Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel

by Mari Carr

  Jakob was a man of few words and even fewer expressions.

  “Nothing is certain,” he said after a long pause.

  Annalise’s lips twitched.

  Right after Adele’s attack, Jakob had stayed with her twenty-four seven, sleeping on the couch in her secret, secured house’s living room. Eating every meal with her. And while she’d never admitted it aloud, she had been grateful for his presence and his diligence.

  Because she’d been terrified.

  As time dragged on and her stalker continued to elude arrest, Dolph had begun to pull Jakob away because he had other tasks that needed to be performed, and it appeared that the man pursuing her had lost interest. Then, when it seemed like it was over, another letter came. All it said was, “Don’t try to trick me again. It wasn’t right.”

  She’d spent hours trying to decide if the “it” in the second sentence was her “tricking” him or the rape itself. That it hadn’t been right because it hadn’t been her he’d attacked.

  The day after she got that letter, she turned in her notice at the Kripo.

  For the past year and a half, Jakob escorted her anytime she left the university grounds. Annalise suspected that, officially, Jakob was no longer on bodyguard duty and was now acting of his own accord. He would certainly never admit as much to her.

  Just as she was fairly sure he, personally, was screening her mail. She’d made special arrangements for the university’s mail-receiving office to set aside all her letters and packages for screening. Every package she received had been opened and resealed. And the letters she did receive were all safe, normal.

  The letters hadn’t stopped, though there were far fewer. Jakob had confirmed that much. He assured her that copies of all new letters were added to the still-open, but cold, case files that both the Kripo and the Ritter maintained.

  In the dark quiet of night, the guilt would gnaw at her. Guilt over taking Jakob’s free time. Guilt that so many people had to make adjustments and allowances for her because she hadn’t been smart enough to identify the stalker or strong enough to deal with any more letters.

  She’d been thinking about asking Jakob for a copy of the file. To read those letters and see if maybe with more materials, there might be something she could see that no one else did. Maybe she’d ask him today.

  Annalise glanced at her watch. “Dr. Hayden should be here any moment.”

  Jakob nodded. “You intend to help him?”

  “If I can,” she said. “It’s been some time since I’ve created a profile.”

  A long pause. “If you’re uncomfortable, I will make him leave.”

  “I’m not,” she interjected. “I’m…” Annalise took a deep breath, not sure what to say.

  I’m ready. I’m tired of being scared. I’m done hiding.

  All were true.

  “Brilliant.” Jakob’s word was spoken so low, she almost didn’t hear it.

  Annalise gave him a slight shrug and glanced away. “It’s been a long time, but I’d like to try to help.”

  Before Jakob could reply, though the taciturn man might not have, there was a knock at the door.

  She sprang out of her chair, silently cursing herself for being so jumpy. Jakob, bless him, pretended not to notice her obvious nervousness.

  Jakob glanced at her, and Annalise walked to the wall the door was in, leaning against it. She’d been with Jakob long enough to know there was no way in hell he’d ever let her answer the door. He’d taught her to position herself so that anyone coming in the door wouldn’t be able to see her until they were fully in the room, but not so close to the door itself that she would be hit if the door were slammed open, or be in a position where it could be used to pin her in place.

  In comparison, he planted himself squarely in front of the door, one hand resting on the short sword belted to his hip. He rarely wore the sword, which was a symbol of his office, but also very out of place in modern life. He must have come from another duty. Or perhaps he wanted to throw Dr. Hayden off.

  Possibly both.

  She braced her palms against the wall to steady herself as he opened the door.

  Annalise heard a male voice with a distinct American accent say, “Uh, Hello. Guten Tag. I’m Dr. Walt Hayden. I’m looking for Dr. Annalise Fischer. Frau Doktor Fischer.”

  She expected Jakob to step back and allow the American in, so she was surprised when he remained in the doorway.

  That surprise morphed to alarm when Jakob stiffened, his fingers curling around the hilt of the sword. Something in the hall had alarmed or frightened Jakob.

  Annalise barely suppressed a whimper of fear, and she shoved one hand into her slacks pocket, closing her fingers around her phone, ready to call for help.

  “Surprise.” This was a second voice, the accent Scandinavian. Danish, at a guess.

  There shouldn’t be a second man.

  Was it her stalker?

  Was he holding a gun on Jakob?

  Before she could fully freak out, Jakob dropped his hand from his sword—and then said the last thing she’d ever expected.

  “Hello, Fleet Admiral.”

  “Fleet Admiral?” Curiosity was one of the few emotions that could override fear. It was what made humans so dumb. Curiosity didn’t just kill cats. It routinely killed people who liked to begin sentences with, “I’m sure it’s safe…” and, “Let’s just take a quick look…” Or the always dangerous, “I wonder what’s in there?” or, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  A blond giant shouldered his way into her small office. Jakob backed up to make space, backing toward her so that his body was between her and the giant.

  Annalise had never met the new fleet admiral, but she’d heard him described, and most importantly, knew from Jakob that the fleet admiral was missing.

  Except, apparently he wasn’t.

  Because he was in her office.

  A second also-large-though-not-giant man squeezed in and shut the door. He leaned against it and smiled at her, raising a hand. “Hi, I’m Walt.”

  Annalise nodded her head in greeting. When in doubt, maintain social pleasantries. “Dr. Hayden. Welcome to Heidelberg. I trust you had a good flight to Frankfurt?”

  Walt nodded. “We did. And I enjoyed the scenery as we drove here. Though this one should have his license revoked,” Walt said, jerking his thumb at the fleet admiral.

  “Annalise.” The fleet admiral tossed a grin her way, ignoring Walt’s jab. He was good-looking but intimidating, despite the friendly grin.

  Jakob was looking back and forth between Walt and Eric. His shoulders were stiff but not tight as they had been. His body language said “the situation is dangerous but we are not in danger.” Out loud, he said, “Dr. Hayden is a decoy.”

  “Yep,” the fleet admiral agreed.

  “You wanted to speak to Annalise. In secret.”

  “Well, that saves on explanations,” Walt muttered.

  “I wasn’t expecting a Ritter,” Eric said. “Someone tip you off I was coming?”

  Jakob didn’t say anything, and the smile melted off Eric’s face. The tension in the air ratcheted up.

  Annalise took a step forward and put a hand on Jakob’s shoulder, but she addressed Eric.

  “No, Fleet Admiral. Jakob is here to protect me. I have a stalker.” If he wanted to know more, all he had to do was ask. Jakob and the Germany admiral would be obliged to tell him anything he wanted to know.

  Eric frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He looked at Jakob. “You get the guy?”

  Jakob’s shoulder turned to steel under her hand, and Annalise winced internally. She knew—though he’d never said anything—the fact that her stalker was still free ate away at his insides like a cancer. Jakob was a born protector, a man who’d dedicated his life to seeing justice done. Every single day her stalker roamed the earth as a free man was a personal affront to him.

  “If I may ask, Fleet Admiral, why did you want to see me?” she asked.


  Eric Ericsson had the smartest people in the world at his disposal. Why would he want to see her?

  Because you’re brilliant?

  Jakob’s earlier word echoed in her mind.

  “Just what Walt here said. I want you to help me catch a serial killer.”

  Annalise’s stomach knotted. “I’m no longer a practicing forensic psychologist. I teach now.” She gestured around her small office, which included several stacks of papers waiting to be graded.

  “Maybe we should sit down,” Walt said. “Well, I’m going to sit down because Eric is squishing me against the door.” Walt bumped past Eric, knocking him back against the bookcases before dropping into the chair on the other side of her desk, where normally panicked students sat.

  She took a seat too, but Eric and Jakob remained standing.

  “Facing off” might be a more accurate term.

  “He really does want help with a serial killer. I’m just the smoke screen.” Walt was glancing between them.

  Annalise couldn’t help the small smile Walt’s comment provoked. Lately, she found it difficult to warm up to people—particularly men—as she was always suspicious and fearful. However, there was something about Dr. Walt Hayden that told her he was a good person. Since the appearance of her stalker, the only other man she’d warmed up to just as quickly had been Jakob.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Walt. You’re also here to consult on the fucked-up medical aspect of the killings.”

  Annalise hadn’t expected the fleet admiral to be so flippant, so sarcastic. In her mind, she’d always envisioned Eric as stoic, stalwart, and intimidating. And while he had the intimidation thing in spades, he was lacking in the others. His sense of humor surprised her.

  “You need a forensic pathologist.” Walt had the air of someone saying something for the hundredth time.

  Jakob, as always, didn’t bother to mince words. “Serial killer?” he prompted.

  “Straight to the point. No foreplay. Not exactly great on a first date.” Eric’s expression, in contrast to his words, was serious. He nodded at Walt, who reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive.

  Jakob took it, then glanced at Annalise. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out the secured, untraceable computer that she used for anything personal. The laptop provided by the university was reserved for only class and research-related tasks. The slim black computer the Ritter had provided for her had no logo and, when opened, a single white cursor appeared on a black screen. She bent to the camera, which scanned her face, then pressed two fingers to the small touchpad in the corner. The computer unlocked, and she plugged in the thumb drive.

  The content was hundreds of files divided into several folders: “Decapitation,” “Full Dismemberment,” “Cross Reference MA”.

  Annalise looked up from the computer, waiting silently for more information.

  “Josephine O’Connor was one of ours. She was murdered in Dublin, and her head left in a basket where I, we, would find it,” Eric said in a dark, quiet voice.

  Annalise shared a glance with Walt, since Jakob was wholly focused on the fleet admiral. Walt grimaced, and she found herself making a similar expression back to him, a moment of shared experience as they both processed Eric’s words.

  “Petro,” Jakob said.

  Petro meant Petro Sirko, the former admiral of Hungary. Annalise wasn’t sure how many members knew the truth about what had happened. That Petro had turned against the society, that he had resurrected old enemies—the Domino and Bellator Dei. She knew about it because Jakob had told her.

  One night, he’d arrived looking particularly grim. After pouring herself a glass of wine and him a cup of hot tea—she’d never seen him drink alcohol—she’d gotten him to talk to her. It was the first time Jakob had shared anything from his own life, even if what he shared was more about their society than him personally. Typically, he was a closed book, fully dedicated to the job he’d been assigned—in this case, protecting her.

  That night, he’d been shaken, and she’d been touched when he had opened up to her. In some strange way, she’d felt less afraid that night, less alone. For too long, she’d been a target. Something like that had a way of causing a person to look inward. She had spent too much time lost in her own terrifying world. So much so, she’d failed to remember that there were other people suffering unspeakable tragedies as well.

  Even now, Annalise’s stomach clenched as she recalled Jakob telling her about the admiral who had turned against their society and the atrocities he’d committed against innocent people.

  She glanced back to her computer, then did a quick search for “Josephine.” The file popped up and she opened it.

  Her gaze landed on a headshot photograph of Josephine, and her heart ached. The woman’s wide smile, her bright, almost mischievous green eyes hidden behind glasses that were too large for her face, spoke of a kind, joyful woman. Annalise was briefly reminded of her sister, Adele, before the attack that had taken the light from her eyes.

  “Petro targeted Josephine because he knew it would…” Eric looked away, his jaw muscle twitching.

  Had the fleet admiral loved her?

  Annalise studied his body language, and there was grief, but it wasn’t the sort of shell-shocked grief she usually saw from people who’d lost someone. That usually looked like hunched shoulders, as if the weight of their grief was a physical presence. Eric’s grief was fire. A burning grief-fueled anger that made him stand tall and take deep breaths.

  “Petro organized it,” Eric started again. “But he wasn’t the one who actually killed her. We know he had at least one pet serial killer whom he helped fund and protect. Josephine wasn’t murdered by him, so that means it was a different killer. A killer I’m going to find.” The last words were a low, rumbling threat.

  “You want me to create a profile of him, based on the case reports,” Annalise said quietly. She didn’t do this kind of work anymore. Couldn’t. She’d lost whatever edge and insight she’d had. Except, looking at the files on her computer screen, she felt compelled. Anticipatory.

  She glanced at Jakob, who was looking at her with interest. There was very little that got by her bodyguard.

  No, her friend.

  The passage of time had slowly changed their relationship from that of protector to someone with whom she felt a genuine connection.

  He saw it. Knew before she’d even accepted the case that she was going to do this. She’d failed Adele, but she would be damned if she’d fail Josephine.

  “Yes. And Walt’s going to look at the autopsy reports and tell us if this guy is, or was, a doctor.”

  “Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a forensic pathologist.” Everyone looked at Walt, who stared blandly back at them. “Star Trek? Seriously? God, I miss my brothers,” he muttered.

  “How many murders?” Annalise took a blank notebook out of her drawer and flipped it open.

  “I don’t know,” Eric answered.

  Annalise frowned and started opening the top-level files in the thumb drive. The decapitation file had dozens of names. She opened the dismemberment file. More names. She suppressed a groan when she realized what she was actually looking at.

  “You’re not sure which of these people were killed by the same suspect who murdered Ms. O’Connor.” Annalise opened the folder with MA in the title. The list of names here was much shorter, but still long enough to make her wince.

  “It could have been a professional,” Jakob pointed out.

  Eric shook his head. “No, I’ve had words with a lot of people in that business, and no one has heard of Josephine’s kill.”

  “Wouldn’t assassins lie about assassinating someone?” Walt asked.

  “If they didn’t talk about their kills, how would anyone know how good they are?” Eric raised one hand. “It’s possible, but I’ve ruled that out, for the most part.”

  “This is why you disappeared,” Annalise said. “So you could track dow
n leads.”

  “The Spartan Guard would have a collective heart attack if they knew where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. By the way, neither of you is going to tell anyone you’ve seen me, got it?” Eric’s menacing tone made it very clear there would be hell to pay if they did.

  Annalise nodded, but Jakob held his ground.

  “No one,” Eric reiterated. “That’s an order from your fleet admiral.”

  Jakob gave one short, terse nod, making it clear he was following that particular directive under duress.

  Walt looked almost cheerful as he said, “He took down an extremist group in Libya. Showed up at my clinic covered in blood. So I invited him to be my date to my brother’s wedding.”

  Annalise blinked at Walt. That must be a joke. She’d never thought she had trouble understanding American humor…

  Eric leaned forward, and once again Annalise got the sense that this wasn’t the leader of the Masters’ Admiralty working on behalf of his society.

  This was a man on a mission. And it was personal. “I need a profile. If you can get me a profile and a list of other victims, great, but if you just want to do a profile from Josephine’s file, I’ll take it.”

  Annalise’s brain was already folding and contorting the information she had, analyzing what she knew. “If the unsub killed Josephine at the direction of Petro, with whom he must have had some kind of trusting, possibly manipulative relationship, then a profile based only on her file won’t be indicative of his personal pathology.”

  “I looked at the images on the flight,” Walt said. “Of Josephine, I mean. I can tell you whoever removed the head knew what they were doing. I doubt it was their first time doing so.”

  Annalise made a note. “Then we assume the modus operandi of beheading is part of the pathology, part of the killer’s need.”

  “That’s why Petro sent him.” Jakob was no longer staring Eric down, but looking at her computer screen, then at her notes. “He knew how to cut off heads.”

  “Hey, this guy might be useful.” Eric grinned at Jakob. “If I wasn’t hiding from the admirals, I’d tell Dolph Eburhardt I needed you.”