by Eva Chase
“Well, you didn’t do that bad a job bandaging yourself up for someone bleeding out and one-armed,” the doctor muttered, packing and binding my wounds with professional efficiency. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
He could probably tell those injuries weren’t enough to have kept me so close to the village. I caught his eyes. “I fell. Hurt my leg. It’s not bleeding or broken, I don’t think, just hard to walk on.”
From the brief tightening on his face, I could tell he’d followed my hint. He knew what kind of trouble I’d had with my leg before.
“I guess we can thank you for thinning the herd up there before we showed up?” Garrett said, in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified by the short work I’d made of however many cultists I’d dispatched. Four? Five?
He grimaced. “Bunch of sick lunatics. I can’t believe some of the things they had stashed away.”
Good. They’d gotten what they’d come for, then. I glanced at Sherlock, little more than a tall lanky silhouette behind the glow of the flashlight. “How did you know I was here? I’d have thought you had better things to do than track that bracelet.”
“I did.” He lowered the light enough for me to make out the curl of his lips into a wry smile. “But one distinctive red hair snagged on a twig, an unusual scuffing in the dirt, and a bit of blood told the story well enough.”
“Good thing,” John said. With his help, I pushed myself onto my feet. The right one met the ground with a sensation as if it was sifting through sand. That wasn’t promising at all.
“We could bring you up back to the choppers,” Garrett said.
My chest twisted even tighter. I shook my head. “No. Bash is waiting for me. He’ll already be worried.” I could have asked for one of their phones to relieve a few of those worries, but I didn’t want to give them his number. Who knew what information Sherlock could turn up from that.
Besides, the thought of squeezing into a vehicle full of cops and members of the cult I’d spent the last ten years fighting made my skin itch.
John looked to Sherlock. “We could help her make the walk down. It’s not that much farther than we came before.”
“By daylight,” Garrett muttered.
“We wouldn’t all have to make the trip,” Sherlock said, in a tone that placed immediate judgment on anyone unwilling to.
Garrett’s jaw clenched. “We’re in this together, aren’t we? I’ll tell the squad leader that we need to meet up with our operative. It’ll fit the story we gave them well enough.”
He set off toward the village. Sherlock maneuvered down over the rocky ground with swings of his crutch.
I eyed him skeptically. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be going back for that helicopter ride?”
“I made it this far,” Sherlock said. “Between the four of us, we have five good legs. That seems like plenty.”
If a fresh burst of pain hadn’t flared around my cuff, I would have laughed. As it was, I had to grit my teeth to keep from gasping. My fingers tightened where I was gripping John’s elbow. He looked at me in concern.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I just want to get away from this place.”
“You found what you needed?” he asked.
“My mission was successful.”
Garrett returned a moment later with a flashlight of his own. “All right,” he said. “Let’s see if we can make it to the bottom without any more injuries.”
It was an awkward, rambling descent, veering back and forth as we followed the most even patches of ground. Insects hummed in the brush, and twigs crackled under our feet. My discomfort clung on, but with each step away from the commune, it eased a fraction more. It hadn’t been just the dagger but that whole place setting the cuff’s effects into overdrive.
John chuckled to himself and glanced at the other men. “Doesn’t this remind you of that case where we spent the whole night wandering around the hilly part of Greenwich Park checking the angles of a bike light around the trees?”
“Lord, don’t remind me,” Garrett said. “At least tonight we know we accomplished something. I swear Sherlock had that case figured out three days before he let the rest of us in on it—he just likes ordering us around.”
“We did narrow down the suspects with the information we gleaned with that activity,” Sherlock reminded them. “It was a lovely night—rather refreshing, as I recall it.”
John outright laughed at that, and a moment later Garrett joined in. Sherlock glowered at them, but he couldn’t completely suppress a smile.
Their easy comradery flowed around me with a different sort of warmth than I was usually looking to spark. The kind of warmth that made me want to toss in a clever remark of my own, to become a part of that connection.
A pang spread through my chest. I set my jaw against it. It didn’t matter if I liked these men. No, that was all the more reason I had to move on. They could accept me for the moment while we had the same goals, but in the long run? Ha. I’d find myself in handcuffs again.
They’d just have to find new ways to entertain themselves without me.
When we finally emerged from the trees near the pull-off where Bash was waiting, he strode to meet us with a ferocity in his eyes I wouldn’t have wanted to be at the wrong end of.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“I had an unfortunate encounter with a knife and then a bullet,” I said in the most carefree voice I could summon. “My doctor friend patched them up very nicely, though.”
Bash studied me. He could probably tell I was suffering more than just that. The long clamber down had left me exhausted on top of everything else. All I wanted to do was fall into the seat of the van and shut my eyes.
“We should get you to the hospital,” John said.
I waved him off. “It’s nothing a little rest can’t cure.” And whatever doctors my upcoming travels could provide.
“Jemma,” Garrett started.
I fixed him with a firm look. “I know myself better than anyone does. Besides, you’ve got this big case to assist with now. There are worse things in this world than me.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Maybe they’re right,” Bash said, to my surprise. “We still have a few loose ends to tie up. Why don’t we see if they can contribute?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. We’d arrived here separately in the van and the car so we’d have two vehicles in case things turned dire, but the plan had been to hop in the van and floor it to the airport the second I showed up. Granted, I had meant to show up a couple hours earlier. That shouldn’t change things all that much.
Did he think I wasn’t fit to fly? I took a couple steps, if wobbly ones, on my own and moved my arm while restraining a wince. “What’s there to contribute to? I’m good. I bounce back fast. Give me my hotel bed, and I’ll have all I need.”
He gazed back at me steadily. “It seems like you’ve run into more complications than you expected.”
When had I ever not wriggled my way back out of a situation like that? I tapped his chest. “Into the van with you.” I turned to the trio and fished the car’s keys out of my pocket. “Since I took you away from your chopper, why don’t the three of you drive my car back? If there’s anything else you think we absolutely have to talk about tonight, you can meet us in the lobby. I’ll give you ten minutes. You can even have a head start.”
My blasé attitude must have been convincing enough. I tossed the keys to John, who snatched them out of the air with a smile. “Don’t burn any rubber,” I warned him.
“There are a few matters I would like to discuss, if not tonight then in the morning,” Sherlock said, but when I nodded, he moved with the others to the car.
I hopped into the van next to Bash. “Let them go first,” I said. “I did promise them their head start.”
“What are you up to, Mori?”
I watched as the car’s headlights blinked on, swept across the dirt road, and pulled ahead of us
on their way back to the city. The pang came back, digging deeper. I shook it away.
“As soon as we’re close enough to the city, lose them and get us to the airport. We’re still flying out tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bash
It wasn’t hard to lose the Londoners. I let the van drift several car lengths back as if by chance so we weren’t directly in their rearview mirror. Then, when they turned off the highway into the city, we roared on by.
Jemma had borrowed my phone to check flight times. The electronic light reflected off her face, which was a sicklier shade of pale than I’d seen it any time except that one panicked night in London and the night six years ago when she’d gone to rescue her sister and failed. She didn’t look up, but the corner of her mouth tightened as we left the three behind. She was paying attention, even if she didn’t want to show it.
“Swing around to head back south as soon as you can,” she said. “They’ll expect us to head for the local airport or to Zagreb. We’re going to Dubrovnik instead. We should get there right in time for the first morning flights. This exit up here should let you loop around fast.”
She set down the phone for long enough to saw through the silver tracking bracelet Sherlock had fastened around her wrist. As soon as she’d snapped it free, she tossed it and the little hand-saw out the window. They crunched under the tires of a car the next lane over.
I swerved around at the exit she’d indicated, watching her in moments between watching the road.
It wasn’t just her paleness that worried me. Now and then her hand trembled where she’d picked up the phone again. The set of her jaw told me she wasn’t just focused but mastering the pain that must still be wracking her shoulder and arm. The pungent scent of the antiseptic Watson had applied tainted the air along with a metallic hint of blood. We had Vicodin in the van, but she’d refused it, saying she wanted her mind sharp.
I was pretty sure she was suffering from more than just the obvious wounds too. It took a lot to shake Jemma Moriarty’s composure this clearly. Her confrontation with the cult had hurt her in other ways too, ways I couldn’t entirely understand.
Ways I didn’t think even she had been prepared for. Would she have made it down the mountain at all if Sherlock hadn’t found her? The question sent an uneasy jab through my chest. I’d have gone looking for her eventually, orders be damned, but I couldn’t say for sure I’d have found her in time.
“Where are we flying into?” I asked.
“I’ll take the earliest one—that’ll get me to Dusseldorf. There’s one a little later into Istanbul that we’ll put you on. From there, I think our easiest meet-up point will be Paris. Maybe we’ll take a day or two there before we embark on our ocean crossing.”
“You said we’re going to Chile?”
She nodded. “That’s the end point. But I’m thinking word will spread about our adventure tonight, and my monsters might figure out what I’m planning. There’s going to be a solar eclipse over part of Chile next week—that’s what I need to get there for. It’s probably better if we don’t arrive until just before I can use it.”
Lowering the phone into her lap, she closed her eyes. It was just past four in the morning, and she looked as if she needed a few days’ worth of sleep. Maybe she could catch a couple hours during the drive to the airport.
Five minutes later, her whole body tensed with a breath sucked through her teeth. I winced, my hands clenching around the steering wheel.
“Mori?”
“It’s okay,” she said in an unnaturally hollow voice. “It’s getting better now that the fucking dagger is stashed in the back.”
In the entire seven years I’d worked for and alongside Jemma, I’d never once doubted that she could pull off whatever scheme she set her mind to—not even in those sick-with-anguish moments in the past. Those, she’d barreled through with her usual force of will. Right now, looking at her, hearing her, the suspicion niggled at me that something tonight had attacked her right down to her strength of will.
Whatever she had to do in Chile, it was even more important than this mission tonight had been. She’d just told me she expected the monsters she was battling to track her there. Tonight they hadn’t been ready for her. How much worse was the fight going to be when they were?
If she’d been one of my early clients, this would have been the moment where I’d have backed out. A client wavering on the edge put everyone around them at risk. I wasn’t in this for thrills. I had no interest in gambling with my life just for a little extra money.
But I hadn’t been in this for the money for a long time. The idea of abandoning Jemma didn’t even feel like an idea, just a concept as bizarre as turning my gun collection into an art installation or running away to join the goddamn circus.
I’d meant it every time I told her I’d have her back through anything. But I’d been saying that to the Jemma I knew, the Jemma who always came out on top. I still meant it now, though, didn’t I? Even if she faltered, even if she stumbled right into some monster’s maw, I’d be right there with her.
I cared about this woman too fucking much, and I didn’t even mind.
I cared about her enough that I couldn’t help saying, even though she’d shot down my earlier hints, “Your London friends did end up coming in handy. Are you sure we couldn’t put them to some good use overseas?”
Jemma snorted softly. “You should be glad we’re rid of them,” she teased. “No more competition.” Her eyes turned more serious as she contemplated the landscape beyond the window. Dark waves undulated across the moonlit ocean at our right. “Anyway, they’re more hassle than they’re worth. They might make more of a mess rather than less of one. We can handle this just the two of us.”
Did she completely believe that, or was she trying to convince herself as well as me? For just a second, before she rubbed her hand over her face and closed her eyes again, I’d have sworn she looked sad.
“They seemed to handle the mess tonight just fine,” I said, because apparently I didn’t know when to quit.
Jemma opened her eyes to shoot me a narrow look. “What is it with you right now? You don’t even like them.”
But you do. And maybe what she’d said about me wasn’t entirely true. All three of them could be jackasses in their assorted ways, Sherlock especially, and I wasn’t absolving them of dragging her off at gunpoint any time soon, but I’d seen the way they responded to her during our planning. It was hard to completely hate anyone who’d give this woman all the respect she was due, even if they gave it somewhat begrudgingly.
“I know how important this last operation is,” I said instead. “Anything that could swing the situation more in our favor sounds good to me. We’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of them so far.”
Jemma smirked for a moment before that good humor faded. “We did. But convincing them to travel halfway across the world and battle monsters is a very different thing. I’m not going to count on that kind of commitment.”
Maybe she should, though—or at least give it a shot. If they didn’t turn up, we weren’t any worse off than otherwise. After everything I’d seen, I couldn’t believe she really thought they’d screw things up more than they’d contribute, unwittingly or not.
I drove in silence for a while, mulling that over, trying to find the right words to frame around the growing knot of uneasiness in my chest. Finally, I said, “I’ve never told you about my father.”
“Not enough that I know more than that he was an asshole,” Jemma said.
“That would be phrasing it mildly. He put on a good front—had a nice white-collar job, sniveled to his bosses like a loyal lackey—but he hated being ordered around. He got back at them by skimming profits out from under them, and he took out the rest of his frustration by pushing us around—me and my brother and sister, and sometimes my mom too if she tried to stop him.”
Those memories didn’t bring up any emotion now other than a dull resignation. That
was what normal had looked like for the first sixteen years of my existence: cutting insults and barked criticisms, a shove, a smack. And I didn’t see any need to think back on the even darker moments when his frustration had tipped over into fury.
Jemma’s full attention was on me now. “Well, he sounds like a prime candidate for getting a bullet in the brain.”
I had to laugh, without much humor. “That’s what I thought. I got the younger ones out of there to our grandparents when I could, and then I conned my way into army training early. The whole time I was out there in the field, I knew I was coming back for him. It was the only thing I was sure of.”
“Then he got what he deserved.”
“I think so, but not exactly like that.” I paused. “When I went back for him, I hadn’t been in touch for years. It turned out my mom had finally kicked him out of the house. He’d gotten caught at his job, fired and blacklisted. He was working at some shitty diner serving coffee and going home alone to a dingy roach-infested apartment. He couldn’t have been more miserable. I watched him for a while, and all I could think was, why would I want to put him out of his misery? He earned that. Let him stew in it. So, I left with the bullet still in my gun.”
Jemma smiled. “My earlier comment still stands, then.”
“It does,” I agreed. “My point is—I’ve only spared someone’s life once, and that was to leave him worse off than if I’d killed him. I’ve never seen you back down from a necessary hit. But you trusted those three enough that you decided you were better off with them still living, even after what they did to you, even with them being on the other side of the law. It’s up to you what we do about them now. I won’t bring it up again. I just thought I should point that out.”
Jemma was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice came out a little stiffly. “I think I’m in the best position to make judgments on how we go forward. The less said about the London trio from here on, the better. Understood?”
I dipped my head, the knot in my chest hardening into something more pointedly uncomfortable. “Understood.”
