My stomach clenches.
“Hold your fire!” a command comes back.
There are only two cameras still working on the building—one on the outside, which is how I saw Sydney enter, and another in the interior. It’s high up and angled toward the fencing, so I can see the skirmish line but not the rest of the cavernous space. There are bodies pressed up against the fence. I stare at the grainy feed, trying to make out if anyone is hurt.
“Fuck Joyful Justice,” a guardsman says over the radio. More shots are fired, and the crowd at the fence surges back. I pray the guardsmen are firing into the air to scare them.
Sydney and Anita come out the same door as Fernando and start running across the pavement toward the canal. Sydney’s hat is low over her face, and Blue runs next to her, Anita struggling to keep up. I lick my lips, fear tingling down my spine. I’m trusting Robert Maxim, that she won’t be hurt. That this will help her in the end.
“We’ve got a bus incoming,” a guardsmen says over the radio.
“Get them out of here!”
I glance at the tablet—April Madden’s bus is getting waved away from the entrance. Instead of turning around to leave, they pull around to the back of the building. Why aren’t they leaving? What the hell is she doing? That woman is as bad as her daughter.
Sydney is talking with Robert. He’s giving her the pills. Telling her to go. I breathe slow and steady. I can’t see Sydney’s face so don’t know how it’s going. All I can hope is that Robert’s plan works.
My gaze flicks back to the bus—April Madden climbs out, a tall woman in a long robe follows and grabs her arm. I recognize the outfit; she must be the witch Sydney told me about, Veronica.
I focus my scope on them to get a better look. It looks like Veronica is trying to convince April to get back on the bus. Good luck, lady.
April shakes her head vehemently and, turning to the bus, yells something. Women start flowing off, carrying supplies.
April pushes past Veronica and runs toward Sydney. The witch races with her. Shit.
I focus through the scope again—Robert and Sydney are watching her mother’s approach.
“Another vehicle is incoming,” I hear over the radio. “Unmarked bus.”
A smaller bus pulls around back and men start to pour off of it, one holding a flag with the male symbol on it. Fucking Incels.
They rush toward the Her prophet followers. The two sides crash into each other like waves caught in cross currents.
Robert made this happen, and I agreed to help.
Sydney
The Her prophet followers and Incels attack each other with the ferocity of fundamentalists. Inarticulate yelling and the solid thunks of hand to hand combat fills the air.
The men's rights activists carry clubs and tire irons. The Her profit followers, mostly women, have nothing but the supplies they brought the hurricane victims.
I stare at the melee, as my mother and Veronica run toward me—Mom in the lead, the younger woman following, her body a shield from the violence.
"Go," Robert’s lips brush my cheek—the light kiss surprising but not unwelcome. This feels like goodbye. “I’ll catch up with you. Get your mother somewhere safe.”
"What did he want for this?" I hold up the bottle of pills.
"There's no time to explain now.” His eyes are soft, the green warm and the blue bright—like looking up into a tree in spring, the new leaves dappled with sky.
The thwapping of helicopter blades cuts through the noise of the brawl.
“Oh shit,” Anita says, drawing my attention. I follow her gaze to where a helicopter thunders between two of the skyscrapers. “That’s media,” she says. “CNN, looks like.”
I can just make out the logo on the side of the helicopter.
“Sydney!” Mom grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug—the earthy scent of sage and a floral perfume breaking through the rot of the canal for a second. I break free of her. There is no time for this.
“Mom, what are you doing here?"
"Robert?" She’s looking past me to where he stands—Fernando and his speed boat ten feet behind him in the canal.
"April," Robert’s voice is low and calm, as if there isn't a massive brawl happening across the parking lot, or a media crew capturing it all. As if there are not people inside the stadium pretending to be members of Joyful Justice, causing a riot. As if this is a cocktail party and he’s greeting my mother over canapés.
"I've got to run." Robert gives my elbow a light squeeze before he turns and walks to the canal’s edge.
"We need to get out of here," Veronica says.
I nod, but don’t move, holding onto the bottle of pills, watching Robert…sensing that something is very off.
Fernando climbs into the boat and starts the engine. Robert stops and turns back to me. He raises a hand to wave goodbye.
Blood explodes from Robert’s chest and his eyes go wide as the echo of a gunshot ricochets off the surrounding buildings. He teeters for a moment on the canal’s edge.
I lurch forward.
He falls back into the water—the dark, putrid liquid splashing up, slapping against the boat and spraying over the bank.
Robert disappears into its murky depths.
In three strides, I’m feet from the canal, when a strong hand grabs my bicep and yanks me back. I twist to see Veronica gripping me, her dark eyes brilliant in the bright sunshine.
"You can't go in there." It comes out as a command.
"Let go of me," I demand. Blue growls, warning her that I am not defenseless.
"Sydney," my mom says. "That water is toxic. Think of the baby.”
The rev of the boat engine interrupts us. Fernando pushes the throttle and zooms down the canal, the dark brown water turning copper in his wake.
Robert doesn't surface. I can't even see any bubbles.
"We can't just let him drown!”
“We are not letting him drown,” Veronica says. "Someone shot him in the chest. He was dead when he hit the water.”
"We need to get out of here now, " Anita says.
Veronica lets go of me and takes my mother's arm instead, leading her along the canal, away from the brawl and the refugee center.
Blue barks a warning; the bus that the Incels arrived in is speeding across the pavement toward us. Veronica sees it the same time that I do. Blue barks again and taps his nose to my hip, nipping at my shirt, trying to herd me away from the oncoming vehicle.
It’s not coming for me.
The bus chases down my mom and Veronica. The younger woman pushes Mom to the side, taking the full impact.
Her body flies ten feet, skidding to a stop, the white of her robe stained with dirt and blood. She doesn’t move. Smoke plumes from the bus’ engine.
A horrible scream tears through the air as my mother runs to Veronica’s slumped form. A man gets out of the driver’s seat and starts toward my mom. Reaching down I pull the knife free from my ankle holster and move to intercept him.
“Sydney,” Anita’s voice fades as I close in on my prey.
Enough is enough.
Mulberry
The water takes Robert’s body, as if it’s been waiting for it. Veronica stops Sydney from going in after him—I expected it to be Anita or Blue, but this works.
The helicopter circles above, capturing it all on film. I sit back, Nila coming to stand by my shoulder, her nose sniffing at the air. I make a better one-legged assassin than a follower.
Frank’s booted paws crunch on glass as he paces behind me.
I may have just killed any chance of a future with Sydney, but I hope I’ve secured her safety—at least for a time.
Robert involved me in this drama to destroy my relationship with Sydney, knowing I’d do anything for her. I trust him in this matter only because I know how he feels. But I also know that Sydney will never forgive me once she finds out what happened here today. I’ve betrayed Joyful Justice, lied to her, and our friends. It is unforgivabl
e.
But I agree with Robert Maxim.
We have to keep her safe, no matter the cost. If she thinks it’s better for Joyful Justice to hide, then she will and the only way to make her believe is to make it true.
I close the clasps on the gun case, roll up the tarp, and, carrying both, head for the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Robert
My back hits the water as I take in one more breath. The weight of my clothing helps to sink me deeper, faster. With my lips and eyes pressed closed I reach out blindly with my hands. The water is oily—burning my skin where it isn’t covered by the wetsuit hidden under my clothing. Debris bumps against me, disorienting me in the dark quiet.
My fingers brush the slimy wooden side of the canal and I kick toward it, diving deeper, feeling along the beams until I hit the hard metal of the oxygen tank. I clear the mouthpiece, my lungs throbbing, then lay it over my lips and take in a breath. I find the mask and fit it over my head.
The engine of the speedboat throbs to life above me. My face-mask in place, I look up to see Fernando’s craft churning the water as it speeds away.
I kick off my shoes and put the flippers on. Settling the oxygen tank straps over my shoulders I swim forward, navigating through the murky water.
It takes fifteen minutes to reach my exit point. When I surface, Declan reaches out and helps haul me up onto the bank. Dr. Smith immediately begins spraying me down with cleansing water as Declan helps me out of my clothing, taking the fake blood packs and bulletproof vest off and then unzipping the wet suit.
The toxic water washed away, the doctor injects me with a shot of antibiotics before putting cream on my face and hands where the water left chemical burns. I dress quickly in dry, clean clothes, my stomach unsettled but my mind clear. My hands are red and blistered, and I can feel the same where my mask and mouthpiece didn’t protect me—it’s painful but not unbearable. “Keep the burns well lubricated and they should clear up in the next two weeks,” Dr. Smith tells me.
No one but Declan, Dr. Smith, and Brock will see me anytime soon, so there is no need for vanity.
By the time I come back to life the burns will be healed, and my plan almost complete.
Sydney
“Please,” Mom grips my hands, blood from the now-motionless Incel bus driver sticky between us. “If not for you then for the baby.”
I grit my teeth. “I can’t just leave.” My eyes jump to Veronica, she’s breathing but for how much longer. She needs an ambulance.
“Please,” Mom says again, her eyes wide and pleading.
“We need to go,” Anita says. “That helicopter is getting everything.” They are centered over the brawl so right now we are off camera but if I run over there…
“I know you want to help,” Mom says. “It’s your nature. Always has been. But, you must take care of yourself and the baby—don’t make the same mistakes I made.”
Oh Lord, here we go.
“Mom—” It comes out almost like I’m whining.
“Take care of yourself so that you can care for your child. Go.”
My eyes flick behind her where the Incels are overwhelming her followers. There are women on the ground, men standing over them, blows raining down.
“Sorry, Mom,” I break free from her. “I can’t.” The bus driver lies dead at my feet, his tire iron next to his limp hand. I wipe my blade off on my jeans and slip it back into my ankle holster, then scooping up the tire iron, I run toward the fight. Blue taps my hip; he is with me.
“Sydney!” Anita yells as she runs behind me.
A red-headed guy in his early twenties is kicking a women in the fetal position—his hair flopping over his forehead, a grin distorting his face into a bizarre mask. He looks up at the sound of my approaching footfalls. His eyes land on mine and the grin falls. I swing the tire iron, he stumbles back, tripping over his victim and splaying on the ground.
Blue leaps onto him, and Red Head screams, his voice high and terrified, sending a shiver down my spine. Movement in my peripheral vision makes me pivot. A man, blood streaming from a cut on his cheek, is running toward me like a bull seeing red.
I steady myself, the tire iron cocked on my shoulder, ready to play t-ball with this dumb fuck’s head when he grabs at his neck. His eyes roll into his head and he drops to his knees, then keels over onto the pavement—a dart sticking out of his neck. What the—?
“Sydney!” Mulberry is jogging toward me, Nila and Frank with him, one of Robert’s dart guns in his hand. He’s wearing cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes. His gait is lopsided but steady.
Sirens wail in the distance. “We have to go,” Mulberry says, gesturing to where an SUV idles behind him.
“I’ve been saying the same thing,” Anita pants, catching up with us.
“Give me the dart gun.” I hold out my hand.
He passes it over without question, pulling another from a holster at his lower back.
Red Head is lying still, Blue’s teeth around his neck. “Off,” I tell Blue, then shoot Red Head. His body goes limp.
“Come on,” Mulberry says.
“First we need to put down more of these fuckers.” I still have four darts left in this clip. And Mulberry has six. “How many cartridges did you bring?”
“All of them.”
And this is why I love this guy. A radio on Mulberry’s belt crackles as I aim at the closest Incel member—he’s straddling a woman on the ground, trying to press a tire iron against her throat. Her legs kick, and she’s got both hands wrapped around the weapon, arms shaking with the effort of holding it at bay. I shoot him in the shoulder, and he slumps over.
“The riot inside is under control,” Mulberry tells me, holding the radio to his ear.
I shoot another Incel member. His face hits the pavement. That’s going to leave a mark.
“How do you know it’s contained?” I ask.
“I’m tapped into the National Guard’s radio. There are ambulances en route.” Good.
The helicopter buzzes overhead. I don’t look up at it, my baseball cap still shielding my face. Mulberry shoots a man to our right.
I take out another Incel member.
“Why are these guys here?” I ask no one in particular, glancing down at Red Head.
“Dan says they put a call out online. Figured this would be a good place to ambush your mom, considering the lack of police.”
“But what about the National Guardsmen?”
“Somehow they knew they’d be occupied,” Anita guesses.
“Bingo,” Mulberry says, firing again.
Mulberry’s radio crackles again. “The guardsmen are coming now,” he says, grabbing my arm. There are only a few Incels left and the Her prophet followers are circling them so we can’t get a clear shot anyway. I let Mulberry lead me away, Anita and the dogs coming with us.
We get into his SUV, and he peels out of the parking lot. The helicopter continues to circle over the scene like a giant vulture.
Adrenaline fades from my system. The image of Robert sinking beneath the water flashes back. It’s impossible that he is gone. I just don’t believe it. My throat tightens. What if I’m wrong?
An explanation for the sharpshooter comes that evening. I’m sitting with José at his friend’s house, his eyes are red and swollen. “His own son,” José sniffles. “He lured him there and then shot him. It’s terrible.”
Is it true?
I hold the note that was inside the bottle of pills. A warning to Joyful Justice. If we don’t back off, we will all die. Robert is just the first. They promise assassinations of all kinds.
The house is modest but comfortable, the owners Cuban immigrants like José. Mulberry stands by the door, his hat still on, head bowed so that I can only see his jaw—it’s clenched tight and covered in a day’s worth of stubble. Frank leans against his leg, tongue lolling out. Blue sits on José’s foot, resting his head on his knee. Nila waits by th
e door, her ears swirling.
We left Anita at the hotel, her brow furrowed as she furiously typed on her computer, trying to sort out what is going on.
As we head back to meet her, Mulberry clears his throat. “Are you okay?”
I turn to him. “Sure.”
“I know you and Robert were close.”
“Yes,” I agree.
He glances at me and then returns his attention to the road ahead. There isn’t much traffic. “You don’t seem that upset.”
“I don’t think he’s dead.”
“What are you talking about? Anita said you guys saw him get shot, fall in the water, and not come back. He’s dead, Sydney.”
I shrug. “Doubt it.”
“Then what do you think is going on?”
“I think people are trying to destroy Joyful Justice—Robert’s son included. They are smart and ruthless and know that killing individuals does little to stop a movement like ours. We are an ideal—justice for all. You can’t kill that. But you can tarnish our reputation, make us out to be corrupt, reckless, addicted to violence. You can’t do that by creating martyrs. Look what happened when I tried to kill off Joy Humbolt. She became even more popular, a bigger influence. And this group that’s going after us, they're not dumb. They're just on the wrong side.”
Mulberry stays quiet for a long time. “Is it possible they plan on both—tarnishing our reputation and killing people?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“And do you really think Robert is somehow part of this plot, that he would turn against you?”
Is it better if he’s dead or has betrayed me? “I don’t know. I’ll deal with it if he turns up. One thing at a time.” My phone buzzes—a text from my mother. “Veronica is in stable condition,” I tell Mulberry.
“Good,” he says. We spend the rest of the drive back to the hotel in silence.
Anita knocks on my door as I’m getting out of the shower. I let her in and then dress quickly in the bathroom. She’s standing at the window, holding a glass of cognac and watching the airline traffic, when I come out.
Savage Grace (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #12) Page 20