Page 103 of Girl Anonymous
As if to answer her, she heard a creak of the floorboards. She took a calming breath, smiled, and whispered, “Is Loki making mischief?”
When Dante didn’t answer, she glanced toward the door where she knew he waited. In that instant she caught the scent of that malice that had invaded her home on the day she foundla Bouteille de Flammein her drawer. As the knife slashed down onto the mattress, she rolled in the blankets off the far side of the bed.
The thump onto the floor knocked the breath out of her. She struggled to drag herself out of the blankets, to escape before the knife-wielding assassin could vault over the bed after her. She untangled herself, leaped to her feet—and into a cruel grip that lifted her to her toes.
Somehow a man had made his way to the far side of her bed.
His arm wrapped around her throat.
The point of a knife tucked under her chin.
Jack’s icily intent voice spoke in her ear. “Scream, Maarja.”
CHAPTER 49
This was not the writhing malice she’d felt reach for her as the knife slashed down. This was Jack, a man so cool in his concentration she felt his grip on her like ice in her veins. Yet something linked him to the masked and camouflaged figure who had stepped back against the wall opposite, a collaboration so ugly Benoit Arundel himself seemed to have risen from his grave.
Jack pressed with enough force for the sharp tip to pierce her skin.
She jerked, trying to get away. “Don’t,” she whispered. Warm blood slithered down her throat.
In that scarily instructive tone, Jack said, “Maarja, scream. Scream for all you’re worth. For years, I’ve been groomed to kill Dante.”
His phrasing caught her attention. “Been groomed? By who?”
“By my mother, of course.” He laughed as if he told a great joke.
“I don’t believe you.” She wanted to shout, but she kept her voice low. In case she survived these next few minutes, she wanted the information only he could give her. “Béatrice doesn’t have it in her.”
“My mother hides in plain sight. Haven’t you realized that’s possible? You’d better wise up in a hurry, Maarja, or you’ll dieyoung.” He mocked her without a trace of mercy. “Oh, wait…too late. You’ll die before the sun rises.”
She couldn’t help it. She looked out the window, wanting to see a lightening in the gloom, but the tendrils of fog clung to the house and shriveled all hope. If she screamed, as he wished, she would bring Dante to be stabbed from behind by…Béatrice? “Béatrice is cruising to Alaska.”
“Thank you for that information.”
He’d been lying. Fishing for information. She’d been a fool to give it up.
Yet if the figure against the wall was not Béatrice…who was it? Not his mother. Then who? Maarja strained to see that other being in her room—what person had been willing to stab her while she slept?—but in the dim light she could see nothing but a tall figure wearing a mask and cap and dressed in desert camouflage up against the wall beside the door. “What do you hope to accomplish? You and…that person?”
“I’ll take control of the Arundels. The moment is now. We know that. Soon everyone will know that.” He pronounced each word like a directive. “We’ll be feared again. We will be great again.”
The knife tip sank a little deeper. “Scream and live another few minutes,” Jack said again.
This was not the same man who had publicly thrown a temper tantrum. This was the real man; it hadn’t been meth that caused his outburst to Dante, but the need to publicly misdirect his intentions. She remembered how Dante had watched Jack as he left; he had doubted Jack’s performance.
Smart man. Had he maintained his vigilance over the last few days? Where was Saint Rees?Where were Dante’s precautions?
Jack’s preternatural calm sent the right message. So did her own swift intelligence.
She was not alone in her home. She drew breath to shriek—
Dante leaped through the door and flooded the room withwhite light that blinded her and, by the way he staggered, Jack, too.
Dante’s wedding present to Maarja was opportunity. Sightless, and in perfect sequence, she performed the moves her self-defense master had taught her.
Pull your head back. Tuck your chin. Slide it under his elbow.
Left hand: slam his junk with your fist.
