Chapter 41 Geneva
GENEVA
THE BUILDING RISES AHEAD OF ME LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF another century. The ornate wrought-iron balconies, tall arched windows, and flickering gas lamps create a hauntingly beautiful atmosphere. The hum of Mardi Gras is distant now, muffled behind heavy brick and centuries of secrets.
I study the stonework and the gilded trim on the doors. As well as admire the masks and gowns of the women entering ahead of me. Because I’m trying not to think about what Ghost and I are going to do.
My heart beats faster the closer I get to the entrance. I’m walking into a trap we’ve laid for a man known for setting them first. Fortunately, the same could be said for Ghost.
The staff members open the double doors, revealing a grand vestibule bathed in golden light. Marble floors stretch out beneath crystal chandeliers, and the air is thick with the scents of perfume and money. The sounds of a string quartet drift in from the ballroom, both elegant and eerie.
I step over the threshold. Guests mill about, champagne flutes in hand, smiles bright and rehearsed. These people are charming in that effortless, curated way that comes with wealth and corruption.
And somewhere behind one of those masks is the man who murdered my parents.
I scan the crowd, letting my gaze drift casually, but my pulse stutters every time I come across someone who matches Bisset’s description. Anyone could be him. Laughing. Drinking. Dancing. As if he doesn’t have blood on his hands. Of course, he’s not the only one.
Speaking of Ghost…
I let my gaze trail slowly across the ballroom, careful not to appear like I’m searching for him. Just a bored guest admiring the decorations.
It’s too risky for us to be seen together. If there’s even a flicker of recognition from Bisset, our plan will fall apart before I can utter a single word. Ghost is somewhere among the waitstaff. Silver tray. White gloves. Eyes like sin behind a black mask.
He’s here. Watching. Like always.
I’d bet my life on the fact that he’s already cataloged every threat in this room and clocked Bisset the second he stepped through the door.
A waiter passes with a tray of champagne, and I take a glass without thinking. Something to do with my hands. Something to hide their trembling.
I down a large sip.
“Every time you swallow, I picture your mouth on me instead. It’s getting real fucking hard not to drag you out of here and put your lips to work, Doc.”
My cheeks heat, but I don’t turn to acknowledge him.
Ghost stands beside me, composed and powerful. His tux fits him well. It’s tailored, sleek, and severe. And the mask covering half his face does nothing to soften the effect. If anything, it makes him look more dangerous, but he’s still beautiful in a way that terrifies me.
Because I love him. So much.
He doesn’t look at me at first, fully committed to playing the role of the waiter. But after a moment, he shifts his gaze to mine. “You’re doing fine.”
I lift my champagne flute to hide my mouth. “I don’t feel fine.”
“You won’t be alone.”
I want to believe him, but I know what’s coming. And when Bisset steps into view, it won’t be Ghost he sees. Or Ghost who he talks to.
It’ll be me.
“What if he doesn’t show up tonight?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Ghost’s eyes flick past my shoulder before he answers. “He’s already here.”
My chest tightens. I knew it. I felt it the moment I walked into the room. That shift in the air, like the ground beneath me had started to rot.
“He’ll be watching you,” Ghost continues. “To see how you move. Who you talk to. He’ll want to confirm your identity before he approaches.”
“And when he does?”
Ghost’s gaze returns to mine, sharper now. “You negotiate until I remove him.”
I nod once, absorbing his words. The plan. The risk. Ghost doesn’t acknowledge it, but I felt his concern in the way he touched me before we arrived here.
He hates that I have to be the bait.
That I’ll be in danger.
“You’ve got this,” he whispers. “You won’t see me, but I’ll be close by.”
“Thank you.”
But he’s already on the move, disappearing into the crowd like the ghost he is.
After taking a deep breath, I walk with measured steps, trying to stroll through the ballroom instead of marching toward my destination. The balcony looms ahead at the top of the staircase, veiled in drapery and guarded by a velvet rope.
I stride past it with confidence, and no one stops me. The air is cooler out here, touched by the wind off the river and the ghosts of the city that refuse to rest. I move to the edge of the balcony and set my glass on the ledge. The lights of the French Quarter blink below, blurred and golden.
Behind me, I hear footsteps. Unhurried. Even. Then a voice that brings my nightmares to life.
“You look just like your mother.”
I glance sideways, careful to keep my expression blank despite the way my skin crawls. He’s masked, of course—gold and black, ornate and theatrical. But his posture is unmistakable. Confident and controlled.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I ask.
Bisset laughs softly. “You’re both doctors. Different kinds, but the irony is still there. Don’t you agree, Dr. Andrews? Or should I call you Dr. Prescott?”
“If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll have to do better,” I say, turning to face him fully.
“Oh, I’m not trying to intimidate you, chère.” He draws closer, but I hold my ground. “I’m here because I’m curious. And I don’t like loose ends.”
“And I don’t like people trying to kill me.” I give him a pointed stare. “Tell me who hired you as their Planner?”
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Because I can give you something you want: the diamonds.”
For the first time, he pauses. Just a flicker. Just long enough to know I’ve struck a chord.
“Well,” he says, “aren’t you full of surprises?”
The silence stretches between us as Bisset weighs his options, a master strategist at work. I don’t blink. Don’t breathe.
His gaze narrows. “You think you can manipulate me?”
“No,” I say. “I think I already did.”
That earns me a smile. Small. Dangerous. The kind that says, You’re fucked.
Behind him, I risk a glance past the draped archway. Just once. Searching. Hoping.
No sign of Ghost.
My heart pounds harder, but I can’t look again. No matter how much I want to. If he said he’s watching, then I believe him.
Bisset clears his throat. “Let’s say I want the diamonds. How do I know you even have them?”
I shrug. “You don’t. But I know where they are. And I’m the only one who does.”
“You’d be willing to trade your only leverage just to make one man disappear?”
“I’m willing to end this,” I say. “A name for a fortune. That’s the deal.”
“You’re courageous.” He taps his chin, his expression contemplative. “Your mother was like that too, right up until the end.”
I bite back every scathing retort that rushes over my tongue. Insulting this man isn’t why I’m here, even if it would be satisfying.
Anytime now, Ghost…
Bisset considers me in silence, then reaches for the glass I set behind me on the balcony ledge. He lifts it and then offers it to me.
I raise a brow in question.
He smiles. “A toast to your proposal and our brief partnership, chère.”
I take it with steady fingers as his gloved ones brush my forearm. My nerves are screaming, every part of me on high alert. But I can’t afford to show hesitation, so I bring the glass to my lips, letting the bubbles brush my mouth without drinking.
Bisset folds his arms. “Tell me something. Do you really think you were the one setting the terms here?”
The words chill me more than the wind sweeping in from the city below.
Then I feel it. Not in the champagne. On my skin.
A cold sensation spreads across my bare forearm, beginning where his glove brushed me earlier. My vision starts to blur, edges warping like plastic in direct sunlight.
Bisset steps forward, easing the glass from my hand before it falls. “I knew you’d come,” he says, voice calm, even pleased. “After what happened to Dominguez and Carter, I also knew someone was helping you. Time to find out who.”
I try to speak. To scream. But my body doesn’t listen.
“Shh,” Bisset murmurs, catching me just as my knees begin to give out.
My world shifts. The city lights blur and double.
“Your partner will come for you,” Bisset says softly, his breath at my ear now. “Which is exactly what I want.”
Darkness rushes in like a tide.
And I fall into it.