Lure of the Wicked Part 9

Both were worried, antsy.

Phin rubbed at the edge of his nose, but it didn't soothe the ache forming behind his forehead. What did they all have to go on? Nothing. One nearly fatal accident.

d.a.m.n it.

"What about Naomi Ishikawa?"

Phin jerked his head toward Lillian. His eyes narrowed. "What about her?"

"Who is she, really?" She tapped her long, unpainted nails on the desk in a sharp staccato. "What do we know about her?"

"Lily, you don't think-"

Phin cut them both off, rising to his feet with a surge of sudden, angry energy. "Naomi has nothing to do with any of this."

Lillian frowned, a deep furrow of her carefully penciled-in eyebrows. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know what your involvement with that woman is-"

"I'm not-"

"-but you can't afford to look at this with anything else but impartiality," she finished in neat, clipped tones, overriding him as easily as if he'd never spoken.

He bit back an angry retort. Mouth tight with the effort, he turned and studied the gilt-patterned wallpaper that lent the office a warm, old-fashioned touch. He knew he looked sulky, like a kid caught with candy in his pocket before dinner, but if he unfolded his arms now, they'd know he knew it.

And he wasn't ready to explain why he thought Naomi was in the clear.

Why he wanted her to be.

A warm, gentle hand slid over his shoulder. Down his back. "Phin," Gemma said softly. "Baby. We mean well."

"For you," Lillian said firmly, "and for Timeless. We have too much at stake here, Phin, you know that."

"I know." He took another deep breath, a solid inhale. Let it out slowly. He turned, wrapped both arms around Gemma's shoulders, and rested his chin on top of her curls. He met Lillian's gaze across the room.

It killed him to see her eyes soften so much. Warmed him to see them brim with the love he'd spent his life immersed in.

Despite his worry, he smiled. "I know, Mother, and I'm sorry. Naomi Ishikawa," he continued quickly before she could say anything, "is a woman desperately in need of some relaxation time, but I don't think she's wired enough to pull something like the sauna stunt."

"Actually, I agree." Gemma laced her fingers around his forearms, her hair tickling his chin as she shook her head. "She isn't the patient sort, and whatever that was, it needed patience. I suspect that Miss Ishikawa is much more inclined toward something face-to-face. Her nose," she added dryly, "makes that clear."

"Not to mention," Phin pointed out, "she came from her suite before all of it happened, and she hadn't checked in early enough to do any wiring herself."

Mouth pursing in thought, Lillian stared past them for a long, silent moment.

"Lily?"

"I can't shake the feeling that something is very off about her," Lillian said flatly. She braced her weight on one hand, fingers flattened on the desk. It was as close to a slump as he'd ever seen her get. "I don't trust her, not completely."

"I don't, either," Phin said in quiet agreement. It bothered him to say it, to acknowledge it. "But it wasn't her."

"I like her." Gemma tipped her head up just enough to smile up at Phin, squeezing his arms affectionately. "She's hurt, and I don't think she's entirely whole, but I like her."

Suddenly feeling like a particularly interesting b.u.t.terfly pinned to a wall, Phin grimaced. "Can we get back to the part where this isn't about me?"

"Oh, stop." Gemma laughed, swatting at his cheek.

"But he's right," Lillian added. She smoothed long fingers over her chignon, tucking in tendrils that didn't need tucking. Nerves.

Phin sobered. "Mother, what can we do?"

"I've had the staff informed to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary," she replied. Her elegant mouth twisted. "At my request, security has begun a thorough study of the in-house feeds."

"What about the secret halls?" Phin straightened, frowning. "Joel knows about them, as does the extraction team, but we've been careful."

"n.o.body else knows about the secret halls," Gemma a.s.sured him. "The blueprints were destroyed shortly after the building was finished."

"As far as we know," Lillian murmured. But the tension slowly eased out of her. Inch by inch. "Mr. Barker is thorough and has proved to be more than discreet."

Phin nodded. "Does he have help?"

"Yes, however, none of the temporary staff is involved." Lillian smiled halfheartedly. "I know you mean well by these people you're rescuing, Phin, but this is too delicate a situation to allow them to meddle in."

He winced. "They wouldn't meddle," he began, and subsided when Gemma's fingers tightened at his wrists. He dropped his chin to her hair again. Rubbed it gently back and forth.

She smelled like the lavender she used to scent the soaps for the spa. It calmed him enough to say mildly, "Okay, that's fine. No temporary help. We've already cut down to a bare crew of them anyway, and we can't rush the refugees any faster than we have to. Any undue suspicion now will alert the gate guards and bring the Church on our heads worse than it may be already."

"All right." Lillian rubbed the back of her neck with stiff fingers. "I am so proud of what you do, Phin, we both are. I want you to know that."

Warmth bloomed in his chest. Adoration, grat.i.tude. Love.

And suspicion. The set of her expression warned him there was more. "But," he prompted.

"No buts," Gemma interjected. She stepped out from his embrace, shaking her head. "Just that. We're proud of you. There are entire families who wouldn't be where they are without your help. You've given them hope, found them homes out where everyone was so sure there'd be none."

"People are industrious," Phin replied simply. "The accused we help are willing to work hard. They'll make it."

"And they do," Gemma said earnestly. "I just know they're out there happy and well."

Jaw working, Lillian fell silent.

Phin crossed the room, ignored her perfect polish to wrap his arms around her shoulders. "I love you, too."

"Oh, Phin." Lillian's hands splayed over his back, rubbed gently. "Just be careful," she said into his chest. "Gemma isn't the only mother with a concern."

Gemma threw her arms around them both, and Phin shifted to let her into the circle. Holding the most important women in the world, he breathed in their mingled scents and perfume, wrapped himself in the warmth of their love, and wished to h.e.l.l he was the only one up at night.

Worrying was what this family did best.

Pressing a kiss to each warm cheek, Phin promised, "I'll be careful, and I'll keep an ear to the ground." He looked down at them both, met hazel eyes and sweet brown. "Promise me that neither of you will do anything rash."

"Of course," Lillian said, amus.e.m.e.nt like a spark of gold in her suddenly crinkled gaze. "Have I ever done anything rash?"

"Never." Phin gave them both a final squeeze, stepped away. "I'll get to work on the underground now. If you need me, I'm in comm reach."

Gemma smiled ruefully. "You always are. In the meantime, keep a close eye on Naomi, all right?"

Lillian's smile went crooked. "Is that for our safety or his interests?"

"Mother," Phin groaned, and waved both hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll stay close by her."

"Like it'd kill him." Gemma chuckled as he turned away.

Phin left them, good-natured aggravation melting into too many logistics, too many problems, and a rapidly sinking sensation that time was slipping away. He had a cargo of people to move out too soon after the last, and he'd have to do it without raising eyebrows.

Behind him, the women watched the door click shut. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Gemma shifted back into Lillian's embrace. "Nothing rash," she said, lacing her fingers loosely at her wife's hip. "Besides defying your glitterati family and eloping with a mid-city whor-"

Lillian seized Gemma's mouth in her fingers, pinching her lips closed with a frown as unbending as steel. "Don't you dare, Gemma Clarke," she said fiercely. "Those were their words, never mine. Never, ever yours."

Gemma's lips moved. Curved upward as she pressed a kiss to Lillian's fingertips. "I love you," she murmured. "I wouldn't change anything for the world."

"Neither would I, Gem." Lillian allowed herself to sink against Gemma's supporting embrace, into the soft curves of the body she was so fortunate to hold every night. To admire every morning. "Two aging women. What will the world do with us?"

"Screw the world," Gemma said smartly, and Lillian laughed. "Everything will be fine, love." Smoothing one hand over Lillian's long, slender back, Gemma nuzzled her hair. "We're safe here. Phin is strong and capable-"

"He takes after his mother."

"Both of them." Gemma captured the other woman's chin in her fingers, tilted Lillian's face up, and smiled with everything that was so cla.s.sically Gemma. Adoration. Warmth. Love.

The light of the world.

"Timeless will stand long after we're gone, Lily." Gemma touched her mouth to hers, a kiss as sweet and gentle as summer sunshine. Lillian's skin warmed. Her heart swelled.

It almost drowned the worries feasting at her soul. Almost.

"Will Timeless matter?" Lillian reached up, threaded her fingers tightly with Gemma's. "When you're gone, will it matter?"

"I don't know." Her grip tight in Lillian's, Gemma's smile widened. "But I'm in no hurry to find out."

"Thank G.o.d. I don't know what we'd do without you, anyway."

Chapter Eight.

Bzzzt!

Blood faded to moonlight, dreams to wide-eyed consciousness as the comm unit buzzed a warning in her slack hand. Naomi braced herself on one arm, already fumbling with the earpiece before her brain kicked in.

"What?" she growled, her voice thick and heavy with sleep. "What the h.e.l.l time is it?"

There was a pause. A m.u.f.fled cough. "It's only ten."

"f.u.c.k." She dropped face-first back into the pillow, inhaled lavender and detergent, and threw herself off the mattress. She landed on her feet, barely, but she had to catch herself on the nightstand. It rattled, its lone lamp teetering dangerously. "f.u.c.k! What? Do you want?"

"Grumpy."

"Jonas," Naomi snapped, catching the porcelain lamp with one splayed hand. "I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will break your skull like a-" She frowned. "Where's Eckhart?"

"Hunting down leads."

"For me?"

"No, unrelated. Different case entirely. Or it's a lie to visit some chick," he added with brief, clipped amus.e.m.e.nt. Over a comm line, Jonas Stone's voice was impossible to mistake. n.o.body else pulled as clear a tenor.

Or as lighthearted a check-in.

She rubbed the sleep grit from her eyes, rough gouges that did nothing to pull the remnants of nightmares from her mind. "Great," she muttered, knowing she sounded b.i.t.c.hy and unable to care. "Why are you calling me?"

"Why are you sleeping?"

Because she was a G.o.dd.a.m.n coward. Naomi's mouth curled. "Because I spent all day being pretty."

"Uh." The line hummed with a short, charged silence. "What?"

"Never mind." Naomi turned, studying the dimly lit room through slitted, burning eyes. "I came up here to change and must have pa.s.sed out. I was tired."

"Hey?" A cautious question. Gentle. "Are you all right in there?"

d.a.m.n.

Of all the people at the Mission, of the missionaries who spent more time going than coming, Jonas Stone saw more than he needed to. Knew more than he should have.

It p.i.s.sed her the h.e.l.l off. She'd always felt as if he . . . handled her. He was the one confined to crutches for life, and he handled her.

"I'm fine," she said, a.s.surance clipped. "I was just tired. Now that you've gotten me up, I can get back to work."

"How about a report, then?"

Naomi fought the urge to drop her face into the nearest pillow and stay there. A week sounded good. "Fine," she muttered, and told him about Alexandra Applegate.

Amid the clatter of Jonas's quick typing, he whistled. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Care to explain why no one told me the bishop's grandmother was in here?" she growled. "Pertinent f.u.c.king information, don't you think?"