“You’re a fucking idiot, Olivia,” West said beside me, shaking head as he eyed my left hand then pierced me with another stare.
I released Em for a moment to grasp half of my torn coat, and threw it over his bare lap. “And you are once again naked, Mr. West.”
I let my shoulders sink on the carpet, patted Emaleth again, and heaved out a great breath.
West flopped on his back next to me with a groan as well.
Neither of us spoke or moved; there was just Emaleth’s slowly subsiding sobs and the crackle of fire breaking the silence of the room.
Epilogue
Breathe Again
The steady tick of my car’s blinker punctuated the silence.
“You need to go to school.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel while we waited at the lights, and cast Emaleth a warning look.
She gazed up at me, batting her sad, long-lashed eyes. “Please?”
This was ridiculous. She hadn’t been to school in two weeks. I’d called and given the excuse that I fell ill after being in Ethiopia and decided it best to keep her home in case she was contagious. Practically speaking, it gave time for my lighter injuries to heal so I could leave the house without a whole lot of questions. My gaze flickered to my left middle finger, where a tender, healing wound remained—without gloves, an ugly mark would be a pretty obvious scar for my remaining life. The stitched up bullet gash on my right forearm was just as obvious but at least I wore long sleeves to cover it and West did an excellent job, or so I was told by the doctor who removed the stitches.
The real reason we skipped school, though, was that I wanted two weeks to lounge on the couch all day with my daughter in my arms. The novelty of that wore off with her after the first three hours but she tolerated me hovering so long as I kept handing her freshly baked cookies and left her in charge of television programming.
We talked. A lot. About everything. And I tried not to push her to do it, but that’s my kid for you. Still wasn’t sure she got it from me, but the way she picked herself up after trauma had to come from somewhere. I had her on a waiting list to see a therapist. For now it was me and Pru until I found someone who would take her long term on a sliding scale.
The light changed to green and the cars ahead of us moved. I could all but see her in my peripheral vision, sticking her lip out at me.
“I have to go back to the scary house,” I warned her. “It might give you nightmares.”
She cocked her brow skeptically. Okay, she definitely got that from me.
Last minute, I flicked off the blinker and went straight; the car behind me honked but I gave him the finger and kept going.
“Fine,” I said. “But you’re going immediately afterward. Understand?”
Em nodded, grinned, and sat back in her seat.
Little vixen.
We were headed for Ashford’s villa. There was still the matter of payment, and apparently dead djinn had trouble coughing up cash, contract or no. Dale West—an intelligence operative, and I would never stop shaking my head over that—was to meet me there. Plus I had something to deliver and I was quite eager to be rid of it.
I drove us outside the city to where the villa waited, and in the bright morning light, it was a normal, stunning house. Interior would need some work, or at least that one big room would—blood in the carpets was a real bitch, and it had a bunch of fire damage. But the sprawling mansion with its well-kept gardens stood proud in the October sunshine, almost inviting as we drove toward it.
I glanced at Emaleth frequently but she showed no signs of being scared. Pulaski and Thomas had nearly killed her, and yet she accepted when the latter carried her out of the villa when an ambulance came and carted me out on a stretcher. Tough stuff, that little girl.
White gravel spit under my tires and flicked against the underside of the car. There were three other vehicles parked out front—none I recognized, but then agents could be milling around the djinn’s house and I wouldn’t be surprised.
I parked near the front and looked at Em again. “If you’re coming in, you need to stay in sight but keep out of the conversation. Okay?”
She nodded and gave me her most innocent look, which suggested a whole lot of trouble was brewing. And I’d been so sappy lately, my Scary Mom Eyes did nothing to frighten her anymore.
As I released my seatbelt and pocketed my keys, my cell phone jingled. I half-expected Martin—he’d been calling and texting last night with lots of mentions of urgency and how I had to call him back immediately. But I ignored him because he’s my brother and that’s just how I played things, especially considering he still refused to tell me anything regarding what he knew about the situation I’d found myself in.
Instead the name and number surprised me. I climbed out of the vehicle and answered. “D...Richard. Hi.” I’d ducked three of his calls during the past couple of weeks, which was surprisingly few, and I probably owed answering him at last.
“Hey, Olivia,” he said in a warm voice. “Feeling better?”
Em slammed her car door, shoved her hands in her blazer pockets, and kicked at stones beneath her feet. If I didn’t get moving, she’d get bored and god knows what would happen from there.
“Much, actually I’m about to head into a meeting.”
“Ah, glad I caught you, though. You, me, dinner this week.”
My lips parted to say no. He’d helped me find Em, yes. I appreciated that. But I wasn’t sure I wanted dinner with the man—definitely didn’t want to lead him on.
But then besides an overly eager streak, what had he actually done? Nothing. He wasn’t a bad guy, that I could see. And...and maybe it would be fun. I’d nearly died. Nearly lost my daughter. And I could use a nice evening out after confining myself to the house for so long.
“Sure,” I said at last. “Sure, Richard.”
He took in a sharp breath, as if he honestly hadn’t been expecting that, and I grinned absently. “Excellent. Thursday at eight?”
“Sounds great.”
“I’ll make reservations.”
“I look forward to it.” I ended the call and stared at the phone for a moment, then shook my head. It could backfire, but what the hell?
Emaleth was watching me as I rounded the car. “That’s your Date Face.”
I frowned at her. “My what?”
“Pru said. Date Face. The face you get when you’re going out with a boy.”
Pru and I would be having a talk later. I strolled past Emaleth and swept up the stairs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Talbot.”
Gravel crunched underfoot as she chased after me.
I knocked on the front door but no one answered, so I tried the handle; it was open. We stepped inside and I braced for a shiver, but it didn’t come. The villa foyer was bright and happy, relaxed during day. I glanced back and forth but still didn’t see anyone.
Em shuffled in behind me and I shut the door. She peered around as well, then reached up and laced her fingers with mine. I gave her hand a squeeze and started forward, past the stairs and into a place I remembered all too well.
The huge, split level room where everything had gone down two weeks ago was quiet during daylight as well. No flames in the fireplace. Carpet singed and stained. But white light shone through the windows along every wall, almost giving it a cathedral feel.
Halfway into the room and movement caught my attention; I turned to see West standing in the shadows off to the side.
Em and I exchanged a look and she hesitantly released my hand, then padded ten feet away to poke at the empty fireplace.
I returned my attention to Dale West as he walked across the room to meet me. He looked no worse for wear, though admittedly I had no idea how someone part tiger would heal from the injuries he’d sustained. His “operative” clothes looked no different from normal ones, which I supposed was the point: jeans, a black T-shirt, and thick brown coat. A Cheshire grin was in place, which reminded me why I’d spent so mu
ch time wanting to shoot him.
West stopped in front of me. “How are you?”
“Playing at being a stay at home mom, so wonderful right now. You?”
“I’ve been undercover for three years and all they gave me was a three week vacation.”
“I’d take that up with the union.”
“I would if we had one. So?” He raised a brow in question.
I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew the small box I’d put the Seal in. I’d temporarily kept it while his department got their shit together and sorted things regarding Musa ibn Sakhr, djinn prince—or at least officially. Unofficially, I told him I’d sell the fucking thing on the black market if no one paid me soon.
For a moment I hesitated, staring at the box. I’d said I’d sell it but, honestly, I wanted to be done with it. I’d always wear a scar from the thing and the longer it was in my possession, the more bothered I got. I handed the box to West without another glance.
He opened it, peered at the ring for a moment, then his gaze shifted up to meet mine. “The real one?”
“You’re the only faker in the room, Agent West.”
“Ouch.”
A figure started across the room to join us—one I recognized.
“Moti?” I said.
Moti, one of the original members of our Ethiopia team—who had the sense to haul ass out when things got bad—smiled broadly at me. “Attam jirta?”
“Nagaa,” I replied. West gave me a look but I offered no explanation—I’d simply desired to learn some Oromo and I was so goddamn bored over the past two weeks at home, it was my first area of study.
Though Moti stopped next to me, it was West he faced; the operative handed him the box. Moti opened the lid and peered at the Seal for a moment, something passing in the air I sensed but didn’t quite understand.
“He wasn’t just a local guide or caver,” I said, recalling his argument with West after our initial rescue.
“He’s one of the last known survivors of King Solomon’s bloodline,” West said.
So he could wield the Seal’s power. And the conversation in the car while leaving Kent House as it burned—that’s why they were stalling, trying to get a hold of him. “That means trouble for any afreet like Ashford who wants to misbehave, which is great, but what about the...Pulse-born, I think Thomas said?”
West winced. “Was there anything they didn’t tell you?”
There was a lot but I didn’t give him details. “Anyone like that would be susceptible. It’s not the afreet I worry about, but them.”
“He’s on the PTI ethics council, so you don’t need to be concerned.”
That’s supposing the council can be trusted. But I didn’t say that aloud. Instead I returned Moti’s nod when he gave me one, then he backed up and swiftly left the room.
“This is why we couldn’t risk him,” West continued. “Not in the cave when I saw how bad it was. And he was put in a safehouse when he left Ethiopia—I hadn’t had time to reach him.”
My thumb rubbed over my finger where the ring had singed my flesh. “They wouldn’t send him here to just end the Ashford thing faster.”
“No. Deemed ‘too risky.’”
Whether to Moti’s life or West’s cover being blown, I didn’t know. Or ask. I suspected I wouldn’t like the answer. “Mr. Rolph was one of—”
“Yes,” he said quietly, though he didn’t need to.
A somewhat uncomfortable silence stretched.
“I suppose you want to know about payment,” he said at last.
My stomach twisted unexpectedly and though I kept up my grin, it threatened to falter. “I’m not getting any, am I?”
“It’s not the PTI policy to pay for this kind of thing. Expenses associated, yes, those would be reimbursed, but—”
“But Ashford already covered that. Right.” Motherfucker. MotherFUCKER. I sighed. Clenched and unclenched my jaw. I knew I shouldn’t still be wanting to shoot him—this part wasn’t his fault, after all—but I might’ve if I’d brought my guns.
Or replacement guns, which I got to keep. They were expensive. I wasn’t really out any money, honestly, and at least I had the fifty grand down payment from Ashford kicking around. Some of it was gone for rent and bills, new tires, taxes, and I was about to drop a rather substantial tuition check at Em’s school.
Now I’d have to stretch that cash far and experience warned me how hard that was to do.
“I could possibly offer another solution, though,” West said.
I didn’t trust his smile one bit. “What?”
He started walking and I followed, down the center of the room with slow, steady steps. He glanced over the walls and sunlight hit his black hair. “Ashford’s assets were all seized by us. You know how bureaucracy moves, too goddamn slow to be much use. It’ll be many years before it works through the system and something’s done with it.”
“What are you saying?”
West stopped, turned to face me, and shrugged. Still smiling. “Want a villa?”
I let out the most unladylike snort imaginable. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“I could potentially ensure PTI would look the other way. The accounting department is very busy as it is. And it’s the kind of house you’re more accustomed to. You’d be paying bills, of course, so I’d think really hard about how much heat to use in winter...”
I shook my head and looked away. He was crazy. Fucking nuts. I’d come a long way and while I wanted this kind of home, I didn’t need it now. I didn’t. Didn’t.
You don’t need this, Olivia. But why didn’t I believe myself?
That answer was simple, of course: every day I got up on my own, every time I got ready and headed out on a job, and every goddamn moment I looked at my daughter, I just wanted someone to swoop in and fix it all. I’d never grown up to leave the nest like normal kids: I’d been kicked out, tossed into adulthood, and had none of that learning stage in between. Although I had basically chosen my path, sometimes I got so damn tired I just wanted something of what I used to have back.
My gaze kept snagging the architecture. And of all the thoughts, it was Em running down halls as long as our current house that stuck in my mind, giggling and twirling, having the life she should have.
But again I shook my head. “I can’t afford to live in a place like this. Even if the damn property tax was covered. Heat in the winter, air conditioning in the summer. Gas just to get here. And Pru’s not going to be walking through here every day with—” I stopped abruptly. Her disorder wasn’t a secret, but the less he knew about our lives, the better in my opinion.
“It has a pool,” he offered. “Heated. You friend wouldn’t need to travel for exercise.”
So he knew about her MS. I shouldn’t’ve been surprised.
“Besides,” West continued, and he looked at me like he thought I’d already said yes and this was merely a formality. “This would make a good base of operations. Ashford lived here for a very, very long time. His library would be invaluable and you’d have space for help.”
Now he’d lost me. “Help?”
A tilt of his head to the side and shapes moved to the left. I glanced over to see both Dawson and Laurel off to the side.
Laurel had her usual suit, this one in dove gray, with a pair of wired framed glasses and elegant black satin kitten heels. But her smile had warmth to it—warmth I believed, like she was happy to see me. And Dawson of course wore a big grin which was absolutely infectious. He waved; I returned the gesture before looking at West.
Yep, he already assumed he’d won.
“I can’t afford a staff,” I objected.
“Both could receive cuts of what you make.”
Which brought us to the main issue, though. “Except I don’t know if I’m staying in this line of work. I’m...very used to breaking limbs and nearly getting shot. But this...” My smile faded and I suppressed a shiver. “This was something else. He went after my child and my best
friend.”
West said nothing, likely because he couldn’t. He held my gaze, of course, as I doubted he had it in him to look away from anyone, but there was no arguing with that.
And I pushed. “And he went after my family because of you. You and the PTI. He suspected you, he called your bluff, and I got tossed in the middle of it. I don’t want anything from you guys. Ever.”
“So what are you going to do? Waitress again?”
He really had done his research. My cheeks heated. “If it means I’m alive to see my kid grow up, yeah.”
West nodded and he seemed to ponder it. “If you really think you can give it up...”
I didn’t think I could. I certainly knew much of me didn’t want to. But it was too soon to make decisions, the horrible things that occurred in this room too fresh in my memory. “Besides, as much as I want...this,” I gestured around us, “I want to get it on my own terms. I’m not taking handouts from people anymore—I’ll earn my way in this world, West.”
Earning meant no one would ever be able to take from me again.
Which was another point he couldn’t argue with, and to his credit, he didn’t try. Instead he simply nodded, kept his mouth shut, and that seemed to quell my urge to shoot him.
I flicked my hand at Em and she thumped across the floor to my side, as if she’d been watching for my gesture. Probably trying to eavesdrop, too. She clasped my right hand and I led her toward Dawson and Laurel.
“That’s the naked man, right?” she whispered far too loudly—all children only seem capable of embarrassing stage whispers, it seemed.
“Yes, and he’s clothed now, so remember—”
“Don’t tell Miss Jennings,” she parroted with a frown, tugging on my hand and swinging my arm back and forth. “I know.”
Hopefully his nudity wouldn’t show up in a “How I Spent My Fall Vacation” class report this week.
Dawson and Laurel began walking with us toward the exit. I glanced back once at West to see he remained in the center of the room—the center of the sunlight, at that—watching us go. It took force to look away from him and focus ahead.
Solomon's Seal Page 31
