by Declan Finn
“I’m not,” Mandy replied. And how did she know what I was thinking?
“Because we’re both in your head right now,” she answered. She pointed at the guns. “Put those down. You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”
Mandy blinked, cocked her head, and lowered her guns. After a moment of study, she said, “Moira Dalton?”
The dead woman at the foot of her bed smirked. Damnit, her lips are even sexier than mine. “I preferred Anderson. But I can’t fault you for that mistake.”
Mandy’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, I didn’t put that rebar through your chest, so don’t look at me.” Without looking away from Moira, Mandy found herself thrown off a little. Her surroundings were not the hotel room she had in London. In fact, didn’t she shoot Kevin (the first time) right over there?
“Why are we talking in your Paris flat? In fact, why are we talking? I didn’t do anything to you. I came in after everything was over and done with – including you.”
Moira rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to figure out if Kevin sees you as attractive because you can cover his six like I do, or if because you’re nothing at all like me otherwise.”
He finds me attractive? “Good to know that’s still true,” Mandy added aloud. Might as well deliberately say everything that’s coming out of my head.
“Yes, it is true,” Moira replied. “He won’t say it if he can help it. We’ll have to have a talk with him about it at some point.” She waived it away. “In case you haven’t figured it out –”
“—I’m dreaming. Yes, I’m not stupid. Though I’m trying to figure out why I’m dreaming about you.”
Moira arched a brow. “You finally got your gold untangled from British Red Tape. You’re going to be seeing Kevin again in the first few days. I don’t think we need to be shrinks to diagnose this particular dream.”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “Damnit. Shrinks. Gah.”
Moira grinned. “Ditto. Now, back to my original question, what do you want with my husband?”
Mandy’s head tilted forward, and gave the dead person an amused glance, an affect like looking over glasses. “One, are you kidding me? It’s until death do you part, and you’ve kinda died. Second, how is it your business what I intend to do with him?”
“One, I still have a vested interest in his well-being. Two, it’s your dream. You might want to clarify it if only for your own edification.”
Mandy closed her eyes. She briefly wondered if she could change the station of this dream if she kept her eyes closed enough. Obviously, this was very lucid dreaming. Almost as bad as the dream Kevin went through when she was right next to him, and he thought Mandy had been a dream-Moira.
“You’re welcome for that,” Moira told her.
Mandy didn’t even open her eyes, just bunched her mouth in one corner. “Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, and looked at Moira. “Look. My intentions towards Kevin are…” she threw her hands up in the air, still holding her guns. “Confused. And conflicting. On the one hand, I want to throw him on the bed and screw his brains out until they’re the consistency of yogurt. And on the other hand, I want to just curl up next to him and spend a whole day just being…next to him. He’s a gentleman, and a psycho, and he’s capable, and he’s loyal, and if I was killed, I know that he would violate his exile and hunt down and brutally slaughter anyone responsible. That’s strangely kind of a turn-on. And…and…I think I love him.”
Moira nodded. “Good enough. That’s what I wanted. In that case, I suggest getting out of here and getting on the first plane back to the states, and have some Mercenaries meet you so they can airlift you to San Francisco.”
Mandy blinked, furrowed her brows, and said, “What? Why? Is there a rush? I was told that the serial killer was dead, and dad said nothing about Kaye Wellering being a bitch about it. So, what am I missing? Is he in some sort of danger?”
Moira gave a dramatic eye flare. “Maybe he’s got another lady on the side.”
Mandy gave her yet another of those “really?” looks. “Is that the best you can do? For a part of my subconscious, that’s really lousy reasoning. That’s just pure paranoia. I mean, Kevin finding someone in the next 72 hours if I don’t land on his doorstep?”
Moira paused at that, and deliberately stared off to one side of the room, obviously putting some thought into all of this. “I’m not going to try and convince you that it’s anything other than a dream. It’s a waste of everyone’s time. I’m not sure I’d believe it, were I in your position.”
“Yeah. I’m not going to buy being haunted. You’ve got that right.”
“Okay, fine. I’m your brain. Kevin started hunting the serial killer, and one of his theories would have to be…?”
Mandy blinked, and thought it over. Her father had only walked her through the case itself, none of the dead ends. Had she been doing the investigating? She would have asked Kyle if he did it. Then she’d ask Kyle about assassins who could have done it, were any still alive. Then she’d look into mercenaries who didn’t have an alibi during the time in question. Barring that, there would be, what? Exiles? That would be reasonable. Then she would go to…
Mandy’s eyes shot open. “Nevaeh Kraft.”
“She’s there, you’re not, and Kevin is still a bit emotionally vulnerable.”
Mandy blinked a few times, then shook her head. “But at most, that’s, what, three months of him meeting her? Less, now that I think about it. Kevin’s not going to just jump her.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know, if you’re my anxieties playing on me, you’re using some really lousy rationales. In fact, I don’t think I’m anywhere near this neurotic, even on a subconscious level.”
Mandy’s brows furrowed, and she leaned in close to Moira – as close as she could with her legs in the lotus position on front of her. She studied Moira closely – closer than she ever had when the real Moira was actually in front of her. She had paid scant attention to Moira when she was carrying her corpse to her car. She had paid enough attention to Moira Dalton to remember what her target looked like. When Mandy had found her, dead, she had completely forgotten what the dead woman looked like. Completely. She was just so much dead meat, and let the dead bury the dead.
So how did Mandy manage to create such a crystal clear image of Moira now?
“I don’t believe this,” Mandy whispered. “You’re actually fucking haunting me.”
Moira merely smiled. “I think I know what Kevin sees in you.”
“Did you spin me that crap about Nevaeh Kraft because I knew I would never worry over petty-ante crap like that, and figure this out on my own? Or was that a genuine screw up?”
The smile became a full grin. “I can definitely see it now.”
Mandy cocked her head. “But I still don’t understand what the rush is.”
Moira said nothing for a long moment. “Time’s up.”
***
Mandy shot straight up in bed, her eyes wide open. She glanced around to make damn certain that she was still in London.
She grabbed her comm unit. “This is Mandy. I need an evac out of the UK, back to the states. When I arrive, I want a C-130 ready for takeoff.”
The dispatcher answered, “What’s the rush, Mandy?”
“Are you questioning the boss’ daughter, or someone who outranks you?”
The comm officer hesitated. “We were going to hold a transport for you. I guess the guys can be pissed at you for cutting their shore leave short.”
“They can take it up with my hollowpoints.”
Chapter 28: Things Fall Apart.
March 17th, 2094
Kyle Elsen had been described by Kevin Anderson a few times as, basically, an assassination savant. This included tracking people.
However, in this case, Lotus Hollyfeld, hacker supreme, was herself a savant.
There were only so many times that Alek could hide out in the Muir Woods before somebody noticed him. Even in a city of freaks like San Francisco, a tall, thin albino stood o
ut.
Ever since Kyle had brought the Burner case to the triplets, Lotus had set every listening device they owned to scan for words involving fire. One of the Forsaken had walked into a competing bar, got drunk, and started talking about a nightmarish creature who set one of his “sisters” in the cult ablaze.
It wasn’t particularly difficult for Lotus to put those dots together.
Lotus gave a little smile. It hadn’t surprised Kyle to learn that Lotus had wired all of their competitors for sound. It was just so…”them,” as he put it.
Lotus had, however, not told anyone, including her siblings, that she hadn’t had to bug anything. After all, why should she bother leaving the front door, when Kaye Wellering had done all of the wiring for her?
Granted, Kaye had tried to do that to the Ground Zero once. Lotus absently wondered if Kaye’s minions still had a ringing in his ears from the feedback she sent through them.
***
Nevaeh was having such a great day. It was sun-shiney and beautiful, and one almost never would have known that she was living in some sort of dystopian nightmare out of some bad 20th century science fiction movie.
She was going to see Kevin again.
It was hard to clarify her feelings on Kevin.
“Hello, miss. Can you help me with something?”
Nevaeh turned, and stopped. The man who stood in her doorway was tall and pale and redheaded. Without needing to even think about it, she said, “Emmanuel?”
He smiled. “You’ve heard of me, huh?”
Nevaeh nodded. He was easily twelve feet away. This would be almost too easy. “I have.”
He grinned. “So you know what happens next.”
Her midnight blue eyes narrowed. “Bring it, bitch.”
***
Emmanuel blinked at the effrontery.
When his eyes were still closed, his balls were kicked by what felt like a lead pipe. His eyes flew open, and he leaned forward out of body mechanics, before the pain ever actually hit him. He leaned forward into the fingernail that drove into his right eye. His head shot back, again out of necessity, and he felt something punch him in the throat.
Emmanuel gasped for air and threw himself backwards, he rolled over one shoulder and came up on his feet. His right eye was blurry, but his vision was already improving.
How did Kraft hit him so fast?
Emmanuel barely saw the next kick coming for his knee, but he pointed his knee towards the kick and burst towards it, absorbing the blow on his thigh. It hurt like a bastard, but it felt better than a dislocated kneecap.
And it put Kraft within striking distance.
Emmanuel delivered two quick uppercuts to Kraft’s body, doubling her over. He grabbed the back of her head, and fired a knee right for her face. She blocked it with the fleshy part of both forearms, absorbing the impact. Grabbing his hands, she kicked backwards, her right leg coming off the floor, and whipping around at ninety-degrees to her body, kicking Emmanuel in the head.
Emmanuel growled and spun, throwing her away. She disappeared behind shelving. He leapt the shelving, landing in the aisle…
Kraft was gone. “What the–”
Then the flash powder went off. All of the flash powder.
Emmanuel reared back with a cry, blind.
There was a solid slam into his right kidney. He cringed and twisted, trying to defend the organ, and another hit his ribs.
Emmanuel opened his eyes, and could see Kraft again, out of the corner of his eye.
That didn’t help when the fire extinguisher swung into his face. He tossed himself to one side again, only to feel the heat as he passed.
The flash powder had started a fire.
Emmanuel turned around, saw the flames, and then bounced back at Kraft. He leapt over the flames, and shot out both feet, slamming them into her chest. The drop kick had definitely cracked something.
Emmanuel was on his feet in the blink of an eye, yet Kraft was already gone. Again. How did she do that?
“Don’t make me pull out my knife.”
“Here,” came the answer. “Have mine.”
The answer came from behind him.
The fire that passed through his body was almost indescribable as the sword came out of his stomach. Some people would have used a short knife to stab him in the kidneys. A sword was a bit much.
Usually, a kidney shot was described as a quick, painful death. It hurt so much that one couldn’t even cry out through the pain.
Emmanuel just spun around and backfisted Kraft. She fell back, a little stunned. He pushed the sword back out through his body.
“I cheat,” he explained.
And they were at it again.
***
Kevin Anderson actually felt happy. It was rather strange for him to feel that way. He remembered being amused by San Francisco, bemused, depressed, but happy? Not in the least.
He was also on the way to Nevaeh’s store. The young Kraft girl was almost certainly magic. He wasn’t in love with her, or that’s what he told himself, but she made him feel. It was most likely an illusion, of course. She specialized in illusions; she was a magician after all. And love, with a San Francisco native? That was kind of like mating with a scorpion.
And since the death of that serial killer, Emmanuel, he was feeling fine. Sure, Kaye Wellering might not be happy with him about killing someone who either worked for her or who had been a client once (if his bugging tech was any judge), but he’d wait another month, then try to make amends. She hadn’t said anything yet, but he was certain that had to happen eventually. The crime rate in Chinatown had once again dropped back to almost nothing. The gangs had been wiped out, and they were not to be missed. Kevin hadn’t even seen them.
Alek, though, was underground, and Kevin suspected that it was almost literally underground—or would be when Kyle finally got his way. For a man who claimed to be unafraid of anyone, Alek was certainly doing a good job of faking it.
The spy chuckled to himself, uncertain what Kyle would finally do with the head Burner when they had their next, and last, encounter.
He turned the corner, and Neveah’s store was in sight…
And Kevin could see through the storefront window.
He was there—the serial killer—and his fists came around to clock Nevaeh’s jaw in a mighty roundhouse punch. Both combatants were bloody, but the murderer was smiling, exhilarated.
Shen had told him. “Everyone in San Francisco knows that you don’t mess with Nevaeh Kraft unless you want to die in a horrible, horrible fashion.”
Emmanuel likes a challenge.
Without thinking, Kevin broke into a run and drew at the same time, firing through the window. He was still a hundred paces away when the first shot clipped the killer’s ear, taking it off, and whipping the man’s head around. The second shot sliced past Emmanuel’s forehead, cutting it open. The blood poured out as badly as with any other head wound. The next bullet drove into his left shoulder, and three shots landed in his center mass, most certainly collapsing his right lung.
And then Kevin leapt through the hole-filled plate glass window, clubbing the monster over the head with the butt of his pistol. Once Kevin landed, he jabbed his right elbow behind Emmanuel’s ear, dropping him.
Kevin turned to Nevaeh, and then, stopping, wondered if his assault would have stopped Kyle. Answer: Of course not. Kill him.
He turned back for a coup de grace, only to have a foot come up and send the gun off-line as Kevin fired. The bullet soared off into some nasty-looking magical explosives.
A bright light went off with a muffled poof, and the white-hot flame briefly blinded both the killer and spy.
Just when he could see again, there was a hammerblow coming for his head. He pulled his gun hand back, using both the arm and the gun as a shield. The force of the blow drove him to the floor, and he could feel the muzzle of his gun being grabbed.
Kevin cursed, and then, hitting the clip-release to empty the gun, fired off
the round in the chamber, ripping open Emmanuel’s arm. There was a roar, and Kevin received several kicks in the ribs for his troubles.
There was a whoosh and a burst of flame followed, and Kevin heard several fast footfalls. He rolled onto his back, and then the killer was gone. He came to his feet, ready to pursue, but he paused, looking back to Nevaeh and to her burning shop. The flames were about to reach some of the high-powered pyrotechnics.
He made his choice, grabbed the fire extinguisher and dowsed the flames. Unfortunately, that only made things worse as the flames exploded. He had only squeezed it for less than a second, which was all he needed before he noted that he wasn’t expelling the usual fog of fire suppressing foam, but a clear liquid.
Gasoline—either the Burners or Emmanuel, and I suspect the latter. That’s why he ran so fast.
Kevin growled, tossed the extinguisher outside the window, and then checked over Nevaeh’s neck. Once he confirmed it wasn’t broken, he carefully moved her outside to a safe distance. The young woman was cradled in his arms, her breathing barely there. Her beautiful face had become bloody and puffy…
And all he could see was Moira, broken, bloody and exasperating bubbles of blood as she clung to him. The French bomb’s concussive force had blown her out a window, two or three floors and across the street, but she had still lived. Unfortunately, the only thing keeping her alive had been rebar driven through her lung—it kept the bleeding stopped up... Moira’s lovely blue eyes were open and pleading—
Nevaeh’s swollen eyes opened slightly, midnight blue irises showing through the slits. “Phone.”
“Grab…ass,” had been Moira’s last words to him, directing him to the small of her back, where she had two guns waiting for him.
Kevin Anderson came to an immediate stop—he realized he had been running. He swept down onto one knee and gently placed her on the concrete. He nearly ripped her clothing off checking for wounds, but found her body was almost one massive contusion. It was hard to know where to begin. He quickly got to work, pulling out his own first aid kit—a roll of duct tape. He knew that it would keep the medium wounds from bleeding, and would keep them sealed and infection-free until she could be properly patched up.
