Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

fiancée and when the time comes, she’ll be with me one way or another.” He picked up one of his many books and held it out to Stefan. “You ever hear of this crap?”
    Stefan pushed down the little twinge of pleasure in knowing the woman wasn’t quite as taken with Jean-Claude as the man was with her. He took the book, one he’d looked at a couple of times, shocked at the subject matter. He feigned ignorance. “ Aura ? What is that supposed to be? I never heard of it.”
    “Can you believe this crap? Do you see colors around people’s bodies? New Age bullshit, is what it is.” There was such anger, such bitterness in Jean-Claude, a suppressed rage that made Stefan worry a little for the first time about Judith.
    “Your woman believes this stuff?” Stefan asked, keeping vague puzzlement in his voice.
    “Damn right she does. Takes it very seriously. I’ve read all about it, but I’ve never met a single person who believes in it or can see colors surrounding people other than her.”
    “So she’s a little bit crazy.” Stefan flashed a lecherous grin. “Don’t you think her body sort of makes up for all that? Keep her mouth busy and you don’t have a problem.” His stomach knotted tighter. His gut actually hurt.
    Jean-Claude shot him a furious look. He snatched the book out of Stefan’s hand and threw it against the wall of the cell. “I don’t know why I would expect someone like you to understand.”
    Stefan didn’t want to understand. He wanted out of this stinking cell, away from the man whose soul was rotten. There was no mercy in his world. No soft skin. No dark eyes a man could get lost in. He wasn’t even real, no more than a dark shadow sliding in and out of places others called home and leaving behind death and chaos. He didn’t know what a home was and he no longer cared. He had lost his humanity long ago in places like this, surrounded by corrupt men who traded in human flesh and wreaked havoc on the world for money.
    He’d been in the business too long when he started to fixate on a woman just because she was the only thing that remotely resembled innocence in a stinking prison cell.
    “You know, Bastille,” Jean-Claude began.
    Stefan went on alert. For the first time Jean-Claude sounded different. They were getting to the business of why the crime lord had deigned to speak to him about his woman. Jean-Claude had been steadfastly silent and it just wasn’t in him to have a friendly conversation, no matter how much he might want to talk to someone about Judith and the photographs. He’d given to get something.
    Stefan turned around, leaned one hip lazily against the cot and raised an eyebrow.
    “Why didn’t you kill me? You knew I ordered the beatings and the hits.”
    Stefan kept his expression carefully blank. He shrugged. “No money in it. I want out of here. I came to do a job, and once it’s done I’ll get out.”
    Jean-Claude’s eyebrow shot up. “A job?” he echoed.
    “Relax, Rolex, you aren’t the mark.” Stefan allowed a small smile to creep into his eyes. “I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind a time or two, but there’s no percentage in it.”
    “But you would kill me if someone paid you to do it.”
    “We’re not exactly friends.” This time amusement reached his voice.
    “I underestimated you,” Jean-Claude admitted.
    Stefan noted with satisfaction that the crime lord realized just how close he had been to death. All those nights with Stefan lurking like a lethal viper just feet from him. “Everyone does.” Again, Stefan showed no malice.
    Jean-Claude studied the scarred face. “I could use a man like you.”
    “I’m not sticking around. I’ll be out of here by tomorrow.” Stefan spoke with supreme confidence.
    “How?”
    Stefan shrugged again and stayed mysteriously silent.
    “You have a way to escape?”
    Oh yeah, there was interest in La Roux’s voice. He wanted out. Once out, he’d have the money to buy a new identity and face. Stefan did it all the time.
    Stefan turned away from the man and sank down onto his cot, silently declaring the conversation was over. When they went to dinner, a man would be found dead in his cell. As the prison locked down, John Bastille would be absent and Jean-Claude La Roux would know there was a way out. When he was approached by a guard to help him escape in a couple of weeks, he would jump at the chance.
    The prisoner, already dead in his cell, was a Russian traitor, one in for arms’