Rockwell Agency: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Not too far, but you need to get a car,” the driver said, clucking his tongue and shaking his head at them.

  Liam looked at Hannah, and they both shrugged, shy smiles tugging at their lips, as they tried to fall back into their easy way with each other. He held the back door of the cab open for her, and he followed after her when she got in.

  As they drove to Winnifred’s house, Liam looked over at Hannah. She was looking out the window, lost in thought, and he reached over, touching the back of her hand lightly. Hannah jumped a bit, but then she looked over at him. Their eyes met, and Hannah turned her hand over so that their palms touched. He laced his fingers through hers, and pressed warmly, earning the first real smile he had seen from her since they’d gotten out of the car at the community center earlier that day.

  When his stomach rumbled loudly, her smile got bigger. “It’s almost lunchtime. We need to get you something to eat.”

  “Well, I’m not touching a thing Winnifred puts in front of me,” he said, firmly, only half joking. “I don’t trust that woman as far as I can throw her.”

  “I don’t either,” Hannah said. “She’s an ally of necessity—not a true ally. We need to figure out what that diary was about. I don’t think she manufactured it.”

  Liam shook his head. “I don’t either. That’s what’s so confusing. I mean, it looked like Trinity’s writing and everything. It sounded like her voice.”

  Hannah shifted slightly, looking a bit uncomfortable. “You remember what her writing looks like?”

  “She was always leaving notes on Post-its,” Liam said, recognizing the signs of jealousy and loving it, even as he tried to reassure her. “Not like sweet notes or anything. If she slept over and left before I got up, then she would leave a note saying thanks, and she’d call in a few days. Or she’d leave a note on the fridge saying that she’d used the last of the milk. Or she’d write notes to herself. She had her own sticky note holder that she carried in her purse.”

  “I see …” Hannah said, tapping a finger against her lips. “Hmm.”

  “What?” Liam asked, knowing she was turning something over in her head.

  “If she was such a writer,” Hannah said, “then I’m guessing there’s a lot more around than just her journal. We need to look in the office at the store where she worked. In her desk at home. I wonder if the police have found any notes of significance. It’s something to look into.”

  Liam raised his eyebrows. “I wonder if they’ve found any notes with my name on them. Winnifred took her journal before the police got there, right? But Trinity could have written other stuff about me.”

  Hannah darted her eyes toward the cab driver, who was clearly listening intently. “It’s possible.” She gave Liam the signal to not say anything more about the case.

  They arrived at the address that Agnew had given them, and the cab driver stopped. Hannah gave him the money that Liam had handed her, and they got out, looking around at the large house with pale purple paint slathered along its sides.

  It was a monstrosity of great proportions. Like a lavender box with a yellow porch and columns decorated with garlands of flowers. The windows and doors were painted a stark white and they had large purple and yellow flowers painted on them. It was the kind of house that might not be out of place in the French Quarter of New Orleans, but it stuck out like a sore thumb in this relatively blasé neighborhood in Baton Rouge.

  “Wow,” Liam said, shaking his head. “Not what I expected.”

  “Me either,” Hannah said, glancing at the other houses in the neighborhood, all of which were either painted taupe or a pleasant shade of yellow that was several notches down from the yellow splashed on the porch in front of them. “Winnifred did not …strike me as someone who would live in a house like this. First, she’s apparently rich. And this does not suggest …wealth. But more than that. She’s so dark. I mean, she’s a murderer. Attempted murder still makes you a murderer, so even if you’re the only person she’s ever tried to kill, she’s still a murderer.”

  “I’m definitely not the only person she’s ever tried to kill,” Liam said, confident in that much. “This is not her first time.”

  “Well it’s going to be her last,” Hannah said, striding up the sidewalk to the porch stairs. She took them quickly, then rapped her knuckles against the door. “Agnew?”

  The door opened quickly, and Liam caught just a glimpse of Agnew before he ushered them both inside and closed the door behind them. Agnew looked at Liam and scanned him. “Get yourself sorted out?”

  Liam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine now. Sorry.”

  “Well, we have a problem,” Agnew said, his voice low. “She’s been going through all of her proof again, and she’s gotten herself worked up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going slightly senile. Being a witch doesn’t protect you from that, now does it? She’s got boxes and boxes of things that Trinity kept, and she’s tearing through all of it, convincing herself even more, that Liam is responsible for all of this.”

  Liam’s gut clenched. “Great …”

  Before Hannah could respond, though, Winnifred appeared in the doorway of the room. She was walking now, and she looked strong as an ox despite her age. The wheelchair was clearly a prop that she used when she was out, and when it was convenient for her. “You,” she said, pointing her gnarled finger at Liam. “It was you. I know it was. You killed my granddaughter. I was a fool to think for a moment that I had made a mistake. You—girl! You swore to me that you would help me kill him yourself when I proved that he was the killer.”

  Winnifred stalked forward, thrusting a piece of paper into Hannah’s face. “Read the words right here.”

  Hannah leaned back, taking the piece of paper and scanning it. Her face paled, and Liam’s heart sank.

  “I’ll kill you, you bitch. You deserve to die. You never deserved to be born, and it’s on me to right that wrong now. It’ll be my pleasure to watch you bleed out.” Hannah’s voice shook slightly, as she read the violent words out loud. Then she looked up at Liam and held the paper out to him. “It says Liam,” she murmured. “At the bottom. Your name.”

  And she was right. There, scrawled across the bottom of the hateful threat, were the four letters of his name, emblazoning his guilt for anyone to see. Liam felt his face flush with heat and his palms begin to sweat. He reached for words, but he didn’t know how to find any that would wash away the hard evidence that was before him.

  If he’d had this kind of evidence in court, he would have buried the accused with it. It would never have mattered how many times the accused swore that he never could have and never would have done such a thing. He wouldn’t care. The jury wouldn’t care. All they would need to see was that note with his name scrawled beneath it, and they would convict.

  He looked guilty.

  He even felt guilty. Even he was beginning to wonder if he had gone insane and somehow he’d had this whole other relationship with Trinity that his brain, when he was in his right mind, didn’t remember. It happened to people. They blocked out things—did horrible, violent acts, and then totally forgot about them when they woke up. Was that him? Was he sick? Did he even know himself anymore?

  The questions spun around and around in his mind, almost making him dizzy. And as his vision grew hazy, then cleared, then grew hazy again, he saw it. And he snatched the paper out of Hannah’s hands, shaking his head. “That’s not me,” he said. “That’s not me—Hannah, it’s not me. Look. Look at the signature. That’s not me.”

  Chapter 27

  Hannah

  The moment that Hannah saw what Liam was pointing to, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Then a wave of guilt, because for a split second she had doubted him. It was almost impossible not to feel a flicker of doubt in light of the evidence that was mounting up. But he was right. The signature that was scrawled at the bottom wasn’t his. She had seen him sign receipts. She had seen his writing at his office. This wasn’t him.

 
Hannah nodded her head. “I know. I see it. Winnifred—this isn’t Liam. This isn’t his writing.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Winnifred said, her face red with rage. “I’m going to end him where he stands, and you—you girl. You’re going after him for trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

  Hannah wasn’t the least bit afraid of the woman. Not for herself, anyway. Witches’ curses never took the way they were supposed to against a dragon shifter. They might sting a bit, or even worse than that if the spell was especially potent. But Winnifred couldn’t kill Hannah with a curse any more than Hannah could kill Winnifred with a curse. But Liam was a different story.

  “Wait,” Hannah said, looking at Agnew pointedly, as he provided no help at all, standing off to the side and watching them through narrowed eyes. “Wait,” she said again, a little more calmly. Even still, she stepped between Winnifred and Liam. “You want the truth, right?”

  “I want justice.”

  “Is there ever justice without truth?” Hannah asked, looking into the woman’s sunken eyes, rimmed with dark rings and wrinkles. “You have all of this evidence against him, and I agree that it looks bad for him. But don’t you think it’s a little …too convenient? What person with any kind of intelligence sends hate notes like this? What crime has ever been committed where the evidence is this damning and the denial is so consistent? Doesn’t that make you suspicious?”

  Winnifred grimaced at her, her wrinkled face disappearing behind even more folds as her eyebrows dipped down towards her eyes, and her lips pinched together, creating lines around her mouth. “You’re not susceptible to me.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m not. That’s true. You can’t do anything to me. But I assume you just tried.”

  “I tried to put a shutting-up spell on you,” Winnifred said. “I’m tired of listening to your nonsense.”

  “Grandmother,” Agnew said, stepping forward. “If you kill these two people, the police are bound to come looking for you, too, you know.”

  Winnifred snarled at him. “Oh, don’t start with me, Agnew. You’ve always been a disappointment. From the day you were born, you were never half the child that your sister was.”

  “Grandmother, I was born before her,” Agnew said, sounding exhausted. “Surely I didn’t pale in comparison to her before she was born.”

  “Of course, you did,” Winnifred said. “Now you’ve brought me these two liars and murderers. You’d side with them over your sister. You never deserved her.”

  Agnew sighed, shaking his head. “You always saw her through rose-colored glasses, Grandmother. But she wasn’t everything you thought she was. She really wasn’t. She just knew how to play you. Trinity was the only person, actually, who could play you. And she had you wrapped around her little finger. She said jump, and you asked how high?”

  Winnifred narrowed her eyes, advancing on Agnew. “You take that back.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” Agnew said, his shoulders squaring, and his back straightening. “It’s about time that someone told you off, and I don’t think that you can kill all three of us standing here, although I’m sure you would do it if you could. You’re a nasty old woman, and you might have been more powerful, but Trinity was smarter than you. She knew how to keep you on the leash, so that you made her life easy, but she still managed to do just about whatever she wanted to. I begged her—begged her—to see what you really were and to stand up to you with me, but she never wanted to. She liked her life the way it was. She was in charge.”

  Winnifred lifted her hand, and Hannah started to step forward, ready to interfere if Winnifred tried to cast a spell on Agnew.

  But the old woman only slapped her grandson, the stinging, red print of her hand plastered against his cheek. “Go to hell.”

  And right there, in front of their eyes, Agnew started to burn, his skin igniting in an instant, and the flames consuming his clothing.

  It all happened so fast that Hannah hardly knew what she was doing. But somehow she shoved Winnifred to the side, sending the old woman sprawling onto the ground, and she grabbed Agnew, sending him tumbling to the ground as well, but with her. She rolled them over and over on the carpet, appreciating for the first time that the carpet was thick and plush, like in old-fashioned houses.

  Agnew was screaming and flailing, but Hannah gripped him as hard as she could, rolling back and forth until the flames had been stamped out of his clothes and off his skin. When she finally stopped, both of them were breathing hard, lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling.

  Liam’s face appeared over Hannah’s, marred with concern. “Oh my God—are you okay? Hannah?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, although she did feel singed. “I’m …fine. Just fine. Where is …?” She looked over, seeing Winnifred still sprawled on the ground, her arm at an unnatural angle and pain twisting her expression. “Oh.”

  “You broke my arm,” Winnifred hissed. “You’re going to pay for that. I’m going to—.”

  Winnifred’s words cut off as Liam straightened and aimed a hard kick right at the back of her head. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her eyelids shut, and her whole body went limp there on the floor, like a bag of crumpling bones wrapped in a sagging silk bag.

  “I know that, as a general rule, that’s not acceptable behavior,” Liam said, “but I’m starting to get really tired of her getting to decide who gets to live and die. If it weren’t for you, Hannah, Agnew and I would both be dead.”

  He reached down to her, and Hannah took his hands, letting him pull her to her feet. When she was standing, she leaned into his arms, letting him hold for a moment. His lips brushed against her hair, and her eyes closed as she savored just a brief moment of peace. “It was the right thing to do in this case. While she’s unconscious, we need to work as quickly as possible.”

  Hannah turned and looked down at Agnew, who had been burned far worse than she had. She walked over to him and crouched, touching his shoulder. “Agnew?”

  Agnew looked at her, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “Go,” Agnew said, brushing her off. “Go and take advantage of the time you have. There won’t be another opportunity once she wakes up. Find the journal. Find the letters.”

  Hannah nodded, standing up and glancing at Winnifred. “Maybe we should save the world from her …” She was amazed that she had gotten to the point where she was considering killing a woman in cold blood, while she was defenseless. But Winnifred couldn’t be reasoned with, and she couldn’t be stopped when she was awake. At least, she couldn’t be stopped without taking too great a risk with Liam and Agnew’s lives.

  “No,” Agnew said, biting the word out. “She doesn’t deserve that peaceful a death, lying there unconscious. She needs someone to finally put her to shame. I want her to know how wrong she was about Trinity. About Liam. About everything. And then I want her death to be painful.”

  Hannah didn’t blame the man for his fury. She looked over at Liam, then back at Agnew. “Watch her,” Hannah said to Agnew, taking Liam’s hand and tugging him towards her. “We’re going to go back and search through everything. Stay here and the moment she starts to stir—call for us.”

  Agnew nodded, and Hannah stooped and picked up the letter Winnifred had been waving. It had fallen to the floor when Winnifred had. “Come on,” she said to Liam, stepping around the woman and drawing him with her. “We need to figure out where all this so-called evidence is coming from, and this might be our only chance.”

  “I’m in,” Liam said, following her.

  They made their way down the hall, Hannah following her instincts. The house seemed to go on forever and a day, as though it was far, far bigger on the inside than anyone could ever tell from the outside. It wasn’t surprising. Witches were known for their ability to bend space. No doubt there was a spell on the entire house, making it as spacious as Winnifred could ever dream.

  Sure enough, as t
hey followed the hall around a bend, the walls opened up into a space roughly the size of a football stadium. The room was enormous, which only made it more impressive that it was so thoroughly cluttered with stacks of boxes, furniture, statues, and even plants that appeared to be growing and flourishing out of nothing. The space was so big that it didn’t even matter that there was, in fact, a ceiling that encompassed all of it. It still seemed to go on forever, and as Hannah turned in a slow circle, surveying the space, she wondered how they were ever going to find anything at all.

  “Wow,” Liam said, turning slowly with her. “Things just keep getting …weirder.”

  “And more difficult,” Hannah said. “As conceptually interesting as this space is, it means that we’ve got next to no chance of finding what we want before Winnifred comes to. Even if you kicked her hard enough, she’s not going to be unconscious indefinitely. Or even for ten more minutes.”

  Liam nodded. “Well. This actually feels a lot like discovery—you know, when we’re investigating a case, and we get all the other party’s stuff turned over to us. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but I do often get stacks and stacks of boxes of paperwork dumped on my desk, designed to make it as difficult as possible for me to find what I want. There’s a strategy to looking through all of that.”

  “What’s that strategy?” Hannah asked, eyes sweeping over the boxes nearest to them.

  “It’s called touch and toss,” Liam said. “Touch every single piece of paper, because every piece has equal opportunity to be the most vital part of your case. But the moment you decide that it’s not that piece of paper, you toss it into a pile, and you don’t touch it again. Some people call it grab and scan, but touch and toss can work so much better.”

  “Then start touching and tossing,” Hannah said, walking over to a box and pulling it open. “What if there’s a box filled with dead frogs? Do I have to touch all of those?”

  “God, no,” Liam said, working on his own box. “But if there’s a box filled with financial statements …”