The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5)

The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5) Page 25

The car pulled to the curb, Griffiths at the wheel. Baker led. She was cautious, spraying Griffiths with holy water from both a general purpose container bottle and from one that looked to be part of her own private stash, to make sure it was truly him and not a shape-shifted spawn, before letting me get into the backseat.

“Where to?” Griffiths half turned, looking at me over the top of the front seat as Baker climbed in on the passenger side.

“Home,” I answered. “Take me home.”

“Princ … Ms. Graves, we’re here.”

I blinked in surprise, waking. Griffiths seemed to be a quick learner, or perhaps Baker had clued him in on the “no princess” policy. I reached into my bag and pulled out the remote that granted me entry to my home. It’s not just one where you push a button, like a garage-door opener. I have to enter a code and press my fingerprint to a pad. Magical biometrics. Good stuff.

Cooper Manor is a large estate with elaborate security, for which I’m grateful every day. There’s a long, winding drive through manicured lawns that leads to the mansion. A small branch off of that drive leads to my parking lot.

“How long was I asleep?” I was shocked. It wasn’t even ten in the morning and I’d dozed off?

“You’ve had a rough couple of days,” Baker said. “And there are more of them on the way. Rest when you can.”

She was right, of course. My life had been rough, and for longer than a few days. But the fact that I’d fallen asleep was a good sign—I’d chosen well. With Helen Baker as my “partner,” I felt secure. And Griffiths must have proven himself to my subconscious, too. Trust is a wonderful thing. As Griffiths pulled the car into the little parking lot near the guest cottage, I made up my mind. I needed more than rest. I needed peace. Until I got things straight in my head and my emotions under control, I was going to be useless. “I’m going to the beach.”

They didn’t say a word. Of course, they were sirens, so they’d know all about the call of the ocean. I pulled my house key from my pocket and tossed it to Baker. “My bedroom is the yellow one. Feel free to take either the blue or the white.”

I climbed from the car, grabbed a beach umbrella from the storage box on the back deck, and went looking for peace. My private bit of beach is a little strip of sand and rocks that edge onto the ocean. It’s too rough and rocky for good boating or surfing, but it’s beautiful. I found a sandy spot next to my favorite rock, pitched my umbrella, and sat staring at the ocean and watching the gulls play.

Within ten minutes I reached an unpleasant conclusion. Two hours later, I hadn’t changed my mind.

I couldn’t help Okalani, no matter how much I wanted to.

I’d given my information to the police via Alex and to Rizzoli via voice mail. Alex was good at her job. If she found the kid, Okalani would be arrested and probably turned over to the feds. If the feds found her, or got her from the police, she might be able to make a deal—information in exchange for witness protection. I’d seen it happen before.

But if the sirens found her, she’d be killed. Honorably or dishonorably, she’d be just as dead.

The best thing I could do for Okalani was stay the hell away from her and pray that the good guys who didn’t want her dead found her before the ones who did; and that either set found her before the villains.

It sucked.

Staring at the ocean didn’t make it suck any less. I was hurt, sad, and angry. I wished … Not that it mattered what I wished. As my mom used to say, “If wishes were horses, we’d be up to our eyeballs in shit.” In fact, I might be anyway.

19

My flight would leave at 2:00 P.M. from a private airstrip not far from town. It was probably an hour’s drive from the office. Since it was private, I’d be able to pack whatever weaponry I cared to bring. I could strip the safe bare if I wanted. I was going to take spell disks, my guns, various ammunition, my knives, and some One Shot brand squirt guns filled with holy water. I probably wouldn’t need the special loads on Serenity; there are no monsters on the islands. Well, there aren’t supposed to be. But we’d be going straight from Serenity to Rusland, and I might need them there, so I needed to pack them now if I wanted them later.

I would also have time to meet with the client who’d been on the books since the day I got back in town.

I could hear Ron and Dawna arguing the moment I climbed from the car. So help me God, if I hadn’t had to go to the bathroom so bad I would’ve climbed back in and have Griffiths drive us somewhere else. But the morning rush hour had offered up bumper-to-bumper traffic and I’d drunk two large mugs of coffee. So I steeled myself and entered the lion’s den.

“I’ve had it!” Ron is not a small man. He towered over Dawna, even in her heels. But she stood toe-to-toe with him, not giving an inch. Years of putting up with his crap had finally come to a head. I could tell that from across the room. Ron was an idiot if he didn’t recognize it. “That woman is a menace.”

That woman? That would be me. It always is.

“All right, what’s up?” I asked. Baker had entered ahead of me and Griffiths was behind. They both kept one hand close to their sidearms, ready to act as backup, but they didn’t need to. On my worst day I could handle Ron without breaking a sweat. He’s a big bully, but there’s no substance to it.

He whirled around at the sound of my voice. “You!” He pointed a meaty finger at my face.

“Yep, me. Now, what’s the problem?” There was an edge in my voice you could shave with. Like Dawna, I had pretty much reached the end of my ability to put up with Ron’s abuse.

“I’m moving out! I can’t take any more of this. Terrorists! There are actual terrorists after you, with bombs. You being here endangers all of us.” He started to move forward, to try to use that big body to intimidate me, but Baker suddenly appeared just in front of him. She wasn’t aggressive; she barely even seemed to move. But she stopped him cold.

“Okay,” I said in a perfectly pleasant tone of voice. Because, truthfully, imagining Ron out of my hair really was just so incredibly pleasant.

He stood there, blinking a little as if we’d startled him. “Okay?”

I sighed. “Ron, actual terrorists have made viable threats. Any sane and rational person would get as far away from that as possible. I’m a little startled to find out you’re rational, but hey, good on you.” I heard a soft snort of what might have been suppressed laughter. Griffiths, I think. I didn’t look. If I did, Ron would notice and we’d have more of a fuss on our hands than we already did. “You want out of your lease, I’ll let you out. Hell, if you can get moved out by the end of the week and leave the place clean, I’ll not only give you back your deposit, I’ll refund this month’s rent as a gesture of good will.”

It took him a few seconds to take that in. He’d won. But he was Ron, and he was an attorney, he had to push for just that little bit more. “My moving expenses—”

“No.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “No.”

I turned aside and moved around both him and Baker, to the reception desk where Dawna had resumed her usual seat. I was not going to argue. If he took the offer, fine. If he didn’t, he was a fool. Either way, I was finished with it, and him. “When’s my client due?”

Behind me, Griffiths gave a polite cough.

Apparently, I’d been too involved to notice a new arrival. Just great. Peachy. I pasted a smile on my face and turned to greet the newcomer. Points to me, I was even able to hold on to the smile when I saw who it was.

Angelina Bonetti.

Oh, hell. This was so not my day.

“Ms. Bonetti.”

“You know my name.” She wasn’t happy about it. Her eyes had narrowed, her voice polite but chilly. She’d expected to surprise me, have the advantage.

“Bruno showed me your picture.” Oh, she didn’t like that, not a bit. It showed. Apparently he was supposed to keep her from me, like some deep dark secret. The woman he’d always hold a torch for, someone to be ashamed of still having feelings for. And maybe he would have kept her a secret—if I hadn’t found the picture. Or not. Because he’d had the whole day to plan our date. To clean up. Why keep an incriminating photo around if he was embarrassed?

I forced myself to keep smiling. “I understand you were his high-school sweetheart. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll be with you in just a minute.” I gestured toward the lobby. I didn’t stay to see if or where she went. Whatever was going to happen next could wait. I was going to the bathroom. Now.

As I was washing up, I took stock of myself in the mirror. I was wearing a nice black suit with a white blouse. My hair was pulled back and my face was made up in my usual business-appropriate way. My bone structure has always been a little harsh, but that became more apparent after the bite—and even more so since I’d dropped weight in Mexico. I’ve learned to keep the fangs hidden most of the time. My skin doesn’t glow green unless I’m vamping, which isn’t often anymore. I could hold my head up at any business meeting in the city. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold a candle to Angelina Bonetti.

I’ve known some gorgeous people. Vicki Cooper, my best friend since college, was the daughter of a pair of A-list movie stars, and was so beautiful that when she went out in shorts and a tank top she could actually stop traffic. Seriously, I honest-to-God saw a guy almost wreck his car because he was staring at her.

Angelina left Vicki in the shade. She’d grown into the face I’d seen in the photo. She was still petite, tiny even, but with dangerous curves that were emphasized by the crossover cut of the sapphire-blue dress she was wearing. The jewels she wore at her throat, wrist, and ears were sapphires as well, with just enough diamonds to add a little sparkle. Her long, dark hair had been swept back and to one side in a casually messy braid, a style that emphasized a heart-shaped face dominated by huge, doelike eyes and full, red lips.