Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

sp; “Drink. All of it.”

She did, and fell into a paroxysm of coughing.

He didn’t touch her. Her face was red when she caught her breath.

“Finish it.”

She did, then thrust the empty glass at him. Very carefully Saint set it down.

He held out his hand.

Jules simply stared. She loved his hands, she thought vaguely. The fine sprinkling of hair, the long fingers, their blunt tips. She had loved it when he’d touched her, caressed her.

“Give me the gun,” he said.

She opened her reticule and looked at the very small instrument that could very easily have killed that man. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it. She shuddered, unknowingly, and thrust the reticule at him.

Saint took the derringer, opened the chamber, and took out the second bullet. He then dropped the gun to the floor and stomped on it. Once, twice. It broke into three pieces, Jules saw.

“Now,” he said, “I believe it’s your turn, Juliana.”

“Juliana?” she repeated.

“I believe,” he said, his voice as cold as Toronto winters must be, “that ‘Juliana’ is more appropriate than ‘Jules’ for a whore. ‘Juliana’ is also more appropriate than ‘Jules’ for a liar.”

His words broke over her, filling her with his disgust, and she began to shake; she couldn’t help it.

“You might consider trying tears,” Saint said, making no move toward her. “Though this time, Juliana, I promise you they won’t work.”

“No, no, I won’t cry,” she said.

“Refreshing,” he said. He walked away from her—he had to—to the fireplace. He leaned his shoulders gratefully against the mantelpiece. “Would you care to tell me what happened?” he asked, his voice very polite, very calm.

“Nothing, not really. He pulled me into an alley.” Jules drew a deep breath. “I was frightened and we struggled. The gun went off by accident, Michael.”

“Such a short, almost boring tale,” he said. “Fortunate for your conscience that the man, Avery—not a bad fellow really, I imagine—won’t die because you’re a stubborn, witless little fool.”

As if drawn by a puppet’s string, her chin went up.

“Would you mind telling me why you were out alone?” He waved a hand toward the window. “It’s dark, and was almost dark when you were out there. Obviously you thought you’d lost Thackery.”

“Yes,” she said, “that’s what I thought.”

“I believe I asked you a question, Juliana.”

What could she tell him? When she really didn’t understand her own motives? “Wilkes,” she whispered, her eyes on the toes of her shoes.

“Wilkes? What the hell does he have to do with anything?” At her continued silence, he added in a mocking voice, “Have you changed your mind about him? Do you want to find him, give yourself over to him?”

“No!”

“No what? I would appreciate some specificity.”

“I was out . . . tracking him.”

He could only stare at her. “Tracking him,” he repeated. “If you managed to find him,” he continued after a moment, “you wanted to kill him?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m tired of being a prisoner! I’m tired of being a helpless victim.”