Whisper of Shadows (The Diamond City Magic Novels)

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  I couldn’t interpret the flicker of emotion that swept her narrow face at my refusal to help. It came and went too fast.

  Her expression flattened. “Maybe I should rephrase. You’re going to help me. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

  “Just how are you going to make me?”

  She smiled. “Whatever it takes.”

  “So you’ll what? Put Price in jail? Done. His lawyers will have him out by dawn. Threaten to kill me? Fine. Do it. I’d rather die than give you the time of day.”

  Taylor curled her fingers tightly into my coat, but didn’t say a word, even though she knew me enough to know I’d probably follow through. Sometimes winning mattered more than living. At least, that’s what my inner nine-year-old was saying. Fortunately for me, I didn’t usually let the inner nine-year-old win.

  “Maybe it’s not you I’ll kill,” Arnow suggested.

  My insides went cold even as the rest of me flared into a ball of flame. I lunged forward, grabbing her collar. “Listen, bitch. Even think about going after my friends or family, and I will make your life a living hell.”

  I don’t generally hold grudges, and I’m not really that into revenge. But for Arnow, I could definitely make an exception. I had friends in very low places who’d relish the chance to have at her. I wasn’t planning physical harm, either. I’d make sure to pull the rug out from under her so she lost everything—identity, security, job, money, sanity. Then I’d make sure she could enjoy her losses for a good long time.

  Maybe I had more Tyet in me than I’d thought. I pushed her away from me, my heart pounding, lungs pumping like I’d been running uphill.

  Arnow’s face twisted. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time. I’ve got people who are in trouble and you’re my only hope of getting them back alive.”

  “And I should care about them because . . . ?”

  “Because they have families,” she said flatly. “Because they need help and that’s what you do.”

  The worse part was that I did care. I didn’t want to, but I’m a sucker for people in trouble, even obnoxious FBI agents. Not that I was going to tell her that.

  “Gee, since you asked for the meeting so nicely, what with the gun in my kidneys, how could I possibly say no?”

  “Get over it,” she said. “I wasn’t going to shoot you.”

  “Of course you weren’t. I mean, that was so obvious.”

  “We don’t have time for this. What will it take for you to help me?”

  I folded my arms. “I don’t know.” My inner nine-year-old was feeling smug.

  “What do you want?”

  I was surprised when Taylor answered, her voice low and tight. “I want Josh back. The Josh he was before you came into his life.”

  Arnow ignored her. “The clock is ticking.”

  “Getting Price out of jail would be a start.”

  Before she could answer, a noise sounded outside in the garage. The door behind us started to pull open.

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, she vaulted over the railing to the landing below and disappeared. I exchanged a look with Taylor, but didn’t have time to say anything before our bodyguards showed up.

  “Are you all right?” Mason asked. He was one of the guards assigned to me and Price. He was dressed in military pants and a black winter coat that covered a bulletproof vest and assorted weapons. He carried a Beretta combat rifle. The only reason I knew it was a Beretta as opposed to, say, Nerf, was because he talked about it more than any girlfriend he might have. I was about to ask how he’d found us, when I realized he had Taylor’s scarf in his hand. She must have dropped it near the door, hoping they’d follow and find us. I took the scarf from him and handed it to Taylor, mouthing a silent “good job” at her. She smiled smugly.

  My mouth lifted in a quick smile, and then I turned back to Mason. “We’re fine. Let’s get inside.”

  I hurried back into the garage, walking swiftly out onto the sidewalk. Taylor strode beside me, with Mason and three of his people bringing up the rear.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Hell if I know. I doubt they’ll let us see Price. We’ll probably have to wait until Gregg’s cavalry of lawyers gets here.” I glanced at her. “What do you think?”

  “I was talking about Special Agent Arnow.”

  I grimaced. “I know.” I’d been dodging the question. I didn’t know what the hell to do about her.

  “I think you’re going to help her.”

  “I can’t trust her. She’s a snake in the grass and she’s bitten me before.”

  “I know. But it isn’t exactly your style not to help people in trouble. Even the ones you don’t like.”

  I couldn’t argue. “But you think I shouldn’t?”

  “I think you should be careful. And I want in.”

  “Want in? What do you mean?”

  “I want to come along and help.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “So we can see each other in action. It’s time, don’t you think? Plus you need someone you can trust at your back.”

  “What about your flying business?”

  That was met with silence. I sort of wanted to kick myself for bringing it up, but then again, Taylor wanted to keep it real between us from now on. Less than a week ago, eight of her employees had been killed, most of them pilots. Until she hired new ones, she was going to have to be taking most of the flights. I pointed that out in case she missed my point.

  “Brent is handling the business up on the rim for me. I’ve got feelers out for pilots and should be hiring soon enough. In the meantime, I can lighten my schedule.”

  I considered, then shook my head. “Still doesn’t make sense. You scratched and clawed to get the business going and make it a success. Stepping back now in the middle of a crisis doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. What’s really going on?”

  Flanked now by a half dozen bodyguards, we crossed the street. They’d tucked their weapons out of sight beneath their jackets. I picked my way across the hard crumbles of ice that had made little ridges and divots where snow had collected, melted, and refrozen. Halfway across, the light changed and traffic trapped us on the wide island in the middle.

  “I don’t know that flying is enough,” she said finally. “I love it. Loved it a lot in the wars. The rush was incredible. But here? It’s—” She broke off. “It’s tame. Anyhow, I started flying to give me something of my own I could feel proud of, but it never made the other shit go away. It only pushed me farther to the outside of the family. I know I’m not a soldier or a spy or a cop, and I can’t wrap people in metal cages at the blink of an eye, but I can be useful. I want to be. I want in for once.”

  “You know that means wading into the stink and rot of the Tyet swamp, right?”

  She snorted. “With your boyfriend’s brother breathing down my neck on my security, I’m already in the swamp.”

  “Maybe you’ve got a toe dipped in,” I acknowledged. “This would be cannonballing into the deep end. Be sure you want to, because it doesn’t wash off.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll ask again after we get Price free. If you still want to, then the answer is yes.”

  We entered the foyer and passed through the first security scan. After that, chained aisles funneled us to the information counter. Our bodyguards remained outside, too loaded with firepower to pass through security.

  The clerk behind the desk took our names, typed into his computer, then eventually gave us visitor badges and directed us up to the fourth-floor check-in. We passed through another set of metal detectors before entering the vast lobby. Apparently, they worried that in the fifty feet we’d covered between the last security check and the second, we might hav
e acquired a bazooka in the gift shop.

  By the time we got to the second-story landing, Mason had rejoined us, along with Taylor’s security lead, Pia Cruz. Each dressed in black fatigue pants and black turtlenecks. The uniform of burglars everywhere. They’d apparently divested themselves of any weapons that might trigger alarms, and they quickly passed through security and overtook us on the stairs. I have issues with small spaces. I don’t do elevators unless I’m bleeding. Literally. Even then I’d rather crawl down a dozen flights of stairs on my belly than get inside that little death box.

  “Ladies,” Pia said, her dark eyes scanning past us as she searched for escape routes and threats. She looked a lot like Cher in her pre-collagen, pre-plastic surgery years. Her straight black hair was woven in a fishtail braid down her back. Her bangs hung thick around her shoe-polish eyes. Her skin was a smooth, rich brown, and her entire presence was exotic, lush, and graceful. I envied her down to my toenails.

  “Fourth floor,” I told Mason.

  He nodded and motioned for Pia to lead off. Taylor and I fell in behind while Mason brought up the rear. I wished their caution was overkill, but I knew better. Bad guys could be anywhere, even in the FBI. Or maybe especially here. Corruption was rampant in Diamond City law enforcement, and this was a nexus of criminals and corruption.

  The center stairs spiraled up through the middle of the glassed-in lobby. Artistic chandeliers hung at varying levels, each lit with brilliant magic. None were the same. I’d have thought there’d have been echoes, with all the traffic below mixing with the reception areas on each floor, but the sound had been dampened so that it felt more like a library than an office building.

  A massive U-shaped desk blocked the landing to the fourth floor. We stopped in front.

  The receptionist finished typing something into her computer and glanced up at me. “May I help you?” Her pinched lips said she suspected I was a criminal.

  “We’re here for Clayton Price. He was arrested.”

  “Oh.” There was a wealth of judgment in that sound. “And you are?”

  “Friends,” I said.

  “I’ll see who the case agent is.” She tapped something on her computer and scanned down the screen. She gave a smile that probably was supposed to look friendly, but instead looked more like a crocodile about to have a snack. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you settled and let him know you’re here.”

  She rose and walked down to the end of the desk. She paused beside a waist-high door and keyed in a code. A soft chime sounded, and the half door swung open. She motioned us through. “This way.”

  Interesting. I hadn’t thought it would be so easy. We followed her down a corridor, past a number of matching closed doors. Finally, she pressed buttons on the exterior of one and opened the door. “Can I get you any coffee while you wait?” she asked as we walked in. “Special Agent Henry will be with you in just a few minutes.”

  This didn’t feel right. I didn’t know a thing about FBI investigations, but I was pretty sure that family members of arrested suspects didn’t get special sitting rooms and offers of coffee. Already I felt trapped. The room felt more like an interrogation room than a waiting area, despite the comfortable chairs. One wall had a long mirror that I guessed was two-way. Otherwise, there were no windows. It felt clinical and cold. The receptionist started to retreat, swinging the door shut behind her.

  I went to block her, but Pia arrived before me. She smiled at our irritated guide. “Is there a bathroom I could use?”

  The receptionist nodded, and the two disappeared. The door shut firmly. Instantly Mason tried to open it, to no avail. We were locked in.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re no doubt being observed and recorded,” Taylor said. “So if there’s anything you want the FBI to know, now’s the time.”

  I turned to look at the window. “When are you going to figure out who killed my mother?” I demanded, glaring at my own reflection. “The way I see it, you really suck at your jobs.”

  “Anything else?” Taylor asked, her lips twitching slightly.

  “That about covers it. For now.”

  Pia returned, escorted by the receptionist. This time, though, Mason planted his foot in front of the door to keep it from shutting when the receptionist tried to leave.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in annoyance.

  “We prefer it open,” I said. “You know, so we don’t get that feeling like we’ve been falsely imprisoned. I think that’s illegal, isn’t it?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” Taylor said.

  “It’s for security purposes,” the flustered woman said. “You can’t be wandering about unattended.”

  “We promise to stay put.”

  She gave me a withering look. “It’s not a choice. If you don’t wish to abide by the rules, then you’ll have to leave.”

  “All right,” Taylor said. “Let’s go.”

  I totally agreed, but at the same time, I had no intention of leaving Price here without knowing just what the fuck was going on. Before I could say so, my phone rang. Touray.

  “Hello?”

  “I told you not to go to the FBI. Where the fuck are you?”

  I was rattled enough to give him a straight answer. “Fourth floor in some kind of observation/interrogation room.”

  “Get your ass out of there right now. Don’t say a word to anybody. I’m on my way up.” With that, he hung up. He really needed to work on his phone manners.

  I put my phone back in my pocket, even as both Pia and Mason got texts. Touray clearly didn’t think I’d obey his orders and had sent the same message to the bodyguards. Not that I was going to disobey. I didn’t really have a choice. I’d just had a lesson in how little I knew about dealing with the FBI. I expected he had a lot more experience. I hoped so, anyway. I looked at Taylor. “Lead the way.”

  “Agent Henry is on his way,” the receptionist said, looking like she was going to throw her body in front of us to block our exit. “It shouldn’t be long at all.”

  Probably as long as it took to get out from behind the observation window and around the corner.

  “Tell him we waited as long as we could,” I suggested before breezing past her.

  “Oh but—!” She called out as Taylor, Pia, and Mason followed me.

  We reached the exit gate. It had no knob, only a keypad. I was tempted to vault over, but Taylor motioned for our receptionist to come open it.

  “Release us,” she said, sounding imperial.

  The other woman sputtered and tried to argue, but Taylor wasn’t having any back talk. She pointed at the keypad. “Now.” The other woman made an irritated noise, but she obeyed.

  The door swung open, and we made our escape. At that point, Special Agent Henry arrived. He looked almost innocuous in a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a blue-striped tie, with polished black shoes and a high-and-tight haircut. His hair was dark blond and he wore horn-rimmed glasses—an affectation, given how cheap and easy it was to get tinkered to 20/20. Maybe he just wanted to look geeky-harmless so suspects wouldn’t take him too seriously and would spill their guts. I wondered if it worked for him.

  “My apologies,” he said as he joined us. “I understand you are inquiring after the Clayton Price case? I’m the Special Agent in charge, Ezra Henry. And you are?” He held out his hand out to Taylor first.

  “Taylor Hollis,” she said, returning to that faintly stupid-but-sweet fashion-plate persona.

  She smiled as she took his hand. He stared at her, mesmerized. And why not? My sister is beautiful. She’s got lush auburn hair that tumbles down her shoulders to the middle of her back. Her eyes are ocean blue. Add in porcelain skin, full lips, elegance, and an athletic body swathed in high fashion—she is mesmeri
zing.

  “You’re so kind to meet with us, especially when you’re so busy.”

  I kept quiet. I was willing to let Taylor play this game to see what she could find out. She’d wanted me to trust her more, and frankly, this particular investigation was in her wheelhouse.

  Special Agent Henry stumbled over his words, saying something to the effect that it was his pleasure, then reluctantly let go of Taylor’s hand and turned to me. His eyes slowly focused, and he managed to reel in his hanging tongue. “And you are?” he asked, taking my hand.

  Like he didn’t know. I almost rolled my eyes, but decided to follow Taylor’s lead and play dumb. “Riley Hollis.” I pulled away.

  “You’re sisters?” He smiled, focusing back on Taylor. “I should have seen that right away.”

  He didn’t seem inclined to get introduced to Pia or Mason, giving them a glance but clearly dismissing them as unimportant. I bristled at that, but let it pass. They preferred to stay in the background until needed on center stage.

  “I’m happy to discuss the case with you,” he said, mostly to Taylor. “Can I offer you some coffee or juice?” He pushed the gate open again and held it. The receptionist must have keyed in the code for him.

  “Absolutely not.” Touray launched himself onto the landing from the stairs. His glance slashed across us, then settled on Special Agent Henry. “They aren’t going anywhere with you,” he said, his mouth pulled into grim lines.

  Price and Touray shared a father. They both had black hair and pale skin, but then the resemblance muddied. Touray’s hair was cut short, almost military style. Price’s was longer, down to his collar. Where Price was more lean, Touray was thickly slabbed with muscle. His face was square, and his black eyes held scary shadows. He radiated menace and ruthlessness. I expected Special Agent Henry to fold up under that scowling regard. He didn’t. Instead, he sharpened into a hard blade. He turned to Touray, his brows arching above the nerdy glasses, his expression carefully deadpan.