The Love Trap by Nicole French

35

“Late?” I asked, turning so fast that my bouffant almost fell out. “What do you mean, ‘late’?”

Eric turned to me with a tight jaw. “Jane—”

“Where’s my mother?” I hissed. “Tell me she’s safe.”

“She’s got four different security with her plus twenty stylists. I just texted Tony. She’s fine.”

“All right,” I said. “Then what the fuck is this asshole doing here?”

“What’s this, you didn’t tell your courtesan about our plan?”

Jude approached, looking more like a cartoon devil than ever in a black cashmere sweater and sleek black pants, his irritatingly smug face still lined with a chinstrap beard. What did the man actually do again? Eric had mentioned something about imports and exports, but Jude dressed more like someone walking off a 1970s GQ shoot.

“You don’t really want to try me like that, do you?” Eric stepped forward like he wanted to punch the man again, but held back.

Jude touched his nose briefly, then held up his hands in surrender. “Jokes, jokes, Triton. I come in peace, young Skywalker, remember?” He smirked at me. I honestly wondered if he had another expression. “Or maybe that applies more to you, doesn’t it, princess? Daughter of the dark father and all. Besides, you need me.”

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I spat before Eric could reply.

A hand at my wrist stilled me. “Give it a moment,” Eric murmured. “He’s right. We need him.”

I jerked back. “What?”

There was no way he didn’t understand my shock. This piece of shit was part of a group that had abducted both of us, forcibly aborted our child, and murdered his fiancée. And now he wanted to work with him?

But Jude, too pleased with the spotlight to give it up, continued. “I’m his second, my little dim sum.”

“Jude!” Eric snapped.

“What?” he said. “Dim sum is delicious.”

“It’s also Chinese, you racist prick,” I said.

Jude clicked his tongue, but to my surprise, Eric didn’t tell him off.

“Jude’s here on my request,” he said.

Eric’s grip on my wrist was iron. Trust me, he said wordlessly.

I took a deep breath. And then another. And then, somewhere deep inside me, I found the ability to stifle every nasty comment and threat I had. Because if I couldn’t trust Eric, I couldn’t trust anyone. Right?

“He’s right, tigress,” Jude said. “The list of people Carson trusts is shorter than your marriage, Cio-Cio San. And I happen to be on it.”

“Does he know you’re here?” Eric asked.

Jude nodded. “Of course he does. I’m his ‘scout,’ after all. He wanted me to watch you to make sure everything was safe.”

“Does he make you taste his food too?” I snapped.

Jude rolled his eyes. “Why? Should he?”

“Well, it’s convenient, at any rate,” Eric cut in. “Gives you a reason to be here.”

“That it does. And to that effect, I was sent with a message, which I’m obviously delivering now.” Jude’s dark eyes sharpened. “You’re to meet him right here, in the Greek and Roman Art room.” He scoffed visibly.

Eric didn’t answer the question. “What does he want?”

“Good God, Triton, what do you think he wants?” Jude snapped. “The same thing he’s wanted since before you and I barely existed. Heather, the DVS shipping contracts for the Koreas, and, of course this one.” His cold gaze flickered at me with something that approximated sympathy. “I suspect that when you’re caught again, princess, you won’t get out.”

“How would he know where to find me?” I asked, and in answer, Jude pushed up the sleeve of his sweater and shook the small gold bracelet at me—the one bearing a familiar gold coin. Suddenly, the strange nature of the conversation became clear. Both men were well aware of the fact that we were being monitored. Fuck.

“Well, you can pass on my answer,” Eric said, perhaps a little too loudly. “My answer is no. More like a fuck no, actually.”

Jude didn’t look the slightest bit surprised, but spoke as though he were. “You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea, Triton. Are you looking to repeat your troubles?”

Eric didn’t answer—it was clear they were both trying to cultivate a sense of struggle. I was lost.

“Come on, Jane,” he said. “We’re leaving.” But instead of drawing me back through darkened halls, he instead pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket—one with a pre-written message:

Midnight at Portas.

Jude read it, then gave a brief, curt nod before he crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket.

“You’re an idiot,” he pronounced clearly for the benefit of his bracelet. “And you’ll regret it.”

“Tell Carson the feeling his mutual,” Eric said.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “You’re calling a meeting of Janus?”

Eric just shook his head and held a finger to his lips. I frowned. What was this?

Jude cackled. “This will be fun. I’ll give him that much.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but Eric shook his head.

“Hush,” Eric said. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. It’s what he does.”

I bit back another complaint. He was right, of course.

Eric released my arm, but his hand still floated around the small of my back, keeping me close. “Jude.” He pointed to his wrist, then pulled a pair of small metal cutters from his jacket. To my surprise, Jude willingly stepped forward and allowed Eric to snap the bracelet from his wrist, then dropped it neatly into the fountain. Jude looked relieved.

“That’s better,” Eric said. “You think he’ll buy it?”

I balked. “That was all an act?”

Jude shrugged, like I hadn’t spoken. “It’s no big secret that you know about these. He’ll think it was the price of luring you here.”

“And you?” Eric asked. “What’s your price for getting Carson to the location?”

Realization dawned. Portas. Midnight.

He was staging a coup. And Jude was helping.

I turned to Eric. “This is insanity. We talked about this. You can’t just run off to Connecticut in the middle of the night. And definitely not with the Devil’s fucking handmaid here!”

Eric just shook his head. “It’s the best way. We can’t keep doing this, Jane. The feds, even the DA is on the take. We have to deal with this ourselves.”

Jude just cackled again.

“Eric,” I tried again. “You can’t possibly think you can trust him.”

“Oh, no?” Jude asked. “Perhaps this might be a bit of a surprise, Chop Sticks, but I don’t actually plan to spend my life playing number two to an insane man. The last ten years were normal. A meeting once or twice a year, basic tampering with the Department of the Interior, a solid bit of insider trading, you know the drill. But then the prodigal son here had to show up again, and everything went batshit. It was fun for a bit, but do you know? I don’t really have a taste for torture. It’s really quite grotesque.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You could have fooled me.”

Jude’s face darkened. “Yes, well. They do say every hero has a fatal flaw. Your family”—he practically spat the word—“happened to be Carson’s. And I’m…well, quite bored of it.” Then he did spit into the fountain, as if just talking about the whole matter required a palette cleanser. “And I’m not interested in being dragged down with a sinking ship. I’ve never claimed to be a great champion of scruples, but his little stunt with this one was a bit much, even for me.”

I dropped a hand protectively over my stomach. Eric followed the movement before he tore himself away.

“You want to run away and have a whole host of yellow brats, be my guest, Triton,” Jude said. “But clean up your house first, please. Carson needs to be disposed of. If you can bring the society back to normal, I’m all for it. Just make me your number two. And, of course, get me full exoneration.”

Eric’s hands rose with mock innocence. “Hey, Letour, the society I can handle. But I’m not the one writing the indictment.”

“No, but you’re damn cozy with the one who is.” Jude’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “You would end up in league with the first principled DA in the history of New York City.” He held out a hand, as if waiting for a handshake. “Immunity from all charges. I assume kidnapping is on the table. Maybe some trafficking? If you tell them I’m innocent, they’ll believe you.”

Eric blinked. That mask I hated was firmly in place, and I had never been so glad for it. If I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, then there was no way Jude could.

“Innocent,” he said at last. “By my word.”

Jude nodded. “Very well. I’ll make sure Carson’s at the Portas. Midnight.” And with that, he disappeared into the dark corridors.

I waited a full ten minutes, until we could no longer hear his footsteps lingering in the dark. A door opened and closed. He was gone.

Then I turned to Eric. “Tell me you’re not going through with this. Meeting John Carson in the middle of the night. Staging a coup well outside the jurisdiction of the NYPD? Letting that scum of the earth go?” With every item on the list, my voice rose an octave and a decibel.

Sorrow crossed Eric’s face. “Jane, it’s the only way—”

“You cannot possibly believe that!” I cried. “You’re going to trust that Jack Sparrow caricature over your own wife? He is playing you!”

“It’s done,” he said. “Jane, some of this is out of your hands. You keep asking me to be the man I was born to be. Well, I was born into this world. Taking back my birthright is going to give me the leverage to keep us safe. Can you fucking get that through your head without ruining things again?”

I stepped back like I’d been slapped. In less than fifteen minutes, I felt like I’d been thrown down Alice’s rabbit hole. Who was this person speaking? “Fuck. You.”

Eric shook his head ruefully, took a step toward me but stopped when I scrambled backward.

I swallowed, then glared at him. “If that’s really what you think, then you are not half the man I thought you were. And if you need the approval of some grown men’s treehouse club more than your own wife’s…well, then I think you know how this ends.”

“Jane—”

“Absolutely not.” I shook my head. I knew it. I knew there was another shoe that had to drop before all of this was over. Damn him for making me believe it wouldn’t be his. “I think it’s safe to say we are going to give John Carson what he wants. This isn’t going to work. Maybe it never was.”

“Jane!”

I held up a hand. “I need some space. I’m going back to the event I have devoted every waking hour to for the last few months. You can go play your boys’ game if that’s what you have to do.”

Eric stood tall, but not completely without regret. “Jane,” he said. “Just trust me. Please.”

But I shook my head and turned away. “Trust goes two ways, Eric. I would think that by now, you’d have learned that.”