The Thief

by J. R. Ward

  No one was going to do that, even though the idea of her getting shot at made him considering the merits of insanity with an open mind.

  There was just one rub. "The woman won't meet with me if I don't come alone. So this is all a moot point."

  "It's a female?" Marisol said.

  "Aye." He shrugged. "And now that I think about it, that means both of you will be waiting safely in this car, which I believe is bulletproof, is it not? Funny, now I'm not as worried about this brilliant idea."

  Marisol sat forward in her seat. "Where is this meeting supposed to take place?"

  "A warehouse down on Thirtieth Street."

  "Benloise had one there. What's the address?"

  "Four-four-oh-nine."

  "That's it. That's the one he owned."

  "You're not going inside, Marisol." Assail looked away to the blacked-out window and measured the dim reflection of her in it. "And I'll be fine."

  Actually, he didn't care one way or the other what happened to him. But at least Vishous would keep her safe. That was the important thing.

  That was all Assail cared about.

  "Let us proceed to my house," he said, "so that we may collect her things. And then let's go to the warehouse and get this over with."

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  As Sola came up from the basement with her grandmother's suitcase in one hand and her own duffel over her shoulder, she took a last look around Assail's kitchen. There was a stainless-steel saucepan that her vovo had used sitting on the stove. The thing was perfectly clean, and the lone standout in the otherwise tidy, put-it-all-away neatness.

  Almost as if the thing had been left out as a shrine, and not just to the food.

  Ehric and Evale, and that young man--male--were nowhere to be found, and she had a feeling that Assail had told them to go.

  She missed them. She wanted...to say goodbye to them.

  In such a short time, the six of them had formed a little family unit, a ragtag bunch of unrelateds who had bonded in quick order. And as she thought about them living here together under this roof, the strangest sensation hit her in the chest. She didn't want to acknowledge what it was. She really didn't.

  But this felt like...home.

  "May I help you with your things?" Assail asked politely.

  "No." She looked back at him. "Thank you. I've got them."

  "As you wish." He bowed solemnly. "We will leave your car at a secure place downtown so that you may retrieve it. And worry not. Our staff can go out during the day even though we cannot. So you may depart at dawn, should you wish to."

  "All right." Unease rippled through her, but she hiked her duffel higher on her shoulder and shoved the anxiety away. "I guess we go?"

  "Yes."

  At that moment, Vishous came in from the front of the house. "I gotta give you credit, Assail. You got good toys, true?" Without warning, he tossed something at her. "I think the lady'll like this one."

  She caught the gun by the grip and brought it up for a look-see. It was a very nice S&W, actually. Nine millimeter.

  "If you want a holster--"

  She interrupted Vishous. "I have one in my bag."

  "Good deal."

  As Assail took no weapons and was given nothing, she assumed he had armed himself. And yet she hesitated. She wanted him to have a rocket launcher on his back. Bulletproof everything. A crash helmet.

  "We gonna do this or what?" Vishous said sharply.

  "Let's go." Sola headed for the door. "I'll follow you in my car."

  The men--males--fell in behind her, and she heard Vishous ask if Assail was going to ride with her.

  Before she could answer, he replied, "I believe she would rather be alone. Thank you."

  Getting into her cold car, she wasn't so sure of that. Which was a surprise. But it was so emotional, this idea that she really was leaving here. Leaving him. Leaving this whole strange episode in her life--

  Okay, she totally needed to let all that go.

  The engine was slow to crank over, and the heater started blowing an arctic blast at her feet, so she cut the fan off quick. As she plugged in her seatbelt, she looked over her shoulder at the glass house and remembered coming here for the first time on her skis. She had hidden in and among the trees and tried to get a bead on what was doing inside. And that was when she had noticed the illusion drapes--the furnace coming on inside had ruffled them ever so slightly, causing a disturbance in that which should have been static.

  Little could she have guessed what pulling them back would reveal.

  Snapping herself to attention, she put the engine in gear and fell in line behind the Mercedes, leaving the house and the peninsula in her wake.

  As she took a left to get onto the bridge, she told herself to take a good look at the glowing cityscape up ahead. She had always loved this view at night, the skyscrapers so majestic, their random lights like stars in a fallen sky--and then down below, the river's dark and slow mystery.

  She was never coming back to Caldwell.

  And God, even though it made no sense, she wanted to cry.

  Refocusing once again, she stuck on the Mercedes's tail. They had agreed to leave her car in an open-air lot that Vishous had a pass card to, and as they came up on it, something started to ring in her mind. A warning. A...

  Shaking her head, she pulled up to the gate and realized she hadn't gotten the card. Before she could put her window down, Assail was on it, coming over and swiping things so that the arm lifted up.

  It was as she took a spot right in front that the math added up, and she all but leapt out from behind the wheel without putting things in park.

  "Benloise has a sister," she said urgently. "Vitoria."

  Assail shrugged. "I did not know that."

  "You can't go into that meeting alone. She could be coming for you."

  "I don't know if she's who I'm meeting. And besides, why would it matter--"

  "You killed Ricardo." Sola stared him straight in the eye. "I know you did. I never asked you, but I know you did. And Eduardo, too. Didn't you. Didn't you."

  * * *

  --

  Assail really wanted to get Marisol back into the Mercedes. He didn't like how exposed they were, and he also wanted to cut off this conversation. But clearly, his female was not budging until they were finished with this subject.

  Not that she was his female.

  "Marisol"--he indicated the nice, warm, fucking bulletproof Mercedes--"perhaps we may continue this discussion in a more suitable environment?"

  "What if she knows. What if she's calling to set you up?"

  "Then I will defend myself. Let us get in the car--"

  "There are security cameras at the gallery. At the West Point house--"

  "We were careful with the latter," he muttered.

  "So that's where you killed him? Or was it at the gallery."

  "It doesn't matter--"

  "I told you, the address you're going to is Benloise's warehouse. I worked for him. I know what he owns. Why are you meeting the supplier on his property if the man is dead?"

  "Because that is what I've been instructed to do--"

  "You can't go in there--"

  "Enough," he cut in sharply. "This is not your concern, Marisol. Now get in the goddamn car before we're spotted by lessers. You may be human and of no interest to them, but they will sense me and I do not want you to get hurt."

  "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed."

  But at least she was moving as she muttered this, getting her things out from the back of her car and walking them over to the popped trunk of the Mercedes. And as she put the suitcase and the duffel in, she was speaking in a barrage of Spanish--but he didn't care if she was cursing every bone in his body as long as she gotinthefuckingsedan.

  When they were finally back in the back, so to speak, she didn't turn to him. She pulled herself forward using one of the headrests in front.

  "He's going to die," she announced t
o Vishous. "She's going to kill him."

  "Your grandmother?" the Brother said. "I've heard about her--and yeah, I can feel that. Even if she's in a hospital bed--"

  "This is a setup--"

  "Marisol," Assail interrupted, "there is no way, even if this is Benloise's sister, that she will know it is me. No way. This is a business interaction through proper channels--and besides, even if it is his sister, she will not be of his nature. She's a female, after all--"

  The glare that swung around to him was enough to make him consider cupping his sex in protection.

  "Do I look weak to you." It was not a question. "Do I look like I can't handle my shit to you."

  Okaaaay, Assail thought. He was probably going to have to recast his rather old-school opinion of the "weaker" sex, wasn't he. His Marisol was certainly not, and never had been, a fainting flower to be insulated from the most minute of inconveniences.

  And P.S., he was getting seriously aroused right now, even though that wasn't fair to her.

  "Well?" she demanded.

  "No, you are not weak." As his voice deepened, he cleared his throat. "You are the most magnificent, powerful force I have ever seen. You can bring me to my knees as no one ever could or ever will again."

  She blinked. Then looked away.

  In the awkward silence, he studied her profile and wished there was another way for them. Then he dragged himself out of that black hole of disappointment.

  "And as I was saying, even if it is his sister, I doubt she will know what transpired. Benloise's remains are well disposed of, and Eduardo's? They were consumed by coyotes, given where we left him. So all is well."

  "I hope you're right," she said tightly.

  He wanted to tell her that was kind of her, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he switched to the Old Language so she would not understand what he was saying as he spoke to Vishous.

  "Pray, if I fall and cannot be revived in this, I ask that you see her safely unto her grandmother and then back out into her world. Strike her memories with care and send her off with a pleasant recollection of all this, something that shall not cause her to suffer any pain. I request this with the utmost respect unto you, and as her bonded male."

  Behind the wheel, the Brother looked up into the rearview mirror. With a single nod, he replied, "It shall be done."

  Appeased, Assail eased back into the seat. The windows were tinted so darkly, he could barely see out, although the streetlamps were light enough to glow as if through fog.

  At least he knew she would be okay--

  "Vitoria looks like Ricardo," Marisol said tightly. "You'll see it in the eyes and the shape of the face. I never met her in person, but there were pictures of her at his house--the two of them were very close. Do us all a favor, if it's her, just get out of there. Don't assume she won't recognize you. You just...you never know."

  Assail turned and stared at the woman--and told himself not to feel any hope given that Marisol seemed so worried about him. "All right. I will."

  FIFTY-NINE

  Vitoria went to her brother's warehouse in as circuitous a route as she could. She was generally no fan of inefficiency, but she had to make sure that none of Detective de la Cruz's ilk were following her, and it took some time to reassure herself that they were not. When she finally pulled Ricardo's Rolls-Royce into the facility's vacant parking lot, however, she was satisfied she was on her own.

  That was the only thing she was satisfied by, though--and not just because that detective was proving to be a Latino version of Columbo.

  Looking at the passenger seat beside her, she frowned at Eduardo's journal. Of all the numbers she had called, the man she was meeting was the only one to respond. This was worrisome. She had expected there to be a great hunger for what her brothers had put out on the streets, but she feared that, in the intervening year, the ecosystem had rerouted itself, found other suppliers, and moved on.

  Regaining lost business was so much harder than simply stepping into the shoes of a functioning concern.

  But she was ready to fight to get back to where things had been.

  As she got out of the Ghost, she approved of this location. She had discovered its existence in paperwork on Eduardo's desk, and she could see why it would be a good place to exchange goods for cash. The building's floor plan took a sharp corner, one whole wing extending out from a base, and that formation, coupled with an adjacent structure that appeared to be garage space or storage units that angled in, meant that a private courtyard was formed.

  And clearly, that had been cultivated. The privacy, at any rate: The security lighting was all trained elsewhere, a dark pit of anonymity enveloping the center area.

  No one could see from the street who was parking. Who was getting out. Who was carrying what. Who was going inside or emerging from the interior.

  Quite smart.

  Proceeding to the door that had a pass code, she entered her mother's birthday and stepped into the dim, damp interior. No light fixtures came on, but as she turned on the flashlight on her cell phone, she located a switch and flicked it.

  Very smart.

  All of the windows had been painted black. So there was no way to know anyone was inside.

  Vitoria left the door open, using a stopper that was left by the jamb. As was typical of her brother, the interior was neat as a pin and largely empty, although not completely so. Interspersed within the cavernous space, there were large crates, some big as sofas, others the size of cars, even houses. A forklift sat, with the keys in it, off to the side, and she noted, as she walked around, that there was a garage bay at the end for such ungainly deliveries.

  So she had been wrong, she thought as she inspected one of the crates and read the address plate. Art for the gallery was actually stored here. This wasn't a place solely for the illegitimate side of things. Then again, her brother had carried on both businesses from the gallery.

  And speaking of business, with any luck, this would result in an order--

  The sound of a car pulling up spun her around. She was dressed in her parka and black pants, and she had her gun and her suppressor with her, all of it retrieved earlier in the day from the base of that artwork she'd stashed it in.

  There was no way she was attending this unarmed. Even though this client was one Eduardo had marked with a star--indicating, per his system, that whoever it was paid on time, caused no trouble, and regularly ordered--she could trust no one.

  Hopefully, however, he was a businessperson, just as she was, and there would be no difficulty.

  As a single car door shut solidly, and footsteps came up the concrete steps, she put her hand into her pocket and gripped her gun, flipping the safety off.

  She was going to have to find some more help, she thought as the door creaked while it was opened. She was a bit more exposed than she liked--

  Vitoria recognized the fine coat first....the fine overcoat that was cut to perfection and hanging off a large pair of shoulders.

  And then she saw the face. That...fucking...face...

  Of the man who had kidnapped her brother.

  It was him. From the security footage. She was absolutely positive--and in a quick slideshow, she saw Ricardo's body hanging on the wall, battered, bruised, that throat torn open.

  Before she had a conscious thought, her rage brought out her gun--and she began to shoot.

  * * *

  --

  Assail saw the family resemblance at the very instant that the woman's eyes peeled wide--as if, somehow, she recognized who he was. There was no time to think further, however, as she took out a gun and started discharging bullets as if she knew he was going to dematerialize out of there at any moment.

  But he didn't care about himself, as he dropped down and rolled out of shooting range; all that mattered was whether Vishous had hit the gas--and from the flare of headlights that pierced the partially open door Assail had come through, he was willing to bet his life protocol was being followed.

/>   He just prayed the Brother had the sense to lock Marisol in. Or she was liable to come bursting in with her own gun drawn.

  "I know you!" the woman screamed as she continued to shoot. "I know what you did!"

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Except it was more than just popping. The slugs of lead were ricocheting around, and thank God for this crate he had found--

  The scent of his own blood made him curse. Sonofabitch. She'd gotten him in the shoulder--of his right arm. His shooting arm.

  And given the ache in his side, he was pretty sure he'd been hit somewhere else.

  With a grimace, Assail got out his gun and waited for her to empty her clip. She was coming forward, closing in--and she had switched to Spanish, her fury more like a Wagner symphony than any kind of speech.

  Then came the pause he was looking for.

  With a quick shift, he leaned out for a glance into the warehouse proper.

  She was smart. She had stepped behind another of the large crates that dotted the interior to exchange clips.

  When she reemerged, he had a brief impression of her--long dark hair, dark eyes, just like Ricardo's, and, Marisol was right, the faces were shaped the same.

  And then he shot her.

  In the chest.

  The impact sent her reeling back, her gun going off in a spray as she tripped off her feet and fell to the ground.

  In any other circumstance, he would have closed in and made sure to finish the job, but his shot had been clean and he'd nailed her a good one--more the point, Marisol was in that departing Mercedes and she was all that mattered to him.

  In spite of his injuries, he closed his eyes. Tried to calm himself.

  Breathed deeply so he could dematerialize...

  SIXTY

  As the Mercedes skidded out onto the road, Sola pounded on the door with her fists. "Let me out of this fucking car!"

  The instant shots had rung out, she had leapt for the exit--only to find herself locked inside. And then there had been a roar and a lurch, the car's powerful engine thrown into gear and flooded with gas, her weight thrown back and to the far side.

  The cursing scream that rose up in her throat could not be denied. And she didn't even try to hold it in.