The witching hour came and went, and Gabby found that she was quite drunk. The two had been laughing and carrying on for so long that her cheeks hurt terribly.
“I’ve got to get some sleep, Quip. I think I’ve got the spins.”
He forced her to drink down two big glasses of water, saying that she would thank him in the morning. She gagged more than once and got the water down before being led to the bedroom. Quip helped her out of one of the frilly costumes they had found in the closet and tucked her into bed.
“Sleep tight, child. Queen Princess is watching over you. Ain’t no wolves going to make it through this door.”
Chapter 22
Gabby walked through a maze of rose bushes that reached ten feet into the sky. A warm breeze washed over her, and she suddenly realized that she was naked. She covered herself and turned quickly left, then right. A flutter of wings sped by overhead too fast for her to see. Terrified, Gabby ran.
She turned left, then right, and left again before coming to a dead end. Turning around frantically, she stopped. Victor was standing before her. He was naked as well.
“Where are we?” Gabby asked. “Is this a dream?”
“Do you want it to be a dream?” he asked, moving toward her gracefully.
He took her in his arms, and together they floated down to a bed of rose petals. “This can be whatever you want it to be. You are in complete control,” he whispered into her ear.
Gabby felt him pressed against her. His muscles rippled and bulged, and his eyes penetrated her, peering into her very soul. She became wet with want and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him to her and kissing his beautiful lips. He teased her with his sex, biting her neck and dotting slow kisses between her breasts. His hands held her firm, stopping her from taking him in completely. She moaned and begged for more, pulling his hair and yanking his head back. He responded with a quick thrust that left her gasping.
A terrible sound tore her from her dream. From outside the window came what could have only been two dogs fighting to the death. Snarls and growls blended with yelps and barks as the two animals thrashed about in the short alley between Gabby’s and the neighbor’s houses.
Suddenly, three rapid gunshots split the night and made Gabby jump. There was a yelp and a growl and another gunshot. A man ran by the window, and Gabby gasped, thinking that she had seen Victor.
Then all went deathly silent.
Gabby sat up in bed, paralyzed by fear. The door suddenly burst open, and she screamed. Quip screamed right back at her.
“Jesus, child, don’t do that!” said Quip.
“Me!”
Quip motioned her to be silent with a finger to his lips. He moved with a dancer’s grace over to the window and cautiously peered out. A motion light had come on out there, but from Gabby’s vantage point, she could see nothing but the neighboring fence.
“Stay here. I’ll go check it out,” said Quip.
“No,” said Gabby. “I’m going with you.”
She took her gun from her purse and followed Quip through the house and back door. The night was quiet, too quiet. It seemed to be listening back. Every shadow held a hidden threat, and the trees swayed in a menacing wind. In the distance, a cat mewled low and threateningly.
Quip had his own gun and led the way with Gabby hugging his other arm and peering over his shoulder. They found shell casings on the ground, along with clumps of dark fur. Blood spattered the fence. A trail of it led to the street.
“Get back in the house,” said Quip.
He said it calmly, but there was something in his voice that gave her goose bumps. She asked no questions and hurried to the back door.
When they were safely inside, Gabby locked the door and leaned against it, panting. “What the hell was that?”
“Nothing good, child, nothing good.”
Someone knocked on the front door, and they both jumped.
“Police! Open the door!”
Quip glanced at Maggy and then at the two guns. “Best we find a place for these.”
They quickly stashed the guns in the bedroom closet, and Gabby answered the door. Two male police officers stood waiting, silhouetted by the misery lights of two squad cars. Their badges identified them as Peterson and Lockheart.
“There have been multiple reports of gunfire coming from this location,” said Lockheart, peering over Gabby’s shoulder into the house. Both the men’s right hands rested on their holsters. “Are you in danger?”
“No, I mean . . . I’m not sure. The gunshots came from the alleyway beside the house,” said Gabby.
Lockheart looked to the right where the alley met the street. “Wait here and lock up the doors until we come back.”
Gabby closed the door and locked it, sharing a serious look with Quip. They both glanced at the window and hurried to it together. Knees on the couch, they drew back the curtain in time to see another cop car pull up. A few seconds later, another one came from the other end of the street.
They watched the scene for a few minutes in silence before a knock came at the door once more. It was Officer Lockheart.
“May we come in?” he asked, though Gabby knew that they intended to whether she said yes or not.
“Of course. What did you find?”
Lockheart and Peterson, along with two other officers, entered the house behind her. They eyed Quip and scanned the room.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Lockheart asked, opening a small notepad.
Gabby told him everything—everything except the steamy dream and seeing Victor outside her window. She didn’t know why, but she felt like if it had indeed been Victor, he had been protecting her.
“You say that there were shell casings and clumps of dark hair?” Lockheart asked.
Gabby was confused. “You were just out there. Didn’t you see it?”
“Please just answer the question, Ms. Cross.”
“Yes, there were casings and hair, coarse hair like a dog’s. And there was blood . . . you found it all, right?”
Lockheart glanced at Peterson, who had returned after the house was cleared.
“Well then?” Quip put in. “Cat got your tongue? I saw it too with my own damn eyes.”
“We found none of the things you mentioned. Have you two been drinking?”
“Yes, hours ago,” said Gabby.
“It’s legal to drink in your own damned house,” said Quip haughtily.
“You need to relax, miss,” said Lockheart.
“Mmm-hmm,” Quip hummed low, giving them his best bitchy glare.
Gabby waved him off and pushed him back an inch. She turned back to Lockheart. “Are you saying that we made it up?”
“Do you have any guns in the house, Ms. Cross?”
“I . . . well, yes . . . but we weren’t the ones who shot off the guns. I told you there was a crazy dog fight outside my window, and then someone shot off the gun three or four times. There was blood, for Christ’s sake!”
“Blood doesn’t just disappear, Ms. Cross. I’m going to have to ask that you both come downtown for questioning. And we’re going to have to see those gu—”
Another officer interrupted him and pulled him aside. He gestured out to the street. “The fucking feds are here,” he said.
No sooner had they been mentioned than two tall, lean men in dark suits came in through the front door, flashing their badges. They made their way coolly to Gabby and Quip.
“Jones and Gibson, FBI,” said one of the men. “We’re calling this one, boys. Ms. Cross is part of an ongoing investigation and is now under our protection.”
“I’m not done questioning the—”
“Like I said, we’ll take it from here,” said Jones.
Lockheart’s face flushed, and the vein across his bald head throbbed. “Listen, you son—”
“You are on the verge of obstructing an operation of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Officer Lockheart. That isn’t going to look good on your upcoming promot
ion review.”
Lockheart sobered quickly, obviously surprised by the agent’s knowledge. He snapped his little book shut and nodded to Peterson. The officers left.
“You need to leave as well,” Jones told Quip.
“Oh hells fucking no,” said Quip, wagging one long finger at him.
Jones looked slightly amused. “Queen Princess, aka Quip, birth name Nathanial Boots. One year in county for grand theft auto, two years in state for arson. A stint up at Brighton for prostitution and possession of crack cocaine. Currently serving five years parole. You best be moving on.”
Quip stood frozen, staring at the agent in utter shock.
“Go ahead. I’ll be fine. They are the FBI. You don’t want any trouble . . . Quip?”
He snapped out of it when she shook his arm, and he looked at her gravely. “I’ll be in touch, girl. You take care of yourself.” He pulled her in for a hug and whispered in her ear, “You sleep with that fucking gun.”
Quip hurriedly gathered up his things and stormed out the front door.
“How did you know so much about him?” Gabby asked.
“What did you see?” Jones asked.
She glanced at the other agent standing by the door and gulped. Something felt strange.
“I want some answers first. Why am I under your protection? What the hell was that outside my window? Where is the blood I saw? You mentioned an ongoing investigation. I’m assuming that you meant Maggy. Do you have any leads?”
“This is a lead, Ms. Cross. We believe that whoever killed your sister might be after you. We’ve been watching you for some time now . . . as you know.”
Gabby remembered the car chase. Jones grinned.
“Do you think that it was Michael Steele?” she asked.
Jones said nothing. His eyes darted to his partner.
“If you want to help us catch your sister’s killer, you’re going to have to let us do our job. Now, tell me everything.”
Chapter 23
Gabby was drilled by the agents for two hours before being instructed to get some sleep. She tried to pry more information out of Jones, but the man cleverly dodged each question, turning one back over to her instead.
In the morning, she found that there were no agents in the house. At the window, she spotted the two sedans parked on each end of the street, along with a white van in her driveway. Craning her neck to get a look at the front door, she found a tall, blocky agent with an earpiece guarding the way. Likely there was another stationed at the back door.
Gabby should have felt safe—instead she felt trapped. She wanted to get the hell out of there.
After taking a quick shower, she hurriedly dressed and grabbed her purse. The heavy weight of the piece gave her some confidence. Grabbing the keys off the counter, she opened the door and came face-to-face with the agent. He towered over her, looking down on her through dark sunglasses that hid his eyes completely.
“Can I help you, Ms. Cross?”
“No, I’m just heading out,” she said, and began to walk by him.
He blocked the path easily. “Ms. Cross, you cannot leave your house. For your own safety.”
“What? Of course I can leave.” She tried to push past him, but it would have been easier to move a fridge full of lead. “What are you doing? Let me by.”
“For your own protection, you need to stay inside.”
“I want to talk to Jones,” she said, trying to get a look around him.
“Agent Jones is busy at the moment. I will send your request along.”
“This is bullshit!”
He just stared.
Gabby offered up her best huff and stormed back into the house and slammed the door. She kicked it for good measure.
The cops had done a number on the place in their search. She considered cleaning up but then saw the door to the cellar standing open. If they had broken anything down there, she was going to be pissed. At the door, she flicked on the light and went down the wide wooden stairs. The cellar was old, likely built when the house was, over a hundred years ago. The walls and floor were rough-cut stone, but it was quite clean down there, if a bit damp and moldy smelling. The room was large, as big as half the house sitting above. The entire right wall was lined with wine racks reaching all the way to the eight-foot ceiling. None of them were broken, though the dusty bottles had more than a few fresh smudges. The cops must have ogled over the collection for a long time.
She considered the thousands of bottles and laughed to herself. They must be worth a fortune.
Gabby gasped as a memory came back to her. It had been two years ago, here in this very spot, standing in front of the collection. She and Maggy had been trying to decide what to drink with their steaks.
“This one goes good with a young stud,” said Maggy with a laugh, holding up a black bottle with a white stallion on its label. “This one goes well with middle-aged men.”
“You’re such a slut,” Gabby teased.
Maggy laughed musically. “Untrue, my dear sister. Sluts do it for free. That’s why they’re sluts.”
“What about this one?” Gabby asked, reaching for a crystal bottle with strange writing and symbols.
“Not that one!” Maggy yelled, rushing to stop her.
Gabby looked at her with concern.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Maggy tried to laugh it off. “Nothing, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . you know how weird I am. That bottle is indeed for you. But not now. Hopefully never, actually.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“We’ll drink that wine someday, and if I die before you, then you drink it for me.”
Gabby stared at the mysterious bottle. She had nearly forgotten her sister’s strange request. Now she found herself shaking. The cellar had suddenly become eerie. The bottle beckoned.
Two slow steps brought her to stand before the shoulder-high crystal bottle. It sat all alone in an empty bay. Above and below it were different kinds of wine, but none of them were like this one. Tears pooled in her eyes as she reached for the bottle. The pain of loss washed over her anew. She touched the jagged crystal, trailing her fingers over the strange lettering.
“Damn you, Maggy, but I wish we could have shared this.”
She took up the bottle to have a closer look at the label when a sharp clinking sounded behind the display. Gabby looked closer, trying to see behind the bottles. Another click, a thud, the sound of mechanical wheels, and a section of the display swung out.
Gabby screamed and jumped back, clutching the bottle like a club.
When the hidden door had opened fully, Gabby was left staring down a dark stairwell. She approached it cautiously, putting down the bottle and taking out her phone. Finding the flashlight app quickly, she shined it down into the corridor. She found no light switch. At the bottom of the stairs, however, she found two torches mounted on each side of a big iron door that looked to have come from a castle dungeon. Gabby could just imagine stumbling into one of Maggy’s sex rooms.
She considered that. No, Maggy wouldn’t have treated such a room so seriously. Whatever was down there was important. Gold perhaps? Gabby could only wonder.
Finding her courage, Gabby slowly began down the stairs. When she hit the third step, the torches flared to light. She was so startled that she dropped her phone. It went toppling end over end down the stairs and came to rest at the bottom.
Unlike the rest of the cellar, this room was made entirely of concrete. Gabby figured that Maggy must have had it built somehow.
Gabby continued on down the steps slowly and retrieved her phone. The door had no handles, just strange, swirling lettering like that found on the bottle. Should she have brought it with her? Gabby considered it, but then she noticed the small screen beside the door jutting out from the wall. It looked like one of those hand-scanning contraptions from the spy movies.
“Jesus, Maggy, what were you into?”
Silence permeated the hidden stairw
ell. She listened for sounds above, not wanting to have to explain this to the FBI. Looking up at the door, she decided to close it. It would be easier to explain her sudden disappearance than this strange iron door and whatever lay beyond. At the top of the stairs, she pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. She tried again but to no avail. Again she thought of the bottle. After retrieving it, she placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. There was a click and the sound of turning wheels. Gabby hurried to get behind the secret door before it closed with a thud.
“Shit!” said Gabby, realizing that she had no way to get out. She searched for some sort of button or lever, but the wall was smooth and unadorned.
With a sigh, she decided to deal with that later. For now she had other things to worry about, like what was beyond the iron door.
She hurried to the bottom of the stairs once more and placed her hand on the scanner. There was no line of light that read her hand and no glow coming from the device. Instead, something pricked her index finger.
“Ouch!” she yelled, pulling back her hand.
A single bead of blood pooled on her fingertip, and Gabby sucked the wound, staring at the scanner. A red light began to blink on the scanner. There was a beep, and the red light turned green.
Three loud mechanical clicks, like heavy bolts retracting, sounded in the big iron door. As the sound died away in the small space, Gabby reached out her hand and pushed the door open slowly.
Chapter 24
Gabby took one step into the dark room and was not surprised when it lit up like the Fourth of July. The walls, ceiling, and even the floor glowed a soft white.
“What. The. Hell?” Gabby asked no one.
The room was small, ten feet wide and ten feet long. And it was empty.
Gabby moved to the far wall to inspect the rectangular panels of light. She ran her hand over one, and it blinked out suddenly. She stepped back, ready for anything. No booby trap was sprung, but rather the panel slid out from the wall mechanically and stopped. To Gabby’s utter surprise and confusion, the drawer held a dozen wooden stakes, wickedly pointed at one end and blunt at the other. A small but heavy-looking silver hammer sat on velvet beside the carefully placed stakes, along with a type of harness with loops to hold the strange weapons.
A Cross to Bear Page 8
