His vision went from black to red. An uncontainable fury twisted around his insides and polluted the crisp night air with tendrils of colored smoke. With a cry of anguish, he lunged, arm raised, but his fist went straight through the apparition into the brick wall. His already bruised knuckles exploded, blood splatters spraying the white plaster, but he hardly noticed the pain.
“Give her back!” Tremors of anger and fear made him shudder. “She’s mine!”
“You can have her back the second you’ve complied with Godfrey’s command.”
Ivan turned his back on Boris, trying to get a grip on his emotions. As the scotch pushed up his throat, he planted his palms on his thighs and doubled over. Acid burned his esophagus and dry heaves racked his body. He had to keep it together for her.
Forcing himself back to calm, he asked, “What does he want?”
“That’s my boy.” Boris sounded pleased. “It’s simple, really. You have to manipulate only one spirit.”
Ivan faced his enemy slowly. “Who?”
“Cain Jones.”
He blinked in shock. He’d expected the president, a wealthy tycoon, an arms dealer, someone with money, maybe, but not Cain, and yet, now that he considered it, it made perfect sense. Of course. He gave a loud, hysterical laugh.
“Is something funny?” Boris asked.
“I don’t know why I didn’t see that one coming.”
“When Cain is under your power, you will make him hand over all confidential information. Once it’s done, you will kill Cain and his team. Set it up to look like Cain massacred his team before killing himself. Make it look like he walked over to the other side for money and took his life when the guilt caught up with him. Or better yet, get Cain to do it himself. It shouldn’t be difficult for you. You know what? I’ll let you decide how you do it. When you’ve done all that, you can have your girl back.”
“If one hair on her head is harmed, you know what I’ll do to you.”
“I don’t think you’ll do anything to me. I’ll be gone with my prize before you have time to fart.”
A nasty feeling nestled in Ivan’s chest. If he felt sick before, he now felt weak with dread. Careful to block that part of his mind, he asked, “How did you trap her?”
“I didn’t plan it. She fell right into my lap, so to speak.” Boris rolled his neck. “She’s the only person who’s not a medium or necromancist who can see me.”
That did it. He knew. Gathering strength he didn’t know he had, he kept his voice even. “Godfrey will have what he wants before the sun rises.”
The ghost cracked his knuckles. “Then pretty little Alice will go home, tonight.”
He didn’t miss that smallest of accentuations on home. He turned his back on the spirit and walked away.
Halfway down the street, he stopped. Going down on his haunches, he grabbed his head between his hands. Boris had wanted Alice all along. How could he have been so blind? He’d always known she was different. He couldn’t explain why she could see Boris, but that very first night in the pub when Boris had studied her from the table at her back, he’d instinctively wanted to get her away. If he’d paid closer attention to his gut, he’d have realized sooner what Boris’s plan was.
He pressed his bleeding knuckles against his eyes and uttered a cry of fury and desperation. If he fucked this up, he’d be responsible for destroying the only person he’d ever loved without having a chance of telling her how much he still loved her, how stupid and petrified he’d been of losing her when he should’ve cherished and reassured her.
His nails dug into his palms as he balled his hands into fists. Steadily, the fear in his veins turned to burnishing anger at both himself and his enemy. If not for his art, Alice’s life would never have been in danger. He didn’t give a damn about anything else, not Cain and not himself, but Alice deserved to have babies and grow old. He allowed the anger to ground him until his heart beat with one truth and purpose only. He’d kill to keep Alice alive.
Pulling the hood of his sweater low over his forehead, he rose from his crouching position. As he took his phone from his pocket and dialed Cain’s number, the heavens opened above him. He hardly noticed the downpour that soaked him in seconds.
“Ivan?” Cain said, his voice cautious.
“I had a visit.”
“Where can we meet?”
Ivan thought quickly. Not at The Ritz. Crim and the girls were there. Definitely not at Alice’s place. He didn’t want her implicated in any way. It had to look like an accident. Somewhere secluded, where they wouldn’t be interrupted or attract attention.
“The theater,” he said, “in fifteen minutes.”
“Where? It’s a big building.”