Blood, Ash, and Bone

CHAPTER Thirty-six

Once I shut the door on Fitzhugh, I joined Trey in the bedroom. He was already in the shower. I noticed a garment bag lying in state on the bed, a froth of white showing through the plastic—my dress for the ball. I pulled it from the bag and laid it on the bedspread. It was bride-white, with black satin trim at the hem and bodice. A laced corset underpinned the whole gig, which included a massive pouf of crinoline skirting ribbed with assorted hoops.

I kicked my shoes into the corner. Then I opened the bathroom door and got a face full of steam.

“Fitzhugh’s gone,” I said loudly.

“I heard.” Trey’s voice echoed in the shower stall.

“He’s decided to go it alone since we turned out to be less pliable than he thought. But he must have been desperate to ask for help in the first place.”

“He thought we had the Bible.”

“He thought wrong.”

I returned to the bedroom, picked up my dress, and groaned. Two dozen hook and eye fasteners ran up the back in an intricate track. I sighed and got busy undoing them.

“But all that stuff about Winston and the Bible being a fake was true, right?”

“Those parts, yes,” Trey called back. “And the part about someone searching his room and then calling him afterward.”

“But who could that be? Not the people who did the snipe and grab—they have the Bible, fake as it may be.”

“Perhaps someone has taken it from them.”

“Competing criminal interests? Really?”

“It’s one possibility. Graph it and you’ll see.”

I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it in the corner with the shoes. The jeans followed next, the bra too. I heard the shower stop, then the sound of the curtain being pulled back. I picked up the corset, a tangle of lace and underwiring as complex as a time bomb.

I stepped into the thing. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Say somebody wanted the Bible enough to steal it from our sniper team.” I shimmied the corset up over my hips. “What if they got it before Winston went to the meeting with the Grand Wizard? What if our sniper team clipped Winston and snatched the briefcase, only to get back to Bad Guy Headquarters and find it empty? That would put them on the prowl for it in a big way.”

I heard the sound of a garment bag being unzipped in the bathroom, followed by the rustle of heavy cloth. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Why would you? This is the first we’re hearing that people are still looking for that damn Bible. Factor in Jasper’s warning about the Grand Wizard wanting to hush up his involvement, and things get even more confusing.”

I sucked in a breath and yanked the corset over my heaving bosom. The hose went next, seamed thigh-highs topped with white lace. I fumbled them up my legs and snapped them to the garter straps, wondering for the life of me what men found so sexy about this particular contraption.

“So maybe this is how Hope fits in,” I said. “Maybe she’s the one. Maybe she took the Bible from Winston before he could make the trade with the Grand Dragon. Maybe that’s why she was there, to watch him get humiliated when the briefcase turned up empty. Unfortunately, somebody shot him between the eyes first.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And I’ll bet Hope stuck that forger’s kit back under the counter too, so that when the cops came looking, they’d find it in Winston’s possession. Hope doesn’t do things by halves. If she was going to set up Winston, she was going to do it all the way.”

There was no reply from the bathroom.

“Trey?”

“I’m listening. It’s just…” He exhaled in annoyance. “Go on.”

“Hope was at the scene when Winston was killed, so everybody assumed she was a part of the sniping. But what if she wasn’t?” I picked the dress up in a heap and dumped it over my head. It spilled around me in a waterfall of taffeta and fluff like a collapsed circus tent. “What if she was there to watch Winston open up an empty briefcase? That would mean she’s the one with the Bible, not the snipers.”

The hooks tangled in my hair. I tried to pull free, which only complicated things further. I cursed and snatched harder.

“Stop,” Trey said, his voice close now. “Let me help.”

I felt one hand maneuver under the massive skirts and pull my right arm gently through the gauzy sleeve. Then I felt his fingers in my hair—patient, dexterous, working the hooks free from the frizzed ringlets.

“And what the hell is the KKK up to?” I said, my voice muffled under layers of fabric. “Why are they trying to erase their involvement with Winston? Is it because they were responsible for his death?”

“That seems the most likely motive.”

“Except for one thing—what would the KKK want with that particular Bible? It makes no sense ideology-wise.”

“Perhaps they saw it as an investment.”

“Perhaps. But it still feels wrong to me.”

The dress fell heavily about me in a cascade, and I poked my head through the neck hole. Trey stood behind me, fastening the hooks.

I held my hair out of the way. “So maybe the KKK is afraid too, of whoever shot Winston.”

“Maybe.”

“Regardless, somebody’s got the Bible and somebody else wants it, and these somebodies don’t play nice. That leaves two questions. One, what is Fitzhugh hiding that’s worth risking his neck over? And two…”

I turned around. And completely lost my train of thought.

Trey wore a black cutaway tailcoat and trousers, sharply creased, his snow-white linen shirt and matching cravat secured with a tiny silver pin. A sword dangled at his hip, etched silver with a foiled scabbard. He was utterly discombobulated and devastatingly handsome.

I stared. “Omigod.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What was the second question?”

“Oh.” I swished my skirts into place. “Why are people dying over a Bible that isn’t real?”

“Those are good questions.”

“I know.” I put my arms around his neck, his skin still hot and moist from the shower. “But they don’t change the fact that I’m not chasing that Bible anymore.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Done with that. My goal now is to get us back to Atlanta in one piece.”

He was a study in chivalrous gentility, except for the outlines of the holster under his jacket. I reached down and ran a finger along the shiny blade at his hip. A very nice reproduction of an officer’s presentation sword.

I smiled up at him. “Remember the night we met? How I held a sword to your throat and called you a lying son of a bitch?”

He ignored my reminiscence and glared hotly at the scabbard. “It’s utterly unworkable for either offense or defense, especially with this jacket.” He rotated his shoulder. “The sleeves are too tight. I can barely raise my arm.”

“It’s not cut for concealed carry. And the sword is a status symbol, not a weapon.”

“Nonetheless—”

“Trey.” I reached up and rubbed the spot between his eyes. “It’s four hours of discomfort. We’ll deal with it. And then we’re done.”

He looked me in the eye, his expression serious. “Stay close tonight. I can’t look out for you and watch Reynolds at the same time. I need you where I can see you, at all times.”

I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “I’ll be as close as your shadow. Now fetch the hairpins. I gotta get this mess into something resembling a hairdo.”