“Carla won’t take that well,” Harper said. Her estranged mother was not only adamant that Roan would never have been involved in a conspiracy to see the US Primes fall, she didn’t believe that the Four Horsemen were even real. Now, she’d have to face the truth. More, she’d have to face that she’d been wrong. Harper was pretty sure that Carla would hate both those things.
As Carla, her mate, Bray, and their youngest son had switched to a lair in Washington, she and Harper hadn’t spoken since before Asher was born. Maybe that should have saddened Harper. It didn’t. Who wanted an attention junkie in their life who’d not only once tried to abort them, but had sold them to their paternal family when trapping their soul in a container hadn’t worked? Harper certainly didn’t.
As an adult, Harper had discovered little things that had suggested a very small part of Carla wished things had been different between them, but the woman really was too twisted to have a healthy mother-child relationship with any of her kids. It was textbook of narcissists, really, so Harper didn’t take it personally.
Initially, it had seemed that Carla had eventually come to terms with Harper being her co-Prime, but Harper had recently discovered that she’d been looking to switch lairs even before Roan’s death. A never-ending victim who thrived on drama, Carla had milked whatever sympathy and attention she could get for his death. She’d also hoped it would turn the lair against Harper. It hadn’t. Carla’s rage had intensified when Harper’s pregnancy earned her the limelight that Carla perpetually craved. So, yeah, there was no hope for them.
“No, she won’t like it,” agreed Knox. “But as she’s in Washington, you won’t have to hear about it.”
“Unless she ventures to the Underground,” Harper pointed out. The demonic playground could be best described as a hyped-up version of the Las Vegas strip, and it attracted demons worldwide.
“The doormen of the club above the entrance to the Underground are under strict orders from me not to allow her, Bray, or Kellen inside. I know you were hoping to have some sort of relationship with Kellen, baby, but I won’t allow him to mess with your head anymore.”
“Neither will I,” said Harper. The teenager had reached out to her initially, but he dropped her like a bad habit each time there was conflict between her and his family. He’d sent her a congratulatory text when Asher was born, but she hadn’t heard from him since. Considering she was responsible for his older brother’s death, she didn’t see how they could have a relationship at all anyway. It would just have to be enough that she’d gotten to know him a little.
“Back to the subject of what happened to Alethea,” said Harper. “I know that, as your co-Prime, I should go with you to see Jonas. But there was so much animosity between me and Alethea that I’m the very last person he will want to see right now.”
“You’re right. And I don’t trust that he won’t take out his grief on you, so it would be best all round if you stayed here.” Which suited Knox’s overprotective streak just fine.
“Are you going to tell him what almost happened to Asher?”
“Yes.” Knox slid his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, and then cupped her hips. “I’ll be making a public statement about it, but I need some information from Jonas first.”
“Do you really think the Horseman made that clip just so that he could tell the Primes they must step down?”
“No. He wants people to be scared. To fear him. That would give him power. Alethea was the sister of a Prime. Other Primes will soon wonder if one of their own relatives will be targeted. Her killer said that I’d be next, but that won’t make anyone feel at all reassured. They’ll be worried, off-balance, and won’t know what to think.”
“Which he’ll love.”
“Yes, I think he will.” Knox traced her hipbones with his thumbs. “The Primes will likely want a meeting to discuss the issue. I doubt any of them will be prepared to step down, no matter how worried they are, but they’ll want to address the matter.”
“We should call the meeting ourselves. If it’s in Vegas, we won’t have to travel.” She didn’t want to leave Asher behind, but she’d be unwilling to take him along.
“I’ll have Levi arrange it.” Knox dabbed a light, lingering kiss on her mouth. “We’ll talk more later. Enjoy your bagel.”
Returning to his office, Knox gave Levi orders to arrange a meeting for the Primes and then pulled up the YouTube footage on his computer. His monitor was large, so Knox had a much better view than he’d had on Levi’s cell.
He watched the recording again, this time with a critical eye. Watched the way the Horseman moved, observed their body language, and noted their clothing. He also examined the background, looking for clues as to their location.
They didn’t move like a woman, he thought. There was a male swagger there, a masculine confidence in each step. Although it was difficult to be sure of their build, they didn’t appear to have any feminine curves. Their clothes were dark and plain, from what he could tell.
As he reached the part where the Horseman placed their hand on Alethea’s head, Knox paused the footage and zoomed in on the hand. Thick, masculine fingers. No long nails. In fact, they were cut to the quick. Their skin was white, but not pale. Caucasian male, Knox decided.
No matter how close Knox zoomed into the footage, he couldn’t discern any objects in the background. If he had to guess, he’d say the wall paint was dark, as no color at all lightened the shadows. It appeared to be an empty, drab room. A basement, perhaps.
After spending a good half hour studying the Horseman and the background, Knox replayed the footage again. This time, he concentrated on Alethea. At that moment, she didn’t look at all like an encantada—a female sex demon. Oh, her preternatural allure was still there, but it was tainted by the sheer terror in her watery eyes. Not just terror … betrayal. She had known the Horseman. Known them well enough that she felt betrayed by their actions.
Her hair wasn’t disheveled and, aside from her smudged mascara, her make-up was perfectly in place. As such, Knox doubted she’d been held prisoner. He couldn’t be sure what length of time she’d been with the Horseman, but Knox didn’t believe she’d been there against her will—at least not initially.
Watching it a second time, Knox concentrated on the part where she’d first mouthed something. Despite that he had a close-up view of her face, lipreading wasn’t easy.
“Watching the clip again?”
Knox looked up as Harper walked in. “Baby, you don’t want to see this, trust me on that. You certainly don’t want to look at it when you not long ago ate.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Remind me when I’ve ever been delicate.” She rounded his sleek black, U-shaped executive desk and peered at one of the multiple computer screens. She was so used to seeing Alethea smug and bitchy that it was a distinct shock to see the encantada looking so afraid. Harper knew how it felt to be held captive; to know that your life was in the hands of another. And death by hellfire—that would have been agonizing.
“I’m looking for clues that might help identify who this person was and just where Alethea was killed,” said Knox.
Harper turned to him. “Any ideas?”
“At this point, I’m quite sure that the Horseman is, in fact, a man. Caucasian. Confident. He knew Alethea well, and she’d trusted him to some extent. You can see the hint of betrayal in her eyes if you look beneath the terror.”
Harper leaned closer to the screen. “You’re right. What’s she trying to say?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He rewound the clip slightly. “Here, it seems like she’s saying, ‘Please.’ Then she pauses, licks her lips, and mouths, ‘Don’t do this.’ The Horseman chats about how the US Primes must fall, and then—just before he sets her alight—she tries to say something else, but I can’t quite work out what.”
“Play it for me.” Harper leaned toward the screen again and concentrated on the movement of Alethea’s mouth. “You’re. Dead. She’s saying, ‘You’re dead.’”