Book of Night(67)

“Vince?” Charlie said, all innocence. “He dumped me yesterday afternoon. It looks like you just missed him.”

“I think you better get in the car,” Salt ground out, no longer trying to hide his anger. “We have a lot to discuss, and I don’t think either of us want to do it out here in the rain.”

So many young men of her acquaintance would be envious that she’d gotten an invitation to ride in the Rolls, but the idea chilled her blood. “I’m already wet, so no thanks. I’d only drip on your nice leather seat.”

Lionel Salt reached into the inside pocket of his wool coat and took out a matte black Glock. It matched the car perfectly.

The elderly man holding the umbrella didn’t so much as flinch.

“I’m afraid I am going to have to insist,” Salt said, pointing the barrel of the gun casually. Waving it toward her. Not aiming. Not yet.

It was broad daylight and they were standing in the middle of a parking lot. Anyone could have walked out of Blue Ruin. There weren’t many cars in the parking lot, but there weren’t none. The road running past wasn’t heavily trafficked, but vehicles passed every now and again. For Salt to be comfortable having his gun out reminded Charlie that he believed he could get away with anything.

It had been more than a decade since vomiting up beet juice and running had saved her life. The night had haunted her since, but drugs and time had blurred her memories into a kaleidoscopic nightmare instead of a recollection.

But the moment she’d seen Salt, that horror had surged back. She’d felt like a child again, running through the woods, monsters at her heels. She had no urge to go back to his big house and finish bleeding out on his library carpet.

“Under the circumstances, I really don’t think I should go with you,” she said, not moving.

“But you will,” he told her, circling around the Corolla toward her. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll make the smart choice.”

Charlie raised both her eyebrows. “Clearly you don’t know anything about me.”

As Lionel Salt glowered at her, she couldn’t help seeing the familial resemblance between him and Vince. They were both tall and had the same hard jaw and angry eyebrows. But where Vince had no shadow, Salt’s flickered behind him like a furious flame.

She noted its height, its profile when Salt turned, and wondered whose shadow he’d stolen, to finally be a gloamist himself.

“My daughter is waiting for us in the car,” Salt said, pointing the gun at Charlie with real intent now. “I’d prefer not to upset her. I’ll even pay you for your time. But this is your last opportunity to make the correct choice.”

“So you’re going to pay me if I go and shoot me if I stay?” Charlie asked.

His smile grew, appreciating her observation. “The world works by two principles, the carrot and the stick.”

“If you know Odette, then you know sometimes the carrot is the stick.” But despite the remark, and despite her certainty that going with him was stupid, she was aware of how few choices she had.

Getting shot the last time had sucked, and this time was likely to kill her.

“Come along,” he said. “We’ll have a little lunch. In public. Very civilized. We can discuss what you’re going to do for me, and how much time you’ll have to accomplish the task.”

Without quite agreeing, she moved in the direction of Salt’s car. There might be no getting out of going for this ride, but she reminded herself that she’d gotten away from him once, and would again.

Oh, and this time she really would make him pay. For the past, for the gun he had on her, but most of all for sending in Hermes and wrecking a perfectly good relationship built on perfectly good lies.

The elderly man with the umbrella—small and wiry, built like a jockey—opened the door to the back seat.

I told you my grandfather was strict, right? He taught me lots of stuff. He believed in the improving power of work, no matter how old you were. He didn’t believe in excuses. And he had a limo that broke down sometimes.

There was no way Salt had taught Vince to fix cars himself. But he could have insisted that someone else did.

“You liked Edmund, didn’t you?” she asked the driver.

He didn’t look particularly pleased to be spoken with. “Everyone liked Edmund, Ms. Hall,” he answered, low-voiced.

She slid into the car.

Even with sunglasses on, the woman occupying the seat on the other side of a large center console was unmistakably the one from the photos of galas in New York. Salt’s daughter and Edmund Vincent Carver’s aunt, though so alike in age she looked more like a sister. She wore tight black pants tucked into suede boots, a patterned blue georgette blouse, and a shearling jacket. Her blond hair was much lighter than Edmund’s, duckling gold. They must have cut a swathe through Manhattan’s elite hearts—and beds.

“I’m Adeline,” she said as Charlie slid in. “Sorry about Father. He can be a terrible bully.”

Carrot and stick.

Salt said something to the driver in a low voice, then got in the front passenger seat.

The smell of leather and expensive air freshener made Charlie’s head spin.

“Let’s get some coffee,” Salt said, turning to look back at her. “You look as though you could use some.”