Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (3 page)

“I’m sorry,” I said. Watching him cry broke something inside of me and the wall of bluster and fight that kept me alive seemed to crumble under its weight. “We’ll find out,” I promised.

“So you’ll stay?”

#

B
lue left my side and I felt a chill where the dog’s warmth usually touched me, against the scar on my thigh. I watched him move quickly but quietly across the room until he stood at the end of the hall with a clear view to the front door. Hugh followed my gaze and in the silence I heard footsteps approaching.

Blue’s hackles raised off his shoulder and back, changing his appearance from something slick and powerful to a wooly, gigantic beast. A sound at the door and his lips pulled back from sharp, bone white canines. As I heard the doorknob turn Blue growled in a pitch so low it was almost just a vibration humming through the air.

The whoosh of the door opening was quickly followed by an “Oh shit” and the door slamming.

“That’s my friend,” Hugh said, pointing at the door.

Hugh’s phone rang and he grabbed it up off the counter, hitting the speaker button. “Santiago, I’m sorry-”

“Oh thank Jesus, you’re okay. Hugh,” the speaker took a quick breath, “I don’t know how to tell you this. But,” he paused for a moment and then blurted out, “there is some kind of wolf in your house. It may be a zombie. I don’t know. Thing is scary!”

Hugh motioned at Blue, waving his arm, signaling for me to
do something.
“Blue,” I said, “it’s okay.” He turned and looked at me, lowering his lips and deflating his hackles. They remained a bit puffed but they would smooth soon. “Come.” Blue hurried to my side, his tail wagging, looking the picture of a normal, happy, giant, zombie wolf. 

“You can come in,” Hugh said into the phone as he crossed the living room toward the entrance. I heard the door open again and followed Hugh to greet our guest, Blue back in place by my side. “I’m so sorry,” Hugh said as a tall man with dark, short cropped hair, a strong jaw line, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans walked in holding his phone and ladened with grocery bags .

“What is going on?” he asked. “Corazon, I thought something happened to you.”

Hugh smiled and leaned forward, kissing the man on the cheek then took some of the shopping from him. “Hi,” I said. “Sorry Blue gave you a scare. He can be protective.”

Santiago looked down at Blue. “As long as he listens to you, I don’t mind. He isn’t really hungry for human blood is he?” Santiago asked, a playful twinkle in his eye.

“No,” I said, smiling. “I’m Sydney Rye,” I continued, extending my hand. “I’m working with FGI on Hugh’s case.”

Santiago raised his eyebrows and shook my hand. “You’re a detective?” he asked, eyeing me up and down.

“Yes,” I said, reaching down to pull at my skirt. “I just got off a plane,” I continued and reached up to touch my hair, feeling it was a mess.

“You’re here to help with Hugh’s case. Fantastico.” Santiago gave me a dazzling smile and I realized how gorgeous he was, then I wondered if this was Hugh’s boyfriend, then I wondered how I felt about that. While I stood there thinking, Santiago continued into the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. He began to unload the first one but paused. “Wait,” he said, looking over at the photo of Hugh, James and me. He stared at our smiling faces for a second and then turned to look back at me. “Are you Joy?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “My name is Sydney Rye.”

Santiago cocked his head at the photo and then looked at Hugh who stared intently at his toes. “Hugh?” Santiago asked, drawing out his name, playing with it the way only a Colombian tongue can do.

He nodded. “It’s her.”

Santiago gave a little jump of excitement. “Oh. My. God. I knew you weren’t dead. I knew it.” He stepped toward me. “And you’re here to help with Hugh.” His eyes widened with the sudden realization. Before I could prepare he embraced me in a bear hug. Santiago smelled like black pepper and leather. He shook us back and forth and squeezed. His body was hard and comforting. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Thanks,” I said, it came out muffled against his shirt.

Santiago held me out at arm’s length and then looked over at Hugh who smiled sheepishly at us.

#

I
t turned out Santiago was not dating Hugh. They were friends. Period. They met in a victims support group in a church basement “under fluorescent lights,” Santiago pointed out, gesturing toward me with his wine glass. “Or maybe something would have happened. Ah, Corazon, we’ll never know,” he said, swinging his head around to Hugh and batting his long, thick black lashes at him. Hugh laughed and the tension around his eyes seemed to ease as the sound escaped him.

“When I found out he knew the real Joy Humbolt, well, I just couldn’t believe it,” Santiago told me. “We are both on Joyful Justice, you know?”

I shrugged and turned away. Joyful Justice was the website that sprung up after my escape from New York. It was based on the idea that I was some brave warrior princess who avenged her brother’s murder and exposed corruption at the highest levels when the truth was totally different. I got my brother killed, then I fucked up avenging him and got myself exiled. But the people on Joyful Justice thought Joy Humbolt was a hero. And while I’d met people through it, people who had helped me in my work and whom I now considered good friends, I knew it was dangerous. “I don’t have anything to do with that,” I told Santiago. “I’m Sydney Rye now. Really, it’s not something I like to talk about.”

Hugh, seeing my discomfort, changed the subject. He told me how he and Santiago had worked together at the restaurant Hugh had created with Lawrence. Santiago was Hugh’s sous chef, “vitally important to the whole operation,” Hugh told me.  To which Santiago responded:

“He just likes looking at my ass.”

They had both been there the night of the fire. The event that precipitated the fight on the street which was one of the last things Hugh remembered.

“Lawrence was crazed,” Hugh said as we sat back from a meal of freshly made tortellini (Hugh and Santiago both agreed that making pasta was a great way to relieve stress). “He came at me, saying the whole thing was my fault and that I’d ruined the restaurant. I thought it was over the top. I mean, restaurant fires happen. I thought we’d be back up and running in no time but he was out of his mind.” Hugh shook his head and Santiago refilled his wine glass, emptying our second bottle.

“He left after screaming at me in front of our staff,”—Santiago nodded to that—“the paparazzi, and our guests. Totally inappropriate,” Hugh said, picking up his glass and taking a quick sip. “But I certainly didn’t want to kill him. I just don’t understand.”

“What happened next?”

“I sent the staff home and waited until the fire department let me back into the kitchen so that I could assess the damage myself. It wasn’t that bad really, at least I didn’t think so. While the overhead fire suppression system had failed, we kept several fire extinguishers in the kitchen so were able to put it out pretty quickly.”

Santiago cut in. “There was no ‘we’ about it. Hugh ordered the staff out and put out the blaze himself.”

Hugh laughed. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

“It was,” Santiago said as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. He grabbed another bottle of wine off the shelf and came back to the table. “Hugh is a good man, you know that, Joy.”

“Call me Sydney,” I said.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Sydney,” he said with extravagant eyebrow movements.

“What happened next?” I asked Hugh.

“I called a couple of contractors and left messages about getting the work done. And I called our insurance company and reported the fire. By then it was probably around 9 at night. I headed home, exhausted. Lawrence called right as I was getting out of the shower and asked me to come over. He apologized and said he wanted to talk. I told him I was tired but he insisted.” Hugh took another sip of his wine. “So,” he shrugged, “I drove over to his place.” His lips pursed. “And pulling into his driveway is the last thing I remember until waking up with the police banging on my door.” He looked toward his door and then took a glug of wine. “I let them in. I had no idea what happened. They asked to look around. It never occurred to me I’d done anything horrible.” Tears filled his eyes and I reached a hand across the table covering his.

“Maybe you didn’t,” I said. “And if you did, it obviously wasn’t you. Not the real you.”

“Does that mean there is another me? One that kills people?”

“No,” Santiago said emphatically. “Of course not! You were drugged or something. Right, Sydney?”

“Absolutely,” I said, squeezing his hand.

He shook his head as if to clear it and smiled at me. “Tell me what’s been going on with you? I’m sick of this topic.”

I smiled, my cheeks struggling with the gesture. How could I explain myself? I didn’t need drugs or blackouts to commit murder. All I needed was an excuse.

I sat back and picked up my wine, sipping it to buy myself some time. “I think the story is too long for tonight,” I said. “It’s late and I’ve been traveling for days.”

“Fine,” Hugh said. “But before you go I want to know what’s going on with you and Mulberry.”

“Oh, who’s Mulberry?” Santiago asked, his eyebrows dancing.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Hugh turned to Santiago. “He’s the detective who originally investigated James’s death but was removed from the case for getting too close to the truth. And he’s kind of a super hunk these days. I remember him being less cute and more stressed. Man looks like he’s relaxed a bit,” Hugh said, bringing his attention back to me. “And damn, girl, the way he looks at you. Talk about a blaze.”

I laughed and blushed, taking a quick sip of my wine. “It’s complicated,” I answered honestly. “And I’m sorry, but I really do need to go.” I stood up.

“You can stay here,” Hugh said.

“While I love that idea my stuff is probably back at the hotel and I need to touch base with Mulberry.”

“You sure that’s all you need to touch with him?” Santiago asked, dropping his voice.

I laughed again, feeling lighter just for the secret being out. Hugh walked me to the door and we embraced, leaning into each other, unwilling to let go again. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’m going to fix this.”

C
laude and his limo were waiting when Blue and I got down to the garage. He took me to a hotel in South Beach. The streets were teeming with well-dressed hard bodies looking for a good time. When Blue and I walked into the lobby of the hotel Robert had booked for us, a stylish woman about my age, but better dressed, led us to a suite with modern furnishings and that veneer of impersonality that every luxury hotel room in the world shares.

I slept deeply without dreams or worries, but the instant my eyes opened a shot of adrenaline pumped through me, saturating my vision with color and making my hands shake.

Checking the bedside clock I saw it was 6 am. I’d gotten almost six hours. Mulberry wouldn’t come knocking for awhile. Blue jumped off the bed and stood next to me. He licked my hand and wagged his tail then backed up, and with ears flat to his head, looked at the door. “Want to go for a run?” I asked. He warbled deep in his throat. Blue followed close to me, tapping his wet nose against my hip. He was there as I brushed my teeth, found my jogging clothes, tied my shoes, drank a big glass of water, untangled my headphone cords, and finally walked out the door.

Mulberry stood in the hall. I looked up and down the passage.

“I was just about to knock,” he said.

I shrugged. “So you weren’t just standing out here all night, hoping to run into me?” I said with a smile.

He shook his head, his lips twitching with a laugh. “There is a strategy meeting at 9 in Fortress Global’s Miami headquarters. I’ve got a car, we can go together.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, looking past him toward the elevators, wanting to go for my jog, calm my thoughts.

Mulberry took a step closer. He was wearing jogging shorts and a T-shirt. “I know you’ve never worked on a team like this before but there is no reason to be nervous.”

I looked up at him. “I’m not nervous about working with a team, Mulberry. I’m worried about Bobby fucking Maxim driving a knife into my back. I really don’t know why you’re not.”

“If he wanted you dead you would be.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Mulberry looked up and down the empty hallway. “We shouldn’t be talking here. Let’s go in.” He gestured to my door, his forearm brushing against my bare bicep. I could smell him and I didn’t want to be alone with him. His scent made me trust him, it made me remember him and how we were, but I didn’t have room for that. Not for any of that.

When I made no move to let him in Mulberry brushed the back of his fingers down my arm and gently held my elbow. “Sydney, I can’t believe you don’t trust me,” he stepped closer. “After everything.” He looked down at me and his eyes were large and warm. Mulberry brushed a strand of hair away from my check and cupped the back of my head.

The ding of the elevator broke me free and I jumped back from him as a kid came screeching down the hall closely followed by a frazzled looking mother. “I’m going for a run,” I said and turned to the emergency exit. Bursting through the door I took the steps two at a time. The sound of my sneakers thudding against the concrete echoed in the desolate space. I heard the door open and a second set of sneakers hit the steps, pounding after me.

I pushed out of the stairwell into a sand alley. The sun, hovering at the edge of the dunes, was at eye level and blinded me for a moment. But I felt the soft grains under my feet, and digging in pushed forward. I headed north, running parallel with the beach. I could smell it, taste its sweet tang in the air, but vegetation and dunes blocked the Atlantic from my vision.

Pulling my cap down on my brow, I focused on the path as I ran. Mulberry was behind me. I could sense him as easily as the ocean—in some ways he felt as large and dangerous. I kept running, picking up my pace as I hit the paved path that curled along the coast. It was not crowded at this early hour but a steady stream of runners, rollerbladers, bikers, and skateboarders shared the path. Two young men, their bodies lean and lithe, balanced on skateboards using long, gondola-like staffs to push themselves forward. They chatted easily with each other. As the distance between us closed, their conversation faltered slightly when they saw Blue. “Whoa,” I heard one of them say as we ran past.