Damon and Sam frowned at the same time. It was Damon who spoke first.
“That wasn’t in the plan. I don’t think you should go alone, considering the circumstances.”
“I texted Thaddeus earlier. He’s hunting Westrich down. I should know which mansion Westrich is currently residing at before takeoff. And don’t worry, I can handle myself. If he’s at the Pennsylvania location, then I know a few back ways onto the property,” Cole said.
“Why isn’t Madalina down here saying good-bye?” Samuel asked. Sam was sometimes as astute as Thaddeus. “She’s not going to take your leaving well, is she?”
“Does she even know about this?” Damon tacked on, eyes narrowing with suspicion. He glanced down at the duffel bag in Cole’s hands as if just now seeing it.
“She doesn’t know, and I suppose she won’t be happy. But someone has to stay here and look for the damned dragon, another note, or something. She needs you both here more than I need you with me.” Cole opened the back door, ready to be on the road. Ready to get this over with. “She’s levelheaded. Tell her this was necessary and that I didn’t want to disturb her sleep.”
Damon inclined his head. “So be it. Be careful.”
“I will. I’ll text you later. Sam, follow me out and bring the second rental car up to the house. That way if you need a quick getaway, you won’t have to run all the way down to the street.” Cole met each of his brother’s eyes and exited into the night, with Samuel on his heels.
Once I cut the head off the snake, Cole thought to himself, the rest of the threat should cease to exist.
Brandon didn’t quite reach the hall, exactly, before a foot came flying toward his face. The sharp kick glanced off his shoulder instead of his jaw, thanks to his quick reflexes. He tipped his head aside, wrapped his arm around the man’s shin, and twisted while throwing his weight to the side. The purpose was to throw off the guard’s balance—which worked splendidly—and to give Brandon more leverage to make another fast strike.
Fighter’s intuition told Brandon there was another body to his left, and he managed to block a punch with his forearm. It compromised his own balance, which the guard on the right took advantage of. In the midst of kicks and punches, the agent kicked straight out after regaining his center, landing a blow right on Brandon’s chest.
These damned skinny martial artists, Brandon fumed to himself as he toppled to the ground. A boot landed on his diaphragm and applied intense pressure, forcing him to go still.
The agent, different from the two that he’d fought with, held up a video camera with a subtle smile of triumph.
“There is more than one way to get what we want. I can manipulate this to look more gruesome than it is. More dire. This wasn’t quite the message I wanted to send to your brother, but it will have to do.” The agent spat Chinese at his companions, removed his boot, and stalked down the hallway.
Roughly yanked to his feet, Brandon glared at the retreating agent’s back. “Next time maybe you’ll have the balls to take me on yourself.”
The agent said nothing. He disappeared through a door at the end of the corridor.
Forced into a new room across the hall from the old one, Brandon pulled his elbows from the guard’s grip and glared at the two over his shoulder just before the door closed. Once a barrier was between him and the guards, Brandon got to work.
His plan had worked beautifully.
The new room he’d been thrust into looked to be set up for conferences, with one large table in the center surrounded by no fewer than twelve chairs. A blackboard decorated one wall, a projection screen another. The lone bathroom sat through a doorway to the right.
If he was correct, this room hadn’t been made ready for a hostage beforehand. Which meant no cameras, no video feed to mark his every move. He suspected this was a temporary arrangement until the agents could “prepare” another office to put him into, a fact he’d counted on when bashing out of his former digs. This room was windowless, with just one door leading in. The only way out, in his circumstance, was up. The idea to traverse the building through the overhead crawl space had come to him in the other office, but he couldn’t escape from that room with the video feed alerting the guards to his plan. Likewise, if he’d yanked the security camera out of its hiding place, the agents would have been on him in a second. The best way had been to force the guards to put him in another room, one without a surveillance system in place.
Entering the two-stall bathroom, he closed the door, locked it, and climbed nimbly onto the pedestal-style porcelain sink. Stretching his body, he reached up to loosen a white ceiling tile and slid it aside. As he’d known there would be, a crawl space led away from the open hole in several directions. “Crawl space” was a misnomer; there was enough room for a man to stand upright, but bent at the waist. Electricians and other technicians ran their cables and assorted wires through this area, and the builders had thoughtfully converted the crawl space into a much roomier area.
Grasping the edges, he jumped straight up, using the muscles in his arms to propel him halfway through the hole. He had to shimmy the rest of the way, shifting his hips to the side so he could get a foot on the metal infrastructure. The metal ran in a grid around the tiles, thick and sturdy enough to support his weight. It was dark up here but not completely black, and only slightly dusty, giving him the impression that the building was still new.
Setting the tile carefully back into place, he glanced ahead and behind, marking his position to the room below and the hallway beyond. Using the metal supports as footholds so he didn’t crash through the tiles, he followed the crawl space forward, then left, until he came to a solid steel plank that ran the length of the hall, interrupted only by ducts for air-conditioning and heating.
Circumventing those panels he hastened toward what he perceived to be the edge of the building. He couldn’t be sure if it was the front, back, or side.
Choosing a tiled section near the wall, he paused to listen for people in the room below. He could be hovering over conference rooms, private offices, another bathroom, or anything else.
Nothing but silence greeted him.
Lifting the corner of the tile, he peered down into the space. Lit by several overhead lights, it looked to be a private office for someone of importance. He knew by the carved mahogany desk, matching bookcases, and expensive chairs. The walls in this room were decorated with crown molding, oil paintings, and a large map of the world, with red pins stuck in random countries. No one sat at the desk or paced before the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Brandon replaced the tile and went to a spot directly above the big desk. Moving another tile, he slithered through the opening until he was hanging by his arms. Dropping onto the desk, he jumped off and went to the door. There was nothing he could do about replacing the tile, nor did he bother with the two faint footprints that now decorated the top of the desk. Putting his ear to the door, he listened for voices. What sounds he could make out seemed distant, as if the employees were in offices at the other end of the building.
At this late hour, there probably weren’t as many people as there would be later, during the height of the workday.
Opening the door a crack, he peered into the hall. Not a hall, he discovered, but a foyer-type space, with luxurious couches and end tables and pretty lamps. Two halls led off in different directions, and an elevator sat to the right.
Bingo.
Crossing the foyer he entered the elevator and pressed 1 for the ground floor.
Brushing a little dust off of his shirt, he watched the illuminated numbers tick downward, bringing him ever closer to freedom. Raking his hands through his hair to put the strands into some kind of order, he prepared himself for what he expected to find when the doors opened: the bottom floor, busy with pedestrians and employees, and possibly security standing by an information desk.
The elevator door slid open. Ahead, through
a short, broad hall, that was exactly the sight that greeted him. But when he stepped out, he discovered he was in a juncture of hallways. One led to the right, with a door marked GARAGE. Clearly this was a somewhat private entrance for whoever occupied the office space above. Brandon, thankful for a stroke of good fortune, pushed into the covered garage. Relieved to bypass the front entrance, where there were sure to be security guards and video cameras, Brandon located the exit and broke into a run. He dodged parked cars, aiming for the dark night in which he could get lost and make good his escape.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sitting up in bed, Madalina rubbed her eyes and peered through the gloom. The shape of strange furniture, in a strange room, greeted her blurry vision. It took her only a few seconds after that to remember where she was and why she was here.
Brazil.
Gunshots in the market.
Dead men.
Walcot’s house—no, her house—overlooking the beach.
She wasn’t surprised that the attack at the market and the loss of life were the more prominent of her immediate memories. Her mind brought forth the trauma first, and left everything else (the dragons, the letters) to drift in after.
Weak streaks of moonlight filtered in through the window to her left; otherwise, all the lights had been turned off in the master bedroom.
She had memories of a storm, too, of vicious lightning and thunder and relentless rain. Except she heard no downpour, heard no thunder. And the faint beams of moonlight assured her there were few, if any, clouds in the sky.
She must have been dreaming.
Cole was not in bed beside her or sitting in any of the wingback chairs, which meant he was still probably searching for the dragons. Sliding to her feet, she visited the master bathroom to take care of business; then, after washing and drying her hands, she went to look for Cole. He’d promised to wake her after an hour or two, but it felt like a lot more time had gone by than that.
“Cole?” she called, standing just outside the door to the bedroom. He could be in any one of the other bedrooms up here on the second floor.
She got no answer.
“Cole?” Raising her voice she walked to the stairs and looked past the banister to the bottom level. She could have sworn she’d told Cole to wake her before going down.
A shadow appeared at the base of the stairs, having come around the corner from the kitchen. “Madalina, hello. I’m Damon, and this is my brother Samuel. We’re Cole’s brothers.”
Madalina paused halfway down the staircase. At the first flicker of shadow, her heart had stalled in her chest. The painful restart—thumpthump—felt like a hammer banging against her ribs. She thought, for the briefest moment, that the attackers had gotten inside and had overwhelmed Cole. When Damon’s words registered, the panic eased. Just a little. She’d never met these two brothers and couldn’t see enough detail to decide if they bore a resemblance to their sibling.
“Well . . . hello,” she said hesitantly. Caught between propriety and wanting to ask for Cole, she added, “It’s nice to meet you.” Propriety won out, at least in the beginning. “Where’s Cole?”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” Damon said.
“Yes, pleasure, Madalina,” echoed Samuel.
“Why don’t you come on down? We can explain over coffee or something. We found some instant in the cupboard.” Damon gestured toward the kitchen.
Gut instinct told Madalina that she wouldn’t like the explanation. She descended, coming abreast of the brothers. One thing was clear: both brothers were quite a bit taller than she was, especially the one to her right. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought it was Cole. In the kitchen the brother to the left, Samuel, stepped forward to snap on a light beneath the microwave. Although it wasn’t a great amount of illumination, it afforded Madalina her first real glimpse of Cole’s siblings.
Damon looked shockingly similar to Cole. Same dark hair, green eyes, and muscular build. He wore his hair shorter in the back and longer in the front, however, and his features were a little more rugged. Samuel looked nothing like Cole whatsoever, with his lighter brown hair, slim face, and subdued mannerisms. Samuel was less crisp, less aggressive-looking.
“So, where is he?” she asked again as Damon made her a cup of coffee. She noted the efficiency with which Damon worked, so reminiscent of Cole. For a long moment, Damon did not reply.
“Cole had to leave. He’s going straight to the source, right to Westrich, to take care of the situation.” Damon paused, then casually asked, “You take anything in your coffee? There’s no cream, but there’s sugar.”
Madalina felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Cole was gone? He’d left without even saying good-bye or telling her of his plans? “You mean he’s . . . gone? As in, not in the house, not in Brazil?”
Damon pushed the coffee cup along the counter and met her eyes. “That’s what I mean. He didn’t want to wake you, said you needed to rest and recover.”
She was so stunned that all she could do for the following three minutes was stare at Damon. Thoughts and emotions swirled around her head in tornadic chaos. Finally she sorted through the jumbled mess until she could peel free a single comment. “Did he even bother to stop and question whether I’d agree to be left behind?”
“I’m sure he did. Cole doesn’t make decisions lightly. If it helps any, he’s pretty good at taking care of himself, and he knows enough about Westrich to give himself the upper hand in this situation,” Damon said.
Madalina couldn’t deny that Cole was adept at taking care of himself. He’d fought off assailants single-handedly and got her out of the little store before the shooters could get inside and do more damage. He hadn’t seen the one attack coming, where he’d been hit on the back of the head, or she suspected he would have taken out those men, too. She said, “You’re right; he is capable. Did he say when he thought he would be back and what we’re supposed to do in the meantime?”
“He didn’t give an estimate. However long it takes him to ‘convince’ Westrich to call off the dogs. In the meantime we search for the object,” Damon replied.
“And what if Westrich refuses?” she asked, not surprised to hear Damon refer to the dragon as the “object.” The brothers all seemed closer than close and would have shared information like that. She was annoyed enough at the moment to just call the damned thing what it was. A stone dragon.
“Cole will work it out. Promise.” Damon pushed away from the counter. “Sam, you keep watch for a while. Madalina and I are going to start searching again.”
Sam parted after a nod to Madalina.
Picking up the cup, she took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. The bitter taste didn’t deter her from downing half the mug before dumping the rest in the sink. “All right. Let’s pick up where Cole and I left off earlier.”
Damon extended his arm in gentlemanly fashion. “After you.”
Schooling her features, Madalina preceded Damon out of the kitchen. The last thing she wanted to do was look for the dragon when all she could think about was whether Cole had known before she’d fallen asleep that he would be departing Brazil. Even if he had decided after she’d gone under, he should have woken her to explain. To give her the opportunity to say her piece. Or at least to say good-bye. Unhappy at the turn of events, she put her game face on, determined not to let Cole’s brothers know how upset she was at being left behind.
Madalina slumped against a wall in the basement and took a moment to rest. She and Damon and Samuel had turned the house upside down, searching every possible place the dragon might be. The only thing they hadn’t done was slash mattresses and bash in walls. Madalina refused to rip the home to shreds, sure that her grandfather wouldn’t have wanted the home ruined to that degree just to hide the artifact.
Damon and Samuel had been good companions, checking in on her often but not crowd
ing her to the point of suffocation. They were efficient and thorough and needed no guidance about where or how in-depth to search. Sam had departed at one point to get some food from a local market; there wasn’t much in the cupboards or the fridge. He’d brought back just enough for a few simple meals: eggs, bread, lunch meat, mayo, and bananas. They ate together during short breaks, sitting around the kitchen island with bottles of water at their elbow. Madalina learned through bits of conversation that neither Damon nor Samuel were married or in a serious relationship. Madalina had to wonder if the affliction affected every man in the West family. Cole had avoided relationships like the plague before he’d met her, and it appeared that at least two other brothers were following in his footsteps. She didn’t know them well enough to pry too deeply into their backgrounds or to ask if Brandon and Thaddeus were also single.
Now, sometime later, after exhausting every inch of the basement, she was at a loss as to what to do. She hadn’t found another note from her grandfather here, either, which stumped her more than anything. If the dragons were missing, that was one thing—but where was the next letter?
Taking the phone from her pocket, she sought the e-mail from Walcot that contained the original address of the house. Scanning the contents, she looked for some other hidden clue she might have missed. Something within the message itself, not highlighted like the rest. She wouldn’t have known to look for it the first time around, back before she knew this house existed.
“Hear from Cole?” Damon asked as he approached from the staircase.
Madalina didn’t look up from the phone. “Not yet. I’m using what little battery life I have left to check an e-mail my grandfather left me to see if there’s something in here I missed.”
“Finding anything?”
“Not yet.” She appreciated that Damon didn’t crowd her space. He stopped a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his dark pants.
“Mind if I take a look?”
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