Sonata (North Security 3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The main groups of singing insects are cicadas, grasshoppers, locusts and crickets. Each species produces a distinctive sound. In almost all cases, only the males sing.

Bethany

I’m dancing with a vicomte when Alexander Fox finds me.

He stands against the wall, his expression indicating that it’s time. He’s always been charming and respectful to me. It makes me wonder what would have happened if his United States counterparts had been that way. Without the reality show or the elaborate staging, would we have been so vulnerable? Would the shooting have happened? The shot did more than blast through Liam North’s body. Layers of muscle and bone. One of the strongest men I’ve ever met. It took him down, because in the end he’s still a man—not a god. It shook more than him, because the tour ended. I know I’m not the only one who’s nervous about getting back on a stage. Performers are a suspicious lot. Maybe the tour shouldn’t have been resurrected. Maybe it should have ended that day in New York City, even if that feels like defeat.

The song ends, and the vicomte twirls me around with a flourish. He’s twice my age, but that sort of thing doesn’t matter to these people. My skin color matters, though. Enough to make me wonder if he’s giving me that gallant smile because he’s interested in me—or because he thinks I’ll give him a quick fuck in the bathroom. Even rich people like quickies.

Well, it doesn’t matter what he wants from me. I’m here to do a job. It’s best to begin before the nerves paralyze me completely. Performers are superstitious, but I come from New Orleans. I threw salt over my shoulder and hanging garlic over my bed since I was a little girl. My mind knows that the shooting happened because Samantha’s father was in business with bad people. The ancient part of my mind wonders if standing on a stage with her again is a good idea.

It takes some searching to find Romeo. I have to ask for the man with broad shoulders and an earring in his left ear. It makes him look vaguely like a pirate. Eventually I stumble across a row of closed doors. It’s like a bad game show, where I’m probably going to end up embarrassed.

The first door opens to reveal three people engaged in a very acrobatic arrangement. It could easily be something on the floor of Cirque du Monde—clothed, of course. I murmur a quick apology and shut the door, even though I don’t think they noticed me.

The second door reveals a woman being pleasured by a man who must be half his age. There’s a stark enough difference that I wonder whether she’s the aristocracy in this relationship.

The third door finally reveals two men, their clothes half-shed across the sitting room. Romeo has the man backed up against a window ledge. They’re making out with mouths clashing, hands clenched. I clear my throat. “Romeo,” I whisper. And then louder, “Romeo!”

I wouldn’t normally interrupt him, except that we promised to do this small performance. It felt like a safe way to ease back into dancing. It’s been hard to start after the shooting.

He tears himself away with clear reluctance. I recognize the word he uses in Spanish, even though it’s slang and extremely rude. “Tell them to wait.”

“They’re signing our checks, so no, I’m not going to tell them that.”

With a groan, he steps back. “Wait here,” he says gruffly.

“I’m sorry,” I tell the anon

ymous other person. I have no intention of knowing who it is—and certainly wouldn’t mind if Romeo played with any of the guests. Recognition makes me do a double take. I manage a weak smile at the man before Romeo reaches the door.

“A servant?” I hiss when he’s outside. “I don’t think Frans would—”

“Oh, he’d rather I fuck one of his fancy counts or barons? Like I’m some kind of performing monkey. Dance when he wants. Suck dick when he wants.”

A flinch. “You’re going to get him in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about him. Besides, you’re the one making sex eyes at the man who’s probably going to get all of us killed.”

Anger lances through me. Along with worry. “I don’t make sex eyes at anyone, thank you very much. And what do you mean, he’ll get us killed?”

“That’s what they’re trying to do. You didn’t know? That’s the purpose of this concert. To draw out whoever was after Samantha in New York.”

We reach the top of the stairs, and I manage a bright smile despite my concern. I have a long history of giving a fake façade. Most people think I’m happy and calm. They think I’m at peace no matter what turmoil’s inside me. Romeo holds his arm out, and I place my hand in it. He’s wearing a black costume tuxedo with a yellow cumberbund. He’s the worker bee. I’m the queen. We pass by the man in question—Joshua North. His green eyes take me in with cool appraisal. Of everyone in the room, he doesn’t look fooled. He knows I’m worried. Then again, that’s only fair. Because he also knows why.

We take our places in the center of the ballroom. A hush falls over the crowd. The quartet already knows the piece we need. Romeo does a wide sweeping step, his form utter perfection. Like me, he knows how to fake it. No matter his desire for the servant or his worry over the concert. We’re like the musicians on the Titanic. We continue playing even when the ship goes down. He lifts me up, and I make my circle around the hive. I’m the queen of all I survey, even if I can never leave my post. The dance passes without flaw. Perfect technique. Endless practice will do that. I’m lucky that my partner has the same devotion to practice as me. We end with a bow and curtsey. The whole room erupts into applause. So much praise. Wonder. They’re easily pleased once plied with champagne. Only one man in the room doesn’t clap. He watches me instead, his green gaze troubled, as if he’s only now felt the water at his ankles, only now realized the ship we’re on is sinking.

Josh

I should have done this yesterday but I stayed in Paris to watch Bethany’s performance last night. So do otherwise ordinary men turn into fools for women. Not women, plural. A single woman. She had been incandescent in the center of that ballroom. Utterly regal. Unfortunately, she’s also very much off-limits. The only way I know how to be with a woman is to fuck. Hard. Fast. And then leave. For reasons I haven’t quite deciphered, I don’t want to do that with her.

After ten hours of flights to our compound in Texas and ten hours of flights back, I have the violin in hand. I would give Samantha a hard time about needing this particular violin, except I understand it. I like my particular gun. I can use another one in a pinch, but there’s something about mine that fits better in my hand, that aims better, that shoots better. She probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

A knock on the apartments next to hers. I don’t wait for an answer, because there are some benefits to being a younger brother—and being an annoying shit is one of them. I push open the door. Liam stands at the window, holding a cup of coffee. He looks like he’s thinking deep thoughts. Instead he’s probably calculating whether there are any openings in the chateau’s security. There aren’t.

“You’re welcome,” I say, setting the violin down on the sofa. When wood and catgut goes for a couple million dollars, it gets to sit on cushions instead of a table.