Touch If You Dare (17 page)

“I’m the Guardian of Love.” Cameron sat up. “I am very insightful when it comes to that emotion. This woman. You love her.”

“Oh, yes.” Napoleon whipped out his BlackBerry. “Let me show you pictures.”

Death snatched the phone away from his grandfather. “When you walked out on Gram three hundred years ago, you lost the right to love her. If she’s locked you out of the Den, then that’s your own problem.” He still couldn’t look at his grandfather without remembering how the narcissistic bastard had walked out on him and Gram. With Death’s parents long dead due to one of Napoleon’s experiments, the old man had been the only father he knew, and the son of a bitch had taken off.

“I want to see the pictures of his true love.” Cam plucked the phone out Death’s hand. “This man is clearly experiencing love. Let it blossom.”

“He only loves her because he can’t have her,” Death snorted.

“Oh… I understand now.” Cameron slumped back in his chair and let the phone slither away. “This is an example of the miserable, hopeless, destructive side of love. Did I tell you what happened to my father after my mother died? It was a dark night, years after my brother had vanished. I—”

“Stop!” Each time Cameron told that story of how his father killed himself after his woman had died because he loved her too much to live without her, the grief nearly did Cameron in. Cameron had been perseverating for a century on how love had stolen his family, and he’d lost the will to do his job.

But not for long.

Death was going to clean this mess right up.

“Angelica didn’t lock me out of the Den,” Nappy sighed. “Augustus has her. He’s using her as bait to keep me from my duties.”

“Augustus has Gram? Why didn’t I know about this?” But he knew why. He’d been 24/7 on suicide watch with Cameron for the last two weeks while he’d tried to find a way to resurrect his will to live. “Go get her back. Now.”

“I can’t find her!” Tears began sliding down the old man’s face.

Cameron plucked Death’s handkerchief out of his tux pocket and handed it to Nappy. “I thought you said men don’t cry.” Cameron shot an accusing look at Death.

“Real men don’t. Napoleon is a spineless, amoral bastard.” Gram could hold her own against Augustus, but being locked up had to be chafing at her. He was going to have to get her back.

Nappy blew his nose into Death’s handkerchief. “I’m a real man,” he announced. “I’ve assassinated over one million people with black magic. How is that not manly?”

Cameron raised his brows at Death. “Yeah, how is that not manly? I think that’s manly.” His eyes began to glisten and he began weeping into Death’s handkerchief. “Life is hard, and it’s okay to let that pain fill us.”

“Both of you, pull yourselves together!” Death strode across the cell to the well-stocked bar. He grabbed a bottle of Knob Creek bourbon and three crystal tumblers. He slammed them down in front of the wusses, filled them straight up, and handed them out. “Drink.”

Cameron took a sip, then wrinkled his nose. “I think I just blew up my throat.”

Napoleon tossed the glass over his shoulder and didn’t flinch when it shattered against the cement wall of the dungeon. “You have any Chardonnay? I would love a glass.”

Cameron set his glass down. “Oh, how about a white wine spritzer? That would be great. Prentiss? Do we have any?”

“The name is Death.” He grabbed a bottle, popped the cork, and filled two wineglasses. He shoved the girly drink at them. “Here. No spritzer. Deal with it.” There were limits to what he could permit to be imbibed in his presence.

“Oh, delicious.” Cameron inhaled it. “I love this vineyard.”

“I do as well.” Nappy was still sniffling as he took a long drink of the wine.

Death chugged his glass of man-juice and refilled the bourbon. “I already have an assassin after Augustus. He should be taken care of shortly. You just go find Gram and rescue her. Surely you can manage that?”

Nappy shook his head. “I have no idea where she is. I am at a great loss.”

“I can bring lovers together.” Cameron crossed his legs and swung his foot. No socks with dress shoes? The boy needed work. “It’s what I do.”

“I don’t know if she loves me,” Napoleon sighed. “Prentiss is right. I did fail to honor her as she deserved.”

“Love is so destructive.” Cameron sank back into his chair. “I don’t know why people think love is so great. It’s a recipe for heartache and—”

A light knock interrupted Cameron’s soliloquy. Before Death could refuse entry, the locked door opened and a thirty-something ponytailed brunette in jeans, Keds, and a fitted T-shirt slipped inside. She had flour on her cheek, white paste in her hair, a blueberry stain on her toe, and she was carrying a large silver tray of what appeared to be pastries.

She had a pert little nose, a spattering of freckles, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. Fascinating. He’d forgotten what color a woman’s lips actually were. Sort of a dark rose, with a hint of violet, and—

She set the tray down on the coffee table, and the clank of the silver hitting the wood jerked Death back into consciousness. She’d infiltrated the cell before he’d reacted. What kind of devil spy was she? “Identify yourself.”

The intruder gave a cheerful smile. “My name’s Anna Gusman. I’m your new pastry chef.”

Ah… well, that explained the utter disarray of her appearances. Chefs were allowed the liberty of their own style in concession to their artistry. “Where’s Vladimir?”

“Apparently, he eloped with the dish girl.”

Ah. That explained the incredible array in his office earlier. It had been far outside the scope of Vladimir’s talents. “Did you make the scones this morning?”

She brightened. “I did. Did you enjoy them?”

“Did I enjoy them?” he echoed in disbelief. No one ever questioned Death, and she should know it. Clearly, she hadn’t been briefed on Castle etiquette.

“I apologize for my grandson’s rudeness.” Napoleon took Anna’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “My name is Napoleon. I’m a world famous black magic witch specializing in assassinations for hire, and I’m extremely virile.”

Anna plucked her hand out of the old man’s. “Nice to meet you, Napoleon.”

“Back off, old man,” Death growled. “You’re pining over your wife, remember?”

“Ah, I am married, to a lovely woman who hates me.” Napoleon bowed his head. “My grandson, however, is not, although he is apparently quite virile as well. I assume from your appearance that you are one of the rare women who work here who isn’t planning to have sex with him?”

“Sex with—” Anna’s gaze flicked to Death, and he had a sudden vision of getting in a naked food fight with her. She would laugh if he got pancake mix in her hair. He knew she would. She would laugh, and it would be this magical, lighthearted sound, not the calculating practiced laugh of all the HoneyPots—

“My fiancé wouldn’t be so happy with me dallying with the boss.”

Fiancé? “Unaccepta—”

“What are these?” Cam leaned over to peer at the tray.

“Lemon tortes.” She picked up a croissant and tapped it against Death’s staff. “And one special croissant I created this morning just for you. I think you’ll like it.”

“For me?” Death caught a whiff of that buttery decadence, and his mouth started watering. He took the dessert, and his fingers brushed against hers. He waited for her sharp intake of breath, the sudden flush to her cheeks, the delight in her eyes, but got nothing.

Instead, her watch beeped, and she glanced at it. “Gotta go. More buns in the oven. Nice to meet you all.” Then she turned and jogged out of the room, flipping the door shut on her way.

What? She’d just walked on him without a single flirty look? What kind of woman did that?

Napoleon leaned back in the beanbag chair and helped himself to the box of cigars on the coffee table. “Well, how about that, Prentiss? A woman who doesn’t want to get into your pants or your wallet. I like her.”

“She’s engaged.” Death scowled. “It’s against my rules for any woman on my staff to be married or have a significant other. I require total loyalty.”

Napoleon opened the pressure-sealed cigar box. “I think you like her, my boy.”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.” What was he doing wasting time thinking about a woman anyway? He had a business to run. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Cameron, we need you to find Gram.” A man without a career with a man without a will to live. He was giving the boy a new career on Saturday, but until then, maybe hunting down Gram could keep him busy. “Help my grandfather find her.”

“You’ll loan me the Guardian of Love to find Angelica?” Nappy’s face illuminated like the bright sunshine on a Florida day. He dropped the cigars and threw himself at Death. “Oh, Prentiss! You give me hope! I was out of resources!”

“Don’t touch me.” He sidestepped the hug and Napoleon crashed into the floor-length mirror behind him. The bastard had killed his parents, nearly broken his grandmother’s heart, and left them all. To give him joy… well… it just felt crappy.

But he was willing to make the sacrifice to save Cameron. And his grandma, of course.

“Cigars all around! We’re going to find her!” Napoleon shoved three cigars in his mouth and lit them all. “I can’t believe it!” He was radiating, literally glowing. Because of love. Because of the chance to find his woman.

Death had to respect love like that. Hell, he wasn’t going to be able to hate his grandfather nearly as much, was he? “You see that, Cameron? You going to help him find his true love, or are you going to let it die?”

There was yearning on his face. Desperation. “I could do that, I think.”

“Excellent.” Death slammed his hand down on Cam’s shoulder. “This will be good therapy for you before this weekend. Get in touch with your inner love child. Enjoy it.”

Cameron slammed the lemon torte down and stood up. “Let’s go! I can do this!” He started running for the door.

“Cameron. The clothes.”

Cameron stopped and looked down at the rumpled tux, at the food stains on it, the yellowed shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“No man who works for me dresses like that.” He pointed Cameron to the supply of custom tuxes. “Clean up, my good man. You’ll feel better.”

“But—”

“Now.”

Cameron shrank a little as he scurried back toward his clothes, but Death didn’t regret his tone. Nothing made a man feel better than a nice tux. And Cam needed all the help he could get.

Death leaned toward his grandpa and lowered his voice. “Gramps, I’ll let you take Cameron out of here to help you find Angelica, but he’s suicidal so don’t leave him alone for a moment.”

“Suicidal?” Napoleon glanced over at Cameron, who was now humming “Stop in the Name of Love” while surfing his armoire. “My specialty is killing people, not keeping them alive. What if I screw up and then love ceases to exist on this planet? I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”

“World peace!” Cam was standing on top of the armoire, sporting a D&G suit, slicked back hair, and polished wing tips. “I will give peace to all.”

Death clapped his hands. “Excellent.” He nudged Napoleon. “Applaud.”

Napoleon slapped his hands together a few times. “World peace? What’s he talking about?”

Cam leapt off his tower, sashayed over, and bowed low before Napoleon. “What do people fear most in life, my king?”

Napoleon frowned. “Me, of course.”

“Dying!” Cameron pulled off one of the diamond earrings Death had loaned him and dropped it in the wine. It sank to the bottom. “This is what happens to the soul when it is consumed by fear. It drowns. Fear begets violence, hatred, and other destructive emotions, and the fear of dying is the most destructive emotion of all.”

“That is true,” Napoleon acknowledged. “People are terrified when they see me coming for them. It’s a lovely ego boost.”

Cameron dropped a cork into the wine. “See how it bobs? That is the human spirit when it is supported by love. Bouncing through life.” He laid his hands on either side of the glass, and the goblet began to glow hot pink. “If I am the one to take their souls, I could fill them with love at the moment of their demise, transforming death into a glorious experience. Gone will be the fear of dying, leaving people free to enrich the world with love, laughter, and well-being.” He removed his hands and the jewel was now floating on top of the wine beside the cork. “And we have world peace.”

Death felt glee beginning to bubble up inside him. No matter how many times he heard it, the plan was still masterful. “Think of the cash cow, Gramps. Now people can pay me for early termination of loved ones without guilt. Drunken Uncle Al who has stripped the family coffers with his gambling problem? Now the family can off him and know that Al finally found love. It’s brilliant. It will change the Death business forever. I’m projecting an increase of thirty percent on early terminations by request.”

“I’ll be incredibly wealthy, magnificently powerful, and highly sought after by people other than weepy teenage girls.” Cameron raised the now-glowing diamond. “And we will have world peace.”