Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,54
Maguire would grab me?”
Carson had an answer for that, too. “It’s not a secret that Maguire likes things his own way. But even if you’d stuck with the FBI, you’d be on Alexis’s trail.”
I stared at him, my brain stalling on the implications of that theory. “But why?”
“That, Sunshine, is the face-melting question.” He looked at me—held my eyes with a sober intensity that made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with him taking his eyes off the road at eighty bajillion miles an hour. “Maybe I should drop you off at the next police station. You can call your junior G-man from there.”
That was so not an option. I was way past any magical compulsion now. This was all me.
“Maybe you should shut up and put your eyes on the road,” I said.
Carson almost smiled, and as he turned his gaze back to the highway, he moved his hand like he would take mine, squeeze it, say we were in this together.
Instead, he just reached for the radio and turned up the volume on some vintage Kings of Leon.
St. Louis’s Forest Park was home to the zoo, a couple of museums, a theater, some sculptures, a greenhouse, and lots of winding paths. The lanes were full of strollers and joggers and the air was crisp and the afternoon sun set fire to the autumn leaves. It was exactly what fall should be, except for the part where lives were at stake.
“Maybe the museum will have a café,” I said, stretching five hours of driving out of my back as we walked through the parking lot.
Carson gave me a look, sort of droll, sort of disbelieving. “What happened to the milk shake and french fries you ate two hours ago?”
“That was two hours ago.” Thinking about food helped me not think about kidnappers and killers.
Our destination was a large Art Deco building, set on a hill that swept steeply down to a lawn and an ornamental lake. I was already viewing it anxiously, hoping the jackal was there, praying the Brotherhood was not. The knot in my gut made another tight loop when I saw the banner fluttering across the museum’s facade.
THE ART OF POMPEII.
Great. Just to make absolutely sure this situation sucked as much as it could.
“What’s wrong?” Carson asked when I didn’t immediately follow him up the steps.
“Freaking Pompeii. That’s what’s wrong.”
He didn’t ask. Maybe it was self-explanatory. Artifacts of large-scale death are a pretty obvious problem for me. “Let’s just go in, reconnoiter, look for any clues. We’re not sure the jackal that’s here is the actual Jackal.”
“Okay,” I said, pushing aside my nerves. Some of my nerves.
“Just stay under the radar,” he said. “I’m sure by now there’s an APB out on a giraffe-legged goth member of the Weasley family.”
“Gazelle,” I corrected him. Like I could play it cool with that much adrenaline zipping through my system.
“If any cops look at you cross-eyed, nudge me, and I’ll do my thing.”
“Anything else, Jedi Master?”
“Yes. Assume there are security cameras and don’t strike up any conversations with people no one else can see. Try to look like we’re just a couple of normal people out on a date or something.”
How the hell was I not going to think about all those things? Did he not realize how much stuff was in my brain all the time?
But I just said, “Sure. Life-and-death situations make great first dates.”
“Think of it this way,” he said, grabbing the door handle and giving it an effortless pull. “It’s better than a graveyard.”
Inside, the lobby was a soaring marble vault, all curves and columns and clean lines. The soft voices of patrons sang in the barrel arch of the ceiling. Admission was free, but Carson put some money in the donation box. I knew he was keeping our cover, but it didn’t feel contrived. I supposed he was a civic-minded and generous crime trainee.
“Where do you want to start?” he asked.
A sign warned that the museum would close in an hour. “We don’t have much time.” I looked for some clue to the layout of the place. Sculptures and bronzes stood sentry in the main hall, keeping the ancient and pre-Renaissance art from mingling with the post-Enlightenment stuff. I glimpsed a hall of white marble statues and nodded. “Let’s try this way.”
We passed a security guard, and I slipped my hand into Carson’s, entwining our fingers. He shot me a startled glance, and I said, “We’re on a date,