by JL Terra
She was here for his book.
Daire swallowed. “And the men who killed the insurance agency employee?”
“They knew I was there to find out where the owner lived, and they wanted it too,” Penelope said. “Now they’re dead. Right?”
“One. Not the other two.” For now, at least.
“So this is all just business for you?” Mei asked. “A way to make some money on the side while the museum is none the wiser.” She paused. “Where’s the money now?”
“I haven’t found it yet, have I?”
“What about the half they paid you upfront?”
Penelope lifted her chin. Defensive. She’d bargained for them to give her two hundred thousand to add to her nest egg. Daire had never viewed money like that. He’d had it, and had plenty now he supposed, but he’d also lived for years with nothing except an old sword and the change of clothing he wore. Money came and went.
Penelope seemed to think having as much money as possible was the only way to live in this world.
“All this fuss for some artifact?” Like the book meant nothing.
Her lip curled. “The information inside would have faded a long time ago if it was as old as they claim.”
He said, “And yet you’d trade your entire career for this one item?”
Penelope said, “That book was going to buy me a ticket out from under the thumb of bureaucracy. Too bad it’s barely more than a myth. I personally doubt it’s even real. But you know what is real? The money they paid me.”
“You were going to double cross them?” Mei said.
Penelope lifted her chin. “Don’t bother turning me back in to the British Museum. I won’t go.”
Daire pulled out his phone and swiped to the pictures he’d taken of the two men they’d subdued, and the man from inside the building. He showed the screen to her and then swiped with his index finger. “Recognize any of these guys?”
Penelope stared blankly at the images. “I’m a witness now? Do you need me to testify?” She sneered at him. “Because they’re the ones who tried to kidnap me.”
“And they killed a man.”
“Except,” Mei said, “where did they put the body?”
“They burnt it.”
Daire enjoyed that use of British phrasing. He missed hearing it sometimes. But right now wasn’t the time to soak it in, because Mei pulled her fist back and punched Penelope in the nose.
The archeologist yelled in frustration. “It’s the truth!”
He said, “They were going to take you with them. Why not just kill you?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Penelope glanced at Mei. “Is she going to punch me in the face again?”
“Yes,” Mei told her.
Daire shrugged one shoulder. He didn’t have much control over Mei beyond basic professional courtesy. She did better when Ben was here.
Everything Penelope had told them so far didn’t give them much to go on. They needed to figure out who those men were. He had an idea, but it would take work to confirm it. They also needed to know where the burned body was located. No matter what the Caperman Wells employee had done, his family deserved closure.
Daire also had to check that the book was secure. He said, “Any idea who they are, besides killers?”
Penelope stared at him for a minute, then huffed. “One called the other Harlan. That’s all I know. They dragged me out of the cupboard and threatened to kill him. When I wouldn’t tell them where the book was—” Her voice broke and she looked away.
“Your plan went all wrong,” Mei said. “A man was killed and now others are dead. That’s a lot of blood on your hands. And what do you have to show for it?”
Lights flashed in the tinted back windows. A second later, the vehicle behind rammed them.
“Everyone hold on!” Remy’s voice rang through the small space.
The dog barked.
Penelope screamed. Mei grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head back against the wall. Then she took her seat again beside the now unconscious woman. She noticed Daire’s stare. “What?”
He shook his head, then called over his shoulder, “Remy?”
“They’re trying to run us off the road.”
“Well, don’t let them,” Mei called back to her.
Malachi indicated toward the front windshield. “Take the next right.”
Remy took the turn.
Malachi looked down at his phone for a second. “Third left. Amester.”
“Got it.” Remy turned that corner. “But they’re still behind us.”
Daire unlatched a long storage crate and pulled out a rifle. He loaded it, then slid the van’s side door open. Wind buffeted his hair, T-shirt, and jacket.
Mei moved over to his seat and grabbed the back of his belt with one hand. With the other, she grabbed the frame of the open door. “I’ve got you.”
He nodded to her. “Thanks.” It would be a whole lot easier to not fall out of the van with someone holding onto him.
“I can do that,” Shadrach called. Probably awakened by the smell of a gun being removed from its crate. Not the fact someone was trying to run them off the road.
“I got it.” Daire didn’t explain why he was going to be the one to stick his head out the door. He just leaned out, rifle first.
The first shot sang past his head. Daire fired back, then ducked his head back in. He’d gotten enough of a look at the guys. “It’s their truck.”
Bullets peppered the back doors. One of the windows shattered.
“Who?” Mei asked.
Daire wasn’t sure he could explain it.
“My turn.” Shadrach slammed the tempered glass of the back window with the butt of his rifle. He placed the barrel on the open edge and returned fire.
“Next left,” Malachi said. “Everyone hold on!”
Daire grabbed the edge of the door. The van careened around the corner. Two wheels lifted off the ground. They slammed back down and everyone swayed with the motion. Penelope’s body angled awkwardly in the seat, but there was no time to do anything about it.
He leaned out the side door again and squeezed off two shots. Same guys. The ones they’d just fought.
“He’s right, it is the same truck.” Shadrach ejected his spent shell and reloaded. “One dead.”
“The guys we met back at Caperman Wells.” Before the building had exploded with one of them inside.
The implications raced through his mind. The team wasn’t ready to understand the whole of it. At least not until Daire could explain.
“Get the driver.”
“I did,” Shadrach said. “They pushed him out and one of the other guys got in the seat.”
Daire looked out the door. Sure enough, the guy from the back had climbed in front. This driver was the same man who had slit his own throat, the one Daire had left in the building which then exploded.
The passenger stuck his rifle out the window. “Shadrach get down.”
He covered the dog with his body. The bullet sailed over his head and between the front seats. The windshield shattered. Remy screamed.
“You good?” Shadrach called to her.
“I’m okay.”
Daire said, “Everyone else?”
“Good.” Malachi sounded mad.
Mei, about the same. “Me too.”
Police sirens rang through the night. Not as stealthy as their normal operations, but that was how things went sometimes.
“Good.” Daire replaced the rifle in the crate and pulled out a grenade launcher. “Shadrach?”
The man didn’t waste any time. “Gimme.”
Daire watched out the open door. He fired off a few shots of cover fire while Shadrach readied the weapon.
“Weapon is hot.”
Daire said, “Fire.”
The explosion ripped through the night.
Flames engulfed the truck. The hood lifted and the whole vehicle flipped, end over end. Mei let out a whoop in celebration.
D
aire would do his own celebrating later when he knew his anonymity was completely intact. He slid the door shut. “Get us out of here, Remy.”
“On it, boss.”
Ten minutes later she pulled into an underground garage where they’d parked another van. Everyone grabbed something, so nothing was left behind. They loaded the other vehicle in less than a minute.
Daire patted Penelope’s cheeks and then lifted her face. Still out cold. He picked her up and carried her to the other van, where he laid her in an almost identical seat. When she woke up, she’d think she was still in the same van.
“Let’s get going.”
Mei snapped to attention and gave him the worst salute ever. He was more accustomed to the British way of doing it but wasn’t going to correct her right now.
The dog barked.
“Incoming!” Daire spotted the three men moving fast, guns disguised under their clothing. Hand to hand it was, then.
Shadrach gaped. “I killed that guy.” He raced toward the front of the van where he barreled into one of the men.
Daire grabbed the closest man’s wrist and swung him in an arc toward where Malachi was waiting.
“Daire, watch out!” Mei called over, standing like a sentry in front of Remy.
The third man drew his weapon. Daire swiped it away just as the trigger was pulled. The bullet cracked against the pavement. A ricochet. The crack of bone against bone echoed behind him and Malachi grunted.
Penelope made a similar sound. He turned to see her jump out of the van onto Mei’s back.
Daire got punched in the back of the head. He spun back with a left hook ready. The guy shook it off far too quickly. Daire itched to reach into the back of his jacket at the neckline but knew he could not give up his most sacred of secrets. Instead, he slammed the man’s wrist with the flat of his hand. The gun skittered across the ground.
Another of the men slammed to the concrete beside him. Malachi fired two shots. One into the man’s chest, one into his head.
Daire punched again. Crack. Broken nose. He grabbed the man’s shoulders and kneed him in the stomach. An elbow to the shoulder blades sent the man to his knees.
“Back up and I’ll shoot him,” Malachi said.
“I won’t tell you anything.” The man spat on the concrete. “I’ll die before—”
Remy screamed.
Daire turned around to see them in a clinch, Penelope vs. Mei. Mei’s hold on Penelope’s neck loosened and her arms dropped by her sides, limp.
“Mei.”
Penelope pushed her away, and Daire saw the knife. Mei’s knife. His teammate clutched at the handle of the blade, now sticking out of her abdomen.
She sucked in a breath and gasped on her exhale as she took a step back. Collapsed against the side of the shot-up van.
Remy moved to help her. Penelope swiped up the first man’s gun and held it on Malachi. His response was to fire at her with his own weapon. Her bullet slammed into the concrete pillar behind his head. Shards flew toward him, and he cried out. Her shot made his go wide, and it missed her entirely.
“Put it down, Penelope,” Daire said. “It’s over for you.”
She swung her gun around and fired at him. The bullet hit the center of his vest, sending him back on one foot. He slammed into the wall and gasped against the pain. He fired back at Penelope. But it was too late.
She was already gone.
Chapter 3
Paradise Valley, Nevada
Bryn awoke from the nightmare drenched in sweat. She pushed the covers back and sat up. The clock on the nightstand read just after three in the morning. More sleep than she’d had in a while at least.
She stood and brushed off the long sleeves over her arms to mentally toss away the sensation of being covered with dirt. She padded with socked feet to the room’s en suite bathroom and washed her face, also in an effort to feel as though she were discarding the nightmare.
Cleansing herself of it. Allowing the memories to disappear down the drain.
Bryn pulled on a pair of jeans and switched her shirt for a regular everyday one—long sleeved. Once she was clothed, she flipped on the light. No one wanted to see the scars that crisscrossed her arms and legs. Least of all her. It was enough that the ones on her neck were visible when she put her hair in a ponytail. But she’d never liked the feel of tiny strands touching her neck.
Less so now.
Bryn cataloged the number of clean pairs of socks, underwear, and cotton bralettes—the only thing she could wear now without discomfort—she had. If she was going to stay here for more than a couple of days, she would need to utilize the bed and breakfast’s laundry facility. Thinking about mundane things, like dirty clothes, was the first thing the counselor had taught her to do. Better her mind do math than dwell on what couldn’t be changed.
Life had done this to her, and she fully intended to fight back. Do everything she could to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. After all, if you could control the immediate, it helped to combat the stress of everything else. Like a meal delivery service that required her to slice and dice and sauté, but without the stress of actually figuring out what was for dinner.
The hallway was quiet, lit only by nightlights plugged into outlets along the wall. Downstairs, a single lamp lit the living room area where guests at the bed and breakfast could spend the evening relaxing. Bryn was currently the only guest, and she’d been there less than a day. Still, the owner had stocked the small fridge in the living room, right off the kitchen, with all kinds of snacks.
Bryn grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and sucked the whole thing down in one go. Her hand shook as she lowered it and tossed it into the wastebasket beside the fridge. If she ate a yogurt she would probably throw up right now, so she bypassed the snacks and the fruit and wandered through the downstairs common areas.
She moved across the living room to the dining room and looked out the window. The night was still. No animals crept around in the dark out there. She was safe in the house.
That was when she heard the muffled thud of what sounded like a fight.
Bryn reached for the gun on her hip…and found nothing. She didn’t carry anymore.
Across the ground floor, the sound was louder. She twisted the handle and yanked a door open. Was someone being attacked? Beyond the door, stairs led down to a basement. The sound was louder now, the light on downstairs.
Bryn rushed to the bottom, praying in broken thoughts that the bed and breakfast owner wasn’t hurt. The young woman was barely twenty if that. Slender enough she could easily be bested by someone bigger. Unless she knew how to use her stature against her opponent.
Bryn stumbled the last two steps and stared at what appeared to be a fully-stocked dojo. The owner stood at the center in a fighting stance. Sweat dampened the shirt at the small of her back. Her long blond hair had been pulled back into a high ponytail.
Using a bow staff, she pummeled a sparring dummy. Each movement was precise. Efficient. A minute later she lowered the stick, and her head, and sucked in air.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Bryn said. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The girl never turned around. She lifted the stick and began again.
Had she even heard Bryn come downstairs? Bryn circled the room, giving the girl a wide berth. She didn’t want to surprise her and end up getting hit with the bow staff. As soon as she cleared the girl’s shoulder, she saw earbuds. No wire. Her cell phone had been tucked in a waistband at the front of her shorts.
Bryn moved to where the girl would be able to see her in her peripheral vision and waved.
The young woman blinked and lowered the stick. She pulled out one earbud and held it in her hand. “Is it breakfast already?”
Bryn shook her head. “No. It’s still early.” It wasn’t really kosher to ask someone why they were sweating in the middle of the night instead of sleeping. If it was her, she wouldn’t want anyone asking. She glanced around, still fighting off t
he surprise of discovering an entire dojo down here. “This is an incredible space.”
“My uncle set it up.” The girl rolled her eyes. “He’s super anal about me knowing how to protect myself. And I mostly practice only because he drills me when he’s here.”
“Being able to keep yourself safe is a good thing. Especially if you’re alone a lot.” Bryn of all people knew what happened when the threat became real. When you were suddenly face to face with danger. Even with all her training, she hadn’t managed to best him. At least, she didn’t think she had.
She couldn’t remember.
The young woman eyed her. “You want to try it?”
Bryn said, “I’m more of a treadmill kind of girl.” Not precisely the truth, but she was still stiff from the nightmare. It wasn’t worth attempting to revive her muscles for a sweat session. Unless she warmed up for a good long while first.
The owner laughed at the brush off.
“Sorry,” Bryn said. “I forgot your name.”
The young woman strode over. She switched the bow staff to her left hand and held out her right. “Amelia.”
They shook. “Bryn.” Like this was any introduction and not a middle of the night conversation. Maybe she should head back to her room and dig out the paperback she’d stuffed in her suitcase. Not that she could remember what book it was, or anything about the story. Or who had written it. She’d only bought it because there was a beach towel and a pair of flip-flops on the cover.
Rain pattered against the window.
Bryn glanced over at the sudden intrusion, the sound of precipitation.
“So what brings you down here at three in the morning?” Amelia wandered to the corner and slid the bow staff into a trashcan with no lid.
Bryn tried not to squirm. “I don’t sleep much. I actually thought you were being attacked, but I’m glad you weren’t.”
“Me too. I wouldn’t want to get someone’s blood on my new carpet.” Amelia laughed at her own words.
Bryn couldn’t help joining in, though the sound was hollow to her own ears. An attacker meant police. Police meant paperwork and statements. Her name on official documentation and attention drawn to the fact she was here.
None of which she particularly needed right now.
