by Kylie Brant
“Leave that to me.” When the time came there were plenty of ways to get the information in the right hands, no matter how it was arrived at. “Let me know when you have more information on Weale. I’ll see you soon.”
“Jude?”
He heard her voice an instant before he disconnected. “Yes?”
“You’ve got ten more hours. Keep being smart.”
That drew a laugh from him. “I think I’ve got ten more hours in me.” He ended the call and started the car, noticing that down the street the older lady was making a return trip with her dog. He needed to move on or she’d likely contact the police to report a strange vehicle. As he drove by her, however, his thoughts weren’t on the woman.
He was wondering whether Mia would consider his next move smart.
* * * *
Anthony hissed out a breath as one of his sales attendants knocked on his half-open door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davis. But there’s a customer on the floor asking for Eldon, and I haven’t been able to locate him.”
Pursing his lips, he pushed away from the inventory spreadsheet he’d been perusing. “Perhaps I can assist.” Weale couldn’t be found because Anthony had sent him to South Dakota to take care of some shipments. “Is it one of our regulars?” Many of the guests for tomorrow’s party had arrived. The hotel management had informed him earlier that day that it was booked. Although he and Mother always opened the showroom for any interested guests the day after the party, it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to want a sneak peek at the merchandise.
“I don’t recognize him, sir, but perhaps he’s an online client.”
Highly likely. Anthony rose from his desk, smoothing his tie. The bulk of their business took place over the Internet. “I’ll see to him.” He followed the woman out onto the showroom floor and took a moment to study the profile of the man half turned away studying the floor to ceiling glassed-in showcase of antique masks. “Hello.” His voice imbued with genial charm, he approached the stranger. “I’m Anthony Davis. I’m afraid Mr. Weale is not in the office at the moment. Perhaps I can help you.”
The man spoke as he turned to face him. Anthony completely missed his words. The sight of that scarred visage froze his mind.
The bodyguard. He gave himself a mental shake. Or at least the owner of the agency that had provided services for Eleven after she’d slipped away from him. Jude Bishop. He had never known how she’d managed to make her way back home, but she’d been easy enough to keep tabs on for several months after she did. He’d learned the name of the security agency she’d used at the time. When she’d disappeared from DC Anthony had been desperate for information. But even Munson hadn’t been able to break into the Bishop Enterprises’ computer network.
And now the man was here, in his showroom, just days after Eleven had evaded him yet again. Anthony didn’t believe in coincidences.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.”
Bishop gestured toward the case of masks. “Interesting display. Are they for sale?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” His tone was droll. “It’s quite a rare collection, started by my father.” But utilized by Anthony. The thought brought a secret flicker of amusement. “We would, however, be glad to take your name and conduct a search for an item of your specification.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. Moved a few steps to examine a fourteenth century jewel encrusted chalice. “Maybe I’ll talk to Mr. Weale about doing so when he gets back. When do you expect him?”
Making an instant decision, Anthony lied smoothly, “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure. Eldon has taken a few days off to go fishing. He wasn’t clear about when he would return.” Because he’d text the man the moment Bishop left and make sure he didn’t show up until he was given the word.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Bishop’s flat green stare gave away nothing. “Maybe you can help me. If I were to buy this.” Anthony winced as he picked up the chalice carelessly. “Could I get it shipped to my home?”
“Yes, of course.” He reached out and took the item from the other man. Set it back on the shelf. “You could get overnight door-to-door delivery. We see to the shipping arrangements ourselves.”
“What shipping company do you use?”
Unease shot down Anthony’s spine. What was the man up to? Why was he here? “We’re willing to use whatever method the client prefers, as long as it comes with insurance and delivery guarantees. Is there something here that you’re interested in, Mr…?”
With a humorless smile the man said, “Sam Fielding. And I’d want to be certain my purchase arrived in one piece. I’ve heard some unsavory things about outfits like yours using mail drop services to cut down on expenses.”
The incredulous laugh he gave wasn’t totally forced. “We deal with priceless treasures, Mr. Fielding. I can assure you we treat them with the respect they deserve. We would never handle them so carelessly.”
“Good to know.” Bishop moved away, pausing to study an original Faberge egg. “My contact was certain that Weale uses a mail drop. Perhaps he has a business on the side.”
“I couldn’t say.” Forcing the words around the knot in his throat took effort. “Our employees’ private lives are their own. Please feel free to browse.” He moved away. “And let us know if you’re interested in something.”
Without undue haste Anthony returned to his office. Closed the door. But once inside the façade was dropped. He took out his cell. Noticed distantly that his fingers were trembling. He sent a text to Weale. No pickup. Don’t come back until further notice. Then he made a call. “I need you here immediately.”
Bishop had left long before Sully appeared. But Anthony showed the man the security footage from the time he’d been in the store. “This man,” he tapped the screen, “has some information that could be quite valuable to me.” His stomach quivered in excitement. It would be quite valuable indeed if Bishop could be forced to reveal what he knew about Eleven’s location. And Anthony had an arsenal of tools at his disposal that would be quite persuasive. “I need him picked up, discreetly, and brought to my property. I’ll tell you where to meet me. Take Eppley and Donaldson. You can get his vehicle information from the exterior cameras.” He thought for a long moment. “Listen carefully. This is how you’ll do it.”
* * * *
After a couple more hours spent poking around—both in the town and on the web—Jude headed back to the hotel. The lot had gotten even fuller in his absence and he cruised the area around the building before finally pulling in to an empty slot.
Locking the vehicle, he crossed the blacktopped expanse toward the side entrance. A man was hurrying down the sidewalk outside the building. “Hey, Weale!” He appeared to be hailing a second man who was disappearing around the corner of the building.
Jude changed direction. Followed the duo to the back. His research had located only one Weale in town. If the man had a family, they hadn’t shown up on any search he’d done. Intrigued, he rounded the corner to see the two strangers, heads together, ducking behind a line of Dumpsters. He couldn’t make out their conversation from this distance, but from the pitch of their voices it was animated.
He got as close as the back entrance using the sidewalk. But the men were another hundred feet beyond him. Sometimes a direct approach was best. Spying a fast food cup on the ground, he bent down to scoop it up, and ambled for the nearest Dumpster as if to dispose of it.
“…telling you…out of sight.” Far from the lively pitch of their conversation earlier, now the men’s voices were barely a whisper. Jude took only a moment to consider. He knew what Weale looked like. It would just take a few seconds to discover if he was here. He moved around the trash container far enough to glance behind it. Heard the scrape of a shoe behind him and immediately realized his mistake.
A body hit him hard, propelling him the rest of the way around the Dumpster to land with bone-jarring force against the bricked exterior of the hotel. He aimed a vicious kick at his attacker’s gr
oin, peripherally aware of the presence of the other two he’d been following. Ambush. His brain had time to register the fact before instinct took over. He ducked a roundhouse punch from one of the men, but wasn’t quick enough to dodge a fist in the gut from another. The three spread in an arc in front of him, their intent silent but unmistakable. Warily, Jude kept the wall at his back. It would be a mistake to let one of them get behind him. He took a good look at the three. None were Eldon Weale. Of course they weren’t. A quick visual assessment told him all he needed to know from there. They all had the bulked up physique of hired muscle. He watched their eyes, for their nonverbal communication with each other. The biggest one was a punk. The shortest a follower. It was the one on the left that Jude was going to have to watch the closest. Take him out, and the other two would be clean up.
There were false starts. Testing practice swings. Jude easily ducked the first blow. Landed a right hook to the punk. Absorbed a kick to his thigh that sent shockwaves of pain eddying down it. Then the three spread out. He recognized their intent even as they all rushed forward as one.
He hoped like hell he was still standing to perform that clean up.
* * * *
A heavy weight crashed against the door. With a cautionary glance Mia’s way, Hunter surged to his feet. Crossed to the door to peer out the peephole. Swiftly unlocking it, he pulled the door open.
A body fell inside the room. “Jude!” Mia launched herself from her chair in front of the computer and rushed to his side. Hunter took a careful glance up and down the hallway before shutting and resecuring the door. “My God! What happened to you?”
“I’m okay.” He rose as far as his knees. Seemed to lack the strength to stand. “Probably…looks…worse…than it is.”
Blood was seeping from his mouth, making the words sound garbled. Leaving him to Hunter for the moment, Mia dashed to a bathroom. Hurried back with several wet washcloths, anxiety twisting in her stomach. “Here you go, buddy.” Hunter was helping him to his feet. Leading him over to a couch. “You coughing blood? Puking?”
Jude collapsed on the sofa. It was a measure of his injuries that he didn’t even protest when Mia began wiping the blood from his face. There was so much of it. A shudder worked through her at the thought of the abuse that had caused that kind of damage. “You need stitches.” The cut on his forehead, and another on his chin gaped open and were oozing sullenly even with the wet cloths pressed against them. She looked at Hunter. “We have to get him to a doctor.”
The operative’s expression was properly concerned. But he didn’t rush to agreement. “How’s your vision?” There was an ugly raw abrasion at Jude’s left temple. “How bad is the headache?”
Jude took one of the wet rags from her and held it to his mouth. Spit blood into it. “No double vision or blurriness.” He spoke slowly, but Mia was relieved he seemed coherent. “Losing vision in the left one, though.”
“Yeah, it’s swelling shut.” Hunter reached for a wet cloth from the pile Mia had brought and crossed to the ice bucket the staff refilled daily. Wrapping several cubes in it, he returned and pressed it to Jude’s eye. “Keep ice on it. It’ll go black regardless, but you can reduce the swelling.”
“This does not meet the definition of being smart.” Mia’s voice shook violently as she dabbed at the cuts on his face. “Who did this to you?” Efficiently Hunter shoved Jude’s bloodstained shirt up to examine his torso. Gave a low whistle when he did.
“Someone really worked you over. Hope you got in at least a few good shots before you lay down and let him use you for a punching bag.”
“Bite me.” Jude’s body jerked as the operative probed his ribs.
“None broken.” A note of empathy entered the other man’s voice. “Doesn’t mean they won’t hurt like a bitch for a couple weeks though.” With a hand to Jude’s shoulder, he leaned him forward so he could examine his back. Pushed him straight again. “Any teeth feel loose?”
“Mine don’t.” One hand was still holding the ice to his eye. He brought up the other rag he held and wiped more blood from inside his mouth. “Two of the other guys might have lost some, though. At least my hands sure feel like it.”
So concerned had she been about his appearance, Mia hadn’t even thought to look at his hands. The knuckles were scraped and raw. “They look like you held them in a meat grinder.”
He slumped back on the couch. “The way I feel right now, that’d be an improvement.”
“How many were there?” Hunter took his phone from his pocket and peeled Jude’s hand from his eye for a moment. Turned on a light on the cell and pried open the eyelid to peer closely at it.
“Three. But one was a pussy, so once he went down there were only a couple to focus on.”
He’d been jumped by three men. Her skin went glacial. There wasn’t a logical reason he’d still been standing, much less able to make it back to the room on his own volition. “Who were they?”
His good eye glinted. “We didn’t exchange names, but I’m guessing they were sent because someone didn’t like me asking questions about Weale.” Hunter moved Mia aside so he could get a closer look at the cuts. Jude bore his ministrations stoically. “I figured I had nothing to lose with a direct approach. Town this size, looking like I do it was only a matter of time until someone got interested. I took a look at Weale’s place. A break-in there would be risky. Too many nosy neighbors. And his address didn’t match the location I got when I took a peek into his ISP service provider’s server.”
“So you tried the place the emails originated from?” Irritation was shoving aside her anxiety on his behalf. “Because that’s a smooth investigative move, just waltzing into the lion’s den and poking it with a sharp stick.”
He surveyed her cautiously. “It can be effective in some situations. Shake people up, take them unaware. But Weale wasn’t there.” He paused a moment. “At least I was told he wasn’t. The IP address was from his place of work. Some fancy business that deals in antiquities. I went there, asked a couple questions. I think I might have stirred something up when I mentioned the mail drop service Weale used.”
Hunter gave a low whistle between his teeth. “You didn’t just use a sharp stick, you used a club.”
“Yeah. A couple hours later someone returned the favor. But that means I got a reaction to my questions. A pretty strong one. It remains to be seen if Weale is the one providing that response or whether I spooked someone else. These guys…they weren’t just there for a random beating. I heard one tell the others a couple times to get me to the truck. Either they wanted to finish the job in a more secluded place, or…”
“…or maybe someone else had a few questions he wanted to pose to you.” Hunter straightened. “I think a few butterfly bandages will be as good as stitches. You okay here? Because if so I’m going to go out and buy some first aid supplies.” When Mia didn’t resume her aid, the operative gave her an odd look before holding a hand out to Jude. “Keys.”
Digging into his pocket, he handed them to the other man. “Where did this happen? I’ll take a look and see if anyone’s still around.”
“In the back. Behind the Dumpsters. But they’ll be gone by now.” He paused to consider. “Although one might have had trouble standing for a while.”
“Keep fresh ice on his eye,” Hunter told Mia as he passed her to go out. She secured the door behind him. Leaned against it. She didn’t recognize this tidal wave of tangled emotion engulfing her. It rocked her system, frothing and pounding inside until she felt hammered from an interior assault. The strength of the storm left her knees weak, and as always weakness infuriated her. She seized on the anger. Held it close. That at least was familiar.
“Your word means nothing.” Her accusation hung there, sharp little barbs meant to sink deep. “This wasn’t a random attack. You may as well have sent engraved invitations out to come try to kill you.” She gave a brittle little smile. “I’m not the security expert, of course, but your approach seemed to
lack your usual finesse.”
He was watching her as if she were a bomb about to detonate. “I thought the risk was one worth taking. I seem to recall a conversation where you said much the same thing, so I know you understand the reasoning, even if you don’t agree with it in this instance.”
She shoved away from the door, stalked toward him, her fingers closing into tight fists. Having her words paraphrased and thrown back at her did nothing to defuse her fury. Because surely it was only fury that was pulsing and churning inside her. “I don’t want another death on my conscience, do you get that? Let’s leave. All of us. Tonight. You can do your investigating from afar. Better yet, dump everything you have so far in Raiker’s lap and let him piece it together.”
“I need more before I can turn it over to him.”
She drew a breath, battled for a control that seemed beyond her. Her defenses were in chaotic disarray and the reason for that was sitting right before her. Without another word she whirled and retrieved the laptop she’d been sitting at when he’d come in. Yanked the power cord loose and carried the computer over to him. She set it ungently in his lap. “You want more? Here’s more.”
Without being urged he brushed the touch screen with a finger, bringing the monitor to life. A newspaper article, topped with a photo, filled the screen.
“Here’s something his driver’s license didn’t reveal.” She watched as he swiftly scanned the picture. Saw the moment comprehension flashed across his expression. Eldon Weale could have matched what little description she’d been able to give to the police after her escape. Just a shade shorter. His weight a bit lighter. He was shown in the picture holding one side of a large placard check denoting a sizable donation to a new fire department. He grasped it with only one hand. The other arm was six inches shorter and hung uselessly at his side, likely the result of a birth defect.
“Eldon Weale is not The Collector. He’s likely just another small link in the chain.” The tension welled up, threatening to choke her. Turning on her heel, she strode to the other room where she wouldn’t have to look at his bruised and battered face. Wouldn’t have to deal with the feelings it elicited. “And you can get your own damn ice.”