Chapter 30
Riga called Peregrine as soon as she and Dora were in a taxi, heading for the Vegas airport. “The password. Try some variation of my name.”
A dirt-encrusted pickup roared out of a driveway in front of them, and the taxi driver slammed on his brakes. Riga and Dora rocked forward.
“The password has nine characters in it,” Peregrine said. “Your name has four.”
“RHayworth?”
Peregrine sighed. “I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up. If Gregorovich had any brains, he’ll throw in some numbers or characters.”
“See what you can do.” Riga hung up.
“Now that sounded interesting.” Dora glared at her. “In fact, I heard a lot of interesting things today. You’re not going to…” She glanced at the back of the driver’s head, drew a finger across her throat.
The taxi sped through a yellow light.
“Relax,” Riga said. “Of course not. It was the only way I could get her to talk.”
The editor eyed her warily. “Well, you’re a damn good liar.”
“I needed that information.” And she’d do whatever it took to get Gregorovich out of their lives.
“So what do you have that requires a secret password?”
“If I ever get it open, I’ll tell you.”
“Exclusive?”
“Definitely not.” Riga cracked the window, inhaled tobacco-free air.
“You did something naughty, didn’t you? And how did you get that… thing on a plane?”
“Magic.”
Dora gazed out the window. “Fine, don’t tell me. And by the way, when we get to the airport, we don’t know each other.”
*****
In the penthouse study, Riga paced before the fire. She itched to grab the computer from Peregrine, who tapped away at the desk beside the window, and to try passwords on her own.
“I can feel you staring at me,” Peregrine said. “And it isn’t helping.”
“Did you try substituting the number one for the i in my name?”
Peregrine sighed. “Yes.”
“Maybe I’m not the key to the password. What about Barbara Yaganovich?”
Peregrine spun in her chair. “Go away, Riga. I’ll try Barbara, but just go.”
“Fine.” Riga stormed from the room. She was in the way, and couldn’t seem to stop herself.
In the kitchen, Pen sat on the marble countertop, thumbing through a deck of tarot cards and consulting a book that lay between her and Brigitte.
Dot sat at the kitchen table, three half-drunk cups of coffee by her elbow, a tome open before her. She jammed her glasses atop her head. “Adder’s tongue? Are you sure?”
Brigitte shifted on the countertop. “Yes, that is what he used.”
“But it’s used primarily for dream magic,” Dot said.
“And what is life but a dream?” the gargoyle replied. “Monsieur Mosse is not in his true state. He is in a nightmare. It is time for him to awaken, to truly understand, to believe he is back where he belongs.”
Dot shook her head, and made a notation in the necronomicon. “It’s highly unorthodox.”
“Not in ze seventeenth century.”
“What’s going on?” Riga asked.
Pen looked up. “Ash brought me here because he said he had something to do and I’d be safe at the penthouse. Brigitte and I had a lesson scheduled, so she came here as well. And Dot is still trying to figure out a spell to get Donovan back. Brigitte’s helping.”
Riga went to the cupboard, and pulled out a brick of dark chocolate. “I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with my aunts, Brigitte?”
The gargoyle sniffed. “I am here for Monsieur Mosse. Your aunties clearly are out of their depth.”
Dot reached for a coffee cup, took a sip, made a face. “Blech! Cold. And we had enough depth to turn you into an inanimate block of stone.”
“You see!” Brigitte dug her claws into the marble. “You see how they treat me! I come here, to help for ze greater good, to forgive. And what is my reward? Petty insults!”
“Then you’re a better person than I, because I haven’t forgiven them what they did.”
Dot stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was harmless.”
Quietly, Riga said, “It was high-handed and arrogant – testing Donovan, removing a good friend and ally, lying to me.”
“We did it for your own good!”
“What you thought was my own good. I appreciate that you’ve stayed to clean up your messes, and that you helped me last night with my… project. And I thank both you and Brigitte for working together. She’s got centuries of knowledge. She can help.” Riga’s voice hardened. “But you betrayed me.”
“Maybe we were… high-handed,” Dot said. “But we were worried for you. Your magic is powerful, but unstable. And there’s something about Donovan—”
“I know.” Riga broke the chocolate into blocks. “Brigitte, I see you’ve started Pen on the tarot. I thought you were going to wait until she knew the protection spells?”
“Ze young, they have no attention span these days. We must – how do you say? Multitask for your niece to stay focused. Besides, she needs no protection from a deck of cards.”
“How’s it going, Pen?” Riga popped a wedge of chocolate into her mouth.
Pen flipped a card over, and checked the book. “Okay. Oh, I almost forgot, that writer, Terry called. She wanted to know if you’re available for dinner.”
“Thanks. I’ll call her. What are you working on?”
“Memorizing the astrological associations of the cards. I guess they’ll help me interpret them.”
“Just wait until you get to numerology and tarot.” Riga smiled. “But stick with it. It’s all a stepping stone to Renaissance magic.”
“The Renaissance? Back then people didn’t even know about penicillin! They were totally backwards. I mean, look.” Pen slapped down another tarot card. “The Moon. You’d think, logically, it would be associated with the moon, right? But no, the High Priestess card is connected to the moon. What were they thinking?”
Riga brushed a crumb of chocolate from her lip. “If tarot was obvious, they wouldn’t call the cards arcana. You have to dig for the secrets.”
“And that’s another thing,” Pen said. “The High Priestess, she represents hidden wisdom, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s the freaking hidden wisdom? I mean, what’s the point of symbolizing a secret, but not what the secret is?”
Brigitte laughed, the sound of rocks tumbling together, her stone-feathered shoulders shaking. “People today. They want everything handed to them.”
“Because the point is the secret,” Riga said. “The High Priestess is…” Her breath caught.
“What’s wrong?” Pen said.
“Nothing. I’ll be right back.” Riga hurried to the study.
Peregrine was still at the computer, pecking at the keys.
“The password. Try priestess,” Riga said.
Her aunt didn’t look up. “Why?”
“Vasily associates me with the High Priestess card. It’s nine letters.”
Peregrine typed. “Nope.”
“Substitute a number one for the i.”
“That didn’t work either.”
“Okay, maybe substitute the numbers five instead of s. And try different combinations of capital letters.”
Muttering under her breath, Peregrine kept typing.
Riga’s cell phone rang in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out. “Hello?”
“It’s Cesar. I’m with Ash. Your guard’s confessed to putting that poppet thing under your bed. And there’s something else. He placed bugs around the house.”
“Where?”
“The living room, the hallways, your bedroom.”
So that was how they’d managed to stay a step ahead of her, catch them outside the lawyer’s office. “How long have they been there?” she asked, her voice hoar
se.
“About three weeks.”
Riga’s face darkened. All those nights with Donovan, making love in that bed, and someone had been listening. She crumpled onto the leather sofa, breathing heavily. She tried to push the anger away, the sense of violation. Vasily had to know she had his computer files. She’d talked about the break in with her aunts in the living room. He must have heard it. Focus on that.
“You still there?” Cesar asked.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“You want us to go ahead and disable the bugs?”
“No. Not yet.” There had to be a way to make use of this. “Not unless you questioned the guard within hearing of one of them. Does Vasily know we’re onto him?”
“No. The guard hasn’t communicated with anyone yet.”
There were questions she should ask. How had they kept the guard from communicating? How had they gotten him to talk? She didn’t ask them. “Good. What about the penthouse? Anything here I should know about?”
“Bugs you mean? He said he hadn’t put any there. Not sure I believe him.”
“Who do you trust who can check on that for us?” Cesar knew the security team here, still had friends on the staff.
“Todd Marx. You want me to call him?”
“Yes, and I want to talk to our friend at the lake house. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Riga hung up, gripping the phone in one hand.
Peregrine turned in her chair to face her. “What’s happening?”
Riga held up one finger, went to the desk. She ripped a piece of paper from a yellow pad and scrawled a note: Vasily knows we have the computer files. The penthouse may be bugged. A man named Todd will be here shortly to check. Make sure everyone stays put. Can’t guarantee your safety outside the penthouse.
She handed it to Peregrine, who read it quickly, nodded. “What are you going to do?”
“Fix this. Keep working on that password.”
“Riga, do you have any idea how many nine character combinations there are—”
“It’s priestess. I know it. Just keep working on it.” Riga trotted from the room and to the elevator.
The doors slid noiselessly open and Mr. Smith stepped out, gray and bland and forgettable. “Why Miss Hayworth—”
She brushed past him. “Can’t talk now. Gregorovich is on the warpath. There may be another attempt on Donovan. Protect him.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“Protect him,” she said as the doors slid shut.
The guard inside the elevator eyed her warily. “What’s this about Gregorovich?”
“I just got some new information.” She called Donovan’s private office line.
His father picked up. “Mosse here.”
“It’s Riga. Gregorovich knows I’ve got the computer files.”
“You’ll need extra security.”
“Everyone will. I’m heading to the house now – two bodyguards are waiting for me there.”
“Hold on. We’ll send a security team to follow you home.”
“Fine. Have them meet me at the south entrance.” She hung up and pocketed the phone.
The radio clipped to the guard’s collar beeped. A garbled command issued from it.
“Five by five. Out,” he said to the radio. He looked at Riga. “I’ll walk you to the south entrance, ma’am.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Riga dialed Terry while they walked through the casino, stood by the entrance.
“Hello?” Terry said.
“Hi, it’s Riga. My niece said you called?”
“Yes! Thanks for getting back to me. I just wanted… well, two things. The story on you and Donovan is pretty much done. I just have a few follow up questions. But my real motivation is Cam. I know Donovan’s been involved with his lawyer… Not that way. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, he’s been talking to her, and I get the feeling she’s saying more to him than to me. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but… Can we talk?”
“Sure. Look, I’ve got to run back to the house, but I can come back to the hotel this evening.”
“Dinner?”
“Sounds good. I’ll come to your room around seven.”
A valet brought her car, followed closely by a black SUV with the casino parking stickers. A tinted window rolled down, and a guard Riga recognized leaned out, waved. She raised her hand in greeting and got in her car.
The SUV followed her home, and down into the driveway. Guards sprang from the car, and escorted her to the front door. Their presence rattled her, made the threat more real. But she’d made the choice, brought this on herself. And she was glad to have the protection, glad the real Donovan was safe in a cell at the Sheriff’s station.
Cesar met her in the foyer. He was built like a fireplug, and scars tracked across his face, pulling at his lip and tugging at one eyelid. The ex-bodyguard wore jeans and an army-green sweater. He jerked his head down the hallway. Wordlessly, she followed him to the guard room.
He held the door for her, sketched a sardonic bow.
She stepped inside and Cesar followed, closing the door. The guard, Thomas, sat beside the video monitors. He slumped, doubling his paunch, his head in one hand. His face was florid, eyes reddened.
Ash stood straight-backed, arms folded across his chest, and watched Thomas narrowly. The room wasn’t made for so many people, and she pulled her arms in tighter, felt herself try to shrink.
Cesar leaned against the door, crossed one leg over the other, nonchalant. “Tell her what you told us.”
Ash held up his hand. “Wait. Riga, I’ve already reported this up the chain, but you need to know that someone was photographing your house today.”
Riga thought about that. The house wasn’t a tourist attraction. There was no good reason to photograph it, unless it was part of surveillance. “Are you sure it wasn’t a press photographer?”
“Yeah,” the bodyguard said. “They were around earlier, photographing people. Not the house. This was someone else. We tried to get the plate of the SUV. It was covered in mud.”
Gregorovich. Her stomach sank. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for letting me know. So, Thomas, what do you know about this?”
Thomas looked up. “Nothing. I was the one who reported the surveillance.”
Ash snorted. “For whatever that’s worth. Tell her what you told us.”
Thomas clenched one of his meaty fists. “My brother came to me. He’s got a gambling problem. I didn’t know how bad it was until too late.”
“We don’t need the back story,” Cesar said.
The guard reddened. “He told me Vasily would kill him unless he paid up. Now. Or, I could do him a favor. A one-time deal. Bug your house.”
Cesar’s face went from ugly to worse. “But it wasn’t a one-time deal, was it?”
“No,” the guard said woodenly. “He had me put a doll under your bed.”
Riga shifted, bumped her hip into a narrow table, and the video monitors atop it quivered. “When’s the last time you spoke with Gregorovich?”
Thomas looked up. “Never. His men brought me the audio surveillance equipment. Then I didn’t hear from them, thought I was done, until his man called me about the doll. An old woman brought it to me.”
Barbara. “How do you report to him?” Riga asked.
“I don’t. No one’s asking for updates. They know they’ve got me by the balls. I’ll do what they want.”
“Are you aware that illegal wiretapping is a federal crime, and a felony?” Riga asked.
The guard opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.
“What do you want to do with him?” Ash’s voice was flat, impersonal.
Riga drew out the silence. Watched the guard squirm. Finally, she said, “Nothing.”
The guard looked up, his eyes widening.
Cesar straightened away from the door. “You can’t trust him. He can’t stay. Not after this.”
“For now, I think it’s better if Gregorovich thinks he’s
still got an inside man.” She looked pointedly at Thomas. “Better for everyone. Unless you’d prefer Gregorovich knew you blew it, prefer going to jail? I believe the penalty is five years per wiretap. How many listening devices did you say there were?”
“Five,” Ash said, his voice cold.
Cesar shook his head. “I don’t like this. Riga, we should talk. Outside.”
She nodded, followed him through the foyer, through the living room, and onto the rear deck. The sun was low on the horizon, setting the mountain tops ablaze, tangerine and pink and gold.
Cesar slid the glass door shut behind them. “We can speak freely here. This is a bad idea, Riga.”
“I stole a computer file from Vasily last night. And he knows it. I need to make him think the file was destroyed during the office fire.”
Cesar’s jaw tightened. “The break-in at the lawyer’s office. That was you?”
“You heard about it?”
“I’ve got a police scanner. I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the pile of corpses a few blocks away?”
“Come on, Cesar. What would I be doing with a bunch of bodies?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I take it back. I don’t want to know. Here’s what you need to do. Give the file back to Gregorovich.”
She pulled her pea coat more tightly about her. “No. I don’t know what’s on it yet.”
“If he wants it badly enough, he’ll kill you for it. Christ, Riga.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “What do you expect to get out of this?”
“I won’t know until I know what’s on that file. Is there a bug in the living room?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t disable it?”
“No.”
“Then let’s replay this conversation inside. But this time, I’m going to tell you the file was destroyed in the fire. And you’re going to tell me to give it back to Vasily to prove it.”
“Bad. Idea.”
“Cesar, Gregorovich has been stalking me. Why do you think someone was photographing the house? I’m in danger no matter what I do. You know his reputation. In the end, he’s going to come for me. I want it to happen on my terms.”
His face contorted and he turned from her, towards the lake, a bowl of fire in the setting sun. He grasped the wooden rail with his hands, heedless of its thick layer of snow. Lowering his head, he blew out his breath. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
4 The Infernal Detective Page 23