Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (2 page)

“Make up to me that you tried to actually kill me?”

“You asked me to.”

“No, no,” I shook my head, anger rising in me. “I asked you to fake Joy Humbolt’s death. You tried to shoot Sydney Rye. Big mistake. Huge.”

Bobby nodded and raised his wrist, looking at his watch. It was simple with a gold face and thin leather strap. The timepiece looked understated against his deeply tan skin. “I understand your position,” he said. “I had hoped you would see my intervention in this matter as a favor.” He looked over at Mulberry. “But I can see you have not thought this through.”

I laughed. “Uh, I’ve thought it through.” I yanked up the hem of my skirt and exposed the thick scar that slashed across my thigh. “Just like the bullet went through.”

Bobby looked at my exposed thigh and wet his lips. I pulled my dress back down quickly, feeling my neck flush with anger and shame. His eyes roved up my body, lips parting into a smile at the blush on my neck. I held his gaze and concentrated on breathing steadily. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“At least let me escort you upstairs,” he said.

“I can walk her up,” Mulberry said.

Robert turned to me. “You trust him? You know he trusts
me
,” Maxim practically purred at me.

“You can go too, Mulberry,” I said, not breaking my gaze from Robert’s.

Mulberry didn’t argue.

“Who will you tell the front desk is calling? Hugh’s never heard of Sydney Rye,” Robert said. “Let us take you up and then we’ll both leave. How’s that sound?”

“Fine,” I said, realizing he was right.

#

T
he lobby was sparse with modern black leather couches and fresh flowers. My sandals barely made a sound as I walked over the white marble floor but Bobby’s hard dress shoes sent echoes through the space. A woman, about 25, blonde, sun-kissed, and smiling, sat behind the reception desk wearing a white button-down shirt and a name tag that read “Brandy”.

“We’re here to see Hugh Defry,” Mulberry said, leaning an arm on the chest-high desk.

Brandy smiled picking up the phone. “Who should I say is calling?” she asked.

“Robert Maxim,” Bobby said.

She nodded and dialed. I could hear the ringing on the line. It sounded far away and old-fashioned. A click, a muffled hello, and then Brandy was announcing Robert. I held my breath as she nodded. “Go on up,” she said.

Maxim lead the way to the bank of elevators. I felt pressure building in my chest as we rose to the 28
th
floor. The lift opened onto a carpeted hallway. Black and white photographs of the ocean hung between each apartment door. In some it raged, sputtering froth and spray against rocks, and in others the sea undulated gently to the horizon, looking smooth and friendly.

Robert knocked and I heard movement on the far side of the door. I gripped my hands into fists and licked my lips, anxiety churning in my chest. And then there he was. Hugh. A little over six feet tall with broad, lean shoulders, a wide and open face, he was a good looking guy. My brother had good taste. Hugh’s baby blue eyes were bloodshot and dark circles hung beneath them. A light blonde stubble grew on his jaw. He nodded to Robert and then his gaze fell on me. He started, stepping back slightly, his eyes widening. “Joy?” he whispered. 

I nodded without speaking. Blue recognized Hugh too, and wagged his tail enthusiastically, letting out a growl of excitement and then a quick, high-pitched bark. Hugh’s eyes dropped to look at him. “Blue,” he said, shaking his head.

At the sound of his name Blue wagged his whole body over to Hugh and bent his head, pushing against Hugh’s leg, then flipped himself around so that he was sitting on Hugh’s foot looking up at him adoringly. Hugh reached down and pet him. Blue closed his eyes and sighed appreciatively.

Hugh looked up. “You’re alive,” he said, his voice breaking as tears rose into his already devastated eyes.

I stepped toward him tentatively but then he held out his arms and I fell into them, squeezing Blue between us. Closing my eyes, I felt Hugh’s breath on my shoulder and the beat of his heart against my breast. Hugh pulled back first and held me at arms length, looking down at my face. I swiped at a tear and smiled.

Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, Hugh turned into the apartment. I took a deep breath, smelling baking bread, and my stomach churned with excitement and long-repressed memories of a happier time. We navigated down a narrow hall and then the apartment opened up into a large, light-filled living room. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows I could see small homes laid out in a grid, their tile roofs orange and cheerful compared to the restless ocean and quickly moving clouds. “Wow,” I said. “This place is amazing.”

Hugh smiled and squeezed my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Smells good in here,” Mulberry said.

Hugh’s eyes widened. “My bread,” he said before hurrying toward the open kitchen to our left. He opened one of two ovens recessed into the wall and, grabbing hot mitts from the corian countertop, pulled out a loaf pan and placed it next to the sink.

I just stared at Hugh as he moved around his kitchen. I still couldn’t really believe that he was here in front of me. And I couldn’t understand why I’d stayed away so long.

#

I
followed Hugh into the kitchen and watched as he pulled out a second loaf. On the counter was a fruit bowl I recognized and the memory of it jerked the breath from me.

James made it in a pottery class, one of his lesser talents. He was a brilliant illustrator and designer, but when it came to three-dimensional work, his skills fell apart. And yet, here, on Hugh’s counter, was one of those lopsided creations, the glaze glistening deep blue in the sunlight.

As I reached out to touch it I saw a photograph on the wall. Framed in dark wood James, Hugh, and I smiled at the camera. The rough Atlantic crashed behind us, our hair wet and sandy. I could almost smell the sunscreen on our skin and the beer on our breath.

My smile was so big that my eyes were practically closed. Long hair, bright blonde in the sea sunshine, hung past my breasts. James’s arm was flung lazily across my shoulders and he caught the camera with his gray eyes, holding its gaze, unafraid, happy, alive.

I turned back to Hugh and he looked at me, smiling. How did he even recognize me? My hair, shorter and with long bangs, was died with henna to a deep copper. The scar under my left eye puckered pink. The line of tissue that ran above my eyebrow was covered by the bangs that drifted into my gray eyes, so much colder than they used to be. My body was taut and balanced, always on edge, ready for a fight, sculpted for protection. The difference between me and the girl in that picture seemed unfathomably vast. Almost as if it was impossible we’d ever been the same.

How much had Hugh changed? I thought of the crime scene photos I’d looked at with Mulberry on the flight. The close-ups of blood splattered across pinstriped bed sheets. Lawrence Taggert’s ripped fingernails. The way his suit jacket floated around him as he lay face down, trapped between the roots of an everglade apple tree. Did Hugh knock him out? Lock the man in his trunk? Ignore his pleas for mercy and incessant banging while he drove to the swamp? Where Hugh then pushed Lawrence to his knees and shot him between the eyes? Finally kicking his corpse into the water for the gators to eat?

Hugh reached across the kitchen counter and took my hands. Perhaps his scars weren’t on his face. But there must be something left of those people in that photograph. I glanced back at it. Hugh stood on the other side of James, his hand wrapped around James’s hip. He grinned at the camera, his smile full of youthful exuberance and a touch of alcoholic euphoria. His dirty blonde hair was pushed off his forehead and sand coated one bare shoulder. Was James the only ghost in that picture?

Hugh followed my gaze to the photograph. “That was a fun day,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, turning to him.

“It’s good to see you,” he smiled.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I said, feeling close to him.  No matter how far we traveled and changed there was an unbreakable tie between us. Perhaps there was a little left of that girl in the picture. I hoped that Hugh hadn’t changed as much as me.

Bobby cleared his throat and we both turned to him. He stood next to Mulberry, his fitted suit sleek and dangerous-looking compared to Mulberry’s rumpled jeans and white linen shirt.

“We will give you two some time to catch up,” he said and with a small bow Robert turned, Mulberry with him, and left.

#

“W
e should have a drink,” Hugh said, grabbing a bottle of whisky out of a cabinet and turning toward me.

I nodded my agreement. He grabbed two glasses off an exposed shelf above the sink, then splashed whisky into them. He passed me one. I took it and Hugh leaned his hip against the counter. “God, so much has changed, Joy. Everything.” His face tightened. “How did we get here?”

I sipped the whisky, it was warm and burned my mouth, filling my sinuses with its powerful smoky scent. “I don’t know.”

Blue barked. I turned to him, he looked at the sink, then back at me. “Oh, sorry, boy. Hugh, can I have a bowl for water?”

“Yeah, of course, sure.” Hugh put down his drink and opened a bottom drawer to pull out a bowl. Filling it with water from the tap he placed it on the floor for Blue, who lapped at it.

“Did you really kill Kurt Jessup?” Hugh asked gently as he returned to his full height. Jessup, the man who murdered my brother, the maniac Robert Maxim let run wild, protected, and eventually killed.

I shook my head. “No, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying.” Hugh frowned. “He was already dead when I got there.”

“But everyone in the world thinks you did it. Why haven’t you denied it?”

Ignoring his question I asked one of my own. “Did you kill Lawrence Taggert?”

“No, I don’t think so. I never wanted to. I don’t know,” Hugh turned away from me, placing both hands on the counter and looking out the giant windows. “I can’t remember anything. This is so out of control.”

I sipped my whisky and then put it down on the counter next to me. “I can help you, don’t worry,” I said, placing my hand over his. He looked down at me, his blue eyes filled with tears.

“How?” he asked and his eyebrows raised. “How are you even here? I thought you were dead, Joy!” His voice hiccuped and Hugh turned away from me.

I looked at his profile and watched his Adam’s apple bounce in his throat. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“You said you’d call,” he answered, his voice stronger, almost angry.

“I know.” I wet my lips. “I should have but…”

“What?” he asked, turning to me. “Why didn’t you just let me know you were alive?” He shook his head, his eyes filling with disgust. “How could you let me think I’d lost you too, Joy?”

“That’s the thing,” I said, grabbing at his hand as he tried to pull it away. “I’m not Joy anymore, Hugh. My name is Sydney Rye and I don’t think you want to know me, but the fact is that you’re in trouble and I can help you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

He pulled free from me. “You already hurt me,” he yelled, backing away.

“Hugh - ” I reached across the counter for him, but he stepped further away.

“Don’t, Joy.”

“My name is Sydney now. Trust me Hugh, you need me. I think you’re in even deeper shit than you realize.”

“What?”

“I’m almost positive Robert Maxim is behind all of this. I think he set you up to lure me back here. Hugh, I think we’re both in a shit ton of danger and my suggestion is fleeing. We need to go before they have a chance to realize we’re gone. We need to go now.”

Hugh stared at me, his face dropping, the anger and hurt draining away. “I don’t understand.”

“And I don’t think there is time to explain.” I glanced around the apartment. James’s fruit bowl, the paintings on the walls, the cookbooks that lined the kitchen shelves, pots and pans suspended above a six burner stove. How could I explain that he would have to leave all this behind because of me? “You’ll be able to come back,” I decided. “But we’ve got to go now.”

“Why does Robert Maxim care about you?”

I came around the counter and took Hugh by the shoulders. “Listen to me,” I bit my lip feeling the rough edge of my teeth as I raked them across the sensitive flesh. “This is my fault. I never should have gotten involved in New York. I got James killed and then I stupidly tried to avenge his murder without any concept of what was going on, the bigger picture. Do you understand?” I realized I was rambling. “The point, Hugh, is that I’ve learned a lot since then. And one thing I know for sure is Robert Maxim is dangerous.”

Hugh moved away from me. “Who are you?”

“Sydney Rye, Hugh, and we need to go.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. My lawyer recommended Fortress Global Investigations. He said they were the best.”

“They are, so let me ask you this: if Robert isn’t behind all this why is the head of the company working on this case?”

“It’s pretty high profile,” he said. “Lawrence and I are both minor celebrities.” Hugh had partnered with Lawrence on his restaurant
Defry
after winning the cooking competition
Sliced
, which Lawrence produced.

“This is my fault, Hugh,” I said. “Please let me help you.”

Hugh bit his lip. “I think,” he blinked. “I think it’s like lightning. You know how if you’re struck by lightning it’s more likely to happen again.”

“Hugh, what are you talking about?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly and wet his lips again. “I think that violence is like lightning. If you get struck once you’re more likely to be hit again.”

“Hugh, I brought this here.”

“A lightning rod?” he said with a weak smile.

“Please,” I started again, but he cut me off.

“I’m not going to run away. I need to know what happened.”

“Hugh, just… Just trust me, please.”

“Joy -”

“Sydney.”

“Fine, Sydney.” He took a breath. “I’m not running away. I have to find out what happened. Don’t you understand? I have no idea what happened.” Tears sprang to his eyes again.