He dropped Marvin at the Dee’s and partook in thirty minutes of extracurricular activities, which oddly enough, he found himself not really into. He gave Dee a kiss on the cheek as he was leaving her place. “I’ll be back ASAP. Have a Merry Christmas with my boy in case I’m not back in time.”
Dee frowned, hand on her hip. “I think this is the last time, Clay.”
He shrugged. “I get it. You got a boyfriend or something?”
She nodded. “Working on it. But it’s not just the sex. It’s Marvin. You can have full custody. I’m moving to Cali after the first. So, be back no later than the twenty-seventh.”
“All right. Thanks for watching him.”
Dee scratched the top of Marvin’s head. “I love him, but it is what it is.”
“Right.” Clay bent down and gave Marvin a big hug. He left him and Dee behind and although he knew it might be tough to find backup for his dog, he was in a strange way relieved.
He thought about this as he sat at the airport bar. He couldn’t make heads or tails out of why he would be relieved that his dog sitter and great piece of ass was leaving. That wasn’t at all like him. Jeez—what in the hell had gotten into him?
Lina
In my car, I drove a wandering circuit away from my kill. Nothing popped up that I didn’t expect, so I called the mission a success. I’d timed Bartholomew’s death well enough that I had at least a three-day window before anyone found his body, and there wasn’t a single thing linking him back to me. There never was. That’s part of what made me so desirable as a cleaner—none of the agencies who hired me ever had to have me on their payroll. And I demanded cash up front so I never had to follow up. Rarely did I even work with the same contact, and I liked it that way. I had no idea how they moved my name around internally, but the less I knew the better.
Most of my assignments came straight from Malcolm, but with him out of the country, they’d been contacting me directly. I much preferred Malcolm as a buffer—he made it easier to say no when I didn’t want to take a job.
But I’d been ready to go back to work and find at least a little bit of normalcy. On the freeway and headed toward London, I dialed Clay.
“Hi.” He was somewhere loud and I could barely hear him.
“Are you in a bar?”
“Yeah. Airport.” He covered the mouthpiece and said something but it was muffled.
“Can you talk?”
“Little bit. You may have to ask the questions.”
“Okay. Why do you need my help? What kind of job is this?” I asked.
“You’re good with crowds, and guards.”
Okay, so there were guards he needed to handle, but surely he’d been in that position before. It wasn’t like Clay stole necklaces out of old ladies’ jewelry boxes. He stole millions in jewels and ancient relics worth more—a ton more. “Ha. You sure about that? Remember Felt’s place?” I asked. “Our first little meeting?” I’d nearly had to kill Clay and a security guard on the heist where we’d met. Clay had dropped in—literally—while I was in the middle of stealing the first relic I’d needed to get my fiancé’s soul out of Hell. We’d both made out of there with nothing, except my determination to track down the ass who had screwed up my attempt to get the relic. That ass was, of course, Clay. I’d stolen the gear that he’d left behind and tracked him down.
Now we were working together, sort of. Metatron had essentially told us that Clay was my sidekick in this deal. That hadn’t exactly made either of us happy. It was what it was, but I was surprised by him asking for my help on one of his jobs. Granted, we had finally gotten the relic from the Renwick. I hated admitting that I didn’t think I could have done it without him—thus, my curiosity.
“I do remember Felt’s quite well and that’s why I want you on this one. You can uh, incapacitate the guards. Distract the crowd.”
“You know my deal. I only kill bad guys, and only when I’m paid to do it. I don’t off guys on the subway just because they’re douchebags. And I certainly won’t take out some security guards to help you get whatever it is you’re stealing this time.”
“I wouldn’t think of asking you to kill anyone. I don’t like blood and I know your creed. Bad guys only—and real bad guys. I get it. You in?”
“Where is it?” I tightened my hands around the steering wheel of the Range Rover that had been made available to me when I’d exited the private plane used to fly me to the UK.
“Near Ralph’s.”
I sighed. I couldn’t ask him how near, and I didn’t like that he was talking about Ralph in a crowded airport bar where anyone could overhear him. I’d already dragged Ralph and his housekeeper, Anna, into this when we’d gone to him in the beginning to pick his brain about his Book of Enoch knowledge. Yeah. The Book of Enoch had some kind of tie-in to why Griffin’s soul had been stolen by the dark side. What it was, I still didn’t know, but Ralph was an expert in ancient religious relics, and the Book of Enoch. “When does your flight land?”
“Nine a.m. I’m on the red-eye. You picking me up?”
I sighed. “Yeah. We’ll talk then.”
I thought about nothing and everything as I drove through the night, letting my thoughts bobble and bounce against each other, too exhausted to keep them contained. Ahead, the Severn Bridge illuminated the horizon as I motored down the M4. Griffin had loved suspension bridges, enamored by the architecture and engineering that made them work. Our first date had been on the Manhattan Bridge and he’d been like a kid with a train set, his eyes bright as he’d shown me details. My mind wandered back to that time. I couldn’t help myself, and it was as if I heard his voice clear as day in my mind.
“Back when they designed and built it, everything about this bridge was innovative.” He put his arm across my shoulders and pulled me near, pointing up at the underside of the bride as we walked beneath. The crisp scent of his aftershave tickled my nose as the breeze from the passing cars overhead swirled around us.
I hadn’t gone on a date in over a year, so engrossed in all my training with Malcolm, perfecting everything from my knife skills to my long-distance target practice. Of course, the gorgeous man at my side knew none of that. He thought I was a freelance journalist and if this thing went more than three dates (a personal best), I knew my story about who I was would have to become more intricate. But for now, I could enjoy his company and not have to worry about the future.
His arm dropped and he grinned at me. “Sorry, that’s probably super boring.”
“No.” I grabbed his forearm, then softened my voice. “No. Not at all. It’s actually really interesting. I guess you’re going to be an architect?”
He shook his head and pulled my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Lawyer.”
I blinked. “Wow. Really? But you’re so into this stuff.” I waved my hand at the underside of the steel and cables.
“My parents really wanted me to go into law. My dad and granddad were both lawyers.” He gave me a sideways glance. “Prosecutors, some of the best the country’s ever seen.”
Okay … so much for telling him that I killed people for a living. That one might be a teeny hurdle. And if this thing progressed to meeting the parents, I was going to have to be a damn good liar … which I’d already proven to be, if my test scores could be believed. But this was one date.
My fingers tightened on his arm and we walked in a comfortable silence toward the restaurant.
But if it was only one date, why did I feel like I’d known him forever?
The tires rumbled across the bridge half a world away from that one, yanking me back to the present. Other than my work trips out of town, I hadn’t been without Griffin since that night. We’d been inseparable and I’d loved him from the start.
Now I had to figure out how to spend my life without him by spending my first Christmas alone.
And it was going to suck.
Lina
Clay was impossible to miss as I pulled through the passenger pickup. Might
have been the neon shirt. God, that man could be obnoxious like no one else, and the irony of his ability to blend into shadows wasn’t lost on me. Maybe being the most visible human being possible when he wasn’t on duty made him all the more invisible when he was.
I yanked the car to the sidewalk, veering between a bus and three taxis. He leaned over, checked the driver, found me suitable and grinned. “Hey babe. Nice wheels. Should work real well for our little job.” He opened the back hatch and tossed his bags in, then climbed in. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Yeah.” I twisted around to get back into the chaotic flow of cars racing past. “Tell me about this job.”
He snorted. “You’re no fun. All work and no play. Let’s go grab a beer and a bite.”
“It’s still morning.”
“Not at home.”
I rolled my eyes and gunned the gas, speeding us out of the way of three mopeds and a swarm of taxis. “The traffic here sucks. And, this driving on the wrong side of the road is just plain stupid.”
“You don’t drive a lot at home, do you?”
Not really. In Manhattan, I preferred to take the subway or to walk. Without a normal job to commute to, it seemed silly to drive. Most of my jobs were out of the country anyway, so I normally flew and the cars were always at my destination, gassed up and ready to go. But none of that was his business. “I’ll find you food, but tell me everything I need to know before we get there so I don’t have to play your stupid Twenty Questions again.”
He laughed and patted my thigh. “Always good to see you, too.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Get on with it.”
“Like I tried to tell you on the phone, I have too many active participants on this job. Since I agreed to this deal, the owner’s added another twenty guards. I’m good, but not that good. Oh, and uh, it’s a party.”
“A party?” I laughed. “Right. You’re funny.” I’d been on edge since crossing the bridge last night and thinking about Griffin. If there was one thing I could count on from Clay, it was his ability to get me either out of my head, or so deep in it that I couldn’t think of anything other than the job. It was refreshing and I appreciated it. While he might be a giant pain in my ass, he was a great partner and I was grateful for the intensity he gave to his work.
He might be a thief, but I wasn’t exactly working at a hospice, either. We held to the pirate’s code and while I might not trust everyone, I did trust Clay.
“Yep.” He held up an invitation. “Well-to-doers, maybe even some of the royal family, all at a little Christmas shin-dig, and you, are attending as my missus.”
“Oh, wait a minute there. I don’t think so.”
“I’ll shave. Have a nice tux. You can wear a gown.”
“I don’t do gowns.”
“Hmmm. I’ll split payment.”
“How much?”
“Two mil. One or you and one for me.”
I let out a low whistle. “Where do I get this gown?”
He laughed. “Monetarily motivated. I knew we had some things in common.”
“Right.” What he didn’t know is what I’d do with that kind of cash. I wasn’t necessarily motivated by money for my own gain. I had my causes. The monies would be channeled toward them.
He rubbed his palms together. “You’re in, then.”
“Well…” I slowed for the tollbooth, paid our fee, and hopped back on the main road, scanning both sides for a pub. But I also didn’t want to pick one too close, because he’d never get me all the details and I didn’t want to show up to this job unprepared. “What’s the fence?”
“Oliver Lareaux. Painting.”
“What? Who?”
He sighed. “This guy … Oliver was this up-and-coming artist out of Paris. Lived in Manhattan. He did some weird contemporary crap. If you ask me, I could do the same thing with fingerpaints, but rich people like weird shit. Anyway, this was back in the early ’70s. He was all into the Studio 54 club. You know … everyone who was anyone back then hung out there. Apparently the dude was murdered, and there’s some kind of lame-ass story that he was painting this particular painting on the day, and possibly while the killer was in his place. Folklore has it that the answers are in the painting. It’s been traded by private collectors for the last four decades, and now my guy wants it. I guess it’s worth several mil. Like fifteen, or something. I don’t know. Now, it is being showcased in some castle in West Sussex. My client is pissed that the Duke of Whatever won’t sell him the piece.”
“So, he wants you to steal it.”
“That’s why I like you. You’re smart.”
The car wobbled beneath my grip. “I’m not sure that this is a great fence. Might not be your best idea.” My stomach turned over. I risked a glance at him and got my breathing under control.
“You gonna be okay? Of course, it’ll be fine. It’s rich guys stealing from rich guys and it equals a very healthy payday for us.” He gave me a lazy grin. “I mean, this is nothing. When we’re on your jobs, we’re stealing shit that demons are after. We’re not only putting our lives at risk, but our souls are in the balance. A little piece of art is easy in comparison.”
If I could have punched him in the gut right then, I would have. I eyed him and shook my head. He was making some valid points, but this wasn’t just some little art piece, obviously. Plus, the bastard knew I got heartburn over stealing. Eliminating evil on the wrong end of my gun was a totally different deal. He did this solely for the payday. I did it to eradicate scum from the earth.
“What if I don’t want to help you?”
He shrugged and propped his elbow on the door, fingers drumming the upholstery. “Then I’ll probably get caught, killed, thrown in jail and you’ll have to figure out how to get along without me.”
He made it sound like I’d be pining for him, and that most definitely wasn’t the case. But I did need him. We hadn’t gotten any info on the second relic yet, but I knew it would be every bit as tough as the first and he’d masterminded our entire heist and successfully pulled it off.
Taking out twenty guards? Hmmm. “You have blueprints?”
He snorted.
“Right. Okay, I need to see the entire plan and figure out what alternatives we have. I’m not killing two dozen innocents.” I turned and stared at him as we careened down the road. “Understand?”
He winked.
Lina
I pulled into the narrow parking lot of the Blue Boar Inn, a two-story brick bar with a crumbling exterior and crooked sign that nearly guaranteed good food and better beer. We headed inside, and immediately I felt like I’d been transported back into seventeenth-century England. It was dark, lit only by lantern and a large fireplace at its center. Hard woods abounded, and the seating was wooden chairs set against wooden tables.
A young waitress came by and set down menus. Clay didn’t even look. “I’ll have fish n’ chips and a Kipling.”
“I’ll just have tea and toast, please. Oh, and a side of bacon.”
She smiled and nodded.
I shook my head at Clay. “A Kipling for breakfast?” I asked, referring to the ale.
He shrugged. “I told you that it’s five o’clock somewhere and that somewhere happens to be home.”
“Fine. It’s your liver. Want to finish going over the details of this little venture we’re going to take?”
“Nope,” he replied.
“Nope?”
He shook his head. “Not here. We have time.”
“How much?”
“Until tomorrow night. We have a day to plan and I’m already ahead of the game. You just need the peripheral details.”
“Hmmm.”
“Most important is we must go shopping and find you that gown.”
I frowned and took a sip of my tea. “I’m really going to play your wife on this?”
“Most definitely, darling,” he said in a British accent. “And, I suggest that you begin preparing now.” He placed his hand over mine, rubb
ing the back of it and smiling at me.
I snatched it away. “No one says that we are happily married.”
“Two million dollars says that we are.”
I sighed and took a bite of my toast after the waitress set it in front of me.
“Oh, Lina, just go with it. I’ll give you the details as soon as we get to the cottage?”
“Cottage?”
“I’ve taken the liberty, darling Duchess, to secure us with a humble abode in West Sussex. It’s quite quaint, according to the photos I’ve seen.”
“Your accent needs work.”
“And you’re a grump. Not much for the holiday spirit, are you?”
I looked up at him, and didn’t know what came over me. I felt emotion in the back of my throat and I had to bite my lip to keep tears from coming. I shook my head. “Not so much this year.”
He eyed me and his demeanor changed. “Yeah. I’m guessing with Griffin gone…”
The tears welled up and I brushed them aside. “He loved Christmas. He genuinely cared about people. Every Christmas Eve ever since we met, and I know he did it before me, we would go down to one of the soup kitchens and feed the homeless. Then, he’d have some elaborate meal waiting for the two of us when we got home, where we’d exchange gifts … just the two of us. The next day was all about his family, and all I had was Malcolm, so we all got together and celebrated.”
“I’m sorry, Lina. I really am.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Have you spoken with his family?”
“No. Not since his funeral. I can’t. It’s too hard. I’m responsible for his death. They don’t know that, but it’s enough that I do.”
He set down his beer. “We’ll make it right for him. We will.”
I mustered a smile and we sat in silence for a few moments. “How about you? Any plans after our, uh, little venture goes down? Going to see family?”
The Judas Relic: An Evangeline Heart Holiday Adventure Page 2