“Correct.”
“I made a good choice when I picked you.”
His phrasing made her want to slap him. But right now, she wanted to slap a lot of people. Or shoot. Whatever. “Why did they disappear?”
“They’d spotted the resort’s security chief, Vince Gilfilen.”
“How did you know about him?”
“I didn’t. I only knew he was in those rocks fighting for his life—the bad guys had him in a stranglehold, so he must be on my side.” Nils looked her in the eyes. “We introduced ourselves afterward.”
She shook her head and half laughed. Guys.
“So Vince, that son of a bitch is skinny and he slipped down and out. He’s strong and wiry. He likes to fight, and he got his licks in, but they got a cord around his neck and the Librarian slashed at his wrists and…” Nils sat there and shook his head.
“What did you do, Nils?”
“I couldn’t watch anymore. I couldn’t be safe anymore. I couldn’t do the smart thing anymore. I got one of the ATVs, one without the box inside, started it, put it into gear, gave it the gas and bailed out right before it hit the boulders.”
“My God.” She wavered between horror and laughter at the description of the scene, of the evidence of Nils’s mad innovative fighting skills.
He painfully sat straight up in his chair. “They scattered. I slammed one guy with a rock to the head. The other guy smashed me with a rock to the arm.” Nils lifted his elbow. “Want to refill my ice pack?”
She took it and headed for the freezer. “Keep talking.”
“The guy lifted the rock again. I saw it over my head, figured I was a goner, and by God, Vince Gilfilen comes roaring out of those boulders. His hand is half-off, so he kicks the shit out of the guy’s head. Guy goes down, they’re fighting, I’m trying to scramble around and get into it before the third guy jumps in on the action. That was one helluva brawl, three against two, and Vince throwing punches and flinging blood everywhere. And then—”
“And then what?” Kellen stood, hand half in the freezer, totally involved in the action.
“And then nothing.” Nils flopped back in the chair, winced and held his arm. “The guy Vince is fighting takes off.”
Quickly, she shoveled ice cubes into the bag. “Running away?”
“No, chasing the ATV that the third guy is driving.”
“The third guy—was that the Librarian?” She slammed the freezer door.
“I have no idea. The way we were mixing it up, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t chase them, because then Vince collapsed. My God, that hand of his.” Nils accepted the ice bag and placed it on his elbow. “Is he still alive?”
“Critical, but stable.” This explained a lot, like how Vincent Gilfilen had survived at all. “What did you do? How did you get him back to the resort?”
“I took off my shirt, wrapped up his hand, had him put that over my shoulder, and we walked back to his suite.” Nils shook his head in amazement. “Toughest man ever.”
“Yes. He really is.” She groped her way back to her chair, never taking her gaze from Nils. “But you’re not too bad, either. What happened to your face?”
“I think Vince stepped on it, but I’m not sure. You know how it is. You’re fighting, you get hurt, it’s dark, might be the enemy, might be friendly fire.”
“Why didn’t you stay with him? He almost expired before I got there.”
“He called you, then he had me stretch him out on the bathroom floor with that rug under his neck. He was pretty pissed, and so was I, and I thought he would be fine until you got there. So I went out searching for the bad guys. I figured they had to be somewhere on the resort grounds.” Nils grinned savagely. “I didn’t find them, but I found the right ATV. Still warm, and the box was still under the seat. They drove those artifacts back to the resort for me.”
35
Kellen laughed in delight. “Did you get the box out and put it somewhere safe?”
He lifted his elbow. “Couldn’t.”
“So we don’t know what’s in it or where it is now?”
“Not really, but unless by sheer chance they figured out where I hid it, it’s still somewhere on the property in an ATV.”
She stared at him in admiration. “You have balls of steel.”
Without an ounce of modesty, he said, “I do, don’t I?”
“Where was the ATV parked?”
“By the maintenance garage.”
Kellen felt the blood drain from her face, felt the clammy chill cover her skin. “So maybe one of my people.”
“Not proof. But likely.”
Temo? Mitch? Adrian?… Birdie? Tears pricked at her eyes. She didn’t want to know one of her friends, her team, had joined the dark side. She wanted to believe in them. Now she doubted all of them.
Nils watched her, analyzed her. “You face every challenge with your chin up until you lose faith with the people you’ve cautiously taken into your inner circle. It’s not a crime to get it wrong in a friendship. The crime is to guard yourself so closely you have no one.”
Her tears dried. She stared incredulously at him.
He looked sheepish. “Sorry. It’s my mom. She’s always saying stuff like that and sometimes I couldn’t help listening.”
“Your mom is pretty smart.” She brushed at her wet eyes and got back to business. “Your phone is out there somewhere. Let’s hope the Librarian doesn’t find it.” She stood and walked over to Nils. “Let me see your elbow.”
He pushed off the ice bag, rolled up his sleeve and showed her the swelling.
She didn’t like the way the bone was sitting or the color of his skin. “It’s broken.” She pressed the ice bag back on it.
He agreed. “Cracked, anyway.”
Kellen looked around, saw Nils’s plaid Burberry scarf hanging beside his coat and brought it over. “Too bad. I have news I thought you’d like to investigate.”
“So you didn’t come to throw me out of the resort for my own safety?”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t give a shit about your safety.” A patent lie, but he grinned as if he was flattered. “I found Priscilla’s tomb art.”
He sat up fast. He groaned and grabbed his elbow. “Where?”
“Everyone kept saying Priscilla wasn’t that smart, but this was genius. She hid them in a storeroom filled with hotel room decorations.” Kellen folded the scarf into a triangle, made a sling and slid it around Nils’s arm.
Nils let her do what she could to make him comfortable. “And you found them?”
“Not me. Carson Lennex. He’s had them on display. I took them into safekeeping, but the cursed tablet is still unsecured.” She tied the sling around Nils’s neck and stepped back. “The problem is—Mitch knows, too.”
“Maintenance. That’s not good.” Nils came slowly to his feet, tested the sling and nodded in satisfaction. He slid his knife into a hidden wrist holster, picked up his compact pistol, weighed it, made a decision, then put it down. “I’m betting on your other friend, Temo. He’s got one of the cottages farthest from the resort, and he’s hiding something. His friend’s in on it, too. What’s his name?”
“Adrian. In terms of character, he’s a little doubtful. But not Temo. He saved my life many times. I saved his. I can’t believe—”
“Depends on what his current motivation is. He might be one of the rare people in this world who doesn’t want money just to have more money. But does he need money? Is he desperate for money? That’s what you’ve got to ask yourself.”
“Is the Librarian desperate enough at the loss of this latest shipment to start making mistakes?”
“I think so. We just have to be in the right place at the right time, and right now, that’s in the penthouse.” Nils checked his Beretta M9 to make sure it was functioning. “I’ll go to Carson Lennex
and get him to tell me the location of that last piece of art. You take Big Foot with you to check out Temo.”
“Big Foot? Max?”
“If that’s his name.”
“He’s trying for the Incredible Hulk, and he’s busy searching the resort for you. Not surprisingly, he hasn’t found you.” She texted Max again, slipped her phone into her pocket. “Nils, be careful. We’ve narrowed the number of suspects, but the suspects have narrowed the opposition to us. With you taking last night’s shipment, they have to be somehow injured, they’re going to be livid and they don’t care who they kill. They don’t care if they kill every person in the resort. In fact, that would enhance the Librarian’s fearsome reputation.” What an ugly realization that was. “My guess is all they want to do is get the artifacts and escape to set up their base somewhere else. Watch your back.”
“You, too.” He hooked his good arm around her neck and pulled her close. “One kiss for a man going into battle?”
“How about if I don’t punch you in the elbow?”
“Almost as good.” He kissed her nevertheless, a brief press on the lips, and they both headed out into the blistering cold, dark and miserable afternoon.
36
Kellen released the safety on her pistol and cautiously approached the cottage Temo shared with Adrian. She climbed the stairs, put her head to the door…
Inside, she heard a burst of sound: men shouting, a girl crying.
She used her pass card and slammed into the room to find four pairs of eyes fixed on her: Adrian; a Hispanic guy with dyed blond hair who was writhing on the floor, holding his bleeding thigh; Temo himself, hard-eyed and furious, pointing his pistol at the door…and a preteen Hispanic girl who had to be Temo’s sister.
Whatever Kellen had expected, this wasn’t it.
Without hesitation, Temo lowered his pistol. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing?”
“My sister… I brought her back here to live with me. My mother went to prison for drug use, and this bastard was planning to sell Regina to work the streets.”
“I’m her stepfather!” Mr. Dyed Hair shouted.
Temo pointed his pistol at him. “Chulo! Pimp! You never married my mother. You’ve got no rights to my sister as a parent or guardian.”
“No!” Regina screamed. “Don’t make me go back with him!”
Temo paced toward the guy on the floor. “If I killed you and dumped you off the cliff, no one here would know or care.”
The tense situation explained so much about Temo and Adrian and their recent suspicious activities—but this had nothing to do with smuggling and murder. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Kellen asked.
Temo struggled for words. He gestured. He looked hopeless and defiant. “I can’t work all the time, take care of the resort like I promised. Regina’s eleven. She’s been abused and neglected. And…she’s eleven.”
He gave her age twice, as if it should tell Kellen everything—and in a way, it did.
He said, “She needs me. I have to be here for her.”
“Temo, I understand. Annie will understand.” Kellen was incredulous. “I told you I’d talk to her. Why would you think keeping your sister here would be a problem?”
“Mitch said—”
“That lousy bastard.” Mitch had misled Temo—and Kellen. Sucker and lousy, distrustful friend that she was, she had fallen for it. Mitch hadn’t been around long enough to be the Librarian, but he certainly could be one of the assistants. Had he been involved in the fight the night before? He showed no obvious signs of damage, but that meant nothing. He was a good fighter and an excellent survivor. Maybe all his injuries were hidden beneath his clothes.
“I told you so, Temo,” Adrian said. “I told you Mitch was full of shit.”
“Thank you, Adrian, for the testimonial.” She holstered her pistol. “Guys, don’t worry—we’ll deal about Regina.” She looked at Regina. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”
The girl trembled and nodded.
“As for him—” Kellen gestured at Mr. Dyed Hair and his bloody leg “—I don’t care if you shoot him and drop him off the cliff. But clean up the mess afterward.”
The pimp gave a howl of objection.
Like she cared. “Guys, when you can, I need help at the resort.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we handle him.” Temo waved his gun at the pimp. “Shouldn’t take too long.”
Adrian focused on Kellen. “What kind of problems are we talking, Captain?”
She said, “Be prepared for ambush, deadly force, sabotage. Trust no one.”
“Captain, you might put a cap on.” Adrian removed his and tossed it to her.
She pulled it on, nodded at Temo’s sister, whirled and ran for her ATV.
Behind her, someone slammed the door closed.
She liked to think they were going to kill the pimp. Probably not, but a guy who preyed on desperate women and little girls would be no loss to the world.
And talk about no loss to the world… Mitch Nyugen and his boss, the Librarian, Nils Brooks. From the start, she had been suspicious of Nils: his art degree, his CIA connections, the re-formation of the MFAA. Yet she’d done her research, knowing full well he could have the capacity to change internet reality.
Nils Brooks was the leader who had organized the destruction of world archaeology sites for profit. Wealthy collectors paid him to destroy history and sell it to them. He made money. He killed his people to assure their cooperation. He cut off their hands. She had believed that Nils Brooks had been hurt helping Mr. Gilfilen. What a joke. He’d been hurt attacking Mr. Gilfilen. Nils Brooks was the Librarian.
As she drove toward the resort, she called the security center.
The connection crackled and failed.
She didn’t believe this was a natural outage. Not tonight. Rain fell, but this wasn’t a big storm; this wasn’t numbing cold, blasting wind or sleet. This was far too convenient. Someone had sabotaged the resort’s communications network. The CB radio in Annie’s office would work to call in outside help—but she didn’t have time to wait.
As she drove, she planned her rescue of Carson Lennex. She needed help. She needed someone at her back, so she veered for the maintenance garage. She used her pass card to open the door and stuck her head in. Lights were on, but dim. So the electricity was out and everything was running on generator. One of the resort’s working pickup trucks, a Ford F-250 crew cab, sat over the hydraulic lift, waiting to be raised and its oil changed. From the back of the shop, she heard the clink of tools. “Birdie!” she called. “Grab your pistol and your Kevlar vest. I need your help!”
No answer.
She frowned and stepped inside. “Birdie?”
Someone gave a muffled scream. A warning.
Kellen dived to the floor, aiming for the pickup, skidding along the concrete.
A bullet slammed into the door where she’d been standing. She’d walked into an ambush.
She low-crawled to the pickup and took cover under it.
Silence.
Where was Birdie? That was her scream, Kellen knew.
Who was shooting?
Who was capable of disabling the communications network?
The same guy who had fixed the last outage. Mitch. Mitch was working for the Librarian.
She unsnapped her side holster, click-released the safety on her pistol, slid it back in place.
What had he done to Birdie? She was hurt, maybe dying. She needed help, and only Kellen could get it for her.
“Mitch, this is stupid.” Kellen spoke calmly, persuasively, while with all her stealth, she slid along the floor, keeping well under the protection of the vehicle, moving from her current position to one closer to the back of the shop, trying to figure out a strategy. A tool chest stood there, great for de
fensive positioning. Lots of metal, lots of tools inside. On wheels, but nobody ever moved a filled tool chest easily. “This can’t end well for you.”
From the back wall, she heard Mitch’s soft laugh. “No, Captain, it can’t end well for you. I’ve got orders to eliminate you. You know too much. You see too much.” Reflectively, he added, “I did say you would be a problem.”
He walked forward, his boots smacking the concrete and echoing around the steel-frame structure. She knew without looking he had his firearm out, grasped in both hands, pointed at the pickup. She also knew where he was headed—for the hydraulic lift controls. All he had to do was raise that vehicle and she would be revealed. The man was a warrior, trained by the US Army; a Kevlar vest wasn’t going to save her.
But she was a warrior, too, trained by the same fighting force, and she wouldn’t die here with so much undone, so much of her past life to reveal and so much of her future to live. Beneath her, metal plates covered the old, no-longer-in-use grease pit. Painstakingly, she dragged one aside, careful to make only the barest of noises.
He heard, of course. She’d meant him to. “Climbing in there’s not going to save you.” He sounded so smugly superior. “What are you thinking, Captain?”
She was thinking that for one vital second after he activated the lift and started lifting the vehicle, he’d be looking down at the pit instead of up at the truck. She reached up into the body of the pickup and slid her right elbow around the drive train. She braced both feet on the rear axel and pulled herself up flat against the undercarriage.
He found the controls.
With a high metallic moan, the lift started up, slowly, dragging power from the generator.
Two feet.
With her left hand, she fumbled for her pistol. She was a good shot—with her right hand. But the pickup faced into the garage and the controls were on the right wall. No choice.
Four feet.
She would do what she had to do. Shoot with her left hand. Make each shot count. She held herself up against the vehicle and perfectly still. She saw Mitch’s feet, legs, waist. He walked toward the grease pit, his pistol and his gaze pointed down. Like her, he would be wearing a Kevlar vest. So—his belly and his head: her targets. She swung her weight onto her right elbow. Aimed at his abdomen.
Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade Book 1) Page 24