Sonata (North Security 3)

The clink of our glass resounds above the quiet crackle of the fire.

“She isn’t your mother,” he says, so soft I’m almost not sure I heard him.

My heart slams in a heavy beat of anger. Damn him for mentioning it. Damn myself for saying it in a moment of indiscretion, when the smooth slide of the scotch loosened my tongue. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know more than you think. You’re not the only person who knows how to investigate someone. Do you think I would let just anyone guard the chateau? You have the keys to the kingdom. Who better to betray me than the one I trusted to protect me?”

Something about his words stick in my memory. The keys to the kingdom. Was that what Samantha’s father had? Was that what he transcribed onto her memory? Surely that’s the only thing that would be so important, but we don’t know what keys or what kingdom.

It wouldn’t do to blame Frans for his investigations. Smart, that’s what I’d call it. Like he said, I hold the keys to his safety. My natural privacy doesn’t adhere to logic. I learned that solitude meant safety too long ago to forget the lesson now. “So you know the history. Don’t presume to know my mind.”

Eyes almost black as ivory. He stares at me, undaunted. “How much was she sold for?”

Fury flares in my blood, burning hot and red. “You don’t want to walk this path.”

“Even men who aren’t blessed with the pageantry of wealth find a way to be absolutely fucking horrible, don’t they? Your father certainly had very little money. She couldn’t have cost much.”

Scarlet stains my vision. I launch myself at him, slamming my fist into his jaw. Even in my fury I manage to turn the hit so that his body can absorb the blow. Even in my fury, I don’t want to kill him. Another punch, this one lands against the side of his eye. That will turn black. I may not want him dead, but I do want him to be hurt. I’m straddling him on the expensive carpet, the fire raging beside us, the dog alternating whines and howls, unable to decide where his loyalties lie.

My fist pulls back to land a final blow before I even see the way Frans reacts to me—he defends himself, the way a body will naturally avoid a fire, but he doesn’t hit me back. He wanted me to hit him. Why? I straighten enough to glare at him. “What the fuck? Are you so fucking guilty about buying your bride that you need me to beat the punishment into you?”

A careless laugh as he rubs his jaw. “You didn’t mind too much.”

I roll onto the carpet, looking up at paintings on the goddamn ceiling. That’s how you know you’re truly rich, I suppose, when there isn’t enough room on the walls for priceless art. It must be embedded into the house. Wolf launches himself between us, rolling over on his back, deliriously happy that our fight ended. I reach over to rub his belly, all the anger drained out in those punches.

“You’re a bastard,” I say without heat.

“Never more than with her.”

Hell. “Should I take her away from here?”

“I would kill you if you tried.”

I don’t doubt that he would make the attempt. Probably I would live anyway. Despite the bullet that I took in front of a theater full of people, I’m damnably hard to kill. If I weren’t my father would have done the deed years ago. Days at a time in disease-ridden water would have killed anyone without an iron will. Pure stubbornness kept me alive. That, and my mother, for as long as she stayed.

CHAPTER FIVE

As a result of the mathematical nature of pitch bracket notation, arithmetic and algebra can be directly applied to the melodies.

Samantha

The bed is high enough that I have to hitch myself up as I climb in. Heavy blankets ward away the chill. I close the velvet curtains only halfway though. I want to see the door. Maybe I feel less safe being away from Liam. His apartments may be next door but I haven’t seen him since I was shown upstairs. F

or all I know he could be downstairs with Fransisco.

Or he could have gone into Paris for the evening.

A shadow appears in the doorway.

I know it’s him even before my mind can place his silhouette. He brings with him a sense of safety that I’ve never known anywhere else. And anticipation that feels dangerous. The dichotomy pulls at my insides, ripping them to shreds by the time he crosses the room.

Then he stands at the bed, framed by the velvet curtains.

“You couldn’t sleep,” he says, his voice quiet. He doesn’t need to see me move to know that I’m awake. We’ve always had that awareness of each other, even when we shouldn’t.

“This place is unreal.”

He laughs softly. “A far cry from North Security headquarters?”