The Temptation of Four Page 3

  “Do you remember the story I told you about my sister?” I asked, more rhetorically than anything else. Of course he did. “The monsters that took her—they took someone else right here. Maybe more than one someones. Kids. It’s always kids.”

  My hitman let out a sharp sound and glanced around. “On horror’s head horrors accumulate,” he murmured in a more serious tone than he usually used when he quoted the Shakespearean dramas he refused to admit he loved. “Do you think those monsters are here? Is that what we’re looking for?”

  The shrouded folk were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I didn’t see how it’d be helpful to tell him that, though.

  “There are people who worship the monsters like gods in a sort of cult,” I said, forcing myself to open my eyes again. To edge farther around the stone, checking the ground for other signs. “My parents were like that. The cult has little communes set up here and there, mostly at high elevations. The things thrive on our sunlight. One of those communes has something I need, and my research suggests they’re in this country. That’s who we’re looking for.”

  Bash took this information in stride without hesitation, although I noticed his hand came to rest on his hip holster. “The people from the commune would have arranged the… sacrifice? That happened here?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe there’s more than one group around. And the fact that they held a sacrifice here doesn’t necessarily mean they’re living anywhere all that nearby.”

  They liked to give the shrouded folk plenty of room for their feeding. I’d slunk along for five hours following the little procession that had led that boy to his doom.

  If the cultists who’d arranged the sacrifice had left any signs of their passage at the time, the weather had washed it all away. I turned rocks with my foot, finding bleached streaks on the bottoms of a few that must have been dislodged since the shrouded one had set off its blaze of energy. My meandering path took me down toward the trees.

  A hunched pine had sprung up among the rocks a little higher than the line of the forest, almost directly beneath the sloping stone. I studied it, ducking low to check the branches. A dimpled line across one made me grimace.

  “Found something?” Bash asked.

  “It looks like there’s been at least a couple decades’ growth since the last time anyone used this spot.” I backed away from the tree. They might not do sacrifices often, or they might have moved farther afield. “We’re following an old trail.”

  “One of your sources was more recent than that, wasn’t it?” Bash said. “You were sure they’d still be in the country.”

  That was true. “They had deep roots here. It’d have been difficult for them to completely move. But I don’t think this spot is going to help us find them.”

  Just in case, I eased several paces into the forest, studying the ground and the vegetation. The place looked undisturbed. Not even an oddly snapped twig or a scuffed footprint in the dirt.

  I started back up the slope toward the helicopter. “We’ll take the rest of this area even slower than before.” I wanted to think this meant we could at least narrow down our area to the highlands on the interior of the country, ignoring the peaks along the coast, but this group had kept themselves hidden around their object of worship for centuries if not millennia. Who knew how far they’d go to obscure their location?

  I picked up my pace to get past the horrible memories the slab stirred up—to get on with this search—and my foot came down hard on a jagged edge in the rocky ground. The rock snapped and crumbled under the sole of my boot.

  Years of martial arts training had given me excellent reflexes and even better balance. I half stumbled, half leapt to the side, catching my footing on more stable ground. I was already perfectly steady when Bash touched my arm.

  “Just the mountain keeping me on my toes,” I said. “I’m okay.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Of course you are. When aren’t you?”

  Standing this close to him, I couldn’t help thinking back to the one time recently I hadn’t been okay at all. When the shrouded one that had a claim on my soul had filled my head with a hallucination of blood and gore I couldn’t shake, and only Bash’s presence, Bash’s devotion, had driven it back. From the way his gaze strayed for a second to my mouth, I suspected my right-hand man was thinking of the same night.

  That night I’d given in to the attraction that had always simmered between us. I’d nearly fucked up all the faith and trust we’d built between us. Even if the memory of the unexpected tenderness he’d shown alongside his strength sent an eager pang through me, I couldn’t risk making that mistake again.

  I stepped away, maybe a little more abruptly than was natural. Bash’s hand fell. The awkwardness my first mistake had already created hung in the air for an instant before I swatted his shoulder.

  “I’ll beat you to the chopper, hitman.”

  He laughed. “Only if you watch your footing better, Majesty.”

  We scrambled up the slope, leaving the traces of the shrouded folk’s horror behind us—for now.

  Chapter Four

  John

  I wouldn’t say I was religious, but I experienced a certain awe stepping into a building like Zagreb’s famous cathedral. Huge fluted columns rose up to the breathtakingly high vaulted ceiling alongside the rows of dark wooden benches. The midday sun beamed through the stained glass windows around the vast altar, filling the space with a warm glow and rendering the intricate gold chandeliers unnecessary. The scent of the place spoke of history: candle wax and varnished wood.

  I kept my walking stick tucked under my arm as I walked slowly and therefore mostly evenly up to the table near the front with its stacks of booklets. The chances that Jemma wouldn’t notice my presence seemed highly unlikely, but the tap of that stick would be an automatic giveaway I could avoid. Only a tiny bit of pain nibbled at my hip.

  Several tourists were perusing the central aisle. More had taken at least a brief seat on the benches’ red-padded seats. Jemma sat about halfway down the rows at the far end of her bench, where a marble angel seemed to peer down at her. She’d braided her bright hair again, but it was still easy to pick out the back of her head.

  Sherlock had been sure she was going to meet someone here around this time. He hadn’t said how he’d determined that, but I’d leave my friend a few secrets since he enjoyed them so much. Clearly his intel had been correct. He hadn’t known who she might be planning to see or why, though.

  Observe what you can, and if you interrupt the meeting, that’s fine too, he’d said when he sent me off. The sooner she realizes she can’t simply ignore us, the sooner we’ll get some real answers.

  He and Garrett had gone to look at the main storage warehouse belonging to Pametno Pohranjivanje, which had turned out to be a local storage company. We’d taken a quick look around yesterday under the guise of customers needing a tour, but Sherlock had wanted to return for a more in-depth exploration while they were closed over the weekend.

  I was going to look odd if I stayed at this table much longer. I wavered, considering my options. Sit at the back where I wouldn’t be as visible but also wouldn’t be able to hear any conversations Jemma had, or risk a closer approach?

  Well, Sherlock had said it wouldn’t be a horrible thing even if I simply interrupted her plans. The spoils rarely went to the cautious. I meandered along the aisle, aiming for the bench two rows behind her.

  My gamble didn’t even succeed long enough for me to get in place. Jemma’s head turned as another gaggle of tourists jostled past me, and her gaze immediately locked with mine. I had the ridiculous urge to duck as if she’d somehow forget she’d seen me if I dropped out of sight.

  Her mouth tightened, just for an instant. That was the only sign that my arrival bothered her. Then she raised an eyebrow as if to say, Are you just going to stand there or what?

  Maybe I could observe something useful even after she’d noticed me. Letting my walking stick
touch the floor now that there wasn’t any point in attempting subterfuge, I headed over to her bench at a faster pace. She got up at the same time. Meeting me at the edge of the aisle, she tucked her hand around my elbow like she had more than once back in London. Her touch set my pulse off-kilter in a way that was both disturbing and exhilarating.

  I shouldn’t let myself be affected by her like that. I had no idea whether any part of the woman I’d admired in London was even real. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true—she was even more brilliant than I’d thought. But the other parts that had drawn me to her: the sense of strength in the face of loss, the easy way she’d shared her feelings with me… Those aspects had been a ploy, at least in part.

  So why did a large part of me want to go head-to-head—and, ah, other bits to other bits, if I was being totally honest—all over again?

  Jemma nudged me toward the altar, and I ambled along at her direction. “Taking in the sights?” she said.

  “Sherlock said I shouldn’t miss this place.”

  “Hmm. Another coincidence then.” She shook her head and dipped her other hand into her purse. Her phone’s screen glowed on for a few seconds as she must have diverted her intended companion. “Do you really think this is the best use of your time—following me around?”

  “You could always answer our questions and set our minds at ease,” I pointed out.

  “That’s assuming you’d find the answers I could give you at all reassuring.” She flashed me a coy smile. “Are you sure you didn’t just want to see me?”

  We came to a stop at the foot of the main altar. The candles stood unlit, but a spark lit in my chest as Jemma trailed her fingers over my forearm before releasing me.

  “What for?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “So you can wrap me up in an even crazier scheme? I think the once was enough.”

  “Do you?” Both eyebrows rose this time. “Let’s not pretend you didn’t love every minute of that adventure, John. When was the last time you’d had as much fun as you did during that week with me? I gave you a gift.”

  “I usually like to be aware of any ulterior motives that come with a gift.”

  She poked my chest lightly with her forefinger. “Oh, really? I’d be willing to bet you’re also enjoying the fact that you have no idea how much I’m capable of.”

  Fucking hell, just those words turned the earlier spark into a flame. I had to focus on what I was here for. Which wasn’t dragging her off into the nearest private room and rediscovering how good her body felt against mine. Definitely not an appropriate line of thinking for our current situation or our current location.

  “Why don’t you tell me more about it, then?” I suggested. “What other thrilling deeds have you gotten up to?”

  “Ah, no. I didn’t come here to share stories with you.”

  “But you were hoping to meet up with someone else.”

  “Another part of my business I’m not planning to share.” She wandered to the other side of the aisle, and I followed. “We had some fun together, and we both got something we wanted. Now we’re done.”

  Every part of me rejected that statement. I grasped her shoulder and waited until she glanced at me again. Her expression stayed mild, but I’d be damned if I couldn’t still see that hint of sorrow in her fathomless gray eyes.

  “No,” I said. “We’re not done. I’m not leaving until I understand what it was you got out of that bargain.”

  She shrugged. “A pretty trinket. Why does it need to have more explanation than that?”

  “Because it obviously does. Because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”

  “Maybe I’m not the most sensible person in the world.” She folded her arms over her chest and looked at me through her eyelashes. “I think you’ve just been bored since I left town. You’re looking for stimulation. Is Sherlock still giving you the cold shoulder?”

  That question sent a very different twang of emotion through me. “We’re working together as well as we always have,” I said, as if I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Still pretending that kiss didn’t happen, then, is he? It amazes me he manages to see as much as he does while purposefully blinding himself.”

  In the weeks since it’d happened, I’d thought I’d managed to suppress all thought and feeling related to the kiss I’d shared with Sherlock nearly as well as he had. One flippant comment from Jemma brought the tangled mix of desire, uncertainty, and frustration rushing right back to the surface.

  It was because of her we’d kissed at all—because of her I’d realized that maybe I’d wanted to for a while and very much wanted to again. After nearly two months of Sherlock studiously avoiding acknowledging the event, that revelation didn’t feel anything like a gift.

  Jemma was smiling at the emotions that must have been playing across my face. “Oh, John,” she said. “He’s your best friend, isn’t he? Where did you get the idea that you don’t have the right to ask people for things that you want?”

  That question caught me like a swift jab to the gut. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t even ask, you just take. But the thought of continuing any conversation on that subject made my stomach clench.

  “What does it matter to you anyway?” I said, a little more brusquely than I normally would have spoken. “I thought you were done with us.”

  Jemma paused. I caught another hint of a deeper emotion that might lie behind the nonchalant airs she was putting on—a twitch of her mouth, there and gone.

  No, I didn’t believe it. She wasn’t as detached as she wanted to seem. Maybe she wasn’t the woman I’d found myself so drawn to in London, but she was more than a conniving con artist too.

  Which only made her more dangerous. Everything about this talk told me how much I should be on my guard with her.

  “Maybe I just think it’s a waste, all that pent-up longing with no way to apply it.” She brushed her hand over my arm again. “I suppose I might as well get going. Enjoy your sightseeing.”

  I didn’t intend to let her wander off to resume her original plans. I tagged along several feet behind her, watching her braid sway against the thin ivory fabric of her sleeveless blouse, which was only a few shades paler than her lightly freckled shoulders.

  Jemma must have heard me behind her, but she didn’t glance back. She strode out of the cathedral and through the streets to the tram line. One of the long blue vehicles was just pulling up at the stop.

  I got on after her. Jemma saved me from having to decide whether to sit next to her or keep my distance by picking a spot between two other passengers. Ignoring me, she pulled her tablet out of her purse and flicked through something on its screen.

  If we could get our hands on that device, we could find out so much more about what she was up to. I couldn’t imagine her making that kind of theft easy, though.

  She got off down the road from her hotel and headed straight there. After I watched her disappear inside with a thump of the glass doors, I lingered outside, not entirely sure what to do with myself now. I couldn’t pursue her all the way to her room. If I’d tried, I imagined she’d have hotel security on me before I’d so much as crossed the lobby.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out.

  “How did it go?” Sherlock said without preamble.

  I sighed. “She spotted me early on, so I didn’t find out much, but I did give her a bit of hassle. It looked like she canceled her meeting. She’s gone back to the hotel now.”

  He made an approving sound. “Can you get over to the warehouse? It appears we have a large job here—your assistance would be appreciated.”

  “Sure, as long as you don’t think I should watch the hotel,” I said.

  “No,” he said immediately. “We’ve done enough there for now. When you get here, come around to the green door on the side.”

  I took a taxi most of the way there and walked the last short distance out of practiced caution. The padlock that I assumed had been on the side door
now lay broken on the driveway’s cracked pavement. Sherlock opened the door at the sound of my footsteps and caught my glance.

  “Such a shame,” he said with a small grin. “We showed up and the door had clearly been forced open, so of course we felt compelled to investigate.”

  “Of course,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling back at his self-satisfied expression. In the middle of a successful enterprise, Sherlock took on a buoyant energy you wouldn’t have believed he was capable of from seeing him in his more serious moments. His cool blue eyes twinkled. He spun, beckoning for me to follow him and swiping stray waves of his dark brown hair away from his forehead as he strode down the hall.

  If you’d asked me two months ago whether Sherlock was a good-looking man, I’d have told you I hadn’t really thought about it, and that would have been true. Now I’d have to admit, Hell, yes.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him.

  “It appears my earlier suspicions were correct,” Sherlock said, as if he’d bothered to tell me about those earlier suspicions. “We even saw a van bringing around a new lot. This business is a front for a cartel of robbers and black market dealers.”

  We came out into a wider hall that smelled sharply chalky. Three of the locker doors were open. Garrett was peering into a plastic crate inside one and jotting notes.

  “I’ve matched up items in a few of the lockers with recently reported robberies,” Sherlock went on. “We’ll notify the local police, naturally. But first I’d like to document exactly what was stolen—and to get that done fast. You can take that locker. Do you have something to write on?”

  “I have my case journal.”

  “Excellent. Make note of everything. Let’s see if we can’t find a pattern that’ll reveal Miss Moriarty’s intentions.”

  Chapter Five

  Jemma

  Now that the London trio was in town, I wasn’t making much use of the hotel elevators. Taking the stairs down offered a little extra workout, and it meant I could scope out the lobby surreptitiously for anyone who might be keeping an eye on those elevators.