Grim Shadows

EIGHT

HEAVY FOG CLUNG TO the rooftops lining Broadway. Her father’s driver had taken her to the party, a small detail she remembered once she made it outside. It was also nippy, and not only had she forgotten her gloves, which she’d removed for dinner—they’d likely fallen from her lap during the fiasco—but she’d also failed to collect her coat. Now what? Go back inside with her tail tucked between her legs?

“Hadley.”

She turned to see Oliver striding down the sidewalk.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a calm, businesslike voice as he slipped into his greatcoat, which looked warm and tempting to Hadley’s chilled body. Maybe he’d be a gentleman and offer to return to the house and collect hers. “I think we should talk about what just happened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nothing shocks me when it comes to matters beyond this realm.”

So he had seen the Mori. Rare that she encountered anyone who did. Very rare.

“I happen to have a lot of knowledge about the underworld,” he said.

Funny way to put it, but, yes, she supposed that was as good a label as anything, though she really didn’t know for certain where the Mori came from. She’d researched it over the years herself, but only found bits and pieces of information, nothing practical or definitive. It was like picking at a sweater: before long, the whole thing unraveled and one was left with a useless pile of yarn.

“A man of your wealth and stature?” she said. “I thought your obsession was Mexican ruins. When do you have time to research the underworld?”

“You’d be surprised what I’ve had time for over the years,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about it, yes? Maybe I can help you. Come back inside and let me—”

“I do appreciate your concern.” He’d always been kind, since the moment he’d first introduced himself. Kind, handsome, interested in her work—supportive. And though she was quite sure by the way he stared at her that he wanted more from their relationship than the occasional shared luncheon or tea, she just wasn’t sure if she did.

Silly, because she should. It wasn’t as if men threw themselves at her every day. She hadn’t even so much as kissed anyone since college. And, her personal touching issues aside, Oliver was probably the right sort of man for her, practically speaking. Yet the elusive spark that fueled a new romance seemed to be missing.

Maybe the fault was hers. Maybe she was broken and damaged. Wired incorrectly. Because instead of being interested in the right man, she was still thinking about the man who’d just conned the museum position away from her. The absolute wrong man.

The man she’d very nearly killed in a moment of poor impulse control.

“Let me help you, Miss Bacall,” Oliver said. “Put your trust in me. You won’t be sorry.”

She let out a long breath and gathered her wits. “I don’t know what you think you saw. But right now, I prefer to be alone.”

“Come now,” he said in a sharper tone that took her aback. “You’re hysterical. You’ve been agitated since before dinner. Let’s go somewhere and talk about it.”

Hysterical. No, that was one thing she never was. Angry, yes. Depressed. Cold. Aloof. Cursed. But not hysterical. And that single word soured her mood even further.

“You may call on me at the museum next week. Good night.” She began to walk away, but he blocked her path.

“That’s enough, now, Hadley. I’m—” He stopped mid-sentence when a shadow darkened his face.

“I believe she said good night.” Lowe stepped from behind her and menacingly towered over Oliver. “And now I’m saying the same. Go on back to the party or go home. Just go.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Did you escort the lady to the party?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then you aren’t leaving with her, either.”

Oh my.

Oliver stuck his finger out, but seemed to have second thoughts about whatever he’d intended to argue. His forced smile seemed to mask whatever he was feeling. “It was enlightening to meet you, Mr. Magnusson. I look forward to crossing paths with you again. Good evening, Miss Bacall.”

She watched Oliver march down the sidewalk until he got inside a parked car, unsure whether she was relieved or angry. She threw a mental die and decided on angry. “You didn’t need to chase him off. He was only concerned about my well-being.”

“Didn’t sound that way to me. Here. It’s cold as hell out here.” Lowe held out her black mink. Why did he have to be the considerate one of the two men? Still, no sense in turning it away. She quickly slipped her arms inside the silk-lined sleeves.

“Is this your hat?” He held out an elaborate feathered thing. Garish red.

“Good God, no.”

“Didn’t think so, but wasn’t going to waste time arguing with the doorman.” He hung it on a nearby fence post bordering someone’s yard and shrugged into his own coat. “If it makes you feel better, the staff lost my hat, too.”

“No, what would make me feel better is if you just hadn’t lied to my face with all your seductions in the courtyard before you colluded with my father to steal my damn job!”

Her shouted words bounced around the quiet street. He should be grateful her specters had already exhausted themselves for the time being, or she might have been tempted to give them a second shot.

Lowe held up an index finger. “First of all, I told you I wouldn’t lie to you tonight, and I meant it. Second”—another finger joined the first—“I did not ‘collude’ with your father. He’d mentioned something about the department head position when I met with him at his office, but that was the last I’d heard of it.”

“A likely story.”

“Look, I was just as shocked as you. He didn’t even ask if I wanted a desk job.”

“You didn’t stand up and protest.”

“I didn’t have a chance!” Lowe shook his head, as if to clear it, then held up a third finger. “Lastly, you were the one seducing me.”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever—”

“You touched me first. You gave me all those amorous looks.”

“I did no such thing! You pulled me into a shadowed corner. And half an hour later you Judased me in front of my peers! You humiliated me.”

“Your father humiliated you.”

“You both did.”

His head cocked. “And you . . . tried to kill us with that chandelier?”

Oh, God. She spun around and strode down the sidewalk. He followed.

“Helvete, you did!”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“Is it? Because I heard what your father said. And I caught some of Mr. Moneypants’s conversation just now. I know a quake when I feel one, and this, Miss Bacall, was no earthquake. Hell, now that I’m thinking about it, I never could figure out what happened with those windows that broke on the train when that thug was chasing us. And then in the baggage car.”

“You’re mad.”

“But not stupid.”

“Please just leave me alone.”

“I’m not abandoning a woman on a dark street in the middle of the night.”

“It’s eight o’clock and we’re in a perfectly safe neighborhood. I told you when we met, I want to be treated like a man. Equal. Not like some frail doll with the brain of a pea. Not hysterical.”

“Hey, that was Moneypants’s word, not mine. But all right, I’m game. You’re a man. Fine. Makes things a bit confusing for me when I consider all the lurid thoughts I’ve been entertaining about the two of us, but what the hell—I’m worldly. Suppose I’m open to new experiences.”

Lurid thoughts. About her? A renewed thrill wove through her erratic thoughts. God, why did she even care? All she needed to focus on was the fact that her bastard of a father had betrayed her, after months of praising her work in front of the board. After years of telling her how smart she was, how capable.

Well. Not capable enough to dig in Egypt. He’d made that clear on numerous occasions. Women had no place in the desert. And when she’d argued that her mother had accompanied him, he said allowing her that liberty was the biggest mistake of his life. No amount of discussion changed his mind. So she gave up on that dream.

Now this one was crushed, too?

But Lowe swore he hadn’t known. Did she believe him? And really, when she stopped to think about it with a clear head, wasn’t the more important question why? Her father was getting what he wanted from Lowe already—the djed. And it’s not as if Lowe had been on his radar before the amulet’s discovery. She’d only heard the Magnusson name in passing.

Father had been so secretive about the djed, refusing to tell her why he wanted it so badly and what he was going to do with it. Did he really think the amulet had magical properties? It certainly gave off a strange energy, that much she knew for certain.

Osiris’s Backbone supposedly opened up a door to the underworld. To the Egyptian Land of the Dead: Duat. But even if the djed’s powers were real, Lowe had only found a fragment of the amulet. Why would her father suddenly welcome Lowe into the museum with open arms—?

“Where are you going?”

Hadley halted and swung around to find Lowe standing on the opposite corner. She’d walked the entire block and crossed the street without realizing. “I’m looking for a taxicab.”

Lowe surveyed the dark residential street. They’d long passed the line of parked limousines waiting on guests at the Flood house. A single car sped by. It was so quiet, she could practically hear the fog rolling in. “Might be hard to find a cabstand around here. If you’d like a ride home, our driver can take you. We’re only two blocks from my home. I walked here.”

She groaned.

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and crossed the sloping side street. “My family’s probably finishing dinner, so it’s not like I’m hustling you into a secluded house to have my wicked way with you.” He stopped in front of her, his gaze sliding down her coat. “Besides, you may or may not have just attempted to crush my body under two tons of glass. How, I really don’t know. But I suspect I should be wary of you, not the other way around.”

He suspected right.

“Truce?”

“Fine,” she agreed. “On one condition.”

His head lolled on a sigh. He stared at the foggy sky for a moment, muttering something in Swedish before answering, “Why the hell not. Go on. Name your condition.”

“You tell me exactly why my father is bending over backward to let you have your wicked way with him.”