by Martha Carr
Shay snorted. “They’re not all that reliable anymore. Postal drones are the worst and the occasional rogue gargoyle isn’t any better.”
"You know what I mean.” Peyton shrugged. “You’re the one who had a rep for never failing as a hitman. A one hundred percent kill rate. You take a job, you get it done.”
“If you’re going to survive as an entrepreneur you make sure your word is trusted even by the untrustworthy, especially them.” Shay narrowed her eyes. “You did good, Peyton, but next time check with me before you take someone’s money.” Frozen to death. What is in Paris?
Peyton grimaced and nodded quickly. He was fidgeting, all over the place. Shay marked it up to getting his hand slapped. He has to learn I’m in charge.
Despite Shay’s harsh tone, she felt something approaching gratitude for Peyton’s initiative. She liked the idea of having a clever assistant who could take some of the workload off her shoulders. It was a bonus that he saw the angles before they hit him in the face.
Shay hopped to her feet, already walking to the Spider. “I should go get some equipment ready, get a plan outlined. Send me the information on the clues that you’ve already gathered, along with the other client communications. I can study it all on the plane.”
Peyton got up and followed her to the car. “You know, if you set me up with access to all your warehouses, I could have what you need set up ahead of time.”
Shay stopped in her tracks and pivoted, placing her hands on his shoulders and squeezing enough to cause a little pain. “You don’t have the skill set to know what is needed and you don’t need to know those places yet. We’re becoming friends and coworkers but don’t forget who I am.”
Peyton looked into her dark eyes and forced himself to smile as Shay gradually let go, dropping her arms.
“I understand.”
“Company meeting over.” Shay’s voice was calm and slow. A warning. She turned to walk the rest of the way to her car.
Peyton tapped something into his phone and tossed it to her. Shay snatched it out of the air with a frown.
“What the hell is this?”
“Just look at it.”
Shay pressed her lips together in a straight line as she looked at the image on screen. It was a satellite image of a warehouse with the address for Warehouse Three.
“Just tap the screen once,” Peyton said.
Shay tapped, holding her finger steady despite the rush of anger. She saw an image of the warehouse from the street level, confirming it was Warehouse Three.
“See? That one’s not secret anymore, so there’s no reason to hide it from me, right?” Peyton smiled nervously, proud of his accomplishment. He was playing a dangerous game. “From the power usage, I’m guessing that one is an equipment warehouse, weapons storage.”
Shay calmly tossed his phone back to him, her face a blank slate. Peyton caught it with both hands and almost dropped it. He saw the focused look on her face and froze. Somewhere behind him was the line and he had crossed way over it, even if he had done it on purpose.
Shay pulled her 9mm from her shoulder holster and neatly pointed it right at the center of his forehead, still calmly looking at him. “A few questions. Question one is easy. How?”
Peyton swallowed hard and set his phone down carefully on the armrest of the nearest chair. “Easy. I put a liquid tracker on you. Very hard to wash off, lasts for days.”
“Question two is not going to be easy. Tell me why I shouldn’t put a fucking bullet into your forehead and end my detection problem. You’re good at what you do… clearly, but I have to wonder if you’re an asset or a liability.”
Peyton swallowed again, taking several slow deep breaths as he locked eyes with Shay. He could feel the seconds passing. “I’ve got a dead man’s switch.”
“A dead man’s switch. You’re rigged?”
“If I don’t regularly check in online at a particular server that I control and enter a code, then information goes out across the web to some very particular locations. Multiple receivers. Among other things, it reveals you aren’t dead. It’ll also give the location of this warehouse and number three.” Peyton licked his upper lip. His mouth felt dry.
Shay held the gun steady. Never break your own rules especially when they get you this far. Fuck me, I broke it when I pulled him off the street. Trust no one past an anonymous meeting place. “Question three. Why?”
“To make a point.”
“What’s your point? That I can’t trust you because you’ll try to fuck me the first chance you’ll get?” She felt an ache and a grief in the center of her chest that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It hurt all the more to know that someone had gotten through her defenses, at last, and was just another cheap imitation of a human being.
Peyton shook his head. “That I never forgot who you are. It’s always right here, first thought.” He tapped his forehead. “I have leverage, too. Even as a walking dead man.” He pointed at Shay, angry. “You don’t think much of me. I know, we joke around a little more every day, you put me on your payroll, but you think I’m chickenshit. I tried to tell you, I can fight back, too.” His voice was defiant. He was doing his best to stand up straighter.
“I can change the locations. I guarantee you that after this I’ll be doing sweeps every time I’m done talking with you.”
“You change locations, I’ll find it again eventually. I’m an information guy. That’s why you saved me, remember?” Peyton held up his hands. “I realized I have to show you I have claws, too. I knew I needed a way to make sure you wouldn’t see me as fallout if something went south. More convenient to let me die if an enemy got too close. I mean, that’s part of the risk, right? I needed to make it worth your while to not only teach me but protect me… even over an artifact.”
“That’s asking a lot.” Her eyes were shining at the sting of the betrayal and the knowledge that she was the one who set it in motion. Her instincts to protect herself made Peyton look for a failsafe.
“I was sitting around here after you ordered me not to go to my own father’s funeral like I was a second-rate bonded troll. Got under my skin. I’m not your fucking pet. Gave me time to think, though. I figure there must be eight or nine more warehouses like this one to find, so best to start now.”
“This leaves us in an awkward place.” Shay kept her breathing steady, her finger still brushing against the trigger.
“We’ve never really left that phase. You need to decide if you can work with someone you can respect instead of something you can control.” His chest was rising and falling, and his heart was pounding. Peyton knew this was the critical mass. Either Shay would put away her gun and listen or pull the trigger. He calculated the odds when he went searching for the warehouse. Fifty-fifty. It could easily go either way, but a confrontation just like this was going to happen at some point.
Better to see it coming.
“There was a kill a few years ago that said something to me just before I shot him.” Shay turned to the side, still pointing the gun at Peyton’s head.
“That doesn’t sound encouraging.” Peyton wondered if his family would ever know he lived another month after his first death.
“He said, faith can’t happen without a gap of information. You have to go first without knowing the outcome, especially when the information is lacking and the potential consequences are a bitch.”
“Shit, is that what got him killed?” Peyton’s voice cracked but he stayed where he was, refusing to run or look for a weapon. Both would be pointless if Shay made up her mind to shoot. Besides, first rule when faced with a skilled predator. Never run, it only gets them excited.
“No, choices he made years ago led to that bullet. By the time he and I met it was over, one way or the other. He knew it too.”
Peyton pressed forward with the argument he worked out when he was searching for the warehouse. The words tumbled out of him. “The way I see it, if you really want a different life than being a hired kill
er till the day your consequences catch up with you…” Peyton dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand, determined not to let the fear show on his face. “Then you have to make a different choice today. You trust me not to fuck up and lead a mercenary back here or sell you out and I’ll keep your secrets and help both of us get rich.”
“There’s another option.”
“Yeah, I know. Not so fond of that one.”
“I shoot you and start over.”
“You know it won’t play out like that.” Peyton shrugged a shoulder. “Well, probably not… What’s the likelihood you’ll get someone else to help you after word gets out you killed the last information specialist? We tend to be a sensitive lot and bullets that penetrate our skull piss us off.” Every muscle in his body ached from tension.
“You do have balls.”
“Ever since birth.” Peyton slowly sat down in the chair behind him, never taking his eyes off Shay. “Look, I’ve played my hand. Out in the open, somewhat at least. I mean, I told you what I knew. I didn’t make you find out. I had to know you’d have some feelings about it. Time to choose. Killer or tomb raider. We work together and become fucking rich or you shoot me, blow this place up and start running.”
Shay shifted her jaw side to side. “I underestimated you. That doesn’t happen to me very often.”
“Thank goodness it happened with a somewhat friendly.”
“Tomb raider…” Shay blinked hard, sliding her gun back into the holster.
Peyton blew out a breath, puffing out his cheeks. “That was close. That was the worst job interview, ever. Only thing that could have made it worse was if I didn’t get the job.”
“You live for today. You’re right, there are no guarantees. Might as well let that idea go and work with you till the day I can’t.”
“Yeah, this is going to stay awkward.”
Shay picked up her purse and started walking away, shouting to Peyton without turning around. “Well, get up. You’re coming with me to Warehouse Three. You can start familiarizing yourself with the equipment and layout.”
“When do I get to see what’s inside the other warehouses.”
“When you find them, and if you remain in one non-congealed piece. You know there’s a unique security system on each one, right?” She didn’t bother to correct his count of warehouses. Let him find out for himself.
Shay turned and headed toward the Spider, trying to hide her relief. End of my perfect record. First time I ignored my gut and didn’t pull the trigger. I choose tomb raider.
“Congealed? Are there magical traps on the warehouses?” Peyton scooped up his laptop gripping it hard to hide his shaking hands. He ran to the far side of the Spider and got inside, shutting the door. “New word for our hitman dictionary. Job security. Noun. A temporary and fleeting experience.”
“How about trust? Noun. Intangible and necessary item that will get you killed one day and save your ass on another.” Shay turned the key in the ignition, feeling the engine come to life as she pushed the button to lift the roll top door.
“Yeah, this book could be a real moneymaker. If I manage to live long enough to finish it.”
“I suppose we’ll find out eventually.” Never been wrong before and felt relieved at the same time. Unknown territory. Peyton has real skills. If he could pull something like that on her, then eventually he might be ready to face down his brother and sister, even without her help.
Nice, Peyton.
23
A relaxed atmosphere hung over the Parisian café even though a few drones buzzed in the area. Shay found an outside table hugging the wall and sat back, watching the crowd from behind a pair of oversized Versace sunglasses.
No obvious hitman strolled by taking quick glances as they passed. No one sat down at any of the nearby tables with their backs to the wall, making a point of looking casual as they sipped coffee. That could mean that French killers were just better on the job than the man Shay followed in Munich, or it might be that for once, the universe was cutting her a break, and she could concentrate on her coffee and roll.
Strange things are happening all the time these days.
Shay scrutinized the other patrons at the outdoor café as she took a sip of her strong black coffee.
As far as anyone looking at her could tell, Shay was just another upscale tourist, dressed for the occasion. Her athletic body looked good in the vintage St. Laurent poppy print dress she’d purchased from a local shop.
She had studied the background extensively on the plane, occasionally distracted from replaying the confrontation with Peyton. She put it out of her mind as best she could and focused on the material. Her goal was to get it memorized, second nature by the time the plane landed.
It was her usual protocol, giving her time to sit peacefully and take in the locals, overhear interesting information that sometimes proved to be useful. At the very least, relax for an hour.
The first half of the decoded clues all pointed to the owl being in Paris. Another suggested a general part of town. The last of the ciphers the client had only recently found the key to translate them. The client didn’t volunteer any information on how they had decoded the last ciphers, and Shay wasn’t inclined to ask. Not necessary for the completion of the job.
Peyton had been right. Everything about the job was surprisingly straightforward. It was just this side of mundane. But given everything she went through on recent assignments, she wasn’t about to complain about the lack of a gunfight, deadly logs, flying ice, or Nazi accessories. This job was about finding the owl quickly with the application of her brain rather than her trigger finger, so far.
The information in the decoded cipher clues led Shay on her little café jaunt. She went over the relevant clues in her mind, at least in their translated form. Her French was decent enough, but if there were some subtle hints encoded in the language usage itself, she was missing it.
Look from the old café, and you’ll see the first point. It serves the heart’s needs.
The second point is at the oldest that serves the body’s needs.
The last point is at the oldest that serves the soul’s needs.
The clues were hinting at some sort of triangle, with the target presumably in the middle, but without knowing the points, that left an entire city to search. Fancy scanners and gadgets would be useless without the locations of the outer points. All the technology, energy, and magic that was present would confound the operation further.
For all the combined experience and tools of her growing operation, Shay was forced to rely on a much more old-fashioned approach. Exploration on foot, no matter how frustrating it might be.
If I ever find the twisted asshole who stole the owl, I’m going to slap him around and make him go through my own set of clues. First one, ‘The five knuckles form the painful thing soon coming at your face.’
Shay had been visiting cafes and looking out at the streets from tables for most of the day. She still had no idea what the café clue could mean.
“Oh, Harold, we have to visit the Louvre,” said an elderly American woman sitting with her husband a few tables away from Shay. She was dressed in a pale blue suit, her hair neatly pinned back. She pointed in the distance, a heavy charm bracelet hanging from her wrist. “We can even see it from here.”
Several nearby tourists in jeans and matching velour outfits with matching fanny packs were talking about the nearby art museum loud enough to be heard several tables away.
Just go already and leave me in peace.
Shay glanced over at the woman and just past her. She bit down a gasp as her eyes widened.
Son of a bitch.
Shay had been so focused on ancient clues and ideas that she’d forgotten that the owl wasn’t stolen hundreds of years ago but only a few decades ago. Around the time the Louvre Pyramid was built.
Shay peered down the street, taking in the sight of the distant glass and metal pyramid making the Louvre.
Okay, th
anks, old lady. Art serves the mind… and the heart. If that’s the case, what serves the body?
The delivery of a bowl of soup to another customer almost made Shay cackle in glee. Inspiration flowed freely now.
Oldest café or restaurant?
Shay already happened to know that place, Café Procope. She’d always wanted to visit the restaurant but had never gotten around to it. Unfortunately, it was only a likely point in a triangle and not her final destination. She had no reason to check it out until after the job.
With two points figured out, she only needed to find the oldest place to serve the soul’s needs in Paris.
Shay smirked.
Oldest brothel? Nah, that would the body if anything.
Shay picked up her phone to make the research easy on herself. She typed in oldest church in Paris into her search.
The Church of Saint-Germain-des-Prés? Okay, I have my three points, now just have to see what’s at the center.
A helpful map application pinpointed an old mansion snuggled in a commercial district. That stood out enough that she didn’t doubt she was on the right track.
Okay, I guess I know what I’m doing tonight. Just need to make a couple of calls first.
That night, boots, jeans, and a jacket and tactical harness over a sensible shirt replaced the beautiful dress and heels. A woman needed to dress for the function, and a tomb raid required a different fashion sensibility than a day tour of the City of Light.
Shay crept along in the darkness between the buildings, avoiding the street lights. As her backpack rustled, she wondered if, in the end, she preferred jobs that took place on remote islands or deserts in the middle of nowhere. Breaking into some old building in the center of one of the largest cities in Europe screamed complications.
Getting into a gun battle would bring her the kind of attention that would soon have the streets of Paris swarming with hitmen and cops.
