To Dance with the Devil bs-6

by Cat Adams

  “Positive.”

  “All right. Who’s with you?”

  “Talia. Kevin went off duty at six.”

  I thought furiously. I’d have preferred Kevin, if for no other reason than that I know him better—probably not fair to Talia, but it was the truth. Still, having a mage handy might just be an advantage—if I could just think of the right way to use her.

  “Do you think he knows you spotted him?”

  “No.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “As long as it took me to hit speed dial.”

  Good. “Okay, is Michelle still hooked up to any machinery?”

  “Nah, they disconnected everything after the last round of spells. They’re going to release her tomorrow morning.”

  I took a deep breath. Moving Michelle would be chancy, but as it was, she was a sitting duck. Now that they knew where she was and that she was under guard, they’d plan accordingly. Which meant it was more risky—to her and to my people—leaving her in place.

  “All right. Ask Talia if she’s capable of doing an illusion of you sitting in the chair outside the door.”

  I heart muffled sounds as Bubba covered the phone and did what I’d asked. A second later he was back. “She said yes, but she won’t be able to hold it long.”

  “All right. Does Michelle have any street clothes?”

  “Yeah, since she was due to check out tomorrow, Kevin had Talia bring her some sweats.”

  Way to go, Kevin, thinking ahead! “Good. Have Michelle get dressed. When the nurse is distracted, you take Michelle down to the cafeteria. There’s an exit right there that leads into a staff parking lot. Once you’re out of view, Talia should put the spell on the chair, then talk to it, say something about going to get herself a snack, that she’ll bring you back a sandwich. Tell her to make sure that the nurse hears her. Then she leaves, gets the car, drives around to the cafeteria exit, and picks you up there.”

  “Right,” he agreed. “I’ll call you back when we’re on the road.”

  He hung up and I started pacing. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I should be there. I knew Bubba was good. I was pretty sure Talia was. But damn it.

  “Something’s gone wrong.” Fred didn’t have to read my mind to know that. He’d heard me talking on the phone.

  “Yeah. The bad guys are at the hospital.”

  My phone rang again. Before I could even say hello, Bubba said, “They hit the room with magic just after we left. I’m thinking it was a fire spell.”

  I could hear the alarm sounding in the background, along with a calm voice announcing the code for the evacuation protocol.

  If he wasn’t in the room, I wondered how he knew it had been a direct hit, but I didn’t ask. Maybe Talia had felt it and said something. She might have done the wards when she came on duty. It really didn’t matter. “Where are you now?”

  He started to answer, but the cell signal cut out. I wasn’t surprised. There was a lot of magic flying around, and some of the regular equipment at a hospital could interfere with cell transmission. But damn it! What I wouldn’t give to have my siren ring back from Bruno. My telepathy just wasn’t strong enough to connect clearly with Bubba without it.

  “I didn’t hear that. Repeat,” I said.

  “The pantry off the kitchen. There was a guy in the hall by the cafeteria exit.”

  “Shit.”

  The call dropped again. So frustrating! I started focusing, trying to picture Bubba in my mind. I could almost do it, but damn, it was hard. I was panting from the effort when I felt Fred’s gentle touch on my arm.

  With a jolt, Bubba popped into focus, as clear as if he was standing in front of my face. I could even see the room around him and Michelle in her plain gray sweats. It was almost as if I was actually there. Bubba was whispering softly into his phone. “Do we have a plan, or do I improvise?”

  Bubba, close the phone. We’re going to do it this way. He jerked, startled, then slid the phone into his pocket.

  Someone is searching the kitchen, he thought.

  How many?

  Just one.

  One meant they didn’t have a bead on Michelle. Magical tracking is tricky, and the same things that were wreaking havoc with cell calls would make it hard for them to find her. Still, if they were smart, they’d have people watching all the exits, and Bubba isn’t exactly unnoticeable.

  Want me to deal with him?

  Yes. Then put on an apron and a hairnet and take Michelle out the cafeteria door.

  It wouldn’t be much of a disguise, but it was something—maybe enough to make a watcher overlook him. Maybe. I hoped.

  Fred and I watched as Bubba signaled for Michelle to stay in place, then slipped out of the pantry, moving in utter silence. Straining, using his ears, I could hear the soft shuffle of steps, harsh breathing. There was the crackle of a radio, and a metallic-sounding voice said, “Have you found them yet?”

  “No. But I swear I saw them come in here, and they haven’t gone out the fire exit. I’ve been keeping it in my line of sight.”

  “Fine. I’m sending Ted down to back you up. But we need to hurry. We only have a two-minute window left.” I shuddered. Even with the radio distortion I recognized that voice. It was Suit. Finn.

  “I know.”

  Bubba waited beside some metal shelving stacked with pots and pans until the hunter stepped forward. With brutal speed and zero hesitation, Bubba swept one arm down, knocking the thug’s gun to the floor as he threw a hard punch into the man’s throat with the other. The enemy was a big guy, built like a bodybuilder, but he fell like a sack of grain, too busy struggling to breathe around the swelling in his throat to worry about anything else.

  DUCK! Fred’s voice shouted in both our minds. Bubba dropped to the floor, diving for the gun he’d knocked from his opponent’s hand, as a spell ball exploded against a pan right behind where his head had been. Acid ate through the steel in less time than it took to draw a breath.

  Bubba didn’t spare time or thought to watch. Grabbing the dropped gun, he turned, aimed, and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. Only one slug hit, but it was enough to put the skinny little spell slinger down.

  Bubba called to Michelle, who rushed out of the pantry to join him. The two of them looked around quickly. It took a few precious seconds, but they found a pair of aprons that had headgear in the pockets. They had just gotten dressed when the radios the thugs wore crackled and Finn’s imperious voice said, “Jon, Ted, report.”

  The crackle of the static that followed that last word echoed behind Michelle and Bubba as they hurried out of the kitchen toward the cafeteria exit.

  Then my connection with them vanished.

  22

  I supported most of Fred’s weight as I guided him over to the couch. His skin was grayish and clammy. He’d pushed himself too hard. He wasn’t having a heart attack—I could hear it beating steadily in his chest. But he’d badly overstrained his magic. I’d been so worried about Bubba and Michelle I hadn’t really thought about how hard what Fred was doing would be on him.

  “Damn it, Fred!”

  “You needed me. It was important.” He stretched out on the couch, looking terrifyingly frail. “Don’t tell Dottie.”

  “You think she won’t notice?” I snapped as I looked around. I tried to remember exactly what the first aid was for this sort of thing. In the hospital with Dottie they’d given her fluids and carbohydrates. I ran into the kitchen. It was echoingly empty. Not a glass for water, no food in the cupboards. Shit! No, wait. There was a nutrition shake in my purse. I’d packed it because this was a fairly long trip and I didn’t want to risk getting vampity on the way. I ran out to the truck fetch it.

  Fred was already breathing easier when I got back. Once he’d drained the shake, his color began to improve.

  “Promise me you won’t tell Dottie. After the trouble I gave her the other day, she’ll never let me live it down. And I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.”
>
  I scowled at him and didn’t answer. Chances were good that she’d hauled out her bowl and was watching us right now. So I said the only thing I could think of that would make him happy without getting me in trouble with his wife. “I try not to get caught between married people when they’re arguing.”

  He gave a snort of acknowledgment tinged with wry humor.

  “So, back to where we were before we got interrupted. What are your terms for leasing this place?”

  He smiled, and for an instant, energy and animation filled his face. When he spoke, his voice was weary. “Six-month lease, going rate, and you cover the homeowner’s insurance. I don’t want to risk having this place uninsured with you using it.”

  I didn’t argue. My record with insurance companies was a joke. I pay my premiums—very high premiums, mind you—but it’s reached the point where they consider me just too much of a risk. Go figure.

  “Fine. Call your attorney. We’ll sign the paperwork as soon as he has it ready.”

  My phone rang. Bubba’s number showed on the screen. “Graves.”

  “Hey, boss. Everybody’s good. Tell Fred I owe him a beer. We’re in the car. Where are we going?”

  I gave him the address of our brand-new safe house and told him to call Kevin, fill him in, and ask him to pick up groceries for the next several days.

  “Done,” Bubba said. He hung up without saying good-bye. I was okay with that. I had another call to make, and it wasn’t one I was particularly excited about.

  She picked up on the fourth ring. “Heather Alexander.”

  “Alex, it’s me. They made a run for Michelle at the hospital. We got her out. She’s safe. But there are a couple of injured thugs in the kitchen. I can come in and give you a statement in a couple of hours.”

  “A couple of hours?” She was pissed. “They had to evacuate the hospital, Graves. Get your ass in here now!”

  “Can’t. I’m at least two hours out—and that’s if I drive like a maniac. I only saw what happened telepathically.”

  “Then who … no. Never mind. Just get your ass in here. I’ll tell the guy in charge you’re on your way. You can tell us everything when you get here.”

  * * *

  “Okay, let me get this right.” The man speaking was FBI Special Agent Shawn Shea. He was six one and had black curly hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. His skin had that porcelain quality with just a hint of freckles that told me of his Irish blood. His voice, however, was pure Midwestern. Shea was all business at the moment, and none too happy with yours truly. The interrogation room was a little crowded, I must admit, with Shea, me, my attorney, and two other law enforcement officers who were obviously friendly with me. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but Dom Rizzoli managed to loom while leaning against the wall, and Alex’s stony expression spoke volumes. Still, Shea plowed on. “You were out of town and you got a call from one of your employees telling you he’d spotted one of the guys who attacked you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he didn’t bother calling the cops.”

  “I’m sure he would have, if there’d been time. But there wasn’t. The first priority is always to get the client to safety.”

  “So why isn’t he here instead of you?”

  “As soon as my client and her protectors reach the safe house and his relief arrives, he’ll come down and give you his statement.” He would, too. It was standard protocol. Bubba knew that.

  “So you called it in instead.”

  “Yes. I was a witness. And I figured if you moved quickly, you could pick up the guys in the kitchen and question them.”

  The police hadn’t been quick enough. Jon and Ted were dead. Each had been shot once in the head with a .45, a different caliber from the .38 Bubba had taken from Jon. But that didn’t mean Shawn wasn’t going to try to pin the murder on him. I wasn’t going to allow that.

  “And you know everything that happened.”

  “The part in the kitchen, yes. The telepath who was working with me does, too.” I smiled sweetly. I knew Fred was in another room giving his own statement. We hadn’t coached each other or worked out a story, but I was pretty sure Shawn would accuse me of it. After all, Fred and I had made a long drive all by ourselves. “And I’m sure that the hospital security cameras probably caught the whole thing.” That last was a guess. I didn’t know that there were cameras in the kitchen, but I was betting there were. I have friends who own a restaurant. They had to install security to keep their meat and produce from walking out the back door with less than honest staff. It’s a common problem, and one I suspected the hospital had been forced to deal with.

  Shea gave me a sour look. I forced myself to smile, though I didn’t feel like it. Just look at me, the good-natured businesswoman, cooperating her little heart out with the nice officers.

  Alex said, “Cameras show Bubba and the girl leaving and a different guy coming in and offing the wounded.”

  “One of yours, no doubt.” Shea was trying to provoke me.

  I answered calmly. “Had to be one of the bad guys tying up loose ends. I don’t have that many people. I had a man and a woman with the protectee. My other guy was off duty and long gone. The woman was getting the car while Bubba got Michelle out of the building.”

  “We have video of Bubba relieving Kevin at six o’clock, and of Kevin leaving the building with Paulie. And the guy in the kitchen is too short and dark to be Kevin.” The way Alex said it, I could tell she’d told him before—and probably more than once.

  What was his problem? I used telepathy to ask Dom and Alex simultaneously. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but he really was starting to get on my nerves. It was a good thing Fred and I had stopped for food for me on the way in or I might be getting really irritable.

  “My problem,” Shea said, “is that every time you get involved in a case, bodies start stacking up like cord wood.”

  I sighed. He was right. But it wasn’t my fault. It was my line of work and the level of bad guys I was going up against. This particular batch seemed to think that their people were as disposable as tissues. Somebody needed to stop them. I knew the police were trying, and now the feds were involved. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to have faith in them. Besides, the bad guys had singled me out for their attention from the start. Call it intuition, or paranoia, or whatever the hell else you want, but I had this sinking feeling that I was going to be involved in this to the bitter end.

  I spoke clearly, enunciating enough that the answer wasn’t quite insulting. “Not … my … fault.”

  Roberto, my attorney, spoke up. “I think we’re done here. My client has been most cooperative. She’s given a statement. She was not physically present at the scene, and you have nothing that could connect her to any crime.” He rose. I rose.

  “We’re not finished until I say so,” Shea snarled and gestured for me to sit back down. I didn’t and he took a threatening step toward me.

  Dom straightened up. That’s all. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything other than move away from the wall. But Shea subsided.

  Roberto opened the door and we left, walking along a wide hall that led to the fire stairs at one end and the cubicle farm at the other. We hadn’t quite reached the cubicles when Dom’s voice stopped me.

  “Yo, Graves, hang on a minute.” I turned back as he stepped out of the interrogation room and started walking toward me; we met in the middle of the hall. Roberto waited nearby, still within earshot, ready to do his duty if need be but giving me at least the illusion of privacy if the conversation with Dom wasn’t business.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Glad to see you looking so much better.”

  “Thanks. I got the flowers. They were great.”

  “Yeah, the wife picked them out.” He shifted his weight a little uncomfortably. In the better light of the hallway I saw he looked tired, and while his suit was still crisp, it fit loosely, like he’d lost a little weight. He sighed. �
�Look, Shea’s an ass, but he isn’t wrong. The body count is climbing and we’re no closer to solving this than we were when we started. These guys have no limits. They attacked a freaking hospital, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I know. I know.” I met his gaze. “I have some ideas, but nothing solid. What I’d really like to do is change things up—go on the offense. Because, frankly, playing defense just isn’t working.”

  “No shit,” Alex agreed, joining us in the hall.

  “What do you have in mind?” Dom asked.

  I told him.

  “You don’t ask much,” he said sourly. “Give me your number. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  23

  When Gilda Levy hadn’t been able to reach me by phone or e-mail, she’d contacted Dawna. Isaac was missing. I called Gilda right away. She said Isaac had been terribly upset since I’d spoken to him. He’d left the shop abruptly, shortly after noon yesterday, telling Gilda he had urgent business to take care of. No one had heard from him since.

  Did I know where he’d gone? No. But I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with our meeting—and with Connor Finn. I was worried. Isaac is a skilled mage and he’s a tough old coot. He’d taken the news that something might be going on in the territory he was responsible for very seriously. I just hoped he hadn’t done something foolish as a result. Because tough as he was, and powerful as he was, he was still an old man. He’d never told me his age, but he had to be close to eighty.

  I felt physically ill from worry and stress by the time I reached the Furnace Creek exit.

  Isaac, where the hell are you? I thought hard, trying to picture him in my head. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Please don’t let him be dead. It wasn’t like him to disappear without a word. He would never have missed Gilda’s birthday lunch. He wouldn’t worry Gilda like that.

  I wished there was something I could do, but there wasn’t.

  I was meeting Dom Rizzoli for breakfast at Irma’s Diner, a little place just off the expressway, nestled between diesel pumps and a car wash sized to accommodate semis. It had taken Dom some time to get things arranged, but he’d managed it.