All You Desire (37 page)

“I will find him for you,” Adam pledged.

“When you do, I don't just want him arrested.” Haven paused to study Adam's response, but his face showed no sign of disapproval. “I have twenty Society points. I want to hire someone to hurt him the way he hurt Beau.”

“There's no need for you to use your points,” Adam responded, his meaning clear.

“Yes, there is. I want to be responsible. I want his blood on my hands, not yours.”

“Then I shall make a few calls on your behalf. Beau's assailant will pay dearly for what he's done.”

The words conjured the last scene in Florence that Haven had witnessed. She wiped her eyes. “You said something similar a long time ago. I had a vision of one of my past lives this afternoon. I saw the two of us together in another life. You and me.”

Adam stiffened, as if bracing himself for bad news. “I hope you weren't frightened by what you saw. The past . . .”

Haven took his hand again and squeezed it gently. “I trusted you then, and I trust you now. And as soon as we save Beau, maybe I won't need to think about the past anymore.” Did she really mean it? she wondered.

“I promise that day will come soon,” Adam said, using Haven's hand to pull her even closer. “I will take care of everything.” She could feel his cool breath on the nape of her neck. His skin smelled of delicate white flowers that grow in the shade. They were all Haven had ever remembered of her very first life on the island of Crete.

Haven carefully eased him back. “There's one more favor I'd like to ask.”

“Anything,” Adam said. “From this moment on, you shall have anything you desire.”

“After we find Beau, will you show me the mausoleum you built? I would like a chance to say goodbye to the past once and for all.”

Adam blinked. “I think that would be a splendid idea. I'll take you there whenever you're ready. Just give me the word.”

“Thank you, Adam.” Haven forced her lips into a brave smile. “Now, I believe there's a party waiting for us?”

“Are you certain you're feeling well enough? After today's events, I would not be offended—”

“To be honest, I could use the distraction,” Haven assured him.

Adam nodded. “Then it shall be my pleasure to provide it.”

ACROSS THE PARK from the hotel, the windows of the Ouroboros Society were blazing. A line of black town cars crawled along Gramercy Park South, each braking in front of the mansion's steps to disgorge its fashionable passengers. As Haven and Adam strolled alongside the wrought-iron gate, the lights of a passing car briefly lit one corner of the park. Adam showed no sign that he'd seen the figure huddled by the trunk of a sycamore tree. But Haven was certain that the woman she'd glimpsed had been Padma Singh. When she tried to peer through the darkness, the specter melted into the shadows.

Haven clutched Adam's arm and refused to be rattled. Her performance at the party would have to be perfect. Leah was still convinced that Haven's memories held the clue that could save Beau. Haven desperately needed another vision, and that vision would only come at a price. Until she could identify Naddo, Haven would pretend to go along with Phoebe's horrible plan. The old woman would be at the party, and she would be looking for evidence that Adam was smitten.

When the front doors of the Society swung open to admit Haven and Adam, most of the crowd paid them no mind. They continued chatting or drinking or plucking hors d'oeuvres from the silver platters that floated on the waiters' fingertips. But the few heads that did turn wore stunned looks, and several sets of eyes followed the couple as they strolled through the party arm in arm. Only one woman dared approach them. She was dressed in a flowing white frock, and her hair was tucked into a turban. Haven barely recognized Phoebe. Gone was the woman in the chic beige dress. In her place was a mystic with kohl-lined eyes and lips the color of dried blood.

“Phoebe.” Adam acknowledged the woman with a curt nod.

“Good evening, Adam. May I introduce myself to the lovely young woman you've brought with you tonight?”

“There's no need. You've already met.”

Phoebe's eyes widened just a fraction. Adam had startled her.

“At the Morton Street spa,” Haven added.

“Yes, of course.” A streak of lipstick smeared across Phoebe's front teeth made her smile look demented. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were destined for Adam's side. The two of you have been married in many lives.”

“Save your stories for the others,” Adam replied. “I know better than anyone that they're nothing but lies.”

“Perhaps, Adam, but lies are what most people prefer to hear,” Phoebe pointed out.

“Is there something you need, Phoebe?” Adam asked coldly. “If not, there's one person here who would be thrilled to receive the attention you're wasting on me.”

“Of course,” said Phoebe, letting the insult slide. “Enjoy your evening.”

“You really despise that woman,” Haven remarked once Phoebe had been swallowed by the throng. She had almost enjoyed the terse exchange.

“Never trust anyone who betrays those who love them,” Adam said.

“Who did Phoebe betray?” Haven asked.

“I'll share the story with you some other time. At the moment there appear to be two people by the bar who are desperately trying to get your attention. Perhaps you should say hello.”

Across the room, Alex and Calum were waving cocktail napkins like miniature flags.

“Do you mind?” Haven asked.

“Not at all,” Adam said, planting a kiss on her cheek. “You're here to forget about your troubles for a while.”

Haven squeezed past a well-known rock star who was putting the moves on a trio of tipsy socialites and then slid between a flamboyant fashion designer and a man dressed in the pin-striped costume of an investment banker.

“Haven!” Alex gushed, grasping her in a hug. “You're okay! We were so worried!”

So worried that you didn't lift a finger to help me,
Haven thought. Calum seemed to read her dark expression.

“Well, we didn't worry
that
much,” he added quickly. “Everyone's hero, Owen Bell, followed you and your escorts back to the OS. He was in the reception area when you were released from custody, but he said you didn't look like you were in the mood to chat. So what
was
all of that in the café this morning? Some kind of lovers' spat?”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Haven explained.

“It must be over now if you're here together,” Alex said. “By the way, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

“Yes,” Calum agreed, giving Haven a once-over. “Though I'd go for regal over ravishing. Marie Antoinette would seem like a filthy little peasant standing next to Miss Haven Moore.”

“So how long have you been seeing Adam?” Alex whispered.

“A while, I guess,” Haven said. “It almost feels like forever.

“You know what this means, don't you?” Calum said. “Everyone who's anyone is going to start kissing your ass. Just look over there. The mayor is trying to decide if now is a good time to come over and introduce himself. Go ahead. Be nice. Give the poor bastard a little wave.”

“I'll pass,” Haven said. “I don't want to talk to anyone but you guys.”

“Awww,” Calum said as he playfully pinched her cheek. “You should take up acting. That almost sounded sincere.”

“Speaking of sincere,” Haven said, “where is Owen Bell? I thought I might see him here.”

“He's at home with Milo tonight,” Calum said. “Remember? He
claims
they're prepping for a big speech tomorrow, but I suspect there might be some hanky-panky going on. Those boys sure do spend a lot of time together.”

“Ewww! Calum!” Alex screeched. “Can you imagine? It would be like having sex with a mannequin.”

“Oh, I've imagined it,” Calum said. “Many times. And it would be so insulting if Owen chose Milo when he could have had yours truly. But he swears he's just making sure that robot boy says all the right things.”

The phrase echoed around Haven's head.

“What was that?” she asked Calum.

“Owen swears he's not bumping uglies with Milo the automaton.”

That wasn't the phrase she wanted to hear, but Haven didn't need the words repeated. Owen could make someone say “all the right things.” It was exactly what Adam had said in her vision—about Naddo.

“So where does Owen live, anyway?” Haven asked, hoping the question would come off as casual.

“You know the old police headquarters—that fabulous building in Little Italy that they turned into condos a while back?” Alex asked. “Owen has the penthouse.”

“The penthouse?”

“Owen has been good to the Society—and the Society has been very, very good to Owen Bell,” Calum snipped.

“Haven?” Alex said. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale.”

“Yeah,” said Haven, forcing a smile. “I just need a drink. I'll be right back.”

She started for the door, her anger building with each step. How could she have been so stupid? Beau's kidnapper was the one person she never suspected—the person she'd been told was incorruptible. Forget Adam's thugs, Haven thought. She was going to kill Owen Bell with her own two hands.

“There you are.” Adam blocked her path. “I thought you might like to meet a few—”

He was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle at the entrance.

“Adam Rosier!” someone shouted. The voice belonged to Iain.

Silence spread throughout the party as guests craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the ghost marching across the room. Haven felt boiling hot blood rushing through her veins.

“Where is he?” Iain's voice demanded.

No one answered, but the crowd parted to let Iain pass. Haven could hear his footsteps cross the hushed room. When he reached Adam and Haven, she couldn't pull her eyes away from him. He was wearing a suit she had helped him choose from a store on the Via dei Condotti. Iain called it his James Bond costume. She'd tried to make the alterations herself, but he wouldn't stop shooting imaginary villains in the mirror. Haven had laughed so hard that she'd stuck him with a pin, and the tailor down the street from their apartment had been forced to finish her work. This was the first time Haven had laid eyes on the finished product. Iain had been saving it for a special occasion.

“Back from the dead, so soon Mr. Morrow?” Adam said glibly. “Perhaps you can teach the rest of us that trick.”

“Why did you refuse to meet with me?” Iain demanded.

“I thought it was clear. I have nothing to discuss with you. Now if you'll excuse us . . .”

Adam reached for Haven's hand, and the gesture made Iain's fists clench. Two gray men grabbed Iain's arms before he could act on his impulse.

“No,” Iain said. “You're not going anywhere, Adam. Now that I'm here, I have a few things to say.”

“Go home, Mr. Morrow,” Adam ordered in the same flat tone he'd use to dismiss an underling. “You are disturbing my guests, and you're making Haven uncomfortable. Is that what you want?”

“What I want?” Iain repeated with a sly grin. “I'll show you what I want.” He broke free from the gray men, lunged forward, and threw a punch. There was a sickening crunch, and Adam's glasses flew across the room. Haven scrambled to retrieve them. By the time she held them out to their owner, the scuffle had ended. Adam looked none the worse for the wear.

Please don't hurt him,
Haven silently pleaded.
Please, please don't hurt Iain.

“Thank you, my dear.” Adam tucked the cracked glasses into the breast pocket of his tuxedo. “Surely you see?” he asked Iain. “Haven has chosen me this time. A gentleman would accept that decision.”

“I'm not here for her,” Iain said. “I came to take away the thing you love best. And we both know it's not Haven.”

Iain turned his back on Adam and addressed the crowd that had gathered around them. “Do you know who this is?” Iain shouted. “This is Adam Rosier. He's your
real
leader
.
Some of you know that. Most of you probably don't. But I bet you've all seen him, haven't you? You must be blind if you've missed him. He's been skulking around here since 1925. And while the rest of you grow old, he never will. Because he's not one of us. He's not even
human
.”

Adam smiled indulgently, and someone in the crowd tittered. Haven's entire body was shaking.
Just leave,
she pleaded.
Now, before it's too late.