Page 51 of Saint of the Shadows

“Hm indeed.” Her lips parted to close the gap between denial and indulgence with a kiss.

“Get dressed and pack your things.”

She jolted as if she overestimated the rise of a stair. “That’s not where I thought this was going.”

He sprung off the bed and pulled on his sweater. “Follow me when you’re ready. I need to show you something.”

If a secret vigilante identity wasn’t enough to interrupt sexy time, what the ever-loving hell did he have to show her?

17

Family Secrets

Marisol popped lukewarm pieces of dumplings and kielbasa in her mouth as she hobbled around and collected her things. Not an ideal means of eating, but at least she ate. With the way Vincent stormed about the place preparing to leave, she doubted he ever did.

She inventoried her clothes and supplies and discovered she had lost her gorgeous new cashmere coat to medical waste. It was cut off at the hospital after soaking in her blood. Other than her necklace, the survivors of the attack were her now-dead phone, keys and keycard, fingerless boxing gloves, domino mask, and boots. Despite a quick, softening polish from Vincent, the leather of the boot still felt stiff from her blood. Yet she felt grateful to put at least one foot in a shoe. The rest of her things, including her medicine, she shoved into a garbage bag, the suitcase of champions.

She borrowed an old army green field jacket, cinching it tight at her waist. Dressed and ready to go, she followed Vincent and entered the garage underneath the house. The door thundered when he opened it, revealing a vast tunnel.

Another one of Annie’s theories proved true.The underground tunnel.Marisol pulled the collar of the coat closer around her throat. As Vincent helped her into the seat of his roadster, she couldn’t take her eyes off the tunnel. “That tunnel doesn’t lead to a secret lab, does it?”

Vincent shut the passenger door before answering her. After entering the driver’s side, he sank into his seat and answered, “No.” He dug out a pair of gloves hidden in the inner pocket of his brown leather bomber jacket and squeezed his hands into them. Even driving had to be a theatrical production.

Marisol held in a laugh. “You wear driving gloves?”

“They help with a steady grip.”

“I look like Tiny Tim, and you look like a Ken doll.”

Stone-faced, he buckled himself in and started the car. With a push of a button, the car lit up and hummed with electric power.

The car charged through the tunnel. Marisol gasped as the dotted line of lights turned into a single streak. They approached nothing but a dark abyss. Vincent stomped his foot on the accelerator. The car shot up onto a winding country road linedwith giant trees stretched toward the moon, but their tops slumped over in defeat. The engine hummed. Tires screeched. The silver roadster weaved between the reflective stripe in the middle of the road and its edge. After gaining traction, the car straightened. Vincent said, “The tunnel was a shortcut.”

Rain intermittently tapped against the windshield, and soundless lightning emphasized the widening spaces between the trees. A storm arrived as soon as they returned to civilization mere miles from Vincent’s estate. To Marisol’s relief, they arrived at the back of the estate, far from the front’s towering pillars and ominous Latin message.

A sudden worry struck Marisol as the car arrived with bombast, speeding down the driveway. “Will they come after us here? This is your home after all.”

“I anonymously submitted a staged photo from Europe. It helps that the paparazzi spotted another me outside the country. Plus, it takes over two people to make this place seem inhabited.”

Vincent drove his sports car into the garage. He pulled the car into a space next to a larger town car and put it in park. “What do you think?”

Marisol looked around. There was only enough space for another car, fitting her vision of a suburban garage, not one belonging to a palatial estate. “I thought your garage would be bigger.”

Vincent smirked. A door in the floor opened to a ramp below. He jerked the gear shift into reverseand slammed the accelerator. The tires squealed as they backed onto the ramp. Marisol braced herself against the dashboard. Vincent maneuvered the car backwards into a dark and endless garage, outrunning bright overhead lights as they turned on in succession. Vincent gripped the wheel and pulled it in one direction, spinning the car 180 degrees. He hit the brakes and slammed it into park.

The last of the lights clicked on, illuminating an endless underground garage. The sudden brightness hurt Marisol’s fluctuating pupils. Through squinted eyes, she observed a motorcycle and hulking sports utility vehicle. A grid of metal compartments lined the walls of the garage. “Big enough for you now?” Vincent asked, the side of his mouth curling. He tucked his gloves back into his jacket as he left the car.

“You’re showing off.” Marisol pulled herself out of the sports car and propped herself against her crutches. Her gaze traveled over the expanse of the basement. The mountain of secrets stretched out before her and drew her in a trance. She almost forgot to step forward with her crutches. A sweaty squeeze of the handles brought her back to the present. “What’s all in here?”

Vincent touched a metal compartment. It lit white-hot under his fingerprints. The compartment unlocked with a click and opened, revealing a row of armored suits and capes. In the unforgiving bright lights, they looked more navy and gray than black.

“Your suits aren’t black,” Marisol said.

“Night isn’t pitch black, you know.” He pushed the compartment, and it receded back into the wall with a click.

Marisol bit into her cheek, devising a plan of later pulling his chest hair or digging her nails into him. Something to make him pay for being such a smartass. Or would he enjoy that too much? Go the opposite way. Make him suffer by being gentle.

She studied the unending grid of the compartments. “What else do you have in here?”

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