Chapter 8
Donatello
A knock on the door dragged me from my peaceful moment.
And my drink.
I rolled the cool glass across my forehead, wincing as soon as I did. Why the fuck was someone bothering me at… I was forced to blink several times to focus on the crystal face of my Breitling watch for the time.
That wasn’t going to work. The goddamn hundred-thousand-dollar piece of jewelry had been reduced to a shattered representation of my shitty evening.
Besides, all I had to do was to look out the window at the strings of tangerine and fuchsia crisscrossing the sky to know it was early morning.
And I’d yet to get drunk. Imagine that.
I threw back the remainder of the liquid, thudding the dense crystal on the table.
With a deep grunt, I rose to my feet, ambling toward the hotel room door.
My gait was so fucking slow, I appeared as Frankenstein brought to life.
And with the number of bruises marring my skin, including a few ribs, that’s exactly the way I felt.
While I vaguely remembered being told there were guards outside my hotel suite door, I pulled my weapon into my hand anyway.
Obviously, I couldn’t be too careful at this point.
Whoever had broken into my house to set the explosives had done so without tripping the alarm.
Just something else to piss me off.
After glancing in the peephole, a leftover from the recent hotel renovations, I unlocked and opened the door.
“You want the official report from New Orleans’ finest?” Alexander asked.
“Why the fuck not?” I glared at the big boss, a man who ruled the regime with an iron fist and a suave smile.
“A gas leak,” Jaxon answered. In his arms were a couple of suitcases, a suit bag from his favorite clothing store, and what appeared to be some toiletries in another bag.
“Aww. You went shopping for me.” I shook my head. Not that I would have expected anything otherwise. Yeah, we were buddies, sworn to have each other’s backs, but I was used to being the one keeping his ass alive.
Jaxon grinned. “We have the same tastes, buddy. Besides, I thought you might enjoy a change of clothes.”
For whatever reason, the EMTs had shredded my shirt, likely to check for massive injuries.
While the blunt force trauma from the horrific explosion had been significant, I’d been through much worse in my career.
I’d hurt for a few days but nothing whiskey, Tylenol, and a good massage couldn’t handle.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know about that and a gas leak, my fucking ass.” I backed away, allowing both men to enter. “Those fucking Spaniards were none too happy I threw them out of the club. Maybe it was the threat to wipe them off the face of the earth that really got them churning.”
While I’d thought briefly about the photographer, my instinct told me he’d had nothing to do with the bomb placed in my home.
However, that didn’t mean our confrontation hadn’t been noticed.
Whatever the case, the bomb had been secured inside my house for longer than the time spent outside Emmeline’s house.
I’d been knocked unconscious, required to spend valuable hours in the hospital’s emergency room. Even worse, I’d been forced to deal with chatting with the police. Whoever the captain had sent certainly didn’t value the Prince family name like nearly everyone else in town.
They’d acted like I was the criminal, although I was used to shitty treatment from law enforcement. I wasn’t necessarily the most accommodating man with anyone involved in holding moral values close to their bulletproof vest.
One of the two closed the door behind them, walking further into the suite.
“Maybe not,” Alexander said.
Snorting, I scratched my head. “No offense, Mr. Prince, but I know the type.”
“The bouncers at the club were sent to find the men in question and did. Trust me, they weren’t responsible.” Jaxon seemed certain. He placed the items he’d brought for me on the floor, arching an eyebrow. We’d been friends for far too long. I could see the look of concern in his eyes.
He’d been the first one on the scene after the explosion.
“What fucking lies did they tell you?” I barked, still furious I’d walked into an ambush. That wasn’t like me. Not in the least. I was growing soft since there’d been little activity requiring reconnaissance lately.
“They didn’t say shit because they were already dead. Their throats slit.”
Well, that wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. Blinking, I was finally able to focus given the stream of sunlight. “Che mucchio di stronzate!”
What a bunch of shit.
“Yeah, now you see what we’re dealing with. The scene is still being monitored by the police,” Alexander added. “However, I have no doubt it was a professional hit.”
There was something odd about his choice of words.
“Alright. Then it’s someone else. The list is long. You ever hear of Southern Comfort Magazine?”
Jaxon snorted. “Were you knocked upside the head with more force than the doctors believed?”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the business card acquired.
“What’s this?” Alexander asked, leery to take it from me.
“I found some asshole photographer taking pictures of Emmeline and her friends last night.”
“What the fuck?” Jaxon growled.
“The guy on the card supposedly hired him.” I noticed Alexander glaring at the information, not necessarily as if he knew the person listed, but there was something familiar about one of the two names.
“Did you happen to keep the camera?” Jaxon had to be making a joke.
I glanced at my ripped and charred attire, shocked I’d managed to catch a cab and check into the hotel without being arrested for indecent exposure.
Alexander was undaunted, pocketing the business card as I suspected he would. I’d already memorized the details, thankful I had a photographic memory among other traits. “What about the sim card?”
This time, I placed what was left of it on the table. “Not sure you can get anything off it.”
Jaxon was the one who picked it up, turning the cracked plastic over in the light. “We might be able to get something. I’ll hand it over to our computer experts. Is the asshole dead or just injured severely?”
“I let him walk with a warning. I don’t think he meant her any harm.”
“Was he in the club?” Alexander’s breathing was ragged.
“Outside her house.” There was no reason for me to feel odd about telling them where I’d been, but it felt different than every other time I’d been asked to protect her.
What in the hell was the look the two men kept sharing? And why was I bristling from it?
“You want a drink? Might be a little early, but I had a long, arduous night.” I poured another thimble full then thought what the hell? I had no house to go home to, most of my favorite personal items torched. At least my car hadn’t been damaged.
“No, and neither do you.” Alexander’s voice held a tone I couldn’t decipher. With the battles we’d fought over the years, nothing usually bothered him.
All I had to do was tip my head in his direction to know something was terribly wrong. “What is it?”
The two men looked at each other.
“Cards on the table. We have another problem. Emmeline is missing.”
“What?” What the fuck? I stared at Alexander, instantly tensing, so much so I had difficulty breathing. I’d fucked up. The photographer had doubled back. “The bastard took her.” I immediately reached for my weapon as rage swept through me.
“It’s true,” Jaxon added, a slight grin on his face. “And we have no idea where she’s gone, but as we all know, Emmeline is a clever girl.”
“Who the fuck did this? Who? I will hunt him down and kill him.”
I hadn’t realized I’d had a squeeze on the glass until the damn thing cracked, the sound surprising all three of us.
“Whoa, for fuck’s sake. Calm down.” Jaxon advanced, giving me a harsh nod.
Glancing at the glass, I took a deep breath before tossing it aside. There were other glasses. “Where is she? Who took her? I’ll hunt down the photographer today. Fucking Peter Kendall.”
Alexander was calm, more so than I’d thought given his sister had been taken by one of the family’s enemies. Then I realized why he wasn’t engaged in an act of rage.
“She left of her own accord.” My words in repeating the information sounded hollow.
“It would appear that way,” Jaxon said. Unfastening his jacket, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the window. His stare at the French Quarter appeared as hollow as mine had been earlier. “We’ll check the photographer out, but there is no indication of a struggle.”
“What makes you say she’s gone?” I knew at least part of the answer as to why.
“I checked her house. Her suitcases and some clothes are missing.” Alexander was very uneasy.
“What about her passport?” I glanced from one to the other. She’d been dead serious about needing space. Why had I left? I should have known she’d been up to something.
Jaxon laughed. “We have no idea. She’s very private with her finances, every form of identification, and most of her friends. She always has been. Our father taught her that.”
I thought about the woman she’d been with a couple of nights before, who’d also been at her house. “I can make one of her friends talk. She’s close to at least one of them.” However, if there’d been an intentional kidnapping, it would have occurred after her friends left, which I doubted happened.
Jaxon turned around, grinning when he did.
“No one can ever accuse you of being unable to take your job seriously, but you can’t go around torturing her friends.
Besides, you know Emmeline. She’s too smart for that.
This is all about her being furious that we’re invading her life.
Maybe she saw the photographer and thought we hired the asshole. ”
That was a distinct possibility. He hadn’t been that savvy in his clandestine actions. “Have you checked commercial flights?” She wouldn’t take one of the family jets. That was certain. Fuck. I’d sensed she was up to something. Why hadn’t I acted on it?