by RJ Blain
Or, as Anderson had so aptly put, the really bad news.
I took in their unhappy, traumatized expressions, the rumpled state of their clothes, and the presence of several boxes of tissues hanging in limp fingers. Dread tightened my throat. My fear roused, but then died along with my hope.
I took in each face in turn. Amelia I recognized in a single glance. So many years of serving on the bench and leading Smith & Sons hadn’t done her any favors. Wrinkles furrowed deep grooves around her eyes. Age left her bent over a cane. Our eyes met.
“She didn’t make it, did she?” I couldn’t force my voice above a whisper.
The old woman’s head dipped down, her gaze settling on the floor. “She didn’t,” Amelia confirmed.
All of them were good people, and good people were shaken by death, especially when it happened next door to their office. And I guess that’s why they had all come—because they were the type of people who cared for someone right away, even if they hadn’t known them long.
I glanced out the window at the stubborn Georgian trees on the fringe of changing their leaves and spat a curse. Autumn could go to hell. I turned back, jerking my head in a nod. Experience had taught me well enough to acknowledge the inevitable truth. It didn’t make me feel any better, but if my simple, helpless acknowledgment eased their nervousness, it was the least I could do.
It was the only thing I could do. “What happened?” I whispered.
“I’ll tell it.” I recognized Anderson’s voice. I turned to him. Brown hair framed a strong face, bringing out the chocolate brown of his eyes. Like the rest of the board members, he cut a clean figure in his suit, without so much as an extra ounce of fat on him. “Amelia heard a ruckus where the secretaries work. Samantha had collapsed. We think she had a heart attack. Amelia did CPR until the ambulance arrived, but…”
“But CPR has a very low chance of success,” I finished for him, nodding my acceptance. Amelia blew her nose in the futile effort of hiding her tears. CPR was alway a risky endeavor at best, with a less than five percent chance of success in the worst of circumstances, and less than forty percent change in the best of circumstances.
A heart attack at the Marrodin offices didn’t classify as a best-case situation.
Even if I had been there, I doubted my werewolf strength and CPR training would’ve changed the outcome.
“Right,” Anderson replied.
“When did it happen?”
“My turn,” Amelia said, lifting her head with all of the pride and confidence of a Supreme Court judge. “The police officer and young man who showed up to the board meeting a few days ago came back to talk to Samantha. According to Elliot’s secretary, they were arguing over one of the files. The two men left, quite annoyed when they didn’t have their way. Samantha collapsed right after.”
“She seemed fine this morning. She wasn’t a frail lady,” one of the women chimed in. It took me a moment to recognize Crystal Lockhart’s voice. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest CEO on the board, but one of the smartest, holding two degrees and several years of practical experience on top of it. “I should have watched her more closely.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Crystal. Heart attacks can happen to anyone.” I couldn’t tell them how much stress Samantha had been under the past few days; all of it was my fault. I drew a deep breath, struggling to ignore my guilt. “Who is the doctor in charge?”
They shook their heads, shrugging their ignorance. I nodded, excused myself, and headed for the admittance desk. The nurse gave me a look from head to toe. “You don’t look sick or injured. Waiting area is over there, ma’am. We’ll call for visitors as soon as we can.”
“I need the name and contact information of the doctor in charge of today’s DOAs,” I ordered, meeting the woman’s blue eyes. My wolf stirred, and I didn’t bother restraining her.
The young nurse looked startled. “Your relation to the patient?”
“Employer and executor of her estate.”
The nurse stared at me, a mixture of shock and sympathy on her face. “My condolences, ma’am.” She wrote something down on a card before handing it to me.
“Is there any chance the doctor is available now?”
The nurse pressed her lips into a thin line, but eyed her phone before shrugging. “It’s possible. One moment, please.” She picked up and dialed. “Is Dr. Engleburg available? Someone wishes to speak with him regarding one of today’s DOAs.”
I waited until the woman hung up the phone. “Fifth floor, ask for Dr. Engleburg at the nurses’ station.”
“Thank you.”
I rejoined the board members, once again taking the time to meet their eyes in turn. “Go home. Give everyone at all affected offices the next three days off, full pay. Offer counseling to anyone who wants it. Someone email me the full HR records of our victims, including what you have on Samantha.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Amelia promised.
My relief was short lived. At least with Amelia handling the HR reports, she’d be discreet and legal. “Thanks.”
Without another word, I headed upstairs. Dr. Engleburg was waiting for me at the nurses’ station.
“Dr. Engleburg?” I asked of the white-coated young man.
“That’s me.” He held out his hand. “You must be here regarding the heart attack victim.”
“Yes. My name is Victoria Hanover. Samantha was my secretary.” I marveled at how neutral my voice was, and that the emotions boiling within me didn’t breach the surface. “I’m also the executor of her estate. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Of course. Come with me.” Dr. Engleburg led me down the hall to an office I suspected had once been a storage room. Files were piled on every available surface, except for a small gap between the end of his desk and his keyboard. “What can I do for you?” he asked after closing the door behind me.
“I’d like to put in a request for a full toxicology report. Three other of my employees have been murdered in a week.”
Both of the man’s bushy eyebrows rose towards his hairline. “You believe her death wasn’t natural. She was an old woman, Ms. Hanover.”
“Samantha was in extremely good health for her age, Doctor. I’d like to eliminate the possibility of murder.” I somehow dredged the will to force a smile. “Of course, I’m willing to issue a very substantial donation to the hospital for a report of all findings.”
“You’re making quite an unusual request.”
“I’m in a position to donate one million to the university for the complete report, turned over to me in a discreet fashion, of course. If she had a hangnail at the time of her death, I want to know. Someone is killing my employees, Dr. Engleburg. If Samantha truly did die of a heart attack, so be it, but I have reason to believe someone murdered her.”
“Why don’t you give me your phone number, Ms. Hanover?”
I pulled out a card, scribbled my name and number on it, along with my email address, and handed it over. “I look forward to your report.”
“The hospital looks forward to your contribution.”
“My anonymous contribution,” I said, forcing another smile.
“Of course. I need to log in some overtime anyway. I’ve a few favors I can call in, too. You’ll have your report as soon as possible.”
I thanked him and left, careful to contain the storm of grief and anger building within me. My wolf wanted to hunt, and I was running out of reasons to keep her caged.
~*~
I didn’t dare fall apart, not even in the empty house I’d purchased for the sake of two children. No one would see or hear me cry, but I couldn’t stop moving forward. Not yet.
Death had claimed Samantha, but it hadn’t dug its skeletal, unwanted fingers into Donnie. So long as the old veteran clung to his life with the stubbornness of a mule, maybe there was something I could do. I dialed his number on my cell, sprawling on the leather sofa I hoped would be easier to clean than cloth.
“South Lake Gun a
nd Pawn,” Donnie’s raspy, trembling voice answered.
I draped an arm over my aching eyes. “My name is Victoria. I’m looking to buy an antique.”
Donnie hesitated. “What sort of antique, Ms. Victoria?”
The code words, selected long ago, after we had made it back to the US from Saigon, stuck in my throat. “It’s a Vietnamese vintage piece from 1975. Do you think you can help me?”
The silence hurt me almost as much as hearing the pain in Donnie’s voice when he answered, “I think I might be able to pull up something like that from the back.” I heard a bit of the familiar steel in my old friend’s voice.
“If you could, I’ll pay quite well. My father went to war, and my mother was never the same after, but I found a serial number in his journal.”
“That’s mighty specific, Victoria. I doubt I can get the exact gun. But, with the serial, I can find one produced from the same line, unless it’s really rare.”
“An old friend told me you could help, but I’m afraid she can’t come to the phone right now.” Confirming Samantha’s death, no matter how obscure the acknowledgment was, made my eyes burn with the tears I didn’t dare shed.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps you can tell me your friend’s name.”
Admitting the truth that it was likely the Inquisition on my tail and severing all future direct contact hurt, but I whispered the words anyway. “She asked me not to.”
I rattled off a series of letters and numbers before giving him Samantha’s old phone number from after the war. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll call you as soon as I find anything for you.”
He wouldn’t, if he played his part of the game right, but I couldn’t say anything. “Thanks.”
I hung up, staring at the blackened screen of my phone. All I wanted to do was crawl into a corner and unleash all of my tears, but I couldn’t. Allison Victoria Mayfield Hanover didn’t cry. She was a stone, worn smooth by the ages, fixed in place, steadfast, and reliable. Friends and family lived and died, but I was doomed to carry on. Crying wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring Samantha back. It wouldn’t give the two children I’d adopted their mother back. Nothing would.
All things eventually died. It just took some longer than others. In my case, it was taking a hell of a lot longer.
My phone’s screen mocked me for a long time before I found the courage to dial Anderson’s number.
“Anderson,” he answered on the first ring.
“Sorry to bother you, Elliot. I need to know about the kids.”
I heard Anderson inhale at my use of his first name. Not all of us needed to suffer, and I hoped the young mother’s two children could begin to heal, even if I broke to pieces while I watched them grow.
“Amelia filed for foster custody on your behalf. It’s already been approved, but…” Anderson cleared his throat. “Considering the circumstances, I wasn’t certain if—”
I interrupted with a growled curse. “Where are they now?”
Anderson gulped. “Baltimore, apparently staying with some distant, elderly aunt who agreed to take them in until foster parents could be found.”
“Text me the address and warn the aunt I’ll be there tomorrow morning to pick them up. Can you get me access to their mother’s house?”
“I can try, but I’m not sure if I can,” Anderson replied. “Out of our jurisdiction at this point. I might be able to get you in long enough to gather the kids’ things.”
“Thanks. Do what you can. Also, when you get back to the office, don’t bother finding me a secretary. I’ll be coming in and doing it myself.”
“Why?” I almost smiled at the surprise in Anderson’s voice.
“I want to have a little chat with Officer Marten and his tagalong myself. Set me up as my own temporary replacement,” I ordered.
“Understood. I’ll see you on Wednesday morning then.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Victoria. Drive safely.”
I hung up, packing an overnight bag. Two kids needed a home. That much I could do. They didn’t deserve to become lost in the system.
They hadn’t deserved losing their mother either, but there was nothing I could do to change that.
Chapter Fourteen
I found a hotel in Arlington, Virginia after bleary-eyed exhaustion stopped me from going any farther. Sleep tried to elude me, but I managed to catch a few hours before waking up a little before dawn, too alert to fall back asleep.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force myself to believe I wasn’t solely responsible for Samantha’s death. If I had fallen into my accuser’s trap, Samantha would still be indebted to Amex, but she’d be alive. I wandered out of the hotel to watch the sun rise over Arlington National Cemetery. Fog rolled around the graves while the wind whispered as though speaking for all of the dead buried in neat rows.
I watched the changing of the guard, pausing to salute the eternal flame before I left.
My phone rang as I finished checking out of my hotel, on the way to my Mustang. “Victoria speaking.”
“I found the gun you were looking for,” Donnie announced.
I almost dropped my phone. My heart tried to pound its way right out of my chest. “Can you bring it to me?”
“I’m afraid it’s located elsewhere, but arrangements can be made.”
“Can you get on the first plane to Baltimore Washington International?” I asked.
“If only I could, Victoria.”
I sighed. Arguing with Donnie was a losing bet, but I tried anyway. “Is money an issue?”
“I’m afraid not, sweetheart. Not this time. I can get your gun to you, but I’m too old to go traversing the country anymore. I’ll send my assistant. You’ll find him as good as I ever was.”
Arching my brows at the not-so-subtle recommendation, I considered the old veteran’s words. “But how will I know him?”
“He’ll find you. Is the picture you sent accurate?”
I smiled despite myself. “I was so much younger then.”
“I’m certain you’re still as beautiful.”
“You’re a smooth talker, Donnie.”
“He’ll be on the first plane out. I’ll call with his arrival time. Don’t be late.”
I snorted. “I’m never late.”
He hung up. It didn’t surprise me he wouldn’t come, not really. We were both too old to play cops, robbers, and spies. He, at least, could say no. I had a killer to catch. Unfortunately, I wasn’t James Bond, and I never would be.
~*~
The row houses on the street where Dorothy Lane lived were falling apart; each and every one of them was a decrepit reminder of how many parts of Baltimore were too rough to be residential, let alone a place for children to grow up. The brick exterior crumbled in several places, with chunks of mortar hanging from the cracks. I eyed the structure warily, wondering if knocking on the door would bring the whole building down.
At a little after nine in the morning, with only one coffee in me, all I could do was hope the kids wouldn’t give me too many problems. I cringed, stepping out of my Mustang.
I didn’t even know their names.
I made it up the stairs and lifted my hand to knock when the door flew open. A wispy-haired woman with wild eyes stared at me.
“You here for those wretched little animals? Take them! Take them before I drown them both!”
Spittle splattered on my cheek. I wiped it away with my gloved hand. “You’re Dorothy Lane?”
The door slammed in my face. The woman shrieked. A few minutes later, she returned, her bony fingers clutching the ears of a boy and girl. Both of them were crying, their faces splotched and their eyes so swollen I was impressed they could open them at all.
I reached down, careful to keep my grip light on their wrists as I took hold of them. As soon as I touched them, the old woman shoved them out of the house and slammed the door. My mouth fell open, s
taring at the weather-warped wood.
The children sobbed so hard they could barely breathe, let alone make any noise. I knelt on the step below them, putting my head lower than them, my throat exposed so they wouldn’t view me as a threat. “Come on, kids. My name’s Victoria.” I kept my voice low and soothing despite my rage. Once again, my wolf and I agreed on something.
We both wanted to rip Dorothy Lane to pieces.
The girl was the younger one, with strawberry blonde hair that had once been in pig tails. One of her ties was gone, leaving her waist-long hair in a tangle. The boy’s brown hair fared no better. Both of their eyes, now that I got a closer look at them, were hazel.
I drew a deep breath.
The scent of wolf forced a sneeze out of me. With wide eyes, I herded them into the car, buckling them into the back seat. Neither spoke or met my gaze, whimpering and whining quietly.
They were asleep before I managed to get the car started.
I drove all of three blocks before I found a place to park, twisting around in my seat to stare at my charges. Their scent strengthened in the enclosed space, and I covered my mouth with both of my hands.
Werewolf puppies. I couldn’t tell if either one of them had changed or were actual wolves, but I could smell their pedigree even with my human nose. It was enough to make my face itch.
Either their mother or father—or both—had been werewolves. I bit my lip, cursing myself for my blindness and stupidity. It shouldn’t have surprised me. It shouldn’t have eluded me for so long. Marrodin had always been a safe haven for those with unusual circumstances, for good people in bad situations.
Werewolves counted. Witches counted, too. I didn’t know how many wolves or witches worked for my company, but they did. Sometimes, when I had gone to branch companies, I caught a whiff of them.
It wasn’t a random string of deaths. It was an Inquisition happening right under my nose.
My eyes burned. The lawyer must’ve been the warning kill, mimicking the hunt of a werewolf. Their mother had been executed. The young cashier’s crucification was the ultimate punishment of a sinner against the church. The Inquisition didn’t believe in forgiveness. Children, like the boy and girl in my car, were sometimes spared.