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He turns off of the windy coastal highway we’ve been following, nosing the car down a small, paved road. I glance to see how close we are to the city and find to my surprise that it is much closer now. I can make out the tall white buildings. Behind them, a stark white wall of stone dusted with emerald greenery seems implacable.
“Are we going into the city?” I ask.
“No. I’ve arranged to meet a friend just outside. I asked him some time ago to procure a place where ye can do what ye came here to do.”
My heart starts beating fast. It isn’t like I had forgotten that I was here for a reason. My brain has just been scrambled over the past forty-eight hours. It seemed almost normal at this point that I should be on the run with this ruggedly handsome arms dealer.
You could get used to anything, given enough time.
Hades pulls the car to a stop in front of a set of docks in obvious disrepair. The docks themselves had rotted and were half fallen into the churning ocean. There was an ancient piece of machinery, overturned on its side and grown brown with caked rust from contact with the sea air. Scanning the vacant-looking warehouse standing a bit further back from the water, I purse my lips.
“What are the chances that your friend is going to kill us and sell our organs on the black market? Because this place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“I’d give the over-under at one to ten.” He climbs out of the car, his face contorting. Only now do I realize how freaking uncomfortable he must have been, jammed in that small convertible. “Jaysus.”
“I guess your friend is running late.”
“He’s on his own schedule. He’s from an old money family with connections to everyone in Monaco. He owns half the damn real estate to be had here.”
I look down the beach to the line of the steadily lapping water where it surges against the land. What little shore there is seems rockier here, with less sand and a lot of white pebbles of varying sizes. The water is the perfect hue of deep marine blue.
It’s beautiful, absolutely no doubt about it. Then again, the last two locations Hades has dragged me to have been charming, too.
A sleek black limousine pulls up, its tires crunching on the sandy gravel. Out of the back pops a dark-haired man in a blue pinstripe suit.
Lithe and muscular, he reminds me of a once-pretty professional mid-weight fighter. He has a scowl on his proud, Gallic face as he approaches us, sizing us both up. Whatever he thinks is a mystery to me though because he doesn’t seem like the type to share anything.
He’s more like a shark. Always on the prowl, forever assessing who is a threat and who is his next meal.
Instinctively, I move a little closer to Hades.
“Hades,” he says, bowing his head. He has a thick Southern French accent, so his pronunciation of the name sounds like Ay-Dis. “And you must be the artist, no?”
He arches a brow and my cheeks warm. I swallow and glance at Hades, but he makes an easy gesture.
“This is Lincoln Theroux,” he says coolly. He stretches his hand toward the other man, shaking his hand.
“Linc,” he corrects. His gaze slides between me and Hades, as if calculating some statistic. “It’s not the first time you have called on me for help, mon ami. But it is the first time you’ve showed up with someone prettier than Eros in your company.”
Hades’ eyes narrow on Linc’s face. “I’d be careful planning yer next words, Linc.”
Linc gives a tiny, halfhearted shrug. “I’m French. You cannot blame me for asking whether your beautiful companion is already claimed. No?”
“It’s Persephone,” I cut in, trying to ease the growing tension. “And I’m not here with anybody. I’m not interested in being with anybody, either. I’m just here to make art.”
Hades cocks a brow and Linc smirks faintly. “Just testing the waters.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Do I dare dream of a shower here, Linc?”
I notice that Hades yawns. He is surely ready to pass out the second he’s allowed.
“Oui,” Linc says. He waves a hand to the warehouse. “I have had this place outfitted with everything you will need.”
“Great. Thanks,” I say, heading toward the warehouse. Leaving the two men to talk, I slide open the barn-style door.
Inside, the warehouse is large and mainly dark. It has obviously been sitting disused as well, until someone came in and cleaned up three huge areas. One has been set up as a sleeping area with a big, soft-looking couple of beds and two racks of familiar black clothes. Another area is a rather confusing giant box. A quick glance inside makes it a bathroom, complete with a shower, a toilet, and what looks like an old-fashioned ladies changing area, stolen right from a Victorian tale.
And the third area, most interesting to me, is the worktable.
