The House of Discarded Dreams Rusted Veins (Sabina Kane #5.5)

Looking across at the French ormolu clock on the bombé chest by the grand door, she double-checked her watch. Then she turned to the antique mirror next to her and stared at her wavy reflection. The distortion seemed apt. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, what she was going to say.

Peyton interjected, That’s why she’s phoning her dad.As Paradise put the cell up to her ear and paced around, Craeg frowned. What?

Peyton shrugged. Her father is First Adviser to the King. It’s the right thing to do.At first, the words failed to translate, the string of nouns and verbs and other shit going in one ear and out the other. But then he replayed them a couple of times … and felt the oddest chill go over his entire body, from eyebrow to ankle. His heart kicked in his chest. Stopped. Resumed at a bad pace.Craeg shifted his eyes back to Paradise and listened from a great distance as she started talking urgently. He’d never particularly focused on her accent before, because he’d always been so distracted by his attraction to her. But now, the cadence, the tone, the inflection … it was just like Peyton’s. And not because she’d assumed the lilt like some sort of poser.

In a dull voice, he said, She isn’t just the receptionist at that house, is she.When Butch’s phone started going off against his side, he was prepared to let the shit go into voice mail—he was in a sex club trying to get some clues to a murder for godsake. But when the damn thing kept going off, he took it out and answered.

And was not able to hear Vishous at all over the techno music. What? Hello?

After the connection was cut, a text from the Brother solved the confusion. The message was short and to the point, nothing but an address in the good part of downtown, the number 18, and a time duration: 5 mins.Wiping his face, he identified the possible escape routes first—there were four or five doors, including the one that thing with the floaty corset had come through, but he was willing to bet they were all locked. Nothing on the ceiling. On the walls. On the bottom of the pool.

Second check-in was to see if there were any other third parties in the mix. Yup. Over on the periphery, there were two huge males dressed in black with hoods over their heads and night-vision goggles on their eyes. They were armed heavily, but their weapons were holstered—and they appeared to be monitoring everyone in the pool as if searching for signs of weakness or danger.Third assessment was of who else had made it to this stage. Ten—no, twelve … wait, thirteen people were in the pool with him, including the female he’d fallen from that great height with.

And the blond receptionist, Paradise.Nope, she was up against one of the males, her hand resting on the protective arm that was around her waist.