33. Heaven in Hells despair
Heaven in Hell's despair
Louna stood up, setting her hand on Tennyson’s arm as she rose. “I’ll pack,” she said, cleaning up her medical supplies and giving each of her boys a smile.
They nodded, and she left them to say their goodbyes in privacy.
She even closed her bedroom door behind her and took out her earbud so she wouldn’t be tempted to eavesdrop.
Tennyson’s duffel bag had migrated into her closet at some point, and she set it on the bed and unceremoniously tossed out the ill-fitting work pants and shapeless shirts.
She wasn’t sure what kind of situations they would need to dress for, but they could always get more clothes when they needed them.
In the end, she chose two pairs of designer jeans that belonged to Ilya’s brother Aleksei, who was about Tennyson’s size.
Then she added some light lounge pants for sleeping, a dark green sweater, a navy button up, and two plain white undershirts.
She finished it off with socks and boxers, then moved on to the suitcase she’d brought from Paris, repacking it with her own clothes and tossing a jacket, scarf, and hat onto her pile on the bed for good measure.
When that was finished, she went to the closet safe and found a new phone, turned it on, and dialed Charlotte’s number. She was expecting to leave a message, but Charlotte answered with a polite, “Madame Jardinier.”
“Charlotte,” Louna said, smiling. “How have you—”
“Ah, finally!” Charlotte interrupted. “I have been calling and calling, you don’t answer your messages—I was worried sick!”
Louna made an apologetic noise. “My phone got wet.”
“Argenis’s case has been dropped,” Charlotte said.
For a moment, Louna didn’t react. It was impossible. She’d made sure Argenis had been caught red-handed—she’d practically gift-wrapped the case for his prosecutors. “How?”
“Closed proceedings,” Charlotte said, anger tightening her words. “Maybe he made a deal, maybe there was new evidence, I don’t know. Either way, he’s free.”
Could Harlow have had something to do with it? The two had been working together, after all... would Harlow invest in freeing Argenis? Did he need him for some reason?
“Louna?” Charlotte said.
Louna cleared her throat. “He was arrested for insurance fraud. Even if his case is dismissed, his reputation is lost.”
“He’ll lie low until the gossip blows over,” Charlotte said.
Yes, that was possible, but Argenis had never been one to let things be. “Can you find out why the case was thrown out?” she asked.
“I have an appointment at the courthouse tomorrow,” Charlotte answered. “I’ll find out what I can. Should I call back at this number?”
“Yes,” Louna said.
“Okay. I will talk to you then.”
“Wait,” Louna said, and then broke off uncertainly. Trust, Charlotte had told her, before she’d left for Romania. Open up. She cleared her throat. “Argenis is guilty.”
“I know that,” Charlotte said, puzzled.
“But not for what he was arrested for.”
“Ah,” Charlotte said. There was a pause, and then she said, “I know.”
“You mean you guessed.”
Charlotte hummed. “Yes. Why else would you ask me to put the box in Argenis’s bag?”
“When did you figure it out?”
“I suspected something the moment you asked,” she admitted. “But I didn’t really understand until I heard that Argenis had been arrested. How did you know he had kept the original painting?”
Louna let a beat of silence settle between them. “Do you want to know?”
There was another pause, this one heavier. “No,” Charlotte said finally. “I don’t think so. I trust that you know what you’re doing.”
A pleasant warmth rose to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.
Charlotte clucked her tongue. “Now, now, that’s enough of that. I will call you when I have more information.”
“Thank you, Charlotte,” Louna said.
Charlotte blew a kiss into the phone, and Louna sent one back before ending the call.
Louna pocketed her new phone and grabbed an extra one for Tennyson, slipping it into the purse on her dresser. In the corner of the room sat her go bag, now empty, and Louna left it there. Her body harness was already packed safely in her suitcase, and that was all she needed.
There would be no running from this, and somehow, that gave her comfort.
She shouldered her purse and Tennyson’s duffel bag, pulling the suitcase along on its wheels as she opened her door and peeked into the loft.
The boys were gathered in front of the couch, smiling and talking easily, and the sight made her smile.
Tennyson left them to take his duffel bag and her suitcase, and she gave him a light kiss before turning to the others.
“Stay out of trouble,” she told them sternly. “I don’t want to miss any of the fun.”
Jean-Claude pulled her into a hug, kissing both cheeks before turning her to Philippe, who added a kiss to her forehead. “Call with whatever you need,” he whispered, holding her face gently.
Louna beamed up at him. “I will if you will.”
He released her, and she turned to Lindsey with a faltering smile.
The realization hit her suddenly—she didn’t want to just disappear like she had so many times before, unseen and unremembered.
She didn’t want to leave them at all. In just a few days, these men had become dearer to her than she’d thought possible, and the thought of letting them go made her feel small and uncertain.
But Lindsey gathered her into a one-armed hug and leaned over her ear. “Next time... let someone else do the stitches.”
She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “Did Tennyson tell you to say that?”
“No, my eyes did.”
“My stitching is just fine on a still subject,” she said, glaring at them both.
Lindsey laughed, then pulled her tighter and lowered his voice. “Thank you for bringing me the earbud.”
She wrapped her arms around him. He was wearing one of Jean-Claude’s shirts, since the ones in the Nest were all too small, and the fabric smelled like bread and roses.
He had bent awkwardly to keep her from having to stand on tip-toe to reach him, but he stayed there for another long moment, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“Take care of him,” he said finally. “He isn’t used to it. ”
“Neither am I,” she admitted.
He smiled and turned her toward Tennyson. “I’ll let you know when Blake lands. Anything you want me to tell her?”
Tennyson hesitated, but something in his face made Louna think he already had an answer. “Tell her,” he said slowly, with an embarrassed glance around the room. “Tell her that I’m building a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
Louna took his hand. The line was from a William Blake poem, “The Clod and the Pebble.” He had recited it to her while she’d stitched up his arm the first time, trying to keep his mind from the pain. He squeezed her fingers and let go to take her suitcase.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded. “Ready.”
“Then let’s go piss off the most dangerous man in Europe,” Tennyson said.
Louna beamed up at him. “Finally. Something fun.”