Call of the Wilde

by Jenn Stark

  “Greece,” I said. “Vacation. Nobody died. Seriously.”

  “Greece,” he repeated, and I didn’t miss the darkening of his expression. “Alone?”

  “I fail to see how that’s any business of yours.” Why did it always feel like Brody was my mom? Well, a normal person’s mom.

  “You make it my business when you get shot at not two hours after arriving back in town,” he retorted, then sighed. “And forget it, I already know. Who else besides Armaeus Bertrand returned with you? Flight manifest indicates a third passenger, Greek national.”

  “Um, I don’t know her full name. She was—she’s a friend of Armaeus’s. Hera, I think.”

  “Hera.” Brody looked even wearier. “Some kind of hippie chick?”

  “Something like that.” Close enough. “But we didn’t do anything in Samos that would generate Interpol’s interest, trust me. We went to a beach. No artifacts, no killing, no nothing. I’m still recovering.”

  “And Nikki? Where was she immediately before picking you up?”

  I shrugged. “I assume she was out at Soo’s digs.” I still couldn’t get used to calling it my mansion, though the Lake Las Vegas house, like all of my predecessor’s possessions involved with the House of Swords, was officially mine. “Why?”

  “There’s been some unusual activity in the drug trade here recently. Very recently, like, yesterday. New players spotted outta nowhere, no one knows their affiliation. High rollers. Nikki say anything about that?”

  I frowned. “No. These are local guys?”

  “Three men, three different casinos, throwing around a lot of cash. They move the same way. That and the money is our only reason for linking them. Facial recognition software is a negative—and they gave us plenty of looks. But no matches. They’re not in any database. Then they all three check out this morning, and not two hours later, your car is blowing up in the desert. Who hit you? How many cars?”

  “Two cars,” I said. “But that’s not what hit us first. It was a drone strike.”

  That stopped him. “What?”

  “We got strafed from above, then from the side. Drones returned to some abandoned box canyon and landed, but no one was there.”

  “How do you… Never mind. Where?”

  I sent him a withering glance. “You’re not finding that canyon, Brody. I only tracked the drones down from their exhaust trails and heat signatures, and no way in hell could I find where they landed again. I wasn’t looking for landmarks, just the drones.”

  “And no one was there to pick them up.”

  “Nope. The drones themselves had no markings but there was some kind of electrical field around the place.” I trailed off. What had I run into, exactly? Was it truly electricity or something more metaphysical?

  Brody rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I’m not going to be able to hold off Interpol for long. If they’re working with the Nevada State Troopers, their focus is drugs. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you’ve been up to your ass in the drug trade, as was Soo before you. You’re marked.”

  I scowled at him. “I’m not a drug dealer.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re in touch with a hell of a lot of people who are. People with names and locations that you may be pressured to provide.”

  “Pressured how? I haven’t committed any crimes.” At least not that could be attributed to me. I felt a headache coming on. Maybe I was suffering from a concussion.

  Brody didn’t say anything for a moment, so I pushed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He sat back in his seat, staring across at the tightly shut cabinets of what I assumed were medical supplies, and for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our own vehicle’s intermittent siren, presumably employed only when we approached intersections or knots of cars. It was a discordant, plaintive wail but still oddly reassuring, which was more than I could say for Brody’s bleak face.

  “Brody…”

  “We’ve had more disappearances,” he said abruptly. “In the past week. carnie psychics dropping off the grid.”

  My heart sank. My life as a member of the Connected community had begun with my efforts to find lost kids, way back when I was a gangly tween and Brody had been our local beat cop. A series of unfortunate events had sent me and Brody in different directions, but both of us had continued to work to protect the community in our own ways. Call it karma or fate or whatever, but we’d been drawn back together, halfway across the country from where we’d begun, to once again protect and serve the Connecteds. He did his part on the side of the law while I ran riot on the other.

  “Dixie tell you this?” I asked, unreasonably dreading the response.

  “Not exactly,” he said, but he didn’t say anything else at first, his fingers drumming on his knees. Dixie had that effect on people.

  Dixie Quinn was Las Vegas’s resident psychic den mother. She knew all there was to know about the Connected community—who’d come into town, who’d left it, who was doing well, who was barely scraping by. An astrologer and owner of the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars wedding emporium, she was also a Connected of average ability…ability that I more than a little suspected she augmented with the same kind of technoceutical drugs I’d been working to stamp out. Not because of what they did to a person—I couldn’t care less about that, to each his own vices—but because of how they were made.

  Brody’s next words pulled me off that dark path, and sent me down another one. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I’ve been working the Strip long enough that I get used to seeing the same faces when we have a case that hits the carnie circuit. Some of those faces weren’t there the last time I had questions, and when I asked Dixie about it, she flipped out.”

  That didn’t sound like Dixie. “Flipped out how?”

  “Claimed I was out of line, pinning issues on the Connected community that weren’t there. That the season was ending and attrition was usually up at summer’s end, and I should let her do her job and do mine when she needed me.” He shrugged. “She seemed a little overwrought but…”

  “Right.” I considered this. Dixie and Brody had been dating for the past few months, and according to Nikki, had even more recently broken things off. A better person would have been sensitive to this. Fortunately, I wasn’t a better person. “She still pissed that you ended the relationship?”

  He looked up at me, startled. “I didn’t end it. She did.” The sight of my eyeballs nearly falling out of my head apparently spurred him to greater explanation. “Said I worked too much, never took time off, always had my head in my cases. Usual song and dance.”

  “But she knew that going in. You’re a detective.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Brody hitched one shoulder. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her anyway, but…” He let the sentence trail off, as if the rest was obvious. He was right. Dixie was a stunner of a woman, all blonde hair, blue eyes, Southern charm, and a killer body. But she’d also seemed genuinely infatuated with Brody, so what was I missing?

  It couldn’t have been something Brody had done. He was a straight shooter. What you saw was what you got. Sure, maybe he was a little rumpled on the outside, but inside, he had a bottomless heart and a protective streak a mile wide. The guy was like a grumpy older brother to me now, but seriously, my Brody crush had burned mirror bright from the moment I’d met the man as an awestruck teen until, well…until Armaeus.

  Brody continued, apparently deciding that the moment didn’t deserve any more weight. “I’ll mend that fence, but I’d appreciate it if you and Nikki could check things out on the Strip as well. With these new rollers and the disappearances, and Dixie acting so strange…I don’t like it.” He shifted his glance to me. “Look into it?”

  I could think of about eight hundred and fifty-seven things I’d rather do than darken the door of the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars to speak with Dixie Quinn. But for Brody? I gave him my best smile.

  “I�
��m on it.”

  Chapter Six

  Well-meaning doctors held both Nikki and me in the hospital overnight for treatment, though in my case, it was more to keep me under watch of an entirely nonmedical nature. I refused to let them take my blood, in any event. Only Armaeus’s pet doctor had the right to stick me, and Dr. Sells was not on staff here. I did see a few familiar faces among the security guards assigned to the floor, though. About every third man bore the look of the House of Swords.

  Maybe that was why I didn’t reach out to Armaeus, which was usually my standard operating procedure when I found myself in close proximity to any operating procedures. But mainly, there was no need for the Magician’s particular set of skills. I wasn’t injured. I wasn’t in pain. I had no need to be healed of so much as a hangnail. Armaeus, for his part, didn’t reach out to me either. He was probably busy giving Hera a tour of Prime Luxe, or introducing her to slot machines and funnel cakes. For the moment, he didn’t need me, and I didn’t need him. There was no point in us connecting.

  That’s what I told myself anyway.

  “Ms. Wilde? Do you need me to repeat the question?”

  I blinked and returned my attention to Major Grimm, whose name had not ceased to be the source of endless amusement to me. >A genuinely big guy with a bluff, burr-cut hairstyle and sun-baked skin, he was the Southern Command Deputy Chief of the Highway Patrol, and had served the state of Nevada for nearly a decade. He had the worn, soul-weary look of a man who’d seen death way too many times, but his eyes belied the jaded cast of his features. They were bright, inquisitive, and they were focused on me.

  “I’m sorry, please,” I said, lifting a hand as if to indicate I wasn’t yet fully recovered in the head.

  “What is your relationship with Nikki Dawes?”

  “She’s my friend. And employee,” I added a little lamely. We’d gone over this ground before.

  “Employee in what capacity?”

  “Chauffeur.”

  “And what kind of work do you do that requires the use of a chauffeur?”

  That was a new question, but I didn’t hesitate. My bio had no doubt been required reading for Grimm and all his minions. Grimm minions. Grimlets? “I run an international shipping company, with an American base in Las Vegas.” It sounded a little shady, but it was what it was.

  “Family business?”

  “It was before. Not my family, though. I was a new hire.”

  “How does one apply for that kind of job, exactly?”

  Despite myself, I smiled. “I became friends with the previous CEO. When she passed away unexpectedly, I learned she’d left the business to me.”

  “The previous CEO being Annika Soo.”

  Our gazes connected. “Did you know her?”

  “Not at all, but we’re aware of the top business owners with residences in the area, and those whose overland deliveries are in sufficient quantities to track through the state.”

  I nodded. “Then you know that Madame Soo was neither held nor questioned on suspicion of any illegal activities in this state. Or any other.”

  “I know she was a person of interest in certain international investigations regarding drug trafficking and syndicate activity. Would you happen to know anything about those investigations?”

  “I would not.”

  “So her preparations for you to take her place were not exhaustive.”

  I snorted. “It was an unexpected transition. I’m still learning my way.” I narrowed my gaze at him, deciding it was my turn. “Have you made any headway on who blasted my vehicle?”

  “Blasted?” he countered. “Your limo exploded from an internal device. Presumably that was your own doing.”

  “Not hardly. If I was planning on my car blowing up, I wouldn’t have been standing so close to it.”

  He nodded, conceding the point. “There’s no evidence remaining of the vehicle that was salvageable. Recovered bullets embedded in the surrounding pavement and desert floor are currently undergoing testing, but that will take a while. Do you have any idea who might be interested in causing you harm?”

  So many people, so little time. “Not offhand, no. Why were Marguerite Dupree and Roland Fiat at the scene?”

  “You know them?”

  “I’ve provided Interpol assistance on occasion. So did my predecessor.”

  Grimm nodded. Apparently, he’d been cleared to discuss the dynamic duo. “We have a cooperative arrangement with Interpol in matters of international drug trafficking and other crimes that cross state and national lines. Due to recent activity in Las Vegas and the surrounding area, and information they’ve received apparently from local agencies, they’ve stepped up their engagement in the area. They were visiting our headquarters when the alert came in about the incident involving your vehicle. They also characterized their relationship with you as friendly, and that you had, as you say, provided them assistance.”

  Frenemy was more accurate, but hey. “Good to know. So where are they now?”

  “I extended them an invitation to attend this interview, but they declined. Interpol generally prefers to work through local law enforcement, not conduct their own investigations.”

  Yeah, right. Which explained why the French Connection was cooling its heels in Las Vegas in the first place. Had they found something truly of interest in the city regarding technoceuticals? Why here versus any of a hundred other cities? A new contact? A new mark?

  I refocused on Grimm. “And what exactly are you investigating? Because it doesn’t seem to be the crime committed against me. We were shot at by drones. Drones apparently wielding rocket launchers. You want to tell me that’s legal?”

  “You’re willing to make a statement about this alleged drone attack?”

  “I didn’t actually see it. The car’s internal bulletproof panels were engaged by the time I thought to look up, not out. But I can assure you, there were no other cars close by at first. The only option was an air attack. You mean to tell me we have no eyes on the sky?”

  “Nevada is a big state.”

  “We’re talking right outside Las Vegas.”

  “Drone surveillance is a threat we are not fully equipped to manage.” Grimm’s voice remained cool, unapologetic, even as he spouted that lame company line. “But if it was an airborne assault, it would have had to be carefully conducted by someone with foreknowledge of your location and your trajectory.”

  “Not trajectory.” I shook my head. “We were driving in circles. But yes, my location in the city was clearly identified, and we were followed. Then we were abandoned when you showed up, so it appears I’m in your debt.”

  Grimm regarded me, well, grimly. “I’m going to ask you again: is there any reason you can point to that a well-armed, sophisticated, highly engaged resource would go to this much trouble to locate and disable your vehicle—without destroying it outright?”

  I thought of the exploding vehicle. “How do you know it wasn’t them who blew up the limo?”

  “A scenario that seems entirely unlikely. The alleged assailants had already done a bang-up job of leaving a message.”

  “Was that a joke?” I demanded, staring at him. “That was a joke. You just made a joke.”

  Grimm didn’t react, and I sighed. “Well, it was funny.” Sort of funny. Even though I was deliberately trying to derail Grimm, the thought that two different agencies were attempting to attack me at the same time was a chilling one. Had someone put an explosive device beneath the limo at some point, then detonated it when Nikki and I were well away? If so, why?

  A message, Grimm had said. But a message for what?

  “Do you have any experience with aerial strikes of this nature?” I asked. “The drone thing, I mean?”

  Grimm hesitated, and I pounced. “You do have experience. Who’s doing it? Where?”

  “It’s an unrelated incident,” he said stiffly. “A recreation drone recently dropped an incendiary device on a ho
me by accident. The home burned. The owner of the drone was held for questioning. That was six months ago. There’s no correlation.”

  I nodded. It was hard to see any link there, true. Still, something about the story was troublesome. “Why were you guys called into that? I thought you stuck to the highways.”

  Another hesitation. “The dwelling was a suspected meth lab. When the incendiary device struck it, that suspicion was borne out in the size of the explosion. It was unoccupied at the time. Owner left the area once it was clear no charges would be forthcoming.”

  Drugs again. That was getting a little too close for comfort.

  Grimm hit me with his next redirection. “How active are you in the operations of your shipping business?”

  The question startled me, but I answered it reasonably enough. “Active enough to have people in place who do all the work. Why?”

  “You don’t look the part, Ms. Wilde.”

  I looked down at my hospital gown. “This isn’t my usual look.”

  “I saw your usual look. Upon asking some questions and viewing files, I learned that it is a look you’ve employed for the past several years prior to your official employment with Soo’s enterprise. You generally effect the appearance of a—”

  “Freelancer,” I supplied.

  “Vagrant,” Grimm corrected. “While that’s not relevant in most cases, it is with the position you’ve been promoted into. I find it curious that Annika Soo would have chosen such an unproven leader, and then given you no instruction or preparation. It almost seems like she did it on purpose.”

  “I appreciate your insight,” I said, only mildly stung. “If she did, her reasons are not known to me, and I regret that we can’t ask her.”

  “I regret that as well.” Grimm seemed to be hedging, waiting for me to say something of value, but he wasn’t going to get any sort of confession out of me about the darker corners of Soo’s operation. They operated in the shadows for a reason, and that was where they were going to stay until I could see a path of exiting the drug trade altogether. If I ever could—the men and women who held the reins on that trade were constantly on the move. I could ignore them, but that wouldn’t serve the Connected community. I couldn’t fight the drug traffickers who violated the rights and the bodies of the youngest and most vulnerable of Connecteds if I didn’t know where they were, or what they were doing.