Damage Control

by Amy J. Fetzer

  She glanced between them, silent.

  “It must be very controversial to be kept hidden,” Riley prodded. “But it’s Ireland’s heritage.”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss this. Forgive me.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sure the officer mentioned it has to do with an investigation. We only need to know what was found, not the contents. Please. We won’t reveal it.” He put on his best hound dog face.

  For a moment, she looked as if she battled with some mysterious line in the sand, then said in almost a whisper, “A book, a diary, if you will, written by a monk.” A young man in a white smock and black slacks pushed through the doors and went right to her side. “I’m so sorry, I must attend my duties. Please keep that to yourself.” Before he could thank her, she disappeared though the door with the server.

  “That was chilly,” Sebastian said, then looked at Riley. “This is shaping into a nice little cover-up.”

  “I don’t see why,” Riley said. “And if Noble was really translating a monk’s diary from the middle ages, then how did he even know about it, much less get a copy when it’s not public knowledge?”

  “The same source of the plane tickets and the thermal gear, I bet.” It made sense in a crime that had none. They headed toward the exit, passing displays of Roman coins and medieval slings. “We have someone with enough power to get their hands on an Irish relic that’s national treasure kind of stuff.” He flicked a hand at the Iron Age jewelry and pottery displayed. “A document? No way. Ireland’s government didn’t give him access.”

  “Whoever’s on the end of that Google mail address did,” Riley said. “And they’ve got some clout.”

  But DOCorri wasn’t answering Max’s e-mail, and as they headed for the exit, Sebastian glanced at his cell phone for a signal and nearly ran into an exhibit. He stepped back, then suddenly moved closer to the tall glass case. A massive iron shield hammered in the shape of a bird’s wing rested on a stone block. A third was deteriorated, but what struck him wasn’t the unusual shape, but the markings. Runes. Viking runes. He read the history printed on an acrylic tile. It was discovered in the same castle ruins he’d stood on only an hour ago. He photographed it with his cell phone, and when they were on the street, Riley called Safia, relating what little they’d learned. He put her on speaker.

  “Find out what’s in Greenland. Anything. No matter how obscure.” He was open to anything right now. “Call Viva, ask her to see what she can find on that fifteenth-century ship’s log.” Noble bought antique books all the time, but nothing worth four grand or that old.

  “Roger that. But a little FYI…just because they shut us down doesn’t mean Ground Zero is ignoring us. I’ve found three traces on my searches already.”

  He arched a brow. “Any idea where from?”

  “No, but they let me find that.”

  “A warning.”

  “I’m ignoring it, naturally. But this has very long arms,” Safia said, her voice tinny on speaker phone. “Moira called. Someone broke into Noble’s bookshop.”

  “Christ, they’re thorough.” He rubbed his mouth and asked about the damage.

  “Jasmine sent me pictures, I’ll forward, but it looks like teenagers trashing. Moira’s going there to see if she anything was stolen.”

  Moira wasn’t in the shop often enough to know. “The kidnapper really wanted the translation, not the Aramina log.” If that’s what he was working on.

  “Or both, but it appears they’re still searching.”

  “Jesus, how the hell did they know about this when I didn’t?”

  “Sebastian,” Safia said patiently. “That’s when spies do their best work.”

  The steam went out of him just then. He couldn’t imagine Noble doing anything clandestine, but it was stacking up that way. Riley spoke to Safia for a moment longer. Max was on his way to meet them, yet before he hung up, he asked if she had new satellite from Chechnya.

  “We need to know so we can cover ourselves. They’re still blocking us.” He’d no intention of being swept up in their mess again. His cell rang and he glanced down, then frowned. “Impossible.”

  Riley hung up, then peered at the screen. “An overnight express pickup? I want to see you make that deadline.”

  He looked up. “It’s Noble’s.”

  “Say again?”

  “I’m on his overnight express account because I sign for his book orders when he’s not around.” The bookshop was four doors up from the Craw Daddy. “He hasn’t shipped anything since he left for Ireland.” He opened the message and scowled. “Noble sent something to himself.”

  Sebastian went to the car, grabbed the GPS, and programmed the route to the pickup location. “Finally, a break. It’s two blocks east, but it’s going to close in fifteen minutes.”

  He didn’t bother with the car and finding another parking slot. He hurried across the street, moving between people and slowing for the crowds. He glanced at the street signs and crossed, slipping left. He spotted the door and slowed to a walk, and drew out the documents he’d need. His passport slipped from his grip and he snatched it off the ground, growing cold when he saw the cigarette near the wall. Like the ones he’d found at the cottage. He glanced up the street and searched the crowds for smokers, but the chime on the door reminded him he was out of time. Ten minutes later, he left with a broad overnight express parcel. He’d taken ten steps when he saw Noble’s handwriting. For Dr. Olivia Corrigan and a number was written across the seam.

  DOCorri, he thought. No. He couldn’t be that close-mouthed.

  Sebastian hesitated opening it, an understanding he didn’t want to make settling. Noble knew he was hunted. He tore the seal strip, peered inside. Books. A second later, he smelled tobacco smoke. He scanned the sidewalk for the thin cigars, spotted one and rushed to it, then searched for another. Don’t ignore the obvious, he thought and quickened back toward the manor. Thirty yards from the cars, he stopped. Traffic moved in front of him. The light changed and people paused, then rushed quickly. His gaze ripped over the intersection. A big man worked his way between the idling cars. His attention shot ahead.

  A woman looked west up the street, turning in a circle. When she saw the man, the redhead took off.

  Sebastian crossed several yards behind, and called out to Max and Riley leaning against Noble’s car. As he neared, he tossed the package to Riley. “Lock it up and go north. Max, hoof it east. The man in the black shirt and pants. He smokes Russian cigars.”

  Max and Riley split off while he kept his focus on the man, nearing. He took his picture with his cell phone just before the guy palmed a knife, smoothly folding the blade against his wrist, hand against his thigh. He quickened. The man neared the redhead, and she darted left and tried to get into a shop. The guy was on her heels before she reached the door, and he grabbed her elbow, pulling her into a center walk between buildings. Shit. Sebastian booked, and as he passed a vendor selling replicas of a castle, he slapped a twenty on the counter and snatched one. He ran, turning into the Walk. The man had his knife against her stomach. Her knee came up and missed. Sebastian drew his arm back and threw.

  The weighed souvenir clipped his head, knocking hard enough that he staggered. The woman twisted her wrist, slapped his elbow the wrong way, and freed herself.

  Clutching his head, the man lurched for her, catching her shirt. But she didn’t hesitate, bolting.

  Her attacker rounded on him, tossing the knife from hand to hand. Sebastian needed to kick someone’s ass and launched into him. He struck, once in the throat, the nose, then a hit under his arm. The man folded, dropping the knife, then hit back three times in a beat down that took everything Sebastian had to fight off. Sebastian landed one under his jaw and the man staggered, collapsed. Sebastian lurched back, poised to strike, but the guy leapt to a squat like a Cossack dancer and swept his leg, clipping him behind the knees. Sebastian dropped, his back smacking the cobbled stone. That’s going to leave a mark, he thought trying to catch
ing his breath and roll, but the guy dropped his weight on him. He felt his ribs give. Sebastian clapped his ears, stunning him, then rolled hard, gripping the bastard’s hair as he went. The man barely made a sound, and Sebastian struck him in his carotid artery, then threw his weight on him. He slammed his arm across his throat, digging in.

  “Where’s Noble?” The man’s eyes widened. “Where is he?”

  The guy just smiled and a second later, Sebastian’s head exploded with pain. A heartbeat more, and he felt nothing.

  Dimitri shoved the man off him, and nodded his thanks to Rastoff. He climbed to his feet, rubbing his throat and looking down at his attacker. His accent was American. Interesting.

  “Should we take him? He said the man’s name, I heard it.” Rastoff’s words had a bite, daring him to countermand him again.

  Dimitri hurried away, shaking his head. “Nyet. Come.” He scooped up his knife, sheathed it as they ran down the busy street to the junk of a car. They needed to get another before this one failed. Rastoff offered the keys, and he shook his head, and swallowed several times. The man’s arm felt like a steel pipe against his throat. He dropped into the passenger seat.

  “People care about the old man, we need to use that.” Dimitri scanned the streets and did not see the woman. At least he knew her name, and now her face.

  Then he saw a man running toward their car, and he smacked the dash. “Go, you fool! There’s more!” He saw the man draw from behind his back. Dimitri palmed his S4M and aimed out the window. He fired once, aware the bullet would not reach him, but it had the desired effect; he ducked. The small car raced away from the village and toward the sea. They knew his face. This changed things.

  She will not be pleased.

  Olivia raced to the end of the Walk and as she rounded the edge of the building, a man caught her.

  “Whoa, lady.”

  Instinctively, she kneed him in the junk, then pushed him off and ran.

  “American! Jesus. I’m an American!”

  She stopped, looking between him and back down the Walk. “They’re fighting, two men. One has a knife.”

  Rushing into the Walk, the guy opened a cell phone and said, “He’s down, come west, look for a black shirt.”

  Black shirt. Were they watching him? Yet when she looked down the alley way, and saw her rescuer on the ground, she rushed back. His friend checked for a pulse as she knelt. “Oh God, he’s bleeding.” She dug in her satchel for a something and only found airplane tissues.

  “Stay with him,” his friend said.

  She nodded, and blotted the blood at the back of his skull, calling to him. “Sir? Sir?” He moaned, and she brushed back a lock of black hair and froze. An odd familiar feeling poured over her. He tried pushing up, then simply rolled onto his back. She hovered over him.

  For a second, she couldn’t speak. “Sebastian?”

  He blinked, his smile slow. “Hi ya, Livi.”

  “Hi. What the hell are you doing here?”

  He sat up, holding his head, then inspected the blood on his fingertips. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first.” A thousand emotions crashed over her, but shock ruled them all.

  Good God. The very last person she ever expected to see again was her ex-husband.

  SIX

  Max ran, darting between the shoppers and aiming for the car. He threw himself over the rental’s hood, keys ready, and climbed in. A moment later, he pushed into traffic. He spotted Riley running hell-bent for leather down the sidewalk, darting into the street, then back to the Walk. He was flying. Max drove like a Londoner, zipping between compact cars, laying on the horn, and annoying just about everyone. He drove around a bottleneck, taking a right, then squeezing the car down a narrow, very old street. Be just my luck to get stuck, he thought, then breathed easy as the car lurched onto the paved road. He angled toward Riley, coming up behind him. He stopped, Riley grabbed the door, dropped inside. Max accelerated.

  “They’re heading to the docks. The shore, at least.” Riley swiped at his forehead. “I got a look at this guy. He shot at me already.”

  “Well, shit, that’s not fair. He smuggled guns in the country when we can’t carry.” Carrying a weapon in Ireland was by certificate and only to a shooting range. D-1’s license to carry internationally was under Diplomatic Security Service and suspended. That shit pissed Max off. D-1 had earned that in Venezuela and Singapore. But then, operating inside the legal boundaries never stopped them before. He needed to get to the plane and their arsenal. But till then, “Up for breaking a few more rules?” He reached into the console, handed Riley the long slim knife. “Use your skill.”

  “Where the hell you get that?”

  “Your sister has an amazing collection.”

  “Kathleen. Dougal’s going to be really pissed,” Riley said, then tested it on his thumb. “Bugger me, it’s sharp. She’s probably waiting to fight the Brits again,” he muttered, then leaned out the window and threw. The tire deflated, but it didn’t stop their rush down the coastline. Thirty yards more and the tread peeled off, the hub shooting sparks.

  “Where is he going?” Riley said. “There’s no docks there, it’s just beaches, tourist traps. Witnesses. Oh shit, police!”

  Max heard the eee-yaw of sirens. “Busted,” he said. “They’re heading to the shore.” He couldn’t miss the trail. The car was spewing black exhaust. Max drove around the curve of the road and braked when he saw the car abandoned. The doors were open, the engine smoking. “You see them?” He stopped and climbed out, then turning in a circle, he sighted through binoculars. The coastline was a stretch of beach with a few sunbathers gathering their belongings. Hello. “They’re on the sand, up there.” Max ran across the street and down a rocky slope, but he didn’t need binoculars to see the speedboat in the water and the two men running toward it.

  Riley moved up beside him and he handed him the binocs. On the road behind them, a line of white police cars with the lime yellow stripe sped past.

  “He’s got an ‘in case shit happens’ plan.” The men were in the water, sloshing, then diving under. Max looked to the sky as the distinct whop-whop of a helicopter punctured the air. “Let’s get out of here before they think we’re accomplices.” They hurried back to the car and were driving back to Kilbarron before the chopper appeared.

  “Notice that boat?”

  Max smirked. “You mean the sixty-thousand-dollar floating price tag.” It was a Scarab, maybe thirty feet long; Dragon One’s preferred chaser on the water. Max loved the slick streamlined boats. They could travel over sixty miles per hour and he’d seen one race at one twenty-eight. Those guys could be in international waters in under a minute. There were two more men on the boat, armed.

  “Someone has money to burn.”

  “Bad guys always do.” Max didn’t see a ship on the horizon, but knew those men weren’t leaving by the Scarab. “They murdered to get to Noble. I don’t think a few Irish cops will stop them.” All this for some ancient book? No, he thought, there was more.

  “Well?” Olivia said.

  “I’m looking for Noble’s kidnapper.” Her eyes widened. “Your turn.”

  When she didn’t answer, he climbed to his feet, his hand out for her. She took it, standing. It brought her within inches and her body jumped with memory, damn it. “I’m on a grant. For the American Research Institute.”

  His brows knit tightly. “I’ll bite, what did he want from you?”

  “He was trying to rob me.”

  He scoffed, glancing at the people coming to investigate. “You never could lie convincingly,” he said, then grasped her arm, ushering her toward the end of the Walk. But he didn’t make it, his legs folding a little, and he put his hand on the wall. “Christ, what’d he hit me with?”

  “A Guinness bottle. They’re thick.” Olivia immediately wrapped his waist and urged him with her. “We need to stop the bleeding, at least.” Sebastian regained his footing easily, but she couldn�
��t ignore his shirt collar stained with blood. It had to hurt. When they reached the delivery lots of the manor, she let him go and strode past the workers and inside. She searched the area and waved to Liz. Liz crossed the immense dinning room and Olivia flinched when Sebastian appeared beside her. Liz stopped short, staring at Sebastian as if he’d bite.

  “I was accosted on the street and this man helped me. Can we use your office for a few minutes?”

  Liz snapped out it. “Of course, do you need an ambulance?”

  “No,” Sebastian said, his gaze sliding to hers.

  Liz led them into her offices, then she crossed to a cabinet and returned with a medical kit. Sebastian lowered to a chair and his WILL WORK FOR SCOOBY SNACKS T-shirt made her smile. Olivia checked the wound, then went to the bathroom, grabbing paper towels and soaking them.

  Liz slipped close. “I was just talking with him an hour or so ago.” Olivia met her gaze. “He wanted to know what we found in the Kilbarron Friary.” She went still inside. “But…why does his name sound so familiar?”

  She reddened. “That’s because he’s my Sebastian.” Was, she thought. Was.

  “Your ex?” Liz swung around for a second look, then stared at Olivia. “You’re kidding!” she whispered. “Granted you were young and stupid, but how could you ignore that?”

  “As easily as he did me, Liz.” She squeezed out the towels. “We’ll be out of here in a few. I’m so sorry to intrude.”

  “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but she wasn’t. Not with Sebastian twenty feet away doing something with his phone.

  “Just don’t repeat bad judgment.” Olivia frowned at her, shutting off the water. Liz inclined her head to Sebastian. “This looks like a twist of fate you shouldn’t ignore.”

  She nudged her. “Oh, get out of here.”

  “Ha. My office, wench. And I’m queen of this castle.”

  “Show-off.” Liz left and Olivia crossed to Sebastian, tossing the bloody tissues and cleaning the wound. It wasn’t that bad.