I’d seen plenty of scared protectees over the centuries, but something about Charles being afraid made my chest feel like it was being crushed in a vise. Maybe it was because he was usually so bright and optimistic, always finding something to smile about even when he was stressed. Seeing that light dimmed by fear made me want to hunt Carlo down and introduce him to some very old-fashioned Irish justice.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Charles said quietly as we turned the corner onto his street.
“What thing?”
“That thing where your jaw gets all tight and you look like you’re mentally planning someone’s murder.”
Fuck. I was supposed to be reassuring him, not adding to his anxiety with my own bloodthirsty thoughts. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
“About Carlo?”
“About keeping you safe,” I said, which was true enough.
Charles nodded, but I could see the tension in his shoulders as we walked up to the house. He was trying so hard to hold it together, to be brave, and it made me admire him even more. Most people would be falling apart by now.
“I think I’m going to make dinner,” Charles said the moment we were inside, already heading toward the kitchen like it was a sanctuary. “Something that takes a lot of prep work. Keep my hands busy.”
I understood. Cooking was his way of coping, his method of creating order when everything else felt chaotic. “Sounds good. I’ll just, uh, check in with the precinct. See if there are any updates.”
The lie rolled off my tongue easily enough, but I hated having to deceive him. Everything between us was built on deception, and the weight of that was starting to feel unbearable.
My iPad chimed with an urgent AngelCloud alert just as Charles began pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. Perfect timing, though I tried not to think too hard about whether that was a coincidence or divine intervention.
“I’ll take this outside,” I said, holding up the tablet. “Official business.”
Charles nodded distractedly, already lost in the familiar rhythm of meal preparation. I slipped out to the back porch, grateful for the privacy and the cool evening air. The alert was marked high priority, which never boded well. I tapped it open and immediately wanted to throw the bloody thing against the wall.
“Surveillance footage requires immediate review,” the notification read, followed by a time stamp from aboutan hour ago. Below that, a location that made my blood run cold: Charming Banquet Hall.
I tapped the play button, and nothing happened. I tapped it again. Still nothing.
“Come on, you piece of shite,” I muttered, jabbing at the screen with increasing frustration. “Just play the fecking video.”
Finally, the screen flickered to life, but instead of sound, I got complete silence. I could see Carlo’s mouth moving as he spoke to someone off-camera, but I might as well have been watching a bloody mime show.
I poked at various icons, trying to find volume controls. Instead, I somehow managed to switch to a different camera angle that showed only Steve’s feet, then another that appeared to be mounted inside a ceiling tile, and then one that gave me a lovely view of the parking lot.
“For feck’s sake. Where’s the volume on this thing?”
After what felt like an eternity of technological incompetence, I finally found what looked like a speaker icon and tapped it. Sound exploded from the device at what had to be maximum volume, Carlo’s voice booming across the quiet evening like he was announcing a football match. “—Lost a family heirloom and I’m trying to?—”
I frantically jabbed at the screen to lower the volume, accidentally enabling what appeared to be closed captions in Portuguese. Finally, after more cursing and random button-mashing than I cared to admit, I managed to get both reasonable volume and the right camera angle. The Portuguese captions were easy enough to ignore.
The timestamp showed this had happened about an hour ago, while Charles had been finishing up in his bakery. Carlo stood in the banquet hall’s main room, wearing that same predatory smile he’d given Charles, talking to StevePorter. The young man looked nervous but eager to help, nodding enthusiastically at whatever Carlo was saying.
“—just trying to retrace everyone’s steps from that morning,” Carlo was explaining, his voice smooth as silk. “You helped the baker with the wedding cake, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes, Charles!” Steve’s face lit up with genuine warmth. “He’s so nice. And that cake was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What time did he arrive that morning?”
My stomach dropped.
“Um, let me think,” Steve said, his brow furrowing with concentration. “It was around nine-thirty, I think.”
“Nine-thirty?” Carlo repeated, and I could hear the interest sharpening his tone.
“Yeah, because Charles needed help to bring the cake inside, and I checked my watch to make sure I wouldn’t be late to the rental facility to pick up extra chairs. It was nine-thirty on the dot, and I had to be there before ten, so I knew I had enough time to help him.” Steve nodded confidently, pleased with his recall. “And when I came back from getting the extra chairs—around ten-fifteen—I saw him leave, so he must’ve stayed to make sure everything looked perfect.”
