Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(13)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Maybe it was the rebellious look of scraggly hair, thick beard, black jeans, leather jacket, and gray T-shirt. A bad motorcycle hoodlum clichi. His tinted wire-rimmed glasses didn’t fit, either. Everything raised red flags to Bacchus, but to declare as much to the other eleven Fras would be akin to questioning their ability to rule.

Which he did question, but silently.

Vestavia eyed the room, probably searching for a camera.

He’d never find it. The consul insulted Bacchus by thinking his surveillance equipment would be so easy to locate.

"Thanks for the audience, Fra Bacchus. Good to see you." Vestavia sat down in the leather chair facing the desk.

"And you." Bacchus leaned back and crossed one arm over the other, sliding his hands inside the wide sleeves of his robe. When in his private quarters, he preferred the ceremonial clothing to the constricting suits. Particularly the easy access allowed by the lap of his robe whenever Linette was close enough to make him hard and he had to shield himself from others also in the area.

Vestavia eyed the half-empty bottle of wine and the drained glass. His eyes crinkled. "You appear healthy as an ox. Must be true what the doctors say about red wine being good for your heart."

"Quite true. In fact, it has been used medicinally for many years," Bacchus said. If I thought it would cure you of being alive I’d give you a case. "I am pressed for time, so…?"

"I hate to bring up a distasteful matter, but I believe you have a discipul breaking rules and taking unnecessary lives."

"I would know if any discipul did not adhere to the rules, I would know if unnecessary lives were being taken. There have been no random deaths." Bacchus belted his anger under control, for now.

Vestavia smiled, a false expression his eyes failed to support. "You know, I’d be careful not to make the same mistake the Fratelli di Illuminati made when they committed the sin of pride."

Bacchus gripped his forearms like necks needing to be wrung, his nails biting into his skin until he relaxed. "I would warn you"_he said in slow measured words_"to take care how you speak to me as I am a sixth-generation Fratelli de il Sovrano, a truly illuminated one, and you are merely a consul. Those who have tread too closely to the light in the past have been burned."

Vestavia stared at him with those empty eyes. The fratelli had erred when they voted to make this man a consul, only one step in power away from becoming a fra. But a ruling position around the table of twelve only came available after a death. All the fratelli had a trusted general, just as Bacchus had Duff. Bacchus had convinced three other fratelli to vote against Vestavia, but in the end the majority had persevered.

"I’m just pointing out a few potential problems the order might frown on," Vestavia said.

"Since you brought up the topic of unnecessary deaths, Marseaux is not pleased. Finding a body around the container was sloppy." He tilted his head and let the unspoken accusation fall between them.

That stirred a reaction in Vestavia, who stiffened in his seat, then relaxed just as quickly. "You’re joking, right? I figured you ordered that one. Killing Drake fits into the plan, like all those deaths of innocent villagers in India this week. You know, part of the master plan." He delivered his counterpoint with the precision of a surgeon quickly cutting to the nerve center.

"Don’t overstep your position, consul. You are not worthy of being privy to the master plan and you should well know it. I would remind you the penance for the sin of defiance is severe and painful." Bacchus smiled at the possibility of seeing Vestavia reprimanded. Even better if Bacchus were awarded the honor of inflicting the punishment.

"Hey, chill out. I’m not defying anyone. I’m one of the fratelli’s most faithful followers and humbly beg your pardon for any misunderstanding."

The lilt in his words raised hairs of suspicion along Bacchus’s arms again. "Apology accepted and duly noted." Only because he would not give Vestavia the satisfaction of knowing he’d really annoyed him.

"Brady is becoming a problem," Vestavia said, changing the subject. "So is the Mitchell woman consulting with the NOPD. She used to work with Brady at the DEA. I think she’s with another agency. We should find out which one."

"I am keeping tabs on Marseaux, the DEA, and the NOPD. Neither Brady nor Mitchell will interfere with our current plans." Bacchus would not share a thing with Vestavia about the current plan with the vials unless the fratelli pressed to include him. A curse on Fra Diablo, head elder of their twelve, who supported Vestavia and led the vote to approve his consul position.

"How can you be sure those two won’t interfere?"

Bacchus really wanted to order Vestavia shackled for his rude impertinence. "The means don’t concern you." He lifted his wrist into view and glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I must prepare for another meeting. Go in peace."

Vestavia stood and walked to the door. He opened it and paused to look over his shoulder at Bacchus. "I’ll be back." The door closed silently behind him.

Bacchus shook with fury. No member of the Fratelli de il Sovrano questioned a fra except an equal, particularly not lippy consuls. Once Vestavia became expendable, Bacchus would make arrangements to remove the man since a fra was the only one who could execute a "necessary death" order.

He lifted his cell phone and sent a text message to Duff:

Find out what agency the Mitchell woman is working with. Maybe she’s still with the DEA and the consulting is just a scam.

He received an immediate "As you wish" reply.

* * *

Terri wrenched the towel up so that she could cover herself and rolled off the bed. She ran to the door knowing it was a waste of time but checking the hallway all the same.

He was gone. Again. No name, no idea who he was nor where he’d come from.

She’d met him while breaking into the same house, had kissed him in a dark container inside a police yard and all but turned to him while he’d straddled her towel-covered body.

More damning than all of that? She sort of liked this guy She didn’t want to, but there it was in black and white.

And she was sure beyond a doubt he was the phantom interrogator terrorizing Marseaux’s contacts.

Could any woman be more stupid when it came to men?

The television still played in Grandma’s room. Terri pulled on a pair of warmup pants and dug around until finding an oversize green T-shirt she only wore inside the house, which declared in bold white text: IF YOUR GUN IS BIG ENOUGH, I’LL SURRENDER WILLINGLY.

She toweled her hair dry and walked down the hall to Grandma’s room. Good thing Grandma hadn’t heard a noise from Terri’s room while she’d had a visitor. The poor thing would have had a heart attack had she found an unknown man in her house. Not that Grandma would have seen this guy since she was blind, but that would have just scared her worse.

Terri tapped on the door, listened, and only heard the television. Had Grandma fallen asleep sitting up again? Terri opened the door.

No Grandma. Terri’s heart jumped. She glanced around, panicked at her first thoughts before she caught her breath.

Grandma had a bad habit of walking around at night.

Okay, she was worried about her grandmother, but annoyed, as well.

Where could Grandma have gone this time? Terri ran to the kitchen where she left a pair of sneakers to slip on for taking out the garbage. She grabbed a flashlight and rushed outside. The last time she’d discovered her missing, Terri had spent four hours walking the neighborhoods only to come home and find Grandma sitting in front of the television, complaining that people sounded stupid on reality shows.

Grandma might not be so critical if she could do more than listen. She was self-sufficient for a blind woman, but that didn’t include being able to defend herself against a threat. Which is why Terri wished to God Grandma would stay inside after dark.

What is dark to me? Grandma always countered. I like the night, it’s peaceful.

It’s dangerous as hell, too. Terri didn’t want to limit her grandmother’s mobility, but neither did she want to lose the only family she had. Bad things happened at night. People died violent deaths, sometimes by accident.

A painful lesson both of them knew all too well.

At the street, Terri looked both ways and did a double take when she glanced down to her left.

There came Grandma, and a tall man dressed in black pants and a gray sweatshirt with a hood that shielded his face.

Terri cursed silently over leaving her gun inside the house. She gripped the flashlight like a weapon and headed straight for her grandmother.

When she got within thirty feet, Terri said, "It’s me, Grandma. Are you all right?"

"I’m fine, dear. Just taking a walk." She said that like there was no danger in the world for a seventy-year-old woman out walking the streets alone.

Terri kept her eyes on the man, sizing him up as she moved forward slowly. Would he continue walking and close the distance between them or did he have sense enough to back off? If he lacked it, she’d make him regret the mistake once she was between him and her grandmother.

Her grandmother kept coming toward her in an excruciatingly slow gait. "Some guy tried to mug me over on Ursulines."

That sent Terri’s already furiously pumping pulse into overdrive. She lifted her gaze to the man who now slowed his steps, allowing a gap to grow between him and her grandmother.

"I’ll deal with this guy, Grandma. Just go on into the house. Your shows are on."

Her grandmother stopped, just quit walking right between Terri and the threat. She wanted to scream.

"Him? He’s not the mugger. He ran the mugger off. Well, I’m not sure he ran him off, he might have knocked him out. I just heard some bumping and cursing, then it got quiet."

Terri blinked, then glanced from her Grandma to the guy, who took another quicker step back, then another.

"We make a good pair," Grandma said, "I’m blind and he’s not." She laughed and walked forward again. "I got tired of hearing all that bad news about India. Shame about all those people, but I guess you’re right about walking around at night. It’s all the same to me, dark no matter what time it is. I just think it’s quieter and less car fumes…" She kept chattering away as the man drifted farther back until he disappeared in the dark.

When Grandma got close enough, Terri took her arm and guided her toward the house.

"… but that Drake boy has always been nice to me."

"What did you say?" Terri stumbled, then recovered and stopped.

Grandma lifted her sunshade-shielded eyes that were milky orbs beneath the dark lenses and cocked her head. "I said the neighborhood used to be safer back when Lydia was alive. Her boy has always been nice to me."

"You knew Lydia Drake?" Terri’s hands shook. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty sidewalk.

"A little. I met her when I was out walking and dropped my cane on the sidewalk. Lydia picked it up and asked where I lived, then said she was going back the same way. I talked to her a few times over the years when I walked down her street, that’s all. I could tell she was sick, so thin I could feel her bones when she’d let me hold her arm. One of the neighbors took me to the funeral while you were still doing rehab."

Terri looked back into the darkness where the man had vanished. "So you think that was her son?"

"It’s her son. After he knocked that guy over the head_and I’m pretty sure he knocked him out_he asked me what street I lived on and when I told him he said he’d take me home. That’s all he said, but I heard him talking to Lydia sometimes when I was walking past her house. I recognized his voice tonight, but he sounded sadder this time. I told him I was sorry to hear about his momma. He didn’t say much after that, just ‘thanks,’ so I didn’t say much to him. Some people can’t talk about a death."

Had he just said that to appease her grandmother or should Terri believe her grandmother had heard the voice of a dead man now flesh and blood? The only possibility was for that man to be Jamie Drake, the brother who shouldn’t be released from prison for another month. No way Brady would do the dead guy a favor and still get his brother out early after Nathan Drake had failed to produce for the DEA.

"What else do you recall about him?" Terri asked.

"That’s pretty much it. Nice folks. I didn’t know Lydia well, but I miss her." Grandma sniffled. "She was a kind lady."

Terri let it go rather than make her feel sad. "I’m sorry about your friend. I have to meet someone for lunch tomorrow, but I’ll try to come home early so we can have a meal together."

"I’m gone tomorrow. Myrtle and Jackie are picking me up. Did you forget I was going to Chicago with them?"

"Tomorrow, really?" Terri did a mental calendar check and, yes, Thursday was Grandma’s trip with her two friends. "Guess it did slip my mind."

"You need to take a break, stop working so hard."

Grandma stepped away from Terri at the kitchen door, back on familiar territory. "I’m packing tonight. I’m walking in the morning, like always. So don’t send the hounds out on me if I’m gone when you get up."

"I won’t." Terri smiled over the cranky tone she forgave without thought. This woman had sprung her from juvie and raised her after the death of her mother. Grandma had shown her more love than any child could imagine.

Inside the house, Terri checked the locks and headed for her bed, more confused than ever.

Could Grandma be right about the Drake boy? If Terri believed that, then she’d been protected and kissed by a phantom. A ghost. Or an escaped prisoner, but she’d have heard about that if Jamie Drake had escaped. She’d do some checking tomorrow.

That man felt too real to be nothing but a figment or a spirit bound to the human plane. And if he were solid, it begged an even more important question.

Would a phantom leave fingerprints?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sunlight shafted between the slit in the curtains. Nathan came awake immediately, just as he had for the past two years, alert for any threat. No threat. One more morning he hadn’t died in his sleep, but he felt no more rested than when he’d been locked in a cage at night. He might never rest easy again after living on catnaps for two years.