Chapter 7
Ethan Kane wasn't as tall as he seemed. He actually was about Rhys's height, but always seemed bigger, as if he took up more room in some way that had nothing to do with physical size. His short hair was a dark brunette, almost but not quite black. He wore glasses with no frames, so they were almost invisible on his face. Ethan should have been handsome. He was broad shouldered, athletically built, square jawed, with a deep dimple in his chin. The eyes behind the glasses were long-lashed and hazel. His clothes were tailored to his body so he'd fit in with the stars he usually ran with. He had everything going for him but personality. He always seemed to be disapproving of something; a perpetual sour expression stole all his charm.
He stood with one hand gripping the other wrist, feet wide apart, balanced. He frowned down at us from just outside Maeve Reed's large double doors. We were all standing at the foot of the marble steps that led up to those doors. Ethan's men were ranged among the graceful sweep of white pillars that supported the roof of Maeve Reed's narrow porch. It was huge and imposing, but there was no room to put out chairs and have iced tea on hot summer nights. It was a porch for looking at, not for enjoying.
Four men, obviously hired muscle, ranged on the steps between us and Ethan, and the door. I recognized one of them. Max Corbin was nearing fifty. He'd been a bodyguard in Hollywood most of his adult life. He was an inch shy of six feet and built like a box, all angles, squares, including huge knuckled hands. His grey hair was cut in a long butch cut, which made it look stylish and cutting edge, but Max had had the same haircut for forty years. His nose had been badly broken enough times that it was crooked and just a little squashed. He probably could have traded his designer suit for a nose job and fixed it, but Max thought it made him look tough. It did.
"Hi, Max," I said.
He nodded at me. "Ms. Gentry, or should I say, Princess Meredith?"
"Ms. Gentry is just fine."
He smiled, a quick flash of humor, before Ethan's voice cut across us both, and Max's face went back to blank bodyguard stare. That stare says we see nothing and will remember nothing, and we see everything and will react at the blink of an eye. Your secrets are safe with us, and so is your body. Bodyguards do not work in Hollywood if they get a reputation for tattling to the press, or anyone else.
"What are you doing here, Meredith?"
Ethan and I didn't know each other well enough to use first names, but that was okay, because I was going to do the same to him. "We're here at Ms. Reed's invitation, Ethan. Why are you here?"
He blinked at me, the slightest flexing of shoulders letting me know that something was bothering him, or his shoulder holster didn't fit quite right. "We're Ms. Reed's bodyguards."
I nodded, smiled. "I figured that. You must not have been on the job long."
"What makes you say that?"
I felt the smile widen. "You've got most of your muscle here. If Kane and Hart were all booked up, we'd be getting more referrals."
His frown deepened. "I've got a lot more than just four employees, Meredith, and you know it." He said my name like it was a bad word.
I nodded. I did know it. "Is there a reason you're keeping us out here, Ethan? Ms. Reed was very concerned that we see her today, not tonight, but today." I glanced up at the sun sinking behind a stand of eucalyptus trees near the distant sweep of wall. "It's late afternoon, Ethan. If you keep us out here much longer, it'll be night." It was an exaggeration; we had hours of daylight left, but I was tired of standing around.
"State your business and maybe we'll let you in," Ethan said.
I sighed. I was about to be blunt even for a human being; it was beyond blunt for a fey, but I just didn't care. I wanted to go away someplace quiet and think. Frost was standing a little back and to one side, and Doyle mirrored him, but they both stood so that they were somehow clearly facing off with the bodyguards on the steps. Rhys was standing nearly in front of Max, grinning at him. Max was almost as big a Humphrey Bogart fan as Rhys. They'd spent one long afternoon trapped together on a long bodyguard job, different clients, trading film noir trivia. They'd been friends ever since.
Kitto did not face off with the last bodyguard. He stood just a little behind me, almost but not quite hiding. He looked oddly out of place in his short-shorts, tank top, and child-size Nikes. He'd put on black wraparound sunglasses, but aside from that he could have passed for someone's nephew, the kind that usually isn't a nephew at all but a boy toy. Kitto always managed to give off the vibe that he was subservient, someone's toy, or victim. I had no idea how he'd survived among the goblins.
I looked at everyone facing off, Ethan standing on the steps like some slightly taller version of Napoleon, and shook my head. "Ethan, you want to know why Ms. Reed called us, when she's already hired you. You're wondering if you're all about to be replaced."
He started to protest.
I said, "Ethan, please, save it for someone who cares. I'll save you all the power plays. Ms. Reed hasn't told us exactly why she wants us here, but she wanted to talk to me, not my guards, so I think we're all safe in assuming she doesn't want us for bodyguard duty."
If his frown deepened any more, it looked like it might actually hurt his forehead. "We don't do just bodyguard work, Meredith. We're detectives, too. Why does she need you?"
The unsaid part, when she has us, hung in the air between us. I shrugged. "I don't know, Ethan, truly, I don't. But if you let us inside, we can all find out together."
The frown smoothed slowly away, leaving his face younger, and puzzled. "That's almost... nice of you, Meredith." Then he looked suspicious, as if wondering what I was up to.
"I can be very nice if people give me the chance, Ethan."
Max spoke low so that Ethan couldn't hear him. "And how nice can you be?"
Rhys answered, voice low, "Very, very nice."
The two of them shared one of those masculine laughs that women never seem to be able to participate in, but are always the subject of.
"Is something funny?" Ethan asked, the sour look back in place, his voice whip sharp.
Max shook his head, as if he didn't trust himself to speak. Rhys actually answered, "Just passing the time of day, Mr. Kane."
"We're not paid to pass the time of day, we're paid to keep our clients safe." He gave a look that somehow took all of us in one big sweep. "We'd be piss-poor bodyguards if we let all of you inside the house, especially armed."
I shook my head. "You know that Doyle won't let me go anywhere without bodyguards, and you also know that they won't give up their guns."
He smiled, an unpleasant smile. "Then you don't get in."
Standing on the hard driveway in my three-inch heels, under the sun that was beginning to make sweat bead on my skin, I just didn't want to mess with it. I did probably the most unprofessional thing I've ever done. I started yelling at the top of my voice, "Maeve Reed, Maeve Reed, come out to play. It's Princess Meredith and her entourage." I kept yelling the first part. "Maeve Reed, Maeve Reed, come out to play."
Ethan tried to yell me down a few times, but I'd had voice training, years of public speaking -- I was louder. None of Ethan's people knew what to do. I wasn't hurting anyone, I was just yelling. Five minutes of confusion and a young woman opened the door. She was Marie, Ms. Reed's personal assistant. Would we like to come inside? Yes, we would. It took another ten minutes to get us through the door because Ethan wanted to take our weapons. It took Marie hinting that Ms. Reed would fire them all, before he backed down.
Max and Rhys were laughing so hard that we had to leave them outside, hanging on to each other like a couple of drunks. At least someone was enjoying themselves.
Chapter 8
Maeve Reed's living room was larger than my entire apartment. Off-white carpet stretched like a vanilla sea down the steps to the sunken living room and a fireplace big enough to roast small elephants. The mantel alone took up most of one white stuccoed wall, with red and tan bricks punctuating the rough whiteness of the wall. A white sectional sofa big enough to seat twenty curved in front of the fireplace. Tan, gold, and white pillows were thrown around artfully. There was a grouping of white chairs with a small pale wood table between them. A chessboard with oversize pieces sat between the two chairs, and a curving Tiffany floor lamp provided a splash of color in the otherwise monochrome room.
A painting to one side of the fireplace echoed the lamp's colors, and a second conversational group of white chairs and cushions was set on the raised edge of the room opposite the entrance. A large white Christmas tree stood in the center of the chairs. The tree was covered in white lights with gold and silver ornaments that should have livened the room but didn't. The tree was just another decoration without life or feeling to it. A table was pushed to one side to make room for the Christmas tree, with what looked like lemonade and iced tea in tall pitchers. A few more paintings were scattered, throughout the room, most of them matching the color scheme of the lamp. The room screamed interior decorator and probably said nothing about Maeve Reed except that she had money and let other people decorate her home. When a person doesn't have a single mismatched thing in a room, down to the last light on the Christmas tree, then it's not real. It's just for show.
Marie was tall, slender, dressed in a sleek oyster-white pantsuit that did not flatter her olive complexion or her short brunette hair. In her high-heeled boots she was a touch over six feet, a tall, smiling, twenty-something. "Ms. Reed will be joining us presently. Would anyone like refreshments?" She motioned toward the table set with tea and lemonade.
Actually, it would have been nice, but it was a rule that you never took any food or drink from a fellow fey until you were sure they meant you no harm. It wasn't poison you had to worry about, but spells, a little potion mixed in with the lemons.
"Thank you... Marie, is it? We're fine," I said.
She smiled, nodded. "Then please sit down. Make yourselves comfortable while I tell Ms. Reed you're here." She moved at a graceful stride down the steps and across to the far opening that led into a white hallway that vanished somewhere deep within the house.
I glanced at Ethan and his two muscle men. He'd left one of his people outside with Max and Rhys. Marie hadn't offered them refreshments, since I guess you didn't have to entertain the hired help. Which begged the question, if we weren't going to be hired help, then what were we going to be? Did Maeve Reed really just want to visit with other high-court sidhe? Would she risk breaking a century of taboo to have small talk? I didn't think so, but I'd seen royals of the high courts do sillier things for less reason.
I went down the steps to the large sectional sofa. Kitto followed me like a shadow. I glanced back at the men. "Come on, boys, let's all sit down and pretend that we like each other." I moved about seven feet from the end of the couch and sat down, adjusting the tan and gold pillows, smoothing my skirt in place.
Kitto curled at my feet, though Goddess knew there were enough couches for everyone. I didn't make him get up, because even through the dark glasses I could see his nervousness. The big white living room seemed to have triggered his agoraphobia. He sat pressed up against my legs, one small arm encircling them like I was his teddy bear.
The men were still standing in the large open archway, eyeing one another.