He fell silent and stared at the pictures in the locket. Grace ached to touch him—his hand, his face—but the priest’s collar he wore around his neck and the wall he’d warned her to stay behind kept her from reaching out to him.

“And now the only other woman in the world I have ever loved is trapped in the very same house where my mother was trapped and raped and lived in fear. And for the same reason—for loving me. There is no way Marie-Laure did this on her own. She has help. She has... I can’t even think about it.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Grace said with more confidence than she felt. “Nora wouldn’t want us to. She’d want us to get her the hell out of there. We know where she is, yes? What’s the plan?”

“Kingsley will attempt to get her out. He begged me to let him try. I couldn’t say no.”

“Alone?”

“If anyone can rescue her without bloodshed, it’s him.”

“Without bloodshed?”

“He’s lived with the guilt of his sister’s death for thirty years. All this time he blamed himself, believing it was suicide. I can’t ask him to kill her again. I won’t.”

“If that doesn’t work, if he can’t get her out, is there a plan B?”

Søren didn’t answer.

Kingsley came up the stairs and faced them from the landing. “Daniel said to come anytime.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Grace asked.

Kingsley gave a cold sort of laugh. “He’s an old...friend, I suppose. His late wife and I were lovers before they met and got married. When she died, Daniel holed up in his house for a few years. Took his pet to get him back out again.” Kingsley pointed at Søren.

“You mean Nora?” Grace narrowed her eyes at Kingsley.

“The very same. He lent her to Daniel for a week.”

“For what?” Grace wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer.

A broad grin crossed Kingsley’s face. Søren wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Our Nora has a magic pu**y. It’s the opposite of the Bermuda Triangle. Lost men sail into it and then find themselves.”

“Kingsley, that’s enough.” Søren glared at him.

“You were her first Lost Boy,” Kingsley said, entirely uncowed by Søren.

“Daniel’s an old friend,” Søren said to her, ignoring Kingsley. “His house is very close to my half sister Elizabeth’s house. That’s all that matters. Has Daniel warned Anya we’re coming?” He turned back to Kingsley.

“He said Anya and the children are in Montreal for a few days.”

“Good,” Søren said. “We want as few people involved in this as possible.”

“We’ll leave the children here. And you, too, madame,” Kingsley said, facing Grace.

“I’m going, too. Wherever it is, I’m going.” No way in hell would she return to England until she saw Nora safe again.

“She’s coming with us, Kingsley.” Søren stood up so that he towered feet above Kingsley down on the landing. “So are Wesley and Laila. It’s for the best and you know it.”

Kingsley gave Søren a cold and bitter stare, a stare so hard and so sharp it could have cleaved a diamond in two.

“Goddamn you,” Kingsley said, and Søren made no reply. The Frenchman turned on his heel and disappeared back down the stairs.

“What was that about?” Grace came back to her feet.

“Kingsley doesn’t care for plan B.”

15

THE QUEEN

Once upon a time...

When Nora woke up that morning two and a half years ago, she knew exactly what she could do to make this f**king day bearable. She needed sex and lots of it. Luckily sex and lots of it was one naughty voice mail message away.

Griffin...darling...this message is for your cock. I’d like to spend the day with it if it would be so obliging. Have it call me back if interested.

At about noon, Griffin’s usual waking hour, he called her back. She didn’t even have to finish asking if he wanted to spend the day playing before he said, “Yes, yes and yes. Oh, and my c**k says yes, too. And thanks for asking.”

Once Wes left the house for school, Nora had dressed in her best f**k-me attire—thigh-high black boots, short, pleated black skirt, tight white blouse and panties that were designed to end up on the floor and stay there all night. She couldn’t get to Griffin’s fast enough. She and Wes had only been living together about two and a half months. She loved having him in the house. The house felt like home with him around, but the kid made it really f**king difficult to get laid these days. Today she would be proactive. Desperate times called for desperate orgasms.

When she arrived at his posh East Village apartment, Nora grabbed Griffin by the shirt and pushed him into the wall without him putting up anything remotely resembling a fight.

“Missed you, too,” he said, his hands already sliding up the backs of her thighs and under her skirt.

“Behave yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Nora pushed her tongue into his mouth, so warm and eager.

“Good question,” she whispered into his lips.

She knew Griffin had hoped for sex and lots of it, and he would get it, most definitely. But she’d decided to make him work for it a little first. So she pulled out her favorite game, one Søren had taught her—the “pick a number” game. A wonderful game, especially since the person picking never knew what he or she was picking until after they’d made the choice. “Pick a number between one and four,” she’d said after dragging Griffin by his shirt to the living room, pushing him down and straddling his hips on the floor.