Page 50

CHAPTER 50

Dante concealed his fury with a kiss pressed to Maarja’s forehead and handed her back into Octavia’s and Alex’s loving arms. He ran up to Maarja’s bedroom. There the coroner and EMTs clustered around Jack’s body, doing the stuff they had to do for form’s sake.

If it were up to him, Jack would go in a dumpster.

Taking the arm of the EMT in charge, Dante said, “You’re needed downstairs.”

“Did you find another body?” The name badge said Zion, and he looked as weary as any guy who’d been on duty through the night shift should look.

“Not a body. My woman needs stitches.” With one finger, Dante sliced under his chin.

“Not life-threatening?” At Dante’s nod, he said, “I can’t leave this scene for that!”

“Jack’s dead. He doesn’t need you.” Dante was cold with contempt: for Jack, for daring to threaten what was his, and for himself, for not foreseeing what Jack intended. “He took a knife to my bride, she’s bleeding, she needs her wound closed now . You do know how to suture, right?”

“I’m an EMT. I’m not officially trained for that. Two hundred miles offshore I won’t get in legal trouble, but here—”

“If you know how, I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble, legal or otherwise.” Dante used his mob-boss voice.

Zion glanced at his people working the murder, spoke to the coroner, and walked with Dante to Octavia’s bedroom.

The women wore robes and serious expressions.

Officer Guerrero of the Oakland Police Department, who was (not surprisingly) a friend of Octavia’s, had found them and was doing her preliminary questioning. She moved aside to let Zion photograph Maarja’s wound, numb the area, and suture it. He grumbled as he worked, complaining that he was a critical care paramedic, not a plastic surgeon, and his sutures were for emergencies, not for a bride on her wedding day.

Officer Guerrero seemed startled to find a homicide at Octavia’s home, but not as startled as she might have been that it had been that particular San Francisco cop. Apparently Jack had been making a name for himself around the Bay Area as the guy to avoid.

When Zion finished and Officer Guerrero requested Maarja accompany her to the station for interviews, Dante was prepared to step in. As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Octavia coaxed the officer with an account of the wedding that would take place this afternoon and the promise that they’d all be available tomorrow for questioning.

When she got a call there was a shooting on the docks, Officer Guerrero surrendered. “I’m needed elsewhere, so I’ll use my judgment and postpone correct procedures.” She eyed Dante. “Although if anyone at the station ever discovers I did that for an Arundel, I’ll be busted back to patrolman.”

“No, you won’t.” He would make sure of that. He escorted her down to the front door, providing information he knew she would need, and when he returned, Zion had finished and left, and Octavia and Alex were comforting Maarja, pressing an ice bag against her cut, assuring her the bruising could be covered with makeup, at least until after the wedding ceremony.

He felt like he was intruding on a primitive feminine pre-wedding ritual, yet when he caught a glimpse of the bond that united his wife with her chosen family, he relaxed a little more. She was his. She was theirs. That made him theirs, too. He liked that feeling of belonging, and he hated to interrupt their bonding, but when Maarja opened her arms to him, he rushed to hold her against his chest, to rock and comfort her.

Comfort himself, too. That was too close. He’d almost lost her.

He noted that Octavia and Alex stepped out to give them privacy, and he appreciated that, for they had to speak of what had happened.

She’d had to kill. That was an ordeal he’d never intended her to face.

He leaned back, stroked her hair, looked into her face. “You killed Jack.”

“I’m not sorry.” Her voice trembled.

“It’s not easy to take a life.” He knew that better than most.

“No. The sound and feel…the blood on my hand…to see life leave his eyes…” She breathed deeply as if she wanted to vomit. “That will live in my nightmares. But, Dante, he held me close, and I saw him. Inside him. He was willing to threaten me for the opportunity to kill you. He wanted to murder you first so I would suffer. After that, he meant to use and kill me. All his life, he dreamed of blood and death and pleasure and vengeance.” She caressed his cheek. “Dear Dante, I’m so glad I ended him. He was èrthu Arundel returned to life. Mad with rage against the world that didn’t provide him with everything he wanted. Furious with his mother for depriving him of his father. Cruel to his bones.”

Holding her, hearing her, he saw with her eyes into the past and to the French lord who had started this vendetta with his warped and vicious malice.

“Besides, better me to kill Jack than you, Dante. I had no fraternal feelings toward him. You do. I feel the devastation of ending a life, but no guilt. The man deserved to die.”

This was not the time to grin—but he did. Her voice had changed, had become brisk with practicality. She would be changed by the morning’s events, but her mind wouldn’t linger over them. No wonder fate had chosen her for him.

Still in that no-nonsense voice, she said, “I can go forward with this wedding today, if you can.”

He put his forehead against hers. “Yes,” he breathed. “Please, yes.”