by Alex Archer
“Not that I’m aware of. Though I’m not privy to his every move. That still gives me no explanation for why you are here in London, seeking the man. Leave this to me, Annja. I’ll take care of the matter. You go back to your artifacts.”
“Are you telling me to sit tight and be a good girl?”
He sighed heavily and nodded slightly. “I would never say that, because I know it would only fuel your determination.”
“You got that right.”
“So I’m stuck with you?”
“You’re the guy with the clue about Bracks. So yes, I’d call it stuck.”
“I’ve reached a dead end. The pool hall was the last place I have information on him.”
“What about a voodoo club?”
Garin quirked a brow, which she only saw half of in the shadows, but she felt his surprise and curiosity. He hadn’t cottoned on to that clue yet?
“My research leads me to guess that the kidnapped children may have been used in voodoo rituals, or else they had organs removed for the same.”
“That’s a hell of a guess. You’re grasping.”
“The toxicology report on the blood found in the cooler after the fire, said it was full of Calabar bean extract.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s derived from an extremely poisonous plant. The extract paralyzes a person while leaving them conscious. Think about it, Garin. A child fully conscious while some monster removes his kidney. Now dare to tell me to step away from finding Bracks.”
He looked aside, his eyes tracking the passing groups of colorful nightclub partiers. His jaw pulsed. “Fine. Voodoo clubs? I may know of one in the city. Access is through the underground. They hold group rituals that involve sex and bondage, but I suspect the closed-door rituals are the ones in which body parts may be used.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know about something like that.”
“Best you didn’t.”
“Where is this club and how do we gain access?”
“Do we need to gain access? If Bracks is supplying voodoo practitioners with body parts—the words on my tongue sicken me—then he’s not getting his hands bloody by entering the clubs. I followed the cooler to a local doctor.”
“And?”
“He was selling directly to the practitioner, or, I suspect, those rich and demented enough to attempt the rituals on their own. There are those who would do anything to get what they want most, Annja.”
“Surely Bracks has to rub elbows with a few?”
“I don’t know. The voodoo club feels like the wrong angle. We’ve found the source, and you have a good idea of the output. To find the man behind the curtain we need to throw a wrench into his operation.”
“I have a feeling the Chrastava operation has already been brought to a halt, what with Santos failing. He’s one of Bracks’s men. He killed Luke, the archaeologist I was working on the dig with.”
“I’m sorry about that. Although all’s fair—”
“Don’t even say it, Garin. There may even be another child still missing. One woman—Melanie—her son disappeared. The local police need to find him.”
His false compassion was the last thing she needed right now.
“Santos mentioned another named. Canov.”
Garin hissed out a breath.
“I take it from that reaction you know the man.”
“Yes. But he’s an underling. And I’ll wager he’s gone way underground by now if you’ve been sniffing around and taking out Bracks’s men.”
“If you’ve dealt with Bracks in the past...”
“Never made a deal with him, only engaged in some turnabout play.”
“Then let’s lure him into a new play.”
Garin’s brow lifted.
“What if we gave him a new supply?”
“That’s insanity.”
“It is, but I don’t have any better ideas at the moment.”
“I have a better idea.”
“Shoot.”
“I think he’d like to know we’re allies.”
Annja fisted her hips. “We’re not allies.”
“Bracks doesn’t know that.”
“So you think he’ll want to...what? Kill me? Take me away from you?”
“He’s already stolen one woman from me. I think we’ll need to sweeten the bait.”
“You are not putting me in a dress again, Garin.”
“You are so not like any normal woman, Annja. Have I mentioned how much that appeals to me?” He snorted.
Annja sighed. “Name one of Bracks’s weaknesses. You must know.”
“Weapons. And art.”
“I’m not keen on either.” Though she knew they were on Garin’s radar. “What about artifacts?”
“If it were rare and valuable enough. You have access to anything like that?”
Annja shoved her hands in her pockets. “Give me the night to think about it. I’m sure I can come up with something. But the problem is, even if we can lure him into a trap, we need to prove he’s had his hand in the kidnappings and organ theft. I still think the voodoo club is something we should check out.”
“Fine. You go back to your hotel room and take a shower and snuggle into a nice sleep and let your mind wander. I’ll look into gaining access to the club I know about.”
“I’d prefer staying close to you, because I don’t trust that you’re not going to cut me out of the action again.”
“I make no promises.” He smacked a fist into his palm. “I’m sorry about the jaw.”
“It still hurts, but I’m a big girl. Where are you staying?”
“I’ve a suite at the Ritz. You want to share my bed?”
“How about you set me up with a room nearby.”
“So this is my treat?”
“Yes. It’ll make up for the bruise on my jaw.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded, laughing.
“I’ll hail a cab.”
“Let’s walk.”
The Ritz was across town and a good hour away. No matter how late, Annja was always up for a jaunt, but she was surprised Garin was. “You up for it, old man?”
He shrugged and joined her on the sidewalk. “I thought if we walked it would make it easier for whoever is following us to continue to do so. If Bracks comes to us, that’ll make things easier.”
“I see your point.”
“Two men. Dark suits. Two blocks west.”
“A walk, it is. Let’s stop in at a fast-food restaurant on the way. I could eat something big, greasy and served in Styrofoam.”
“Such class, Annja. Such class.”
Chapter 20
Annja lingered in Garin’s room before going to hers, which was adjoining. He offered her wine, champagne and caviar. She refused them all.
Exhaustion was her excuse.
But really, she didn’t want to imbibe in the vicinity of Garin Braden. She had to stay on her toes around the man. Not that she expected him to try to seduce her. It was her own inhibitions she worried about.
No, it wasn’t that, either. She couldn’t get Luke, and the intimacy they’d shared, out of her brain.
“So tell me about you and Bracks. What is it between you two?”
“None of your business.” He relaxed into a Louis XVI chair, propping an ankle across his knee and dangling a goblet of champagne at his side. “Next question?”
“It has to be something deep,” she announced, and leaned against the door on the opposite side of the room from him. “You’ve been going at each other for years?”
“I said next question.”
“It’s a woman,” she guessed.
“Annja.”
“It’s always a woman when two men clash.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“But it is?”
He shook his head and tilted back the champagne in one swallow. So the guy didn’t want to talk about the sensitive stuff. Annja never had been one to skirt delicate issues.
“
Someone you loved?” she asked. “Have you ever been in love? You must have loved many times.”
“Annja.”
“Just indulge my overtired brain right now. Please?”
The man dipped a finger in a saucer of caviar that sat on crushed ice and popped the roe into his mouth. “I have been in love, many times, over the centuries.”
“I knew it.”
“But not lately. Love is...tough.”
“I imagine so for someone like you. I mean, I’ve seen the Highlander movies.” Stupid, Annja. “I know that’s fiction, but the idea of a man living for centuries, falling in love and watching those he loves die...”
“You romanticize things. I’m surprised at that. Didn’t think you had a romantic bone.”
She sighed and spread a hand down before her body. “It’s in here. Somewhere.”
“Have you been in love?”
“No.”
“Said with such immediate certainty I have to question the truth of that statement.”
“Nope. I’ve been in extreme like a few times, but never love.”
He nodded, accepting that. Resting the goblet against the chair arm, he asked, “Would you know love?”
“I’m sure I will.” Luke hadn’t been love, just extreme like. Hell, it was going to be rough forgetting him. “And you are skirting my question. This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“It’s not a woman between me and Bracks. Although he did steal a woman from me, and killed her, actually.”
“Oh.” Annja tilted her head, suddenly seeing the man in a new light. That he had watched lovers come and go seemed sad, yet to have one murdered must have been the cruelest blow. Because now you know what that feels like. She shivered. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I extend my sympathies toward you for losing Mr. Spencer. I won’t make assumptions about the two of you. Anyway, I’ve learned that life never warns you before it’s going to smack you hard. A man learns to deal with it.”
“You still haven’t told me what’s up between you and Bracks.”
With a growling sigh that indicated good old grouchy Garin was back in charge, he finally said, “It’s a simple matter of pride. Male ego. There’s not room enough on this planet for the both of us.”
“So...a little like your love-hate relationship with Roux, then. And, what, you’re going to take him out? Has to be a better reason to justify murder.”
“You’re annoying me.”
“Someone has to.” She gripped the door pull. “I need to get some sleep.”
“I’ll have breakfast sent up for you. No champagne and caviar?”
“I’ll stick with bacon and eggs, and orange juice.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“You don’t really care about my happiness, Garin. You’re only nice to me because you want to get your hands on my sword.”
“I would never deny that.”
Always truthful with her, though sometimes his omissions felt like lies, she knew better than that. “Good night, Garin.”
“Sweet dreams of extreme like and fire, Annja Creed.”
She startled at his mention of fire, but didn’t allow him to see he’d touched a nerve. Annja smoothly opened the door and closed it behind her.
“Fire?” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “The man’s cruelties are razor sharp.”
* * *
ANNJA was sitting on a wooden chair, hands tied behind her and ankles secured together with a leather band—perhaps a belt—but not tied to the chair.
So Garin had been right. The cat had followed the mice.
Weston Bracks was seated at a desk across the room from her, his feet up on a desk drawer and his fingers rapping the mahogany desk. Hair slicked back from his face, he was neatly shaven, and she could smell his aftershave from the ten-foot distance between them.
As it was, she wore a white T-shirt and her cargo pants. Good thing she’d slipped out for the newspaper during her usual four o’clock lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling anticipating the day and had fallen asleep reading it or she’d be in a state of undress right now.
“Do you know how amazing you are?” Bracks asked as he dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward on his elbows. “Tracking me all the way to London? Or is it that you simply wanted to meet up with Braden?”
“Santos told me I’d find you here.”
“Here? In this office? Or the city? I don’t believe the Gypsy had my exact location.”
“The city. And it must have been Canov who provided those details to his underlings. Santos is bad off, by the way. If he’s not dead.”
“At your hand, I suspect.”
“What makes you think I’m capable?”
“I’ve heard reports from my men. You’ve left a path of injured in your wake, pretty lady. You’re much more than meets the eye, I must say. Extremely interesting to me. I’ve read your profile online. You’ve quite the arsenal of talents—and to learn that you’ve got martial arts skills and beauty...?”
“You forgot the part about where I can part large bodies of water with a single wave of my hand.”
“And funny, too! Oh, Annja, you and I are going to get along famously. That is, if your lover doesn’t mind.”
“My lov—” Apparently his research had led him to guess at the sensational. “Garin Braden and I are not lovers.”
“Huh. That explains why he’s not here right now. The man is slacking. I expected him an hour ago, not long after you were brought here. Guess you’re not as important to him as I had hoped.”
“Guess not.”
“Well. We’ll wait, all the same. He did put you in the same hotel—and right next door—so he wanted to keep you close. And he’s after me, so he’ll come after one or the other of us soon enough. In the interim, what shall we talk about?”
“How about this is the part where the evil villain details the reason behind his horrible crime?”
“No, that’s boring. Besides, there are too many crimes. I wouldn’t know where to start. You, on the other hand, fascinate me. You host a television show about monsters, and you venture across the world in search of treasure and mystery.”
“It sounds more exciting than it is. Adventure is ninety percent toil, ten percent reward.”
“Still, I could use a woman like you on my payroll. I find many an opportunity falls onto my lap that requires someone who possesses your skill set and thirst for adventure combined with archaeological knowledge.”
“I think this is the part where I tell you to go do something nasty with your mother.”
“Sadly, she’s passed. As are your parents, eh?”
He knew too much about her. That was never good. But she didn’t suspect he was going to use it against her because what means did he have? He was an enigma, and she wanted to hear him confess. Yet what good was confession if the authorities were not here to record it? It would be her word against his, and it wasn’t like she had the superstitious Romani backing her up, either.
Worrying at the rope about her wrist, Annja could easily call the sword and cut through the thick hemp. Screw the questions Bracks would have about the sudden appearance of a battle sword into her hands. She owed him nothing.
He stood, and walked around the side of the desk. The man reminded her of Garin. Finely tailored suit, well groomed, handsome in a bad-boy criminal sort of manner. Entitled. Probably too smart for his own good. That’s usually the way it went with the ones who used their brains to commit evil. And those psychopathic brains could always justify their atrocities.
“You’ve murdered children,” she said, peering into his pale gray eyes and not finding the compassion or glint of humanity she hoped to see. “How can you sleep at night?”
“On a king-size air mattress. You know the kind that adjusts with a remote? Amazing and so comfortable.”
“You’re the real monster,” she hissed. “Those Gypsies believed in something that rises from the grave to exact
revenge upon them, and you used those beliefs to serve them a much worse punishment.”
“As I’ve said—” He crossed his legs at the ankle, and proudly announced, “Business opportunist. Don’t look so angry, Annja, it puts a crease in your brow. And I have murdered no one. I tend to keep my hands two to three degrees away from the dirty work. The fact this one came back to me has made me rethink some of my safeguards. I’ve sacked the Chrastava operation, you’ll be glad to know.”
“The only thing I can be glad for is that I’m here now, and I will make you pay.”
He leaned forward, hands behind his back, bringing his face a foot away from hers. “I do admire a boastful woman. Puts a delightful shiver up and down my spine. What are you going to do to me?”
Annja could feel the sword hilt in her hand, the warmth of it. A knock on the door stopped her from calling it.
It wasn’t exactly a knock. More like a heel kicking in the wood door. Garin Braden.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Bracks said, pulling a pistol from his suit pocket and positioning himself beside Annja. He jammed the barrel against her temple. “Took your own sweet time. She not worth it to you?”
Garin heaved out a heavy breath, and produced the Heckler & Koch, but instead of aiming it at Bracks, he held it to his chest, arms crossed, and barrel flat against his shoulder.
If he wasn’t going to do anything, Annja wasn’t about to sit here any longer and remain a helpless victim. The sword slid silently into her grip. She noted Garin’s attention diverted above her head, where he must have seen the blade tip of the battle sword.
“No, Annja,” he said, then to Bracks, “This ends right now.”
Bracks, who still hadn’t realized Annja was armed, maintained the barrel against her temple. “Really? You’d end it with a single bullet after all we’ve been through over the years? Come on. You know you enjoy the game as much as I do. So you lose a few guns or a valuable piece of art now and then. I still visit my brother’s grave every winter. He killed my brother,” he said to Annja.
“You killed Louisa,” Garin countered.
Louisa? Must have been the lover, Annja decided. This was fast becoming a maudlin duel of one cuckolded man against another. And Garin had almost convinced her it wasn’t about a woman. Well played, old man, well played.
