by C. T. Adams
“You need to go home. You need rest.” She spoke English, but not perfectly, her accent thick, even after all her years in the United States. She wrinkled her nose. “And you need a shower.” The words were sharp.
Nick turned to face her, unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth, but before any words could come out she launched herself across the short distance between them, hauling him into a fierce, rib-cracking hug. “You saved him. You saved my Juan. God bless you.”
Nick clung to her, vision blurred. “I’m so sorry.”
“No. You did good. You saved him.”
“If only…” Stupid, useless words.
She pulled back, pointing a bony finger into the middle of his chest. Speaking slowly, and very clearly, all traces of accent gone, she said, “Stop that!” Then, more normally, “It was not your fault.” She poked him hard in the solar plexus.
Maybe not, but he sure as hell felt like it was.
“You need sleep. Go home. Rest. You can come back later. We’ll be here.”
“But—”
“Go home.”
He managed to leave the hospital without talking to any reporters, but they didn’t make it easy. Still, when he reached the third floor of the hospital parking garage his truck was right where he’d left it. It was easy to spot, a big red 4x4, parked between a shiny new BMW and an old beater of an Oldsmobile.
He hit the button to unlock it and climbed behind the wheel, shivering a little. The temperature had dropped with the sunset. Starting the engine, he turned the defroster all the way to high so that it would clear the fog from the windows as it heated the cabin.
Leaning right, he flipped open the glove box to see if there were any cigarettes. Nothing. He’d given up smoking long ago, but sometimes, when he was really stressed … of course, there weren’t any. Maybe he’d stop by a convenience store on the way home. Then again, maybe not.
* * *
He hadn’t expected to sleep, but he had. There were nightmares, but he only half remembered them. They couldn’t hold a candle to reality anyway. Juan had been shot. Nick was on forced leave pending investigation into the “incident.”
Nick rolled over, grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand to check the time. It was 7:30. On any other day he’d have been up for hours, done his run and had breakfast, be dressed and on his way to work. It was a routine. He liked routine. Other people might find it boring. He felt it gave his life structure.
He hit a number on speed dial and heard ringing at the other end of the line. Juan’s sister Yolanda picked up the phone on the first ring. Apparently she’d been the one chosen to stay with the baby at Juan and Maria’s house. “Hello.”
“Yolanda, it’s me.”
“Nick. Hi. I’m so glad you’re okay. And thank you. Thank you from all of us.” There was a lot of emotion packed into her words, her voice sounding strained as if she were fighting tears.
Nick flinched. He so didn’t feel like he deserved thanks.
“Your mom sent me home last night. I figured I’d call and check in before I head back to the hospital, find out how he’s doing. I know they can’t use cell phones in the ICU, but I figured somebody had to be at the house taking care of the baby.”
“That’d be me. Juan’s hanging in there. The docs say they’re hopeful, that it’s a good sign.”
Nick closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks.
“You okay?”
“I wasn’t shot.”
“I know. But are you okay?” Yolanda put obvious emphasis on the last word. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”
“You don’t know that.”
She snorted. “Yeah, Nick, I do. You love my brother. You’d never let him get hurt if you could help it. We all know that. You’re practically part of the family.”
“Thanks, Yo.” Nick forced the words past a lump in his throat.
Whatever she would’ve said in response was cut off by the sound of a baby crying in the background.
“Baby’s up. I’ve got to go,” Yolanda said. “Nick, stop blaming yourself. Just … stop, okay. Juan wouldn’t want that and you know it.”
She hung up before he could answer.
Nick had showered before falling into bed the night before, so he didn’t bother this morning, just brushed his teeth, dragged a comb through his tangled dark curls, and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a tee, with a denim work shirt over the top in case it was still chilly out. Grabbing wallet and keys he dashed down the stairs, intending to grab some breakfast at a drive-through and head back over to the hospital.
He was heading down Commerce when he spotted a pair of idiots who were trying to carry a massive painting down the sidewalk. The damned thing caught every breeze like a parasail. Traffic was at a near standstill as people slowed to watch the spectacle and to make sure they could stop if the fools managed to get blown into the street. As he got closer, Nick realized he knew at least one of the morons. It was his brother, David.
Family, ya gotta love ’em.
Nick pulled the pickup to the curb and climbed out.
“Hey, bro, you look like you could use some help.”
“Nick!” Relief was evident in David’s voice. “And you’ve got the truck.” He lowered the canvas and rested it atop the toe of his booted foot to keep it clear of the sidewalk.
The other end of the painting settled down as well and a woman peered around the edge of the canvas. He recognized her from photos in her old police file and his heart sank. It was Brianna Hai, big as life and twice as gorgeous. Jeans and a T-shirt clung just tight enough to show dangerous curves. Her skin was amazing, pale and flawless, but it was her eyes that got to him. They were a misty silver, shot through with sparkles of charcoal and fog and every other imaginable shade between black and white. A person could get lost looking into those eyes, which were framed by the longest, blackest lashes he’d ever seen. Without a bit of makeup or apparent effort, she was the most heart-stoppingly beautiful woman he’d seen in years, and completely unaffected. It wasn’t that she didn’t know. It just didn’t matter to her. That impressed him almost as much as the cut muscles in the arms holding the canvas. He told himself to cool his jets, that the woman in front of him was serious bad news. His body wasn’t inclined to listen.
Shit, shit, shit.
She smiled, flashing deep dimples, her eyes sparkling. Nick found himself smiling back at her, despite his better judgment. And yet, despite her obvious attractions, a big part of his mind was on Special Agent Tennyson and the fact that the sumptuous woman in front of him was his key to admittance to the dojo.
David began making introductions. “Brianna, this is my brother, Nick. Nick, this is my boss, Brianna Hai.”
“Hi.” Nick extended his hand. She took it, her handshake firm, businesslike.
David stared at him for a long moment, his expression worried and uncomfortable. Nick could almost hear the gears grinding as his brother debated whether or not to ask the inevitable question.
“I’m okay. I’m on the way to the hospital now to check on Juan.”
“Juan?” The lilt in Brianna’s voice made it a question.
Nick took a deep breath to steady himself. “I don’t know if David’s told you, but I’m a cop. Yesterday I was involved in a shooting. My partner is in the ICU.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. Don’t let us keep you,” Brianna said.
“No. It’s okay. This will only take a couple of minutes.” He gave them a rueful smile. “I consider it a public service. You guys are causing a traffic problem.”
“It is a little awkward,” she admitted with a wry grin that made Nick’s pulse speed.
Nope. Not interested. That woman is nothing but trouble, Nick reminded himself as he moved around to the back of the truck. Letting down the tailgate he climbed inside, rearranging the miscellaneous items that had collected in the truck bed to make room for the painting. Meanwhile, David and Brianna moved into position to begin loading it.
“David’s told me a lot about you,” Brianna said, making small talk to keep the silence from becoming awkward.
“Uh-oh.” Nick gave a forced laugh. “Don’t believe everything you hear. David’s prone to exaggeration.”
“Am not!” David protested.
“Are too.”
Brianna laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, you’re definitely brothers.”
Once the space was ready, Brianna and David passed the canvas up to Nick, who carefully moved it into place at an angle so that it would fit diagonally across the bed. “I wish I had a tarp. I’d hate for this to get damaged.”
“I’ll ride in the back with it,” David offered. Suiting actions to words, he climbed up into the truck bed next to Nick.
Nick shot his brother a sour look. That was illegal, and they both knew it. Then again, he couldn’t think of another safe way to get the painting to wherever they were going. It was just so damned big.
“We’re only going to the shop, it’s not that far,” David assured him.
He was right. It wouldn’t be far. But he still didn’t like it. Even so, Nick didn’t argue, just gave a grumbling growl and jumped down. A quick visual check told him that closing the tailgate wasn’t an option, which didn’t improve his mood. Still, his only comment to David was, “I’ll take it slow.”
He opened the truck driver’s door as Brianna was climbing into the passenger seat, and heard the local news rehashing the shooting … again. Shit!
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear about the shooting on the news.” Nick pressed the button to turn off the radio before turning the key in the ignition and starting up the truck.
“I’ve been busy. Still, from what you said I assume you defended yourself and saved your partner. If that’s true, you didn’t have a lot of choice.” Her voice was so unemotional that she could’ve been talking about the weather. Nick looked away from the traffic long enough to glance at her. To his astonishment she looked as calm as she sounded. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested—she simply wasn’t passing judgment in any way. That was the last thing he expected.
“I didn’t,” Nick said.
“I’d wager the reporters have never been on the wrong end of a weapon.” There was wry humor in Brianna’s voice.
“Probably not.”
“Then they’re not going to understand.” She gave an eloquent shrug.
“Nope.” Nick didn’t say more than that. Frankly, he didn’t know what to say. Her attitude, while welcome, was also a little disturbing. People were not normally that casual about a shooting death. He wondered if maybe the feds were onto something in their suspicions of Brianna Hai.
That reminded him, he was supposed to be arranging an in for the Fibbies. “You obviously work out. Do you belong to a gym?”
“Yes. Why?”
Nick kept his voice oh-so-casual. “I usually work out at my uncle’s place, but he’s closing down for a few weeks to do some remodeling. I’m trying to find a place that my buddy and I can work out ’til Phil opens back up.”
“Ah. Well, I can ask Mei. We’ll have to see what she says. What’s your buddy’s name?”
They’d reached Helena’s. Nick pulled the truck into the loading spot in front of the door and climbed out. “Jesse Tennyson.”
“Is your friend a cop, too?”
David answered before Nick could. “Has to be if he’s friends with Nick. My brother doesn’t know how to talk to anyone who doesn’t carry a badge.”
“Hey!” Nick protested.
“What? You know it’s true. You talk to anyone but a cop and it’s like you’re carrying on an interrogation.” Dave winked at Brianna and continued, “He scared the crap out of so many of my boyfriends I’ve stopped introducing them to him.”
Nick let down the tailgate as Dave moved the canvas upright. The two men unloaded the painting while Brianna went toward the door, digging in her jeans for her keys. Before she reached it the door swung open, revealing a confused-looking older woman.
“You’re not upstairs?” She sounded shocked. “But then who … what…”
With the door open Nick could clearly hear sounds from above: pounding and a high-pitched screech that resembled fingernails on a chalkboard.
Even Nick’s unusual conversation with his brother’s boss hadn’t prepared him for what came next. Hai shoved the woman aside and dashed into the shop, moving as fast as any cop Nick had ever known.
Dave let out a curse and nearly dropped his end of the painting. The urgent expression on his face made Nick hustle him and the unwieldy canvas into the shop. As soon as the thing was safely set down, the Antonellis took off after Brianna.
Heart pounding as he followed his brother through the shop and up the stairs, Nick automatically reached for his gun—which wasn’t there. He faltered for half a step before the rest of his cop instincts took over and he straight-armed David, forcing him to drop behind him as they neared the top of the stairs. Nick needed to see what they were dealing with, assess the situation before they jumped into something they couldn’t handle.
It sounded like a pitched battle of some kind was taking place. He heard deafening, whistling screeches, some kind of animal growling, at least one human cursing … and the unmistakable sounds of people hitting one other. Then there was the smell … a cesspool would smell better, all of it overlain with the meaty scent of blood and torn flesh.
Hai stepped backward, into Nick’s line of vision. She raised the plastic tote bag she’d been carrying and swung it like a weapon at a blur of green that was speeding toward her head. Whatever was in the bag was heavy; when it connected, Nick heard a heavy thunk followed by the crunch of bones breaking. Whatever she’d struck shot away from her and an instant later, the wall shuddered from an impact and one of the shrieks was abruptly cut off.
Nick moved forward cautiously, feeling his brother close behind, until he had a better view—and then froze in shock. Things were flying around the room. They looked something like bats—if bats came in multicolored green with red eyes and had wide, froglike mouths filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth dripping with pus-yellow venom. On the floor, beside a dead cat, was what a gargoyle statue would look like if stone lived, moved, and used language that would make a marine blush.
“Shit! Doxies!” David yelled in Nick’s ear as he tried to shove past his brother; Nick wouldn’t let him. Hai and the gargoyle were doing just fine without him. There were only two of the batlike things left and neither David nor Nick were armed.
Realizing the odds had shifted, the larger of the two … doxies … executed a pinpoint turn, narrowly avoiding the seeking claws of the gargoyle, and dove straight through a painting hanging on the wall. The last creature tried to follow, but was neither agile nor quick enough. The gargoyle caught it with a lightning-fast grab and was preparing to crush the life from it when Hai shouted, “Don’t kill him. We need answers!”
The doxie’s screaming had nearly shattered Nick’s eardrums, but it fell silent as the gargoyle stopped short of crushing it. It wriggled in the thing’s clawed fist as blood ran red down the mottled stone of the … statue’s … arm.
“He won’t talk,” the gargoyle growled.
“He won’t have to,” Brianna answered. Stepping carefully over the crumpled bodies and blood-slicked floor she used her index finger to scrape the fresh blood from the gargoyle’s arm. Tracing patterns in the air, she spoke softly in a musical language that Nick didn’t recognize.
The air shimmered, as if from heat, and something like a hologram appeared, floating in the hallway. A breeze, heavy with the scent of rain-fresh grass, cleared away the stench of death and blew the woman’s hair back to reveal a face harsh with concentration. Through the … portal … Nick could see a group of ten to twenty doxies on the ground, many injured, grouped around a white plastic laundry basket filled with squirming, hissing kittens. The doxies were screeching at one other, obviously angry and arguing.
“What are they saying?
” David asked.
“They’re arguing about who is supposed to be giving the orders and whether to send for reinforcements. Apparently the prince had been in charge, and they’re afraid to tell their king that they left him behind.”
The doxie in the gargoyle’s grip began fighting again. He shouted something and the doxies in the vision looked up and around, as though they’d heard.
Brianna swore and dismissed the image with a wave of her hand. She glared at the captive creature. “We don’t have to keep you alive. I’ve got the information I need now.”
The doxie hissed, spitting foul-smelling gunk onto the floor in front of her feet. It began eating through the wood like acid. The gargoyle tightened his grip in response, until the creature couldn’t move and was struggling to breathe.
“Don’t kill him yet,” Brianna said. “If he’s the prince, he may be useful as a hostage.”
“What’s the plan?” David pushed past Nick and went down on one knee beside the cat’s corpse, his body quivering with anger. Nick could see tears shining in his brother’s eyes, but the younger man’s voice was absolutely steady.
“Pug and I will go after them,” Hai announced.
“I’m going with you,” Dave said. As Nick began to overcome his shock, he realized that his brother hadn’t been surprised by anything—not the doxies, the living gargoyle, not even his boss doing battle. Little that had happened in the last few minutes had made sense to Nick. But Dave—he clearly knew the score.
“The fuck you are.” Nick’s voice cracked. He wanted to sound tough, unfazed. He wasn’t.
“David—” Brianna started to argue.
He didn’t let her finish. “They broke into your home. You can’t let an insult like that pass unanswered. And you need to know who set you up. Besides, Camille was as much my cat as yours and Pug’s. Those kittens are mine, too. I’m not going to stay here and do nothing while you go after them. And don’t tell me it’s dangerous. I know about doxies. I’ve been studying, I’ve been talking to Grandma Sophie.”
