A knock at the door sends a jolt through me.
I’d look through the peephole, but there isn’t one.
But I can tell by the chills snaking up and down my spine that it isn’t Bianca. She hasn’t gotten here yet.
It’s the King of Hearts.
Here to collect.
27
BIANCA
I don’t think Rouge has seen me.
Of course, if she has, she wouldn’t make it known.
It’s like her brain is made of ice. She always keeps things cool, even in the most stressful situations.
She isn’t wearing her club attire—the Elizabethan gown dripping in her red diamonds—but her street attire. A smart pants suit with her flaming red hair tied up into a neat bun. I almost wouldn’t recognize her but for her long, crimson nails that extend from her fingers like demonic claws.
A small half-wall separates the check-in area from a lounge with cushy red couches, so I duck behind it and listen in.
Rouge’s voice is layered with faux sympathy as she speaks with the cops.
“Yes, I’m a dear friend of Florian’s. He’s in the hospital now, and the doctors have promised he’ll make a full recovery. They may even be able to save his eye, though he may require a corneal transplant.”
Damn. She’s already lining up Jack’s organs. If his eye isn’t a match, I’m sure Rouge has an arsenal of them at her disposal. Mr. Rose can just pop a new one in, one that was plucked from the unwitting corpse of one of her workers.
“Excellent news, ma’am,” the cop next to her mumbles.
Rouge crosses her arms over her large bosom. “And please correct me if I’m wrong, but you say there were two people with him in the office when the accident occurred?”
The cop nods.
“Are you able to provide a description?”
“That information is strictly for the investigation, ma’am.”
She fakes a laugh. “Of course. Don’t worry. I’m not going to go all vigilante on you. I’m just wondering, as a concerned citizen, if there are any troublesome people I should be on the lookout for.”
The cop nods again, and Rouge reaches into her cleavage, pulls out a small baggie. Even from here, I can tell it holds a few of her red diamonds.
“Are you married, Officer?”
“Fifteen years in October,” the cop says.
“Congratulations.” Rouge reaches into the bag and pulls out one of the diamonds. “Perhaps your wife will be expecting something a little extra this year for such a milestone.”
The cop widens his eyes as he scans the contents of Rouge’s palm. “Is that a ruby?”
“A diamond, Officer. A red diamond. One of the rarest types. Worth well over the two months’ salary that young men are encouraged to put toward engagement rings for their beloved.”
The cop laughs nervously. “My wife’s ring is cubic zirconium, I’m afraid.”
Rouge lays a hand against her breast. “Goodness. Perhaps she’s due for an upgrade then.”
“Ma’am?”
