He slid a hand up the open sleeve of the robe, letting his fingers roam all the way up to her shoulders. “What are you wearing under this?” he whispered in her ear.
“Sadly, I’m not naked. The robe fabric’s too itchy.”
He kissed her, not caring for this moment about Matthews or the murder or his damned career. He could survive failure. But he couldn’t survive losing her.
Her hands found their way under his overcoat. “Where’s an industrial-size fridge when you need it?” she said.
That brought him somewhat back to reality, even if he was now as ready as he’d been last night to make love to her. Good thing he had the overcoat to hide the evidence when he went back out there.
“Before I let you wander around my sting tonight, there’s one thing you need to do for me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
That expression often preceded… Best not to go there, not if he wanted to keep focused on work. He cleared his throat. “Not that.”
“What then?”
Chapter Thirteen
Showtime.
Lucy settled into her place as the Ghost of Christmas Future beside the gravestone with the name Ebenezer Scrooge engraved on it.
Al was right. This was a crazy, slapped-together sting. But there was no other choice.
She resisted the urge to wave to the hidden camera in the fake graveyard that surrounded her. Al was in no mood for jokes, with his career at stake and handling the Feds, Matthews and his own people.
They’d gone back and forth about whether she should be invisible from the start. She said appearing and disappearing was more likely to freak out Schneider and whoever else might come with her. Al said being invisible from the start would keep her safer.
In the end, she’d won because she knew the limits of her abilities better than he did. Fixit and Noir were in sync again. Working together didn’t solve their underlying problem, but it felt damn good.
“I still hate this,” Al had whispered in her ear.
And then he’d enforced his one condition, that she wear a flak jacket for protection. Alvarez, the pretty uniformed cop who seemed to be following him around, helped her strap it on.
Alvarez. Lucy hated her already. Sure, no reason to be jealous of a cop who worked with Al. One who obviously worshipped Al. One who could be exactly what Al obviously wanted—a full-time partner in his police work.
No, no reason to be jealous at all. Damn.
Almost time. Matthews took his place in the middle of the room. The dark circles around his eyes accentuated how pale his face still was. He glanced over to the Kwanzaa exhibit where Al, Jacobs and Alvarez were all hidden, but turned at the sound of footsteps.
Schneider walked in first, wearing the same dull-brown pantsuit that Lucy had seen on her yesterday. Behind her walked a very big man, carrying an even bigger shotgun. Damn. A second man followed in their wake, the gun in his waist holder clearly visible.
Crap. She’d hoped for just one bodyguard, not to mention less firepower.
Silence, as Schneider, clearly in charge, sized up Matthews.
“I don’t like meeting here,” Schneider said.
“You said that already on the phone.” Matthews jerked his thumb in the direction of the big man. “Why did you bring him?”
“What’s it to you?” The big man strode up to Matthews, carrying his shotgun easily in one hand. The kid stepped back, and for a moment, Lucy thought Matthews would look in Al’s direction and give the whole thing away.
“Enough, Petit. I hate it here. Do your thing so we can finish as soon as possible,” Schneider said.
Petit? Lucy knew that name. Petit was the head of SWAT, the same guy Al had knocked out to save Rickey’s yesterday. Al obviously should have hit him harder.
“Lift your shirt, kid,” Petit said.
“You think I’m wearing a wire? Give me a break.” Matthews pulled his T-shirt completely off. Petit grabbed him by the shoulders and patted him down anyway. Matthews said nothing. He seemed to be gaining strength as this went on.
Petit slapped Matthews one last time in the middle of the chest. “Yeah, guess you’re clean.”
Matthews grabbed his Yale T-shirt off the floor and put it back on. “You didn’t have to paw me.”
“Sure I did.”
“Petit, let’s get this over with,” Schneider ordered again.
“Sure.” Petit shrugged, brought out a flashlight and walked over to the closest exhibit, A Christmas Carol. Right where Noir was standing.
Petit shined his flashlight first on the Cratchit Christmas Dinner scene. He poked Bob Cratchit with his shotgun barrel, then Mrs. Cratchit. He even pointed the shotgun at Tiny Tim’s head.
“Quit screwing around,” Schneider said. “The police aren’t going to have hidden a midget officer in there to spy on us.”
“Never know.” Petit knocked over Tiny Tim anyway. “Gotta check them all.”
That obviously included Lucy in her guise as the mannequin of the third ghost. Shit. Al had been right. She should have gone invisible.
Petit turned, his flashlight arcing toward the mock graveyard. Lucy took a deep breath and vanished just before the light revealed her.
“I could have sworn there was another mannequin in here.” Petit stepped in the graveyard, still scanning the corners with his flashlight. He reached out with his shotgun and poked the air with his barrel.
Lucy ducked, the barrel just barely clearing her head. Yeah, Al should have definitely hit this goon harder.
“What, are you afraid of the air now?” Schneider said.
Petit stepped out of the graveyard and clicked off the flashlight. “I saw one of the ghosts in there.”
“Nothing there now. Maybe it was shadows?” said the other man.
“There was something there,” Petit insisted.
“We ready now?” Schneider asked.
Petit pointed at all the decorations. “I should look at all those now. You can hide microphones and small video cameras easily.”
“Not the stuff the department uses,” the other man said. “There’s no way we have good enough mics to pick up a conversation in the open like this. At least nothing with the quality that would stand up in court.”
Petit nodded. “Probably right.”
Lucy slipped out of the graveyard, holding the robe tight around her. The hem brushed against the floor, a small sound that seemed to echo in the room.
Petit stopped and stared right where she was standing, his eyes narrowed. Again, he reached out with the shotgun.
This time she sidestepped and kept going until she was directly behind him. She had the urge to whisper “boo” in his ear but resisted.
“What do you expect to find in empty air?” Schneider asked.
“I talked to your guards at city hall. They said something hit them from empty air.” He made a full three-sixty and Lucy moved with him, vowing never to wear a robe again.
“You never know. This is Fixit’s case, and there are some weird rumors out there about him. He’s a sneaky bastard.”
“Sneaky enough to be invisible? C’mon, Petit,” the other man said.
Petit shrugged again. “Yeah, okay.”
Lucy froze, hoping Petit would lose interest. Given how he liked poking around with that shotgun, he just might let off a shot for shits and giggles. Sure, she was wearing a vest but she had no idea how that would hold up to a point-blank shotgun blast.
“Are we going to get started?” Matthews stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“You called this meeting. You start,” Schneider said.
Matthews took a deep breath. “I want in on the arrangement you had with my boss and that involves a lot of dollar signs.”
Silence reigned. Noir held her breath. Matthews couldn’t entrap
them. Schneider and Petit had to say clearly what was going on.
“C’mon, you guys didn’t agree to meet me because you wanted to look at the exhibit,” Matthews said. “What do you need me to do?”
“What can you do?” Schneider said.
“I’m going to be promoted to curator of Modern Art. I’ll have the same opportunities as Johns did in that position. I can do the same as he did for you.”
“I knew Johns. I knew him very well. I knew I could trust him.” Schneider’s voice caught.
Obviously, the woman had liked Johns. So easy to think of Schneider as an enemy and forget she was human too.
“And we don’t know you,” Petit said.
“But…?” Matthews said.
“Murder put us behind schedule. We’ve got a client demanding delivery like yesterday,” Petit said. “Johns should’ve handled it last week, but he got distracted.” For some reason, Petit glared at Schneider. “You should have insisted he get it done.”
“Shut up, Petit,” Schneider said.
Lucy wasn’t sure how to sort out all the undercurrents. Something was up with Schneider. Still, whatever it was, Lucy was damn well going to pay the most attention to the guy with the shotgun.
“Will you just tell me what you need?” Matthews asked.
“First, understand, I’m not going to trust you to just take over and deliver the package. Petit is going to accompany you. As security, of course,” Schneider said.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. So long as you pay me up front,” Matthews said.
“You get paid when you make the delivery,” Schneider said.
“I get paid or I don’t make the delivery.”
Petit pointed the shotgun at Matthews again. “You do it our way. Your job is to make sure that item disappears from the museum inventory and pack the painting for shipment. We get paid on delivery, then you get paid.”
Matthews put up his hands. “Okay, okay. Jesus, watch it with that.”
Petit lowered the shotgun.
“But I want the same cut Johns had,” Matthews said.
“You’re getting whatever we decide you’re getting. That’s a helluva lot less than Johns,” Petit said.
That was enough to incriminate Petit and Schneider. Al should move in now. But maybe he was waiting for Matthews to be clear of Petit and his very big shotgun.
“If I’m doing the same work as Johns, I should get paid the same,” Matthews said.
“Johns had this shit worked out. He was a smart guy. He made us all rich. You’re just an errand boy.”
“If Johns was so smart, how’d he end up dead?” Matthews snapped.
Lucy nearly winced. Wrong, wrong thing to say.
“What did you say?” Schneider said through gritted teeth.
Matthews pointed at Petit. “You think Johns was so smart? He was so dumb even a city accountant figured out his scheme. Even I figured him out.”
Kid, shut up, Lucy thought. What was Matthews doing?
“Stupid? Are you calling Sholly stupid?” Schneider asked.
Matthews finally realized he’d said the wrong thing and began backing away. “Never mind. Just call me and tell me when you want the package.”
“I want to know what you meant.” Schneider stalked toward Matthews. “What the hell did you mean, Sholly was stupid?”
“Uh, nothing.” Matthews kept backing away. Closer to Al.
Schneider grabbed the kid’s shirt and pulled a handgun from her blazer pocket.
Crap.
Schneider put the gun barrel against Matthews head. “What. Did. You. Mean?”
Unexpectedly, Matthews laughed. “Fuck you. You’re just like him. But he’s dead now. I bet you will be too soon.”
Schneider put her face up close to Matthews. “You killed him, didn’t you, you little shit.”
Petit leveled his shotgun at Matthews and Schneider. The other guy, Petit’s buddy, drew his weapon too. Dammit. Lucy didn’t know who to take out first.
“Hey, Schneider, back off. The last thing we need is another murder to draw attention to this,” Petit said.
Lucy hadn’t expected him to be the voice of reason, but she wasn’t complaining.
“What the fuck do I care?” Schneider said, never taking the gun off Matthews’ head. Matthews’ eyes were closed and he was shaking.
“The whole point of all this was to retire with Sholly. The money was for us. All those years of working in this Satan’s armpit of a city were going to finally pay off. Now, I got nothing.” Schneider let go of Matthews’ shirt and stepped back, aiming at his chest. “And I bet it’s this kid’s fault.”
Matthews put up his hands. “Don’t!”
Enough.
Lucy put her hands out and concentrated, sending a blinding burst of light that flashed from floor to ceiling.
Matthews fell and began scrambling blindly backwards in the direction of the Kwanzaa exhibit. Schneider put her hands over her head. The second gunman shielded his eyes and swore.
Petit let out a loud “Fuck” and fired the shotgun.
The blast hit the lights hanging from the ceiling. The strand crashed to the floor, half-covering Matthews. He moaned and began grabbing blindly at the strands.
“This is you, isn’t it, Fixit? Fucker!” Petit yelled, cocked the shotgun and aimed in the direction of where the lights had fallen.
Lucy pulled at Matthews’ arm to get him out of the way. Petit fired again. Matthews rolled free.
Half the shotgun blast caught Lucy in the chest, knocking her sideways. She bit back a cry of pain. That hurt as bad as getting backhanded by the monster, Jack.
Petit cocked the shotgun once more. “Fixit. Come out and face me.”
A gun fired. Petit spun around, clutched his arm and dropped the shotgun, swearing.
“I may not be able to see you but I can hear you just fine, Petit,” Al called out.
Lucy’s light burst started to fade. Schneider ran for the exit, trying to escape. Lucy regained her feet and tackled the woman. The momentum took them straight into the middle of the fake graveyard.
Lucy’s shoulder knocked over a gravestone. She rolled off Schneider, grabbed the woman’s wrist and slammed it on another tombstone repeatedly until Schneider dropped the gun. Schneider cried out as blood dripped from the back of her hand.
“What the hell are you? What is this?” Schneider grabbed out wildly and came up with a handful of robe. “Dammit, that’s enough!”
Oh shut up, Lucy thought. She smacked Schneider on the chin. The woman moaned and rolled to the side, holding her injured wrist.
“This isn’t possible,” Schneider said, moaning.
Behind her, Lucy heard Al.
“Petit. Down on the floor, now, asshole!” he said.
Lucy stood up, letting the robe of the Ghost of Christmas Future swirl around her. Oh, this was too perfect.
She loomed over Schneider and became visible once more.
“You’re not possible,” Schneider whispered.
Lucy concentrated. Invisibility wasn’t what was needed. Freakiness was. She took a deep breath and nearly winced as a sharp pain lanced through her ribs.
Not now.
Lucy created another kind of light, one that seeped out from the robe’s hood and arms so she looked like a glowing spirit.
“Get away!” Schneider flailed with her feet.
Lucy sidestepped the kicks and shook her finger disapprovingly at Schneider.
The movement sent another sharp spike of pain to Noir’s chest. She ignored the injury and continued to loom over Schneider, her hidden face glowing.
Schneider gurgled.
Schneider had her back braced against a gravestone. Lucy crooked a finger at her, then pointed to the gravestone.
“Leave me alone,�
� Schneider whispered.
Lucy pointed to the gravestone again and vanished.
Schneider screamed.
Detective Jacobs ran into the graveyard, pulled Schneider to her feet and cuffed her.
Lucy sighed with relief, holding her ribs, and walked back onto the museum floor, still invisible.
Petit was down on the floor. Al had his foot planted firmly on Petit’s injured arm and his gun pointed at Petit’s head. Alvarez had the other armed man cuffed and secured.
Matthews pushed the rest of the Christmas lights off him. “I don’t understand. What just happened?”
No one answered him.
Al holstered his gun and cuffed Petit. Petit let out a stream of curse words, complaining about his arm being shot.
“I hope the arm stays broken, asshole,” Al said.
Al looked around. Looking for her, Lucy decided. She tapped him on the shoulder, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Hey, Fixit.”
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Sure.” No sense having him worry about her catching part of the shotgun blast.
“Meet me in the foyer,” Al whispered as he pulled Petit with him toward the exit. “Jacobs, radio for an ambulance for my prisoner,” he said in a normal tone. “And tell the Feds waiting out there that the scene is secure.”
“Yes, Captain.” He pulled his police radio from his belt, using the other hand to hold on to Schneider, who offered no resistance.
Alvarez looked around. “Captain, what was that thing in the cemetery? Was that part of the plan?”
“Death!” Schneider screamed. “Death was in the cemetery.”
“A confession was in the plan, Rookie. Guess Dickens couldn’t avoid getting involved too,” Al said.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy had to walk slowly to the back room because the ache in her ribs hadn’t gone away. As soon as she was in a secluded corner, she pulled off the robe and unhooked the Velcro straps, letting the flak jacket fall to the floor.
The thing probably had saved her life but, damn, that still hurt.
She lifted up her shirt and looked at her chest. No bleeding. She pressed the sore area just below her left breast. Ouch. She took a deep breath. Okay, that hurt less than ten seconds ago. She picked up the vest and studied the inside. Shotgun pellets had clearly struck the outside of it but nothing had penetrated the inside liner.
Ghosts of Christmas Past Page 13
