To Love
Page 3
“Then four!”
He gave her another number. This one came with a coughing spell that lasted long moments.
“And...twenty-two. You got...it?”
His voice was barely audible at the end. She didn’t know much about death, but she didn’t need to. Something told her he wasn’t going to need an ambulance. And finally, several of the witnesses decided to come over and check on the situation. They brought their video-recording phones. With lights. As though they needed to record his death throes.
“You need to hush, Mister. Okay? Just...hush.”
He answered her with a garbled bit of noise. And then he stilled.
“Here.” Marla lifted the beard upward. Somebody took it. She didn’t know who. She didn’t want to know. A Druid robe got added to the scene as somebody used it to cover the body. That was macabre.
“He was wearing a false beard?”
Somebody asked it. She didn’t reply. Marla stumbled to her feet. Her entire body was experiencing a tingling sensation. The headache was coming back. This time it was really going to be hell. Throbs of ache were just starting to ping through her temples. She needed to check on the Highlander guy. Make sure he was still okay. It wasn’t but eight, maybe ten steps to get back to where he’d fallen. Or...where she remembered him.
Something was very wrong here. The Highlander was gone. There was a crowd of people standing about, mucking up the area for any investigation. More lights got added to the scene. Flashing lights. Colored lights. While the noise grew correspondingly. Marla looked at the grass where he’d been. She wasn’t mistaken. It was still dented from the man’s large frame. She walked through the crowd next, intent on the Highlander. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. He’d disappeared? It wasn’t possible.
She’d ask someone, but her head was really starting to hurt. She was having difficulty thinking around the pain. One thing for certain, she hadn’t imagined him. The icepick that had killed the false-bearded man came from somewhere. Her Peruvian sweater was missing. She’d also lost Chad’s ring and her sunglasses. If she didn’t miss her guess, she was headed toward a bit of time in an English police station, too, whatever that entailed.
Marla returned to where the Highlander had been. Rubbed at her temples while she considered where he’d lain. It was still just as empty, although the grass wasn’t as flattened as it had been.
Wow.
If this was her destiny, she wanted a refund.
CHAPTER FIVE
His sporran jiggled without warning. Cullen looked down in surprise at the sensation, before bird notes emitted next, proving it was one of his cell phones. They truly vibrate? He’d had his cell phones on vibrate mode since the Vampire Assassin League sent them. He’d watched it tremble in his palm before. This is the first time he’d felt it. It tickled. Annoyed. He snagged the pack and slid one out before he had to scratch.
“Yes?”
“Ah. Cullen. There you are. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
It was Akron calling. Not Nigel. That was odd, but not enough to take Cullen’s interest from the front stoop, three-and-a-half-stories beneath him.
“Nae,” he answered.
“Ah. Good. You’re just hanging out then.”
Cullen blinked. There was no possible way Akron could know he was perched atop a concrete ledge, next to a drain pipe, just below a roof eave, blending in nicely with the red bricks all about him. Nor could Akron know he’d been here all day. It was just a figure of speech. An odd one coming from Akron, but still...
“What is it, Sir?” he asked.
“Well. I was going to ring you up and go over the Lang murder video. I wasn’t planning a pleasant conversation, either.”
“Um. Video?”
“You heard me. Video. Apparently it’s going viral, too. Surely you knew that might happen when you selected a World Heritage Site as a setting last night?”
Two policemen exited the building below him. Cullen watched them go to the vehicles. It must be shift change. Again.
“Not really,” he answered.
“Well. As I just said, I originally planned to open this call with the statement that your handling of the Lang assignment had to be the worst example of covert killing activity I’ve seen. Barring most of the assignments sent to Rafaele de Jesus y Santiago, of course. I expect his hits will be messy. That man is a walking billboard for 4-D services.”
Cullen mumbled something. He wasn’t really listening. The sun was setting although nothing changed much. It was still drizzling. Had been all day. Cullen didn’t mind rain. It was a Scotsman birthright. And today, it had the added benefit of keeping everyone at street level from looking up toward him. But he knew night was falling. He felt it. Everything on him perked up. Energy was flowing. With that came a strange feeling of warmth. And all kinds of new sensations.
“But I have since changed my opinion. Had a paradigm shift, if you will.”
“Sir?”
“Very few associates handle a hit in full view of no less then twelve cameras while at a highly populated tourist site. Nor would they escape with a minimum amount of notoriety. And even better. You actually managed to get an innocent bystander to handle the hit and the resultant fall-out.”
“That isn’t what—” Cullen started to explain, but Akron interrupted him.
“It’s more than remarkable. It’s brilliant. Why...you are demonstrating such ability, I truly believe Nigel would benefit from your leadership.”
“Nigel...Beathan?”
“Of course, Nigel Beathan. What other Nigel would I be referring to? He’s chomping at the bit for some field experience, and you just demonstrated major skills. What could be better?”
“He’s a bairn.”
“You’re not much older, if I don’t miss my guess.”
“Twenty-three. Full grown.”
“Ah. Yes. Twenty-three. A Highlander from the dark past. They did mature fairly early back then...mainly because they died so young. If I don’t miss my guess, you were probably nearing middle age. This call has reached it’s time limit. Grab another cell.”
The connection went dead. Cullen looked at the phone for long moments before sticking it in the gutter above his head. The building maintenance crew could try to figure that out when they next cleaned. He fished out another cell. His mind wasn’t on Akron, or VAL, or the call. And he truly didn’t have time for Nigel. Not now. Not when everything was focused and ready. Not when he’d found his mate!
The phone trembled in his hand. Cullen slid the front of the credit-card sized phone open. Akron was already talking.
“Of course, Nigel. He’d be delighted to host you. Cullen?”
“Yes?”
“Nigel has added to his wardrobe. Apparently he’s very fond of MacKettryck clan colors. That won’t be an issue for you, will it?”
“But, Sir—”
“It’s red-on-black. You wear black-on-red. Not too different. Entirely different centuries, but for all I know, you’re related somewhere down the line. No? Well. I remember hearing that a Scotsman never forgets. So I decided to check. No ancient clan rivalry I’m not aware of?”
“Sir. It’s not a good time.”
“Why not? Oh. Wait. There is one thing I needed to clear up first. Minor issue.”
“What?”
“The code.”
“Code?”
Cullen’s interest perked up on the scene below. Several officers had exited and stood beneath him, speaking to still-unseen persons. Voices drifted upward. Feminine voices mixed with masculine ones. Maybe his mate was finally making an appearance?
“Surely you read the last part of your assignment?”
Cullen narrowed his eyes. No. His mate wasn’t in this batch. There was a man, holding hands with a woman that could be his wife. They were followed by two girls that could be related. They were escorted to a waiting van. They didn’t look happy. They looked tired. Cullen heard one of the officers gave a warning.
“Well? Cullen?” Akron asked.
“Oh. Sorry, Sir. What was the question again?”
Akron sighed. The sound was amplified into horn-blowing decibel range. Cullen snatched the phone back, but too late. His ear was already ringing. He rubbed absently at it while moving the cell to his other ear.
“Our clients wanted their problem eliminated, Cullen. Permanently.”
“He’s dead. It’s pretty permanent.”
“Amusing. Barely. The assignment wasn’t just for Alton Lang’s death. There was a codicil at the end of your message.”
“Oh. That.”
Now that Akron mentioned it, Cullen remembered. There had been some words at the bottom of his message. He’d skimmed them before deleting.
“Apparently Lang was a very smart man. Smarter than our clients realized. He’d have to be to pull off this heist. I know you read about his ability to use disguises. Otherwise, you’d have lost him.”
“Uh...” Cullen didn’t know how to answer.
“He also padded his odds. He knew his firm’s weaknesses...and their...shall we say fiscal illegalities? He’s got files that could send CEOs to very nice barred places. For a very long time. Lang sent them a warning. That’s why they used us. We’re the best. We can find anyone, eliminate anything, and get their secrets.”
“Secrets?”
“Lang had secret files. They’re to be sent to the nearest authorities if anything happens to him. Hmm. Getting stabbed by a complete stranger at Stonehenge definitely fits that criteria. Therefore, I certainly hope you read the entire assignment, and consequently you have the code.”
“Not...at the moment,” Cullen remarked.
“Well. Someone does. Did Alton exhibit any proclivity for an accomplice by any chance?”
“Aye. ’Twas a red-headed woman. Right bonny.”
“You know where she is?”
“I nearly beheaded her last eve.”
“Ah. She must be the Jane-slash-John Doe the local authorities are stymied over. The discovery of her remains, as well as her true gender, are on another video. Also going viral. What a quandary for all involved. I don’t suppose she coughed up the code before you eliminated her?”
“No.”
“Well. I guess that leaves us with the woman.”
“Woman?”
“This call is near the time limit. I really detest technology sometimes. Get another cell, Cullen. I’ll call right back.”
Cullen slid the phone shut as he leaned forward. Another group was leaving the building. They had a woman with them. She looked small. Insubstantial. Overwhelmed. And old. Cullen pulled back to his perch.
It wasn’t his mate.
Again.
He was just ditching the cell beside the last one when another one rang. Cullen pulled it from his sporran with his other hand. Opened it. Akron was already speaking again, but he wasn’t talking to Nigel.
“Cullen? Good. No more wasting time. The police have a woman they’re questioning. Let me see...yes. Here it is. Marla Sanders. She was the one brandishing the murder weapon. No one can explain where she got it, although she continues to tell them it came from a tall, muscled, young, handsome fellow who fell at her feet. And then he just up and disappeared. Oh. He was also wearing a kilt. At Stonehenge. During the fall equinox. Hmm. What are the odds there would have been another Highlander there?”
“I can explain,” Cullen began.
“No. Please. Allow me to fill in the gaps. It’s so much more entertaining. And it’s not a problem. Nobody believes her at present. If I didn’t recognize your description, I’d have trouble believing her. Oh. Look. It appears your Miss Sanders hails from over here. United States passport. Las Vegas, Nevada. Nice name. Nice face. Hmm. Nothing remarkable...”
Cullen’s back clenched. He forced it to relax. Nothing remarkable? Only the most wonderful thing in his world.
“She has also told them the deceased gave her a series of numbers. She doesn’t recollect the exact sequence, and the authorities don’t know what it means, but I do.”
“You do?”
“Miss Sanders has the code. I would suggest you get back to England. Post-haste.”
“I haven’t left, Sir.”
“You stayed in the south? Odd. But fortuitous. I would highly suggest you get your hands on Miss Sanders then.”
“I’m at the station, Sir. Waiting. Have been all day.”
“You’re at the Wiltshire Constabulary Headquarters? On Devizes?”
“The same.”
“Truly? My. My. I really am impressed. That soothes my mind completely.”
“It does?”
“You are the perfect assassin to mentor Nigel. You have a plan for exiting England, too? Once you achieve possession of Miss Sanders? Why do I ask? Of course you do.”
“I never—”
“Rails will be perfect. The overnight train to Scotland. Good idea. MacKettryck keeps private cars at most of the stations. Let me see...Nigel? Bring up the UK rail lines. Look. It’s exactly as Cullen noted. The Duke of MacKettryck has a car at Watford Junction. We can get it linked to the 2133. The order must’ve gotten misdirected. Send another one. Yes. Now.”
“Watford Junction?” Cullen asked.
“Easy station to spot. Especially from the air. It’s obvious that was your plan. And I am impressed.”
Cullen pulled the phone away and stared at it for a moment. This was completely out-of-character. And mystifying. He never prepared. Akron knew it. Cullen preferred freedom. He took everything head-on. His claymore and skean at his side. And little else. That’s why he had a pile of funds in accounts throughout the world, but only one castle. And it was a ruin.
“Cullen? Cullen, you there?”
He put the cell back against his ear. “Aye.”
“Well. It’s settled then. You have two hours leeway. 2133 is the time of departure. Your car is emblazoned with the MacKettryck Clan crest. It’ll be connected at the end of the train. It’s the perfect solution.”
“But, Sir—”
“You’ll like it, I think. It’s steam-punk.”
“What?”
“Oh. Wait. Now I think of it, I’d best go with Victorian. Thoran MacKettryck never did like gadgets.”
“Victorian?”
“You’ll see. All kinds of mood-lighting, privacy, and such. I’m pretty sure you had that in mind for when you start to...ahem. Well. When you attempt to find out what Miss Sanders knows. Are we on the same page, MacCorrick?”
Cullen considered it. His mate. A fancy private rail car. Mood lighting. Privacy. Several hours alone.
“Oh. Aye,” he replied.
“Good. Oh, there’s one more thing before I ring off, Cullen. Before you wrest the damsel from the dragon’s teeth, would you do something for me?”
“What?”
“Retrieve the cell phones from the rain gutter. Destroy them. Forensic science is nothing to sneeze at anymore...and we don’t need the attention.”
The connection ended before Cullen could react.
CHAPTER SIX
“Well. Looks like some of your story checks out.”
Marla lifted her head from where she’d pillowed it on her arms. She’d lost her Alpaca wool sweater. Nobody knew where. She was left with her plastic raincoat and backpack. They were on a chair behind her somewhere. She’d left a pink mark from her forehead on her upper arm. Beneath that was the table surface. It looked just as old and depressed and tired as she felt. No. She was actually more than that. She was sore. Stiff. And could use another bathroom break. She probably shouldn’t have drunk that last cup of tea. She turned her head toward the door and the constable who’d spoken. It was the same man as the last time she’d been questioned. Lean. Graying hair at his temples. Light blue eyes. Carrying a file folder. She sat upright in her chair. Pressed her spine against the back of it. Folded her arms. Regarded him with the sa
me lack of expression he was exhibiting. It didn’t help much.
“All of it should check out,” she finally answered.
“Just heard from the States. They verified that end. You were in a relationship with a chap named Chad. Fellow is still in Las Vegas. So...he didn’t accompany you on this trip after all.”
“Oh. That’s nice. Did the police visit him to get this information?”
“We don’t ask about their methods, Miss. They don’t ask about ours. “
He pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table. It scraped along the floor. Then, when he sat in it, the chair creaked. Otherwise, the room was silent. “That still leaves a lot of questions.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“You haven’t explained the weapon. Want to go over that for me one more time?”
“Again?”
He nodded.
“I think I’ve tagged you finally. You’re a Taurus, aren’t you?”
“This isn’t about me, Miss Sanders.”
“Taurus is a fixed sign. Their element is earth. This makes them constant and reliable...but it also tends toward stubborn, inflexible, and resistant. I think that about sums up our relationship.”
He sighed heavily. Put his file on the table and pulled out several images. Turned them toward her. They were all shots of the stake-thing. In all kinds of positions. There were dark streaks on it. That was probably blood. Marla looked back at the officer.
“I need to know about this weapon. We’ve had it examined, but are waiting on an archaic weapons expert. Your weapon was fashioned along the lines of a Roman gladius, but made entirely of wood. Very interesting. It was also assembled from three parts. The round hilt, the hand rest, and the blade. It’s ingenious. Impossible to see on radar. That must be how you got it through Customs and security.”
“I didn’t bring any weapon. I already told you. I pulled it from the man who’d been stabbed with it.”
“Oh. Yes. The man in the kilt. That would be this fellow?”
He opened his file again and took out the four images she’d attempted, two with their sketch artist, two with computer imaging. Marla watched him place them before her, one-at-a-time, atop the weapons photos. How...odd. None of them matched the image in her head. Worse. None of them looked like the same guy. She remembered him as much more handsome. She wondered why. She looked back up at her interrogator.