I sighed and looked back out the window. “You’re like a goddamned ghost, King. And don’t you know how to knock?”
“Knocking is for people with manners,” he replied. “I don’t have time for pretenses.”
“Nice,” I grumbled.
“‘Nice’ is also a fucking waste of time, as is your childish pouting. We have a missing person and an artifact to find.”
Childish pouting? I shot him a look. “You did something to me, King. You made me sick. You made me see…” I couldn’t say it. Just like I couldn’t say that I’d asked him to kiss me, and I seemed to remember liking it when he had. I hoped to hell he never brought it up again.
“See the dead?” He gestured toward the sitting area in the corner. “Let us discuss that.”
“Yeah, let’s.” I walked over to the armchair next to the glass coffee table and sat. King took the couch across from me and stretched his thick arms over the back. I got another tiny glimpse of that tattoo on his forearm. I wondered if it was the letter “K.” He seemed like the sort of narcissist that might do something like that—tattoo his own initial on his arm. Ode to wonderful me.
Oh, God. Why had I said I liked him? Why? And why had his touch triggered such potent, carnal urges in me?
“So?” I waited.
He grinned and stared at me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
“You surprise me, Miss Turner. That is all.”
“Meaning?”
He leaned forward. “Do you truly believe I have the ability to make a person see ghosts? Do I look like,” he leaned in a little closer and drilled me with his eyes. I felt that funny feeling deep inside that made my stomach lurch, “God? That I can perform miracles?”
When he put it that way… “No, I guess not. Your point?”
“My point is,” he leaned back again, “I have a talent for seeing people for who they are. You, Mia, already possessed the ability to sense and see the residues left behind by people or anything with a powerful energy force. I simply helped unlock who you already were: a person with a sixth sense, a Seer of Light.”
Was this why King wanted to own me? He thought I could “see” stuff? Crazy.
“Yes, and I saw Brian. But he wasn’t a ghost. He was alive and speaking to me. I didn’t imagine it.”
“What you saw were Brian’s remnants. Of his soul, so to speak.”
“Uh-uh. I spoke to him. We had a conversation,” I argued.
“Your brain created a fantasy, a story to explain what it couldn’t reconcile against your perception of reality. But you did not speak to Brian; he was already dead, and the dead cannot speak, now can they, Miss Turner?”
This was beyond insane. My head began to spin again. I wanted to retch. I leaned forward and covered my face.
“The dizzy sensation will go away once you stop fighting it,” he said.
“How is this possible?” I mumbled.
“Once again, I am not God, Miss Turner. I cannot explain why or how. Nor do I waste my time arguing with the facts. I accept them and plan my game accordingly. As must you.”
“You’re delusional if you think something like this can happen to a person and they’d just accept it without question.”
“It’s merely a question of priorities, Miss Turner. You can spend your time trying to figure out why you were born this way and understanding the evolutionary science behind it, or you can spend your time looking for your brother. One of the choices is time bound. One is not.”
He had a point. “Can you tell me anything? How many there are like me? Is it hereditary?”
He shook his head. “I do not know the details apart from your gift being rare. Extremely rare. But once this is all over, you have my blessing to waste the rest of your life asking questions and searching for answers. In the meantime, I suggest we get on with our task.”
Why would we be looking for Justin in London? My gut told me he wasn’t here. There was no reason for him to be.
Because a person you made up in your head told you that he’d just seen Justin in Palenque?
Crap. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. But I didn’t believe he was in London. I’d already told King that I thought the embassy lady had been lying.
I took a deep breath. “I want you to take me back to Mexico.” From there, I’d start trying to piece together what had happened at the dig site. Of course, my brother’s poor team and their families had to be dealt with, too. Those poor, poor men.
“Just as soon as we’re done in London.”
London. London? What a waste, being here. “Wait. Did you even call the police, King? Or did you just leave those men’s bodies buried there?”
“They’re dead. My telling the police won’t change that, but it will slow us down. The authorities will want a statement, they’ll want to know how you found them, and I will end up having to expend large sums of money to have you released quickly.”
Ass. “What about their families? They have to be worried sick!”
King stared me down, and his intense gray eyes said he was growing tired of this conversation. Clearly, he couldn’t care less.
“You can’t keep me here,” I said.
“I can; however, I won’t have to. You’ll stay on your own. And you’ll be showered, dressed, and fed in thirty minutes.”
“You’re evil and delusional, too? So talented. Can you also tap dance?”
Without responding, his commanding male figure rose and headed for the door. “I located the man Justin was working with. He was perhaps the last person to see him, as well. Be in the lobby in thirty minutes.” He closed the door behind him, leaving me there in my white robe, frothing with anger. Bastard.
There was a loud knock at the door. Funny. Really fucking funny, King. Was he trying to show me that he knew how to knock?
I stomped my way over and opened it. “I’m not laughing!”
It was a young woman in a burgundy uniform holding a tray. “Where would you like your sandwich, Miss Turner?”
I held back a growl and directed her to the small sitting area.
As King prognosticated, I was fed, showered, and dressed in my last clean outfit: pink T-shirt and jeans. However, and yes, call me spiteful, I wasn’t in the lobby in thirty minutes. I made it a point to show up three minutes late. Yes, just to piss him off. Which I knew he was by the way his square jaw ticked. However, he said nothing and simply nodded. He knew he’d won.
“King.” I nodded back.
Anger ticked in King’s eyes. He gestured toward the revolving door, where the infamous black SUV awaited us.
“Do you have one in every city?” I asked once outside.
“Yes,” he replied and opened the car door for me.
“Good evening, Miss Turner.”
Arno? “You got one of those in every city, too, King?” I asked.
King gave me a “don’t waste my time” sort of look.
“Hey, Arno. How are you?” I asked.
I slipped in and shivered. The fall night was drizzly and brisk, and I hadn’t packed a coat.
King reached behind my seat and handed me a black leather jacket lined with some sort of white fur. I wasn’t a fur wearer, but I was freezing and doubted that King would let me stop at the local Wally for a hoodie or a slicker.
“Thanks.” I slipped it on and zipped it up. It hugged my chest, waist, and arms like it had been made for my body. A perfect fit. I didn’t want to ask where he’d gotten it from or if it had been made for me. Then I’d feel guilty and have to be nice to him. Okay. Never mind. No, I wouldn’t. Besides, in his words, being nice was a waste of time.
“So,” I said, “are you going to tell me more about this mysterious man we’re about to visit?”
King’s eyes focused on the road ahead, and I scooted a few inches closer to my door. The way he took up the space in the back seat, his potent, virile vibe, made me feel more than uncomfortable.
“No mystery,” he re
plied. “His name is Vaughn. He is a collector of sorts.”
I knew that name, in fact…“That’s the name Guzman mentioned at the airport.” I’d forgotten about it. Perhaps on purpose. Just like I tried to forget everything about that day.
King didn’t seem surprised.
“How do you know him?” I asked. “How did you find out my brother had contact with him?”
“We happen to have a few mutual acquaintances who also happened to overhear Vaughn speaking about your brother’s work.”
This couldn’t be a coincidence. Not possible.
“Does he have something to do with this Artifact you mentioned?” I asked.
King stilled. “Perhaps.”
“Why do you want it so badly?”
“I am also a collector of sorts. It is something I’ve been trying to locate for a very long time.”
“This has what to do with my brother?” I asked.
“Everything. It has everything to do with your brother.”
I was about to ask yet another question, but I’d worn out my question-welcome. King held up his hand to silence me. “Enough, Miss Turner. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you simply didn’t speak until after we meet with Vaughn.”
Rude. King acted like he was a real king. Maybe the name had gone to his head.
“Why are you bringing me?” I asked.
He growled. “I was getting to that. Perhaps, if you’d cease with the questions, I might be able to explain myself.”
I wanted to claw at his horrible, beautiful face. Instead, I picked up a newspaper that had been folded and shoved in the seat pocket in front of me.
He continued. “I want you to look around his office and commit to memory everything you see. Specifically, if you see any residuals of the Artifact. That, however, is all you are to do. You may leave the questions to me.”
I grumbled something unladylike and opened the paper.
“This is serious, Miss Turner. You will remain quiet.”
Chances were slim. Whatever terror-induced silence King had been able to subdue me with in the past was no longer effective. Maybe things changed the minute I started talking to dead people and seeing colors. King’s scare factor got bumped down a few notches.
I illuminated the overhead light and focused on the paper. It was the only thing I could do to suppress the volcano of angry emotions just begging to bubble out and ooze all over the backseat.
“Miss Turner,” King said with a stern slowness, “do you understand?”
I dropped the paper. “Let’s cut the crap, okay? If you want me to start ‘understanding,’ you’ll have to tell me the why.”
Amusement flickered in King’s heavenly eyes, making me nervous. The last time I’d challenged him—about my brother’s team being alive and well—and he didn’t push back, I ended up having my world tipped upside down. That look in his eyes meant he might simply get out of my way and let me run myself over. It meant I was getting into something I didn’t understand.
“What aren’t you telling me about Vaughn?” I asked.
At that moment, the rain started coming down in buckets. The SUV filled with the sound of water pelting the windshield, which only upped my anxiety for some reason.
King scratched the thick growth of stubble on his jaw, then glanced at his watch. “He’s a psychopath. And when he wants something, he’ll move heaven and earth to get it.”
“Sounds a little like someone else I know,” I mumbled.
King’s hand landed on my wrist, and I gasped. “Don’t ever,” he snarled, “compare me to him, Mia. We are nothing alike.”
I waited for more, but King left it at that and released me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling completely shocked by King’s reaction. What kind of man was Vaughn that King would lose his calm like that? “Can you please explain, though, why you’re so worried about me speaking when we meet with him?”
The rain turned to hail, and it sounded like we were being pelted with rocks.
King’s magnificent frame grew more rigid. “If you do anything other than stand there pretending to be a cute piece of ass tonight, he might notice you’re different.”
A shiver of disgust crawled over my skin. “So you’re saying he’d try to take me?”
“He would try.” King’s words also meant that Vaughn would fail. At least, that’s what I hoped he meant. I didn’t want to ask how King, in this very strange, hypothetical situation, would stop Vaughn. I might not like the answer.
Instead, I asked, “So you really think I’m a Seer?”
“Of Light. Yes, I do.” King looked ahead, frowning a bit. “If you still need convincing, this is your chance.”
The SUV pulled to the side of the street. “We’re here, sir,” Arno said.
“Where’s here?” I asked, taking note of the graffiti on the buildings and crumpled wads of wet garbage on the sidewalk.
“Brixton,” King replied.
Again, I didn’t know London well, but I gathered that this was not the nice part. “Is it safe?”
King laughed. “For me, yes. For you, only when you’re with me.”
Arno walked around to the passenger side with a giant black umbrella and opened the door. I stepped out onto the flooding sidewalk. And in that one fraction of a second, right before Arno shut the door, I caught a glimpse of the back of that newspaper I’d been holding in my hand. Federale Shot at Mexico City Airport After Torturing and Killing Four Co-Workers.
My knees nearly buckled, but Arno caught my arm and steadied me. “Miss Turner? Are you all right?”
He probably thought it was just another of those dizzy spells.
“Uh, yeah.” I nodded agitatedly, trying to hide my panic attack. Was that King’s doing?
Oh my god. Who else? It was more than a coincidence that there had been four other people that day, aside from Agent Guzman, who’d assisted him.
So King was a ruthless killer? To be honest, I didn’t feel much sympathy for those thugs. Not after they’d threatened to violate me. What bothered me was that King was the sort of person who would and apparently had murdered people. It took a special breed of person to kill. I was working for him.
Shit. Mack wasn’t joking when he’d said that King was dangerous, but what should I have expected? Normal, nice people didn’t go around asking other nice people to be their slaves or brand them like cattle.
Normal, nice people didn’t go around seeing dead people, either. So what did that make me?
Over my head and scared shitless. But I didn’t know what to do. It’s not like I could run away. This dodgy part of town would gobble me up in a heartbeat.
Arno hurried me to the overhang of a small convenience store we’d parked in front of. King was already there, holding open the door.
I stopped and looked up at him. “I think I’ll wait in the car. I’m not feeling well.”
King gripped my wrist, right where he’d tattooed me, and the pressure sent mind-numbing bolts of pain through my system.
“Get inside,” he commanded.
Suddenly, I wanted to do just that. What is happening to me? But that question faded away along with my resolve to escape.
I stepped inside like an obedient dog. The place was cramped, and the shelves crammed with junk food. The floors were grubby, and the plastic panels covering the overhead lights were cracked or missing. What did Vaughn collect? Dirt?
The clerk jerked his head toward us and went back to whatever he was watching on his phone.
Still holding my wrist, King dragged me toward the back of the store through a set of double doors. It was dark, with boxes and garbage piled against the walls so high it reached the mold-covered ceiling.
At the very back of the room was a door with peeling white paint. King opened it, not bothering to knock. “Vaughn,” I heard King say.
I tried to see around King, but he was pretty damned big compared to me.
“King, always a pleasure. And I see you’ve brough
t me the girl.”
“What?” I miraculously tugged my arm free from King and took a step back but was blocked by several large men holding tire irons. Where had they come from?
They pushed me past King, inside the dank-smelling office with wood-paneled walls and a rotten old couch, which one of the men made me sit on.
“What the hell, King?” I hissed.
“Shut the fuck up,” he said to me and then glanced at the scraggly looking man with salt-and-pepper hair in his sixties, wearing a ratty, old brown cardigan, sitting behind the desk, where tall stacks of disheveled papers leaned precariously toward the floor.
“Do you have what I want?” King asked him.
The man instructed his two thugs to wait outside, then jostled his lips from side to side. “I believe I have located it, yes. And now that I see you have the girl, I will proceed in acquiring it.”
I couldn’t believe this. King was going to barter me away? This must have been his plan all along.
Vaughn made a loud hacking sound and then cleared a ball of sticky phlegm from his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d like to leave her here with me?” He planted his elbows on the desk and opened his pruney, pallid hands. His beady eyes and leathery, yellowish skin reminded me of a snake. “As a gesture of goodwill,” Vaughn added.
King laughed. “I don’t do credit, and I want the Artifact by tomorrow.”
Vaughn laughed and then scraped the edges of his mouth. “I need a week.”
“Two days,” King replied, “or I sell the girl to another bidder.”
That’s when it clicked. Vaughn was a human trafficker. That’s what King had meant by “a collector of sorts.”
The room turned into a mess of red lights swirling over the walls, the desk, the floor, and…my eyes floated down, horrified to see the couch bathed in red. Was that because people had been murdered in this place?
Oh my god, you’re next. I wanted to vomit. Cold sweat broke out on my brow. I leaned forward and braced myself on the edge of Vaughn’s desk.
“She’s sick,” Vaughn said, as if I were tainted meat.