of her. She what?” Violet cried. “How dare she even suggest such a thing about darling Gil!” Indignant huff. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever That Bitch may think, I’m the Queen of Bayou Gavotte.”

Jack hung up, muttering, “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”

“It was an excellent idea. You asked for a favor, and you didn’t mention a thing about owing.” Rose leaned across and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Taken care of,” she told Juma, who’d probably only heard bits. “He’ll be out in no time, and I’ll be right there to get you.”

“Good,” Juma replied. “This place sucks. It smells really weird, and—whoa!”

“What?”

“Your gown. The Elizabethan one. What’s it doing in the closet here?”

“It was stolen,” Rose said. “Thank you for finding it. Now, sit tight. I’m coming right away.”

Jack braced himself for another argument as Rose closed her phone and said, “I’ve got to go get her.”

“Titania must be there already. And Gino, because she wouldn’t cart the gown around by herself. It’s not safe for you.”

“It’s not safe for anybody. Miles may be there, too, and what if someone finds Juma and tries to use her for a…a mutilation scene?”

Jack grimaced. “They won’t start that kind of show until later. I’ll get her out of there, I swear. I’ll get Miles out, too, but it’s too dangerous for you.”

“I will not be left out, Jack!”

“Rose.”
Stubborn chick.
“I value you highly as a rescue partner, but—What the hell is that noise?”

It sounded like Constantine, but his singing was punctuated by hoots and howls. Jack stuffed Stevie’s gun in his belt and went through the secret room and up the stairs to the roof. Rose followed close behind.

“What’s the matter with him?” she asked. Constantine leaped around the roof garden of the Impractical Cat, singing into a mike, which explained the appalling volume. He yowled about love and revenge, whooped and threw white porcelain coffee cups, hollered and sailed saucers off into thin air.

“He’s lost it,” Jack muttered. “Too much stress, I guess. I’d better go—” No. If he left Rose here, she’d go straight to the Threshold without him.

That annoyingly persistent helicopter was returning. Constantine
stopped caterwauling, laid his mike on a table, and picked up something else: a rifle.

The helicopter ticked closer, searchlights whirling. Lazily, Constantine tested the sights. He leaned back, taking a long, calculated look at the helicopter hovering overhead. Fuck. He’d gone out of his mind.

“I have to go stop him,” Jack said.

“Oh, my God. If he shoots that helicopter, anything could happen. You could all go up in flames!” Rose’s eyes were wide and frightened in the darkness. Frightened for others, maybe even afraid for him.

Why couldn’t she just be afraid for herself? “And if you go to the Threshold,” Jack said, “you could be tortured and bled.”

“I have to go,” Rose said. “And so do you.” She flung her arms around him, clinging tight. “I love you, Jack, but it doesn’t matter that you don’t love me. Just come through this safely.
Please.”

She loved him?

She released her hold and made as if to turn away, but he took her face between his hands and kissed her hard. “Of course I love you. Just be careful, damn it. Stay away from the front part of the club, because there’s where Titania will be. Her idea of a party is a huge crowd fawning all over her. She has no reason to go anywhere near that office at the back. Get Juma out and take her to Violet’s. I’ll take care of Dufray and then go rescue Miles.”