All You Desire (18 page)

As the elevator slid down its shaft toward the lobby, Haven removed the ring Iain had given her and dropped it into her handbag. She rubbed at the impression on her skin until there was no evidence that the golden band had ever graced her finger. As much as it hurt her, there was no other way. She couldn't afford to make any more mistakes. She couldn't leave behind any more clues that Iain Morrow was still alive. Maybe Adam did love her, but Haven had no intention of testing his powers of forgiveness.

 

ADAM WAS WAITING for her in the reception area of the Ouroboros Society. Haven arrived to find him lounging in one of the beige leather chairs, his long, pale fingers laced together with his chin resting on top. Two boys chased each other around the room. A little girl was wailing. The child who had apparently walloped her with a textbook was being lectured by her father. The bedlam hadn't disturbed Adam's calm. Before he saw her, his expression was serene, even vaguely amused. Yet Haven thought she noticed him twitch when he spotted her coming toward him across the room, as if her presence had briefly knocked him off balance.

“You look stunning.” Adam stood to greet her.

“Thank you.” Haven wished Adam would look at something other than her dress. His gaze seemed almost obscene, and she could feel herself beginning to blush. He wanted her badly, and he could have taken her whenever he liked. Why was he so willing to wait?

At last Adam's eyes rose to meet Haven's, and she wondered if he had read her mind. “Follow me,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips. When he put his hand on her back to guide her, Haven could feel his icy touch through the wool of her dress, and a pleasant chill tickled her spine. “They're waiting for us in the conference room.”

At the end of the hall, Adam opened a door to reveal four men and one woman sitting around a long glass table, their hands in their laps. They were in their forties or fifties, hardened professionals whose faces bore wrinkles and grooves etched by decades of stress. Yet they all regarded the youthful-looking man in black with a mixture of respect, curiosity, and fear.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Adam announced, “this is my friend Haven Moore. Haven, I'd like to introduce you to Gordon Williams, New York's police commissioner.” A burly man in double-breasted suit rose to shake Haven's hand. “Commissioner Williams has brought two of his finest colleagues, Detectives Harvey and Hayes. We also have two representatives from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agents Jackson and Agnelli.” Adam pulled out a chair for Haven and she sat. “So, shall we begin?” he asked the group.

“May I say a few words first?” the police commissioner inquired.

“Certainly,” Adam said.

“Thank you.” The commissioner spoke in a thick Brooklyn accent that sounded quaint to Haven's ears. “I would just like to remind the law enforcement professionals gathered here that you were chosen for your discretion. Nothing you hear today will ever leave this room. If there are any leaks, I will personally punish the person responsible. Do I make myself clear?”

The other guests exchanged anxious glances, none of them sure what to say.

“Do I make myself clear?” Gordon Williams repeated.

“Yes,” someone offered.

“Good. So, Miss Moore—what seems to be the problem?”

Haven glanced over at Adam, and he gave her a nod of encouragement. She suddenly realized that he hadn't told his guests anything. They had gathered at the Ouroboros Society without knowing whether they'd be tasked with rescuing a kitten from a sewer drain or saving the city from terrorists.

Haven cleared her throat. “A friend of mine has disappeared. The police have been looking for him for almost a week, but they haven't found him yet. He flew here from Nashville, Tennessee—”

“Wait one second,” interrupted Gordon Williams. Haven braced for a lecture. She expected him to say that an ordinary missing-person case wasn't worth the police commissioner's valuable time. Instead, he pulled a pencil and small notebook out of his jacket's inside pocket. “Sorry about the interruption, Miss Moore. I just want to make sure that I get all of this down.”

 

THE BRIEFING LASTED for more than two hours. The lawmen wanted to know everything about Beau—from the color of his hair to his father's war record. Haven supplied all the details she could while Commissioner Williams and his colleagues nodded solemnly and took copious notes. When she touched on the subject of Beau's trip to New York, she could see one of the FBI agents growing increasingly agitated.

“Is there something wrong, Agent Jackson?” Adam asked at last. He, too, had noticed the man fidgeting.

“Look, I don't want to sound disrespectful, Miss Moore,” the man told Haven. “I know you and Beau Decker are from a very small town and you've probably led sheltered lives. But how could you let your friend visit a stranger he met online? Don't you read the news? That's just asking for trouble.”

Haven had tried her best to steer clear of reincarnation. Now she saw that the topic was unavoidable.

“Beau believed he knew the man who called himself Roy Bradford in a previous life. He said I knew him too. But you're right. I should never have let Beau go.”

“Wait a second. A previous life? You really believe—” the man began.

“This is the Ouroboros Society, Agent Jackson,” Adam cut him off. “We
all
believe.”

“And please remember that this information is privileged, Agent Jackson,” Commissioner Williams barked. “You say you may have known this man in another existence, Miss Moore? Do you have any information that might help us identify him?”

“No,” Haven admitted. “Not yet.”

“Yet?” Agent Jackson asked.

“I'm trying to remember more of the life Beau and I shared,” Haven explained.

“And you think—”

“Agent Jackson,” Adam said firmly, “you came highly recommended, and your superiors assured me that you were a man with an open mind. But if your skepticism is going to interfere with your job, I suggest you find another case to pursue. Or perhaps a new line of work altogether.”

Even the briefest glimpse of Adam's power was enough to silence the room.

“Thank you, Miss Moore,” Commissioner Williams finally said. “I think this has been a very productive meeting. Do you have anything else you'd like to add at this time?”

“No,” Haven said, glad the experience was almost over.

“In that case,” the man said, rising from his seat, “we will speak to Mr. Decker's father and the NYPD officers who've been working on the case. We'll find your friend, Miss Moore,” he assured her. “You can be sure of it.”

“Thank you, Gordon. I have every confidence in you,” Adam told the man. Haven detected an ultimatum in his tone. “Thank you all. You're free to leave. I'd like to chat privately with Miss Moore.”

After the NYPD and the FBI obediently filed out of the room, Haven turned to Adam. Having seen his power put to work, it was impossible not to feel a little awestruck.

“I'm sorry about Agent Jackson,” Adam said. “He's not one of us, and it may take him a little while to get used to the way things work around here. I hope you didn't find his outburst discouraging.”

“Forget Agent Jackson. I'm totally thrilled. I can't believe I just had the New York City police commissioner writing down every word I said.”

“You're surprised?” Adam asked.

“He's the
police commissioner
,” Haven replied. “I doubt he spends much time searching for nineteen-year-old boys who go missing. How did you manage to convince him to come?”

“I didn't need to convince him. He's a member. He volunteered.”

“To please you?”

“To earn points,” Adam corrected her. “He doesn't know that he needs to please me. He doesn't know who I am at all, aside from a fellow member with a bottomless account.”

“So the police commissioner is a member of the Ouroboros Society?” Haven asked, wondering how Commissioner Williams planned to spend the points he would earn. What was his secret weakness? Whatever it was, Adam must have already found it.

“Yes, he's a member, but not a very important one. Only those in the upper ranks are aware of my role here at the Society. I'm afraid Gordon Williams will never reach such heights.”

“If the police commissioner isn't high-ranking, who is?” Haven asked, hoping for a rare glimpse of the Society's inner workings.

“Would you really like to know?” His smile had turned sly again.

“Absolutely!” Haven replied.

“Then come with me.”

Adam led her out of the conference room. The clock in the reception area said 6:12. Ouroboros Society business hours were over, and the children had all disappeared. In their place were three elegant young women. A curvy redheaded creature in enormous sunglasses jumped up when she saw Adam and rushed over to greet him.

“Hello!” The girl almost came close enough to peck Adam's cheek before she caught herself and lurched backward like she'd bounced off an invisible force field.

“Good evening, Alex,” Adam said. “I apologize for making you wait. Allow me to introduce my friend Haven Moore.”

Alex removed her sunglasses, revealing a face that appeared clean-scrubbed and unremarkable. Yet Haven felt a jolt of recognition. She knew the face well. Almost everyone did. Without makeup, it could have been that of a Midwestern cheerleader. But it belonged to Alexandra Harbridge, one of the most famous young actresses in the world. Haven felt as if she'd just been introduced to someone she'd been spying on her entire life. Beau had avidly followed Alex's career since the girl had made her acclaimed film debut at the age of thirteen. Alex had never lived up to most critics' expectations, but at age nineteen, she was a worldwide star nonetheless. Half the romantic comedies churned out by Hollywood now featured Alex in a leading role. Most were so saccharine that they left Haven feeling physically ill, but Beau gobbled them up like bonbons. And for six years, he'd regaled Haven with tales of Alex's disastrous relationships, emergency appendectomies, weight fluctuations, and fashion blunders.

“Haven, this is Alex Harbridge,” Adam said. “She has been kind enough to offer her help with our Society recruitment efforts this year.”

“Hi,” Haven croaked.

“Hello to you too! So sorry for butting in like this! I never pass up an opportunity to meet Adam's friends. He knows the most
fascinating
assortment of people.” Alex paused, bit her lip, and grinned as if she were contemplating something naughty. “May I ask you something personal? Where
did
you get that dress? I noticed it the second you stepped into the lobby. Would you mind?” Alex twirled one finger, and it took Haven a moment to realize she was being asked to spin around. The gesture might have seemed obnoxious if anyone else had made it, but somehow Alex made it feel friendly and familiar.

“I designed it,” Haven said, modeling her own dress.

“You
designed
that?” the girl gasped. “Do you have your own fashion label? Where is your store? Can I stop by tonight?”

“I don't have a store in New York,” Haven informed her. “I just design for myself these days.”

“How can you deprive the rest of us like that? It's just
cruel
!” Few people could make such a pronouncement sound natural. For the first time, Haven knew what Beau saw in Alex. “Do you think I might be able to persuade you to sew up a little something for me?”

“I'd love to, but I'm living out of a suitcase right now,” Haven said. “I'm afraid I didn't pack any of the supplies I'd need.”

“And you don't think I can get my hands on a little fabric and thread? Just say yes and I'll have everything delivered to you! And I'll pay you whatever you want.”

Haven could see that Alex wasn't inclined to take no for an answer, and Haven did need the money. “What would you want me to make for you?” she asked. “
If
I decided to do this.”

“First, I want a dress exactly like
that
,” Alex announced, right before inspiration seemed to strike. “
Actually
. . . how about a gown? Do you make gowns?”

“That depends. What kind of gown?”

“Something I can wear to the Oscars. The date is just around the corner, and I still haven't found a single thing I like. My stylist is hopeless. I'm starting to suspect that she's secretly employed by one of my rivals.”

“The Oscars?” Haven grimaced. Designers' careers were made—or destroyed—on the Oscars' red carpet. “I'm not sure I'm ready for—”

The girl clutched Haven's arm. “Oh, please don't say no! Please!” she pleaded. “Did you see what I wore when I won my Oscar for
Promises, Promises
? The dress with the purple ruffles?
Star
magazine said I looked like a teenage mutant sea slug. If I don't come up with something good this year, I'll never be able to show my face on a red carpet again.”

It
had
been a hideous gown, Haven recalled. Beau had bitched about it for weeks. He'd even unearthed one of Haven's old Barbies, renamed her Alex, and sewn the doll a more suitable dress.

“Okay,” Haven reluctantly agreed. “I'm at the Gramercy Gardens Hotel. Room 2024. Would you have time to stop by tomorrow morning? I could take your measurements and possibly show you some sketches.”

“Perfect! Let's say nine o'clock,” Alex announced, plugging the appointment into her phone.

“Come along, Haven,” Adam said. “I'll walk you to the door. Alex, will you excuse us?”