Dark Descendant

SIXTEEN

I spent the next couple of days splitting my time between Internet research, locating every piece of Olympian property within driving distance, and doing some preliminary reconnaissance. Good old Google Maps let me get satellite views, and I weeded out the properties that didn’t look like they had convenient burial spots. Of course, for all I knew, Emma was buried under someone’s basement, but I figured I’d try the places with significant amounts of land first.

I did a series of drive-bys, hoping for some kind of supernatural X-Marks-the-Spot, but no such luck. I tried not to worry about what would happen to me—and to Steph—if I didn’t make any demonstrable progress soon. Jamaal wasn’t the most sociable of Anderson’s Liberi, so I didn’t run in to him often. But each time I did, his expression seemed darker, more full of accusation. And a little less sane.

One day, when I returned to the mansion after another round of fruitless drive-bys, I noticed that the potted plants on the porch were looking ragged and overgrown. Hoping that manual labor would shut down the gerbil wheel in my brain and help me Zen out enough to think straight, I decided to do a little impromptu gardening. Anything to escape the feeling of futility that kept trying to creep up on me.

I started off by plucking dead leaves, of which there were many. Shortly afterward, Maggie came out to join me. Without a word, she set to plucking leaves by my side. When I looked over at her, I saw a sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Maggie? Are you all right?”

She sniffed and nodded, a faint smile on her face. “Yeah. It’s just that these plants were Emmitt’s babies. Big, macho death-god Descendant that he was, he’d talk to them like he thought they’d talk back.”

I guessed that explained why they were starting to look ragged now that Emmitt was dead. “Should I keep my hands off them?” I asked, worried that someone would be offended at the idea of Emmitt’s killer touching his beloved plants.

“Emmitt would want them taken care of,” was her response, so we continued plucking.

There were several plants that needed pruning, and a couple that needed repotting. Possibly, I should have been using my time more productively, but I was enjoying the peace of playing in the dirt too much to quit. When Maggie dabbed at her eyes, I pretended to ignore it.

In the back corner, there was one plant that looked completely dead. I pulled the pot out of the corner, then looked up at Maggie’s gasp of dismay.

“Oh!” she said. “We should have brought that inside before the sleet storm the other night. I guess Emmitt was too busy killing himself to take care of it.” Her eyes looked all wet and shiny again.

I poked at the dead foliage, not recognizing the plant. “Maybe it’s just dormant and will come back in the spring.” I grabbed a pair of shears and started snipping, hoping to find something green and alive at the core. We’d only had one really cold night so far, so there was always a chance…

Maggie shook her head. “It’s a night blooming jasmine. They aren’t cut out for Virginia winters. It was Emma’s. And Anderson is going to be very unhappy if he sees it’s dead.”

I wasn’t finding any signs of life, but I kept snipping compulsively anyway, until I’d removed enough dead leaves to see the soil. There was something shiny in the dirt, and for reasons unknown, I found myself poking at it.

Probably a piece of mica in the dirt, I told myself, but my fingernail caught on something, and it wasn’t mica. I dug my finger into the soil and pulled out a silver band, dotted with moonstones and what looked like diamonds.

“Look what I found,” I said, scraping some of the dirt away as I laid the ring on my palm to show it to Maggie.

“Where did you get that?” Maggie asked, and there was something off about her voice.

“It was in the pot. Why? Do you recognize it?”

She nodded. I didn’t like the way she was looking at me, like she suddenly thought I was scum. “It’s Emma’s wedding ring.”

I shivered, though I wasn’t cold. Finding Emma’s ring while I was searching for Emma had to be some weird sort of coincidence, right? I just happened to be in the mood to prune plants, and I just happened to pick up the dead jasmine, and I just happened to keep snipping at it even when I knew it was dead. It could happen.

But what if it wasn’t coincidence? What if it was a sign that my supposed supernatural powers were coming out?

Maggie was still looking at me strangely. Her usually friendly face was closed off, and there was suspicion in her eyes.

“Anderson and Emma had marital problems,” she said, and there was a caution in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “But Emma never took off that ring. She was wearing it on the day she disappeared.”

I swallowed hard, realizing that my finding the ring like this could look bad, especially to people who didn’t entirely trust me in the first place.

“You can’t possibly have that ring,” Maggie continued. “Not unless you have access to Emma.”

“Come on, Maggie,” I said. “You’ve been with me the whole time. You saw me find it.”

“I saw you poking around at the pot. That’s not the same thing.”

“If I’m working for the Olympians, then why would I pretend to find the ring when I knew Emma was wearing it when she was taken?”

“You were going to use it as a sign of progress. ‘Hey, I haven’t found Emma, but I’ve found her ring.’”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

She bit her lip and shook her head, though I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced. If someone like Maggie, who’d given me the benefit of the doubt since day one, thought finding the ring made me look guilty, I didn’t want to imagine how someone like Jamaal would take it.

“Maggie, I swear to you, I just found it in the pot. You said this was Emma’s plant. Maybe she repotted it and lost her ring in the dirt on the day she disappeared.” According to Anderson, no one was sure exactly when Emma was captured. She’d apparently been prone to storming out in a huff when she and Anderson argued, and it had been hours before anyone had realized she wasn’t anywhere in the house or on the grounds. “Maybe she was pissed at Anderson and hid the ring there so she could pretend she tossed it or pawned it—without having to actually toss it or pawn it.”

“That does sound like something Emma would do,” Maggie agreed. “Maybe it happened exactly that way. But maybe it didn’t.”

“I’m not one of the Olympians.”

Her look of polite skepticism hurt. She’d been the closest thing I had to a friend in this house, and it sucked to lose her over something like this.

“Are you going to tell Anderson about this?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong, but my job’s going to be a lot harder if he starts being all suspicious again.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I really should tell him. He has a right to know. And I’m sure he’d want the ring back.”

“I’m not asking you to keep him in the dark forever,” I assured her. “I just need a little more time to locate Emma, and I won’t be able to do that if Anderson decides I’m a spy after all.”

“How much time?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Should I take the finding of the ring as some kind of good sign? I had no way of knowing.

What I did know was that Maggie wasn’t going to keep her mouth shut forever.

“Give me one week,” I said, wondering if the ticking clock was going to make the job even harder. “If I haven’t found her in a week, I’ll talk to Anderson myself.”

Maggie thought about it a minute, then nodded. “All right. You have one week. Make it count.”

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Despite the looming deadline, Wednesday night rolled around, and I reluctantly got ready for Steph’s charity auction. I’d held out a faint hope that our fight would get me out of it, but no. Steph called and informed me in no uncertain terms that I was going. She seemed content to pretend our fight had never happened, and I was happy to go along with it.

I wore the admittedly nondescript little black dress I’d bought on our shopping trip and a pair of stiletto-heeled pumps that would have my feet hurting in fifteen minutes flat. Remembering Steph’s gorgeous red dress, I knew I was going to spend most of the night feeling like one of the ugly stepsisters from a fairy tale. I’d have to try to keep to myself as much as possible, because I wasn’t exactly feeling like Little Miss Sunshine.

I left the house around six thirty to get to the pre-dinner cocktail party. That would be the most painful part of the evening—I wasn’t a big fan of mingling with the rich and snooty. But I knew Steph would want me there the whole time, and I’d have done just about anything to smooth the waters. Even stand around in high heels drinking cocktails and talking to people with whom I had nothing in common.

The country club that was hosting Steph’s auction reminded me a bit of Anderson’s mansion, if only in its attempt to hide from the sight of passers-by. There was even a set of gates—though these were usually kept open and were more ornamental—and an artificial forest lining the driveway. The “forest” was as well-manicured as the one at the mansion, devoid of the weeds and underbrush that would accompany natural growth. The driveway, however, was a lot straighter, and there were actually streetlamps to guide the way.

The patch of woods didn’t last long, giving way to the inevitable golf course. This being the height of winter, it was already too dark for even the most fanatical of golfers, so at least I didn’t have to dodge golf carts on my way in. There was convenient valet parking if I drove right up to the clubhouse, but I chose to park myself in one of the outer lots. It meant an uncomfortable walk in my high heels, but by the time the night was over, the last thing I would want to do was wait for someone to retrieve my car for me.

The glittering crowd was just starting to trickle in as I headed into the bar and lounge area. My eyes were immediately drawn to Steph in her fire-engine-red dress. She looked even more fabulous than usual, with her blond hair swept into an elegant up-do and her long neck adorned by a pearl and diamond necklace.

Standing right beside Steph, with a proprietary hand resting on her lower back, was Blake. I had to admit, he looked good enough to eat in his conservative black tux, the perfect Ken to Steph’s Barbie. I didn’t like the way he was touching her, though, not one bit. Despite Blake’s promise that he would behave like a gentleman, I was all too aware of the malice that lurked beneath his cultured exterior. He was a dangerous man who used sex as a weapon. Was it any shock I didn’t want him around my sister?

Steph caught sight of me while I was giving Blake the evil eye. I tried to blank my expression as she made her way across the room toward me, Blake following in her wake. She stopped right in front of me and smiled brilliantly, and I wondered if she’d thought I was going to stand her up. Sad to say if I had, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Have I mentioned how much I hate these affairs?

“You look gorgeous!” Steph said, giving me a warm hug. She was busy enough hugging me not to see the way Blake rolled his eyes at her words.

Steph released me from the hug, then looked back and forth between me and Blake. His expression was one of polite disinterest. I have no idea what my own face looked like. I hoped my flush of embarrassment had faded. Bad enough to be pathetically insecure about my looks, but to have others know it was almost unbearable.

“I take it you two know each other,” Steph said with a raise of her eyebrows. I could tell by the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes that Blake hadn’t made up a story about how we’d met. Which was a good thing, since I’d have had no idea what the cover story was and would probably have blown it the moment I opened my mouth.

“We’ve met,” Blake said drily, but he held out his hand for me to shake.

It felt like a challenge, so I didn’t hesitate. Of course, he then lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. It was all I could do not to jerk my hand out of his grip and make a scene.

“Charming,” I muttered under my breath, and he laughed softly at this evidence that he’d gotten to me.

Steph kept looking back and forth between us, no doubt hoping one of us would cave and tell her how we knew each other. She knew, of course, that I didn’t like Blake, but Blake wasn’t giving any overt signs of how he felt about me. Not signs that Steph could read, that is.

Blake held on to my hand a little longer than necessary, and Steph looped her arm through his, forcing him to let go. Her action might have been subtle, but I knew beyond doubt she’d done it because I looked uncomfortable.

“We still have some serious mingling to do,” she said, and I was just as happy to let her and Blake go.

I hoped the look in my eyes gave Blake the message that I would feed him his balls if he hurt my sister. There was no way of telling from the little smirk on his face as he and Steph stepped away into the burgeoning crowd.

I worked my way to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine, then found myself a convenient corner shadowed by a large potted plant where I could mingle by myself without drawing too much attention. Yes, I was playing the part of wallflower and wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact.

For the record, standing in a corner by yourself in a snooty country club watching the filthy rich strut around in their one-of-a-kind designer gowns and ostentatious jewelry is not my idea of a good time. The wine helped a bit, taking the edge off, but after I’d finished my first glass, I didn’t dare get another. I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to drinking, and I did have to drive home when the evening’s fun and games were done.

Steph and Blake, young and good-looking, were quite a striking pair in the midst of the decidedly older crowd. Steph flitted around like an anxious hummingbird, making sure she talked to everyone, smiling and vivacious. Blake stuck close to her and I was pleased to see that, while he made social when necessary, he spent most of his time scanning the crowd, alert for any threats. I’d checked the guest list against the list of known Olympians Anderson had given me, but just because I hadn’t identified any Olympians on the list didn’t necessarily mean none would show up. After all, Konstantin had made it abundantly clear that the Olympians had money to burn. Someone with that kind of money could probably find a way to get themselves on the guest list at the last minute. So, much as I didn’t like Blake, I had to reluctantly admit I was glad he was there.

The cocktail party was only an hour long, but it felt like an eternity. My feet were killing me, and I was bored out of my skull. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the dinner and auction parts of the evening, but at least then I would be able to sit down.

When eight o’clock finally rolled around, I followed the herd into the sumptuously appointed dining room. Annoyingly, there were assigned seats, so I had to either wander around the tables looking for the place card with my name on it, or stand in line to ask the nice man by the doorway to check his alphabetized list. I chose to wander.

Steph knew how much I enjoyed these affairs. She also knew I didn’t like mingling with the sort of people who attended them. I made an educated guess that she would have been her usual considerate self and seated me at her table. I scanned the room, figuring that red dress of hers would stand out like a beacon, but I didn’t see her.

At first, I wasn’t even remotely concerned. She was, after all, in charge of this event, not a guest. I figured she was taking care of administrative details, or just talking to the stragglers who hadn’t come into the dining room yet. But as the seats at the tables filled up and I still saw no sign of her, a niggle of alarm ran through me.

I located the table that Steph and Blake were going to be sitting at—right at the front, of course—and I found my own place card directly opposite hers. But still no Steph. No Blake, either. Maybe that meant they’d slipped away for a quick make-out session, but I didn’t think so. Steph wasn’t what I would call a control freak, but she did put a lot of time and energy into these events, and she wouldn’t just wander away for a little me-time. Unless Blake used his nasty power on her, but that was a thought I could hardly bear to contemplate.

Telling myself I was being paranoid and overprotective, I slipped out of the dining room toward the bar and lounge. There were still a few people out there, ignoring the signals that dinner was nigh. But no Steph. I was going to start questioning the staff to see if they could tell me her last known location, but my cell rang, sending a shiver down my spine. True, the call could be completely innocuous, from anyone. But in my heart, I knew it was bad news.

My instinct was confirmed when I pulled out my cell phone and saw the caller ID: Alexis. What were the chances I would mysteriously lose sight of Steph, Alexis would call me moments later, and the two were not related? I prayed for a miracle as I reluctantly answered.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice harsh with a fear I couldn’t hide.

Alexis laughed. “What’s the matter, Nikki? You sound tense.”

“I’m not in the mood to banter with you. What do you want?”

“Do exactly as I tell you, and I promise no harm will come to dear Stephanie.”

I swallowed a cry of anguish as he confirmed my worst fears. “You can’t hurt Steph!” I said. “My family and I are under Anderson’s protection.”

Alexis laughed again. “Is that how he told you it would work? Or just wishful thinking on your part?”

“He and Konstantin have a deal!” Oh, please, God, let that be true, let me not have been a complete dupe.

“A deal that doesn’t include Stephanie. She isn’t really your family, after all.”

“She’s my sister!”

“But adopted. Not related by blood. A technicality, perhaps, but one we mean to exploit. Because you chose to seek asylum with Anderson, we cannot touch you. But Stephanie is fair game.”

“Let her go, you bastard! She has nothing to do with this.”

“I’ll be happy to let her go. No one has to get hurt in this scenario. Come to me, renounce Anderson’s protection, and she’ll go her own merry way, none the worse for wear.”

What were the chances I could trust Alexis’s word? Slim and none. The problem was, I didn’t see that I had any alternative. Alexis had Steph, and that left me with precious few options.

“How do I know you really have Steph?” I asked. I knew deep down in my gut that he was telling the truth, at least about that. But stalling for time seemed like a better alternative than rolling over.

There was a little scuffling noise on the other end of the line. Then I heard Alexis’s voice in the background, saying “Let your sister know you’re all right.”

My entire body went tense as I braced myself for the impact of my sister’s terrified voice. But Steph is made of sterner stuff than that, and she was every bit as protective of me as I was of her.

I knew she was there, knew Alexis wasn’t lying, but she didn’t make a sound. My throat tightened as I understood what she was doing: keeping her mouth shut in hopes that by not giving Alexis proof that he had her, she would keep me from coming after her. My eyes teared up.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you,” I said, the words feeling hollow. Even I didn’t believe I could protect her from Alexis. Why should I expect her to be convinced?

Alexis didn’t like her show of defiance. I heard a harsh slap, and Steph’s involuntary gasp of shock and pain.

“You’d best learn to do as you’re told,” Alexis growled in the background.

Steph still didn’t say anything, though her gasp had already given her away. I cursed myself for asking Alexis for proof when I had believed him all along.

“I believe you!” I shouted into the phone, hoping my voice was loud enough for Alexis to hear.

There was a little more shuffling around, and his voice came back on the line. “You have thirty minutes to get to 28 Hillsboro Road in D.C. The door will be unlocked, so you just come right in. You come in, your sister goes out. If you don’t get here in thirty minutes, the party will start without you.”

I recognized the address from my list of Olympian properties. It was in Woodley Park and, if memory served, it was up for sale. I mentally calculated the distance and fought another jolt of terror. “That’s not enough time,” I told him. Maybe if I drove like a maniac and hit every light green, but…

“You’ll have to make it enough.”

“Please,” I said, hating to beg, but willing to do it for Steph’s sake. “It’ll take me ten minutes just to get my car. Give me forty minutes to get there.” I was already hurrying toward the exit. “I’m on my way now. Please don’t hurt her.”

“All right,” he answered in an almost sensual purr, “I’m feeling generous tonight. You have your forty minutes. I look forward to seeing you again.”

I turned my phone off before I was tempted to answer him with too much honesty.