Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord

by Alex Archer

  “They admitted to knowing some details of the crime, but were never convicted. In fact, they didn’t even receive a court date. Lacking evidence.” She read the notes.

  Annja leaned back against the padded headboard, and dragged the laptop up onto her thighs. She glanced out the window.

  “Of course there was no evidence, because it had been dumped in the canal. I’m surprised they didn’t authorize dredging the canal.”

  Her eyes scanned the report and saw that the canal where Evan Merrick admitted the case had been dumped by his companion was listed as the Rio di San Vio. A canal positioned completely opposite in the city from the Fondamenta della Sensa, where they had recovered the attaché. It couldn’t have drifted from the southern edge of the city to the north. There were too many canals, too many twists and turns, and the tides didn’t move that way.

  “He gave them false information.”

  So how had Scout Roberts known to look in the Fondamenta della Sensa? Weird.

  She still found it hard to believe both thieves had been let off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. No fingerprints had been found at the scene of the crime, so...

  Thinking back to that first day she had met Scout—or whoever he was—Annja recalled his tale of a lovers’ quarrel in the gondola floating down the canal. The woman had dumped the attaché case while her lover’s attention had been distracted.

  So that must have been the big breakup. And in an attempt to get back at the man who had scorned her, had the woman purposely dropped him in hot water by partly confessing to the crime? She had to have known going in that they couldn’t charge her with the theft without evidence. But a confession should have been sufficient.

  The details of Lisa Phelps’s interrogation were not included. Someone on the inside had to have been helping the thieves. A dirty lawyer? Or judge?

  Annja suddenly didn’t care about the woman. There were only two people who knew the exact canal where the attaché case had been dumped overboard—Lisa Phelps and... “Evan Merrick.”

  Chapter 21

  True to his word, the man who claimed to be Scout Roberts sat waiting for Annja. A steaming coffee cup awaited her and she sat down before it and had a sip. Nice and dark. She didn’t want to get too cozy and start trusting the guy again. And she kept one eye on her surroundings as she sat there. He could have backup, and she wasn’t about to be tricked by this one again.

  “I also ordered some cookies,” he offered.

  “Cookies will not erase the double-crossing you’ve done, Merrick.”

  “Ah?” Stretching out his legs beneath the table and leaning back in an open come-at-me posture, he winked at her. “Well, look at you. Took you long enough to figure that one out, Creed.”

  “Like I said before, I didn’t have the police report going into this.”

  “Roux just sent it to you now? Are you really his employee or maybe something more like his errand girl?”

  “You should stop trying to bait me, Merrick. It won’t work.”

  The waitress appeared and set down a plate of iced cookies. Evan ate one in a single bite. “Sweet.”

  “Clever,” Annja said, “the way you orchestrated the dive and your ultimate escape with the cross.”

  “After you arrived, my plans required some last-minute changes. I impressed even myself with my quick thinking.”

  “Glad to be a problem. So why involve Roux? Why not just dive for the case yourself?”

  “Creed. If I could afford a boat and the equipment, I would have gone down weeks after losing that stupid case. But Lisa, my vindictive ex-partner—”

  “And lover?”

  “She expected me to propose to her that evening, Annja. I thought we were going to have a nice meal, hug, then take a break from each other for a few weeks like our normal routine. Marriage? I did not see that one coming.”

  Annja shook her head, noting the man’s genuine dismay.

  “She took everything from me,” Evan explained with clear disbelief. “I called ahead to New York. My good buddy who lives down the hallway in our high-rise reported she—or someone she had hired—had cleaned out the apartment in less than two hours. The walls were bare, and the safe door was hanging open. Light fixtures were even missing the bulbs. Can you believe that? I was incarcerated wearing tennis shoes. That is so not my style, Creed.”

  “I’m having trouble shedding a single sympathetic tear.”

  “You women are all the same.”

  From behind another sip of coffee, Annja lifted a brow. She did not like being cobbled into the category of “you women.” But it wasn’t worth the argument.

  “Totally erasing herself from your life. That’s a gutsy female. And she had every right to do so.”

  “Yeah? She had no right to erase me. She emptied all our accounts.”

  “You didn’t have separate bank accounts?”

  “We did. But one of the reasons we worked so well together was that she was the fingers—” he waggled his fingers, then twisted them around as if manipulating a safe dial “—and I was the logistics and getaway man. But as well, Lisa was the computer geek. Could crack a digital code in seconds. Bank accounts? No problem.”

  “Sounds like she was doing most of the work.”

  “Not fair, Creed.”

  “Which is why you confessed, to get back at her, which resulted in her arrest in Milan.”

  “I had to go for it, Creed. I knew they didn’t have any evidence. I made a plea bargain and walked out of the police station that day.”

  Annja slid back against the wicker chair and sighed. “Listen, I’m an archaeologist. I’m not an expert in personal relationships. Or theft.”

  “Here I thought you wanted the whole story?”

  “I guess I do. How did you get the attaché case open if she was the digital-code cracker?”

  “I knew that code all along. I mean, it was my case. But I couldn’t have used it with you watching. Right?”

  “Right. So what do you think you know that I don’t know?” she asked. “And will you tell me why you have so much information on this music box? I know Roux didn’t give you details on how it works. And you have no reason to know of its existence.”

  “Roux didn’t tell me anything.” He sat back now, crossing an ankle over his knee and gripping his calf. “But then, do you think Roux understands how it works? Maybe the old man’s slipping. Did you ever consider that?”

  He wasn’t making sense. Perhaps his intention had been to lure her into the open and waste her time while— “If you’ve sent men to my hotel room to—”

  “I haven’t. I’ve no reason to. You’re not the one with all the clout around here. You’re just the babysitter.” A protest stung her tongue, but he continued, “I know things, Creed. Things that you don’t, but certainly that Roux does.”

  The only way Scout—Evan—could know about the music box was if Roux or Garin had told him, yet she hadn’t seen Garin, so had no proof Evan was even working with him.

  No, he’d mentioned Garin’s name. Garin must have given up the details or else Merrick was bluffing, trying to get information out of her.

  “You have the notebook,” she suddenly guessed. The one in which Roux presumed Leonardo da Vinci had drawn sketches and schematics for the time-shifting music box. Perhaps it also detailed the Lorraine cross and its use in relation to the box.

  “I do. The notebook is sort of a partner to the Lorraine cross.”

  “You found it in the case we saved from the canal? Unless...”

  She sipped the coffee, letting her mind sort the timeline of events since she’d met him. He sat there with that annoying little smirk on his face waiting for her to work things out. The guy was not an archaeologist. What he was, was a confessed thief. And thieves could put their hands on all sorts of things others weren’t even aware existed.

  “You’ve had the notebook all along,” she decided. “Before diving for the cross.”

  Evan whistled in ap
preciation. “You are not stupid, Annja Creed.”

  “Why wasn’t it in the case along with the cross?”

  “Because it wasn’t in the museum. The only reason I pinched the Lorraine cross was because I’d been led there by studying the notebook. The notebook was a bonus item from a previous heist a few years ago. Can’t give you details, naturally.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Annja that the notebook would be separate from the cross, but of course, the museum would have listed the missing notebook in the police report. And surely anyone who took a moment to glance through the notebook would have matched the cross to any drawings that may have been done of it.

  “So the notebook was...in a library? A bookstore? Your mother’s attic?”

  “Found it in a dusty old tin box in the back of a safe,” Evan said. “The museum, or possibly bank—or it might have even been a dusty old castle—hadn’t any idea what they owned. It was never reported missing. I knew what it was immediately. Good old Leonardo. That guy was amazing, you know that?”

  “Are there drawings of the Lorraine cross and the music box in the notebook?”

  “Yes, and very detailed. Everything a guy needs to know to operate the music box is found within the pages of that notebook. Er, mostly. I’m still a little iffy on locations and such. I even took a trip to the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana right here in Milan. Did it as soon as I arrived yesterday.”

  “What’s in that museum of interest to you?”

  “Da Vinci’s Portrait of a Musician.”

  Annja was familiar with the portrait. It was supposed to be the only instance Leonardo had depicted a male in his portraiture. The painting featured a gentleman in black and brown robes with a red cap holding a piece of sheet music. His focus was not on the music, but off in the distance. Often considered one of his least important works—since it seemed it was semi-unfinished—some even debated whether or not it was truly da Vinci’s.

  “Part of the musical score has been cut off at the bottom of the painting,” Evan said, “but I’m pretty sure there’s a tritone in there somewhere. I’m no musician. But don’t you think it makes sense? The devil’s chord having been banned?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Come on, how clever was that to maybe add the musical score when the notes were banned?”

  “Clever? I don’t see how.”

  “It’s the map to operating the device, Creed.”

  “But if there’s a key, what need have you for a map?”

  Evan scoffed and grabbed another cookie.

  Annja refused to get distracted by Evan’s twisted theories. “You’re diverting the attention from your criminal dealings,” she said. “What’s to stop me from notifying the authorities right now and having them arrest you?”

  “What proof have you besides a confession no one else has heard?” Evan grabbed another cookie and popped it into his mouth.

  “Do you have the Lorraine cross?” she asked. “The notebook? You said Garin Braden had the cross.”

  He grinned, but only chewed the cookie.

  “Nothing you’ve said to me has been true. You haven’t handed the cross over to Garin. And you don’t intend to.”

  “Of course not. You’re good, Creed. What I’d like to know is more information about Roux, because you know what?”

  “Dazzle me.”

  “Roux is proof that the time-shifting device works.”

  “Absurd—”

  Evan’s gaze darted to something behind her. He stood and grabbed a handful of cookies. “Suspicious characters at the side door. Could be Braden’s bullies. I’m out of here. Nice talking to you, Creed. See you in Rouen.”

  He took a step, and Annja reached to grab his wrist. He’d done this disappearing act on her once too often. She would not let it happen again. Evan shook off her grasp.

  Annja was prevented from going after him by a hand slamming down on her shoulder.

  Chapter 22

  “Let’s take a walk outside,” a gruff voice said with as little joy as Annja had ever heard.

  Evan had already rushed out the back door. Not wanting to cause a scene in the crowded bistro, Annja stood. “Sure. Feel like a little exercise anyway.”

  She turned and aimed for the restaurant’s main exit. The man behind was twice her size, and the man in front of her was more slender but a head taller. The slender guy was dressed in leather motorcycle pants and a T-shirt that did not reveal any hidden weapons stashed at his waistband, for instance. He flexed his fingers into a fist.

  Outside, the slender guy turned immediately right, down an alleyway that was about four feet wide and had three-story buildings on both sides. Not optimal for swinging punches or getting her back clear so she could keep both men in sight. But she would make do.

  Where had Evan gone? Frustrated that he had a knack for continually giving her the slip, Annja mentally prepared herself.

  The fist she didn’t want to meet swung around toward her. Annja ducked and reached up to grab the larger guy by his forearm. Dropping into a forward roll, she managed to tug him off his feet and slam him against the other man. The impact surprised them both.

  Now she had her back clear. The men staggered to their feet, and the larger one again took the initiative and reached inside his jacket pocket. Annja called the sword to hand from the otherwhere. It fit with a smart landing against her palm. A knowing warmth surged through her arm and made her stand taller. Yet she didn’t have the freedom to swing in a wide arc, so would have to compensate with smaller stabs and defend herself.

  “He said she might have a sword,” the tall one said to the other.

  Not many people on this planet would be able to warn their henchmen that she wielded a sword.

  “Braden,” Annja suggested. “Yes?”

  “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, lady.”

  “So I’m a lady, eh? If this is the way you treat ladies, your father needs to be admonished.”

  “Don’t bring my dad into this,” the thin one spat.

  Annja was losing her patience with these guys and so ran toward both men. She leaped sideways, pushing off the wall to her left, and swung down hard to knock the first guy off-balance. He yelped and dropped a knife he had drawn from the inside of his jacket.

  Annja landed and quickly slashed the other man’s thigh. Shoving the tip in deep, she ripped the seam of his pants open and, behind that, scored his skin in a crimson slice. He fell to his knees, yowling.

  His partner reacted, scrambling for the knife. He speared it toward Annja. She caught the blade against her sword hilt and dashed it away with a flick of her wrist.

  Stepping up onto the fallen man’s shoulder for added height, Annja jumped and spun in the air, striking the sword across the man’s neck as he lunged again for the knife. Midair, blood spattered her gray T-shirt.

  She hit the ground perfectly balanced and assessed the damage. Both men were alive and would remain so with the proper emergency medical care.

  “That’s going to leave a mark,” she noted of the thigh wound she’d left on one of the goons.

  Not wanting to stay for a chat, she ran down the alleyway. Releasing the sword to the otherwhere, she cursed Garin Braden’s need to exercise his muscle from a distance.

  If the man had an argument with her, she preferred he address her face-to-face. Or had it been Evan that Garin was ultimately after? She hadn’t seen if Evan had gotten away without luring a henchmen after him.

  Evan...Garin... Who was working with whom?

  * * *

  BACK AT THE HOTEL ROOM, Annja assessed her injuries. Minimal. A few scratches to her arms and wrists, and another bruise on her shoulder—it was beginning to look like an interesting tattoo with the green-and-purple tinting.

  She gathered up the laptop and stuffed her dirty clothes into the backpack.

  She rang up Roux but he wasn’t answering, as usual. Where had he gone? Had the thugs following him tracked him down yet again? For 1.2 million dollars?
Most certainly that tail would be difficult to shake.

  “Supposedly, he can handle himself,” she muttered and tucked her cell phone into a pocket as she exited the room.

  She didn’t check out of the hotel, but rather decided to keep her room as backup should she find herself staying in the city one more night.

  She guessed Evan’s choice of hotel after scanning the offerings online. The place was centrally located, so easy to get to. At the reception desk she asked the angelic-faced blonde to see Evan Merrick, not expecting that he’d actually used that name. Getting a headshake and a reply that no one under that name was registered, Annja nodded. She made up some story about being Evan’s fiancée and missing a train connection, describing him as the sexy American with the pulsating blue eyes. Yeah, pulsating eyes, she repeated. It killed her to say that, but the receptionist nodded in kind. She’d seen him and knew he was staying at the hotel. But she refused to give Annja his room number.

  Annja sighed. “I understand. You might lose your job. Oh, is there a bathroom here in the lobby I can use?”

  The receptionist pointed it out and watched Annja walk across the marble floor and enter the unisex bathroom. The space was small, offering only two stalls and one sink. She wasted as much time as she could thinking of a means of escape that would get her past the blonde at reception. Nothing useful came to mind.

  When a handsome, mature man walked in, she nodded and made a show of washing her hands. He did his business, and she quickly grabbed a paper towel and wiped at her shoe to buy her some more time.

  “New,” she said to him as he stood at the sink washing his hands. When he left, she peeked out after him. The man had been just handsome enough...

  Yep, the receptionist’s head whipped around, following the man with tufts of gray above his ears. He wore the Armani suit and leather shoes like a fashion model. The distraction allowed Annja to slip along the wall behind a palm frond and around the corner to the elevator bay. Fortunately an elevator was just arriving. She slipped inside and pressed the button for the second floor. A good thief would choose a lower floor, she mused, for an easy and fast escape. Though a higher floor would allow for a better vantage point of the surroundings. but he was the getaway man, so there you go.