Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

burn marks sizzle like bacon. Two words and a symbol are branded into his skin.

GRANDE BALLROOM, it says. The symbol is a half circle.

“That’s a first quarter moon,” Hillerman says quietly. “It’s the time and place of the next masquerade. The Grande Ballroom on the night of the first quarter moon. That’s two days from now.”

Her voice sounds odd to me. It’s soft. Too soft. Too careful and controlled, as though she’s trying to tiptoe. It won’t work. There’s no tiptoeing around what she’s done.

I rise to my feet, and when I turn my eyes on her, I see that she has taken a defensive stance, with her hand hovering over her gun in its holster. She won’t take her eyes off mine—watching my every move. Very slowly, she raises her other hand in a placating gesture. “Shayne. Think.”

I don’t. Can’t think right now. Only stare.

“Think about it, Shayne. We talked about this. King Paul came through here. He went in, and he came out. What does that mean? Now we know. It means he had to bring somebody with him. Takes two. Who would he have brought? Think about it. Who?” I don’t answer, so she keeps talking. “Ronny Fencher. The ogre.”

“You don’t know that,” I say, but so quietly that I’m not sure she hears it.

“It had to be Fencher. King Paul used him for everything. Fencher trusted him. All right, so…if King Paul brought Fencher here, and Fencher lived, then we know it’s safe.”

“But you didn’t know.”

“As soon as I dragged Brenner into the ice coffin, the dagger disappeared. It was just a test, is all. He was fine.”

“He was fine,” I repeat flatly. “You couldn’t have known it would work that way.”

“I did.”

“Say it again,” I threaten with a growl. “Say one more time that you knew. That you knew it!”

She doesn’t say it, but her jaw sets and she glares at me, so that I know she’s thinking it. I’m starting to piss her off. Good. Maybe she’ll push back, and then I can really go at her. I’ve got an ace up my sleeve with her name on it.

“Babe,” Jay starts.

“Don’t, Jay. Don’t you dare.”

“She took a risk. We all did.”

Rage and fear and desperation erupt in my voice. “You are not her risk to take!”

Hillerman relaxes her stance. I guess she has decided the threat has passed, which makes me smile inside. “Enough,” she says. “I did what I did, and here he is, so you can take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, and I’ll just say this: I’m sorry.”

She looks confused and slightly suspicious. “For what?”

I shake my head. “Not you. I’ve got nothing more to say to Charlotte. I’m talking to Matt.”

As expected, her reaction is immediate and severe. You’d think I had pulled a gun and shot her. All the air leaves her lungs, taking with it the color in her face. She whips the sunglasses off, and tears already glisten in her eyes. I see something in her face that I didn’t think possible before—it’s fear. Mortal fear from a fatal blow. How’s that for a stab in the back?

As I said, her reaction is the part I expected. What I didn’t expect was how it would feel. Where’s the satisfaction? Where’s the triumphant show of reaching into the middle of the table to hoard all the chips I just won? If she’s the one who just went bust, then why do I feel like I lost?

I push all that deep down. What’s done is done. Got to finish this. “I know you’re hearing all this, Matt, and I promised to watch her back. But I just can’t, I’m sorry. She’s impossible.”

Hillerman’s whole body shakes. She takes a rattling breath. “He…he talked to you?”

“He’s a good listener,” I say, twisting the knife. “He’s open and optimistic and even a bit romantic, I think. A peacekeeper. Generous. Too generous, if you ask me. Oh, and his sense of humor? He’s funny, Charlotte. Who would have thought all those things were in you all this time?”

Her legs buckle. She falls to her knees, covering her nose and mouth with quivering hands. “Tell me more,” she whispers. “You? Why you, Shayne? He hasn’t ever…what did he say? What did he want?”

I can’t look at her like this. Hillerman’s not supposed to be vulnerable. It’s a dirty trick. I turn away to conceal the fresh tears forming in my own eyes. I decide to walk, and once I’m walking, I decide to jog, and then to run. Jay mutters some quick instructions to them about meeting back at the house, and then he comes after me. I hear the painful hitch in his breath with every step he takes.

I turn suddenly and throw myself at him. Catching me in a strong embrace, he lifts me off my feet, and I bury my face in his neck. We’re both out of breath, hearts beating wildly.

Taking me by the hand, he leads us through the dark woods. We don’t talk. We’re as quiet as the snowflakes sticking to my eyelashes. Jay’s hand is cold. Mine are warm. I wrap them both around his and marvel at his instinct to be silent. He must have so many questions about what just happened, not to mention the fact that he almost died just now, but he’s content to simply be here with me and let everything else and everyone else wait. He’s telling me something without saying a word.

I squeeze his hand to reply, I love you, too. He pulls me closer. I hug his arm for the rest of the walk. As we round the corner onto Laurel Street, where the truck is parked, my body goes on alert. Something doesn’t feel right. Scratch that. Something doesn’t smell right.

“Jay.”

“Hmm?”

“You smell that? No, don’t stop. Just keep walking for the truck.” I move my hand to the pistol on his hip, ready to pull at the first sign of trouble.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“Smoke.”

“Like a cigarette?”

“No. Something