by Cat Adams
I felt like a spy in a 007 movie. I even had my very own thug. Agent Baker was on her way back from Serenity, so my secret service escort tonight was Agent William Griffiths. He was a big, imposing redhead, and looked almost as good in his suit as I did in my dress. I’d take him to a premiere anytime.
He didn’t bother checking the room. It had already been done. Instead, he waited until I was seated at the elegantly appointed table before going to stand discreetly by the door.
I’m a casual-dining kind of a gal. I like old-fashioned diners and places like La Cocina, which might be described as dives—if you didn’t mind risking your health saying it in front of the owners. But I’ve been to high-end restaurants on dates, and heaven knows the amount of time I’d stood where Griffiths was now, on the edges, making sure the beautiful people stayed that way. I know what to do with all the various pieces of silver and crystal, and I can even manage my skirt when the maître d’ pushes in my chair without looking awkward. But I still, secretly, feel more than a little out of place when I eat in places like this. Everything was so perfect: candlelight, fine linen, watered silk wallpaper. I felt a little like a kid playing dress up.
Olga and Natasha, however, were born to this sort of thing. They strolled in together. Olga’s head was held high, her posture almost angry, demanding attention. Natasha, on the other hand, looked pensive. Her whole body language was off. She didn’t seem afraid as much as worried and distracted. They were an odd pair. Not friends. No, I decided, they were more like acquaintances, thrown together by chance. But that wouldn’t keep them from teaming up on someone if they felt it was to their advantage. I’d seen that already.
I started with small talk, in English, while the staff filled our water glasses and set out fresh-baked bread that smelled like heaven on a plate. “How did the interviews go this afternoon?”
Natasha opened her mouth to answer, but Olga talked over her. “It is boring. Always the same questions. Very … what is the word? Tedious.”
Bullshit. I’d seen most of Olga’s interview while I was being fitted for my jacket and this dress. She’d loved every minute of the attention. With Gilda translating, I’d been able to watch and listen as she ever-so-carefully tried to make Adriana look bad. Olga never said anything directly insulting—she was far more subtle than that. But she managed to shade her answers in such a way that the public—particularly the Ruslandic people—would be watching my cousin very warily.
Natasha hadn’t been much better. She’d expressed wide-eyed concern over attending the bachelorette party I would be throwing for my cousin. She’d heard scandalous things about such affairs. It was a perfect ploy, playing to the religious and conservative elements. Never mind that I hadn’t scheduled any such party. Now I had to either give one or figure out a good reason not to—or the press would report that we’d caved to conservative pressure.
Dawna suggested that she might be sincere since, after all, a bachelorette party is a pretty standard custom. I didn’t buy it. I’d been shopping with Natasha. Either she’d been doing a fine job of acting when she picked out the racy bridesmaid’s dress, or she was lying now. I was betting the latter.
They were making trouble. But it wasn’t the deadly kind. Just pettiness. I would’ve thought it was the result of the siren effect if I didn’t know for a fact they both wore an anti-siren charm. Maybe it was just bitchiness, or regular old jealousy. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. If there was any time in the schedule where it could be shoehorned in, I was going to be throwing a party. There’d be live tweeting by a planted reporter. And I was going to make damned sure it was sedate and boring enough that nobody could accuse anyone of misbehaving. If there wasn’t, well, we’d just find another form of damage control.
“Well, maybe you won’t have to do any more interviews,” I suggested with saccharine sweetness.
“Most unlikely,” Olga sneered. “This is the wedding of the century. The press are insatiable.”
“Then you’re still planning on being part of the wedding party? I’m so glad.” I tried to sound both sincere and chirpy. I’m not sure how successful I was at it.
Olga gave me a very unfriendly look over the rim of her water glass. “My father has reminded me that it is a great honor and my duty to be part of the wedding.” Ah, duty. But was it her duty to celebrate it, or destroy it?
“Natasha?” I made it a question.
“I will not let fear control me. We have skilled guards to protect us. These…”—she paused, searching for the right word in English—“villains will not succeed.”
“Oh good. I’m so pleased. I was afraid I was going to have to talk the two of you into going through with it, but apparently you’re already on board.” I was smiling so hard my face was starting to hurt.
We were interrupted by the waiters bringing in the soup and salad course. For me, consommé and a bowl of applesauce. I waited until the waiters left before continuing. “The two of you probably know that my cousin has put me in charge of getting the bridesmaids’ dresses.”
They didn’t answer, just stared at me. Natasha’s face was expressionless. Olga’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She didn’t like that news. Not a bit. I think she believed she could work her way around Adriana. I wasn’t so sure about that, but I did know that she knew she wouldn’t get around me.
“I’ve brought a computer with me. After we finish dinner, you can look at the dresses I’m considering and we can make a final decision.”
After that, dinner was strained. There wasn’t much in the way of conversation. Really, what was there to say? So I concentrated on enjoying my food, which really was excellent, and hoped Gilda Levy wasn’t getting too bored, waiting for the other women to speak.
When the last of the dessert plates were cleared away, I pulled out my netbook and hit the keys to begin the holographic fashion show that Dawna, Gilda, and I had worked so hard on this afternoon.
There were a lot of dresses. Thirty in all, selected from the websites of various designers and high-end bridal shops. We’d arranged it so not one of the images showed where the gown came from. I wanted the selection to be made on merit, not name. Every dress was pretty, demure, and designed to look good with a jacket. I’d insisted on that, because even during the wedding I intended to be armed. A few of the dresses were knee length, most were floor length. There was silk and satin aplenty, beading and lace. Every one of them was available in purple, a color I was sticking with because (a) it looked good on all three of us; and (b) Adriana had approved it.
“No.” Olga slammed her palm onto the table, making the remaining silverware clatter. She glared at me. “None of these will do. Absolutely not.”
“I like the third one quite a bit,” Natasha said with a quiet firmness that surprised me.
Olga didn’t glare at the other woman; she was too shocked. She turned to her, wide-eyed, and spoke in rapid Ruslandic, which my hidden friend helpfully translated.
“What are you doing? We agreed!”
“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind. Adriana has done nothing to harm us and we owe this one our lives. Are you not woman enough to admit that perhaps the men were wrong?”
“Idiot. Those men were not shooting at us. It was the sirens they were trying to kill. It’s been all over the news.”
“A stray bullet can be as deadly as an aimed one. Think of the woman who waited on us in that shop. She was not a target, but she was killed just the same. Her only crime was having little taste.”
“Adriana is controlling our king with her siren abilities.”
“Perhaps my father believes that. I do not. The king wears a charm, just as we do.” Natasha wasn’t budging on this. Her eyes had begun to flash with real anger and her chin was thrust forward aggressively.
“Your father…” Olga was apparently trying to play her trump card. It didn’t work.
“Is wrong. He has not met the princess. Either of them.”
Well, well, well. Wasn’t that just
fascinating? Still, if I didn’t say something, and quickly, they might get suspicious. So I widened my eyes in mock innocence and said with a smile, “I liked the third one, too.” It was even the truth. The dress was simple purple silk with a sweetheart neckline and ruching at the side. It flowed in a beautiful A-line down to a floor-length hem. It was simple, elegant, and would look good on all three of us. “Olga, you’re outvoted. Dress number three it is.”
“I refuse. I will not wear that.” She didn’t slam her palm on the table this time. Instead, she rose to her feet in a huff that I could tell was mostly hot air.
I merely shrugged at her display. “Fine. No problem. It’s a shame you’ll miss out on being part of the wedding of the century. But hey, I’m sure your father will understand you foregoing your duty when you explain that it’s because you didn’t like the dress.”
She turned on me in real fury. “You wouldn’t dare!”
My smile was more than a little bit predatory, but for the first time this evening I wasn’t faking it at all. I’m pretty sure my teeth showed. “Oh, but I would. Now, are you in or out?”
“I will be speaking to the king about your insolence,” she announced before turning on her heel and flouncing out with her guards hurrying to catch up.
“Go for it,” I called. “He already knows I’m insolent.” If she heard, she ignored me.
17
It was late. I was tired. Dealing with difficult people wears me out more than just about anything else. I also didn’t want to go home until the secret service types had gone over the estate with a fine-toothed comb. Call me crazy, but staying somewhere nice and anonymous, where no one would know where to look for me, sounded like a really nice idea. So I told Gilda, Isaac, and Dawna, via my jewelry, thanks, have a good night and see you in the morning, said the words to end the spell, and rented myself a suite at a nearby hotel that I’d used for clients more than once. Griffiths contacted his superiors, who sent reinforcements to stand guard until morning. I made a couple of calls to let my friends know I was okay, sent an e-mail arranging for the dresses to be delivered to Isaac’s shop, filled out my breakfast order and hung it on the door of the suite, stripped, and fell into bed.
I slept well, better than I had in quite a while. No nightmares, not the recent ones, not any of the old standbys that recur when I am stressed. Let’s hear it for utter exhaustion! I woke feeling rested, which was a nice change of pace. After a long, luxurious bath and a room-service breakfast, I brushed my teeth, put on more new clothes that were examples of Isaac’s tailoring skills, and was actually looking forward to the new day.
My optimism lasted all of ten minutes—until I called the office. I had three messages from Laka. The first let me know first, that Okalani was with her and safe, and second, that she, Laka, was very grateful. The next two were increasingly frantic. Her daughter had bolted. Had I heard anything?
I swore long and hard. Damn it to hell. Couldn’t the kid just stay put for twenty-four damned hours? I’d talked to Rizzoli. He was going through channels. I had no doubt that everybody on our side wanted the information Okalani had and would be more than willing to deal with the kid to get it. But damn it, we were dealing with multiple agencies from multiple countries. That takes time.
And now Okalani was gone. She wouldn’t be safe, and I couldn’t produce her.
The logical place to look for her was with her father. The best place to get his address, the university. I didn’t have the pull to do it. Emma could probably get the information out of the university computers, but looking up that sort of thing could get her fired if anyone found out. Calling Rizzoli would get the feds looking for her, but even my handy-dandy consultant status didn’t guarantee anyone would share information with me.
I was angry at Okalani, angry at myself. But mostly, I was afraid. These people were playing for keeps. If they found her before I did … “Don’t think about it, Graves. Just find her.”
I dialed the number Laka had left for me. She picked up on the first ring; her hello was breathless with hope and the raw edge of tears.
“It’s Celia.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“No. But I have an idea of where to look. I need you to call the university. Tell them you’re her mother. Find out what she listed as her home address, or if she listed her father’s numbers in case of emergency. Then call me back at this number. Can you do that?”
“She’s a student at the university?”
“Yes. Paranormal studies.”
“Oh, I … I didn’t know.” She sounded hurt and confused. I could understand, even sympathize, but we didn’t have time.
“Can you call?”
“I’ll do it now.”
“Good. Call me back with the information at this number.”
I hung up and made a quick call to Dom’s direct line at FBI headquarters. It went to voice mail. I left a vague message for him to call me, that it was important, but didn’t give any details. After all, there was a chance I would find Okalani before he called and save myself a lot of trouble.
I debated calling Queen Lopaka and decided that talking in person would work better. So I distracted myself with packing my things while I was waiting for Laka’s call, taking special care with the previous night’s outfit.
As a courtesy, I stuck my nose out the door. I was pleased to see who was standing there.
“Hey there … partner. We need to leave in ten.”
Baker let out a little laugh. “Good. I’ll make sure the car is ready.” If I’d spent as much time in airports as she had lately, I’d have looked a wreck. But Baker’s hair and makeup were perfect, her charcoal gray suit was crisply pressed and beautifully tailored. There was no hint of all the weaponry I knew she was wearing. She looked as fresh as a very professional daisy. “By the way,” she assured me, “the estate is clear. You can go home if you want. Our people are on the way to check out your office now.”
“Cool. You can stay in the guest room. Hope you packed a bag, Agent Baker.”
She smiled; apparently she’d expected the offer. Likely if I hadn’t made it, she would have found a reason to suggest it. “I did.” She stepped into the suite, closed the door, and watched me gather the last of my things. “And please, Princess, if we are to be partners, you should call me Helen.”
“Then I’m Celia, not Princess. Tell you what, Helen. Let’s go shopping in a great place I know. We’ll get lots of shiny things that go bang.” She laughed and held the door for me. I liked that she looked both ways, hand on her weapon, when she did so. Yes, I wanted to go home, but more than that I wanted to get to my office and stock up on weaponry. I’d picked up quite a few things at the Levys’. I mean, seriously, how could I not? But given what was going on, I wanted gear I was familiar with. It was a real pity about the Colt, but the police wouldn’t be giving it back until they were damned good and ready. The derringer was with Adriana and probably needed to stay there. Until I got a chance to take it to the range and fire it, the Glock Bruno had given me was new and unfamiliar enough that I didn’t quite trust it. Yeah, I know Bruno takes care of his weapons. That wasn’t the point.
I didn’t see myself having time to go to the range in the next couple of days. I had to find Okalani and get back to guarding Adriana.
I had drawn even with Baker when the phone rang. I sighed and Baker did as well. Then I answered. As I was calming Laka and getting information out of her, trying to convince her there was no need for her to come to the mainland, Baker … Helen was on her radio, making sure our car was being checked again for any possible threats and making changes to our travel plans that ensured that if Laka was phoning duress, nobody would be able to intercept us.
Wow. Even more paranoid than me. I really did like her.
But I doubted that Laka’s breakdown could be faked. Waiting was eating her alive. She was terrified for her child and wanted, needed, to be doing something. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t anything she could do.
I told her the best thing she could do was stay right where she was, even though it’s not what she wanted to do. She wanted to be out, pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, calling random houses to see if anyone had seen her daughter. I understood. I’d been there.
Checking out of the hotel didn’t take long. A heavily armored luxury sedan waited at the curb with William Griffiths at the wheel. Baker got in front. I had the backseat to myself. I debated where to go first as Griffiths waited patiently for instruction. Finding Okalani and bringing her in for questioning was a priority. I was going to do my best to find her, but the fact is, the authorities all had better resources and more people to throw at that problem. She might hate me for it after, but we could both live with that. The question was, who to approach first? “Take me to the hospital, please. I need to speak to my aunt.”
“What about the office?” Helen looked at me quizzically. No doubt she’d heard stories about my safe. She would be disappointed in the new one. My old safe was much cooler.
I tipped my head. “Can’t take weapons in there anyway. Why load up my pockets, just to unload them?”
“Point.” To her credit, she didn’t say anything else.
“Right.” Griffiths punched the address into the GPS system and pulled smoothly away from the curb.
A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the impatient tapping of my fingers against the leather armrest.
“Screw it,” I muttered after a few minutes’ thought. Maybe Okalani’s father was a villain. But he was her dad. She loved him. Maybe he loved her, too. This might be a bad idea, but I didn’t have any really good ones. Pulling the note from my jacket pocket, I dialed the daytime emergency contact number Laka had given me. I nearly dropped the phone when a pleasant, recorded voice answered:
