"Damn, we are in the wrong business," Fitz muttered as they drove down a long, shaded lane to Lucien's house.

The artist lived in a remote area, off Boat Club Road in Lake Worth. Tucked away from the main drags, several stately homes lay hidden behind obscure gates and mature trees. Lucien's home sat on a narrow winding road devoid of other dwellings.

It was a sprawling single-story villa with a veritable forest of trees around it. The natural stone edifice was covered in climbing vines and the cobblestone walk led to a wide wraparound porch with granite columns evenly spaced.

"We need to dig deeper on Prudence St. John," Hunter made the mental note. "This is what-the-fuck money, and Lucien didn't start making that until his second gallery showing."

"That wasn't him on the intercom?"

"No, that was probably his personal assistant, Jordan...Kelsey," Hunter checked his notes on his phone.

"Awful late to be workin' on a Saturday night," Fitz remarked.  

Hunter parked behind a Ford Explorer. A gold Murano was parked next to the Ford, and Hunter used his phone to snap a picture of both license plates to run down later.

As they walked up the wide, shallow steps to the porch the front door opened behind an elegant wrought-iron screen, and Hunter recognized Jordan Kelsey.

"Mr. Kelsey," he greeted him. "My partner, Detective Fitzgerald."

Kelsey stared daggers at them. "The hell do you want this time of night?"

"I apologize for the hour, but we need to speak to Mr. St. John."

"About?"

"That's for Mr. St. John," Fitz said, keeping his tone mild.

Kelsey narrowed his eyes at them. "Leave your guns in the lockbox over there. Handcuffs, too." He jerked his chin to their right.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Kelsey," Fitz said, his tone slightly less mild. "We mean no harm. We just need to confirm some of the information Mr. St. John gave us. We can be done here in under an hour."

"Not with your weapons, you won't," Kelsey insisted.

"I had my weapon on me when he came to the station," Hunter reminded the man.

"That was your house," Kelsey pointed out. "This is Luc's house, his sanctuary, and you are not coming in here with guns. Take your time. We were in the middle of dinner, anyway."

Before either of them could respond, Kelsey walked away, leaving them standing on the porch.

"Well, shit," Fitz muttered.

"When in Rome," Hunter murmured, reaching under his blazer to pull his weapon out of the holster on his ribs.

He popped the clip out and slid it into his pocket. Stepping aside, he saw slots at the top of the lockbox. He slid his weapon inside. After a moment, he dropped his cuffs as well.

Fitz shook his head and followed suit. "This ain't fuckin' Rome," he growled.

"Close enough." Hunter waved a hand at the carved, vine-wrapped columns.

Hunter arched a brow, hearing a click. The wrought-iron screen swung toward them. With a shrug, he caught it, pulled it all the way open, and stepped through.

The entry was tiled in soft cream colors, highlighted with rich browns, and muted grays. Dark stone leaping panthers bracketed a ramp going down toward a large, open, and airy space where Kelsey waited.

"Okay, do not move anything," he told them, holding their eyes with an intensity Hunter couldn't decide if he should admire or worry about. "Keep your voices low, and don't worry about him being able to hear you. Don't try to turn on any lights. What you see is the most you get."

"Right, no moving things, got it," Fitz tried to move forward, but Kelsey blocked him.

"This is serious," he snapped. "Luc's hearing is ridiculously sensitive, and his eyes cannot bear more than minimal electric light. Sudden loud noises and bright lights give him migraines.

"Everything in this house is arranged to give him maximum mobility and comfort. Luc doesn't use his cane at home. You move anything -on a table, the floor, the couch- even a smidge and it throws him off, skews his mental map. He'll get disoriented and lost in his own house.

"So. Don't. Move. Anything."

Hunter put a hand on Fitz's arm and smiled at Kelsey. "We understand, Mr. Kelsey. We will not move anything. And we will speak softly."

Kelsey narrowed his dark brown eyes at Fitz until he nodded.

"I apologize and I understand. Speak softly. Move nothing. No lights."

Kelsey side-eyed them for a moment, then turned to lead them through a wide arched doorway. They walked down another ramp into a sunken living room.

Two dark gray rounded sectionals sat around a low heavy oak coffee table. Delicate chandelier lamps sat on four matching end tables, glowing with soft yellow muted bulbs. Greenery rustled everywhere in clay pots, filling the open space, and giving it a cozy, but breezy feeling.

In the gap between the sectionals, a large wicker chair sat with a soft chenille throw and a velvet pillow. Small silver tables sat on either side of the chair, and St. John stood in front of it, head tilted as he smiled in welcome.

"Good evening, Detective Carlisle," he said quietly. "And...Fitzgerald?"

"Yes, Mr. St. John," Fitz replied, his rumbled tone pitched respectfully low.

St. John nodded slightly. He clasped his hands in the wide sleeves of his saffron yellow tunic. "Related to Mama Roz?"

Fitz swallowed, and Hunter moved a little closer to him. "She was my mother, yes."

St. John closed his eyes for a moment, and his smile grew sad. "Mama Roz was a sweet and loving soul, a beacon of light and hope for so many. My heart goes out to you. I lost my aunt three years ago, and I still miss her daily."

"Thank you," Fitz managed, his voice thick. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard.

"We apologize for disturbing you so late in the evening," Hunter stepped in, giving Fitz time to get himself together. St. John's expression of sympathy was unexpected but felt sincere.

"There has been a development in the case, and we needed to discuss it with you."

St. John took a slow, deep breath and looked away from them. "Which one did you find?" he asked.

Hunter and Fitz shared a look.

"The one in the car," Hunter confirmed.

St. John turned back to them, and that eerie light Hunter saw in his office lit the emerald depths of his eyes. "He has been there longer than the others," he murmured.

"We need to know how you know that Mr. St. John," Fitz said. "And we need to confirm where you were when he got put there."

"He was here," Kelsey snarled. "Having a fucking nightmare."

"Jordy."

The authority St. John spoke with startled all of them, immediately silenced Kelsey, and sent shivers down Hunter's back and a twitch to his cock. St. John's voice was as quiet as a petal falling, but harder than a battering ram. It added a compelling new layer to Hunter's view of the man.

"Detectives," St. John continued in a milder tone, "please, sit down. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability."

St. John settled into the wicker chair, resting his hands in his lap. The fingerless gloves he wore only came to the base of his fingers. Ribboned burn scars, faded with time, coursed along each of his long, tapered digits.

Hunter and Fitz took seats on opposite sides of him, on the sectionals. Hunter noticed the glow in his eyes fading out.

"Do you mind if we record this?" Hunter asked.

"So long as you agree to stop if I ask it of you."

"Of course," Hunter replied. He put his recorder on the coffee table and turned it on.

"Mr. St. John," Fitz began, "you spoke with Detective Carlisle earlier this week about the case we're working on."

"Yes."

"At that time, you disclosed the location of three bodies you believed were victims of the same perpetrator."

"Yes."

"Can you tell us how you know about them and where we would find those bodies?"

"I dreamed it."

"You mentioned a previous instance of dreaming such things to Detective Carlisle," Fitz prompted.

"Yes."

"In that instance, did your dreams prove to be accurate?"

"Tragically, they were," St. John answered.

"You were arrested in connection with those murders, correct?"

"I was, yes."

"Were you in any way involved in those crimes, Mr. St. John?"

"You know he wasn't!" Kelsey hissed.

"Jordy, I would much appreciate a pot of jasmine tea for my guests," St. John said, his voice strong and sharp.

"He's accusing you-"

"Thank you, Jordy."

Hunter arched a brow when Kelsey clamped his mouth shut and shuffled off to do what he was told. He took a moment to subtly adjust his seat and saw Fitz do the same.

Sometimes it sucked to be turned on by authority.

St. John sighed. "I apologize. Jordy was with me and my aunt during that entire unpleasant business. He has been my friend since childhood, and he is deeply concerned for my welfare.

"To answer you, no, Detective, I was not involved. I was here in Texas when the killings began, and in the town lockup when two more killings occurred.

"The local law enforcement interrogated me for hours, insisting I had an accomplice. Finally, they had no choice but to release me, having no evidence other than my own statements.

"Aunt Prudence brought me back to Texas immediately, and subsequently sued the department on my behalf to expunge the arrest from my record. I doubt you will find any information on the matter. Pru's legal team is quite thorough."

"Thank you," Fitz glanced at Hunter, who nodded.

There wasn't even a fingerprint card on record of Lucien St. John's arrest in West Virginia.

"Mr. St. John, when did you begin having dreams about this current instance of murders?"

"Approximately six months ago. I had not had a dream like that for several years, since before my aunt died, so I did not credit it until I continued to have more dreams along the same vein over the next few weeks."

"And why did you decide to come forward now?"

"Jordy is not alone in his concern. I didn't want to be arrested again for knowing intimate details that no one should. It is horrifying to watch this person stalk and steal these people from their lives," St. John went on earnestly. "I wake night after night knowing the pain and fear these people are experiencing. If I can, in any small way, bring an end to these heinous acts, I must."

Hunter felt the truth of St. John's words to the depths of his soul, but feelings wouldn't clear the artist of suspicion.

"I understand you are legally blind, Mr. St. John?" he asked.

"Yes, completely. I lost my sight when I was four years old. I cannot see at all."

"Do you have medical documentation of this?"

"I do. I will be happy to provide it to you."

"Do you own a car?"

"My aunt left me her collection in her will. They are parked in the garage."

"Do you ever use any of them?"

"When Jordy or my assistant can't drive me, I use a car service."

"I completely understand, but we need to have some other means of confirming your whereabouts," Fitz took back over. "I noticed you have Fitzgerald Security guards."

Hunter continued taking notes as Kelsey returned with a rolling cart holding a beautiful tea service. It looked like pale green porcelain. Kelsey silently began to prepare a cup of tea for St. John, but his movements conveyed his banked fury.

"Yes, Prudence arranged for it. We have used them for years. Thank you, Jordy. Tea, Detectives?"

"Please," Hunter smiled at Kelsey, hoping to make peace with the man. They were just doing their jobs, after all, and they were trying to clear St. John of suspicion. "Honey with lemon, thank you."

Fitz took his tea with honey, no lemon. As they sipped, Kelsey sat on the other end of the coffee table, watching them.

"Do you also have Fitzgerald for your alarm system?" Hunter asked. The tea was delicious, tasting like perfume on his tongue.

"I do," St. John sipped his tea, closing his eyes to savor it. "It is the Excelsior system, customized to my needs, of course, with motion detection and voice response. I have cameras all over the property and the house as well as multiple keypads inside, in the garage, and at the guardhouse."

"So," Fitz sat forward, "that system tracks your movements when you leave and return home. I noticed your guards made a note of our names when we entered."

"All comings and goings are manually and electronically logged and uploaded hourly to a secure remote server, as I understand it, yes."

"If you allow us to access those logs," Hunter said, "it could definitively confirm your location."

"As the presumed new CEO of Fitzgerald Safety and Security," St. John smiled, "you could access those logs with a phone call, even a text, Detective Fitzgerald."

"I could, yes," Fitz agreed, "but that would violate your privacy and Fitzgerald's contractual obligation to maintain such without a signed release from you."

St. John nodded, tapping his teacup. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that, Detective. I will gladly sign whatever you need and supply the logs you require. Jordy."

The other man stood quickly.

"Please download the last six months of security logs for the Detectives. There should be a zip drive big enough to hold the files in my office."

Hunter arched a brow when Kelsey hesitated.

"I don't want to leave you alone, Luc."

"I am not alone, Jordy," St. John replied firmly. "The Detectives will remain until they have what they need to clear me or condemn me."

Convinced, but still distrustful, Kelsey left them again.

"Would you stop the recording, please, Detective?"

Hunter immediately turned the recorder off and put it in his pocket.

St. John cleared his throat. "If you have not already discovered such, you should be aware that Prudence St. John did not exist before she adopted me. And I was not Lucien St. John before my fifth birthday."

Fitz nodded and Hunter replied, "We did have some trouble confirming Ms. St. John's residential and employment history before she adopted you. And there is no school, medical, or any other record of Lucien St. John before the age of five.

"When I attempted to dig deeper, I ran into Federal roadblocks."

"That makes sense," St. John confirmed. "I cannot tell you who Prudence was before because I never knew her by any other name. I do know that she was a government agent. Her final assignment was to protect me."

"Do you know what agency she worked for?" Hunter asked.

St. John gave him a tight smile. "Prudence was a CIA operative, with ties to Interpol and MI-6."

Hunter sat in shocked silence with Fitz, each of them processing the information quickly.

"CIA isn't supposed to work within the confines of the USA," Hunter said.

"Correct," St. John nodded, "but her first contact with us was in Italia... Italy. My father was a translator, my mother worked with him.

"My father overheard something that disturbed him so deeply that he reported it to authorities. Unfortunately, the people involved were aware of him, and his family. They had to flee their home, and eventually the country.

"As I am told, my mother was heavily pregnant with me, and should not have been traveling, let alone under such distressing circumstances. It was Prudence who arranged their escape and escorted them to this country. The flight was so turbulent, that Mamma was thrown into labor. Prudence and Pappa helped her deliver me within minutes of the plane landing at La Guardia Airport, granting me dual citizenship."

"What a way to come into the world," Fitz muttered. "Your mama was a trooper, hangin' on just long enough."

"Is the case classified?" Hunter asked, intrigued.

"I am uncertain, but I will tell you what I know. I want you to be sure of me," St. John held them with his sightless eyes, open and honest. "If there is an issue, I will deal with it as I must."

"We don't want you to jeopardize your safety, Lucien...Mr. St. John," Hunter said quickly.

"Please don't feel obligated to tell us anything that might do so. The security logs will be more than enough to verify your whereabouts."

"Thank you, Hunter," Lucien's warm smile made flutters of delight bloom in Hunter's belly. "I want to. I have never spoken of this to anyone. I believe it will be cathartic."

"We will do everything we can to keep you safe," Fitz promised, and Hunter saw he was as affected by Lucien's sincerity.

"Thank you." Lucien put his teacup down. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, resting his hands on his lap.

The movement tickled Hunter's memory but he pushed it aside as the man began to speak.

"My family is from Vinci in the Toscana province in Italy. My father, the youngest of seven brothers, struck out on his own and met my mother at university in Florence. They were both linguists and after graduation, encountered each other during their search for work. Eventually, they joined forces, he as the translator, she as the transcriber, and married after a short courtship.

"I am the youngest of ten children, seven sons, and three daughters. When we arrived in America, we spent many years on the move. I do not recall how many times we picked up and ran, only that we never were safe. Prudence was always there, always working to protect us. She was the one who would relocate us, and never left us to flounder.

"My brother, Giacomo, was only two years older than me. He always played with me. I had just turned four when we could finally stay more than a few months. We were apparently, finally safe, because Pappa built a treehouse for us. It was our favorite place to play. Mino would come out with me when he got home from school.

"Pappa built platforms going up the tree, almost all the way up. I loved to climb to the highest platform, but Mino would never climb that high. I could see into the street, over our house from there. At night the stars were close enough to touch. It was beautiful. Peaceful. It was our home.

"One day, I suppose it must have been summer because Mino played with me all day. I was on my high perch in the treehouse, and I saw Pappa's car come home. It was the middle of the day, far too early for him to be home. He was driving so fast that the car went into the grass, over Mamma's flowers. Pappa ran inside, calling out to Mamma.

"Our sister, Izabetta came out and told us we had to leave. I started jumping down, branch to branch, something I often did for fun. I watched Mino run up the stairs to the back door and I jumped to the ground. Then there was the brightest light, the loudest noise, and I was flying, and burning."

Hunter waited, sympathy overflowing his heart, as Lucien took a few deep breaths before going on.

"I know now that our house exploded. Prudence never told me the details, but the people my father exposed in Italy found us and found a way to end all of us.

"I woke to pain, burning and throbbing all over my body and darkness. I thought I was in a dark room because I could see nothing, hardly hear anything, and the pain was everywhere.

"I was later told that my family was killed. Prudence took me away and kept me safe. She made me learn my new name, making sure I would always answer it. She made me learn a new story, a new life.

"I learned to live in the dark, to hear and smell, taste, and feel my way through the world. Prudence was not my mother, but she was a mother to me longer than my own. I do not know what would have become of me without her."

Lucien blew out a slow breath, and Hunter watched him blink slowly. He retrieved his cup and leaned forward, finding the pot without any problems.

They sat in silence while he prepared and took a sip of his tea.

"Lucien," Hunter said softly. "What was your name...before?"

A slow sad smile curved his lips. "I was born Luciano San Giovanni. Pappa was Gilberto Mancini, and Mamma was Magdalena San Giovanni."

Hunter clutched his teacup and Fitz almost dropped his. Their gazes clashed as Lucien closed his eyes on a sip of tea.

Fitz carefully put the delicate cup down, and Hunter did the same.

"That case," Fitz shook his head. "It was an international human trafficking case. Your parents helped recover hundreds of kidnapped children around the world."

Lucien's sad smile remained, as he rested his cup on his knee. "Prudence gave me all her files, just before she died. She said she wanted me to know that my parents were heroes."

"Damn," Hunter was floored and humbled. "You went through more in the first five years of your existence than most people deal with in a lifetime."

Lucien shrugged. "I can only view it through the eyes of a child," he said. "I only know what I was told, and what I found in my aunt's files. I had to forget being Luciano completely and become Lucien. My life, Pru's life, depended on it.

"The only thing I was allowed to keep was my mother tongue. Pru would speak to me in Italian here at home and taught me to speak English for my school lessons and with my few playmates. I am grateful for it, otherwise, I would have lost every bit of my heritage."

"Thank you for trusting us with this," Hunter said.

Lucien dazzled him with a bright smile that left his mouth dry. "As I said, it was truly cathartic. Jordy, do you have the files?"

"Yeah, right here."

Hunter blinked when Kelsey came forward and held out a disc.

"Thank you," Fitz stood and accepted the disc. He pulled an evidence bag from an inside pocket and slipped it inside. "I think we've taken enough'a your time tonight, Mr. St. John."

"I appreciate your diligence," Lucien replied, putting his cup aside and rising. His movements were so fluid Hunter had to swallow a gasp.

Watching this man move might become a new obsession.

"Thank you so much for seeing us," Hunter added, rising as well. "And the tea was wonderful. Thank you for making it, Mr. Kelsey."

Kelsey blinked at him in surprise and Lucien smiled.

"Jordy, will you see the Detectives out and their weapons returned, please?"

"Sure," Kelsey nodded. "I put your dinner in the oven to keep it warm, Luc. Detectives, if you'll come with me."