by Martha Carr
She’d driven straight to Steel Gloves, wanting the release that only punching someone could bring. Exercise on her obstacle course might be cleansing, but fiery rage cleansed her soul.
I saved that stupid kid’s life, and now he’s gonna go and get himself killed to pay his respects to a piece of trash father?
Her opponent stepped forward, throwing a few test jabs, which Shay easily blocked.
He gave her a cocky grin. It reminded her far too much of Peyton. She launched a series of quick jabs, forcing the man back. He finally found an opening and sent a powerful hook her way, but she ducked the punch at the last moment, and hit him with a series of body blows.
Focus on the task at hand. Stay in the moment. Her mind continued to drift. If his mother knew all this shit was going on and looked the other way, she’s just as bad as the rest of them.
Shay’s distraction let her opponent land a solid punch that sent her staggering back. She let out a growl and shook her head.
“You’re good,” her opponent said, bouncing side to side on his toes. “But I’m better.”
Cocky little Peyton. I gave you a new life. A new purpose, and this is how you repay me? Fuck you. Stick with your training. Singleness of purpose.
Shay rushed the boxer, gliding between his blows like he was announcing them. She slammed a glove into his face and immediately followed up with another hit.
He stepped back, but her speed made his escape attempt futile. Blow after blow landed, each hit bringing out a grunt.
The angry tomb raider forced him into a corner where he finally collapsed, a trickle of blood coming from his nose.
Shay brought up her elbow to slam into his neck, blinking, pulling back at the last minute.
Fucking get it together, woman. This is just some douchebag in the gym, not a mercenary trying to kill you.
Shay took a deep breath, moving back several steps, shaking her head and trying to clear out the murderous bloodlust.
Her opponent pushed himself off the ground, sniffing as he dabbed at his nose. He worked at pulling his gloves off.
“Sorry, I got excited after I got some good hits in.”
The man let out a low grunt, glancing at her as he looked at the blood on his fingers. “It’s okay. Nothing to apologize for. I’m impressed with your skills, and I underestimated you. Not many guys can beat my ass. Guess I shouldn’t have taken a chick so lightly.”
Shay let out an annoyed sigh and looked around at the small crowd who were already gathering to watch them. Pick your battles. Fuck Peyton. It’s his own damned fault if he gets killed.
She held out her hand to shake. He took her hand as she leveraged her body weight and flipped him onto his back, dropping to her knee and whispering to him, “We all make mistakes. Some live to try again.” He looked at her nervously as she grinned and stood back up, holding out her hand. Everything changes. Always a permanent part of any plan these days. The return of magic was teaching her that much.
Shay blew a good hour driving in the Hollywood Hills, still clearing her head. She considered tracking down the Demon Generals to lay waste to the gang. She rested one hand on the top of the steering wheel as she cruised around a curve on Nichols Canyon Road.
Mapping out kill strategies always calmed her down. But she accepted that killing dozens of gang members was just as idiotic as Peyton going to the funeral. Only an idiot murdered a bunch of gang member and didn’t expect blowback.
The Spider cruised down the road, heading in the general direction of Warehouse Two. She still had a while before she arrived, even with the light traffic, unusual for LA.
It was a good day to take her favorite route, winding through the canyon, lowering the risk of being tracked. That gave her more time to make a mental inventory of everything she’d need to move.
I’ll need a van or a truck. Fuck, I’ll need to stop off at Warehouse Three for explosives or thermite charges.
Shay turned sharply at a blind curve, almost clipping another driver. He honked, but she ignored it.
There’s not going to be room for anyone getting that close to me in this lifetime. Stick with a virtual PA. Never has to know who I really am. I can get what I need and pay them, move on with my day.
Shay’s stomach was still in a knot. She’d made a mistake with Peyton. Do that too often and she was as good as dead. Time to correct the mistake, starting with emptying the warehouse and removing any trace that she was ever there by blowing it out of existence. No more cubicle walls.
“Who knows?” she muttered. “Maybe this will be cathartic.” Fuck me. I miss the yuppy Peewee Herman.
22
The fire in Shay faded into a dull pain by the time she made it back to Warehouse Two. She decided to wait on collecting her arson supplies. There’d be a delay, she figured, between Peyton being captured, tortured, killed, and traced back to her.
A soft sighed escaped Shay’s lips as the loading bay door closed behind her car, and she turned off her engine. A fucking waste. That’s what it was. He could have made something of himself with his tech skills and her training. He would have become a well-rounded badass who didn’t have to run from his family.
If only Peyton Coolidge could have understood everything he wanted was within his reach, instead of letting his emotions get the better of him and pushing him into an act of suicidal stupidity.
Shay stepped out of her car and made her way to the cubicle jungle and the office. She halted, blinking, surprised at her relief.
Peyton was sitting in his lounge chair, the footrest up, a comic book resting on his chest. He didn’t acknowledge her or move. For a second her heart rate kicked up, and she wondered if someone had gotten to him when she was gone, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive.
Shay got close enough to give a kick to the footrest, her arms crossed and stared down at him in silence, her face a careful, stony blank.
“Comic book seems a little on the nose.”
Peyton looked down at the Green Lantern rare edition from twenty years ago. “Some things are a cliché for a good reason. It’s the way I relax when I’m stressed out. You should try it.”
“My way helps with population control.” She smiled despite her best instincts telling her to kick him out. “Fuck me.” She said it under her breath but Peyton still noticed and raised an eyebrow, staring up at her.
“I owe Player 4839 a ten spot. I bet him you didn’t have a beating heart.”
Shay easily lifted him onto his feet and dropped him to the ground. He landed on his side and rolled over, jumping to his feet. “I know this is your version of an office party. I missed you too.”
Shay took a step toward Peyton as he leapt onto the desk and leap-frogged across the room, never landing on the floor. His comic book slid to the floor and he gave a worried look back but didn’t go back to retrieve it.
Good instincts.
“That was stupid and impressive.” Shay was doing her best not to prove him wrong or laugh. “You set up the room just in case you had to get away like this, didn’t you?”
“My own jungle gym. Had to entertain myself somehow all those hours cooped up in here. Invest in cable. It’s not fun to watch a seventy-year-old Hoda drink wine and cook cauliflower pizza.” He stayed where he was, ready to jump again, if necessary.
Shay was tempted to take a run at him just to see him move through the rest of his hidden training circuit.
“Nice try, Shay. I can see the wheels turning. I told you, I managed to keep myself alive all these years and I proved I’m useful to you. Quit underestimating me.”
“You made a gym out of office equipment.”
“Have to use what’s handy.”
“It’s entertaining but don’t get ahead of yourself. Your skills were impressive when you were back East right up to the day you had a target on you. They’re not enough anymore.”
Peyton scoffed, jumping down even as he kept his distance. “I thought about what you sa
id, all of it, and I realized you own my ass. I’m fucking dead, and you’re right. If I headed back home, Randy would make sure I was full of Russian poison within a couple of hours. I’ll make your day and admit you were right. I’m not ready to deal with him, otherwise I would have left.”
Shay dropped into a lounge chair. “Speaking as someone who has been dead longer than you, it’s not so bad once you get used to it. It’s useful in its own way.”
“Useful? How the hell is being dead useful?”
“Most people have to carry around their baggage with them forever, but once you’re dead, you can let it all go, reinvent yourself, and do it the right way this time. Come up with a new version of yourself.”
Peyton sat down in the other lounge chair, scooping up the comic book and brushing it off. “Is it really so easy? Just let it all go. I had a life, people I gave a crap about, at least one person. I…” He sighed. “Not to be a prick, but it wasn’t like you were a social butterfly before you faked your own death.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I traveled all around the world and met all sorts of interesting people. Sure, I killed a lot of those same people, but I did meet them and often talked to them before I killed them.”
“You have a strange definition for cocktail party conversation.”
Shay shrugged and leaned her head back against the chair “People are less judgie when they’re about to die.”
“Word.”
“You have to accept that your old life is over as if it never existed. You’re never stepping back into that identity. If you’re willing, I can help you figure out the new Peyton. Hell, I’m doing it myself.”
“By becoming a tomb raider?”
“Among other things.” Shay pointed to her hair. “Like going back to my natural color. I’m gonna move to a new place, too. Shit like that.”
“I guess I can add a few more cubicle rooms.”
“Make a maze if you want and put a minotaur in the center.”
“All your shit would be safe then.” He looked over at her. “I saw how happy you were to see me.”
“You were asleep.”
Peyton let out a contented sigh. “Clever techies are hard to find. Especially the kind that will help you clean up after a kill.”
The smile faded from Shay’s face and she briefly shut her eyes, mapping out how to target Randy Coolidge.
“Are you meditating? A Zen master killer tomb raider.”
“My own version.”
“Good idea. Don’t point a weapon at me but you’re wound a little tight.”
“I’m glad you stayed, Peyton.”
“I know. Everybody needs a sidekick and these days a troll is hard to come by. Popular as fucking rock stars and I eat less.”
“Marginally…”
They didn’t speak about the funeral at all the following week even though it was the subtext behind every brief conversation.
Shay dedicated her week to training and pouring over historical research as a welcome distraction, waiting for Peyton to find the next client. She wasn’t used to waiting on anyone.
She was spending more time at Warehouse Two, if only to cut down on Peyton’s cabin fever, even if some of his outfits were like staring at a moving 3D image. She suspected the wardrobe was part of the reason he was still alive. It would be hard to fire straight at him without looking away.
Peyton convinced Shay to replace the couch with something larger that he immediately nicknamed couch island.
Shay found it a nice place to recline as she scrolled through the news. “Ever wonder how warped things would be if they didn’t have bounty hunters bringing in magical criminals? At least I had the decency to keep my killing in the shadows.”
Peyton blinked and looked up from his laptop. “New definition for decency but I’ll take it.” Peyton was lounging at the other end of the large, L-shaped sofa. He looked up from his laptop. “We should start a new kind of urban dictionary for hitmen. Bet it would sell a million copies. Why are you making that face? I know that one. You make it when you feel a disturbance in the force.”
“It’s not important. I’m annoyed at myself. I want Greg to call with a meeting time with Smite-Williams.” She looked at Peyton’s four-leaf clover shirt. At least his skinny jeans were normal. “Is that your lucky shirt?”
He arched an eyebrow and went back to looking at his screen. “Good one. Keep your murderous day job. You need more bait to tempt the fish.”
Shay shrugged and rested her head on her arms. “Maybe the guy’s just busy. Fuck him. I’m in no hurry.”
“That sounded totally believable. What if I told you that I have a job to distract you, complete with a fifty thousand euro down-payment, and a hundred and fifty thousand euro final payout?”
Shay bolted upright. “Give me details.”
“That was like throwing chum in the water. Remember a while back when I thought I had a lead on a job and the guy backed out? He wanted to cheap out on me.”
“I remember there wasn’t much more than that.”
Peyton gave Shay his best shit-eating grin. “He’s back and he’s ready to pay. Best part… The job is in Paris.”
Shay tilted her head. She could combine a little mini-vacation with the job. “Already liking it so far.”
“Forty years back, a businessman named Francois Martine had his mountain chalet robbed by a high-end cat burglar. A real expert. French police even suspected magic was involved because there were no clues other than a missing owl.”
“I remember reading about that heist. A solid gold owl.”
“That’s the one! The thief took only the one item. Ignored all the other art, jewelry, computers. Just wanted the owl.”
“The owner refused to say why it was so important. Everyone figured it was a solid gold artifact.”
Peyton nodded, smiling. “Give the tomb raider a kewpie doll. My research says it’s a magical artifact and has a lot more value than just being a big block of gold.”
“And what did the client say?”
“The client is Martine’s daughter, Elaine. She says the owl has been in her family for generations. There’s a bonus if we don’t press for details.”
“That’s a first. We’ll need to do a thorough background check to make sure we aren’t arming the devil.” Shay rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m guessing you have some leads.”
“Yeah, this is where it gets really weird.”
“Magic gets there eventually.”
Peyton shook his head. “No, that’s not the weird part. Not that long after the theft, rumors popped up on the net. Someone claiming to be the thief said he had the owl and left eleven clues to its whereabouts with five in a cipher that no one’s been able to figure out.”
“An actual treasure hunt with clues.”
“Initially, a lot of treasure hunters went after it, but a lot of them got cold feet when several turned up dead. The clues have always pointed to Paris.”
“A very big city with just as many old catacombs underground. Can you narrow it down?” Shay put her phone down on the nearby wooden crate that was doubling as a side table. The warehouse was still a decorating work in progress to Peyton and getting crowded to Shay.
“Elaine has additional information she recently came into that might narrow it down more.”
“And when is she going to share the rest of the information?”
“She already did after she sent the fifty-k non-refundable deposit.”
Shay laughed. “You buried the lead. You managed to get a non-refundable deposit out of the woman? Not bad.”
“It’s our new company policy. Only way to do it. Makes the client have some skin in the game. That way, Elaine won’t hire six different hunters to up her chances. All or nothing kind of deal.”
It wasn’t the first time Shay had looked at Peyton with a budding admiration. Still, there was a small piece of doubt that kept her on guard, ready for a sign of betrayal. It was all too common and ended i
n a permanent layoff. Maybe not this time. “What’s got her motivated enough to part with that much money?”
“The key that will allow the ciphers to be broken. She’s passed along the five clues in decoded form.”
Shay blinked, her eyes wide. “Now, that’s interesting. Wonder how she got her hands on that.”
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. She didn’t tell. Look, from what I can tell this shit is straightforward. No one else is currently seeking the owl, so all we have to do is crunch through some clues.”
“If she’s willing to part with fifty thousand euros just to take a chance, there’s more to this story. What about the guys who died trying to locate it? What exactly did them in?” Don’t say icicles. Shay tried to hide the involuntary shudder that passed down her spine.
“Several died of unknown causes.”
“How in this day and age could the cause be unknown?”
“When the pieces don’t add up. They were hit by lightning on a clear, sunny day in the middle of an empty parking lot. In another attempt, a guy froze to death in the middle of a chapel in the middle of the summer.”
Fuck me, he said ice.
“Uh…” Peyton winced.
“Spit it out.”
Peyton shrugged. “One operative was reduced to a gooey puddle and the liquid was identified as human matter. They used DNA to figure out who he was. That has got to be painful.”
Shay worked her jaw a little. “Sounds like magic.”
“Do you still want the job?”
“My business model is all about retrieving magic artifacts. Can’t back out because one of them belongs in a horror film.”
Peyton smiled. “Did I mention I’ll provide backup for this one from here?”
“That’s one way to get you to stay put. Threaten you with flash freezing or melting.” Peyton shook his head, his stomach lurching. “Seeing that could put me off pizza. Getting this back to the owner will solidify your rep as a reliable delivery system.”
“I’m a tomb raider, not a delivery girl.”
“Still, we’re reliable as the post office. Neither wind or rain, or dark of night will keep you from your paid rounds. Has a sentimental ring to it.”
