“All clear back there?” he asked, standing up.
“Yes, just one.”
“This one makes four,” Marco said, diverting his gaze from her.
“Two more upstairs then,” Alice said, forcing herself not to stare at the shadows that writhed around Marco’s feet and legs.
“Marco? You feel anything?”
Marco paused, his frown deepening. “No...no fear or anger. If Jamison knew we were here, he should be feeling something.”
“Unless he’s not here.” Alice clenched her teeth.
If Douglas had sold them out somehow, if he’d given them bad intelligence...
“This could be a trap,” Marco said.
Lionel frowned and looked up the stairs.
“We have to know for sure. I’m point, you two behind me on either side.”
Alice’s heart was pounding, her muscles tight and ready to pounce on anybody that showed themselves.
Once Lionel reached the top of the staircase, he signaled them to stop while he scanned the hallways on either side. Nodding, he turned to the left.
Nervous energy flowed off them, their breathing the only sound, as the three of them made it to another hallway that led off to the right. Marco and Alice backed up into the wall, and Lionel looked around the corner.
Alice expected gun fire or yelling, but there was nothing.
Lionel looked back, his lips set in a grim line as he motioned them to follow.
At the end of the short hall was a set of ornately carved wooden doors. This was supposed to be Jamison’s bedroom, but where were the guards?
The three of them walked with aching slowness toward the bedroom, all of them ready for an ambush or gun fire erupting through the bedroom door.
Lionel tried the door handle. When it opened so easily, the three of them jumped back, expecting someone at the ready.
But after a moment, nothing happened. The only sound was that of someone snoring very loudly, the soft clink of crystal hitting crystal accenting each.
Alice followed Lionel inside.
The bedroom was enormous. There was a small lamp to the far left of the room that gave off a faint light. A fireplace, big enough to stand in, was against one wall, a table with six heavy chairs sat near it, and a large bar with dozens of crystal decanters glittered in the fire light. Straight ahead were French doors that led out to a small balcony. To her right was the biggest bed Alice had ever seen, and so high she’d need a step stool to climb into it, with posts as thick around as Lionel’s arm.
In the middle of the thick covers was a large, snoring, mound of a man. An empty decanter and crystal glass were tipped over on the bed, the dregs of whatever he’d been drinking making a dark stain on the bedspread. Each time he exhaled, the decanter and glass collided just enough to produce the odd clinking sound Alice had heard before.
As they approached the bed, Alice raised her glove, ready to shoot Jamison into unconsciousness. But the closer she got, the more Alice realized that he’d already done that to himself.
They surrounded the bed and stared at Jamison, who snored as if nothing of any importance was going on.
“Something’s not right,” Marco whispered.
“He’s passed out from drink, but he should’ve heard us.” Alice was tempted to poke him to see how far gone he was.
Lionel stepped back, rubbing his jaw and frowning. “Whatever happened, he’s ours now. We should signal Detective Garrick and get out of here.”
“So, that’s it?” Alice asked, her body shaking with unspent fury.
“What else can we do?” Lionel asked.
Alice paced by the bed, wanting to punch someone. She wanted to wake the bastard up by throwing the damn decanter, or at least punch the bed until Jamison realized he wasn’t alone.
“I know this isn’t how you wanted it to go tonight.” Marco walked toward her. “But, maybe it’s for the best.”
“How?”
“Because, maybe you weren’t ready to face him. You’re still too angry.”
“I thought you wouldn’t use your powers to read me.”
Marco stepped closer, his face in shadow, but Alice could swear his eyes were no longer black. “It doesn’t take powers to know how bad you wanted this fight. And I understand, but we can’t make it personal. Be happy that we caught him.”
Alice knew he was right. Jamison would go to jail for a very long time for what he’d done. She told herself that it would be enough, that Aunt Diana wouldn’t want her getting revenge.
And besides, she’d promised Mrs. Frost.
Alice hadn’t realized she was flexing her hands into tight fists until Marco’s long fingers uncurled one of them and weaved through hers.
She wanted to look up and see if his eyes were still dark, or check and see if the shadows were still present, because little by little, her fury began cooling.
No, he’d promised. This is just Marco. This is what he’s always been able to do.
Lionel stepped out onto the balcony and fired off a red flare. “We’ve got probably five minutes. We better go.”
Marco squeezed her hand one more time and stepped out onto the balcony
“Sleep well.” Her voice was hard. “It’s probably the last time you will.”
Alice got to the balcony just in time to see Lionel jump off and land as if it were nothing.
“I can’t do that,” Alice said, staring down at him.
Marco smiled. “I’ve got you covered.”
He hooked something onto the hand rail. It had a cord attached to it that led back to something on his belt. Before she could ask, he grabbed her close and fell back over the railing with her in his arms.
The shock of suddenly falling through the air made her scream, a high sound that echoed through the dark forest.
When they landed, Marco pulled on the cord, detaching the device. Alice felt like her legs would give way if she tried to move and so she just stared at him.
“Are you okay?”
She hit him hard on the shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again!”
Voices sounded behind them from the front of the house. Marco grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the forest.
“You can be mad at me on the boat, let’s go.”
“Damn right I will,” she said, running after him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She should’ve been happier. They’d gotten the man that had probably ordered her aunt’s murder. More than that, Alice had proved that she worked well as a member of the team, that she had something more to offer than just moral support. And wherever her uncle was driving her at this moment, it had something to do with Lionel’s promised surprise.
But as she stared down at the headline of that morning’s paper, a knot of apprehension grew in her gut.
Lead Suspect Found Dead!
Thomas Jamison, former District Attorney and the lead suspect in the murder of philanthropist Diana Miller, was found dead last night in his cell.
The circumstances of the death are in question, with one guard claiming Jamison had been cheerful after his hearing. The former District Attorney had even joked about buying the police officers a bottle of scotch when he was released if one of them would get him a cigarette.
A few hours later, Jamison’s lawyer demanded to see his client, citing a worry that the suspect would commit suicide. The guards found Jamison hanging from a belt in his jail cell a few moments later.
No word yet on if Jamison had help in taking his own life.
The article went on to talk about how the police had been aided by the efforts of the Jet City vigilantes, and a quote from the Chief of Police that gave grudging praise. Accompanying articles bemoaned the fact that Diana Miller’s killer would never face true justice, and the hope that this would break the power of the syndicate, if there was one.
“You going to stare at that thing all day?” Uncle Logan asked, parking the car in front of Atlas Books.
“It’s just...I can’t stop th
inking that something is wrong.”
“Yeah, the bastard took the easy way out.”
Alice shook her head. “There were two less guards than there should’ve been that night. And Jamison was passed out cold. A man that size with a decanter that small...I just wonder if someone had wanted us to take him out. Someone maybe in the Syndicate that has something to gain from Jamison not being there anymore.”
Uncle Logan opened his mouth to speak, but Alice was on a roll.
“Haven’t you ever questioned just how good Douglas’ information was? Ever thought that he should’ve been killed for what he was giving you?”
“Honestly, I was just grateful to be doing some good for once, instead of watching Diana do it all the time.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, wiping the tears away before forcing a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes these days.
“I respect that you are suspicious, and if there’s something to find out, we will. But,” he took the paper from her and tossed it in the back seat, “for now, let’s forget about it and celebrate.”
Alice looked at the book store with skepticism as they stepped out of the car.
“There’s no one in there.”
“Not in there,” he said, walking down the alley to the back door.
When they stepped inside, a very excited Lionel clapped his hands and laughed.
“Finally! I was starting to think you’d never get here!”
“I didn’t think you liked bookstores that much,” Alice said.
Lionel’s smile made her legs weak and she couldn’t help the silly giggle that bubbled up.
He ran up the stairs, which had been repaired and newly stained. “Hurry up!”
When she turned the corner toward her loft, Lionel was holding the door open for her. She stepped through, hands flying to her mouth as she saw the transformation.
The floors had been refinished to a rich, reddish brown and now shone as if new. Her small kitchen had new, light wood cabinets and off-white counter tops that gleamed. A matching orange fridge and stove were nestled into their spaces. Alice laughed at how little she’d probably use them. The wall of windows had been cleaned and filmy white and brown drapes hung dramatically to the side.
“Where did all this come from?” she asked, her voice breathy with surprise.
Floor-to-ceiling book shelves were on the wall between her newly-finished bedroom and the small bathroom, a rolling ladder leaning against it. Her old punching bag and sparing dummy had been replaced with new ones, and a small set of weights were resting in a corner. In the center of the huge living area was a dark brown leather couch, with three matching chairs. A low, expensive-looking coffee table sat in the middle of them. Against one wall was the most beautiful stereo Alice had ever seen, records neatly organized beside it. In front of one window was a simple, but extremely well-stocked bar, with glasses that had...
“A serpent!” she squealed, snatching up one of the glasses.
“A house warming gift,” said a raspy voice behind her. “For the club soda you love so much.”
Mrs. Frost’s small eyes glittered as she leaned on her cane.
“And a reward for a job well done.”
“Thank you, this is very...I’m amazed.”
“I only gave you the glasses,” Mrs. Frost said, gesturing to Lionel, who was talking with Uncle Logan. “He did the rest, or he paid for the rest, anyway.”
Alice walked over to Lionel, her mouth hanging open. She wanted to kiss him, and resisting that temptation was extremely difficult.
“I’m going to make use of your bar,” Uncle Logan said.
“So, you like?” Lionel asked, his grin making her resolve melt.
She put a hand on his solid arm and kissed him on the cheek. He went stone still for a moment, his navy eyes intense on hers. She didn’t let go of his arm, didn’t move away, and neither did he.
“I love it,” she said, her mouth suddenly very dry.
Lionel smiled and stepped way.
“I’m glad. You want a drink? No, you don’t, that’s right. Uhm...club soda?”
Before she’d had a chance to answer, he was halfway to the bar and Alice felt heat rise to her pale cheeks. It was like being abandoned on the dance floor at Junior Prom all over again.
To her great relief, Marco and Gerald stepped through the door at that very moment. Gerald handed her a large, brightly wrapped box.
“Rose wanted to be here,” he said. “But she’s engrossed in an experiment.”
Alice nodded. “I understand.”
Gerald gave Uncle Logan a nod and walked over to get a drink.
“Excuse me?” said a pimply delivery boy, who had just shown up at the door with a simple flower arrangement. “Miss Seymour?”
“That’s me.”
He handed her a clipboard, and then the flowers, once she’d signed for them. The simplicity of the roses with sprigs of Jasmine was exactly what Alice would’ve chosen for herself. She glanced at Lionel as she placed them on the coffee table, wondering how he had known so much of what she’d love.
However, when Alice opened the card, she found they weren’t from him.
“It must be a relief to have a measure of closure when it comes to Diana. We don’t rejoice over Mr. Jamison’s death, but instead rejoice that no one will have to suffer a loss like you did at his hands again. Congratulations on the new apartment, and I hope to see you soon,
Victoria Veran”
Alice felt genuinely humbled that a busy woman like Victoria, who had been Aunt Diana’s friend far more than hers, would take the time to send a personal card with the flowers.
The sound of the crisper in her new fridge opening and closing made her turn in confusion, but when she saw Marco, the frown quickly turned into a smile.
“Those will spoil,” she said, peeking playfully over the top of the door. “Or I’ll mutilate them in attempting to cook them.”
Marco closed the door and put his hands in pants pockets, a playful glint in his brown eyes.
“What if I came over and cooked them?”
“Every day?” she asked. “Because, that’s a lot of food.”
“If you want.”
She giggled, then realized he was being serious.
“I could teach you.” He stepped a little closer to her. “Or I could just do it myself.”
“You’re serious?”
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing you every day,” she said, not realizing, until it was too late, what that might sound like. “I mean, I do have to eat, and it would be better for me than coffee and toast, which is all I can cook.”
A shy grin lit up Marco’s long face, and it looked like he was about to say something else when Lionel stepped up and handed them both a drink.
“To a successful first mission,” Lionel said.
“And many more,” Marco added.
“And a shiny new apartment,” Alice chimed in.
Jerry Lee Lewis’s electric voice exploded from the stereo and Lionel held out his hand, eyebrows cocked in a silent question.
Without a second thought for how he’d made her feel only a few minutes before, Alice let him lead her into the open space between her couch and the sparring area.
“And this is when I take my leave,” Mrs. Frost said, stopping Alice. “Tomorrow morning, my house, you have a baton lesson with Dr. Allen.”
Giving Lionel a grim stare, she walked with her best speed out of the loft.
“I don’t think she likes me,” he said, spinning Alice into his arms.
She laughed. “I don’t think she likes many people.”
“I’ll win her over. I have a way with women.”
“Good luck with that one.”
He winked, and Alice had no doubt if, given the chance, he could indeed charm the old woman.
Many hours and club soda’s later, when Gerald and Uncle Logan had gone home, Alice found herself nestled on the couch between Lionel’s broa
d body and Marco’s lean one, her head resting on Marco’s shoulder. Billie Holiday was on the record player now, with a velvety night sky draped over the city.
“I’m hungry,” Lionel said.
Marco chuckled. “You’re always hungry.”
“Can’t help it.”
Alice stifled a yawn.
“You want us to leave, get some sleep?” Marco asked.
“No,” she said, a kind of panic in her chest.
Despite all the times she’d dreamed of her own place, now that it was a reality, Alice felt scared of the solitude. It was the last thing she’d admit though, especially after all that Lionel had done to get the loft livable.
“I have an idea,” Lionel said, his fingers tapping on the arm of the couch. “What if we got some cots for Marco and I, and we used them after missions or whatever. Make this our kind of...headquarters.”
“Do they make cots big enough for you?” Marco asked.
“If I paid enough, yeah.”
Alice felt a sudden, profound relief.
“That’s a great idea. I love it!”
“We wouldn’t be stepping on your toes?” Lionel asked.
She shook her head, not caring that she was staring at him so openly. If he noticed, Lionel didn’t show it. Just ruffled her hair a little and proceeded to raid her fridge.
“He’s the other reason I bought so much food,” Marco said, his grin wide as he got up to help Lionel.
Alice closed her eyes and leaned back into the soft leather of the couch. Lionel and Marco’s conversation about deli meats faded into the background, as contentment wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. This is how it would be, this was her future. The three of them, together again, and forever.
She didn’t feel Marco take the glass from her hand, or Lionel lift her up and place her gently on the new bed.
When she woke in the morning, it would be to Marco’s freshly baked cinnamon rolls and Lionel singing Elvis off-key at the top of his voice.
Douglas would send a letter by courier, requesting to see her in a few days, and she’d start dreading the agreement she’d made.
But for now, she slept and dreamed of the three of them, invincible to whatever came.
Serpent's Sacrifice (The Vigilantes Book 1) Page 17
