a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures

by L. j. Charles

  My cell vibrated. Damn, hadn’t I turned it off? Time’s short. Wrap up.

  I couldn’t leave now, not when I was faced with this challenge. Two secs. Have to heal an energy lock. Turning phone off again. This time I made sure I slide the power button off before I stuffed it in my pocket. I held an image of the icy chaotic energy as though it were a fatally ill person, built heat in my core, pushed it into my arms and hands, and gently pressed them against the outer edge of the energy field. A blast of cold shot through me, but I was far enough away from the core of the pattern that it wasn’t painful. Shades of blue, almost black, flashed against my skin.

  I sucked in a breath, held my grandfather’s teachings in my heart, then shoved an image of fire into the energy lock. Vibrant red from the heat I’d generated tangled with the blue. I built more heat. Sweat trickled down my back, between my breasts. Black edges narrowed my vision. Not good.

  I shook my head, cleared it. Dredged up another burst of heat and used all my strength to slam it against the door.

  The energy lock melted into a non-threatening ripple, but the backlash knocked me flat on my ass, and a noxious sulfur odor permeated the air, gagging me. I tried to stand. Pain shot through my hip where I’d bruised it when I fell off Mitch’s desk. I ignored it, and used my fist against the wall to balance my wobbly legs while I stood. Another head shake and I was good to go.

  Best thing about healing the energy pattern instead of destroying it: Fion might not notice that kind of change. It was still intact…just subtly different. A lot like one of those push-and-turn doorknob locks. No one ever pays attention to whether the little nub is vertical or horizontal.

  Pleased with my progress, I picked the normal lock, limped into Fion Connor’s office, and closed the door behind me. Blinking at the light spilling from a lamp on her desk, I took a second to breathe, then went straight to the secret room, a no-brainer since it was the only other door in the office.

  There was no energy barrier guarding the interior door, and, keeping my fingertips clear, I flattened my palm against the doorknob and turned. It opened easily.

  My pulse pounded in my throat.

  What had she done to protect this room? The door swung open, and I shuddered. There was no reason to go inside. I yanked my cell from my pocket, powered it on, and began snapping pictures, each one more terrifying than the last.

  Just as I finished recording the pictures, the phone vibrated, scaring the hell out of me, and I tossed it into the air.

  “Bloody damn hell, Pierce.” I barely managed to catch the phone before it hit the floor, then, swearing again, I read his text: Twenty. Get out now.

  I didn’t bother wasting the time to answer. In twenty minutes I could run my fingers over every surface in Connor’s office.

  The top of her desk offered nothing interesting, and neither did any of the drawers…until I got to the one on the bottom right. The flimsy lock took me a nanosecond to pick, so I expected the drawer to hold nothing more interesting than a secret stash of Fion’s favorite alcoholic beverage, or maybe some expensive chocolate. Wrong. A cloud of dust floated up when I opened the drawer. Old, dry dust that had me fighting to stifle a sneeze. It was crammed with folders, all yellowed with age, and I huffed a frustrated sigh.

  With a single glance I didn’t spot any that stood out. I’d have to search through all… Wait. Kaimi Maliu.

  Maliu was my grandmother’s surname.

  I jerked the file out of the M section, and flicked it open.

  A faded picture of my mother stared back at me.

  THIRTEEN

  THE SHAKES HIT, OR WAS that my cell vibrating again? It took me a couple of deep breaths before I could wrestle my attention from my mother’s picture long enough to check the phone. Pierce had updated my countdown. Fifteen glowed on the screen, and I could sense him giving me a cold, hard glare.

  I slid the phone back into my pocket, ran my hand over the Smith&Wesson for reassurance, and then went back to touching the files. I couldn’t leave yet, not with so much information about my past right at my fingertips. Images poured onto my internal monitor, but they were all about Fion, the hatred in her eyes, her rage, mumbled threats—but no details about what happened before I was born. And there wasn’t enough time for me to thumb through the file and take pictures of the contents, not even if I chucked the phone, didn’t bother with real-time photos, and only used my fingers to catalog the information.

  There was no way around it, I’d have to pilfer this file. I rolled the folder as best I could and stuffed it in my hoodie hand-warming pocket.

  It was obviously the most important information in the drawer, so was worth whatever fallout I triggered by stealing it. Still, time be damned, I had to flip through the rest of the files since they wouldn’t all fit in my hoodie pocket. Next time I went on a B and E expedition, I’d be sure to bring a couple of those fold-up tote bags.

  With no choice but to let my fingers do the work, I hunkered down, started at the back of the drawer, and worked my way forward, carefully touching each folder. Images bounced on my internal monitor, some probably important, but none that shot my intuition into hyper-drive, so I didn’t pause to pull out any of the papers.

  A double whammy happened when I hit the M section of the file drawer for the second time. First, a jolt from one of the files knocked me on my ass, and then a determined clack-clack sound of heels hitting the wooden floor sounded outside Fion Connor’s office. And then paused.

  My insides plunged in a sick free fall.

  One crisis at a time, Everly.

  I dialed Pierce. “The Megiddo Project. That’s M-E-G-I-D-D-O.”

  “Got it. Get out now.” Tension hung on every syllable.

  “Can’t. Connor’s here. Taking cover.”

  I yanked the folder out of the drawer, and shoved it and my phone in my hoodie pocket. It took a precious second to close the drawer and ensure the lock had clicked into place. I scoured Fion’s office for a hiding place.

  No go.

  Except the secret room.

  The office doorknob jiggled. No time to think. I slipped inside the secret room, and closed the door, catching a glimpse of Fion Connor when she stepped into her office.

  Pierce was going to kill me. Unless Connor beat him to it.

  Did she notice the energy lock had been healed? It was possible she’d created it with an automatic re-lock feature. Or spell. Whatever. I’d have to do some serious study of witchcraft in the very near future.

  Keeping an ear to the office, I scanned the secret room. There wasn’t much light coming from under the door, but I could make out some details of the pictures lining the walls. It was deeply disturbing to be trapped in a room full of…me. My skin crawled with the sickness that was Fion Connor.

  Cait had been right about the photographs. They covered my life from the time I was… Holy crap. I was a baby. In a stroller. Maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t me. I’d never seen any photographs of me as a child, but the red hair was a big clue. And so was the certainty that flooded every cell in my body.

  I reached out, shy, and touched the stroller, ran the tip of my finger over my face. The images hitting my internal screen were of Fion, hiding, scheming.

  A chair creaked in the office, and my nerves jumped into high gear. She was probably settling in to work, and I had to get out of the building. Preferably before Pierce came after me and killed Fion. Not that she didn’t deserve to die. There was no question about that, except that I still didn’t know anything about her connection to Mitch, and finding answers was my number one priority. We couldn’t dispense with Connor until after my history was laid completely bare.

  I flicked my phone on. In secret room. Connor in office. Is there a door or window exit from here?

  I hoped Pierce had the answer, because the All-You-Can-Stalk Everly Buffet covered all four walls, so it was impossible to tell if there was a window or door hiding under the pictures. I’d have to start from the beginning and touch my way
around the room.

  Checking. My heart slowed to double time. Backup was flipping awesome.

  Fion’s chair let out another creak. Best if I got on with exploring possible exit options. With both Pierce and me working on it, we’d find a way out…yeah, we would. There wasn’t another comfortable option.

  Starting on the hinge side of the door that connected the secret room with Fion’s office, I ran my fingers over the pictures while I desperately tried to block the anger and despair pouring from them into my internal monitoring system. The woman was certifiable, but that was old news, and I needed to concentrate on finding the edge of a door or window so I could escape this crazy house.

  There was always the scary option. I could storm the office and shoot Fion Connor, disable her long enough to make my escape. Problem was she’d fight and my aim might be off, so I could just as easily kill her as not. And I wasn’t ready for her to die quite yet. Not until I knew beyond a doubt she’d murdered my parents. It was my revenge, and if I was going to own it, it had to be completely justifiable.

  The dark edge of doubt seeped into my thoughts and my mind slipped into an abyss. Was killing someone ever justified? The kind of work Pierce and Annie did? Probably. Self-defense was, of course, and if I surprised Connor she’d fight, try to kill me. There wasn’t so much as a smidgeon of doubt about that. So the real question was, which one of us had the better chance of survival? I’d have surprise on my side. She’d have experience on hers. It was a toss-up.

  A faint rap sounded from the direction of Fion’s office and I froze. Someone knocking on the hall door? Or was Connor rapping her knuckles on her desk?

  “Enter.” Fion sounded miffed.

  Chair creaking, door clicking open, soft squeaky footsteps, and mumbling voices. My brain cataloged the information, and I pressed my back tight against the wall, blending in with my photographs.

  “…need help…wrong with…” It must have been a butler or maid with the squeaky shoes, someone who waited on Connor. I couldn’t make out the nuances of the voice well enough to tell the gender.

  Connor’s voice, however, came through clearly. “You’ve made so many mistakes today, Nolla, that I’m surprised you dare face me.”

  Well, that answered any question about who’d appeared at the office door. Cait had been right. Nolla hadn’t stayed away, even though Fion had kicked her off the premises. There was more than one crazy person living in this house, and hopefully they’d keep each other busy while Pierce and I found a way for me to escape the loony bin.

  “…problem…kitchen…come…”

  Yes! Maybe Connor would go with Nolla to check the kitchen. At least that’s what it sounded like. And it provided me with the perfect escape opportunity.

  “You should be able to handle these things, Nolla. It’s what I pay you to do.”

  “Fuse…circuit breaker…can’t locate…”

  I lasered some subliminal suggestions toward Connor. “Go. Fix the problem. You’re needed in the kitchen. Now.” And then I took a second to text Pierce. Fion talking with Nolla in outer office. Both leaving? Hang tight. In wait mode.

  No visible exit from your location. Checking kitchen.

  NO. I punched Send but the message wasn’t delivered. Damn it, he must have turned his phone off.

  The chair squeaked and groaned. Heels clacked on the wooden floor. “I’ll take care of it. Stay out of the way, Nolla.”

  Pierce and Connor were on a collision course. Nolla could end up anywhere.

  The office door shut with a bang.

  I held my breath, waited. No sound. Inching the secret room door open, I peeked out. Empty office. In a nanosecond I’d fled my temporary prison, screeched to a halt in front of the office door, and rested my fingertips against the wood. Warm. Connor hadn’t reset the energy lock. I palmed the Smith&Wesson and slipped into the hall. No one in sight.

  Pausing by one of the hallway light fixtures, I checked Cait’s diagram for the location of the kitchen. The tables had turned. I was Pierce’s backup now. He’d given me this mission, and by all the gods and goddesses I was going to make it a success.

  The kitchen was at the end of a far wing that led off the main living area, on the exact opposite end of the estate from Connor’s office. I took off at a steady jog, weapon clasped in my right hand, and my left hand pressing the folders and phone in my hoodie pocket tight to my abdomen. Losing any of them wasn’t an option.

  It was easy to tell when I neared the kitchen area. The air was permeated with the scent of roast chicken, and then there were large splashes of light bouncing around just ahead of me. The hazy circles had to come from flashlights, and Connor, and possibly Nolla, were swinging them around so that the beams randomly highlighted the hall where I was attempting to blend in with the wallpaper. There wasn’t so much as a table or console for me to duck behind.

  I slowed my pace, listening. Cait had assured Pierce and me that no one would be in the mansion. She’d been thirty minutes off on her mother’s arrival time, and it was enough of a blip to tip my spidey senses into high gear.

  There could be someone else in the building besides Nolla and Connor. Unlikely, or Fion would have sent them to help Nolla with the power issue instead of going herself, but the possibility was still a potential glitch that I needed to factor it into any escape plan.

  When I neared the kitchen entrance I pressed my back to the wall, checked the S&W magazine, and crept slowly toward the scent of roast chicken and the bobbing circles of light. Apparently they hadn’t been able to locate or fix the tripped circuit breaker. Or fuse. I had no idea how those things worked in England.

  Voices. Connor’s raised in irritated impatience, and Nolla’s mumbling self-deprecating responses.

  Where the hell was Pierce?

  FOURTEEN

  PIERCE OBVIOUSLY WASN’T IN THE kitchen, and that gave Fion Connor the advantage of surprise. It’d be best if I headed him off with a warning about her location. I tucked the Smith&Wesson in my waistband, opened Cait’s diagram, and started to ease my way back down the hall toward the library. The French doors leading from that room would probably be my best bet for escape.

  Fion Connor’s shout stopped me. “What was that?”

  Nolla muttered something.

  “No, it’s not Cait. Someone just broke through my wards, and she knows better.” Fion’s voice vibrated with anger.

  Pierce. He didn’t know better. At least I didn’t think he did, but we’d never discussed witchcraft. Or wards, which I vaguely remembered were associated with pagan spells of some sort. And I was positive that Pierce’s extensive training as a super spy hadn’t included creating or dismantling protective energy locks. The prickly feel and the change in temperature simply wouldn’t compute for him, and he’d probably barged right through it.

  “Hand me the Glock, Nolla.”

  Adrenaline slammed home. If Pierce had touched one of Fion’s wards, he’d be incapacitated in some way. And Connor had a gun.

  Footsteps. A drawer thumped closed. “Here you are Miz Connor.”

  “Dial nine-nine-nine, but don’t connect the call until I tell you. And turn that flashlight off. It blinds me.”

  Darkness descended.

  I inhaled, listening, pinpointing my best guesses about the changing locations of Nolla and Connor. Soft, squeaky shoes had moved much farther away from me. Sharp, clicking heels had taken exactly twenty-two steps in what sounded like a straight line from where I stood.

  The dark was my friend. Silently I folded the map, slipped it and my phone in my back pocket, and yanked the Smith&Wesson from my waistband. I had to get through the kitchen while Nolla was busy on the phone. Shooting her wasn’t an option, but if Connor so much as aimed her Glock at Pierce, she’d be dead.

  Easing around the doorway and into the kitchen, I spotted Nolla first. She was about thirty feet from me, facing away. Perfect. Connor stood twenty feet in front of me, the Glock in her right hand and pointed toward the outsi
de door, her left hand on the doorknob. Neither of them had noticed me.

  I hugged the wall, blood pounding in my ears. Black crept around the edges of my vision, and I inhaled two long, slow breaths. Now wasn’t the time to pass out. I drew in another deep breath.

  Connor opened the door a crack, peeked out, then froze. “Who the bloody hell are you?” Her voice was tight, confused.

  I spared a glance at Nolla. She was staring at me, eyes huge, hand covering her mouth. I used the Smith&Wesson to motion her to the floor. She dropped immediately. One down, but I’d have to keep her on my radar.

  Connor had opened the door wide and was poised on the threshold in a classic Weaver stance, with her left foot leading, her body sideways toward whoever stood at the door. “On your belly, feet wide, palms up. Now.”

  How had it slipped my mind that she was a trained agent? I relaxed my stranglehold on the S&W, aimed for center mass, and focused on breathing and tracking Connor’s movements. Her attention was riveted on her target, giving me a few precious seconds to make my decision: call to her, and split her attention between whoever was outside and me, or inch closer to better assess the situation. I was ninety-nine percent sure Pierce was her target, but whoever it was hadn’t responded to Connor’s commands. Before I shot her, I wanted confirmation.

  With a sudden movement, Fion left the threshold and moved outside, away from my line of sight.

  I shot a glance at Nolla. Still face down on the floor, so I crept toward the open door, hugging the shadows.

  One step. Two.

  Energy swirled around me, cool and brittle. Must have been backlash from the lock-field Connor had created on the kitchen door—probably what she’d meant when she referred to a ward. Whoever was out there had obviously tripped it, and I was struggling with the chaotic energy that battered my aura. Backlash was a bitch for destroying concentration.