by Eva Chase
Watson fell into silent contemplation for the rest of the drive. I stopped at the main hospital building where panes of glass melded with slabs of graying concrete, and he handed me a handful of cash that had a significant tip on top of the amount showing on the price meter I’d rigged. The man wasn’t a cheapskate, anyway. One small point in his favor.
As he disappeared through the glass doors, I drove off—around the complex to the first out-of-the-way driveway I could find. I had another disguise that would work in the trunk. Yes, here, one of the lab coats Garrett had poked fun at.
I yanked that on, tugged off the beard, swapped my prayer cap for a tawny brown wig, and magically I was a white guy with a tan instead of a vaguely Middle Eastern-ish immigrant. Many thanks to my ancestors and their diverse tastes in lovers.
I’d shaved close this morning to remove my usual shadow of stubble, but Watson had seen me several times in the last couple months. For extra security, I popped in contacts that were a much brighter green than my natural color and slid on a pair of thick-paned glasses after them.
The main reception area was crowded, voices bouncing off the high ceiling and blurring together. Watson was only just leaving the room, following a young nurse who must have been summoned to assist him. I swiped an ID card from a brown-haired intern I brushed past and clipped it to my pocket. All anyone needed to see was the hospital logo and a picture that looked like a match at a distance.
I ambled behind Watson and his helper at a careful distance, fixing my face in an expression of intense concentration to discourage anyone from bothering me. Let them think I was in the middle of working out the world’s first true cure for cancer. Finally, the nurse ushered the visiting doctor into a room. I loped over and caught the door just before it clicked.
The space on the other side held several desks and a row of computer stations along the far wall. The nurse led Watson to one of the computers. As he sat down, I eased inside.
Getting into place unseen was easy. I could sneak up on an enemy target to put a bullet in his head without him knowing I was there until his skull cracked open. I moved to one of the desks without so much as a whisper of sound and positioned myself as if I’d been standing there working all along. Neither Watson nor the nurse looked up.
“These are the main databases here,” the nurse was saying. “We have English versions for sharing information internationally. Let me see…” She clicked on a few things and nodded. “That should get you started. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“No, I think I mostly need to browse through the data for a while,” Watson said. “Thank you so much for your assistance.”
What story had he offered up to convince the hospital staff to give him access to government data? Had word of Sherlock Holmes’ exploits with his sidekick spread all the way out here? Maybe he’d played up his medical career and military service. Or maybe he’d spun as much of a story for them as I had for him in the cab.
He and his consulting detective thought they were such paragons of justice, but they broke the rules left and right when they felt like it.
As Watson got to work, I eased open a folder that had been left on the desk. If he did happen to glance over and notice me, I needed to look as though I had actually been working myself. Once I had the chart spread out in front of me though, I mostly watched the other man. What data was he sifting through that he thought would lead him to Jemma’s mountain commune?
Half of the left pane of my glasses contained a magnifying lens. When I angled my head, I could make out some of the larger text on John’s computer screen. He tapped in one search inquiry and another, scrolling through reams of records, not looking particularly satisfied with any of it. A pattern gradually emerged.
He was looking for evidence of covert medical activity. Stolen supplies, undocumented patients coming in for treatment. It wasn’t a bad line of thought. A small secret community would have to find ways to stealthily look after its members’ health.
I couldn’t follow everything. Watson seemed to go back and forth between different threads without any obvious connection. I’d been standing, watching over him, for nearly two hours—not nearly long enough for my well-trained body to raise any protest—when a smile crossed his lips. I peered closer.
He’d brought up a bunch of figures from coastal communities. Why was he focused on them rather than the mountains on the interior? Had he seen something that had pointed to the coast as the more likely region?
Two hours. Jemma and I had been in the country for nearly a month without narrowing down our search that much. It had simply never occurred to me to check medical records for clues.
A jab of annoyance ran through my gut at Watson’s smug smile. In that second, my hand twitched toward my hidden holster. It would be so very easy to shatter this man’s skull. I could have my pistol out and my finger squeezing the trigger in the space of a heartbeat. He’d never even know he was in the slightest danger.
The impulse only lasted a second, though, followed by a jolt of shame. Who the hell would that help? Not me, not Jemma. I shifted my weight—and in my distraction I didn’t hold myself perfectly quiet.
The floor creaked faintly. Watson startled and jerked around. I raised my head as if I were only just looking up at him.
“Are you all right?” I asked him in a bland voice.
He rubbed his face. “My God, I didn’t even realize anyone else was in here.”
I gave him a small smile. “You looked very absorbed with your work. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“Yes, of course, that’s fine.” He shook his head at himself with a sheepish expression.
“Have you found everything you were looking for?” I asked.
“I think so. I actually… I’d like to print some of this information off, but I’m not sure how to handle that with this database. Do you have a moment?”
“I can spare one.” I came over, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. “Let me see.”
With a quick examination, I found the most likely option. Watson didn’t need to know that I was guessing as much as he would have been. When I clicked the command, a machine across the room hummed to life.
“Much appreciated,” Watson said.
I pretended to go back to my work. He grabbed his papers from the printer and left. As soon as the door had shut behind him, I stalked back to his computer and drew up the print history. I’d take one more set of those pages for me, thank you.
I tucked the print-off under my lab coat and headed out, watching to make sure I didn’t accidentally cross paths with Watson again. Near the back exit, I tossed the ID on a trolley. I shed my lab coat as I came up on my car.
Jemma would be happy about this find. As I dropped into the driver’s seat, I could already picture the way she’d beam when I gave her the papers.
I grinned at the thought, and the image shifted. She’d been with Holmes the other night—he’d had his hands on her body, his mouth on hers—
I shut my eyes, inhaled, and exhaled slowly. For fuck’s sake, Moran, get a grip on yourself.
The fresh flicker of jealousy faded, but my cock had stirred at the same time. I couldn’t completely wipe the memories of the scent of her skin, the feel of her against me, from my mind.
I’d have to make a stop at my own hotel room before I went to deliver these. Time to burn off some of that libido by hand—if that would even be enough. I’d almost shot a man half out of jealousy a few minutes ago. Soon I was going to need to turn to a more concrete source of satisfaction.
Chapter Eleven
Jemma
My contact, the woman I only knew as Zena67 from her online posts and her email account, was late. We were supposed to meet in one of the display rooms of the city’s Museum of Broken Relationships, and I’d been meandering between the bright white walls and display stands for nearly half an hour.
The stories of the various artifacts of love gone wrong weren’t exactly dull, but they weren
’t what I was here for. The faint hum of the many lights was starting to niggle at my nerves.
She might have already come and gone, losing her nerve at the last second. I wouldn’t have known her on sight.
I frowned at the chipped garden gnome on the stand in front of me. If anything, this museum stood as a testament to the stupidity of falling in love in the first place. Too much messy emotion, too little self-awareness. If you knew yourself well enough to recognize what you wanted, then you could simply take it, no need for sweeping promises or fanciful dreams.
But then, the only committed romantic relationship I’d ever gotten to see up close was my parents’, and most of their adoration had been focused not on each other or even their children but the shrouded folk they worshipped. They got along because they barely had any selves left. That wasn’t an example I could apply widely.
I drifted across the room to a pair of red stilettos I couldn’t help thinking it was a shame to have shut away here instead of on someone’s feet. The scuff of hesitant footsteps reached my ears. I kept my face turned toward the shoes, but I tracked the figure who entered the room from the corner of my eye.
The woman was short and a little plump, with a bob of graying curls that stirred restlessly around her prominent ears. Mid-fifties to early sixties in age. She wore a drab tan tunic that hung nearly to her knees with equally dull gray pants showing underneath, her small feet tucked into flat leather sandals. The sort of person you’d easily glance over and barely notice was there. Which was, based on how she’d interacted with me so far, exactly how she liked it.
She stiffened a little when she looked at me, but she made her way over as if compelled. Coming to a stop beside me, she folded her arms over her low bosom.
“They might as well have gotten a cat,” she said quietly. Her English was good, her accent faint. The sentence had been her idea, part of a coded exchange to confirm we had the right person. I suspected Zena67 had watched too many spy movies in her time.
“Two would have been even better,” I said on cue. I felt a bit ridiculous, but Zena’s stance relaxed.
“Have you seen the other rooms yet?” she asked now that the brief pre-arranged script was done.
“No. Why don’t we have a look?”
We wandered past a wall tacked with bras in various colors. Zena swallowed audibly.
“I’m not sure how much I have to tell you,” she said, her voice still so low the soft tap of our shoes nearly drowned it out. Her thick rosy perfume trailed off her as she moved. It fit the mood of this place so well I wondered if she’d picked it for thematic resonance. She obviously enjoyed a little drama.
“That’s fine,” I said. “As I’ve said, I don’t have high expectations. I’ll be happy to hear whatever you’re able to tell me, even if it isn’t a lot.”
“You don’t have any reason to think you were followed?”
“No. Believe me, I know how to be careful.” I glanced sideways at her. “Do you really think someone might hurt you over this?”
Her mouth tightened. “I wish I hadn’t even hinted at what happened in those posts. I’d delete them if I could. It’d been so long, and I’d never talked to anyone about it, so it felt good to let a little out, but… I’ve gotten calls since then, where I pick up and no one answers. Sometimes I see a man watching me when I’m doing my grocery shopping.”
I highly doubted that any of the shrouded folk’s minions had tracked this woman down. I hadn’t even been able to determine her exact location or identity from those few forum posts and her email address. Whatever she’d experienced, it had clearly left her haunted, though. Haunted to the point of paranoia.
“I have people who can look out for you,” I said, improvising. “The more you can help me, the more I’ll be able to help you.” That sounded like a suitably covert thing to say.
“It has been a long time. I’m sure I’ve forgotten some details.”
I softened my tone as much as I could. “Whatever you remember. Whatever you feel comfortable telling me. You can take your time.”
Just hurry up and spit it out already.
My fingers curled around the strap of my purse, but I resisted the urge to pop a sugar cube into my mouth. The less strange she thought I was, the less hesitant she’d be to share her story of the strangeness that had shaken her. I shouldn’t have to worry about the time—I’d left Sherlock’s tracker in my hotel room while I slipped out for this meeting—but he’d already proven capable of interfering with my subterfuge without even meaning to.
Even if I had enjoyed his most recent interference quite a bit in the end.
“I guess I should start from the beginning.” Zena dragged in a breath. “It was about thirty-five years ago. I was working in a hospital in Split, just an assistant. A woman came in who wasn’t much older than me—definitely not more than thirty—all scraped and scratched up, wearing odd clothes, and in a total panic. She was so weak she could hardly stand up, but she didn’t want to sit still. She seemed like she was trying to run away from something.”
Split—down near the coast. Some of the cases John had found suspicious had been clustered in that area. I’d have to take another look at the print-out Bash had brought me yesterday.
“That must have been unnerving to see,” I prompted with a show of sympathy.
Zena nodded again, her head moving with a sharper jerk this time. She hugged herself tighter. “I was alone in the room with her for a few minutes. She seemed to go… delirious. Saying things that didn’t make any sense. But she was obviously scared and in pain—and a little angry too, I thought.”
She paused, rubbing her mouth with a nervous hand. I had to ease her along, not scare her off. You’d almost have thought that long-ago woman’s panic had infected her.
“Were the doctors able to help her?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to that. If fleeing the cult of the shrouded folk was as simple as running as fast as you could, I’d never have needed to make a bargain for my soul.
Zena’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No. She seized up, all of a sudden, clawing at her chest and her throat. It seemed like only a few seconds—I shouted for the doctor, and he hadn’t made it yet even though he hurried—and then she was gone. He said her heart stopped.”
Everyone in the cult agreed to a sort of contract for the “honor” of living alongside the shrouded folk. My parents had sworn my sister and me into that fealty within hours of our birth. Stray too far from our loyalties, and our own bodies would betray us. Only a contract with a single shrouded one could override that broader pact.
This woman, whoever she’d been, hadn’t been sly enough or brave enough—or maybe, from her perspective, stupid enough—to make the necessary trade. She’d taken her chances in a mad dash, and her fate had come chomping at her heels.
Of course, I couldn’t really judge. Mine would have chomped me down already if not for the cuff around my leg. I adjusted my purse, the bottom of it brushing the edge of the gold band through my cotton dress.
“She claimed she’d come from a group that worshiped some kind of supernatural beings, from what you wrote,” I said. “Something about ‘shrouds.’”
“That was something she said. That the shrouds would come for her. That they didn’t let anyone go lightly.”
That much certainly was true, but it didn’t help me. I ambled on toward another display, and Zena trailed behind me. “What else did she say?” I asked when we’d come to a stop. “Even the parts that didn’t make sense… They might be useful somehow or other.”
“Those are the parts I don’t remember all that well, because of how crazed she sounded.” Zena exhaled raggedly. “She said something about people searching for her, and about blood, and… tunnels. The tunnels took her almost all the way, but they were still over her when she came out. I couldn’t figure out what she meant by that, but she sounded so tortured when she said it, it stuck with me.”
My pulse beat a little faster. Tunnels. T
he woman had escaped from the commune through some sort of tunnels. Which meant I might be able to use the same ones to enter the place without being noticed on the way up.
“It sounds as though she was nearly insensible,” I said. “Difficult to know what she could have been talking about without any context.”
“She might have imagined it all, for all I know. Hallucinations or what have you. Obviously she wasn’t really serving magical creatures.” Zena shook her head. “Someone treated her very badly; that’s all I know for sure.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
I took another step through the museum room, and a stabbing sensation shot up through my hip as if I’d been speared by a blade of ice. My foot went numb beneath me. I stumbled and caught one of the display stands for balance with a rasp of breath. Then my whole body froze as I stared at my hand in front of me.
Where my fingers gripped the sleek white surface, the tips of them were fading away. The gleaming white shone right through them as if they’d turned translucent. Pain echoed from my hand all the way to the clamp of the cuff on my thigh.
I jerked my hand back before anyone else could notice. My fingertips tingled and then steadied against my belly. My thigh throbbed, but the chill was easing back, inch by inch. I managed to recover my balance on my feet, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Zena was staring at me. Her face had blanched. Maybe I hadn’t hidden my hand quickly enough.
“Wait a moment,” I said as calmly as I could, holding my hand out to her to show her it was perfectly normal now, but she’d been shaky enough already. Without another word, she spun and dashed away, her curls bouncing behind her.
And I was left with the sinking sensation that as far as I’d come, as much knowledge as I’d gathered, I might still be too late.
Chapter Twelve
Jemma