Free Gabriel's Horn by Alex Archer Page A

with ill-fated consequences,” Roux noted.
    “It’s been a long time.” Jennifer gazed at the young woman at Roux’s side. “I can see you haven’t changed a bit.”
    “My predilections remain as constant as the North Star.”
    “And remain as predictable. That’s how I found you.”
    “It took a long time,” Roux pointed out.
    Jennifer shrugged, an elegant shift of her shoulders.
    “I’ve thought of you often,” he told her, and part of him hoped she believed him enough to forgive him his trespasses.
    “And I’ve often thought of kicking your skinny arse for leaving without a proper goodbye.” Jennifer put her hand on her hip and stared at Ling Po. “I’d also dare say you haven’t thought of me for at least ten or fifteen minutes.”
    “Do you know this woman?” Ling Po stepped close enough to Roux to partially claim him as her territory.
    “I do.” Roux made the introductions. “Ling Po, I’d like you to meet Jennifer Bailey. She’s an artist. Maybe you’ve seen some of her work.”
    “I’m not much into greeting cards, I’m afraid.”
    Roux coughed delicately. “Actually, Jennifer’s work has hung in some of the finest European and African galleries. Jennifer, this is Ling Po. Her family owns the Topaz Hotel in London, among others.”
    Ling Po didn’t appear to be impressed. Nor did Jennifer.
    “Perhaps you didn’t notice,” Ling Po said icily, “but we were engaged in a private conversation.”
    “That’s all right,” Jennifer said dismissively. “We’re old friends. Evidently you’re going to be another new friend. He doesn’t make many friends who turn into old friends.”
    “You’ve certainly got the old part covered.”
    For a moment Roux thought Jennifer would physically attack Ling Po. Jennifer wasn’t one to mince words. She also preferred a direct line of action.
    “After thirteen years and a note on a pillow,” Ling Po went on, “I’m surprised that you’d consider yourself a friend.”
    “Youth can be diverting,” Jennifer replied, “but it’s also flighty and annoying. Especially on a self-indulgent, high-maintenance narcissist.”
    “A man prefers new challenges to old conquests,” Ling Po said.
    “Maybe we should let him be the judge of that,” Jennifer suggested sweetly.
    Roux, a master strategist on the battlefield and leader of warriors, suddenly found himself in the worst possible position any man could face.
    Both women looked at him expectantly.
    Roux decided to double down on the risk. He’d gone in search of neither of the women. He could just as easily dine alone. And the night was still young. There would be other opportunities.
    “Perhaps we could have dinner and reach some kind of accord that would be less adversarial. Though not without mutual reward and benefit,” he said. He smiled. In the past such a suggestion had often netted surprising results.
    “Really?” Ling Po gazed at Jennifer in open speculation.
    Jennifer frowned. “You really haven’t changed, have you?”
    “There was a time when you weren’t so quick to turn down new experiences,” Roux said. “I seem to recall you introducing me to one of your girlfriends shortly after we met.”
    Jennifer looked at him. “I have a lead on the Nephilim.”
    Excitement filled every molecule of Roux’s body. Jennifer was one of the few people he’d told about the Nephilim painting.
    “Do you know where it is?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and tight.
    “I’ve found someone who might know,” Jennifer replied.
    Roux couldn’t believe it. None of the sources he had looking for the painting had offered even a whisper of the Nephilim’s location in years.
    “Where is he?” he asked.
    “She,” Jennifer replied. “And I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to take you there.”
    Sour bile burst at the back of Roux’s throat. “You know how dangerous that is. You’ve seen how Salome can be.”
    Jennifer smiled at him, and fear laced with sadness showed in her