All You Desire (9 page)

Leah snorted. “If I knew that, I wouldn't bother paying for a plane ticket, now would I? But my guess is that he wants to warn me. I have a feeling something bad is going to happen.”

“How bad?” Haven wasn't sure she wanted to know.

“
Real
bad.”

“And I'm mixed up in it?”

“Dunno,” Leah said. “Maybe.”

Just give me a chance to save Beau first,
Haven silently prayed.
Before Leah Frizzell tries to save the world.

 

BY THE TIME Iain arrived back at the hostel, Haven was sitting on the bed waiting for him. She was wearing her coat, and their suitcases were packed.

“What's going on?” he asked, bending down to kiss her cheek.

“I have to leave tonight,” Haven told him.

“So I see,” Iain said with a nod at her luggage. “Where are you going?”

“Why didn't you tell me you know someone back in New York who might be able to help me find Beau?”

“I do?”

“I spoke to Leah Frizzell. She had a vision of an old woman who can see other people's past lives. She says the lady was surrounded by smoke. And Leah thinks you know her.”

Iain remained silent. Haven wished she could pry open his skull and see what was going through his head.

“It's not smoke,” he said at last. “It's steam.”

“So it's true?” Haven asked. “You know her?”

“The woman's name is Phoebe,” Iain said. “It never even occurred to me that you might want to meet her. She works for the Ouroboros Society. They call her the Pythia.”

“But she could help me see the life I had in Florence?”

“She might be able to,” Iain admitted reluctantly.

Haven stood up and grabbed the handle of her largest suitcase. “Let's get to the airport. We can't waste any more time in Italy if the woman I need to see is in New York.”

Iain took the suitcase from her and set it back on the floor. “Hold on, Haven. This isn't as simple as you think.”

“Really? It seems pretty simple to me,” Haven said.

“It's not. No one knows how much of what the Pythia says is true. She only works with the high-ranking members of the OS. She claims she helps them remember more of their previous lives. But there are a lot of people in the Society who recall being famous or royal—and not that many who remember being peasants or chambermaids. It's just not realistic. We've
all
been peasants. The Pythia has to be making a lot of stuff up.”

“But if we told her it was a matter of life and death, she wouldn't lie, would she?”

“There's no way to be sure,” Iain said. “And there's something else you should know.”

“What?”

“The Pythia is one of the people who know about Adam. She speaks to him on a regular basis.”

He waited for Haven to respond, but for once she kept her lips sealed. When her mother had called to say that Beau was missing, Haven had made a secret deal with the gods. She'd promised them any sacrifice if Beau Decker's life were spared. But now Haven's resolve was being put to the test. How far was she really prepared to go?

“If you visit the Pythia, you'll be putting yourself in danger. We both know we'll have to deal with Adam and the OS someday. But we came to Italy to get away from him for a few years. Then we left Rome because you thought he had followed us there. Now you want to go to New York and run right back into his arms?”

“His
arms
?” After Haven's conversation with his mother, Iain's words felt like a slap in the face. “When was I ever in Adam Rosier's arms? Is there something you want to tell me?”

“He's obsessed, Haven. . . .”

“What does that have to do with
me
? Women throw themselves at you every day, Iain. I trust
you
.”

“I trust you, Haven. It's just—”

“I have to go, Iain. It's
Beau
. Do you know how many times I've let him down?” The panic surged, and her voice squeaked. “I won't do it again.”

“You don't need Phoebe's help. We'll find another way to rescue Beau. I can't let you take this kind of risk, Haven. It's not what Beau would have wanted. We managed to fool Adam once, but I doubt we'll be able to fool him again. And this time I may not be able to rescue you.”

“Rescue
me
?” Haven's temper flared. “As I recall, the last time we were in trouble, I rescued
you
. I'm not some damned damsel in distress. You can come with me or stay here. I'm leaving for New York tonight.”

At last Iain seemed to realize that Haven's mind was made up. “Fine,” he announced. “We'll go back together. On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“I'll tell you where to find the Pythia. You'll gather whatever clues she can offer you and take them straight to the police. And then we leave New York.
Immediately
. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” Haven agreed. Her anger was fading, and the need to embrace him was growing in its place. She knew just how much she was asking. But Iain had barely put up a fight. In return, Haven took a second silent oath. She would sacrifice anything for Beau. But she wouldn't let the quest to save her friend lead her away from the person she loved.

“I'm sorry, Haven,” Iain said. “I should have remembered the Pythia. I want to do everything possible to find Beau. I'll fly halfway around the world to look for him. I'll spend every dime we have left. I'll search New York City by foot if I have to. But I won't risk losing you. I'm sorry if that sounds selfish.”

Haven couldn't hold herself back any longer.

CHAPTER TEN

Haven opened her eyes when she felt the plane being pulled back to earth. The cabin lights were out, and most of her fellow passengers were dozing in their seats. Over the hum of the engines, she could hear machine-gun fire and angry voices. The little boy to her left had been playing the same war game since they took off from Florence. She wondered how many enemy soldiers he'd managed to dispatch during their eight-hour flight.

Iain didn't wake when she tucked a blanket around him, but he grumbled in his sleep as she reached over to slide open the window shade. As she got closer, Haven couldn't resist the urge to kiss him. Her lips lingered on Iain's cheek, and she prayed he wasn't worrying about all the wrong things. Adam Rosier was dangerous. They were putting their lives in jeopardy, no doubt. But Haven wondered if that was what bothered Iain most. In the heat of the moment, he'd accused Haven of running back into Adam's arms. What exactly had he meant? Had his mother been telling the truth after all? Did he really see Adam Rosier as a rival? Didn't Iain know that there was nothing on earth that could ever tempt Haven to stray?

As usual, Beau Decker took any opportunity to make a cameo appearance inside Haven's head. “I suppose all that jealousy was just his conscience talking. Like my grandpa used to say, a guilty dog always barks the loudest.”

It was a snippet of a conversation now months in the past, and Beau hadn't been referring to Iain. He'd been talking about Stephen, the boy who'd broken his heart. He'd been flattered when Stephen hadn't wanted to share him with anyone else. Amused when the boy imagined every male on campus was a rival for Beau's affections. And horrified to discover that the first person to whom he'd given his heart had been sharing his body with half of Nashville.

The plane sank again, dipping low over Manhattan as it prepared to land on the other side of the river in Queens. Haven looked up from Iain and out the window. Not far below, the roofs of the skyscrapers that rose out of midtown seemed so close that Haven briefly wondered if the pilot planned to fly through the streets. An entire avenue turned a bright, blaring red as drivers hit their brakes for a traffic light.

Her best friend in the world was down there somewhere. Haven could feel it. But the city was vast—even from the air it didn't seem to end.
Poor Beau,
Haven thought.
He came all this way to find his Iain
.

“Can I see?” asked a voice. The ten-year-old boy seated on the aisle had dropped his video game and was kneeling on his seat cushion for a better look.

“Sure.” Haven sat back in her chair and let him lean over her.

“Just like I remembered,” the boy said solemnly.

“Have you been to New York before?” Haven asked.

“Mmm-hmm. A long time ago.”

“He has
not
,” the boy's mother chimed in from across the aisle. Haven hadn't realized she was awake. “He just has an overactive imagination. How many times have I told you not to lie, Jordan?”

“I'm not lying,” the boy insisted. “I flew here in a giant balloon.”

“See what I mean?” the woman told Haven, her eyes searching for sympathy. “I don't know where he gets it.”

“What kind of giant balloon?” Haven asked the boy quietly once his mother was no longer listening. “Do you mean a blimp? Did you fly here in a blimp?”

“Forget it,” Jordan said, sulking.

The boy was still out of sorts thirty minutes later when she and Iain found themselves trapped behind his family in the taxi line at the airport. The icy wind rushed around them all, sneaking up Haven's sleeves and worming its way through the buttonholes in her coat.

“Have you ever been this cold?” she asked, trying to make small talk with the miserable little kid. He snorted once with contempt before pulling out his video game and ignoring her all together.

“Jordan!” his mother admonished him. “Don't be rude!”

“Leave me alone,” he demanded.

“It's okay,” Iain assured the boy's mother. “It's late and we're all exhausted.”

Once they'd been ushered into a cab, Haven huddled next to Iain and tried to fight the dread that was gnawing away at her. As their taxi raced toward Manhattan, she watched the buildings across the East River grow until they loomed over the car, each a monstrous shadow bedecked in glittering lights. The city was beautiful, but it wasn't safe. Haven felt as if eyes were following them as they cut across town. Riding through wild, wintry Central Park, she began to imagine an ambush. An obstacle would appear in the road. The cabdriver would hit the brakes, and dark figures would emerge from behind the snow-covered trees. She gripped Iain's hand and pressed her face into his cashmere-clad shoulder. But the ambush never came to pass. They arrived safely at their destination on the west side of Central Park—an enormous building with towers that resembled a pair of horns. She and Iain hurried into the lobby of the Andorra apartments, Haven with the collar of her coat turned up, and Iain with a baseball cap pulled down to hide his face. On the seventeenth floor, they knocked at a door.

“Come in, come in!” Frances Whitman beamed at the pair of them. The chipper, thirty-something blonde had answered the door of her opulent apartment in tattered flannel pajamas. She looked like a peasant who'd inherited a palace. “I'm so thrilled you're here! It gets lonely in this big old place with no one around.”

“Iain, I'd like you to meet Frances, my . . .” Haven paused. “What would you say we are, Frances?”

“Third cousins, one lifetime removed.” Frances winked at Iain. She and Haven had met for the first time eighteen months earlier, when Haven had been researching her previous existence as Constance Whitman. Haven was surprised to learn that Constance had one distant relation left in Manhattan—and shocked to discover that Frances had inherited the apartment where Constance's parents had once lived. The last time Haven had spoken to Frances was outside Iain's Manhattan funeral, but when Haven had phoned her out of the blue, Frances treated Haven like nothing less than a long-lost relative.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Iain said as he took off his hat.

“Oooh, he's
so
handsome!” Frances informed Haven in a stage whisper. “No wonder you keep searching for him in every life. I wouldn't let that get away either.” She turned back to Iain and offered him her hand. “I can't tell you how happy I was to find out that you didn't die in the fire. It would be a shame if the rest of us couldn't enjoy that face while you have it.”

“Why thank you, Ms. Whitman,” Iain said, planting a kiss on her knuckles. The woman's eyes widened with surprise. She hadn't expected him to play along.

“So charming!” she mouthed at Haven. “But please, Iain, call me
Frances
. Haven told me what happened. It's like something out of some tawdry romance novel. And I mean that in the very best way, of course. I hope you guys won't mind if I live vicariously for a little while.”

Iain laughed. “Not at all,” he said.

“Thanks so much for giving us a place to stay,” Haven added. “You're the only person in New York that I know we can trust.”

“And I imagine it's hard to rent a hotel room in a city where one of you is supposed to have died,” Frances observed.

“It's even harder when you're both broke,” Haven added.

“Pssh,” Frances dismissed all talk of money with a wave of her hand. “You have no idea what I'd give to be young and poor and in love. The only things my money seems to buy are lawyers and gold diggers. You should enjoy your poverty while you can.”

“That's what I've been trying to tell Haven all along,” Iain said.

“Then I guess you've learned a thing or three over your past hundred lives,” Frances fired back flirtatiously.

Iain peered down at Haven.
What exactly have you told her?
his eyes seemed to ask.