Secrets of the Dead

by Kylie Brant

  That snared her attention. “What’s the worst case scenario?”

  “The worst?” He snagged a fry off his plate and contemplated it. “Not having them take the bait,” he decided, before taking a bite. “Then we’re blown before we ever start. Raiker has a backup plan, but this one is pretty damn fine.” And he might not be selected to have the starring role in Plan B, a scenario he wouldn’t be at all happy about. “Fastest way to burn us inside is if someone recognizes us. I put away my share of scumbags when I was working the streets. Scum attracts scum. Believe me, I’ve been in the middle of a high stake deals and then some assh--…guy,” he amended quickly with a glance toward her, “from my past walks in and calls me by a different name. Things can go south fast, and you can never predict just how or when it’s going to nosedive. Just take your cue from me.”

  There was a thin line between convincing her of the possible dangers and scaring the hell out of her, so Declan left it at that. He didn’t know why he had such a bad feeling about the case. He’d usually worked alone undercover, but had often partnered after he’d made detective, or on the job for Raiker. Maybe that was the source of his foreboding. He knew nothing about his “wife” other than that she looked like a high schooler and she could give the Rosetta Stone a run for its money. But book smarts didn’t necessarily translate to street smarts.

  “When were you working the streets?” Eve swiped another fry as she asked the question. “You mean before you went to work for the Mindhunters?”

  “I should probably warn you that Adam isn’t fond of the nickname his agency got tagged with, but yeah. I was with DCPD before that.” Given the interest she was showing in his fries, he probably should consider himself lucky he’d finished the hamburger when he did. “It’s an intriguing job. The agency is called in at the request of other law enforcement entities, so we partner on the most complicated cases. And of course Raiker’s private lab facilities are second to none, and many agencies contract just for them to avoid the backlog in their state labs.” He stopped then, aware she’d neatly extracted information without providing any in return. She was too skilled at that for it to be accidental.

  “How long have you been working at DOS?”

  “A few years.” She smiled slightly. “You’re guarding your plate like a goalie defends the net. Wise choice, if a little too late.”

  He wouldn’t be distracted. “Do you have family in the area?”

  Her eyes, a pure and cerulean blue, went immediately wary. “Why?”

  “It’s a normal enough question.” He picked up his napkin and swiped it across his lips. He could count the things he knew about her on one hand, even after living with her for the past few days. The apartment had only a single cramped bedroom, but after one look at the double bed in it Eve had opted to make up a bed on the couch each evening before putting the evidence of their sleeping arrangements away the next morning. Still, one usually learned more than they wanted to in such close quarters, especially sharing a bathroom. What he’d discovered wasn’t much. It wasn’t that she didn’t talk. She did. Incessantly. She just rarely revealed anything about herself when she spoke, and Declan had come to believe that was by design.

  Mentally he ticked off what he’d learned about her since leaving Adam’s office. She was neat. And quicker than any female he’d ever spent time waiting on, which was a plus. He’d also discovered that the soft waves that fell to her shoulders were the result of some very determined time taming her curls with a straightener.

  He ate another fry, smiling at the sudden memory of how he’d also learned she had a deep and abiding fear of cockroaches.

  “My family all live within twenty miles of DC. I have the requisite parents. Still married. A sister and a brother, both older. Two nieces and a nephew whom I adore. And you?”

  The waitress appeared silently beside them and filled up Declan’s empty mug. They were done with the meal, but it wasn’t like they were in a hurry. Picking up the cup he took a sip, aware of how little her revelation really divulged. “Parents, not still together. A maternal gran and grandda who are. Paternal grandfather. An eclectic collection of half-siblings and ex-stepparents and stepsiblings, all of whom seem incapable of managing their affairs properly for any length of time.”

  She eyed him knowingly. “So they call you in to do it for them.”

  The statement was uncomfortably spot-on. “How do you know that?”

  “You seem supremely competent. Plus you have that bossy I-know-best air.”

  He set the mug down with a bit more force than he’d meant to. Not for the life of him would he reveal just how often he’d had something similar hurled at him by a spiteful relative who’d only hours earlier called him sobbing and pleading for advice, before he’d wised up. “I’ll admit to being a fixer. But I learned the hard way that most people asking for help only want me to mitigate the consequences of their actions, and aren’t actually interested in changing the things about themselves that caused the problem to begin with.”

  Finally she put her fork down and pushed the plate away with a satisfied sigh. “Speaking as someone who has been on the receiving end of more unsolicited advice than I can count, I can understand the sentiment. But if they call and ask, they can’t cry about getting exactly what they requested.” Sneaky as a snake she reached across the table and stole some fries from his plate before he had time to react. She sat back to eat them, appearing supremely pleased with herself. “How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait for the failed abductors to make a move?”

  “Getting edgy? Almost three months is long enough for them to have recovered from their first failed attempt. Plenty of time to regroup. Maybe they decided it was too dangerous, in which case we’re likely to have very long and boring days ahead of us. But if they’ve been planning to make another try…then we’d likely hear from them soon.”

  “Hopefully you’re right.”

  He hoped he was, too. They’d maintained high visibility, coming and going from the apartment that was only a precarious step above a dive. Browsing in markets, loitering in parks, and spending several eye-bleeding hours in museums, he’d tried to keep them accessible. Raiker’s contacts had made certain that the information about their story was spreading on the street. But he hadn’t seen a sign that anyone gave a damn about it.

  It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen some questionable strangers in the neighborhood they were residing in. It was the fact that all the residents there seemed questionable.

  She picked up a menu tucked behind the napkin holder.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her expression was artful. “We’re not ordering dessert?”

  He stared to make sure she wasn’t messing with him. “We’re not. Because I don’t want to have to roll you down the sidewalk when we leave.”

  Snapping the menu shut, she replaced it. “You’re right. We can always stop at a street vendor and get a pretzel later this afternoon.” He knew she would, too, despite the bone chilling December temperatures. Declan was beginning to think that Eve’s gift of languages was secondary to her staggering metabolism. Not that he could see the effect of the calories. They seemed to be consumed in a vacuum.

  Sliding carefully out of the cracked vinyl seat, she shrugged into her thigh length bright red wool coat and pulled black gloves from her pocket that matched her leather boots. He got up and shrugged into his own coat before accompanying her to the register. It was second nature to maneuver his body to keep her between him and the counter as he glanced at the street outside the diner. The occasional car. Passersby. The neighborhood was seedy but fairly quiet each day until mid-afternoon.

  Turning back toward the clerk, he paid the bill and they walked out into the sharp wind. Fall had surrendered early this year, crumpling in the face of an unseasonably early arctic blast of air that had gripped the city in its icy fist a couple of weeks ago
and had only sporadically loosened since. The only comfort was that there had been no measurable snowfall yet. The apartment they were staying in had a love-hate relationship with heat, which meant they were either stifling or shivering with no in between.

  They turned right out of the restaurant and moved in a silent orchestrated dance they’d developed. Declan was between Eve and the curb, keeping a watchful gaze on the occupants of the sidewalk heading toward them and the street. That awareness had him whispering in an undertone, “Black sedan parked on my left. Two car lengths ahead of us.”

  She didn’t visibly react, maybe because he’d issued too many similar warnings in the past. Like every time he saw more than one individual heading toward them, or a parked car with two or more occupants. But they’d only gone a few more steps when the front passenger door opened and a tall dark haired man exited to open the back door of the vehicle.

  He felt Eve tense beside him.

  “Gallagher.” The stranger was an inch or so shorter than Declan’s six feet, dark haired with pockmarked skin partially covered by a dark beard.

  “Don’t know ’em.” He nudged Eve toward the right to angle around the man. The stranger straightened to take one long stride onto the walk, his hand slipping into his open coat. With a quick flip, open-close, he flashed the gun in his hand where he held it inside the jacket. “We take a ride.” His voice was heavily accented, but his English was understandable.

  Declan slowed to a stop. “To where?”

  As an answer the man grasped his arm and shoved him against the car, doing a quick one-handed frisk of his body, coming away with the weapon kept in a shoulder harness beneath his ski jacket. The guy jammed it into his own waistband and straightened, turning toward Eve. Even as he reached for her she gave a scream that could shatter windows.

  “Pohiti!” This from the driver.

  Keeping his weapon trained on them, their accoster replied, “Najprej se moram…”

  “Zdaj!”

  Seeming to have lost the verbal battle, the stranger sent a look up and down the street and gestured with the gun. “Get in.” When Declan made no move to obey, the man swung the weapon toward Eve. “I shoot her now. Get in.”

  She’d gone silent, her eyes huge in a face that had paled. Declan jerked his head. “In the car.” She obeyed immediately, shrinking away from the man holding the weapon to slide across the seat. Declan followed her.

  “Give me purse.”

  Declan hesitated, but Eve shoved her bag at the man. He slammed the car door and got in the front seat.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  There was no answer and despite the adrenaline spiking in his veins, he was content to watch the passing streets. Eve’s scream hadn’t summoned help, which was unsurprising, given the area of town. But after a few blocks they entered a neighborhood that was even more unsavory. He watched for landmarks, mentally noting street signs. At least those still standing.

  “Tha sgian nam brog.” Eve whimpered the words in Scottish Gaelic. It took everything he had to avoid a double take.

  Learning that she had a knife in her boot instantly re-shifted the odds in their favor. “It’s all right,” he said soothingly in English. “I’ve got this. Just follow my lead and we’ll be fine.”

  The man with the gun turned more fully in his seat to look at them. “Shut up.”

  “She’s scared. Tell us what the hell is going on.”

  “Later. No more talk.” He wagged the weapon threateningly, and Declan showed his palms.

  “Okay. Fine.”

  Eve raised her knees chest level and clutched them with her arms, burying her face against them. The man in front eyed them suspiciously. Declan looked out the window, everything inside him coiled tight.

  “Posrkbel bom za žensko.”

  The gunman glanced at the driver for a moment. “Pogumni mož.”

  The exchange provided the opening Declan had been waiting for. But as quickly as he struck, Eve was quicker. Her movements a blur, she straightened, knife in hand and was on the edge of her seat with the blade against the side of the driver’s neck even as Declan clamped his fingers around the gunman’s wrist. The man tried to jerk away violently, to no avail.

  “Easy there, dobber, unless you want to see your buddy shanked. Give me the weapon.”

  The gunman stilled, his gaze settling on the knife. Eve exerted enough pressure that a thin line of blood welled above the blade. The driver shouted. “Daj mu pištolo!”

  But it took another moment before the other man loosened his grip. Declan took the weapon and turned it on him. “Now I want mine back. Two fingers. Slow and easy. I’d hate to blow your head off because you got stupid.”

  Jaw clenched, the passenger did as he was told. Declan retrieved it with his free hand. “Now the purse.” The man handed it back, tossing it next to Eve on the seat. “Good lad. Here’s a message to take back to whoever sent you. Are you listening? Nod if you are.” The man in front of him gave a jerk of his head. “The next time I see you you’re a dead man. Got it?” Another nod. “I figure you’re working for someone else, because you lack the brains and finesse for it to be otherwise. And I don’t deal with lackeys. Now tell your buddy to pull over.”

  “Ustavi avto.”

  The driver eased the vehicle toward a curb. “Open the locks.” A click signified the man had obeyed. “When we get out of the car, you have two seconds to get gone before I start shooting.” Only then did Eve withdraw the blade from the driver’s throat, leaning back to grab her purse before opening the door handle with her free hand. Simultaneously they burst from the car, both bolting toward its rear. Declan raised both guns, but the driver wasted no time. With a screech of tires the sedan barreled away.

  Chapter 3

  “Shithole, sweet shithole.” Declan closed and locked the apartment door behind them. The original had been replaced prior to their arrival with a steel model, complete with matching frame and reinforced surrounding plaster. The likelihood of someone breaking through the door was slim, although Eve wasn’t sure what would stop a determined burglar from moving down the hallway and simply kicking a hole through the crumbling plaster wall. The visual image of someone performing the act wasn’t difficult to summon given the image branded on her mind from the scene earlier.

  “Dirty Harry.” And there was, Eve thought, no Scottish translation for the Clint Eastwood character Declan had brought to mind, standing in the street, feet splayed, a weapon in each hand. “Would you really have made their day?”

  Ignoring that, he locked the door behind them and turned to look at her speculatively. “You made my day when you blurted out that you had a knife in your boot. Which leads to the question of why.”

  “The answer seems self-explanatory, given the circumstances.” Eve slipped out of her coat and shoved her gloves in its pockets before crossing to the postage stamp closet to hang it up. “We went over it often enough. Both of us would be armed at all times. You were quite adamant about that.”

  “Yes. I figured you had your gun in your purse. That you’d screamed to avoid being frisked.”

  “I was trying to avoid a frisk. But guns aren’t my first choice of weapon.” She turned then, cocked a brow at him. “If I had been searched, there’s a better chance they would have missed the knife than a gun.”

  His expression was bemused. “You’re probably right. I’m not sure if I was more surprised that you were carrying a hidden knife or that you seemed so adept with it.”

  Her mouth twisted wryly. “It’s always a mistake to underestimate people.” Their attempted abductors had made that error with her. She wasn’t so certain that Declan hadn’t done the same. Eve knew exactly what people saw when they looked at her. She’d spent her life fighting that perception, before she’d learned to use it to her advantage.


  His grin did intriguing things to a face that would border on pretty if not for the edge of hardness in his eyes. “I’m guessing those two are figuring the same thing about right now. I can’t believe their boss will be pleased to hear how the scene went down.” His Scottish was flawless, although she knew it wasn’t his first language. Earlier he’d mentioned a gran and grandda and she’d bet they were the Scottish Gaelic native speakers, who in turn had passed down that part of their culture to their grandson. “Our position is stronger than it would have been if they’d just hijacked us off the street. Had they succeeded, we would have lost all bargaining power. Now we’ve commanded a bit of respect. At least if we’re correct and they were sent by someone else.”

  “Or pissed off some very dangerous people if they aren’t.” But she tended to agree. She’d spent the past eight years working in close proximity to power. Those who wielded it and those who sought it. The two who’d attempted to kidnap them were no doubt dangerous. Just the thought of meeting them without Declan at her side sent cold waves of fear radiating through her. But in Eve’s experience those at the top tended to avoid getting their own hands dirty.

  Digging in her purse, she brought out the phone that Raiker had supplied to replace her personal cell. Bringing up the notepad option she quickly wrote the word Slovenian on the screen and walked over to show it to him. There was no Scottish translation for the word.

  Declan frowned over at it for a moment. “Odd, isn’t it that we have dirt balls from two different countries represented in this operation? Gangs and criminal networks tend to be homogenous. Same thing at the transnational level, with the possible exception of cybercrime, with its guarantee of anonymity.”

  Malsovic had been a Serb, she recalled, deleting the note she’d written. And according to what Declan had told her, the man had never spoken English in front of Royce. Either because he didn’t know the language or because he’d been taking the same precautions they were.

  “They exchanged little else of interest in our presence.” She moved toward the couch, in an effort to put space between them. She should be used to him by now, but something about him still made her a bit edgy. Those enigmatic gray eyes and raven hair would warrant a second glance from any female under ninety. But it was the faint sheen of danger that surrounded him that was her own personal kryptonite. “There were commands to get in, to take your weapon, to hurry. The two likely came from the southern region of their country, as they spoke with the same dialect.”