Page 35 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which the right color is Caribbean Blue.

Catriona…

Also three days later…

“Ma chere , I must leave you for a few days.”

We’re having dinner together in the stupidly enormous dining room of his villain’s lair with a table that seems to stretch as far as a football field, covered with flower arrangements and endless platters of food that no one will eat.

It’s something Hugo insists on, including dressing up, which is why I’m wearing a poofy Stella McCartney creation in a lurid shade of yellow and he’s in a full black tuxedo with tails.

It’s the most conservative thing I’ve seen him wear.

“Oh? I canna imagine ye wanting to miss this next trial,” I take an inelegant gulp of wine.

The bottle is a 1869 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, which I believe from Hugo’s ramblings was purchased at an auction for around two hundred thousand pounds.

I know the way I’m throwing it down my gullet like it’s a boxed wine at a college party is slowly decaying édouard’s soul as he pours me another glass.

“Oui, we are so close,” Hugo nods mournfully.

He has no idea how close I am. He’s sharp, more cunning than I am, but I have my tricks. “Why are ye leaving, then?”

The darkness I’d seen before seems to drop on him like a shroud. “Ridiculous things. Petty annoyances. Sometimes, only a visit from me, a few words of confidence, can restore the balance of things and end any misunderstandings.”

The few times I’ve been close to his study, I’ve heard him screaming on the phone at some poor, hapless soul on the other end. Labs broken into, contracts dissolved, murderous Albanians. And I know exactly who’s behind it.

Da and Lucas have been busy.

Hugo reaches into his tuxedo pocket and grunts irritably. “The muscle memory of reaching for a good cigar after dinner, it’s hard to break.”

“You’re still smoke free, even now?”

“Oui,” he says sourly, “since that day in the lab with you.”

“That’s impressive, truly. They say weaning yourself from tobacco is even harder than giving up heroin,” I say cheerfully, enjoying his misery .

“Yes, well.” He scratches his arm, “The nicotine patches have been of help. But it is mainly self-control, of course.” He’s been wearing those nicotine patches like a necklace, pulling another one out of his pocket and slapping it next to the other whenever his craving hits hard.

He’s stashed packs of them everywhere, like a squirrel set for winter- in his jackets, his lab coat…

If I’m lucky, he’ll die of nicotine poisoning and save me the trouble of murdering him.

“Ye dinnae remove the old patch,” I scold. “You’ll make yourself sick. Take it off.”

He gives me what he thinks is a charmingly sheepish smile as he peels off the old patch. “One would think I’d have come up with a better way to end my cravings, but none of the standard medications seem to work.”

I shrug, “We can work on that after we finish the antidote.” There’s a moment after my thoughtless comment where I see it, a flare of vicious triumph on his face before he smooths into placid lines again.

“It is a weakness I despise,” he says.

“It’s still laudable to be smoke-free for nearly a month,” I smile warmly, “ye should be proud of yourself.”

“Hmph,” he grumbles, “I might take up my cigarettes again if these ridiculous interruptions do not settle down.”

After dinner, Hugo holds out his arm in a courtly fashion, so I’m forced to take it.

The cave structure is built in a cross shape, four tunnels built to look like hallways.

One holds the lab, another is devoted to security and the kitchen, the third is for Hugo’s study.

We walk toward the fourth hallway where the bedroom suites are situated, my rooms are first, and at the end of the hall, behind enormous, gilt-covered doors are his.

He’s been indifferent thus far to my physical assets, I’ve never gotten the sense he was leering at me. I’m thinking he’s asexual. So I’m shocked when he leans closer as we pause at my door. “Would you like to join me for a nightcap? I have a charming digestif, a Gautier Cognac in my suite.”

My flesh is trying to crawl off my body.

“It’s a kind offer, Hugo. But I’m planning an early start in the lab and well, I’ve had a wee bit much of the wine. One should never mix one’s alcohol. It never ends well, aye?”

This man is a genius. An insane, unscrupulous, viciously amoral bastard, but he’s no fool. His sharp, dark eyes examine me for a moment.

“Tell me, chérie . How did you give your bodyguard the slip when you came to meet my security team?”

Poor Boyd. I remember the violent splash of crimson on his white shirt when Hugo’s thugs stabbed him in the back, that day at the gym.

“Your men, they butchered my first bodyguard,” I manage between tight lips, lips that want to scream at him, my teeth aching to bite his face, tear flesh.

“I wasn’t going to let ye murder another.

I’ve been giving my security team the slip since I was a teenager and climbing down the trellis outside my bedroom window. ”

“Ah… this new bodyguard, though.” He pauses, dragging out the tension and making me want to stab him. “He was your bodyguard in the past, was he not?”

Holding his gaze, I shrug. “I got away from him too many times, the poor man. My Da sent him to an allied Bratva’s compound in Siberia as an example to the rest of the security team.

” I even manage a light chuckle. “It certainly cut down on my ability to do anything without someone hulking over my shoulder.”

Some of the darkness seems to slip away from him, but not completely. “Ah, security. I fear it is an inevitability in our lives, oui?”

“It seems so,” I agree. “Well, I should be getting to bed. Are ye planning on checking in each day? I can send ye some of the more interesting findings. I’m having a good feeling about this next trial.”

“As am I.” He seizes my hand and swoops down to kiss it. Slowly, with just a touch of tongue. It feels like a lizard scuttling across my flesh and I hold in a shudder. “Au revoir pour l'instant.”

“Safe journeys,” I reply, barely holding onto a smile until I get inside my room and shut the door.

I lean against it, listening to his footsteps, echoing off the marble floor. Lifting my right hand, I kiss my wedding ring.

The next day…

Because I’ve always been the most motivated by spite, I knew, I knew this trial is going to be it, and he won’t be here to see it.

I’m not conducting it in the enormous, fancy lab Hugo created for me.

That room is a prison; steel-lined, glassed-in like a very expensive cage, bristling with guards patrolling outside and cameras everywhere.

Brightly lit, with nowhere to hide, no room for sleight of hand.

The storage room, though…

It’s a climate-controlled room the size of a generous walk-in closet.

There’s no pretense in this space that this is anything but a cave dug deep into the mountain.

The rock ceiling looms overhead as I go through the shelves for what I need.

There’s a camera here too, of course. But it has a blind spot.

Everything I need is here.

Four pieces of equipment to mix eleven ingredients. I count each step under my breath, my hands moving in the same pattern as before, the same journey I took a thousand times before with this god-cursed antidote.

One change. One ingredient added in a different order with a lower potency. When I see the slide change to blue, the brilliant blue-green of the Caribbean, I see salvation.