Fort Morgan

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  “But, sir. . .” Her words spoke her passion.

  “What would you do if they capture you?” Otis cut her off. “You know what they do to beautiful girls.”

  “My sister. . .” His driver’s large dark eyes filled with tears.

  “Yes,” Otis said. “How is your sister?”

  “She lives with my mother now,” his driver said. “She is safe, off drugs, and. . . You did that.”

  Otis’s eyes scanned her young face.

  “I will do this for you,” his driver said.

  Otis leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

  “Please stay here,” Otis said. “If I am to survive, I will need you to get me away from here.”

  “Let me do this!” Her voice tugged at his heart.

  “I cannot,” Otis said. “You know what to do if I do not return?”

  “I will take the car to the airport.” The driver’s eyes began to leak tears. “I will leave the car there and take a plane back to Denver. In Denver, I will pack my things and move into the home you purchased for me in Silverton. I will live quietly in the mountains for two years before going anywhere.”

  “You remember where to find the stash of US dollars?” Otis asked.

  The driver nodded.

  “You are a beautiful girl,” Otis said. “My wish for you is that you live a long, happy life. You will find a good husband, have many children, and live well.”

  She leaned forward and closed her eyes. He kissed her lips. Without saying another word, he left the limousine. Closing the door, he tried to shake the feeling that he was a creepy old man. As he walked, he looked back at the limousine. She raised a hand in saying good-bye. He smiled and turned into the hotel.

  No matter what happened, he had no intention of returning to the limousine. She deserved a full life, not one attached to an old man who was incapable of loving her. Stepping into the elevator, he took a breath and let it out.

  Tonight he was going to finish his own legacy. As a high-ranking member of the Bratva, he had ensured that his sons would rise quickly to power. He could never have imagined their brutality and cruelty. Their inhumanity had turned on them. The Bratva had eliminated every one of his sons, except for this one.

  This one had retreated to the United States many decades ago. He was sent here to launder money. It was only a few years before he was investing in every form of depravity. Soon the Bratva could not control him. His son began to spread his brand of cruelty to every organized crime syndicate — the Mexican Cartels, the Irish Mob, the Italian Mafia, and many others.

  It would end tonight.

  Chapter Three Hundred and Forty-five

  Idiot

  Saturday early morning — 1:35 a.m.

  Phoenix, Arizona

  The elevator slowed to a stop, and Otis stepped off the elevator. He took what his yoga instructor called a “cleansing breath” before starting to walk down the hall. As the Bratva had assured him, no one was guarding the door to the suite where his disgusting son and friends were celebrating the capture of Yvonne Smith.

  Not wanting to delay, he pushed open the door. He slipped into the only spot in the room that was not covered by the surveillance camera — a corner near the door.

  The room was absolutely silent. Wondering if he was in the wrong place, Otis moved away from his safe corner. There were close to thirty men in the room. Some of them wore expensive suits and had manicured nails. More than half of them looked like hired muscle or bodyguards. The men either sat on plush couches or stood in place. Their eyes were open and their jaws slack. They looked like statues — terrified, alive, but unable to move.

  In the middle of the room stood a woman who looked like Yvonne Smith. When he took a step forward, she turned to look at him.

  “Who are you?” Otis asked.

  “Yvonne Smith,” the woman said. “We’ve met a few times.”

  “No, you are not,” Otis said.

  “He thinks so.” The woman gestured to his son.

  “He is an idiot,” Otis said.

  She laughed. She seemed to glide across the room. His body grew more aroused with every step she took.

  “Who are you?” Otis asked.

  “How do you know I am not Yvonne Smith?” the woman asked.

  She stopped walking when she reached the end of the couch. She looked him up and down.

  “She glows,” Otis said. “It’s subtle, but I loved a woman who glowed in the same way. I’d recognize it a mile away. It’s a rare, precious gift.”

  “You want me for yourself,” the woman said.

  “I did not say that,” Otis said.

  “Your body does.” The woman gestured to his crotch, and the pressure in his groin increased.

  “I am not a teenager,” Otis said.

  The woman laughed and continued in his direction. She rounded the couch when he caught her scent.

  “Fairy,” Otis said. “Full-blooded.”

  “Very good,” the woman said.

  “Who are you?” Otis repeated.

  “Guess,” the woman said.

  Otis raised an eyebrow in a shrug. When she was close enough, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His capacity to heal negated her spell. The woman transformed into herself. There was a natural resemblance between this woman and Yvonne Smith. This woman’s skin was lighter. Her eyes were fairy — wide and large with inch-long eyelashes. Her hair was dark and straight.

  “You’re one of Queen Fand’s children,” Otis said. “You have her look and your father’s bearing.”

  “Her youngest daughter,” the woman said. “So far. The queen is pregnant, so anything can happen.”

  “Mari,” Otis said.

  “How. . .?”

  “I met your mother and father when my granddaughter was having her twins,” Otis said. “We discussed children, and she mentioned you.”

  “Hmm,” Mari sniffed. “You are his father.”

  She pointed to the financier.

  “I am,” Otis said. “How are you involved in this?”

  “It’s a family issue,” Mari said.

  She started circling him like a shark would an injured seal. He felt her threat but refused to respond in kind.

  “My family?” Otis asked.

  “Mine,” Mari said. “Your son is a little indisposed.”

  “I see that,” Otis said. He gestured to the surveillance cameras. “What about. . .?”

  “Your son had them turned off,” Mari said. “He didn’t want anyone to document the breaking of Yvonne.”

  “My son thought he could break Yvonne?” Otis raised his eyebrows.

  Mari laughed.

  “He is an idiot.” Otis smiled.

  When she was behind him, he walked around the couch and stood in front of his son. His son’s eyes flickered with recognition. Mari stared at him.

  “If this is a family matter for you,” Otis looked at his son and then at Mari, “then what about Alvin?”

  “What about Aaron Alvin?” Mari asked.

  “A bullet through the forehead seems far too easy for that monster,” Otis said.

  “What would you say if I told you that I very slowly and very carefully created a gap between his skin and muscle?” Mari asked.

  “Sounds painful,” Otis said.

  Otis raised his eyebrows at Mari. She nodded.

  “The hole in his forehead is so obvious that they will miss it,” Mari said.

  “And his daughter?” Otis asked.

  “Now that’s a shame,” Mari said. “I was so distracted by my work that I wasn’t able to save the child.”

  Otis gave her a doubtful look. She moved around the couch to stand next to him.

  “I only knew he would be killed in a small window of time,” Mari said. “Skin gapping takes a lot of concentration, especially when you want to make it as painful as possible.”

  “Fairies don’t predict the future?” Otis asked.

  “We suck at it,” Mari said.

  �
��And the Oracle?”

  “Delphie wouldn’t help me,” Mari pouted. “She’s was like: ‘Life rights itself, Mari. Don’t get involved.’ Bah!”

  “Sometimes life needs a helping hand,” Otis said.

  “That’s what I said!” Mari smiled at Otis.

  “What will you do with this lot?” Otis asked.

  “I haven’t decided.” Mari moved closer to Otis. She stood less than a foot away and looked him up and down.

  “What are you doing?” Otis asked.

  “Trying to decide if you should join them,” Mari said.

  Otis nodded. Mari started circling him again.

  “You are evil,” Mari said as she reached the front of him.

  “This is true,” Otis said.

  Mari made an agreeing grunt and started pacing around him.

  “You are a powerful healer,” Mari said when she reached the front of him again.

  “This is also true,” Otis said. She nodded and started pacing.

  “You don’t love,” Mari said when she could see his face.

  “I did once,” Otis said. She didn’t move.

  “Yes, you have loved — deeply and completely,” Mari said. She stared at him until he responded.

  “Yes.”

  “And many people love you.”

  “A few,” Otis said.

  “Why is that?” Mari asked and started walking around him again.

  “No idea,” Otis said.

  “Huh,” Mari said when she reached the front of him. She stopped walking. Her index finger came to her face, and she tapped her temple.

  “Huh?” Otis asked.

  “I’ve never met an evil human who both knew he was evil and was capable of loving,” Mari said with a shrug. “I’ve never met one who is loved by so many people. Many people have dedicated their lives to you. I’ve never seen such humility in one so powerful. It’s confusing to me. Reminds me of someone.”

  “Your father?” Otis asked.

  “My father,” Mari nodded. “Finegal, my brother. You are not fairy-kind.”

  “Not in the least,” Otis said.

  “Human-healer,” Mari said. “From Rus?

  “Why don’t we have a drink and discuss it?” Otis asked. “Maybe it will become clearer.”

  “You’re not afraid of me at all,” Mari said.

  “This is true.”

  “You should be a little afraid of me,” Mari said.

  “I’ll consider it,” Otis said.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “Champagne?” Otis asked. He walked to a cart where four bottles of fifteen-hundred-dollar champagne were chilling. He held up a bottle.

  “Why not?” Mari asked.

  Otis smiled and opened the bottle.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Saturday early morning — 3:35 a.m.

  Denver, Colorado

  Seeing the operating nurse come out of the back, Jill stood up. Jacob slipped his hand into hers to give her support. The three of them had been waiting for Heather to get out of surgery. Sam had taken the children to Seth’s house.

  “You can come back now,” the operating nurse said as she approached.

  Jill glanced at Jacob and Honey. They nodded to encourage her. She gave them a partial smile and followed the nurse. The nurse was moving so fast that Jill had to jog to keep up with her. The nurse made a fast turn into a room filled with beds. She stopped short.

  “This is Recovery,” the nurse said. “You will have a few minutes.”

  “Thank you,” Jill said.

  “Now, who are you?” the nurse asked. “You’re not family — right?”

  “Heather’s husband had a bone marrow transplant,” Jill said. “He’s a few stories up. I’m her friend.”

  The nurse gave Jill something between a sniff and a shrug. She took off down the center row between the beds. Jill hurried but couldn’t keep up. Finally, the nurse stopped at a bed. She held the curtain back for Jill. Impatient, the nurse shifted from one hip to the next.

  “Thank you,” Jill said as she passed through the curtain to the bed.

  “She’s not awake,” the nurse said. “We’re evaluating her condition before she’s placed either in the ICU or on a ward.”

  “Yes,” Jill said. She gave the nurse a warm smile. “Thank you.”

  The nurse gave her a bored look and left the bed area. Shaking her head at the nurse, Jill turned away from the nurse to look at the bed.

  Heather. Jill’s heart leapt to her throat.

  Her friend’s chin and throat were covered in white gauze. There was a tube draining fluids like Jacob had had when he was injured. Jill forced herself to breathe. After Jill’s initial shock subsided, Heather didn’t look too horrible to her. Jill thought back to Jacob’s hospitalization, Katy’s bee sting debacle, Delphie’s stroke, Aden’s beating, and even more recently, Charlie’s hospital stay. Jill nodded to herself. Compared to all of that drama, Heather didn’t look half bad. Feeling movement, Jill looked up to see a doctor. He introduced himself as the surgeon who had worked on Heather.

  “Friend?” the surgeon asked.

  “Her husband had a bone marrow transplant,” Jill said.

  “I’ve heard,” the surgeon said.

  “I’m Jill,” she said.

  The surgeon nodded but didn’t introduce himself. He came around the side of the bed to look at the machines tracking Heather’s vitals.

  “She came through well,” the surgeon said. “It was touch and go for a while.”

  The surgeon nodded his head but didn’t look at Jill.

  “She may have a bad scar,” the surgeon said. “That’s, if she. . .”

  Rather than finish his statement, the surgeon left Heather’s bedside. Jill grimaced at his back. The curtain moved, and another nurse stood in the gap between the sides. She was middle-aged and plump. The smile on the nurse’s face was bright and kind.

  “He can be a little abrupt,” this nurse said. “I’m Linda. I’m Heather’s Recovery nurse.”

  “Jill,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you,” the nurse said.

  “Her husband. . .”

  “Yes,” the nurse said. “I was just on his ward to pass along how Heather was doing.”

  Jill nodded and looked at Heather.

  “She looks worse than she is,” Linda said. “Her vitals are good, and the operation was a success.”

  Jill nodded but didn’t look at the nurse.

  “The bullet missed her spine,” the nurse said. “In fact, she was very lucky to not have a spinal injury. The nurses were saying that she seemed to rally back on the table.”

  The nurse looked at Jill.

  “Is there anything you want to know?” the nurse asked.

  “Will she survive this?” Jill asked. “Is her mind okay? Why did they shoot her?”

  “I don’t think anyone knows the answer to any of those questions,” Linda, the nurse, said. “I’m sorry. You just have to love her.”

  Jill’s head jerked up with surprise.

  “What did I say?” Linda, the nurse, said.

  “You just have to love her,” Jill said. “My friend Delphie said that before she left for New York.”

  “The psychic?” Linda, the nurse, asked. “You’re a friend of hers?”

  Jill nodded.

  “She’s amazing,” Linda, the nurse, said. “If Delphie told you to love, that’s exactly what will work.”

  The nurse smiled at Jill.

  “If you’re a friend of Delphie’s, you’re a friend of mine,” the nurse said. “Now, sit right down there. “

  The nurse pointed to a chair wedged between the bed and the wall. Jill sat down and set her purse under her chair.

  “Can I take her hand?” Jill asked as she sloughed off her heavy jacket.

  “You sure can,” the nurse said. “Here, I’ll move this.”

  The nurse unclipped the heart rate monitor from Heather’s right hand. She re-clipped it to the
left. Jill took Heather’s hand with hers.

  “How ‘bout some water?” Linda, the nurse, said.

  “‘I’d love that,” Jill said with a smile.

  “Delphie always says that hard times deserve clean water,” Linda, the nurse, said. “I’ll bring a bottle.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Jill said.

  The nurse gave her another nod and left the bed. Jill put her hand on Heather’s chest. She felt Heather’s strong pulse of power. The nurse returned with a bottle of water. She gave it to Jill and left the area. Jill put the bottle of water between her arms and held Heather’s hand again.

  “Heather,” she whispered.

  She felt her own healing power rise and begin to flow into Heather’s hands. She was just starting her breathing when she felt as she’d jumped feet first into a deep pool. She closed her eyes to clear her head. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in a golden hall. The man Heather had called Zeus was sitting on a throne with Hera at his side. Dressed to the nines, Tanesha and Fin were standing in the middle of the giant golden hall. As if to protect her, Perses, Jill’s father, stood near Tanesha.

  “No,” Zeus said.

  As if she was about to be hit, Tanesha’s shoulders pressed back, her feet set in the ground, and her spine lengthened. She opened her mouth.

  “And who are you?” Zeus’s words cut off Tanesha.

  Jill noticed for the first time that the court was full of people and creatures when they gasped in unison. Zeus pulled his hand back and threw a lightning bolt in her direction. Jill raised her hand and knocked it aside. She took a step forward only to realize that, like Tanesha, she was now wearing a floor-length velvet gown. Her gown was royal blue. Tanesha grinned at Jill as she walked toward her.

  “That is my daughter,” Perses growled at Zeus.

  “How was I to know?” Zeus asked. He shrugged. “She’s an intruder to my court.”

  “She’s my daughter,” Perses said.

  “Sorry,” Zeus shrugged. “Any idea why that didn’t work?”

  “You’ve been healed by her,” Perses said. “You cannot kill the one who heals you.”

  “When was I healed by that. . .” Zeus started. “Why, she’s human! You have a human wife?”

  Zeus shook his head.

  “I love human-titan weddings,” Zeus said. “So much ceremony. So much cake. Was I invited?”