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  Delivered

  Eva Charles

  Quarry Road Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Eva Charles

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without express written permission from the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Trademark names appear throughout this book. In lieu of a trademark symbol with each occurrence of a trademark name, names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  Cover by Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Dawn Alexander, Evident Ink, Content Editor

  Nancy Smay, Evident Ink, Copy and Line Editor

  Virginia Tesi Carey, Proofreader

  Lisa LaPaglia, Evident Ink, Proofreader

  For more information, contact [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  To everyone who read Depraved, it is with tremendous gratitude that I dedicate this second book to you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for making the release so much more than I hoped for.

  The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: therefore be of good cheer; for, truly, I think you are damned.

  William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  1. Julian

  2. Julian

  3. Julian

  4. Julian

  5. Julian

  6. Gabrielle

  7. Gabrielle

  8. Julian

  9. Julian

  10. Gabrielle

  11. Julian

  12. Julian

  13. Gabrielle

  14. Gabrielle

  15. Gabrielle

  16. Julian

  17. Julian

  18. Gabrielle

  19. Gabrielle

  20. Gabrielle

  21. Gabrielle

  22. Julian

  23. Gabrielle

  24. Gabrielle

  25. Gabrielle

  26. Julian

  27. Gabrielle

  28. Julian

  29. Gabrielle

  30. Julian

  31. Julian

  32. Julian

  33. Gabrielle

  34. Julian

  35. Julian

  36. Julian

  37. Julian

  Epilogue

  Epilogue Part II: Julian

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Dear Readers and Friends,

  I trust you are here because you have read Depraved. Delivered is the second book of The Devil’s Duet. It is not a standalone.

  Those who experience emotional triggers, please know that JD and Gabrielle’s story might challenge you in that regard. Proceed cautiously, and feel free to contact me if you are unsure.

  To all others, welcome back to Charleston, buckle up and enjoy the ride. And thank you for reading the duet!

  xoxo

  Eva

  Prologue

  Julian

  A dark cloud hangs over the Holy City, eclipsing the waning moon. Charleston has been burning all day. It’s as if the Underworld is celebrating the ascension of its leader.

  Smoke permeates every molecule of air, and even with the windows up, the ghastly odor wheedles its way into the car. It’s all I smell as Antoine weaves through downtown toward The Gatehouse, Gabrielle’s hotel.

  I don’t have any information about Gabrielle. Not a fucking thing.

  The fire marshal isn’t taking my calls, and neither the police chief nor the mayor has anything useful to offer. Nothing.

  I try her again, but the call goes directly to voicemail. Rafe and Gus aren’t answering their phones either. What kind of two-bit security is Smith running for me?

  “Antoine, turn up the volume. I can’t hear a thing back here.” The news accounts are sketchy, and the reporters at the scene keep repeating the same bullshit: The fire department has been working overtime today. They’re spread so thin that reinforcements from the surrounding areas have been called in to assist. Everyone was evacuated from the hotel immediately after the fire started, but those reports are unconfirmed. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing. They’ve got nothing.

  I scroll through my phone, searching for answers. Hoping there’s been some mistake. Hoping it’s another building with a similar name, or a structure nearby that’s engulfed in flames. But the Internet is too wrapped up with the inaugural crap to care much about the Charleston fires. What the first lady wore. What a handsome couple the president and his wife make. How the country is embarking on an exciting new path.

  Right. A new path—straight to hell. And the road’s not paved with a single good intention.

  My father. He’s behind this. Somehow, he’s behind it.

  Not on Inauguration Day, JD. No, he wouldn’t want the focus off him today. And he wouldn’t burn an entire section of the city to get back at me—would he? Gabrielle’s hotel, yes. He’d torch it without a second thought. But the warehouses? They’re too damn important to the success of our business.

  My brain wars with itself, the logical versus the illogical. But my gut knows it’s him. Just like it knows that no matter how many investigations they conduct or how diligent the investigators work, they’ll never find anything definitive that points directly to him.

  Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I bang on the car roof, but all it does is punish my hands.

  I can’t allow myself to get bogged down in unfounded suspicions tonight. It zaps too much energy and makes me too angry to function optimally. There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need to focus on finding Gabrielle.

  The ride from the airport to downtown normally takes Antoine twenty minutes, but tonight we make it in ten. The longest ten minutes of my life.

  We’re still a few blocks away, but the smoke is thicker. I can’t tell if it’s coming from the Port of Charleston where the warehouses are still burning, or the French Quarter, where The Gatehouse is located.

  As we round the bend onto Broad Street, a smattering of flashing lights illuminates the crowd gathered in the road, mesmerized by the deep orange flames licking the night sky. “Pull over, right here,” I instruct Antoine. “You’ll never get the car closer.”

  Before he fully brakes, I’m on the cobblestone street racing toward the flames.

  Dozens of onlookers watch the blaze from across the road, some are barefoot, using scraps of cardboard as makeshift rugs shielding their feet from the cold ground, others huddle in thin pajamas with their arms wrapped around one another for warmth. They likely are hotel guests, but there’s not a familiar face among them.

  The scene is becoming chaotic as people push their way into the crowd to get a better look. I glance at the burning building. The fire’s wrath is uncontained. My stomach starts to heave. She could still be inside. No. No! Keep looking, JD. Don’t stop looking.

  There is a swarm of police cars, but only one fire truck in front of the building. Where are all the fucking fire fighters? Panic propels me forward, as I scour the growing crowd for Gabrielle—for her security detail—for anyone who can tell me a damn thing. Every dark-haired woman gives me a boost of hope. Hope that’s dashed again and again, taking
a piece of my soul each time I realize it’s not Gabrielle.

  I can’t find her. I can’t fucking find her!

  If she were here, this is where she’d be. Front and center, staring into the flames in disbelief. Watching in horror. I’m sure of it. Dammit, where is she?

  I scan the area again quickly, my eyes rest on the spot where she should be standing. I picture her barefoot on the sidewalk, arms wrapped tightly around her body. The image I conjure has an almost translucent quality with a fog of gray smoke surrounding her. She’s wearing a white cotton nightgown that’s billowing in the breeze, making her seem like an apparition. It’s a mirage. It has to be. I don’t allow myself to focus on the vision for too long. Don’t allow myself to think about premonitions. I force my eyes away, my mind away, and keep searching.

  Finally, I spot Rafe in the parking lot across the street. He’s sitting on a stretcher receiving oxygen.

  When I reach him his skin is gray, his face smudged with soot and sweat. I yank the mask away. “Where is she?” I scream. “Where is she?”

  “Hey!” The paramedic tries to grab the mask from my hand. “You need to calm down, buddy.”

  “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.”

  “I don’t know,” Rafe chokes out. “I don’t know.”

  1

  Julian

  “What the fuck do you mean you don’t know? It’s your job to know where she is at all times!” I’m so out of control, even I recognize it. But I can’t stop. Something has taken over my body and I don’t have any control over my emotions or my actions. None. All I feel is my pounding heart. All I hear is my pounding heart. It’s enlarged, bigger than me, and has taken over my body.

  “This man is injured,” the paramedic shouts. “You need to leave the area, before I get an officer over here.” He wedges himself between me and Rafe, but I’m significantly bigger and operating full-throttle on adrenaline. I shove him aside with little effort.

  “Last I saw her—stairwell—third floor,” Rafe gasps, as the mask is repositioned.

  “JD! JD!” I turn in the direction of Antoine’s voice. He’s running across the parking lot toward me. “They have Gabby!”

  They have Gabby.

  They have Gabby.

  They have Gabby.

  “Over there,” he cries, pointing to a firefighter carrying a woman in the direction of a waiting ambulance. He’s running. She’s not moving. No! It’s not possible. It’s just not fucking possible.

  I push through the gathering throngs with a single laser focus: reaching Gabrielle. I don’t allow myself to think about anything else as I shove people out of my way. At the edge of the crowd a police officer blocks my path.

  “This is the perimeter. I can’t let you get any closer.”

  There is no way this fucker is slowing me down. “I’m JD Wilder, and that’s my fiancée on the way to the ambulance.” I point across the courtyard. “Get out of my way.”

  He stands a little taller. “Sir, it’s for your protection.”

  “You’ll have to shoot to stop me. See how that works out for you. Talk to your boss,” I shout over my shoulder. “I already have.”

  The officer doesn’t pursue. He probably figures I’m not worth the hassle, or maybe that the world would be better without one more arrogant sonofabitch.

  While it smells a lot like a harmless bonfire on the beach, the yellow-tipped flames are like an angry beast threatening the entire neighborhood. They take over my entire peripheral vision on the right side as I race toward the ambulance. Toward Gabrielle’s limp body.

  By the time I reach her, a female paramedic is adjusting an oxygen mask on Gabrielle’s face, while a lanky male takes her vitals. Gabrielle’s covered in soot. Her hair twisted into tight ringlets matted to her face, and though she has some cuts and scrapes, I don’t see any sign of serious injury. But her skin is ashen and other than blinking her terror-filled eyes, she’s still not really moving.

  My heart hasn’t stopped hammering. “Gabrielle. Gabrielle,” I manage between pants. “I’m here, darlin’.”

  “Do you know her?” the paramedic asks.

  I nod. “Her name is Gabrielle Duval.” I’m gulping air. My lungs working overtime to pull it in. She’s alive. She’s alive. “She owns the hotel.”

  “Are you a relative?”

  No. But there’s no way I’m leaving her. “I’m JD Wilder.”

  “I know who you are, but are you related to Ms. Duval?”

  “I’m her fiancé,” I say, hoping it means I won’t need to get into a pissing match in order to stay with Gabrielle.

  “Georgie. Georgie’s inside.” I barely recognize Gabrielle’s voice. It’s hoarse and raw as she claws at my jacket with red, blistered fingers.

  “What happened to your hand?” I ask gently, as gently as I can manage so I don’t alarm her.

  Gabrielle has a blank look on her face while she studies her hand. It’s eerie, as though she doesn’t know what happened.

  The paramedic takes hold of her wrist and gingerly turns her hand over so he can examine it. “I bet that’s painful,” he says. “Do you remember how you hurt your hand?”

  “The baby. Gotta find Georgie. Georgie, JD. Find Georgie.” She’s flailing, trying to get up off the stretcher.

  “Don’t. You’ll fall off this thing, and it’s a long way to the ground.” I hold her upper arms securely while the paramedic reaches for a safety belt.

  “I’m going to hook this over your hips so you don’t fall off the bed when we slide you into the ambulance.”

  “Shhh. It’s okay.” I smooth her hair from behind so I can stay out of the way while they’re working on her. “Georgie’s at home. You had dinner with her earlier. That’s why you’re thinking about her.”

  “No,” she whimpers, pushing the mask up. “Her car. Her car.” The paramedic readjusts the oxygen.

  “Gabrielle, you need the oxygen to breathe,” I tell her, more harshly than I mean to. “Keep that mask on.”

  Her chest heaves softly. The tears trickle down her cheeks, cutting narrow paths through the grime. “You doing okay?” the tall paramedic asks.

  “Georgie.” Her weak voice is muffled by the mask.

  “Georgie doesn’t work evenings when you’re on,” I assure her. “Georgie and the baby are fine. Probably asleep.”

  “No!” she screams, flipping up the mask. “No!” The sound is high-pitched and anguished. I don’t know where she found the voice or the energy to shriek. But it’s a mournful wail, the kind that comes from a mother who’s lost a child.

  There’s a loud boom, and the street lights up. I shield Gabrielle with my body, then glance over my shoulder to see the back of the building collapse. Gabrielle’s office. She could have been inside. My heart is pounding again.

  A fire engine rolls up and a firefighter shouts something to the reinforcements. They pull a long hose around the building. The flames are mostly orange and red now with an occasional yellow swash. The color is significant. I know it is, but I can’t remember what it means.

  Gabrielle squeezes my arm. “JD,” she mouths. “Tell me.”

  “The firefighters have things under control. Don’t worry.”

  “Let’s get her inside,” the female paramedic says. “Mr. Wilder, please step back so we can move the stretcher.”

  “You know this guy?” the tall paramedic asks Gabrielle. “Says his name is JD Wilder.” She nods. “Do you want him here with you?” Gabrielle nods again, and the paramedic leans closer, blocking most of her face from me. “Are you sure?” he asks so softly I have to strain to make out the words. To my relief, her chin bobs up and down.

  Inside the ambulance it’s calmer. The paramedics are talking to Gabrielle, asking questions that require a simple nod, or a shake of the head. She’s dazed, but mostly lucid, and while she’s fidgeting with the sheet, she seems less agitated now. The meds they gave her must be working.

  A police officer sticks his head inside the ambula
nce door. “You need to move back. The wind’s picking up. We’re expanding the perimeter.”

  “We’re out of here. She needs to get to the hospital.” One of the paramedics hops into the driver’s seat, and the other turns to me. I don’t give him a chance to speak.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  He sizes me up for a long second. “Let’s go,” he tells the driver, and turns his attention back to Gabrielle, tending to her right hand, while I hold her left.

  The siren is loud, and the flashing red light is disconcerting. It reminds me of the flames we’re headed away from. The paramedic doesn’t shut up the entire trip. He chatters on and on, asking Gabrielle questions, teasing, and reassuring her. She slips in and out of consciousness while the ambulance maneuvers down King Street toward the hospital. We’re a half mile away when she starts pulling at the mask, again. “Georgie. JD. Georgie.”

  “It’s okay. Georgie is fine. You were with her earlier in the evening. You’re just a little confused.”

  “No. No. Not confused.” She shakes her head.

  “Shhh.” I run my thumb over her cheek, along the hairline. “It’s going to be okay. They got everyone out.” I’m sure they did. “You need to keep the oxygen on. We’ll call Georgie from the hospital so you can talk to her. But no more talking now.”