I make a habit of knowing what’s where in Diamond City. At least in Downtown and Midtown. I’ll pick an area and walk it until I remember street names and landmarks. It helps in my line of work. I stay out of Uptown. I look suspicious there, like I’m casing the houses.
Yellow-beard softened. A fictitious mom in need tended to have that sort of effect.
“There’s a route up Calloway, if the truck keeps going past Horton Mines and turns up Mason Lane. It dead-ends into Calloway, and that will take ’em right back to Glasspell.”
We were standing on Glasspell Avenue.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll call and make sure they know not to come this way.” I yawned and started up the street toward the Squires’s residence. “You gentlemen take care.”
They forgot me before I’d gone three steps. I kept to the other side of the street from the fourplex, keeping my head down and trudging like I had a long way to go, peering sideways at it from under my hood.
The Squires lived on the end. The living space was upstairs, with a garage underneath. White metal steps rose to the second-floor landing overlooked by a picture window and a white door. Dusky blue paint looked pretty recent. The Squires still had Christmas lights twining around the balcony railing and looping around the window. All in all, the place looked cared for, if a little worn at the elbows and knees.
Cops milled around the yard and went up and down the stairs into the apartment. A uniformed tracer paced back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the house, the green stripes on his sleeves giving his talent away. Detective-Asshole Clay Price stood on the postage-stamp lawn, arms crossed, watching, his expression coldly furious.
He had the silky black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes of the black Irish who’d first come to Diamond City to work the mines. A shadow scruff of beard heightened the angles and hollows of his square jaw and obstinate chin. Above them, his sharply wedged nose was asking to be punched. His lips were firm and straight. He had no laugh lines, like he hadn’t so much as smiled more than once or twice in his entire life.
In a word, he was gorgeous. And also, he was totally and completely off-limits.
Here’s my one rule: I try very hard not to be stupid. I don’t take the same path home every night, I sleep with a gun under my pillow, I reinforce my nulls every day, I stay out of the spotlight, and I avoid the cops and the Tyet whenever humanly possible. Given that Price was both, he had extra big no-no written all over him. Didn’t make him ugly though. The bad thing was when the pretty scenery noticed me and stomped across the street to stop me.
“Riley Hollis,” he said, glaring down at me. His dark sapphire eyes were intelligent and far too penetrating. “What are you doing here?”
I hated that he knew my name. Not unexpected, given that my cases brought me into his orbit more than I liked, and given that I kept my office hours at the Diamond City Diner, less than two blocks away from his precinct. I still didn’t like him knowing who I was. I really didn’t like him seeing me here. I should have been more careful.
“Detective Price,” I said, pushing my hood back and blinking innocently. “What’s happened?”
“Don’t play games, Miss Hollis. You’re here because you know exactly what’s going on. I want to know who’s paying you and exactly how your client is connected to the Squires.”
I had to admire him. He was a skilled cop. Smart as hell and clearly frustrated. From the expression on his face, it looked like he was bouncing off a dead end. The police tracer must not have been able to pick up anything.
“Sorry, Detective. I saw the lights and decided to see what the fuss was about. I’m on my way to an emergency meeting. Got a lady whose cat went missing.”
At his look of pure disbelief, I shrugged and smiled wryly, playing the part to the hilt. “She’s kind of a shut-in and her family wants her happy. I told them I doubted I could help since animal trace is nearly impossible for me to pick up, but they’re desperate. Seems no one else will even talk to them.”
He tipped his head, eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me, but he couldn’t exactly hold me for walking down the sidewalk. He reached into his jacket and took out a pen and a notebook, flipping the latter open. “What’s the name of your potential client?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I said. “It’s confidential.”
“You don’t have a confidentiality veil in your line of work.”
I did my best to look sorrowful. I was enjoying his irritation far more than I should have been, especially since every second we spent together made me more memorable. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get a warrant. I can’t let clients think that I just spew information whenever the police ask for it.”
“This is a kidnapping case,” he ground out, snapping the notebook shut. “A mother and her seven-year-old daughter. So you can damned well cough up your client’s name or you can go to the precinct and wait for me to come question you. Which do you want?”
I chewed my lip. How was I going to get out of this? “I suppose I could help you,” I said. “See if I can see any trace.”
He snorted. “You’re a hack, Miss Hollis. If a department tracer can’t find anything, you sure as hell aren’t going to.”
Just then the man in question shouted Price’s name. He glanced down at me and then across the street. As fast as he’d arrived, he strode away.
“This conversation is not over, Miss Hollis,” he called over his shoulder. “Expect to hear from me again.”
Chapter 2
I HURRIED UP the sidewalk and around a corner out of sight. I hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of going out of Price’s mind. I wanted to kick myself. Worst part was, I hadn’t got what I needed, and Nancy Jane and her mom were running out of time. Twenty-four hours was the best window for getting them back alive. After that, well, most times either the victims stayed disappeared or turned up dead.
My only option was to sneak back to the fourplex in order to pick up trace from each of the Squires. I could do that from the alley behind. I didn’t need line of sight, I just had to get close enough. I looped around a couple of blocks to come around behind the apartments.
There was no alley. A row of houses with postage-stamp backyards nestled right up to the property line. I gritted my teeth. Of course. Why would it be easy? I considered knocking on doors until someone let me in to their backyard, but given how the men on the sidewalk had reacted to me, I doubted I’d make much headway. There was a narrow slot between the back fences of the houses and the taqueria and fourplex. The dry cleaner had blocked it off on one end. Yellow crime-scene tape hung across the other, but no one guarded it. It was almost like they wanted me to go in.
I smiled to myself and slouched down the sidewalk along the fence. The sun was shining, and I did my best to look like I belonged there. I ducked under the yellow tape and squeezed into the narrow space. I edged along until shadows disguised my presence, then opened myself to the trace.
The Squires were easy enough to pick up, even with all the cop traffic to confuse the issue. Like I said before, everybody leaves behind a trace trail, unless it’s nulled out in some fashion. I’m betting the police tracer was having a hard time because the Squires’s trace was fading on him. Or rather, his ability to see it made it look like it was fading away. That’s an assumption most people make—that trace fades over time. It doesn’t. The tracer just hasn’t got the power to keep seeing it as it ages.
Anyhow, the apartment was full of the family’s trace. It was easy to find Nancy Jane’s. She had her own room and spent a lot of time in it. Her mother’s trace was all over the house in the kitchen and the bedrooms. The father’s went to the refrigerator—for beer after work or maybe before—then to what I imagined were the table and the couch, then a bedroom and bathroom. He’d gone into the laundry room maybe once.
Nancy Jane’s trac
e was a ribbon of golden orange. Her mother’s was a dark pink, and her father’s was gray. The man was dead.
Not good. That meant Nancy Jane and her mom were being used as leverage against someone else. I’d been hoping the father was the kidnapper so I could use him to track them. I had no idea how to find out who was actually involved, at least not in the next day or so. Price had the juice to uncover more, but he wasn’t going to give me a heart-to-heart, and I couldn’t wait for him to load notes into the computer system. I needed the trace to reappear at the kidnapping site. If it didn’t . . .
I thought of little Philip Johns. No. I would figure something out.
I inched back down to the entrance and peered out. No one was looking my way. I ducked back under the tape and strode down to the next street and turned out of sight. Next stop, the parking lot where Nancy Jane and her mother had been stolen. I couldn’t help but wonder who’d got the ransom note. Maybe the father’s body had been the proof of commitment and Nancy Jane and her mother were the treasure to be retrieved. In that case, whoever was on the receiving end of the ransom demand might already have paid it or more likely, be in the middle of their own rescue attempt. Or revenge crusade. Maybe they’d already given the two up for dead.
Fuck, but I hated the Tyet. I hated the politics and the trade in bodies that came with it, and the way everybody ran scared of every shadow. They could all burn in hell, and I wouldn’t miss a single one.
I caught the train to Midtown after looking up the shoe store address. It wasn’t that far from where my sister’s ex-fiancé lived. I grimaced. Ex-fiancé, but not ex-out-of-her-life. I didn’t judge, but it was clear that Josh and Taylor were still involved, even if they weren’t planning a marriage. Whatever. Not my problem and not my concern. If Taylor was happy, so was I. Unless making her happy meant annoying the fuck out of me, which happened with irritating regularity.
Encanto wasn’t your ordinary, run-of-the-mill sort of store. It carried designer shoes and high-end name-brand stuff. Nancy Jane’s mother shouldn’t have had the money to shop there.
I wandered into a frozen yogurt shop a couple doors down and took my cup to a table in the window. There were two cop cars still parked in front of the store and a crime-scene van parked nearby. Several men and women collected evidence from around the deserted car, using magic and prosaic tools of the trade. I wasn’t interested in them. I was waiting for the trace to come back. I’d give it another couple or three hours before I gave up. It had been fourteen since the kidnapping, and a null that lasted longer than that would cost a hell of a lot of money. Since most tracers weren’t strong enough to pick up the returning trace, or maybe they just didn’t bother to look for it, I figured it would appear soon if it was going to come back at all.
I’d eaten another yogurt and switched to a cafe for hot cider and a sandwich when the trace returned. There was a tangle left behind by five or more people, including Nancy Jane and her mother. I got up and left money on the table for the tip before wandering down the sidewalk. I only needed a trail. A casual walk-by would give me that.
There were three kidnappers and the two victims. Everybody’s trace was still colorful and very alive. The getaway vehicle had gone out the east exit of the shopping village and headed east toward the escarpment leading up to Uptown. That surprised me. I thought for sure they’d head for Downtown. The kidnappers didn’t strike me as particularly well-funded. Otherwise, they’d have used better nulls. On the other hand, well-funded criminals weren’t necessarily smart, and many were cheap enough to pass for stupid.
I followed on foot, wishing I had my mountain bike. I’d wrecked it in October and hadn’t gotten around to making the necessary repairs.
They never went to Uptown. They hit the Midtown Pearl District, and turned off the main avenue to zigzag through several neighborhoods. I followed down a long wooded drive to a cul-de-sac with only one driveway leading off. The trail disappeared behind a set of wrought-iron gates attached to tall stone walls. Within was an estate with tall, sweeping trees. I could see the blue-slate roof of the house, but that was about it. A quaint-looking stone guard shack stood just inside the gates. A mat of winter-dried vines covered it over.
The guard noticed me immediately. He stepped out, wearing a puffy down parka and a ball cap with gold braid on it. He wore a gun holstered on his hip and had a radio speaker clipped to his collar at the edge of his hood.
I hesitated, then decided that running was not a good option. There was nothing to indicate that Nancy Jane and her mother had left after they arrived. If I took off now that I was seen, I might spook the kidnappers. They could easily kill Tess Squires and her daughter and get rid of the bodies before I could call in the cavalry.
“What do you want?” the guard demanded. He had a deep voice and skin the color of day-old coffee. He rested his hand on his weapon. Like I would be able to attack him through the gates.
I shuffled up closer and wrapped my hands around the iron bars. “Hey, man, it’s really cold out. This place is really a whoop-de-doo, you know what I mean? Like money on the half shell. I don’t need cash. Places like this always have stuff to give away, stuff they don’t want anymore. Maybe something I could sell? Maybe shoes or clothes? I can get good money for those. I’m really struggling. I got kids. The old man died in a rock fall in the mines and left us with nothing. I can’t find a job. I gotta get some food on the table.”
The moment I started talking, a look of pity and disgust shadowed the guard’s features. His eyes slid away from me like I was suddenly invisible. He dropped his hand from his gun.
“Lady, you need to get out of here. Go beg somewhere else. What the hell you doing here anyway? Go to a church or a soup kitchen or something.”
“I will, I will,” I said. “Can’t you just give me a little something? Maybe a watch? Or a couple dollars? I got another few months before I can get on the diamond dole. Just gotta get there. Kids are sick, you know. Haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday. You understand, I know it. You’ve seen down times. I’ll pay everything back. I promise.”
I let the panic and desperation ratchet up in my voice, even as I piled more problems on. He didn’t believe me; but he wanted to get rid of me, and I had to make my act believable if he wasn’t going to get suspicious about me being here.
“Look lady, you’ve gotta leave. I don’t know what made you pick this place—”
“The Lord led me here,” I claimed. “He lit the path for me because he knew I’d find help here.” I really hoped I wasn’t going to burn in hell for using the Lord’s name in vain. Not that anybody in heaven knew my name.
“Well, he was wrong. Get lost.”
Just then his radio crackled, and a voice barked, “What’s going on, Randall?”
The guard gave me a furious look and pressed the button on the speaker. “It’s nothing. Just a vagrant, sir. She’s leaving.”
“She’d better be,” the voice snapped back. “Get rid of her now or it’s your head.”
That wasn’t actually a euphemism or an idle threat. I shuddered, but continued to look beseechingly at Randall. He swore and pulled out his wallet and shoved a couple of twenties into my hand.
“That’s it, lady,” he growled. “You go and don’t ever come back. You do and you’ll have reason to regret it.”
I instantly started to retreat, calling blessings down on him and thanking him. I wanted my exit to look like I was afraid he’d change his mind, but really I just wanted to get out of the line of sight of the security cameras and the chance of him noticing I wasn’t quite what I seemed. I’m a jeans and tee-shirt girl. I don’t go for designer wear, and I like hiking boots or running shoes. I wear clothes I can move in and that won’t get shredded when I have to climb over fences or crawl under a hedge. I do those kinds of things more frequently than I like. So it wasn’t that I wasn’t looking the
role of the beggar—at least for this kind of neighborhood—but that I was awfully clean and neither my shoes nor my jacket were cheap. If anybody stopped to consider, they’d know I wasn’t what I claimed to be.
I hustled up the roadway. The trees marching along the sides of the road beyond the drainage culvert gave the estate seclusion, and also protected potential witnesses from watching me get murdered.
A sound alerted me to pursuit. I glanced back. The gates had slid open far enough to let Randall out. He was jogging after me, his hat pulled low.
Fear forked through me, and I broke into a jog. I was fit. I walked or biked most everywhere I went, and Randall was carrying a spare tire around his gut. He also had a gun. I wanted distance between us, as much as I could get.
“Hey!” he called. “I got something else for you! The lady of the house wants to meet you!”
He tried to sound enticing. I wasn’t buying. I accelerated. Just over the rise was a four-way stop. After that was about a quarter of a mile with just one or two other houses set well off the road before I got anywhere near population.
Randall swore, and his pace quickened into a long run. Damn, but he was a lot faster than he looked. I started to sprint, hoping he ran out of juice before I did. Not that it would matter. He’d have friends along in a minute. I needed to come up with an escape plan and quick.
I scanned the sides of the road. Tall iron fences threaded behind the trees. Ahead was a driveway with a gate. I wasn’t going to take a chance that Randall would catch up with me while I tried to convince another guard to let me in. Tires squealed behind me. Fuck.
The ground to the right exploded, sending rocks and bits of wood and dirt into the air. I swerved left and something splatted down where I would have been and again exploded. Terrific. Randall didn’t just have a gun, he had magical explosives and good aim. I’d assumed he didn’t have any magical talents—you didn’t end up a security guard if you did. That didn’t mean he didn’t have tricks up his sleeve.
Trace of Magic: 1 (The Diamond City Magic Novels) Page 2