by Joss Ware
Feeling Cat’s curious eyes on her, Remy walked over and retrieved the small orange crystal. It had come to life and was burning and warm, but not with the same ferocity as before.
She walked around to Lacey, who was still panting, and had unlaced her vest and pulled it away enough so the crystal embedded in the soft skin below her collarbone was exposed. Normally, the small round gem would have been lit with a soft ice-blue glow—just as when Remy had seen it a few days ago. But now it was gray and cloudy, like a moonstone.
“What . . . have . . . you . . . done,” Lacey whispered, looking down at it. Fury and loathing blazed in her eyes when she lifted her face, and Remy knew if she had the energy, the woman would be out of the chair and coming for her—Dantès or no. “You’ve killed me.”
“I’ve done nothing,” Remy replied. “Tell me about this. Tell me about this crystal. I don’t know what it does or where it came from. Is it really the Mother crystal?”
“You . . . don’t . . . know?” Lacey managed an unpleasant laugh, even in the midst of her pain. True character, blazing through. “Joke’s on me,” she added bitterly. “I didn’t . . . know either.”
“Know what?” Remy pressed. Was the woman really dying? Or was she just in pain—as if it were a sort of kryptonite or asthenia that made her weak while in her presence? She experimented by stepping back and away from Lacey, putting distance between the bounty hunter and the crystal. “Does this make a difference? If it’s farther away?”
“It’s too late,” the other woman said from between gritted teeth. Sweat trickled down her face. “It’s dead. My stone’s . . . dead. And I will be . . . soon.”
“Then tell me what you know,” Remy said again. “And I’ll get Elliott here. He’ll help you.”
Lacey’s smile was bitter. “No one . . . can help . . . me . . . now. Once the stone . . . dies . . .”
Remy knew her only chance to get more information was to drag it from the woman. Dying or no, she wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. “So you’ve been chasing me—and this crystal—for years, and now that you’ve located it . . . what? Its proximity kills you? That’s kind of a kick in the teeth, isn’t it?”
The bounty hunter’s lips were a flat white line. Her face was as pale as Goldwyn’s, matching her hair. The sweat of agony collected at her temples and dribbled down her cheeks, gathered at the bony hollow of her throat, glistened everywhere on her skin. Her eyes were two dark orbs, sunken in hollowing sockets, the circles beneath them were darkening even as Remy watched.
“Never . . . knew . . . that,” the woman replied. “Never . . . was told. Don’t know . . . if . . . they even know . . .” Her lips twisted in an evil sneer. “Hope . . . they . . . don’t. Hope . . . they find . . . you. Take . . . the . . . stone. And all . . . fucking . . . die.”
This impassioned speech seemed to cost too much effort, and she sagged lower in her chair, her head falling against the back. Her corded neck bulged with blue veins, her pulse throbbing visibly in her throat.
“Did they send you here to get me? After they made the threat last night?”
Lacey opened her eyes, fixing them on Remy. “I . . . knew you were here. Guessed . . . followed . . . Ian. I . . . told . . . Hegel . . . son. Not Ian.” Her lips stretched in a tight, pleased smile. “I wanted . . . reward. Ian . . .” She shook her head, closed her eyes.
“You knew I was here, and so Liam Hegelson—yes, I know the name,” Remy said when she saw the flare of surprise as Lacey’s eyes shot open, “sent you to follow up on their threat. To take me to them, after they promised to destroy Envy. What will they do when I don’t go? When I don’t appear? What do they plan to do to Envy?”
But Lacey had closed her eyes. Her labored breathing rasped in a silence broken only by Dantès vigorously scratching his side.
“Lacey.” Remy prodded the woman with her voice. “What are they going to do?”
“Destroy . . . Envy,” she replied. And showed a malicious hint of teeth.
“Yeah, I got that. But how? More bombs? A fire? An invasion?”
Lacey didn’t respond. She just watched her through black, blank eyes, malice exuding from her even as the life drained away.
“Okay, let’s try this: why do they want the Mother crystal? What does it do?” Remy brandished the stone, holding it up for Lacey to see.
“Very . . . powerful. Too . . . dangerous . . . for anyone.” Her bloodless lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “Didn’t know . . . how . . . dangerous. Want to have . . . control.”
“What did it do to you?” Remy asked. “The crystal. What happened?”
Lacey shifted her head weakly in a negative movement. She was going. Remy could almost see the life draining from her.
“Is there a way to destroy the crystal? What if I get rid of it . . . then the Strangers won’t be able to get it.”
Somehow, the dying woman was able to force a rough, wheezing laugh. “Yeah . . . do it . . . destroy the crystal. That . . .” She moved her lips up at the corners. “. . . would . . . serve . . . right. All . . . die . . . then. All connected to . . . crystal . . . would . . .” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. For a minute Remy thought she was gone.
But then she heaved back into motion with a deep, shuddering breath. One of her fingers twitched as if to emphasize something she’d said.
I’m losing her. Damn. Then a thought struck her. “Who’s Liana?”
To Remy’s surprise, Lacey opened her eyes and fixed them on her. A blaze of consciousness shone through the dullness for a moment. “How . . .” She shuddered a breath and lifted a trembling hand as if to ward off some threat. “. . . do . . . you . . . know . . . about . . . Li . . . ahh . . . na . . . ?”
And then her eyes went blank. Her hand fell. And she was gone.
Wyatt was pacing Vaughn’s office because he sure as hell couldn’t sit. He ached everywhere from holding his muscles tense, from doing nothing. His head pounded. His belly gnawed. Where the hell are you, Remy?
At the moment, he didn’t even know where their so-called fearless leader was either. During his reunion with David, the group scattered to temporarily handle other pressing matters, and afterward Wyatt had gone to look for Vaughn, in vain. And now the mayor had yet to arrive at the appointed time for the meeting’s continuation.
Thirty-one hours. Closing in on less than a day.
The door opened and everyone looked up.
“New development,” said Quent as he came through the door and Wyatt gritted his teeth. Where the hell was Vaughn? Quent slid onto a seat next to Zoë. “Sorry I’m late. But one of our questions has, unfortunately, been answered.”
Fuck that. The only question Wyatt wanted answered was for Vaughn Rogan to tell him where the hell Remy was. The longer the mayor kept her whereabouts hidden—and even the knowledge that he had it—the less Wyatt was inclined to trust him. He’d always liked the man, respected his leadership, and even enjoyed chatting with him over a cold one. But as Vaughn had already clearly said: his priority was the mass of Envyites as a whole.
Wyatt’s, on the other hand, surprisingly enough, had become the personal safety of one woman.
And therein could lie an ugly conflict, especially if the rest of the group sided with the mayor. Or even if they didn’t.
Vaughn could be keeping her imprisoned somewhere as a last ditch bargaining chip if every other option failed—not that anyone had presented any other fucking options. They were all just sitting here, waiting, trying to clean up, trying to guess at what to do.
They needed reconnaissance. They needed action. He wanted to punch someone. He wanted to shout and get out of this room and tear the damn place apart until they found her . . . and yet, he knew that any searching or tracking had to be done very carefully.
Because if the general public became aware of the fact that Remy, a young, beautiful woman, was Remington Truth, everyone would be looking for her.
“What’s the new development?” Elli
ott asked. “And where’s Vaughn? He was supposed to be back here by now. Are things getting crazy out there?”
“The new development is that we have the answer to one pressing question: how to communicate our response to the Strangers,” Quent replied. “They sent a team of bounty hunters—a bloody fright of a woman and her albino partner. Walked right up to Fred Newbergh at the gate and bloody announced they wanted to see the mayor.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Fence. “Remember when Seattle put that damned bullet in Theo? That blond wench who was with him?”
“She visits me regularly—in my damned nightmares,” Fence said. “Lacey. That was her name. Couldn’t be a worse choice for a name, if ya’ll ask me.”
“Spoken by the guy who goes by Fence,” muttered Ana. “What happened? Did they see Vaughn?”
“Don’t know. Last I heard they were looking for him.” Quent turned his attention to Wyatt. “Simon’s—”
Before he could finish, the door opened and Vaughn strode in. ’Bout damn time. Wyatt narrowed his gaze on him, taking no care to hide his precise feelings about the situation. If the others hadn’t been present, he’d have the damn man—mayor or no mayor—by the throat until Vaughn told him where Remy was. He might anyway.
“How is it out there?” asked Sage. She flickered a glance at Wyatt as if to ease his mood. He gritted his teeth and looked away.
“Getting unpleasant,” Vaughn replied. “There’s a group of about two dozen being whipped up into a frenzy by Susan Proudy, about finding Remington Truth. She’s trying to get them on board to start searching every damn room and home in the whole city until they find it. Yes,” he added, his mouth in a wry grimace, “they are searching for it—not her. Or even him. Got people leaving too. Packing up their things and taking their families and going.”
Vaughn looked exhausted. If Wyatt wasn’t so fed up with the situation, he might have felt a little sympathy for the man. But not much. Hell, he’d seen guys who’d had it much worse: digging through piles of hurricane rubble to find corpses that had once been family in Haiti. Walking through a Baghdad market after a suicide bomb had decimated it.
Coming out of a damned cave and finding the entire world different. Everything you ever loved, gone.
His mouth tightened and he drew in a deep breath. Calm.
“But even that’s not our biggest problem right now.” Vaughn looked right at Wyatt. “She’s gone.”
It took a minute for the words to sink in. “What do you mean . . . she’s ‘gone’?”
“You know where Remy is?” Jade interjected. She sounded just as pissed as Wyatt felt. “What the hell?”
Vaughn drew himself up and scanned the group with cool, no-nonsense eyes. “I made the decision to protect her and keep her out of the way until we decided how to proceed. To be perfectly clear—Remy was in my custody with her full agreement.”
Wyatt was aware of a rising fury bubbling inside him. What the hell gave Rogan the right to do such a thing? And to lie about it, to people who knew her?
“It was safer for Remy,” the mayor said, fixing him with a cold gaze, obviously reading his mind. “Safer if no one knew where she was, or who she was. There would be no chance encounter, no accidental recognition—”
“But what you’re saying now is that she’s fucking gone.” He couldn’t sit any longer, and now he was eye-to-eye with Vaughn. His vision went dark, edged with red fury. “And there are people out there—a mob—just waiting for the chance to—”
The knock on the door was probably the only thing that kept him from taking a swing at the man—either literally or figuratively. And Wyatt didn’t figure he cared which way it would have gone. His muscles trembled with the effort of holding back.
Rogan turned with dignity—but not without measuring Wyatt back with a dark look of his own—just as Ian Marck stumbled through the door. Behind him was Simon, clearly the force behind the propulsion.
In retrospect, Wyatt realized it was probably a damn good thing things happened the way they did. Being able to grab Marck by the scruff of the shirt and whip him up against the wall instead of the mayor was doubtless a better choice in the long run.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Marck spat, recovering quickly from the surprise assault. He grabbed Wyatt’s arm with strong fingers.
“Not until you tell me where Remy is,” Wyatt said from between clenched teeth.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. But since I don’t, I don’t even have that satisfaction.”
Marck tried to head-butt him in the face, but Wyatt dodged the blow and jammed the other man harder against the wall. It was all he could do not to plow a fist into his face or gut, and then let the rest fly . . . but, unfortunately, he believed Ian. With great reluctance, stiff with fury, Wyatt loosened his grip on Ian’s shirt and let his feet rest back on the floor.
“Last time I saw Remy, she smashed me on the head with a fucking beer bottle,” Marck said, twisting sharply away from Wyatt’s grip. His movement revealed a lump the size of a golf ball on his head, and a bright red scar shining amid matted blond hair.
“Well, that’s a hell of a souvenir.” Wyatt nearly smiled. Nice going, sweetheart. “When did that happen?”
“Last night. Right after all hell broke loose. What the hell am I doing here?” Marck glared at Simon, who’d been watching the proceedings with his arms crossed over his chest—blocking the door.
“When did you see her last?” Wyatt demanded, looking at Vaughn.
“About three hours ago,” he replied. “And now she’s gone.”
Damn. Wyatt turned back to the bounty hunter. “The two bounty hunters who just arrived in Envy. Do you know them?”
Marck shrugged, insolence oozing from him. Had to give the guy credit for balls. He was up to his chin in a mess, and he still copped an attitude.
“An albino man and a bleached-blond woman in black leather,” Quent said, his tones flat and impatient. “Know who they are?”
“Lacey’s here? Sonofabitch.” Ian Marck’s sneer turned disgusted and a little discomfited. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be going now.”
“I don’t think so,” Vaughn said. Simon hadn’t moved anyway, so Marck’s retreat was foiled regardless. “Not until you give us some more information. We’re working on a damn timeline here.”
“Yeah,” Marck said with a humorless smile. “I know. Thirty hours until everything goes up in smoke. Me included.”
“You’ve had a big-ass death wish for years,” Zoë said. “Should be no big deal for you now. Unless you want to help us.”
Marck’s response was a dry chuckle, clearly indicating his position.
There was a knock on the door and everyone swiveled to look. “Seriously?” Fence said. “Who the hell is it now?”
Being closest, Simon poked his head out the door and had a brief conversation with whoever was there. When he pulled his head back in, he looked at David. “Your daughter is looking for you. Apparently, she has a problem.”
David frowned and exchanged glances with Wyatt. “What sort of problem?”
“Apparently, there is a dead body in your room.”
Chapter 19
“A dead body? In our room? Are you okay?” Her father’s reaction was pretty much what Cat had expected.
“I’m fine,” she told him. But “fine” was such an inaccurate word to describe how she was feeling after the events of the last few hours. Jumpy, fired up, confused, and determined were probably better.
Dad had asked the question just as he came out of the room where he’d been in some clandestine meeting, probably having to do with the resistance group he’d told her about. It had taken her forever to find someone who knew where he was, and it was only because she’d mentioned Ana and George that she was able to track him down anyway.
But to Cat’s surprise, Dad didn’t come from the room alone. Her breath caught when she recognized the man accompanying him. The hot guy from last night, by the stage. Her cheek
s warmed and her heart stuttered. Lucky me.
“Cat, this is Wyatt,” Dad said. He had a funny expression on his face. “He’s . . . uh . . .”
“I’m going to help take care of the body, but quickly. Remy’s still missing,” Wyatt said. “We can explain everything else later. What happened?” he asked Cat, turning his full attention on her.
Intense. That was the only word to describe him. Up close and talking to this guy, she realized there was a lot more to him than mere hotness. He seemed barely restrained, like he was ready to explode into action at any moment. His eyes were dark and a little too hard; they kind of glittered, with some emotion she couldn’t identify. He was older than her, probably at least ten years, and looked as if he’d lived. Not in a debauched sort of way, but in a real life-sucks sort of way. Like Dad.
Cat realized with a start that Wyatt and her father were both looking at her. They had identical expressions on their faces: expectant, impatient, and concerned.
“Yeah, right. Well, this blond lady just kind of showed up at the room,” she explained, telling the story she and Remy had agreed upon. As close to the truth as possible without giving away anything important.
Not that she really knew much, even now. Just the little she’d gleaned from the conversation between Remy and the woman. And she’d seen the small crystal apparently known as the Mother crystal—which Remy told her was causing all of these problems, and apparently could be the cause of Envy’s destruction.
“I guess she was looking for help, because she was knocking on doors. I must’ve been the only one around because she knocked on ours and I opened it. She was sick,” Cat said as they started to walk out of the offices of the mayor and city council. “I could tell that almost right away. She came in and sat down . . . got all short of breath and clammy and weak . . . and then she died.” She spread her hands. “I didn’t know what to do, so I came to find you, Dad.”
“That’s unfortunate for the woman and her family, of course, but I don’t think it’s an insurmountable problem,” Dad said. He seemed irritated with the simplicity of the story, tense in an unusual way. “I thought something . . . else . . . might have happened.” He and Wyatt exchanged glances.