Chest of Bone (The Afterworld Chronicles Book 1)

by Vicki Stiefel

  “Lemme guess,” I said as I reached Larrimer. “A bonfire for s’mores.”

  He dropped a broken two-by-four onto the pile. “We can’t bury Nott, so I thought we’d give her a good send off, Viking style. No boat, but a pyre. After the troops leave.”

  Yes, I saw Larrimer, but he saw me, too.

  While Larrimer dealt with the MEs and the techs and a special agent sent by Bob, whom I discreetly avoided, I showered and dressed in a black turtleneck and leather vest to go with my leather pants and my shitkicker boots. The wig, a severe black helmet and bangs, fit perfectly. I carried two knives, plus my trusty Glock secreted beneath my vest, and a sweet little spare in the small of my back. Not that I expected to use my arsenal. But the more the merrier.

  I had a selectman to visit.

  f the two I’d known at the dinner, Kip Alvarise seemed a better quarry than Mrs. Shatzkin. His eyes had been ravenous when he’d focused on the entry to that third room. I’d also recalled the night of the gala, when we’d danced. He’d been wearing one of those Old Man of the Mountain lapel pins. A lot of men had. But those men weren’t eating tiger at the Adept’s Den.

  Alvarise was a lawyer with his own firm in town, and I Googled him and learned that his focus on the selectboard was planning, government, and taxes, all suitably vague. I saw, too, a photo of his wife. Small, like me, a blond, but there the resemblance ended, her face drawn and tired. Would she have liked the exotic dinner or loathed it?

  Everyone but Larrimer had left by the time I came downstairs two hours later, to find him standing at the bottom of the steps.

  He didn’t blink an eye at my getup, just held out a glass of what I guessed was bourbon, neat.

  I quirked a smile I’d labeled sardonic. I took the bourbon and slugged down half. “Thanks.”

  He raised his matching glass and nodded. “To surviving.”

  We clinked. “You got that right.”

  “So what’s your twisted mind cooked up now?” He waved his hand so I’d take a seat.

  I didn’t. “I’m going to play with a selectman, and I don’t want him to recognize me.”

  His laconic pose belied a snap of anger so powerful I almost stumbled backward.

  I straightened my spine. “Problem?”

  His glass shattered, bourbon and shards raining the floor. Pain washed over me, his. With notes of fear and longing mixed in.

  I stood on tiptoe and pressed a hand to his chest. “Hey, dragon dude.” I kept it light. “You’re sexy when you’re pissed. Didja know that?”

  He blinked, then took me in a bruising kiss, all lips and tongue and hunger. I answered the same way, struggling to grasp why his control had shattered so completely.

  But right now my body cried for something different. Needing his hands on me, I ran mine across his back, his waist, lower, where he pulsed hot and hard.

  He cupped my breast, squeezed, and I moaned into his mouth. I wanted us skin to skin, so I tugged on his shirt and worked my hands beneath it. He felt good, warm and smooth, ridges and planes. I reached for the song, found static instead.

  Muscular arms wound around my back, but he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead on mine. “No,” he ground out. “The first time we’re together will not be in anger.”

  He utterly disarmed me. I rested my cheek on his chest, tracing his broad back with my fingers. “No. Not in anger.” I breathed, husky with unfulfilled need.

  Not releasing me, he sat in the chair and pulled me onto his lap. He buried his face in my neck. “This is me. With my freak on. And you, you’re going out begging for violence.”

  “It’s Kip Alvarise. He was at The Adept’s Den, in that room. I can manage him.” I wove my hands through his hair again and again. Gods, what this man did to me.

  “And you’re incapable of staying out of trouble,” he said.

  I pulled back. “Goddammit, Larrimer!”

  Face stoic, but eyes laughing, pleased that I’d buzzed when he’d pressed that button.

  I smiled, gladdened by his banished pain. “Ah, but look where it gets me.”

  He brushed my cheek.

  “Geesh,” I said. “I forgot you’re bleeding.”

  I plucked the purple handkerchief from his front jeans pocket, neat, folded as expected, and wrapped it around his hand. “Now I know why you carry those things.”

  “Blood’s a bitch,” he said.

  My fingers traced his face. I’d wanted to do that forever.

  “Tell me what happened today,” he said. “And where we are going.”

  Cool, collected Larrimer was back. But not completely. A small part of Mr. Demented was still with me. I liked it.

  I gave him the full Todd-and-Blondie Adventure.

  “Who slits their own throat nowadays?”

  “Given Blondie’s dominance,” he said, “it seems The Master isn’t short on power.”

  I cupped his cheek. “What are you still keeping from me? Don’t lie. Please.”

  “They’re lovely, you know,” he said. “Those haunting pale-green eyes of yours.”

  “Please.”

  “The secrets I hold close,” he said. “That knowledge is lethal.”

  I made my smile slow and sexy. “Oh, you’ll tell me. Yes, you will.” I brushed a kiss across his lips. “What did Blondie mean when he said you understood?”

  “He was a stone cold killer. He saw that in me.”

  I didn’t give a frig what Blondie, or even Larrimer believed. “That’s not who you are now.”

  He shook his head, as if I were a fool.

  Now wasn’t the time for that battle. “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss him.”

  “This selectman. You think he’s got answers.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “He’s the best bet we’ve got.”

  “I’ll go up to his office with you.”

  “No way. One look at you, and he’ll wet his pants.”

  “You annoy me occasionally.” A hint of a smile.

  I gave him big eyes. “Only occasionally? You stay in the truck. You can be my getaway driver.”

  He tapped his ear. “A wireless ear bud. I’ve got one just your size, babe.”

  Still on his lap, a place I enjoyed immensely, I said. “Manipulative. You never intended to go to his office.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You won’t always win, you know.”

  His laughter followed me out the door.

  The large brick building on Glade Street held the region’s biweekly newspaper, the offices of several lawyers, and two shrinks. This late in the day, the place felt empty, although a few people remained, hidden behind their office doors. I checked the board for Alvarise. His offices were on the third floor, and I hoped he hadn’t left for the day as I trotted up the smooth granite steps dithering between two types of entrances.

  Going for the second, I checked the door, found it unlocked, opened it, eased it closed behind me, and turned the old-fashioned latch.

  No receptionist. Good.

  Alvarise must have heard me, because he appeared seconds later.

  “Sorry, we’re closed,” he said. “Heading home early.”

  I tried not to think about his ill wife as I put on my best Slavic accent. “We need to talk. In your office, okay?”

  He puffed up. “We’re closed.”

  I stepped forward and hooked an arm through his. “C’mon, Mr. Alvarise. Just a small chat. Let’s talk in your office.”

  “No.”

  I drew my gun. “Yes.”

  Alvarise stumbled back, and I closed the door and snapped the lock. “Most definitely we’re going to talk.”

  He moved behind his desk, as if the mahogany edifice could keep him safe from big, bad me. I slid into one of the client chairs, crossed my legs, my gun aimed at his chest.

  I took in the heavy maroon drapes, plush velvet carpet, leather captain’s chairs. Everything felt big, except for Alvarise. He felt small, with high notes of arrogant and low note
s of scared. I needed a Tums.

  “Wouldn’t you like to sit down?”

  He ka-thunked into his chair.

  I waited for him to settle. He straightened his vest, smoothed his hair, gathered a sprawl of papers into a neat stack.

  “I’m bored,” I said. “So let’s get this done fast. Spill everything you know about The Adept’s Den.”

  His handsome face drained of color. “It’s not much, really,” he said, his voice a whisper.

  I smiled, predatory. “Do speak up.”

  Alvarise cleared his throat. “It’s a place I go for dinner.”

  A spurt of bile filled my mouth. “Interesting fare.”

  Sweat beaded his face. “I… I… Yes.”

  Crap. He was going mute on me, his nerves spiking.

  When I was so invested in a case, I sometimes misread my prey. Shame on me. I needed a different way in. I holstered my gun and allowed the atmosphere to subtly change.

  After a few beats, he visibly relaxed. “Look, Mr. Alvarise. Kip.” I sighed. “I’m not here to judge.” My ass, I wasn’t. “But I’d like you to share just a little more. Who runs the place?”

  His head shook back and forth. “Never met him.”

  Truth. I modulated my voice, adding just enough warmth to imply confidence in him. “Okay. Any ideas, thoughts?”

  He shook his head again. This was getting me nowhere. I leaned forward, projecting trust. “There’s a third dining room, correct? You’d like to be invited in, wouldn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’d like to be invited in, too.” I smiled, all conspiratorial. “Tell me more.”

  “I’ve heard the talk,” he said, his grin smug.

  “Of course you have. You’re an important person.” I nodded. “Someone of stature.”

  He puffed. “I am.” His voice was eager. “They say eating in there gives you power. Lots of power. From the food.”

  He’d drawn the word “food” out. Alvarise was in a different place now, dreamy, lusting. I plowed on, all chummy.

  I pitched my voice low, sharing a secret. “Eating human flesh can do that.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  “So, what’s the key to getting into that room?”

  “Everyone who wants in has to sign a contract. To perform a gift for The Master.” He leaned forward. “We’re the select few.”

  “Perform a gift, huh. Have you given your gift?”

  His face flushed. “Not exactly, but…”

  Humm. “What did you do, Kip?” I reached out a hand, ran a finger over his. “Impress me.”

  “We were supposed to find some chest.”

  “We?”

  “The three of us.” His hand trembled as he played with a letter opener.

  “Who, Chip?”

  “I…”

  “Chip, c’mon. Indulge me.”

  He plucked at his watch band. “Some guy from away and Mary, the Bronze Printing babe.” He cupped his hands above his chest, in that age-old “big boob” gesture.

  “The three of you—a dynamic trio.”

  “Yeah!” He puffed out his chest. “But I was the leader.”

  I kept my cool, projecting a quiet interest. “And did you find the chest?”

  His eyes slid away from mine. “We went in as a group. It wasn’t in the stupid barn. Guess their intel left something to be desired. But I did something better. The guy took off, but Mary helped me.” He rushed his words. “We were sure The Master would appreciate the gift, so we offed some goats, y’know, blood sacrifice.”

  I couldn’t breathe. My fingers itched, aching for my knife. In seconds, it would be in my hand, and I could slice his throat just the way he’d cut through Loki’s and Lofn’s. “Goats?”

  His shrug said it all. “And some chickens. A move like that, shouldn’t that get us inside?”

  Bastards. “Wow, that’s intense.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “I’d say! They made a hell of a lot of noise and mess, and the shotgun setup should’ve worked.”

  My muscles quivered, primed to leap across the desk. “Impressive. The Master’s or your idea?”

  “Mine.” He thumped a fist on his chest. “All mine. Well, mostly. The shotgun was supposed to be a ‘lookout, lady!’ That was Mary’s idea. And where did it get us? Nowhere.”

  “Unfair. A warning to the barn’s owner, a good plan.” Some warning. The shotgun would’ve killed me. “It didn’t go well with The Master?”

  “It was that big blond guy. It was him. He’s the one who talked about killing the goats in the first place. Y’know, if we couldn’t find some chest of bone. Fuck him. He said The Master was really ‘displeased.’ Stupid word.”

  Chills skittered across my shoulder. A chest of bone.

  “Wow. You did good, and they dissed you. Not fair. You’re a man of action. You know important things. You see, I’m looking for my friend. I think she goes there. Red hair and—”

  A hiss in my ear. “Cops. Get out. Now!”

  Go? No way. I’d hold my ground. I was FBI, goddamnit.

  Except I’d been masquerading and intimidating, both of which would earn the ire of not just Balfour, but the SAC. I was already on leave, on shaky ground with the Bureau. This op could be the final nail in my coffin. Blast!

  I flew out of the chair. “Gotta go.”

  Did Alvarise have one of those buzzers under his desk? I didn’t know, but he’d somehow alerted them. His smug smile vanished when I beaned him on the head with the butt of my gun. Out cold. A cacophony of noise, then shouts from downstairs. I hadn’t checked out escape routes. Larrimer would shoot me, or call me a fool. He’d be right.

  I flung open the tall double-hung window. Except it didn’t move. Latched, high up.

  Thunderous pounding on the stairs.

  I jumped once, unlatched the window, pushed it open.

  Crap. A three-story drop. No fire escape, no balcony. Nada. It was darkening, the sun almost set. A monster oak towered five feet away. Could I land the jump?

  Bashing at the door of the outer office.

  A groan. Alvarise was coming to.

  Jump, it was.

  I stowed my gun and pulled myself up onto the deep windowsill.

  Shouts, splintering wood.

  I leapt.

  Arms outstretched, except the oak was coming too fast.

  I smashed into the tree, head bashed into a branch, a burst of pain, but I clung like Curious George. Voices. Would they shoot me in the back?

  My breath caught. I let go, dropped to the next branch, then the next, clung with my hands. Little monkey me.

  “She’s there!” someone shouted. More shouts.

  I looked down. Still too far, but I had to drop. Bit my lip so I didn’t scream as I fell.

  Flat on the ground, breath knocked out of me, I got a knee beneath me. Ouch. Got my other knee up.

  Steel arms lifted me from the waist and slung me around across his shoulders, around his neck, arms pinned, legs pinned, tight. Larrimer, damn him! I wasn’t a freaking pretzel.

  Except the guy was tall, but not tall enough. Shit!

  He ran like fate chased him. I could barely see, couldn’t kick, couldn’t grab, couldn’t do squat except squirm. Down a hill, across a parking lot, into an alley, and through it.

  Listerine. The scent in my nose, my mouth. Alarm bells. I wriggled harder, which did zip. He flung open the back of a truck and tossed me inside.

  An arm pinned me down, hard, then banded my neck, while fingers crawled from my shoulders to my breasts, squeezing, pinching. I waited, playing possum, until he reached for my waist.

  I pulled back a leg and kicked—hit air—scratched the arm, deep. He backhanded me. Head ringing, I bit, snagged flesh, and chomped.

  He leapt atop me, the arm pressing my neck. He put his lips to mine and inhaled, sucking the air from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe! I punched and pushed, hitting his shoulder, his back, doing nothing as black spots danced b
efore my eyes.

  His hulking body covered mine, immobilizing me, and he punched me over and over—my head, my side, my stomach—and then he wormed an arm between us, unzipped my pants and wrestled them down to my thighs.

  He jammed his fingers inside me, pumped, again and again, and then he slid them to his zipper.

  “Nobody said I couldn’t sample the goods. For Ivor.”

  “No!” I screamed, a wave of panic, head shrieking, a mini-cosmos of fireflies swirling in my palm.

  “Shit!” An uppercut to my jaw, blazing stars as his weight vanished, and he relieved me of my guns and my phone and leapt backwards, shoving me away, hard, vicious. I slid across the floor of truck.

  Gasping, I lifted my palm. Nothing. I pushed onto my elbows, legs bent, about to leap to my feet, to jump forward and out and…

  A grinning gargoyle, washed in the glow of the streetlight, stared back at me.

  Blondie! Impossible.

  “Twins, bitch!”

  The doors slammed, and I sat in blackness.

  ith shaking hands, I slowly pulled up my pants, zipped, and buttoned. Except the button was gone, the leather ripped. I got quiet inside, very quiet. I bit my lip, tasted blood. Okay. I was okay.

  Pain screamed back that I wasn’t. Face throbbing, arm… belly… alien fingers digging at me, into me, and… I reached a hand and touched… No, dammit.

  I was quiet. So very quiet.

  A ghost. I’d just been kidnapped, almost raped by a horrible, monster ghost.

  The earpiece.

  I checked. Gone, gone, gone.

  A grinding noise, a rumble, and the truck jerked into gear, and moved backwards. More gear grinding, and I swayed as we drove forward.

  Locked in a truck. No Larrimer. No windows. No escape.

  As we thundered somewhere, I scooted sideways and braced myself against one of the truck’s walls. I rested my head on my knees. Just for a sec. He hadn’t taken my boot knife, which was wonderful, actually. So why hadn’t I used it? I’d forgotten it when I saw that prick.

  I was an idiot. No Glock, no little gun. I was losing a lot of guns these days.