by Eva Chase
“I appreciate that you want to explore every avenue to help with our mission,” she said quietly, only pulling back a couple inches. “But I would prefer not to lose anyone along the way, all right?”
“I think I can handle that,” I said with a brief laugh, but inside my gut had clenched. I wasn’t sure I could fully explain how I’d let myself get that far into trouble in the first place. Looking back, the situation seemed absurd.
What had I been thinking? Or rather, why hadn’t I been thinking? What the hell had come over me?
Chapter Thirteen
Jemma
Normally if I’d wanted to chat with Garrett—or any of the trio—I’d have picked up my phone. But after the growing uneasiness I’d felt over the last week and John’s unexpected stunt last night, I found I wanted to see the detective inspector in person from the start.
There was only so much you could determine from text on a screen or a voice through a speaker. Garrett’s part of our mission, on the official law enforcement side of things, was separate enough from what the rest of us were doing that I hadn’t seen him face-to-face since we’d started investigating Tillhouse.
So I lingered outside the building across the street from Scotland Yard, partly hidden from the late afternoon sun by an awning, and pretending to be absorbed in the magazine I was holding. The rhythmic rumble of the passing traffic did nothing to set me at ease. Even the sweetness of the sugar cube I’d popped into my mouth only soothed me a little.
He should be finished his shift any minute now. I’d see where he headed off to, and then I’d find a good moment to join him.
My gaze came up without a twitch of my magazine when the door opened. A couple of other officers came out and headed off down the street. A few moments later, Garrett emerged.
I didn’t need any detective skills to tell he was upset about something. His jaw was tightly set and his shoulders up, his eyes glowering even though he had no one to glower at right now. He set off around the building toward the parking lot.
If he was driving home, I’d need to catch him before he got in the car. I glanced around to make sure none of his colleagues were within sight and then slipped across the road to catch up with him.
Just as I reached the opposite sidewalk, he paused by a sports car halfway down the lot. His posture turned even tenser, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible given how wound up he’d already looked. His hand dug into his pocket, and he drew out something I couldn’t see, his gaze fixed on the car. A strange intensity had come over his face.
My pulse skittered. I didn’t like that expression at all. I walked as fast as I could without making a scene of it, and his head jerked up at the sound of my footsteps, his hand jamming back into his pocket.
Garrett’s eyes widened when he saw me. An even stranger cast came over his features, sickly and stormy at the same time. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I could tell it didn’t bode well.
“What are you doing here?” he said in a hushed voice.
“I wanted to see you,” I said casually, as if dropping in on him at work were a regular thing. I tipped my head toward the car. “What were you doing? This isn’t yours.”
Everything else in his face faded under a flush that looked like embarrassment. “No. I—We can’t really talk here. Come on. Let’s get you away from the Yard.”
I kept a professional distance from him as we crossed the rest of the distance to his silver sedan. Garrett motioned for me to get in. He started the engine before I even had my seatbelt on and pulled out of the parking lot swiftly, if not at quite the breakneck pace of John’s usual driving.
The inside of the car smelled like Garrett, slightly smoky and electric as a live wire. Usually I enjoyed that scent, but today it made me even more unsettled.
His knuckles had paled where he gripped the wheel. I waited until we’d gotten a few blocks and put his workplace far behind us before I pushed.
“How about you tell me what was going on with that other car now? What did you take out of your pocket?”
“How long were you watching?” Garrett said, his tone unexpectedly sharp. I hadn’t heard him sound angry at me since we’d all formed our little alliance.
I studied his profile, the flex of his jaw, the continued smolder in his dark brown eyes. “I saw you come out of the building and go into the parking lot. There wasn’t much to watch. But I could tell you were upset, and I can tell something was going on with that car. Just so you know, the more you try to get around telling me, the more certain I am that I need to find out what it was.”
He let out a rough exhalation and swiped a hand through his close-cropped hair. “I just—a few of the other detectives were taking jabs at me this afternoon. Trying to make me look bad to the chief.”
I frowned, anger stirring inside me on his behalf. “Assholes. Did you put them in their place?”
“I couldn’t really. They weren’t saying anything right in front of me, of course. I just caught bits of it, overhearing them when they didn’t realize I was close enough… That car belongs to the guy who was making the biggest deal about it. For a second—just for a second—I was tempted to jab my pocket knife into one of his tires. Just to slow him down a little.”
His voice faltered on the last couple sentences, and that shamed flush came back into his cheeks. I blinked at him. “You were seriously considering damaging your colleague’s car?”
“Like I said, it was only for a moment.”
Even for a moment, that didn’t fit with what I knew about Garrett at all. He was competitive, absolutely—sometimes to a fault. But he also had the strictest code of conduct out of the trio. That was why he hadn’t been involved in the same activities we had—too much of what even Sherlock and John did in their investigations violated the letter of the law.
The uneasiness that had driven me to seek him out settled heavier in my chest. “Have you been having other moments like that in the last week or so?”
He hesitated just long enough for it to be an answer in itself. “It’s just an impulse,” he said. “Everyone has them. I ignore them, and it doesn’t matter.”
“But you’ve been having them more than usual recently.”
“The people I work with have been much bigger arseholes than usual recently!” He caught himself with a grimace. “What are you getting at, Jemma? Are you trying to stay I can’t handle this case? Because—”
“No,” I said quickly. “Why would you even jump to that conclusion? I’m worried about you because I’ve never seen you act like that. You’ve been talking differently too… You’ve all been different.”
My hand came to rest on the gold cuff resting against my leg under my dress pants. I hadn’t been wearing it constantly like I had when I’d needed to avoid Bog’s claim, so it wasn’t scraping away at my essence like it had then, but I kept it on whenever I was with any of my men to make sure at least one of us would have a cool head.
Even when I’d taken it off the nights I’d slept alone or when I was working on my own in my apartment, the shrouded folk hadn’t hassled me again. Because they’d decided it wasn’t worth the bother when I could shut them out again so quickly with the relic?
Or because they’d decided to focus their energies on other targets?
I swallowed hard and took out my phone. “Take us to Sherlock and John’s place. I think we need a general strategy meeting.”
Garrett’s gaze flicked toward me as he took the next right. “Is something wrong?”
“I’d like to say I hope it isn’t, but hoping doesn’t do much in the face of the facts.” I sighed. “We’ll see just how wrong it is when we’re all together.”
“What exactly is the emergency?” Sherlock asked when the five of us were gathered around the now-familiar dining table. His eyes looked brighter than they had the last few days, his movements more animated, but I didn’t like the hint of wildness in them, as if some of his perfect control had been worn away. He took a drag from
his pipe, the smoke tickling my nose, but the tobacco didn’t appear to calm him.
I put a finishing touch on the Fibonacci sequence in the middle of the table—the last of those I’d laid out around the room—and dropped into my seat. I didn’t know how well or how long those defenses might last us, but I didn’t catch any hint of shrouded folk influence in the air now, so we were at least temporarily safe from their intrusions.
There was no point in beating around the bush. I liked every one of these men because they were straight-shooting. If they couldn’t have handled the sort of declaration I was about to make, I wouldn’t have been sitting here with them in the first place.
“I think the shrouded folk have determined that the four of you are helping me in my campaign against them,” I said, “and they’re trying to affect you in malicious ways.”
Bash stirred in his chair beside me. “I haven’t seen anything.”
“Neither have I,” Garrett jumped in.
“You wouldn’t. They aren’t supposed to show themselves. Even the weird lights and figure the one I had the contract with let you see—it’s probably been punished for that. But they’re allowed to mess with your senses and your minds in ways you wouldn’t realize are supernatural.”
Sherlock was frowning, and I could already see the denial on Garrett’s face, but John was watching me steadily. “What exactly do you think they’ve done?” he said, in a quiet tone that suggested he could think of at least one example.
I could lead with that incident. I nodded to him. “You saw something yesterday that had you clambering around a construction site and nearly getting yourself stuck down a pit for the night. You could have really injured yourself—you could have even died. But you never did find whatever it was you’d gone after, did you?”
He ignored the concerned and puzzled looks the other shot his way. “No. Are you saying… it wasn’t there at all?”
“A shrouded one could easily produce a hallucination. Isn’t it odd that you just happened to see something you wanted that badly right when you were passing a spot that dangerous?”
His mouth twisted in a sheepish smile. “You may have a point there. I didn’t even think… It never occurred to me.”
“I should have warned you. I didn’t think they’d go that far.” I swept my hair back from my face and turned to Garrett. “And you said you’ve been hearing things—your colleagues talking behind your back.”
Garrett started at me for a moment before he found his voice. “It sounded real enough.”
“But you said they’ve been a lot worse recently. It started after the shrouded folk marked Sherlock, didn’t it?”
His posture went rigid. “Yes. But—why would these demons or whatever care about my workplace dynamics?”
I spread my hands. “They just want to mess with you however they can. Make life difficult for you. They obviously decided that was an easy way to provoke you.”
The shrouded folk had centuries, maybe even millennia of experience in observing the many negative human emotions. They might be able to read Garrett’s weaknesses nearly as well as I could.
“And you,” I said to Sherlock. “I don’t know if you’ve seen or heard something, but you’ve definitely been in an odd mood lately.”
John’s gaze jerked to his friend. “You have to tell her.”
Sherlock stiffened. “I don’t see how it’s relevant,” he said in his usual even tone.
“How what’s relevant?” I demanded.
“After all these months—it’s got to be related,” John said. When Sherlock didn’t budge, he looked to me. “Fine. I’ll tell you. He—”
“What John is so concerned about is the fact that I partook of a mild dose of cocaine yesterday,” Sherlock interrupted. “It didn’t harm me. On the contrary, it alleviated that dour mood you’d observed.”
Ah, so that was why I could see a change in him—and why it didn’t quite sit right. “Was that really necessary?” I asked.
“It’s been ages,” John put in. “And you can’t be sure—it was a problem before.”
My eyebrows leapt up. Sherlock’s cool demeanor dropped, a look of betrayal crossing his face. “That was a long time ago and is hardly worth mentioning.”
“The fact that you won’t admit it only shows it’s still a potential problem.” John’s hands clenched on the tabletop. He turned to me again. “When I first moved in, he wasn’t as careful with his usage. There were a few times he ‘indulged’ to the point that he forgot to eat, or he hurt himself accidentally while going around in that state…”
“And I realized more moderation was required and took appropriate steps. I have the situation well in hand, and I have for years. It has nothing to do with these creatures.”
I found that just as hard to believe as John clearly did. It didn’t seem likely Sherlock would have started using right now after a long dry spell as a total coincidence.
“They haven’t gotten to me,” Bash said into the silence that followed. “Maybe these three need to work on their defenses if they’re going to stay in the game.”
I glanced at him with a pursing of my lips. The way he’d said that told me he wasn’t so impervious after all. The shrouded folk were affecting him somehow too—nudging him to be more openly hostile toward the trio.
My stomach had balled into one huge knot. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like any of it. I’d known that bringing the detectives in on my quest would put them in some danger, but I hadn’t meant to make their entire lives into a target. I hadn’t known the shrouded folk would intrude this far.
“Maybe you should back off,” I said abruptly, the words spilling out before I’d totally thought them through. “All of you. I intended to take on these fiends myself, and I can still do that. You had no idea what you were really signing up for when you agreed to help.”
The offer to let them loose made my gut tighten even more. We’d made so much progress with all of us working together. Taking down the shrouded folk would be ten times harder without their resources and efforts. But I wasn’t going to avenge my sister’s death by leading three good men to their deaths as well.
Three, because I already knew there was no way Bash was leaving over this. He grasped my knee under the table. “Forget that. You’re not getting rid of me, Majesty.”
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, but John leaned his elbows onto the table, his expression just as determined. “You’re not getting rid of any of us, Jemma. We’re in this now. There’s no way we’re running off scared.”
He’d spoken as if for all of them, and I supposed he could. Garrett was nodding, the set of his mouth defiant.
Sherlock steepled his hands below his chin. “It seems to me that we’re in a much less precarious situation now that we’re aware of the possibilities and can be on guard against the creatures’ influence,” he said. “It also seems to me that your shrouded folk wouldn’t be toeing the line of their law so insistently if they weren’t scared. We’re succeeding in pushing them back, aren’t we?”
I couldn’t deny that logic. “They must be worried about how much we’ll accomplish if we keep going. But they could still escalate.”
“Then we’ll escalate right back,” Garrett said, raising his chin. “Face it, Jemma. You roped us in, and now you’re stuck with us.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or wince at that sentiment. I had drawn them in—into what might be the last case of their lives. Even if we rose above everything the shrouded folk threw at us, the fiends clearly weren’t going to make the fight easy.
But was this really common sense talking, or was I letting the tenderness I’d started to feel for each of these men sway me into being more afraid of the threat than it warranted? I couldn’t let those emotions interfere with choosing the best path, the one that would sever the shrouded folk from this world completely.
I was Jemma Moriarty. I acted from my mind, not my heart.
What would Olivia have thought i
f she’d known one day I might have let the charms of a few men distract me from the vengeance she deserved?
That final thought hardened my resolve. I stood up and placed my hands on the tabletop.
“All right. We keep going, and we take those bastards down by whatever means necessary.”
Chapter Fourteen
Garrett
The university registrar was being incredibly unhelpful today.
“All I’m asking for is the record from Mr. Tillhouse’s admission application,” I said, fighting to keep the impatience out of my voice. I spun my pen on my desk, glowering at my computer screen since I couldn’t glower at the woman on the other end of the phone line. “It may relate to an ongoing case. I’m assuming there’s no government-classified information in your standard application.”
“There isn’t, but we must keep our standards of privacy, especially regarding our more prominent alumni,” the woman said. “If you provide a warrant for the information, we’d could send it to you then.”
So much for maintaining helpful relations with the police. “Thank you,” I gritted out, and set down the phone with a sigh I couldn’t restrain.
“Tough break?” Thompson asked as he passed by my desk.
“Lots of roadblocks. I’ll get around them.”
I didn’t mention how many had already thrown spanners into the works. Tillhouse was a difficult man to investigate. We’d already covered everything on the public record, including his nearly spotless political career, his work as a public defender before that, and a university career apparently free of any major controversy.
The strange thing was, there didn’t appear to be any public record of Tillhouse’s existence prior to his later school days. I’d tracked down a record of him attending a senior school in Sheffield for a couple years, but beyond that the trail went totally cold. It was as if the man hadn’t existed until he was thirteen years old. I’d been hoping that his university application might contain more details from his earlier schooling, his family, or something else that we’d find helpful in tackling the MP. Because so far his more recent life had given us nothing to work with.
