Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  “Nick? Where are you?”

  “Back here by the shore. I’m sorry, they just took me away before I could tell you.”

  “Who?”

  “My supervisor. She can be really inconsiderate.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Just a few loose ends.” More than a few, actually.

  “When will you be back?”

  He thought about Lena’s mysterious proposition and Johann’s odd reappearance. If he were to let his guard down now, as his supernatural abilities drained away, might he be endangering Hope by associating with her?

  “I’m not sure. Soon.”

  “It’s all right, Nick. I’m exhausted and ready for bed. If you still have some work to do, go ahead. Just make sure to come for me in the morning.”

  “I’ll try to get back before you fall asleep. But in case I don’t make it in time...”

  Hope let out the sweetest, most endearing yawn. It sent a warm rush of affection through Nick’s ever-thickening blood.

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  “’Night.”

  “Oh, and Nick?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.” And she hung up, gently.

  How many times had he heard humans utter those three words—casually, carelessly, emptily? But when Hope had said them, they nearly robbed him of his breath. Now he understood why, at the dawn of humanity, Father had said, “It is not good for man to be alone.”

  To ensure that nothing from his life as an angel would affect his new mortal life with Hope, Nick had to clear things up with Lena, make a clean break. But did he have to figure it all out right this minute? Right now, he’d much rather be with Hope. As he thought about her lying in bed waiting for him, the issue was decided for him.

  In the blink of an eye, and to his pleasant surprise, he found himself standing at the edge of the bed in Hope’s room at the Broadmore. She was breathing evenly in a deep slumber while hugging an oversized pillow. Taking care not to wake her, he knelt and pushed an errant strand of hair from her face. Still asleep, she smiled. Nick kissed her forehead lightly.

  He wasn’t sure he could still whisper into her spirit, especially in her sleep. But he had to try.

  // I LOVE YOU, HOPE //

  “Mmmm...” Her expression changed—ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but in all the time he’d known her he had never seen such contentment on her face. He had seen that expression on humans who’d been redeemed, been touched by grace. Would he ever know such peace?

  For now, he would enjoy it vicariously through her.

  Resting his head close beside hers, he kept looking at her even as a sharp pang impaled his chest. How was it possible? How could he love someone so much that it actually hurt physically? If only he could capture this moment, put it in a bottle and keep it for all—at least, for the rest of his natural life, anyway.

  Still deep asleep, Hope murmured something he couldn’t make out. She stirred and began to whimper, her brow pinched together. “It’s all right...”

  Not wanting to stir her from her dream, Nick remained still and listened.

  A tiny sob broke through her words. “Don’t be afraid...it’s just a dream, it’s all just been like a dream. We’re going to wake up one day and laugh about it.” She sniffed and tears drew glistening lines down her face. Was she dreaming of Chloe? “I’ll see you soon...I love you.”

  And with that, she began to weep aloud. Nick got into the bed, wrapped his arms around her, held her close. Hot tears seeped through his shirt and onto his chest. And then she opened her eyes.

  “Oh, Nick!” Sorrow laced her features.

  “I’m here, love.” He held her tight. “There, now. Just a dream.

  “I’m so sad…don’t know why.”

  “Can you remember anything?”

  “No, I just woke up crying.” She leaned away from him so she could look right in his eyes. “Please, Nick. Don’t let go of me, not till I fall asleep again.”

  “I won’t.” As he pulled her back into his arms, his wings unfurled from behind whatever remained of the construct of his mortal form. With them, he enveloped her while she returned to her slumber. “Ever.”

  For the rest of the night until the dayspring he hid her there—under the shadow of his wings.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  WHAT WAS IT ABOUT HUMANS THAT MADE THEM turn into idiotic tools the minute they had hold of power? Lena stood in a boardroom with Miguel Suarez, Roberto Hernandez, and sons of the Hernandez branch from the Guzman syndicate. She couldn’t let her contempt for them show—in light of what she’d just learned about Nick’s botched assignments, she was going to need their help.

  “This better be good, Miguel,” said Roberto Hernandez, who was wearing an expensive Italian suit and a lot of jewelry. “I got a good mind to call this whole damn thing off.”

  “It’s good, just listen to what the lady has to say.”

  Lena stepped forward. “We all want the same thing. I’m offering you something greater than you can ever imagine, if you help me with one meager annoyance. Something you’ve wanted for a long time.”

  Miguel lit a Cuban, leaned back, set his feet on the table and puffed.

  “We just want all the Guzman territories. That little hijo de puta Carlito is messed up.”

  With a wave of her hand, Lena dismissed the Guzmans.

  “Forget them. When this is all done, they and everything you know will be gone. If you want in on the new global order, you’ll have to prove your usefulness.”

  “Stakes just got raised, bro,” Roberto said with a wink at Miguel.

  “What are you talking about?” Miguel said.

  “You’re sitting on your fat butts, thinking too small,” Lena said. “I’m talking national and soon after that global control. You want in or not?”

  Miguel grabbed Roberto’s shoulder.

  “Of course he does.” Smiling at Lena. “We all do. Ain’t that right, Roberto?”

  Roberto shrugged his hand away and glared at the others.

  “Some hot chick in leather shows up and now you’re her lap dog?”

  That did it. Lena’s patience, paper thin to start with, had now worn through. She walked over to Roberto, who kept puffing on his cigar even when her hand reached his shoulder and slid down over his chest.

  “I better be getting a lap dance soon,” he said as he puffed a cloud right into her face, “or I’m outta here.”

  Lena opened her right hand. A KA-BAR appeared in it. She pressed its razor tip right into one of Roberto’s chins.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where the hell did you—”

  She snapped the fingers of her left hand and pointed the Baretta 950 Jeftfire that appeared in it at the other Hernandez men.

  “You boys done screwing around? I’m getting tired of all this.”

  Miguel wagged his eyebrows at Roberto and shrugged.

  “I suggest you listen to the hot chick, eh?”

  “O-kay,” Roberto squeaked.

  Lena took the knife from his throat and set it down on the table. She did the same with the gun, then slid both weapons over to the other two Hernandez men for examination.

  As soon as the younger one got the knife, he grabbed it and lunged at her.

  Without so much as turning around, Lena shot her hand out, caught him by the wrist, and swiftly twisted it with such strength it snapped.

  “What the hell!” Miguel said.

  The other Hernandez man picked up the Baretta and pointed it at Lena.

  “All right, bitch. You think you’re all that?”

  “You really don’t want to do that, Joey,” Miguel said. “Put that—”

  “Nah, man! She’s whack! Look what she did to Mark!” His voice sounded tough, but the gun in his hand was shaking. To Lena: “You better watch yourself, muchacha!”

  She blew out a sharp breath and let go of the moaning Hernandez whose wrist she’d broken. A moment later, the Baretta in Joey Hernan
dez’s grip changed from charcoal to amber, then blazing white. A sound like a steak on a grill sizzled from the gun, along with the stench of searing meat.

  “Ay!” Joey tried to drop the gun.

  It took a few shakes—his flesh had burned onto the Baretta’s molten surface. When it finally fell, wisps of smoke rose from the open palm of the charred right hand he clutched by the wrist with his left. Moaning and writhing, Joey fell to his knees next to his brother, also writhing, his hand bent at a perverse angle.

  “I apologize for my sons,” Roberto said. “They’ve always been...impulsive.”

  Lena snapped her fingers at them.

  Before their eyes, the injuries vanished—everything was restored, every man in the room marveling.

  Miguel blinked. “How did you…?”

  “It’s all a matter of perception. Of course I could have really hurt your boys if I wanted to. But I want your help and I’ll need you all physically in one piece.”

  “But that really hurt.” Joey was gawking at his restored hands. “I saw it, I felt it.”

  “I made you all believe it was real. So for you, it was.”

  “And those?” Roberto pointed to the gun and knife on the floor. “I mean, they just appeared out of thin air.”

  “Oh, they’re real.”

  “Now you ready to listen, bro?” Miguel got them all seated, then sat down at the head of the boardroom table and looked at Lena. “We’ll do whatever you say, lady. Mind telling us what the hell you are?”

  “I’m real, that’s all you need to know. Now listen carefully…”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE FUN to roast them all like the swine they were, but Lena couldn’t be bothered with picking up after Nick’s shoddy work. These pigs would have to do it so she could concentrate on the big event tonight.

  “Have it your way,” Roberto Hernandez said. “What do you want from us?”

  “First I want you to imagine a new world where things are done right, and only the right leaders get to make the decisions—wouldn’t you want to be part of that group?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on what you call right. What’s in it for us?”

  “If you’re on the right side, you stay in power in the new order.” Of course, she was telling them what their itching ears wanted to hear—not the truth, that they’d be slaves and metaphysical fodder in the new order.

  “You kidding me? You’re just some chick with magic tricks.”

  “What I just did to your boys?” Lena snarled. “That’s just a preview, and I’ve got a lot of others like me supporting my cause. It’s all going down tonight. Make the right choice, you can be on our side. Otherwise...” She glanced over at the gun on the floor.

  It floated up and over to touch each of the men’s foreheads, one at a time, finally returning to press against Roberto’s.

  He scoffed. “Yeah. Right. That ain’t real.”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Lena said.

  A bead of sweat rolled down his face as he sat silent. Joey grabbed his arm.

  “Papi, come on—it’s for real!”

  He didn’t need to examine it , he was convinced. “Okay, okay. So, what’s the job?”

  “Just two hits,” Lena said. “One of them, Miguel’s been trying to get for some time now, the other is an easy target.”

  “Who?”

  Lena pointed to the middle of the conference table, where a pair of three-dimensional images appeared.

  “Lito Guzman!” Mark pointed to the one on the left. “I capped him in Mission Valley!”

  “Apparently he survived.” These boys needed to be more thorough. But in all fairness Lena hadn’t known what happened that morning until last night when her tracking device—the cell phone she gave Nick—enabled her to access the traffic cam footage. Either she’d trusted Nick too much or there’d been a huge disconnect between them.

  “Nah, man, no way!” Mark said.

  “He had some help,” Lena said.

  “What kind of help?”

  She glared at Miguel Suarez. “You haven’t explained to them yet?”

  He shrugged. “Like they’d just take my word.”

  He was right. For these guys, the concept of a round planet would probably be a stretch. Better show rather than tell.

  “All right, Joey. Pick up the gun.”

  He complied. Lena pointed at her chest.

  “Shoot me.”

  “What?” Joey said.

  “You want to know what kind of help Lito had, I’m going to show you. Now, shoot me.”

  “Whatever.”

  Just before he squeezed off a round, the others covered their ears to shield them from the blast of a weapon fired inside a room. At the same moment, Lena became invisible while standing in front of Miguel.

  But Joey had squeezed his eyes shut and fired off three consecutive rounds. One of the bullets hit Lena’s invisible and molecularly altered body, and fell to the carpet in the form of coin-like slags.

  With Lena gone from his sight, Miguel spilled out of his chair expecting bullets to hit him square in the face. He hit the wall spewing Spanish expletives and scrambled backward, butt on the floor, until he realized he couldn’t go back any further.

  Lena reappeared, bent down and picked up the flattened rounds, then with one hand lifted a trembling Miguel to his feet.

  “Sit.”

  Stunned, he obeyed but almost missed the rolling leather chair.

  Roberto looked bewildered. “What are you saying, Lito has a guardian angel?”

  “Had.” Lena circled the table, then stopped and confronted them all. “Well, boys—are you in?”

  They all grunted some form of an affirmative.

  “Excellent. Now, the first part of your assignment is simple.” She drew their attention to the holographic image of Lito Guzman. “Kill him.”

  Another round of grunts. She brought up another image.

  “This is Hope Matheson. Kill her.”

  “Aw, come on. A lady?” Roberto said.

  Lena slammed her fist on the conference table. It split in half, the two parts collapsing into the middle as the men rolled back their chairs.

  “I don’t have time for this! Kill her, or join the sheep in the slaughter!”

  “All right, all right!” Roberto said. “We got this, okay? We got this.”

  It was enough. Lito Guzman had changed sides and would no longer destroy thousands of lives. And Hope Matheson, if she lived to overcome her depression, might encourage millions to the enemy above. Starting with her speech tonight. As for terminating Nick, she wasn’t about to trust these goons. She’d handle that her own special way.

  “Just one thing,” she said. “You’ve got to do it before the end of the night. My informants tell me both Lito Guzman and Hope Matheson will be attending Hartwell’s event at Cabrillo Stadium.” She gave them a conspiratorial smile.

  Not one of them smiled back

  “I got an in with Lito’s sister,” Joey said. “She’s mad enough with him to want what you want.”

  “Good,” Lena said. “Do this to my satisfaction, and you’ll be given authority over all of southern California, reporting directly to me.” She trained her eyes on Miguel: “Do you have anyone with sniper skills?”

  “I’ll get him there tonight. But there’s a problem,” he said. “We don’t have tickets and I’m pretty sure they won’t let us bring guns into the stadium.”

  Lena opened the palm of her hand. Miguel handed out the tickets that appeared. By now they barely looked surprised.

  “Just show up.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  LENA TELEPORTED TO NEW YORK HARBOR to clear her mind after her frustrating meeting with the cartel leaders.

  Everything was going as planned. Serena—Raven—had reported that after the little hiccup with the Coast Guard and the Marine Corps, the package was en route to the installation site. Nevertheless, a last-minute check was in
order. Lena dialed the number but it rolled over to voice mail.

  She tried again. And again.

  Finally, Yuri Kosolupov answered his cell phone.

  “Are you ignoring me?”

  “Stop calling!” His voice was barely audible. “We’re in the middle of configuring the packages—there are security guards in the corridors. I’m shutting my phone off. Call you later.”

  “Yuri, wait!”

  Click.

  Lena slammed her fist down so hard it made a long crack in one of the spears in Lady Liberty’s crown. He cut her off? After she sent one of her Nephilim to bail his sorry butt out of military detention?

  Simmering in that old rage she had embraced years ago, Lena tried calming herself with the knowledge that in just a little while, the debts would come due.

  There was hell to pay.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  “GO AHEAD AND OPEN IT.” The old man sat across the table from Maria in a corner of the Chula Vista public library, his hands on a walking stick, his deep brown eyes gazing at her from beneath sagacious white eyebrows.

  Maria looked at the manila folder. What would Lito think if he knew she was with a representative of their sworn enemies, however ancient? But it was Juan Suarez who had contacted her, claiming he had information connected to her late fiancé.

  “I have wanted to speak to you for so long, mi cariño.” He heaved a weary sigh. “But not until I had proof. Alfonso knew something Carlito has kept from you your whole life.”

  She thumbed through the pages, newspaper clippings, glossy photographs faded over time, then stopped at a middle-aged woman and a man posed on the porch of a house with a white balustrade and a red tiled roof. Sitting on the woman’s lap was a little girl who could not have been more than two or three years old. The three of them seemed vaguely familiar.

  “Who are these people?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  She shook her head and stopped at a newspaper clipping. The headline read:

  PABLO AND ANTONIA SUAREZ GUNNED DOWN AT HOME