The Surrender: Falling In Part 24

p.a.w.ns The weakest pieces in the game Isadora put out a beautiful spread. Distraction was easily found in a.s.serting his skills of intimidation over Antoinette's date. Peter Cross was a slimy little crawler with a knockoff Rolex, who liked to touch his baby sister a little too much.

"You're rotten, Lucian," Isadora teased as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

"Quite, but what's brought about your scrutiny today?"

She laughed melodically as she transferred the remainder of turkey into a disposable silver tray.

"Poor Peter's going to need a new pair of underwear by the time he leaves here."

"I don't care for the way he handles Antoinette. He should have respect. He's in our family home."

"They're twenty-two and in love, Lucian. It isn't like he's groping her a.s.s at the dinner table."

"He better not be," he growled, tossing a dishtowel on the granite countertop.

"She's not a baby anymore, Lucian."

That was true. She was the same age as Evelyn, yet Antoinette still seemed like a little girl in pigtails.

Isadora sealed a lid over the leftovers and turned. "I talked to father today. He and Tibet send their regards and apologize for not making it back to the States."

"Like we ever expected them to."

Tibet was his father's mistress. She'd basically come with his father's marriage to their mother, like an unfortunate stowaway they all turned a blind eye to. When their mother pa.s.sed away, when they were all under the age of twelve, Antoinette merely a toddler, Christos Patras had abandoned his children and legacy and taken off to Europe to fornicate with his mistress, where he wouldn't be under the judgmental eye of his and Lucian's mother's upper-crust circle.

Lucian's teenage years had been a navigation of misplaced anger and rebellion at being abandoned by the only parent he had left. Isadora took on the role of nurturer. Tutors saw to his education, ensuring he had the proper well-bred edification of any baron apprentice. He'd earned his master's just after he disenfranchised the company he saw as his father's last standing pride and joy, and earned his first million independent from his legacy shortly after.

The Patras name was plenty a foundation to stand on. By his midtwenties Lucian had held the impressive prestige of men twice his age, because none of them could compete with his family's worth. Their name had been a trusted brand since the turn of the century, when his great-great-grandfather had opened a charming little inn that catered to the upper cla.s.s within the limits of a little metropolitan town called Folsom. They now had a fleet of luxury hotels spanning the globe and more money than any of them knew what to do with.

Lucian pulled his thoughts from the past with an effort. After the remainder of the meal was dealt with, they gathered in the great room to watch a little of the game. Although his eyes never left the television, minus the sidelong glances at Peter and his wandering hands, he wasn't even aware which teams were playing. His mind was focused on Evelyn.

Was she eating a turkey feast? Did the shelter acknowledge the holiday? What was she thankful for? He thought about the young man named Parker. It wouldn't surprise him if the two of them found comfort in each other's company. He cared for her very much, that was obvious in the longing way he watched her, whether Evelyn saw it or not.

Lucian's gut twisted at the thought of someone else holding her, touching her, kissing her. He didn't want to think of those silver-blue eyes staring into someone else's face with the same awe she sometimes looked at him with. The boy would never be able to provide the right type of life for her, the kind that would extricate her from the gutters of Folsom and put her where she deserved to be.

Parker Hughes wasn't really a boy, though, was he? No, he was a man with a disadvantage. The p.r.i.c.k that Lucian was, part of him wanted the other man to stay down so he'd never have her. He should be hoping Parker ran into some luck so Evelyn could maybe find some small measure of happiness, but he was selfish. She was his.

Evelyn was intended for something better. Everyone saw it, except for poor innocent Evelyn herself. He bet she hadn't even realized what a ruckus she had caused at the bar the other night. What would she have done if she knew not only that clinger hovering at her chair was hoping to get a piece of her, but her friend from the salon, Patrice, also would've been more than willing to follow her to bed that night?

When he arrived at Vogue after Dugan received a call from the manager that a woman was using his card, he wanted to stomp in there like a possessive animal and mark every inch of her. Eyes from all directions were crawling over her body.

While everyone else had painstakingly chosen designer duds and invested extra time in their appearances in order to patronize the ritzy bar, Evelyn had worn nothing but a cotton T-shirt and jeans with those s.e.xy f.u.c.k-me pumps. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Not because she was underdressed, but because even without the effort made by the others, she was easily the most beautiful creature in the room.

His jaw popped and he unclenched his teeth. She was no longer his and he'd have to accept she would always gain the notice of other men and women. She was stunning and sweet and made it incredibly easy for him to go the extra mile and do something generous he normally wouldn't even consider. He'd do anything, just to see that look of admiration in her eyes. But what if that meant letting her go?

He realized the game had ended when Peter stood.

"Well, Annie, you ready to head home?"

This douche bag . . .

Antoinette lived in a cozy little condo at the top of a sw.a.n.k establishment he had finished just in time for her twentieth birthday. Lucian had no doubt Peter was making himself quite at home in her condo, using her cable, eating her food. He reminded himself, again, that Antoinette and Evelyn were essentially the same age and she had as much of a right to live her life the way she chose as Evelyn did. It didn't help.

Slapping Peter hard on the back, Lucian squeezed his shoulder until he winced. "Why don't you come down to the city sometime, Pete? I'd love to show you what it is I do, let you get your feet wet in the real world for a day or two, see if you got what it takes."

"Luche, Peter isn't interested in industrializing the world. He wants to be an instructor," Antoinette said with doe-eyed affection for her boyfriend.

"An instructor of what?" he asked.

"Martial arts," Peter chimed in, an unreliable worldliness to his voice.

Lucian's gaze narrowed as he skeptically took in his lanky build. "What belt are you?"

The younger man shifted his feet apprehensively. The motion was a complete contradiction to his upturned chin. "I'm not any belt yet, but I'm planning on starting cla.s.ses this spring."

Good grief. Antoinette needed to drop this moron. Quick. "Well, good luck with that," he said, not bothering to disguise his unimpressed tone.

Once they all made their good-byes and his sisters promised they would get together in Folsom sometime before Christmas, he headed to his Rolls and planned to take the scenic way home in order to take in the open land. Hopefully the crisp air would erase the images of silver eyes and chestnut waves filling his head.

Chapter 29.

Cover To protect a piece, perhaps by placing the king in check It was bitterly cold on Monday when Lucian returned to the city. Climbing out of the limo, he hustled up the steps to Patras, the bl.u.s.tery wind chapping his cheeks in the mere seconds it took him to reach the warm interior of the lobby.

"Good morning, Mr. Patras," numerous attendants greeted as he pa.s.sed quickly to the elevators. Sniffles and coughs filled the air, mixing with the low chatter of normal check-in traffic. Winter had arrived.

Entering the condo he found his mail and several messages awaiting him. He checked his phone and saw that Slade and Jamie would be arriving any minute. As he sorted through the mail, the soft chime of the elevator sounded and he moved to answer the door.

"s.h.i.t, it's miserable out," Jamie said as he undid his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. Slade moved with quiet stealth, not needing to state the obvious like Jamie so often did.

"You guys eat?" Lucian stacked the mail on the heap of papers on his desk for later.

"I'm good. Coffee would be welcome though."

Coffee was ordered and they jumped right into business. Jamie took the signed contracts he'd been waiting for and Slade sighed with relief. This deal was one they'd all been anxious to conclude.

Papers were sealed in envelopes and a messenger arrived to deliver them directly to the Realtor finalizing the deal.

"Well, it's good to see that finally over," Jamie said, leaning back and exhaling a long-held breath.

Slade snickered. "It's just beginning now. This is going to be a nightmare once we get into zoning."

"It'll be fine," Lucian commented, wanting to move on to more important issues. "Slade, I'm having a shipment of winter clothing sent over to St. Christopher's tomorrow. I spoke to Paula and she said to check with you to make sure someone's there to receive the delivery."

Slade's expression became unreadable. An unsavory sense of dread ran through Lucian's veins.

"What?" he asked, knowing this wouldn't be good.

Slade, always so in command of himself, actually stuttered. "Uh, Luche, I'm not sure what Paula told you, but we've sort of been battling hard with the fire inspector lately."

"She mentioned that. I'm going to send a crew over there to see what needs to be done and have everything taken care of." There was no sign of relief in Slade's expression. "What?"

The other man squirmed uncomfortably, then stood, walking his coffee cup to the tray and reaching for his coat. "There's nothing that could've been done at this point. Our donors are tapped with the upcoming holiday and recent surplus of residents."

Irritated at his inability to get to the point, he gritted, "Spit it out, Slade. What are you getting at?"

"They barred the doors on Black Friday. The sprinkler system failed inspection and the fire inspector condemned the building."

Pressure built between Lucian's ears as a sudden red rage blurred his vision. He lunged at Slade, fisting his lapels and jerking him against the table. Jamie shouted and grabbed his shoulders. "You knew! You f.u.c.king knew this was going to happen and you didn't tell me!" he growled in his face.

Jamie ripped him off of Slade and he panted, ready to spring back at him again. Slade batted the wrinkles out of his jacket then glared at him. "What f.u.c.king difference does it make, Lucian? Another shelter will open eventually and they'll all move on. She's f.u.c.king homeless! Do you understand what that means? They're filthy and thieves and addicts-"

Lucian shoved Slade and he shoved back. Jamie jumped between them. "Enough!" Jamie shouted. "This is bulls.h.i.t! Both of you back the f.u.c.k up."

They each took a step back and scowled at one another.

"f.u.c.k you, Slade," Lucian spat. "She isn't like that."

He was a hypocrite, helping the homeless from afar, but never really believing they deserved to join the ranks of the working cla.s.s. It was the same self-serving, pompous bulls.h.i.t the rest of the upper cla.s.s pretended at to make them feel less like rich sn.o.bs. Evelyn may not be upper cla.s.s, but she didn't belong on the streets.

The sense of being betrayed cut through him. Evelyn was right. Slade didn't like her. But this was more than a matter of taste or his sensitive feelings regarding Monique's memory. This was an act of Judas.

"I don't get you man," Slade said, shaking his head. "What did you expect to gain from a.s.sociating with her? She doesn't have a clue about our world. You see this doll you've dressed up and f.u.c.ked, but you're missing the big picture. I don't even want to think who's visited that well before you."

Lucian hadn't realized he moved. He only registered the sharp sting of Slade's face slamming into his knuckles.

"Get the f.u.c.k out of my home!"

Slade glared up at Lucian from where he was sprawled across the table. Dabbing the corner of his lip gingerly, he licked a bit of blood and spit on his carpet.

"You've changed, Lucian. She's a poor excuse for Monique, but you'll realize that eventually. Good luck finding her. I'm sure once you see the squalor that sp.a.w.ned her you'll understand what I was trying to tell you."

Lucian's jaw cracked as he breathed harder than a bull through his nose. Never again would he see Slade as anything more than a p.r.i.c.k colleague. He was done.

Chapter 30.

Simplification Strategy of exchanging pieces, which can amplify an opponent's advantage and strengthen their endgame The scent of burning refuse permeated the frigid air. Tramps huddled over burning garbage cans stared as the limo slowly crawled by. Faces looked the same, vacant eyes peeking from dirty visages, hopelessly staring at the world moving around them. They'd been trolling the bowels of Folsom for days, with no sign of Evelyn.

It had begun to snow. December barreled in like a stampede, clearing the streets, leaving a hollow wake. Every night on the news there were posted advisories about the frigid temperatures. Lucian secured the permits for St. Christopher's yesterday and the crew was gutting the school and church at that very minute. He hired a night shift in order to get the job done as quickly as possible and get the shelter up and running again.

They took the corner slowly so that they could scan each body huddled in the cold.

"Stop." The limo halted abruptly and he climbed out. "Evelyn . . ." His words fell away as a young woman, similar in height and build, stared up at him with dark eyes and a toothless mouth, nothing like Evelyn's. "My apologies. I thought you were someone else."

Turning, he noticed several curious eyes on him. "I'm looking for a woman named Scout. Do you know her?"

"I may know her," an older man with a lazy eye and discolored beard jaggedly grown in over a ruddy, scarred face said. "What's it to you?"

His nose was made up of one pocked divot after another. His coat was worn and moth-eaten. Lucian could smell him from several feet away. Reaching in his pocket, he withdrew his phone and a few cards.

Dugan stood at the hood of the car, shivering. Flurries coated his shoulders. "Here, Dugan, take this."

Lucian handed Dugan his belongings and stripped off his Armani wool trench. Walking over to the man claiming to know Evelyn, he held out the lined coat. "Here."

The man eyed him skeptically.

"Take it. It's supposed to drop another ten degrees tonight. You need it more than I do."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the coat and quickly shrugged it on. It was too large for him. "What you want with Scout?"

"I don't wish to cause her harm if that's what you're wondering. I just need to know that she's safe."

The man's mouth worked, shrinking into a pucker over his toothless hole. "She comes to see Pearl now and then, but Pearl ain't been 'round much. Moved on some time ago."

"Pearl?" Lucian's fists dug into his pockets and his body jerked with shivers.

The man nodded. "Yessir. Pearl used to take care of us men here, so long as we get her a fix when she done her job."

Dread moved through him like eels in a swamp as his brain worked out what the man meant. f.u.c.k. He needed to get to Evelyn.

"Do you know where I can find Pearl?"

He shrugged. "Lots of people know Pearl. She sick now. No one wants anything from her no more. Like I said. Moved on some time go."

Lucian nodded and mumbled a thank-you. Even the warmth of the limo did nothing to warm his blood. "It'll be getting dark soon, sir," Dugan announced as he pulled away.

"Keep driving."

They returned to the hotel sometime after two a.m. There was no telling where the needy went after dark. They had driven over every dilapidated road and looked in every dark alley, but found no one who could help them find Evelyn or this Pearl character.

The poignant reality he'd witnessed tonight was enough to haunt him for the rest of his life. The fact that these were people, human beings, living like rats among the gutters disturbed him to no end. Not because of their filth or pitiable circ.u.mstances, but because of their hardships, their hunger, and the bitter pain in their eyes. Such hopelessness.

Lucian awoke before dawn and stood on his balcony looking over the dark streets. A wash of light followed the swoosh of the random car cutting through the slush covering the pavement. Patras's walks had been maintained by the hour and were pristinely cleared for pedestrians while the rest of the world was two steps behind.

The low groan of plow trucks making their way down the city streets in a grid pattern brought about a familiar sound of winters past. The thick marble railing along the balcony was caked with at least six inches of white death. The reality that people died last night from the cold and precipitation made it impossible to focus on the ordinary mundane worries of his typical existence. It all seemed suddenly small.

Returning inside he picked up the phone and dialed nine.