“Where to, then?”
“Regroup. Rearm. And pay my old boss a visit.”
She nodded, so much strength behind her eyes it made Lockman quit breathing for a second. An amazing kid. Unpredictable. Unreasonable. Irrational. But amazing.
She deserved her normal life back.
She would have her normal life back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kate lost all sense of time after the hood went over her head. The masked strangers had guided her out of the house and put her and Alec into the back of what she was pretty sure was a van. They had to sit on the van’s floor. Her hands were bound with a plastic zip tie behind her back. Each hump in the road the van hit threatened her to tip her off balance and onto her side. She leaned against Alec for support, and he did the same against her, so they managed to make the trip without rolling over. The ride itself felt like an age. The hood and her hot breath trapped inside started making her claustrophobic.
She didn’t ask for them to remove the hood, though. She didn’t want to see them. If she didn’t have any faces to identify, they wouldn’t have to kill her. At least, that’s how it worked in the thrillers she read. Only, how often did that work out?
This wasn’t a thriller. This was real. Cold comfort for anyone who watched enough news.
Eventually, the van had stopped, the engine cut, and she and Alec were pulled from the back.
Now she sat somewhere musty, with an echo that made every foot shuffle sound like the batting wings of a giant moth. Based on the hard, cool feel against her back and the metal seat she could feel with her bound hands, they had her on a metal chair. Alex sat nearby. She could hear his breathing and had heard him grunt when they sat him down hard.
Their captors’ footsteps clopped away, leaving them in silence.
“Babe, you okay?” Alec’s voice sounded strained, as if on the verge of screaming. She appreciated him holding back his fear, she only wished he was better at it.
Her heart pumped hard in her chest. Her throat felt thick. “Why are they doing this?”
“I thought you might know.”
“Me?”
“That old boyfriend of yours shows up, says Jessie’s in danger, then armed men whisk us away. Who is he?”
A valid question and one she realized she didn’t have the answer to. She exhaled slowly and smelled a bitterness on her breath.
The echo of footsteps traveled toward them. Several sets of feet. With the echo, impossible to determine how many approached. Her breath felt twice as hot and smelled twice as bitter under the hood. Her heart ached it beat so hard.
Eventually the footfalls came to rest. Kate imagined a line of masked men with big guns staring at her, lifting their barrels, prepping to cut her and Alec down like a firing squad.
A deep voice that sounded like it belonged on the radio spoke instead. “Split them apart and question them separately.”
A set of hands grasped her arm and pulled her from the chair.
“Please, what do you want? We don’t know anything.”
Kate felt the presence in front of her. He must have stood very close.
“How do you know what you don’t know until you’re asked?”
The slick sound of his voice made her shiver. “We’re just a normal couple. What could you possibly want from us?”
“If I told you, that might ruin the surprise.” The pressure of his presence eased. “Do it.”
The hands on her arm pulled her. She tried to pull free, instinct more than logic guiding her. Where would I go when I got free? But a second pair of hands clutched her free arm, destroying any hope of escape.
“Kate?” Alec shouted. “Kate.” Her name buzzed in the hollow room.
A soft thump, like a punch to a pillow, came from the direction of his voice. He grunted and fell silent.
It took all she had to keep from screaming as these people took her away from her husband. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Most of all, she hoped Craig had found Jessie first.
Dolan sat in what used to be the foreman’s office. The company had left behind an old metal desk, but Dolan’s people had not found a single chair in the entire factory. They had to provide their own chairs. The one Dolan sat in at the cleaned up desk was made with real leather and had a seatback that reached all the way to his head. He had never sat in a piece of office furniture so comfortable. An indulgence, but Dolan did not want for capital. Not with the mayor’s dutiful funding.
Two of Dolan’s soldiers brought Alec Cohen into the office and dropped him in a plain folding chair on the other side of the desk. The soldiers stepped back, but remained in the room waiting for orders.
Dolan smiled. Even mortals could prove loyal to the cause if you could get them to listen to reason. “Leave us.”
They both hesitated a second, but only that. Once the office door closed behind them, Dolan stood and moved around the desk. He yanked the hood off and tossed it on the desk.
Cohen’s hair was disheveled. A dark shadow of beard coated his face.
Dolan clapped his hands. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’d studied at Julliard.”
Cohen scrunched up his face, lip curled. “Are you bringing me in finally?”
“Not just yet.”
He growled. “I’ve been at this for three years. I can’t stand the smell of her anymore. I never could.”
“Well, you do have a more sensitive olfactory system than most of us.”
“At least unbind my hands.”
“No point. We’re putting you back in place as soon as I’ve debriefed you.”
Cohen stood. He had a good six inches on Dolan, but Dolan didn’t flinch. He had something better than height on Cohen.
“You don’t have a choice. Sit down.”
“I’ll stand.”
“You’ll sit like a good dog or I’ll make sure you never see your pups again.”
The rumble at the back of Cohen’s throat managed to tweak Dolan’s own hackles to a standing position. So he took a step forward. One could never show fear to the likes of Cohen.
“Sit.”
Cohen sucked a deep breath through his nose and sat.
“Good boy.” Dolan returned to his seat and propped his feet on the desk. “Explain to me how Lockman was in the house with you and you let him get away.”
“Short of breaking my cover and tackling him right there, I had no options.”
“You could have contacted us before he left instead of after.”
“I didn’t have a chance. He was only there for a few minutes.”
Dolan chewed the inside of his cheek. “He doesn’t hold still for long, does he? Son of a bitch—no offense—hasn’t changed much after all this time.”
“Why is he worth all this trouble?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t need to worry about.”
“You take my family. Take three years of my life, making me pretend to care for something that repulses me. I deserve to know what is at stake.”
“The only thing you deserve is a rolled newspaper to your nose.”
“You didn’t get the girl, did you?”
If there was anything that annoyed Dolan more than most, it was insolent supernaturals that acted as if they had more brains than the animals they were. “I’ve been patient with you. Maybe too much.”
“And where are the vampires?”
“They didn’t work out.”
“Things are falling apart. You’re losing control of your operation.”
“I still have you.”
“You are one mortal. You think you can keep juggling our kind without one of us breaking free?”
“The only leash you need worry about is your own. You’ve already lost one of your pack.”
Cohen’s eyes smoldered. The stubble on his face grew darker right before Dolan’s eyes. “Who?”
“It’s hard to tell. All you pups look the same to me, but I believe it was a brother of yo
urs. We lost him in Nevada. He didn’t wait for back up and suffered for it.”
Cohen’s nostrils quivered as his breath hissed in and out. “I’ll rip your entrails from your belly.”
Dolan dropped his feet from the desk and leaned his elbows on the edge. “Not today. Today you go back to playing house with the woman. You get her to lure Lockman back to where we can capture him.”
“Then you will let my brood free.”
“I’ll do better than that. I will send you all home.”
The rage fell from Cohen’s expression like a pulled drape and left him slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “That’s possible?”
“You get me Lockman and a lot more than that will be possible.”
“I don’t understand. How? What does he know that no one in mortal history ever has?”
Dolan felt the smile stretch across his face despite all the recent complications. “It isn’t what he knows now. It’s what he used to know that will change mortal destiny forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’re certain you don’t want to wait in the car?”
Jessie contorted her face in condescending teen fashion. “Parked in the middle of downtown Detroit at three in the morning? Yeah, that would be safer.”
Lockman pointed at the red apartment door, the tarnished metal 66 at the center followed by an additional 6 in black marker. “The person who lives here could be upsetting.”
“Upsetting how? Like he’s a perv or something?”
“He is not human.”
“Oh.” Her brow furled. “Wait. I thought you said all those things were evil.”
“I said they don’t belong. They’re unnatural. They’re bad.”
“They’re evil.”
“This guy is different.”
“Different how?”
“He’s neutered.”
She opened her mouth and made a gagging noise. “Now I’m disturbed.”
“It’s a figure of speech. Basically, the Agency fixed him so he isn’t dangerous anymore. At least not in the supernatural sense.”
“They did this why?”
“To keep him as a source of information.”
“And he still lives in Detroit, in this apartment, after fifteen years?”
Lockman looked at the door. “I hope so.” He knocked.
The door opened almost immediately. Lockman felt Jessie start beside him and the aura of tension surrounding her. He hoped he hadn’t scared her too much, but he wanted her to be ready.
Only the woman who answered the door was not who Lockman expected. Not even close. She stood barely taller than four foot. Blonde hair cut in a page-boy style. Her hips were nearly as wide as she was tall. Her eyes bulged behind large glasses. Between the height and her odd appearance, it was impossible to guess her age. But she was definitely human, despite her gnomish features.
“I was wondering if you’d actually knock. I heard you two yapping out here.”
“I apologize.” Lockman’s insides crumbled. “We must have the wrong place.”
“No you don’t, hon.”
“I don’t?”
“You’re looking for Marty, right?”
“Does he still live here?”
“I don’t appreciate the way you described him to the young lady.”
“She’s…new to the supernatural. I wanted to make sure she was prepared.”
The short woman appraised Jessie. “You his kid?”
Jessie cleared her throat. “Yeah.”
“He take you to nice places like this often?”
“So far? It’s the only kind of place we’ve been together.”
The gnomish woman turned back to Lockman. “You know Marty back from his Agency days, huh?”
“I’m surprised he shared that with you.”
“We share everything. It’s what married folks do.”
No chance Lockman could have kept from showing the shock all over his face.
The woman smirked. “That’s right, bucko. Seven years now.”
“Congratulations,” was all he could think to say. “Can I talk to him? It’s important.”
“He always said one of you would end up back here. It’s why he refused to move to the burbs like I wanted. Maybe we get this over with, I can finally get him to upgrade. Start a family.”
Lockman offered no input on that score. He wasn’t even sure a human and a supernatural could start a family, let alone if it was a good idea. But the fact that Marty had expected a visit from someone in the Agency intrigued him.
Marty’s wife waved a hand. “Come in. Shoes off at the door. I got nice carpet in here.”
They kicked their shoes off and entered the main living area. The inside of the apartment betrayed every expectation based on the outside. Plush furniture. A spotless and thick carpet. Shining entertainment center with all manner of electronic gadgets hooked into the widescreen plasma in its center. Prints of Monet and Picasso and Munch hung on the walls.
Off to the left, the kitchen glistened with brand new appliances. A hall led off to the right. Marty emerged from that hall.
Jessie shrieked.
The ogre pushed seven-feet tall. His dark green skin looked rougher, scalier than Lockman remembered. Maybe the effects of age. A red stubble peppered Marty’s head. He wore a Detroit Red Wings jersey that would normally hang like a dress even on Lockman’s build, but fit tightly to Marty’s muscled torso.
“Craig fucking Lockman,” Marty said, his voice stuffy and deep.
“Marty.”
“You’re still ugly as sin.”
“You’re pretty as ever.”
“Fuck you, bitch. You know you want to suck my big green dick.”
“Hey, Marty. This is my daughter. She’s thirteen.”
A hint of red tinged his green cheeks. “Excuse my mouth, hon. I didn’t see you standing there.” He ducked under the hall archway and came into the great room. His gaze remained locked on Jessie. “Daughter? Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”
“What makes sense, Marty?”
The ogre frowned. “Eliza, could you get us some drinks. Beer for Craig here. A soda for the young lady?”
Jessie had not moved or made a sound since her initial shriek at the sight of Marty. Her chin dipped almost imperceptibly, might have been a nod. “’Kay.”
“Never seen a Gulogich before, huh?”
Jessie stared.
“We call them ogres here,” Lockman said. “Marty is more culturally proud than most supernaturals.”
“And I fuck…er…flipping hate that term. Supernaturals. Like we’re out of a comic book or something. We’re living beings like everybody else, and we don’t all come from the same place. I mean, do I looking like a goblin to you? Do I look like I could even come from the same plane of existence?”
Jessie gaped silently.
“You’re asking the wrong person, Marty.”
Marty ducked his large head. “Fair enough. Have a seat guys.”
Eliza, the ogre’s wife, set three cans on the coffee table while Marty, Jessie, and Lockman sat down. The beers were Pabst. The soda was orange. Jessie stared at the can in front of her but didn’t touch it.
Lockman snapped open his beer and chugged deep. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the trip to Nevada. Adrenaline had fed him so far. It wouldn’t be long before he shut down. After he got what he needed from Marty, they would have to find a place to hole up.
Marty sipped his beer, his pinky finger, thicker than Lockman’s thumb, sticking out like a Brit at tea time. “I knew I’d see you again.”
“Me specifically?”
Marty nodded. “It was foretold.”
Lockman rolled his eyes. Ever since the Agency had implanted a microchip in Marty’s brain that prevented him from performing violent acts, the ogre had taken to religion—though not any recognizable mortal religion.
“All you’ve seen, yet you still have no faith.”
“The only thing I know for
sure is you and your kind don’t belong here. You know it, too.”
“Who is to say? Maybe the Lords have made our worlds cross for a reason.”
“I don’t need a preacher, Mart. I need a source.”
The ogre leaned back in his chair. The leather upholstery groaned under his weight. “That’s all I am to you?”
“Let’s level. If you didn’t have that chip in your head, you would have ripped my head off the second you saw me.”
“Not true.”
“And you sure as hell wouldn’t have married a mortal.”
Marty’s red eyebrows rose. He looked over Lockman’s shoulder to where his wife stood. “You want to hit him, you can.”
“Not worth it,” she said. “I’m going to go out. Try not to make this visit too long.”
No one spoke while Eliza gathered her coat and left the apartment. Then Marty set his beer can on the coffee table and sighed. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me like that in my own home.”
What could an ogre expect? That he would be accepted here? But hadn’t Eliza accepted him? Which only meant there had to be some screw loose there.
“I didn’t come here to insult you.”
“You came here for weapons.”
“You still deal?”
“What other kind of work could a six-eleven ogre get on this plane?” He pulled a pen and small moleskin notebook out of his pants pocket. “Tell me what you’re hoping for. I’ll have to check the storage shed.”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to know what I’m up against.”
“You think I can tell you that?”
“What does your prophecy say?”
Something smacked the side of his leg.
Jessie said, “Stop being a dick.”
Marty grinned, yellow teeth and all. “I like her.”
“She’s still under the delusion there’s good mojo out there.”
“There isn’t?”
Lockman slammed his beer can onto the coffee table. “You know there isn’t.”
Marty shrugged. “You can’t prove a negative. Just because it hasn’t been witnessed, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Fine, you two can talk philosophy after I get my info and my guns.”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 12
