Page 76 of Hero Worship

The line rang only once before Roche answered. "Monsieur Verity. What a pleasant surprise. I trust you and your lovely companion made it home safely after all the unfortunate excitement?"

"We did." I stroked Xander's back as I spoke, reminding myself what I was really fighting for. "And I do hope your companion is well? I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

“My pet’s father was a brute.” Roche snorted. “But he’s resting and recovering. And he appreciates your concern.” There was a slight pause. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Monsieur Verity?”

“I must admit,” I said carefully, “I cannot stop thinking about that final display.”

“It was quite a moment, wasn’t it? More excitement than I was expecting.”

Xavier pulled up the front page of some French newspaper and spun his laptop around, showing me a gruesome crime scene photograph from the night before.

“Have you seen the picture inLe Claironthis morning?” I asked.

“I…No.” Papers rustled. “And I thought I’d seen all the papers with my photograph in them.”

“Oh, pardon me. I misspoke. The photo isn’t of you. It’s of the aftermath of what happened. Blood on the tile floor.” I paused and took a breath. “I must admit, there’s a certain…beauty to the composition. An elegance to the way Viktor’s blood spills across the marble. Almost as if it’s telling a story.”

Another pause, longer this time. When Roche spoke again, there was new interest in their voice. "Most found the violence rather distasteful."

I laughed. "Most people aren’t me," I replied, choosing my words with surgical precision. "There’s a reason I became a crime novelist. There’s so little passion in the world anymore. So little beauty. Any old fool could throw paint on a canvas and call it art. Real talent—talent like yours—is so rare. Many artists don’t have vision. They cannot see the artistry in transformation. In capturing the exact moment beauty becomes eternal."

I could practically feel Roche's attention sharpen through the phone. "How fascinating that you should phrase it that way. I so rarely meet others who truly understand the preservation of perfect moments."

I sighed heavily. “You know, I was just telling my lovely spouse how beautiful he is. It’s a pity that beauty can’t be so preserved.A pity that most of us don’t die in our prime, when we’re at our most…beautiful.”

"Your spouse?" A soft laugh. "The lovely creature in black silk? Yes, I remember being quite taken with his... particular qualities."

My grip on Xander tightened possessively even as I made myself chuckle. "He does tend to leave an impression."

"Yes." Roche's voice held new warmth through the phone line. "He made quite the impression at our little soiree. Such perfect bone structure. The kind of beauty that deserves... special attention."

My fingers dug into Xander's hip hard enough to bruise as possessive rage threatened to shatter my careful control. But I made myself laugh, the sound coming out dark and appreciative. "He does inspire rather specific appetites, doesn't he?"

"Indeed." The predatory interest in Roche's tone made my skin crawl. "Though I must admit, I'm curious what draws someone like you to such... particular interests. Most find my methods of preserving beauty rather unconventional."

"Convention is for those who lack vision. Who can't see the artistry in transformation. In capturing that perfect moment when beauty transcends its physical form to become something eternal."

"Transformation." Roche savored the word like fine wine. "Such an elegant way to describe it. Though most would use cruder terms."

"Most people can't appreciate true art. They see only the surface. The violence. The loss. They don't understand that some beauty is too precious to be allowed to fade."

Xander shivered against me, but I couldn't stop now. Couldn't break character when we were so close to making Roche believe.

"When I saw what happened last night," I continued carefully, "I was struck not by the tragedy, but by the composition. Theway arterial spray painted patterns across white marble like living art. The perfect positioning of father and child in their final embrace. It was..." I paused. "Breathtaking."

"Monsieur Verity." Roche's voice dropped lower, more intimate. "I believe you and I have much to discuss. Perhaps over dinner tonight?"

"Of course," I forced warmth into my voice, though bile rose in my throat. "Though I should mention my spouse can be... skittish about new experiences. I find certain chemical assistance helps him remain... agreeable."

"Ah. Yes, I'm quite familiar with that particular challenge. My own companion requires similar... management. There are some rather effective compounds that help beauty remain compliant."

"How fascinating. I would be very interested in comparing notes. Eight o'clock, you said?"

"Perfect. I'll have Amanda send the details." Roche's smile was audible. "I look forward to showing you both my collection."

The moment the call ended, I flung the phone away like it had burned me. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"You did well." Xavier's voice was clinically precise. "Let them see exactly what they needed to see."

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