Beating Ruby (23 page)

I’m not sure what reaction I expected, but I stared at him in incomprehension when he ducked his head and I heard a dry chuckle. “Oh fuck. Did you just dump me for him?”

I didn’t like this—his tone, his apparent indifference, the nervous laugh. I took a step back. “It’s not about March.” Yes, that
was
a lie.

Alex moved fast, much faster than I could process, and in a split second my back hit the side of the car hard as he flattened me against it. His hands locked my wrists alongside my body in a bruising grip. Air escaped my lungs in a brutal rush as the pain registered in my ribs and shoulder blades. I think I cried out, but the sound died in my throat when he pressed his forehead to mine. A feverish breath traveled between us that carried the sweet smell of chocolate as his lips moved closer. There was a little sweat on his brow, matting his brown curls to my skin; my stomach heaved at the cool, sticky wetness connecting us. I gritted my teeth and tried to turn my head away to escape this sudden invasion.

My heart was beating so loud I could barely hear my own voice over the thumping in my eardrums. “Alex, please, calm down!”

“This is too easy, baby. You get caught up in your own game, things get tough, and you dump me on the side of a road to escape the shit you got yourself into. It doesn’t work like that, Island!” he shouted, his face close enough for me to feel the rasp of his stubble on my cheek. My brain conjured that scene in
Alien 3
, where the xenomorph is inching closer and threatening to drool all over a terrified Ripley’s face. In that moment, I wondered how I had ever allowed this guy—whoever he was—to touch me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and one of my legs jerked in a futile attempt to kick him off me. He dodged it and pressed his thigh between mine, blocking me completely.

“Let me go! I said we’re done! We’re done!” I wished it would have come out as a roar, to free the fear and rage building in my chest, but in truth I was begging, and that near sob sounded foreign even to my own ears.

Around my wrists, his fingers tightened. Pain shot up my arm. “That’s
my
call. And I’ll be sure to let you know when we’re done.”

With this, at last, he let go, leaving me panting and shaking against the Tesla’s door.

“Now get in,” he ordered, his voice softening.

I looked at him with uncertainty, trying to catch my breath with a series of gasps.

I think Alex finally figured just how badly he had screwed up. Warmth returned to his eyes, and along with it a spark of distress. He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I just think you’re making a mistake.”

I wasn’t sure what to think of this typical wife-beating pattern of unexpected violence followed by a—no doubt sincere—apology.
Tamed by the Lone Wolf
would have equated it to a display of alpha male amorous frustration, something along the lines of “Babe, you drive me crazy. I brutally banged you in my cabin in spite of your explicit protests because it was the only way I could express my feelings.” How romantic. In any case, I didn’t want to discuss the incident further and see just how much worse things could get. I climbed in the passenger seat with slow, controlled movements, my eyes never leaving him in case he lost it again.

TWENTY-FOUR

The Rendezvous

“Don’t lie to yourself, babe, your body wanted this! You say no, but your tits say yes.”

—Azure Typhoon,
Tamed by the Lone Wolf

The rest of the ride to Vaduz was mostly silent. And awkward. As awkward
as it gets when your ex who just turned Mr. Hyde on you half an hour
ago
is now attempting to make small talk to ease the atmosphere, only to earn monosyllabic responses and the occasional nod. My wrists still hurt, and reddish-blue bruises had appeared on my skin, like ugly bracelets. I pulled my dress’s sleeves over them and looked at the scenery to distract me, blocking Alex’s voice as he commented on the beauty of the Alps.

I had never visited an actual tax haven, even during those years traveling with my mom, and I sort of expected that everything would be different the second we crossed the border to Liechtenstein. Like Marco Polo sailing across the oceans, I in my cool electric car, dreamed of the golden roofs of Cipango. Vaduz was
n’t like that. It looked in fact more like a village than an actual city—or even a capital—and possessed the same quiet alpine charm that could be found in the Swiss villages we had driven through. A flock of tiled roofs encased in a valley, scattered among pine trees, church steeples, and traditional half-timbered buildings—not what you’d imagine for a country boasting one of the highest GDP per capita in th
e world. Perched on a hilltop and overlooking the city was the medieval castle, a massive and somewhat random stack of ancient stone towers.

“March texted me that he’s waiting for us at the Sonnenhof Hotel. Phyllis took care of the rooms,” Alex announced, typing the hotel’s name in the GPS.

I acquiesced. March. Could I tell him what had happened? God, I wanted to. I wanted to be the five-year-old who points at the bully who hit her and asks an adult to avenge her. But I knew what it would entail, and I didn’t want any more violence. It was best I popped back into my shell and bore Alex’s presence until this investigation was over and I was able to put a galaxy or two between us.

The Sonnenhof Hotel was on the outskirts of the city, facing the still, white summit of the Alpspitz. I wished we had actually been there on a vacation, because its chalet-inspired design and the lush scenery of its garden made the whole place look like a fairy tale.

Alex was opening the trunk to retrieve our luggage when March’s voice echoed behind us. “I wouldn’t call this proper parallel parking.”

The single wrinkle on his brow was self-explanatory. Those few hours spent alone had done little to improve his mood.

I cast him a pleading look. “Not now—I promise to bring a protractor next time.”

“You won’t have to,” he said in a lofty tone.

My mouth fell open in a scandalized O when he pulled out his phone from his pocket and aimed the screen at our car briefly.

“Thirteen degrees. Would you like help with your suitcase while Mr. Morgan fixes this?”

I had no idea what to answer to that, so I just let him pick up my suitcase and followed him toward the ivy-covered arch leading to the hotel entrance. Behind me, I heard Alex mutter that March needed professional help as he opened the driver’s door. Mr. Clean ignored his diagnosis to follow me into the lobby.

Once we were alone, he seemed to relax a little. “Phyllis booked you a very nice room. I think you’ll like it.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“There’s a table waiting for us at the restaurant. We can discuss our next course of action over lunch.”

Lunch. The very word brought up the memory of Alex’s body pressed against mine, of his hands crunching my wrists. Blood started pulsing rapidly in my neck; I felt dizzy. “I-I’m sorry, we already ate on the road. But maybe we can have a drink?”

On March’s forehead, the creases reappeared, this time out of concern. He removed one of his black gloves, and his hand rose to graze my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Biscuit, are you all right?”

“I’m good. It’s just that I’m exhausted and—” My voice faltered, and in spite of myself, March’s touch made me flinch. “I’ll go unpack; I won’t be long.”

He fitted back his glove with doubtful eyes. “Very well. Take your time; I’ll see you at the bar.”

I rubbed my temples tiredly and followed a young hostess to my room on the hotel’s first floor. Once in, I let go of my suitcase and opened the bay window to stand on the balcony, staring at the view for a while. I could see the castle well, its outline sharp against the blue sky and frothy white clouds. The slope of the hill it stood atop was covered with bright green fields and blooming trees, creating a soothing postcard.

March had been right—the room itself was really nice, brightly lit, with its warm wooden furniture and white linen enlivened by black strip cushions here and there. I briefly contemplated slipping into a bathrobe, turning the TV on, and calling him and Alex to inform them that I had changed my mind and no longer cared about finding Thom’s killers or Ellingham’s money, because I had no energy left for either. A rage-quit, if you will.

I didn’t. Because there was too much at stake. I needed to clear Thom’s name. So I took a gianduiotti from the minibar to give myself some courage, brushed my teeth because I didn’t want to get diabetes
and
cavities, and left the room like the winner I was.

Alex’s spoon tinkled against the porcelain of his cup as he twirled it in his Vienna coffee. “This is all we’ve got so far. We need to approach Van Kreft carefully. If he’s our guy, after what happened on Roosevelt Island, it’s a given that he knows someone is on his track.”

“I know you didn’t take my idea seriously,” I said between two sips of hot chocolate, looking at Alex. “But, like I said, I could go undercover and pretend to be a potential client.”

“Island, we’ve talked about this already—” He sighed.

March glanced at me over his coffee cup. “Agreed. There will indeed be no undercover mission involving Island.”

I raised a finger. “I think we should take the time to discuss the pros and cons—”

For a second, I thought I had gotten through to March. His features had lit up, and he was looking at me intently. He squinted his eyes in apparent incomprehension, before his expression morphed into something complicated that I wasn’t sure how to interpret—worry, disbelief . . . rage.

And I understood. Upon raising my hand to defend the merits of my plan, my sleeve had been pulled back, revealing the purple imprints of Alex’s fingers on my skin.

Across the rustic wooden table, March was very still, and his gaze was now set on Alex, unblinking. “Mr. Morgan, will you follow me outside?”

I winced at his velvety tone. Polite as the invitation might have been,
his clenched fists and flaring nostrils promised a world of hurt. I shook
my head in a silent plea. He didn’t listen—probably couldn’t, at this point.

Alex’s glare suggested he believed himself to be up to the challenge. “Certainly, Mr. November.”

I should have felt vindicated that Alex was about to learn a painful lesson in not handling a breakup like the Hulk, but I found the idea brought me no comfort, filling me instead with an asphyxiating sense of guilt.
I
was the one who had allowed the tension to escalate between the three of us . . . until this. A distant part of me was able to analyze the situation rationally and conclude that Alex had brought this on his sorry ass, and that March wouldn’t kill him anyway—that was no longer who he wanted to be. But I couldn’t shake off that damn guilt, and I watched, petrified, as they both got up and left the table.

I thought of going after them, even started to get up as well, but then I caught my own reflection in the window, and I realized how pale I was, how hollow my eyes looked. I looked like Dobby the fricking house elf. This wasn’t me. I needed to get over this, find myself again, and it dawned on me that the best way to accomplish that wouldn’t be to stand and watch while those two fought. It was to act!

Master is busy beating the shit out of Alex! Dobby is free!

I took out my phone, following from the corner of my eye until they had disappeared behind a wall and, I gathered, inside the garden.

It was a little weird for me to call Valorbank for the first time and give my client code. My personal set of moral values was still fairly traditional, making me feel bad for calling a Liechtenstein bank where I supposedly had a couple million dollars stashed. In any case, there’s no problem a well-stocked bank account can’t solve, and when I told my newfound financial advisor—a charming guy named Anders—that I was looking to invest my money and asked him what he thought of Adventia AG, he was all too happy to offer to call them for me and see if a meeting could be arranged. Of course, confidentiality being a chief concern in Valor’s particular field of business, I was assured that my identity would not be disclosed. I was a nameless, faceless client looking to purchase stock with cash currently sleeping in a dozen different tax havens, and everybody here was just fine with that concept.

After he had hung up, I lapped at the remaining whipped cream topping my hot chocolate, while outside a few onlookers and a waiter hurried toward the gardens to get a better view of whatever drama was unfolding there.

Mmm . . .
Maybe I should have stopped March and Alex after all. I paid for our drinks and barged out of the bar and toward the gardens. On my way, I passed an old lady covering her mouth with her hand, wide-eyed.

Okay, on a scale of one to total tram destruction, it wasn’t that bad. There were bloody noses, ruffled hair, and March was close to victory, slowly choking Alex on a wooden table. Or not. Alex’s left leg managed to swing and send a powerful kick that made his adversary let go and double over. I’ll spare you the details, gentlemen: you know where it hurts the most. March quickly recovered, though, and in the blink of an eye grabbed Alex again in a powerful neck hold.

“Stop it!” I yelled, raising my arms in the air.

Around Alex’s neck I saw March’s hold loosen, and they moved away from each other, eyes still smoldering with anger, chests heaving with exertion.

I lowered my arms. “That’s enough.”

To my surprise, March apologized first, his voice tight. “I’m sorry, Island. I believe Mr. Morgan and I have worked out our differences.”

Alex rubbed his throat gingerly. In his features, rage receded, leaving behind something I couldn’t decipher. A sense of emptiness, of quiet reproach. His gaze traveled back and forth between me and March.

“I’m here to do a job,” he eventually said, his eyes set on March. “And so are you, Mr. November. I agree we should focus on this instead.”

March gave a slight nod. Alex wouldn’t look at me—I gathered our mutual wounds were still a bit too raw for that, in every sense of the word—but it seemed that a sense of understanding passed between the two men, a nonaggression pact of sorts.

The tension in my limbs ebbed.

“Good, now we can—” I stopped midsentence when my phone chimed again. I couldn’t suppress a grin. Anders was offering to arrange a meeting with a certain Hannes Wille, senior advisor for Adventia—and Van Kreft’s right-hand man. Would I enjoy a dinner tonight at the Sonnenhof’s restaurant? Why, yes, of course I would! My fingers fluttered on the screen’s glass surface under March and Alex’s inquisitive stares.

I raised a victorious fist in the air. “I’m having dinner with one of Van Kreft’s advisors at eight tonight!”

“You’re not.”

“This is unacceptable.”

Great. Those two finally agreed on something without needing any prior negotiation. I glowered at them and turned my back on them with a light shrug, making a show of walking away.

“Island, where are you going?” Alex groaned.

“I’ve got some errands to run before tonight’s dinner.”

March’s sigh reached me as I turned my back on them. “Biscuit, you won’t play spy.”

Ignoring him, I squared my shoulders and puffed up like a pigeon, walking toward the chair on which he had laid out his jacket before beating Alex up.
Watch me
. I fished in his inner pocket for a small black key fob. “I’m taking your keys; I need a car to go downtown.”