Valentine Shepherd: Retribution Part 10

"The Pana Sea...pretty close to panacea, now that I think about it. A remedy for all diseases."

"So they're obviously connected, then. They've got to be. Lucien owns the Pana Sea, you know."

"I know."

She frowned at him. "You knew before or after I asked you about it the first time?"

He returned her frown. "After. If I'd known, I would've told you. I only found out today, after making some phone calls."

Her frown turned into a smile. "You looked into it for me. You didn't have to. Thanks."

"I know I didn't have to," he said a little too defensively. Max looked away so she couldn't see the frustration in his eyes. Logically, he wasn't obligated to do anything for her, but he always did anyway. He had no G.o.dd.a.m.n willpower when it came to her. After he took a slow, measured breath, he said, "I figured you'd find out anyway. I was curious."

"Oh. Sure." Val resumed drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. A minute of awkward silence later, she seemed to remember something and began riffling through the folder in Max's lap. He froze while she dug so close to...well, between his legs. Oh G.o.d, he felt himself growing. Son of a b.i.t.c.h, she still did it to him, and with embarra.s.sing ease.

She held a grainy printout of an old photograph up for him to see. "Who does the guy in the back look like to you?"

"Um..." Swallowing hard, he took the photo at the same time he subtly pushed the papers closer to his stomach, hopefully hiding his erection. "Which one?"

"Him." She pointed at a figure in the third row of an old-timey black-and-white faculty photo. A placard on the bottom read, "Universite de Montpellier, 1931." The man in question had an unmistakable hawk nose and the sharp cheekbones of an aristocrat. A Christophe.

"A distant relative of Lucien's?" Max asked.

"I found it while looking for any possible relatives he might still have in France. That guy is Gerald Gahariet. I figured if Lucien got a medical degree in his home country, like most people do, then maybe he went to a university his parents or grandparents attended, which isn't uncommon. When I saw this picture, I a.s.sumed that man was a distant relative of Lucien's. Thing is, Gerald didn't have any children, or siblings. He fell off the grid somewhere around 1953. No death certificate."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you think this is Lucien?"

She threw up her hands. "f.u.c.k, I don't know. He makes weird drugs that do weird things. Maybe he found one for immortality."

"That's a stretch..."

"He's also got a drug that can completely wipe a person's memory for at least twelve hours with no dizziness or side effects, something I know doesn't exist in modern medicine. And I saw him doing awful n.a.z.i-type experiments on Margaret. If he's been at it for more than half a century, maybe he did stumble on something that extended his life." She gritted her teeth, then sighed. "It's crazy. I'm crazy. I don't know. Forget it."

Val grabbed the folder out of his lap and tossed it in the backseat. She fell silent and went back to staring at the bar.

He didn't think she was crazy, but definitely stressed. Max snuck a good look at her. She was still beautiful, but she also looked tired. Unnatural lines creased her face, her cheeks and lips a shade paler than normal. The aged jeans she wore looked looser than he remembered, as if she'd lost weight. Her eyes harbored a sadness that hadn't been there before.

"We'll find Margaret," he said to her. "If there's any chance she's alive, we'll find her."

We-he hadn't meant to use the plural. It'd been a Freudian slip. She'd done the same thing at her house, the morning after the Blue Serpent party: We need to get to Margaret before Lucien kills her. They were in this together now, whether he liked it or not. As long as Ginger remained somehow involved in the woman's disappearance, he couldn't back out. Max had to shield Abby from whatever her idiot brother was up to. And Val needed support. The case was obviously wearing on her. He knew her in a way no one else did. He wanted to be there for her-as much as he could, anyway, without crossing the line.

She met his gaze. A slow smile spread across her face as if she took in all the meanings of what he'd said. Her cheeks flushed, and she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the driver's side window. In a flash he saw her lying naked in his arms, felt the warm skin of her neck against his lips, her soft breast in one hand while he stroked her hair with the other- Max forced himself to look away and push the image out of his mind. Sweat broke out all over his body. He rolled down the window to get some air flowing, yanked up the arms on his long-sleeved shirt, and wiped his wet hands on his jeans. G.o.ddammit, this closeness was killing him. He'd accepted it was over and moved on from their relationship, even though doing so had nearly destroyed him. His plan to see her once more and get her out of his system was backfiring. With every second he spent in her presence, he felt the connection that bonded them together strengthening, his desire for her growing. And it would only get worse.

"Where's my invitation to the wedding?" she asked, a slight grin still on her face.

That's right-he was getting married to another woman in two months. s.h.i.t. Max wiped sweat from his brow that'd gathered underneath his baseball cap. "It's in the mail."

"Liars go to h.e.l.l, Max."

He let out a wry laugh. "You really wanna hang out with four hundred of Abby's closest friends and relatives?"

"No, but I want to eat free fancy food. Wow, four hundred on her side? For real?"

"A big chunk of that number are her father's business a.s.sociates. Why pa.s.s up an opportunity to make more money just because it's your daughter's wedding?" f.u.c.king greedy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Patrick Westford reminded Max too much of his own father-Lester, not Dean. Luckily Max wasn't marrying Patrick, and didn't intend to spend any more time with the man than absolutely necessary, despite Abby's desire for the two to become besties.

A hint of a frown played across Val's lips as she seemed to consider his words, and what he actually meant by them. Val could accurately guess what he was thinking. She knew him better than anyone. "How many total?" she asked.

"Four hundred and three, plus or minus two."

"Come on." She gave his arm a playful slap. There was that electricity again. Ignore it, Max. "Who'd you invite?"

He puffed out a breath of air. "Let's see: Michael Beauford, the CFO of Carressa Industries-you've met him before-and Juanita, my father's longtime housekeeper, and...Yeah, that's it."

"What about all your new charity circuit pals?"

"They're Abby's friends, not mine. I can't stand most of them. Bunch of boring blowhards."

Val laughed. "Oh, Max. Still as antisocial as ever."

He cracked a smile. "I can't help that n.o.body likes me." His smile fell into a frown. "I thought about inviting Josephine, but decided that would be weird."

Val lifted her head off the gla.s.s. "Does she know?"

He shook his head. "I don't think she ever will. She won't talk to me."

"Do you want me to talk to her? I could-"

"No. It's...better this way." He wasn't sure it really was better, but it was what it was.

They were quiet once more, until Val slapped his arm again. "Tell her in code. Send her a series of puzzles of increasing difficulty that spell out 'I am your brother' in Latin. As your sister, she'll be helpless to resist trying to solve them."

He snickered. "Or I could rent a biplane and write it in the sky with smoke."

"Or hire a singing telegram lady."

"Announce it on the Jumbotron at a Mariners' game."

"Perfect solution-rent out time on a cable access channel, hire a professional ch.o.r.eographer, and have dancers perform 'The Secret Connection between Maxwell Carressa and Josephine Price' in interpretive dance."

They belly-laughed together until they ran out of breath. "I think that's the worst idea I've ever heard, for anything," Max said, wiping tears from his eyes. d.a.m.n, it felt good to have a real laugh with someone. He could do this all day...they could do this all day, if Val wanted to...No. She didn't want to be with him. She'd made that clear. His usual frown settled back into place and he stared out the window, striving to look at anything that wasn't her.

"Max," she said, and he glanced at her again. She gazed at him with wide, wet eyes, her lips parted, breath shallow.

"Yeah?" His heart leapt into his throat. She's going to tell me she loves me. She's going to ask me to not marry Abby. And I'm going to...I'm going to...Jesus, I'm going to say okay- A burst of cackling laughter broke the spell between them. Val sat up in her seat, her attention snapped back to the bar.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," she said. Ginger had just emerged, alone and without the package. He waved at somebody still in the bar behind him, then got back in the cab. When it began to pull away, Val didn't start her car.

"Aren't you going to follow him?" Max asked, knowing he was about to get an answer he wouldn't like.

"I wanna know what's in that box." She opened her car door and stepped out.

"Wait. It's too dan-"

She slammed the door and stalked toward the bar.

"s.h.i.t," he muttered. Pulling down the sleeves of his shirt so no one would see his tattoos, he jumped out and hurried to catch up.

They walked into a moderately busy bar, air thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke that permanently infused every surface despite a decade of smoking bans. It was dark enough that Max guessed at least half the overhead lights didn't work. County music tw.a.n.ged from a cracked jukebox in the corner. Most of the blue collar crowd turned to stare at them. Max lowered the bill of his baseball cap over his face as far as it would go and prayed no one recognized him, though the crowd seemed more interested in the beautiful redhead in front of him. Instinctively he moved closer to her, so his chest almost touched her back-a protective gesture he knew she didn't need, but he couldn't help himself.

Val, of course, didn't bother trying to keep a low profile. She marched through the bar and studied every face, looking for the thin man in coveralls, ignoring the angry or lascivious stares she got in return. When it became obvious the thin man wasn't in the main bar area, she headed for the men's bathroom.

"Val, let me-"

She shoved the bathroom door open. Max rolled his eyes and followed her in. A guy peeing at a urinal jumped when he saw her, jerked his pants up, and shoved past them in his haste to get away from whatever was about to go down. Val peeked under each stall in turn, then settled in front of one for handicapped people. With a swift kick she busted the stall door open.

"What the f.u.c.k?" the stall's occupant hollered.

Over Val's shoulder, Max saw Ginger's friend sitting backward on the toilet, fully clothed and hunched over the toilet tank lid. The man turned to face Val, white power and an angry snarl on his face. The name "Cal" was embroidered on the chest pocket of his coveralls. Ginger's mystery box sat opened on the toilet tank's lid, next to a palm-sized mirror with lines of the same white powder on it.

Val folded her arms and glared at Cal. "Why did Ginger bring you drugs?"

"f.u.c.k off, b.i.t.c.h," Cal said as he used the back of his hand to wipe his runny nose.

"I can f.u.c.k off down to the police station if you'd like, and tell them you've got a s.h.i.t-ton of c.o.ke on you right now. Want that instead?"

Cal rushed to pack up his box with unsteady hands. "You can't do s.h.i.t."

"I can, actually. And I will. Unless you want to tell me why Ginger brought you drugs he got from the Pana Sea, which just happens to be owned by Lucien Christophe, narcotics-maker extraordinaire."

"Lucien who?" Cal narrowed his eyes at her for a moment as if he was trying to recall something, then recognition creeped onto his face. His mouth curled into a sneer. "Oh yeah, I remember you. Red delicious."

Max had no idea what Cal referred to, but mention of the apple seemed to flip a kill switch inside Val. She descended on him with the viciousness of a wild animal, punching him in the face until he tumbled onto the ground, then kicking him in the chest as he lay p.r.o.ne at the foot of the toilet, all before Max could even register what was happening.

"f.u.c.k you, you piece of s.h.i.t!" Val shrieked.

Jesus, she might actually kill him. "Stop!" Max tried to grab her arm, but she violently shrugged him off. As Cal writhed on the ground, she grabbed his box of drugs and spiked it into the toilet.

Cal cried, "No!" as what Max guessed was several thousand dollars' worth of c.o.ke sank into the toilet water. Energized with a new fury of his own, Cal jumped up and shoved Val against the side of the stall. As he brought his arm back to slug her, Max stepped between him and Val, grabbed Cal's fist with one hand, and punched him in the stomach with the other. Cal crumpled to the ground.

With a roar, Val tried to lunge past Max to get at Cal again. Max grabbed her in a bear hug and dragged her out of the stall as she fought against him.

"I'll show you what public humiliation feels like," she yelled at Cal as she struggled to free herself from Max's grasp. "You can tell your friends this b.i.t.c.h beat the s.h.i.t out of you!"

"Let the lady go!" a gruff voice demanded behind Max.

Two meaty hands grabbed Max's shoulders and yanked him from behind. Val fell out of his arms as he stumbled backward until he hit the bathroom wall. A big redneck dressed like a lumberjack reared back his fist. Luckily for Max, boxing happened to be his sport of choice, and he easily dodged the redneck's punch; it slammed into the brick-and-mortar wall instead. Max followed up with his own punch to the man's nose, if only to incapacitate the guy for a short time. Blood poured from the lumberjack's nostrils. From the corner of his eye, Max saw Val reach behind her. She was going for her gun.

He wheeled around and seized her arm in an iron grip. "No." A bar brawl was one thing; a shoot-out quite another. He knew what it was to fight a murder charge. Her life-and her conscience-didn't need the grief.

Moaning, Cal crawled out of the stall on his hands and knees. She glared at him like she might kick him to death anyway. Then her eyes met Max's, and he saw hatred in them, rimmed with tears of agony. The pain written on her face filled him with an almost physical torture to match, and he thought he might kill Cal himself for whatever the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had done to her.

An older man with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder burst into the bathroom. "What the h.e.l.l is going on in here?"

"He attacked me," Cal wheezed, nodding his bloodied head toward Max.

The older man-probably the owner-scoffed. "Y'all get the f.u.c.k outta here," he said to all four of them. "Now."

Max released his grip on Val. After a tense couple of seconds, she let her hand fall away from her gun and stomped out of the bathroom. Max followed close behind. When they walked back outside, he breathed a deep sigh of relief that things didn't go as badly as they'd come very, very close to going. Val leaned forward with her hands on her knees like she might throw up.

The redneck came out next, holding a wad of paper towels to his bloodied nose. He glanced at Max as if he might want to continue their fight, but after eyeing Val and apparently realizing they were together, he shrugged and sulked away instead. Finally, Cal came barreling out, spry again despite the beating he'd received, probably thanks to the drugs.

He pointed a grimy finger at Val. "You owe me-"

Max grabbed the lapels of his coveralls and shoved him hard to the ground. "Get out of here before I kill you."

Cal scrambled to his feet and stumbled away from them, toward the parking lot next to the bar. "Yeah, right. You wouldn't..."

"I would." Max stalked after Cal, ensuring a good distance separated him from Val.

"I know you," Cal said, s.h.i.t-talking Max even as he retreated. "You're that rich a.s.shole that got away with killing his father. Carressa. That's you, right? Well I'm gonna sue you for a.s.sault. And I'm gonna tell everyone that you threatened to kill me. Once a killer, always a killer."

Max gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists. He really did want to kill this guy; in a consequence-free world, maybe he would have. After everything he'd done trying to become a functional member of society, this human stain would destroy it all, not to mention whatever he'd done to Val.

Cal fumbled for his keys and unlocked the door to some piece of c.r.a.p sedan. He jumped into his car as Val appeared next to Max. Max glanced at her; she gave Cal a disgusted look but wasn't holding her gun, thank G.o.d. Cal pushed down the manual lock on his car door and sneered at them.

"I'm gonna sue you for every penny you have!" Cal said behind the driver's side window, "and your wh.o.r.e girlfriend, too!" He flipped them the bird.

Then he began to cough like he had something stuck in his throat. Within seconds his coughs became hacks, then desperate rasps as he struggled to breathe. He clawed at his throat, rasps turning to gurgles as blood leaked out his mouth and nose. His whole body convulsed, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went still.

After a moment when neither of them moved, Max stepped forward and peered into the window, looking for any signs of life. He tapped his fingernail on the gla.s.s. Cal stayed motionless, his face covered in blood and mouth locked in a silent scream.

From behind Max, Val asked, "Is he dead?"

"I think so."

"How?" She walked next to him and scanned the inside of the car through the windows. "I don't see any gas. Maybe the drugs-"

"We gotta go."

For once she didn't argue, and they rushed back to her car and drove away before anyone could see them in the vicinity of Cal's body. They drove in silence for a while, until the initial shock of Cal's bizarre death wore off.

Finally, Max asked, "Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

Val let out a long sigh. "Margaret was raped when she was abducted. That a.s.shole had something to do with it."

"How do you know?"

"I found a video of it online."