“Not yet. Look, I need you to find out some information for me.”

“Absolutely,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. His assistants were always chosen for their interest in and ability to find out things they shouldn’t know and get themselves in trouble. Calliope, although painfully young, was no exception.

“I have an address,” he said. “A house outside Petionville. I need you to see who owns it.” He gave her the address. “Also, look up a name for me. Juliette Toussaint.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Stunning. I’ve never seen her equal.”

“Good. Are you bringing her back with you?”

“I will or I’ll die trying.”

Calliope laughed. “You sound much more like your old self,” she said, and he could hear her typing in the background. “I’ve missed you. Everybody really misses you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Okay, your ex-girlfriends don’t miss you, but everyone else does. People think you’re up to something since you’ve been gone so long. They’re talking about you and Elle both being gone.”

“What’s everyone saying?” he asked, curious despite himself.

“Um...well, one rumor I heard is that you and Elle fell in love. You stole her from her priest and eloped with her. You two are supposedly on an around-the-world honeymoon.”

“She would commit ritual suicide in Times Square before she married me. Anything else?”

“Some people think you’re on a talent scouting mission, and you’re out to find new Subs and Doms for the club.”

“Not true, but much more likely than the first rumor.”

“I heard someone say you’d run out of money and that’s why you sold the Cuffs and Le Cirque.”

“I have so much money I couldn’t spend it all in ten lifetimes. Especially now that I sold the clubs.”

“You might not want to know this...but there’s this new Dom around who’s talking shit about you.”

“Who?” Kingsley demanded.

“He works for a new kink club. His name is Brad Wolfe.”

“I refuse to believe that’s his real name.”

“He was at a party me and Tessa were at. Wolfe said you probably got in trouble with the law and you’re on the run from the cops.”

“If you see him again, tell him I’m on vacation. With his mother.”

“I’ll send him that message today. With pleasure. Are you ever coming back?”

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. I have unfinished business here, however.”

“Well, you have the most beautiful woman in the world to deal with, right?”

“Absolument.”

“We need a new white queen around here now that Elle’s gone.”

“Juliette’s black.”

“Okay, a new black queen then,” Calliope said. “I don’t care what color she is. But it’s really boring around here without you and Elle. It’s like...”

“What?”

“It’s like the lights went out when she left.” Calliope paused. “Literally. I’ve never seen the town house this dark. No one ever stops by anymore. It feels like the whole Underground’s gone dark.”

“I know,” Kingsley said. That’s exactly what it was. And now she was gone and everything had gone dark.

“Elle was supposed to teach me how to sub. She said I was a natural.”

“I’ll find you a teacher when I get back.”

“I don’t want another teacher. I liked her.”

“Has anyone heard anything from her? Has she contacted anyone at all? Griffin? Tessa? Irina?” Kingsley asked, already knowing the answer. He knew Calliope would have called the second she had news.

“No. Sorry, King. No word from her or your priest. Do you want me to send someone to check on him?”

“Leave him be. He’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Kingsley considered lying. Reconsidered it.

“No. If she doesn’t come back to him, I doubt he’ll ever be fine again.”

“King, it’s been eight months. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“That’s her choice then.” He kept his voice flat, but inside his guts churned with the idea he might never see Elle again. That maybe no one would ever see her again. “Did you find anything for me?”

“Yeah, here it is. That address? It belongs to Gérard Guillroy.”

“Why do I know that name?”

“Did you have to see him about your passport?”

“Why would I have to see him about my passport?”

“Because he’s the French ambassador to Haiti.”

Kingsley’s blood went cold.

“The man who owns that house...the address I gave you, he’s the French ambassador to Haiti?”

“He is. Has been for over fifteen years. Forty-eight years old. Two children in their late twenties. One grandson. Rich wife lives in Paris. They’re still married but apparently separated. She stays in France. He spends most of his time in Haiti. What about him?”

“He’s forty-eight you say?”

“But incredibly handsome. Silver fox.”

“What?”

“I mean he has gray hair. But he’s really handsome. French George Clooney.”