He kept the shotgun at the ready, willing to shoot almost anyone he encountered, if he had to, but hoping he could bludgeon them from behind instead. A silent kill would be better.
Only... Suppose he killed an ordinary, clueless security guard, or a startled cook? Someone innocent...
But hiring ordinary humans to work in a place like this didn’t seem like Icy Touch style. Denswoz was clearly one of the organization’s chiefs. He’d be surrounded by Wesen. Probably everyone in the building was a Wesen.
But that brought up another problem. Some of the Wesen recruited into The Icy Touch had been forced into the crime cartel. Did he have the right to kill them? If not—how could he tell one from another?
He couldn’t think about that. He had to find the girl, if she was here, and get her out of this place. But along the way, there were other little tasks he could see to...
About twenty strides down the hall, he reached a corner, and stopped to listen. The only sound he heard was the beating of his own heart and the soft click of central heating coming on.
Nick stepped around the corner, coming to a corridor that ran along a series of dark-wood paneled doors.
He stopped and listened at the nearest door. No sound.
Maybe there’d be a phone in there...
He reached down, tried a couple of likely keys before finding the right one and unlocking the door. He found himself in a bedroom. He saw no landlines, no phones at all. No luggage to search. The bed was made; the room seemed unused. There was a curtained window, across from him.
He walked quickly across the braided rug, and moved the curtains aside just enough to get a look.
It was night. Security lights and cameras were posted along a high black metal fence beyond a neatly trimmed side yard. He was on the ground floor. On the other side of the fence a large man in a rain coat and baseball cap walked sentry. He carried an AR15, and looked bored. Beyond the sentry was what appeared to be a wood.
Nick figured he could wait for the guard to move on a ways, then escape through the window.
But there was a good chance that Lily Perkins was in this building. And somewhere there had to be a phone, or some other method for contacting Renard and Hank.
He let the curtain drop before the sentry looked his way, and returned to the door. He listened, still silent. He returned to the corridor, softly closing the bedroom door behind him.
Nick tried the next door on the right—same thing. Empty unused bedroom. No phones.
The third door was unlocked and turned out to be a bathroom.
The next door was locked. And there was a sound coming through it—the sound of a girl crying.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Renard was driving down SE Sandy on his way home from the office, when the call came from Internal Affairs. He put the call on speaker.
“Renard.”
“Lieutenant Jacobs at IA. About your man Burkhardt...”
“Investigation done?”
“Not quite. A lot of odd stuff in his files. But... I tried to call him, couldn’t get him on the line. No answer. Then somebody just told me his car was impounded?”
Renard felt a cold breeze when there wasn’t one.
“Really? First I’ve heard of it. Impounded where and how?”
“Deputy was driving out in the boonies, saw it through the brush. Stuck off a fire road. Somebody had tried to cover it with cut brush but the weather exposed it. Deputy checked the registration, found the car belonged to a Portland cop. He gave the department a call, and we told him to bring it to impound.”
“Sounds like someone wanted to get rid of it... I can’t see Burkhardt hiding it in the woods, out in the middle of nowhere. Where was this?”
“A few miles from the Columbia, east of The Dalles. Nothing much there. No houses. Nearest business is a bar called Joey’s River Snag. Burkhardt taking vacation time out that way?”
“Not a chance,” Renard said. “He was waiting for word from you. He might go out there for a few hours, but vacation, no..”
“Any possibility he might be despondent over the investigation and... a suicide risk?”
Renard snorted. “Last guy in the world to commit suicide. Way too tough.”
“So where is he, then? Any theories, Captain?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant, but it’s... it’s worrying. He was investigating a crime cartel and he crossed them up good.”
“Yeah. In the tunnel by the docks. More shootings. But your guy’s got too many shoots in his jacket.”
“He’s a good man, Lieutenant. Stopped a lot of ugly stuff going down.”
“Seems like a good guy. But a magnet for weird cases.”
Renard wasn’t going to get into that.
“Any sense of where his Internal Affairs case is going?”
“Can’t discuss it yet, Captain. Sheriff’s department has some rangers looking for him in the woods. I’ll let you know if they turn up anything.”
If they turn up anything out there, Renard thought, it’ll be Nick’s dead body. “Okay. I’ll get his partner out that way, see if he can locate him.”
“You think the cartel took him out?”
“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. Any blood in that car?”
“Deputy didn’t see any. Got to go, Captain. Sorry to bother you after hours but I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Jacobs. And don’t worry about the hours. Never have figured out what my hours are.”
Jacobs laughed. “I hear you.”
Renard cut the connection. Then he speed-dialed Hank Griffin, and got straight to the point.
“It’s Renard, Detective. You hear anything about Burkhardt abandoning his car?”
“His car? No!”
“They found it in the woods, out a few miles off the Columbia. Nearest place is some roadhouse past The Dalles.”
“Nick would never...”
“Yeah. I know. This is not good. Place was called Joey’s River Snag. You know it?”
“Seen it once. Looked closed down. I take it you haven’t heard from Nick?”
“Nope. You?”
“Not a word. Monroe hasn’t heard from him either. Not even Juliette.”
“Juliette hasn’t heard from him? Can you head over there, Griffin? See if you can find anything? I’ll call the Sheriff out there, ask him to help you out if you need anything.”
“Yes, sir. Update me, Captain, if you hear anything.”
“Sure. Same here.”
Renard cut off the call and then saw heavy raindrops hitting the windshield.
“Dammit,” he murmured, switching on the wipers. “Raining again, too.”
* * *
A couple of minutes into trying to find the key that would unlock the girl’s room, Nick heard voices, the sound of two men approaching from around the corner.
He hurried back to the bathroom, and slipped inside, standing to one side, the shotgun butt turned toward the door.
He heard someone say, “...she’s probably fine but...”
Then his companion replied, “Gonna hit the can. Be right there.”
A few seconds passed.
Then the bathroom door opened, and Grogan stepped in, in his human form, softly singing an old song with an Irish lilt.
“We may have brave men, but we’ll never have better, Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men...”
He walked right by Nick, then seemed to sense something, got halfway turned before Nick pole-axed him with the butt of the shotgun to his forehead, hitting the Mordstier with all his Grimm strength and precision.
“Turnabout’s fair lay, Grogan,” he murmured.
Grogan grunted, and staggered backwards, blood dripping from a split forehead. Then he went down heavily.
Nick knelt to examine him. He was still alive, but it looked like he’d crushed the front of the Mordstier’s skull. Might not stay alive for long.
Nick searched Grogan’s coat, and found a cell phone. He smiled.
“Good man, Grogan,” he muttered. He pocketed the phone, pulled Grogan’s coat off him, and used the sleeves to tie his hands behind his back. He stuffed a half-used toilet-paper roll into the Mordstier’s mouth, to keep him quiet should he come to.
Once again he stepped back into the corridor, shotgun at the ready.
The corridor was empty. Nick moved down to the girl’s room door and found it unlocked, standing just slightly ajar. He looked through, saw a man facing the girl, who was sitting pressed against the headboard of a bed, hugging her knees. They’d dressed her in an ill-fitting red shift, and sandals.
“You had best do everything he wants,” the Wesen was saying, his voice vibrant with threat. “Or he’ll give you to me! Look!”
The man woged—and Nick saw the scaly hood of the Königschlange fanning out from his head as the Wesen transformed.
“I sssshall bite into you, and inject you with jusssst enough venom to paralyzzze you. And then—”
Then the girl saw Nick and her eyes widened as she stared past the Königschlange.
The cobra Wesen turned, hissing, and Nick gave him the same pole-ax move with the shotgun butt in the forehead— but with not quite the same effect. Woged and scaly, the creature was more resistant to the blow, and though the Wesen fell backwards, he remained conscious. The creature bared his fangs, reptilian eyes exuding raw hatred.
Nick threw himself onto the Königschlange, using his weight to press the shotgun barrel down hard on the Wesen’s throat.
The Königschlange writhed and struck at him with clawed hands; venom dripped from the fangs in his open mouth. Nick kept the pressure on the creature’s throat. That red haze was there, again, before Nick’s eyes, and his every Grimm instinct told him to kill this Wesen—and it wasn’t an instinct he was inclined to fight.
It took several long minutes of pressure to strangle the Königschlange. But at last the creature’s struggles subsided, and it went limp. The Wesen’s face slipped back into human form, staring in death—and Nick recognized it. He’d seen a print from a security camera outside the city jail, from the night Douglas Zelinski died in his cell. This was the Königschlange who’d killed the Drang-zorn.
Nick got up shakily, went to the door, closed it, then turned to the girl. She looked as scared of him as she’d been of the cobra man.
He put a finger to his lips to signify quiet, and whispered. “I’m a police detective. We were looking for you and they caught me. But you’re getting out of here, Lily.”
“Really?” She sat up straight, eyes lighting up. “Where’s your badge?”
“They took it. But believe me—I am who I say I am. My name’s Nick Burkhardt. And you’re Lily Perkins. I’ve got your picture in my car—your mom gave it to us.”
“I guess I believe you. I can’t stand not to.” She looked at the dead man on the floor. “What are they?”
He approached her, trying to smile reassuringly, keeping the shotgun pointed at the floor.
“Keep your voice down, Lily,” he said gently. He looked at the dead Königschlange. “He’s... they’re called Wesen. They live amongst us. Hiding from us, mostly. There are quite a few kinds. They come in fifty-seven varieties, like Heinz. Well, maybe not that many.” He glanced at the door. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”
How much could he tell her? As little as possible— no need to tell her about Grimms. But she knew about Wesen now. He’d just have to swear her to secrecy and hope it stuck.
He offered her a hand.
“Come on. We’re going to find our way out.”
After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and let him help her off the bed.
He let go of her and patted her shoulder.
“You’re pretty damn brave, Lily. But listen—I might have to shoot somebody. If that starts, you flatten down.”
“Okay.”
“How do you feel? You’re not still on the... the drug they’ve been giving you?”
She shook her head. “No, they haven’t dosed me today.”
“Good.”
She followed him to the door, and he opened it, looked outside. It was clear for the moment. That couldn’t last.
He gestured to Lily and they started padding down the corridor. They came to a wooden stairway, with runners and a carved banner shaped roughly like a dragon. The building had the proportions and feel of a mansion.
He led the way up the stairs, shotgun ready.
“Why are we...” she began.
He turned to her, put a finger to his lips, then leaned close and whispered in her ear.
“Need to figure out where we are. The address.”
Eyes wide, she nodded, and they climbed to the second floor. Another long corridor. He heard voices from somewhere further down, and then he caught sight of a door ajar, closer, to the right.
Moving swiftly, Nick checked inside the room, then he led Lily through the door. They were in a luxurious office, the walls lined with books. Lily had the good sense to close the door softly behind her.
“I was here before,” she whispered.
The office contained a large old-fashioned dark-wood desk—with a computer on it. On a small table beside the desk was a printer.
Nick turned to the girl.
“Lily—do me a favor. Go to the door, press your ear to it. Listen, let me know if anyone’s coming.”
She nodded, and hurried to the door.
Meanwhile, Nick approached the desk and flipped through the stack of mail he found scattered among the papers on its surface. One letter was a property tax notification. He looked it over, and decided it almost certainly referred to the mansion he was in. Next he turned his attention to the computer, tapping the space bar to wake it up. There was a word processing document open on the screen. Looking it over, Nick decided it was the opening of a speech.
Brothers and Sisters of The Icy Touch, it began.
We are gathered here today for a beautiful consummation. For centuries we have been tormented, persecuted, murdered by Grimms. And since the time of Napoleon my family has sworn an oath to destroy a certain line of Grimms. We made it our personal vendetta—and today we have the youngest surviving Grimm of this line in our cold grip.
I shall kill this Grimm myself. And this night we shall have a night of celebration, a feast, a rite of triumph! Soon we will find his mate, and his mother, and they too will be exterminated—and there will be no more Grimms in his line.
That is only the beginning.
I swear to you that all Grimms will be exterminated before ten years have passed. I have invited you here today to fulfill the
It ended there, in mid-sentence.
It seemed likely that Denswoz had written it. From what Renard had told him, there was a good chance Denswoz had the Coins of Zakynthos, and the text typed here emanated the kind of megalomania they induced.
Nick opened a desk drawer, and after a quick rummage found a flash drive among the various pens and scraps of notepaper.
He smiled, and fitted the flash drive to the computer, then copied the document to it, and every other document he could access easily and quickly.
He checked—the computer was online. Denswoz must have been interrupted by something important, to leave an open line of external communication unguarded, given his strict control of cell-phone use. But then this was his stronghold—where he was overconfident.
Nick uploaded the contents of the flash drive as an attachment to Renard’s email. Then he used the cell phone to send Renard a text:
Burkhardt here. Check your email. Attachment may be helpful. DO NOT CALL THIS NUMBER.
That was done.
Nick pocketed the flash drive and called Hank’s number on the cell phone.
“Detective Griffin,” came Hank’s familiar voice.
“It’s Nick.” He kept his voice just loud enough to be heard on the phone.
“Where the hell have you—?”
“Hank, I don’t h
ave time. Listen. I went to check something out, walked into a trap. I’m at a place on the Columbia River.” He gave Hank the address from the tax statement.
“I’m about two miles from there right now.”
“What? Why?”
“Your car turned up out in these particular boonies. Looking over a roadhouse... seems like it’s closed down. Listen, Nick, I can get a small army of Sheriff’s deputies out there to raid the place and get you out.”
“Hank? No. I’ve got something else in mind. If it doesn’t work out... Anyway, I’ve got Lily Perkins here. She could end up being a hostage. Or caught in the... you know.”
“Yeah. I’ll drive out there, take a position where they’re not going to see me from the place, you call me, tell me what to do.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Uh—I should tell you. I was with Monroe and Juliette and Rosalee and... Monroe insisted on coming with me. And Juliette wanted him to and I couldn’t turn down both of them...”
“Tell him the girl’s okay. And Hank—be ready to shoot if you have to but be careful with your fire. Lily and I are going to be coming out to you...”
“You got it.”
Nick ended the call and thought, Now. Just one problem. There must be dozens of Icy Touch downstairs. And more coming.
So how do we get out of here alive?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Seriously, Hank, I’ll actually feel better if I woge and scout the mansion out. I don’t mean, you know, I’d go overboard and do anything crazy, just a little closer than this. Not too close but—”
“Monroe...?”
“What, Hank?”
“Stop talking. I need to think.”
“Okay. Okay, fine. Just saying. I can be really Blutbad quiet out there, if I...”
“Monroe!”
“Okay, alright already. It’s just—he’s got Lily and—”
“I told you, she’s with Nick and she’s okay.”
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