“He had pictures of her all over his apartment, including his bedroom,” Price said, as if that settled the matter.
Maybe it did. What sort of player kept pictures of his ex-fiancée everywhere if he wasn’t still in love with her?
“All right. I’m in. One small problem, how do we get there?”
“Snowmobiles.”
I lifted a brow. “Keep a pair of those in your pocket, do you? Or maybe you’ve got them stashed in your trunk.”
“I called the precinct. There are a couple sleds registered nearby. We’ll go borrow one on police authority.”
“The owners will be thrilled, I’m sure.”
“I don’t particularly care how they feel. The faster we find Josh, the faster you can get back on my case. Don’t think, by the way, that this diversion will come off my bill.”
Ah, back to practical matters. Thank whatever gods might have a hand in it. This Price made it a lot easier not to want to screw him senseless. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I wrote a note for Taylor, who wasn’t awake when we left. I’d managed to get a fair amount of wine into her last night. I laced on my now-dry boots. At some point Taylor—ever the good hostess—had slid them onto a pair of dryers. I was more than grateful. Nothing worse than stuffing your feet into wet boots. I thought of the blood splashed around Josh’s floor. Okay, there was a lot worse. Perspective is a useful thing.
I dug my jacket out of the coat closet—one of those light as air things that will keep you warm on Everest—a gift from Taylor. I checked my pockets, taking inventory. I had nulls tucked into various pockets, along with my lockpicks, some lip balm, sunglasses, my house keys, my wallet, my pocketknife, and my phone. I took my baton off the hall table and shoved it up my sleeve before tucking my holstered gun in my rear waistband.
Price led the way out the door and down the steps. We slogged through the snow. In some places it had drifted over my head. That’s the way it snows here. One day it’s bare ground, the next you’re drowning in the stuff. Before I’d gone fifty yards, I was panting.
“You could come back and pick me up,” I suggested to Price, who was ahead. Even with him breaking the trail, I wasn’t keeping up. “I don’t mind waiting.”
He looked over his shoulder, then reached back and grabbed my hand, towing me along. He didn’t slow down. Pretty soon my arm felt like it was going to fall off. I didn’t complain. If Josh was alive, hurrying was imperative.
Price was following the GPS on his phone. It took us up a few blocks and then had us zigzagging through various odd-sized lots to find the right house. It was a take on a log cabin, if Paul Bunyan had built a house for his entire giant family and maybe half a town besides. It was anchored by one central building that reminded me of a church, with three or four wings prodding outward. Wood smoke curled from at least five chimneys pricking from a slate roof.
I sucked in a deep breath. “I love that smell. Gas fireplaces seem so pointless.”
Price looked at me. “The point is that they put out heat.”
I gave him a disgusted look. “Some people just don’t get it.”
Someone had attacked the sidewalks and driveway with a snowblower, but another four or five inches had fallen since to ruin their hard work.
Price finally let go of me and marched up to the front door. He stabbed the doorbell a couple of times and then banged the knocker. After a few minutes, a stout redheaded man carrying a mug of coffee opened the door.
“I’m Detective Clay Price from Diamond City PD.” Price flashed his badge and ID. “Are you Barney Peltier?” The man nodded, looking worried. “There’s been an emergency and I need to requisition two of your snowmobiles. They’ll be returned to you.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Peltier stepped into the doorway and glanced at me and then around the yard. “Kelvin put you up to this, didn’t he? Where is the bastard?”
“It’s not a prank, sir,” Price said, his voice turning cool and hard. It was his don’t-fuck-with-me cop voice, and enough to make Peltier jerk to attention. “Please show me where you keep them.”
“Uh—you’re really serious? But—you’re just going to take them?”
“Yes, sir. It’s an emergency. Federal, state, and local law all grant that in an emergency, an officer of the law may requisition civilian goods, subject to return or reimbursement.” He rattled off some code numbers.
Peltier wilted. “Gimme a minute.” He set his mug down inside and disappeared. He came back a minute later. He’d grabbed a jacket and shoved his feet into a pair of boots. He stomped down the walk, protesting all the while. But the words bounced off Price like he was teflon.
Outside the garage, Peltier typed in a code on an electronic pad, and the door rolled up. Inside was a candy store of boy toys. Quads, snowmobiles, boats—you name it and he had it. Price looked a little glassy-eyed as he took inventory.
“They’re over here,” Peltier said, pressing a button.
A rack rotated downward. He actually had seven snowmobiles. I couldn’t tell one from another, but apparently Price could. He let the rack rotate around until he could offload one he wanted. The key was in the ignition. He started it and guided it down the runners built into the floor and out onto the snow.
He looked at me. “You can ride one of these, can’t you?”
Not even. “Sure, why not? Just like riding a bicycle, right?”
I think it took every ounce of strength he had not to roll his eyes. He turned back to Peltier. “We’ll just need the one then.” He pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket and scribbled out a quick note. “This is a receipt. Take it to the impound lot on Sixth and Dutch in a couple of days. It will be gassed up and waiting for you.”
He grabbed a couple helmets off another rack and jammed one on my head before pulling his on. Mine was pink. Seriously, sparkly pink. I looked like a Barbie matchstick. His was a midnight blue. On the rack were a wide variety of helmets in dark colors. Mine was the only ridiculous one.
Jerk.
He climbed on and beckoned me to get on behind. Snuggle up with him? Crap. I should have pretended harder that I could drive one of these things. On the other hand, I didn’t like the idea of accidentally driving off the edge of the crater, and as deep as the snow was, the guardrails weren’t going to be much help in preventing my accidental suicide.
With a sigh, I flung my leg over the seat and slid on behind him.
“Hold on,” Price said, and gunned the motor.
The snowmobile leaped forward, and I lurched back. I snatched wildly at his coat, pulling myself back up and locking my arms around his waist. His chest jerked like he was laughing. I resisted the urge to bite him. Hard.
He took us back out to the road. Cold air and snowflakes nipped my skin. After a few minutes I was forced to tuck down behind his shoulder to keep my face from freezing off.
We got to Josh’s place way too fast. I itched to try driving. I know, we were on a dangerous mission that was likely to get me killed, but it was a hell of a fun way to go. I was sorry when Price started to pull up in front of Josh’s, but then he sped up again and went by.
“Where are you going?” I shouted over the engine.
“FBI,” was his only reply.
I twisted to look back. I didn’t see a damned thing.
He drove down a couple of streets and turned and turned again, coming back along the back of Josh’s building. I sat there a moment until I figured out I was the one who was supposed to get off first. I dismounted and instantly regretted it. My thighs and chest missed his heat.
He set his helmet on the back rack and I did the same. He deposited the key into his pocket and slogged across the street. The snow came up over my knees, higher where it drifted. I should have taken some of Taylor’s ski pants to keep me dr
y. The building’s back door was locked. It opened out anyhow. We would have needed a shovel to get it open.
We went around front. I finally figured out what had tipped Price off. A guy in an overcoat, soaked loafers, and a bad suit stood outside under the awning. He was smoking a cigarette. Price didn’t acknowledge him, but simply walked in. I followed, ducking my head to avoid FBI guy’s curious gaze.
We both headed for the stairs. Nobody got in our way until we got to Josh’s apartment. The door was open, and two goons stood outside. Really, goons. As in, ape arms, bull necks, thighs like trees. Both wore sunglasses—because it was so bright, what with the lead skies and snow. The wall window on the side of the stairwell might as well have been made of concrete for all the light that came through. They each had earpieces with little coily wires that disappeared into their collars, plus matching shaved heads and blue suits. They could have been brothers. Goon brothers.
Price made to push between them while I hung back where I could run like hell. I don’t trust Price; I trust the FBI less. Price will stab you in the chest so at least you can see him coming. He’s honest about it. The FBI has someone else slip you some poison at your favorite restaurant so you never know it was them. You don’t even know you’re dead until you’re standing at the pearly gates. Or the doors to hell, whatever they are called. I’m guessing I should figure that out, since that’s where I’m likely to end up.
“I’m DCPD. This is my crime scene,” Price said, flashing his ID again. “Let me through.”
“Can’t do that, sir,” said goon one. “It’s FBI jurisdiction now.”
Goon two was saying something to his wrist.
“Since when?” Price demanded.
“Since early this morning,” came a crisp female voice from inside. I recognized it. Special Agent Sandra Arnow.
The sound of her shoes heralded her arrival. The two goons parted to let her through. She stopped in the doorway, looking smug. Her hair was pulled up in a smooth chignon. She wore a charcoal pencil skirt with a tailored blazer and a cream-colored blouse. Her shoes were stiletto platforms that gave her another five or six inches in height. She looked Price in the eyes. Overcompensating much? Next to her, I felt a lot like a wadded-up piece of paper someone had tossed in the gutter.
“Judge Moralez of the forty-second district court kindly granted it.”
“On what grounds?”
She handed a piece of paper to Price. He glanced at it, his face turning to stone. “This is crap.”
“You said yourself it was a kidnapping.”
“Not across state lines.”
She smiled, her full red lips looking like she’d been drinking blood. I bet she had raw meat for breakfast. If she ate. She looked like she wore about a size negative four. “You have no way of knowing that.”
“The case should be ours until there’s proof he was taken out of state.”
“Take it up with the judge.” She turned to pin me in place with her pale blue stare. “You’re back. The innocent bystander, if I recall. However, you are also Taylor Hollis’s sister, are you not? Riley Hollis? I have some questions for you and your sister.”
Oh crap. She knew my name. The fucking FBI knew my name. I opened my mouth. I had no idea what I was going to say. Probably “fuck off and die,” but it’s possible I would have been polite. Before I could speak, Price reached out and took my arm, pushing me down the stairs ahead of him.
“She’s got nothing to say.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Special Agent Sandra Arnow said, following after us.
Clippity-clop, clippity-clop. Like a horse. How could she even walk in those stilts? Yeah, I’m about to be hauled into an FBI interrogation room, and I’m thinking about her shoes.
“She’s got rights, and she doesn’t want to talk to you. She saw nothing; she knows nothing. Any questions you have can go through her lawyer.”
Wasn’t that contradictory? I mean, if I have rights and don’t have to talk to her, then why would it matter that I don’t know anything? And then why would my lawyer need to answer any questions? Not that I have a lawyer. I don’t even have a mailman.
Price dragged me down the stairs away from Arnow. She watched us with narrowed eyes, tapping crimson fingernails on her thigh. She didn’t look like she planned to give up.
We went back outside into the snow. The smoking goon was still there, but now he gave us a glowering look like he’d like to cuff us. I waved as we went around the corner, returning to the snowmobile.
Price pulled on his helmet and brushed the seat clean. I put the pink bowling ball back on my head.
“What now?”
“Can you find his trace?”
I’d been looking the moment we walked up to the door. “Yeah. He’s still alive.”
Price gave me a narrowed look. “How long before it fades out for you?”
Shit. If I was as weak as I pretended to be, I probably wouldn’t still be seeing it.
I shrugged. “Never can tell.”
He gave me another of those penetrating looks. I stared back wide-eyed, even as my stomach plummeted. I could tell I was becoming a puzzle to him. I didn’t have a choice, not if I wanted to find Josh. But moving to Tahiti was beginning to look better and better.
Chapter 8
WE CLIMBED BACK on the snowmobile and took off up the street. I didn’t know where we were going, but I was just happy that Price wanted to put some distance between us and Arnow in case she decided she wanted to snatch me up after all.
It was eerily quiet in the city. The snow hushed everything, and most everything was closed. I could hear plows running to clear the main streets, but there was a hell of a lot of snow to move and I was betting it would be close to a week before they got the streets cleared.
After a while it became clear that Price was actually heading somewhere. He went back down into Downtown through the Prockney Tunnel. That was jarring. A fair bit of snow had drifted down inside, so that helped, but we had to slow down to nothing when the road went dry. I expected Peltier would be shitting bricks if he were here and saw what we were doing to his machine.
Once through, Price headed for the center part of the rim where the Buffalo River dropped down into the caldera. My fingers were getting cold inside my gloves. The rest of me was plenty warm—either Price was made of some serious hot stuff, or he was getting me all hot and bothered. I didn’t want to even think about it.
The wind picked up, and the snow was starting to whirl drunkenly. If it kept up, we were going to have a blizzard. Often-Wrong, the weather guy on the news this morning, had been disgustingly excited about this storm and the two or three that were following in. It was an official snow emergency. He kept nattering on about how he hoped everyone had emergency supplies and they should hunker down and stay in place.
“We aren’t going to run out of gas, are we?” I shouted.
He shook his head. I think. It was hard to say.
I was beginning to consider shoving my hands up under his coat when he finally slowed down. We were in a canyon of skyscrapers. Snow-mounded cars lumped up along the roadway. He navigated up onto the sidewalk and pulled up outside the Franklin Watley building. Josh’s employer. A red closed sign blinked brightly over the subway entrance at the end of the block.
Price killed the engine and I got off, putting my helmet on the seat. The building was made of a blue-gray granite polished to a high sheen. The front had a portico with columns and two-story glass windows. Price had parked under the portico.
“It’s not open,” I said. “Nothing is.”
Actually, the diner would be open. Patti and Ben didn’t close except for a few holidays. People counted on them. Especially in bad weather. My stomach growled. I could really use one of Ben’s giant hamburgers with bacon, bleu cheese, and sautéed on
ions and mushrooms, plus a huge mound of crispy fries and a chocolate shake. My mouth watered just thinking about it.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t get in,” Price said.
I eyed him. “How?”
He didn’t answer. He went to the door and pulled on it. Locked up tight, and not just with ordinary locks. There was magical security here, too. I didn’t bother telling him. He was a cop; if he didn’t expect there to be magical locks, then he was an idiot. He’d never struck me as particularly stupid. All I knew was that these far exceeded my paltry picking skills.
He fished in his pocket and pulled out the little flip-open wallet containing his badge and ID. He pressed it against the seam between the doors. Yellow tentacles flowed out of it in every direction. They wriggled across the glass and through the cracks surrounding the doors. More and more poured out until the doors were covered in solid yellow. It shimmered a moment, then faded. The glass vanished with it.
“Come on.”
Price reached out and pulled me through the doorway. I turned to look back and the glass was back. I blinked, impressed. That wasn’t your basic police department-issued magic. Nice being supplied by the Tyet.
A shadow swept over me. It was all too easy to forget his connection to the Tyet. Too easy to forget he didn’t wear a white hat. At best, it was gray. The worst part was that I was starting to like him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noting my sudden chill.
“Nothing,” I said, pulling out of his grip.
He watched me a moment longer as if debating whether or not to push. “Do you know where Josh’s office is?”
I shook my head. “Taylor does.” I pulled out my phone, but he shook his head.
“Don’t. FBI is probably listening in. I don’t want Agent Arnow to know we’re here.”
Trace of Magic: 1 (The Diamond City Magic Novels) Page 9