Marcus knows everyone in the department. Most of them work for him. The other half would eventually.
“Official business I’m afraid, sir.” The one with the handlebar mustache glances at the thinner, darker skinned man. “Etienne Duval unexpectedly died last night. Tragically in his bed.”
My stomach blooms with delight. With sickening pride. But I will it back, bottle it down. I keep my expression blank. Empty.
Charlie meets my gaze for longer than I like. His dark eyes are assessing. Cop eyes, Ames would call it. They drop to my fingers tangled with Marcus’s.
“He knows,”the demon whispers along the cavity of my skull.“They’re going to pin it on your uncle if you don’t finish what you started. They’ll throw him in a deep, dark hole where Duval will send someone to kill him.”
My heart thumps in my chest, a frantic patter I’m sure can be heard for miles.
“We’re asking everyone who has had dealings with Mr. Duval.”
The implication hangs.
I don’t miss it and I know Marcus doesn’t either.
“You think I killed him?”
“We have to ask,” Reuben mumbles. “The feud between the families isn’t a secret, especially—”
Charlie nudges him hard in the ribs, but I hear it as clear as if he’d said it.
“Especially since the Duvals are responsible for the deaths of your sons.”
“I am very aware of my standing with the Duvals. I was at home all evening.”
“With me,” I blurt.
“Do you think they can smell the cum between your legs and know what a filthy girl you are?”
I ignore the taunt and keep my focus fixed on Reuben. He’s the only one between them who seems unconvinced but is smart enough not to accuse Marcus Usher of murder.
“We’re not accusing anyone,” Charlie pipes in quickly. “The manner with which Mr. Duval passed is still being investigated.”
Marcus nods once like he understands before saying quietly, “Best of luck in your investigation.”
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Reuben takes a step forward when Marcus starts to close the door in their faces. “You didn’t even ask how he died.”
There is only impatience in the downward tilt of Marcus’s mouth, the hard set in his eyes as he peers at the other man.
“Because I don’t care. You said yourself, there is no love lost between our families. His murdered my sons in cold blood not a week ago. Do I care how the man died? No. Do I wish to know how he died? No. He’s dead. It’s not even unfortunate. It’s simply a fact that I will forget before I finish my morning coffee. Now, if you will excuse us.”
He shuts the door before further questions are asked. The officers linger on the steps a second longer before their silhouettes drift off the steps. All the while, Marcus watches me with impatience.
“That is why discretion is necessary.”
“I don’t want discretion,” I retort. “I want everyone in the city to know and speculate. They will never know it’s us, unlike your method which will leave no doubt and too many probabilities.”
“It’s sloppy,” he says. “It’s risky and dangerous.”
“So is your way,” I remind him. “If you hire someone, you will have to take care of that person in case they get caught. You know they will give up your name in a heartbeat. You’d have to hire someone to kill him, and someone to kill that guy and so on and so forth. You could do the job yourself, but eventually you may be seen, or some evidence will bring them straight to you.” I take a breath and reach for his hand. “My way … they will never suspect us.”
“They do suspect us,” he points out, gesturing to the door. “That’s why they came. They know we are the only ones with the means and motive to go after that family.”
I shrug. “But they will never pin it on us. They can search all they want.” I can see it in his face, see the doubt and curiosity. He wants to ask but also doesn’t want to encourage. “Do you want me to tell you?
“No.” He turns his head away. “I want no part of this. You’re playing with things you don’t understand and I’m not going to watch you get yourself killed.”
