“How old is the tape?” John asked.
“A month, maybe less.”
“I’d say maybe more. Great! Modern technology, huh.” John griped.
“Circa ’85.” McCabe finished.
The guard stopped the tape. Surprisingly, this section wasn’t too bad.
“Why are cameras in the refrigeration room?” Lever asked.
“Back in the 80’s, we had some incidences. Parts and bodies missing. Lawsuits,” Meade replied.
“There.” The guard pointed and everyone crowded close.
Two minutes later, everyone stepped back. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, shivering, but they hardly noticed.
McCabe frowned. “What the hell did I just see?”
“The drawer opened and he sat up and got out and walked away,” John replied in a hollow voice.
“He also floated.” John’s assistant whispered.
“Is that even possible?” The guard asked.
Mead scratched his head. “How did the drawer open?”
“Play it again.” McCabe ordered.
Lever heard each man’s voice, but not a word they said, because what they saw and what she saw, were two entirely different things.
A man, dressed like something that stepped off the wall of a pyramid, entered the room and opened the drawer. He stretched out his hand and Daniel Nicolis’ body floated above the drawer, spun once, and then lowered. Like waking from a good nap, his eyes flipped open. He was about to speak, but the imitation of a hieroglyph kind of . . . melted, vanished, faded, in swirly down the drain manner, that—except for the agony on his face—was kinda cool in a Spielberg sci-fi way.
No one else saw him. Just like her crazy dreams that weren’t dreams . . . but were because . . . what else could they be?
“It’s a fucking magic trick!” McCabe said.
“Dead men don’t get up and walk.” John made the sign of the cross.
“This isn’t the fucking X-files.” McCabe stressed. “All this proves is that he wasn’t dead.”
They re-wound the tape and watched it for the third time.
“I bet you fifty he’s going after Stella Walker again,” McCabe murmured almost to himself.
“Why would he do that?” Lever forced her gaze away from the screen.
“Because he’s fixated. This is the second time she got away. Bet you fifty he returns for a third. All we have to do is place her under surveillance and wait.” McCabe’s grin made Lever sick.
“You’re going to use her as bait?” That couldn’t be legal, Lever thought. And if it was, it shouldn’t be.
“She’s already bait.” McCabe gave a final glance at the screen and pushed his way out of the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY- EIGHT
He should never have called Hector to pick him up. Like a recalcitrant child, his butler collected him from jail with folded arms and a scowl Roman’s long-dead father would have been proud to imitate. Neither commented on his incarceration. He slid into the passenger side of the Hummer and didn’t buckle his seatbelt. “How much is this going to cost me?”
Hector pulled into the flow of traffic. “That is between you and the Judge.”
Hector whipped into the left lane and grinned when a car horn blared.
Roman gritted his teeth. To be in debt to Judge Mitchell Nicolis Grayfield was not an enviable position. He opened the personal property envelope and emptied his wallet, watch, and his dead Samsung into his lap. He closed his eyes and let his head fall onto the headrest.
For a brief moment, he tried to resist, but questions floated quickly to his mind. Was she safe? Did she miss him? “Where is she now?”
“It’s five o’clock. She should be home, getting ready for work.”
“Work?” He shifted in the seat to look at his butler.
“Yes, she resumed her job at the diner last night.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, still. . . . “Who’s watching her?”
“Avery, since she’s never met him.”
Was Avery trustworthy? Or any of them? Roman fisted his hands to keep from punching something. Shit, that question never came up before with any of his men, his family. Now that’s all he thought of.
He closed his eyes again and tried not to think about her. The chance of that happening was next to nil. He could stop thinking about her like he could stop breathing. Every precious thing about Stella haunted him: the lotus blossom shampoo she used on her hair, the scent of her perfume between her breasts and on the rest of her silky skin. The liquid sweetness of her essence rolling on his tongue, the feel of her beneath him as their bodies merged, her cries as she blessed him with her orgasms. How good he felt to be deep inside her, trapped by her thighs, her sweet nipple—shit! He had to stop this. Her safety mattered and nothing else. He would perform his job as her bodyguard then leave her life.
Hector pulled into the underground garage of his Park Avenue Townhouse. A short elevator ride and he entered the ground floor of his Manhattan home. Bought in 1930 with money stashed away in a Swiss account from his pirating days, he renovated it in the late 90’s back to its old world stateliness.
Thane and Quin’s voices echoed. He tracked them to the library, where Quin set up the computer lab. Roman paused in the doorway but didn’t enter. There were three things he needed; a shower, some sleep, and Stella. He would only get two.
“Roman.”
It was the cautious way Thane said his name that stopped him from moving past the room. He braced himself in the open doorway, “What’s happened?”
Grim-faced, both men seemed not to want to speak. Quin stood and came from behind the Victorian desk. “Daniel’s body’s missing.”
I couldn’t have heard him correctly. Roman shook his head and had a second before Quin continued.
“It’s not public news, but . . . yeah, his fucking body is missing.” Quin nodded abruptly, halting Roman’s attempt at denial.
Again, he felt an invisible hand at work.
“Stolen?”
Thane shrugged. “Most likely. The police are quietly investigating”
Thane’s statement did nothing to ease the acid bubbling in Roman’s gut. The police would find nothing. “Any indication who took him?”
“No, he’s—that is—his body’s slipped off the grid,” Quin stated. He pulled the glasses from his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Was he ever on the grid?” Roman asked darkly.
“Who knows?” Quin shrugged.
“We should’ve known.” Roman’s hands balled up, aching to destroy something. He spent two days in the care of NYPD hospitality. He suffered worse, but that was before he had someone to worry about.
Fragile, Stella.
She couldn’t take care of herself and now she was out there defenseless. He studied his men standing in front of him, waiting for a decision. He never questioned their loyalty, never needed too. However, that was all he thought about while in lock up. Who could he trust? The unknown ate at him. Even with Avery’s return, he still wasn’t sure. When in doubt, trust no one. Not even the men you raised.
“Also, I have the other information you wanted regarding Carmen Gonzales.” Quin handed him a copy of a death certificate. “She had one son, Jose. He died three years ago. Overdose. He’s buried next to his mother in Greenlawn Cemetery.”
Stella didn’t kill the man who raped her. Roman crushed the paper and wondered if the information would comfort her.
An undercurrent flowed around him, moving him like a piece on a chest board without his consent. He’d always felt some unseen hand manipulating his life. He never told Reign. His practical twin didn’t take to the supernatural. Roman kept his thoughts to himself . . . until the curse changed their lives. The curse was the beginning, the end unknown. Would her love break it, make him mortal? Would they have children, grow old together, die in each other’s arms?
No, she wouldn’t forgive him. Not this time, but it didn’t matter. To save her—and
his sanity—he had to find the underlying cause of this quickly.
“I want an accounting of all Daniel’s time,” Roman said.
“Already done.” Quin handed him several sheets of data downloaded from Daniel’s locator.
Roman scanned the paper. “There’s plenty of unaccounted time here.”
“As with all of us. We go on mission, we go silent. He could have been on mission?” Thane said.
“If he was? Who hired him?” Roman replied.
“A hired serial killer? Whoa?” Quin shook his head.
“Or someone hired him to be a serial killer,” Roman said to no one in particular. “Stella, she said a name . . . Anubis said his eyes glowed.”
“Not possible,” Thane said.
Roman gave him a hard stare.
“She probably hallucinated,” Thane added. “And who’s Anubis?”
Stella’s eyes glowed. Daniel’s eyes glowed? “I don’t know. But I’m going to fucking find out.”
~~~~~~
Nephythys strode through the few rooms allotted to Anubis in his father’s palace. She didn’t have time for this! Yet, she was forced to make time to address Anubis’ deception when all she wanted was time with her beloved slave before her husband returned to claim the marital rights denied to him for millennia.
If it wasn’t for the unexpected arrival of a man ready for judgment in her throne room, she would be with her slave right now, loving him as only she could.
But, the man had reminded her of her slave...and that wasn’t possible.
Shackles on his ankles and wrists and chained low to the floor brought him to his knees and bowed his broad back. The enchanted metal strained to contain him. The condemned usually didn’t arrive in this combative condition. But, along with his non-submissive state, there were a few other problems. First, he wasn’t Egyptian. An Anglo-Saxon struggled on her white and gold marble floors. He growled, spit, and used the foulest language. That alone could send him to the deepest pit in Duat.
He ceased when she ordered, the chains sagged as he stilled instantly.
“Raise your eyes to mine.” She contemplated his ruggedly boyish face, deep blue eyes, and cropped curly hair. From a distance, the similarities were enough to make her blood surge invitingly through her cold body. Yet upon close appraisal, the man before her bore only a passing resemblance to her beloved.
“Your name?” She commanded.
“Alamut, Goddess.”
An Egyptian name, yet he wasn’t Egyptian. “How do you come to be in my presence?” His lips compressed and his eye blazed, but he couldn’t resist her command.
“I am not sure.”
“You are dead.” She confided, smiling into his face. “You reside here because of your actions and the evil infested in your heart. Yet you are not a follower or a descendant, so this hell should not be your final destination.” She stepped closer. He squirmed as if her gaze troubled him more than the restraints. “I see a god’s handiwork wrought within you.” He lowered his gaze.
He had strength. She might have been impressed if she hadn’t met one whose strength eclipsed the specimen sweating on her floor. At her command, his gaze lifted to her and she nearly lost herself in their familiar blue depths until—There! Swirling dark tendrils lashed at her, their signature unmistakable.
“Anubis.” What could that minion of SET be up too, and does The God of Evil know?
She was about to question the man further, but he flashed from her chambers, recalled to his master’s side.
That’s what brought her to Anubis’ chambers. This time she would have proof of his traitorous actions. Perhaps her discovery would buy her another millennium free from her wifely duties. She grinned, imagining all the ways Anubis would suffer when a door barred her way.
A door. Egyptian palaces had no doors. How human of him and how stupid. Clumsily, she grabbed the knob and pushed. The door didn’t budge. She tried again to no avail. She could destroy it but preferred to leave no trace of her presence.
Her hand slipped and the knob moved slightly. She grabbed it and turned her hand to the right. Click. The door opened to a room empty of furnishings, however, filled with unadorned canopic jars on shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Incandescent souls flickered brightly inside, stored in this secret warehouse, and denied judgment. Their consciences beat at her, demanding reward or punishment. And like Alamut, these souls were not followers or descendants.
Harvested. An ancient practice not done since the first pharaoh united the kingdoms by building an army so terrible his enemies surrendered rather than fight. The Sacred Dagger was lost during that time. Buried in the desert at the order of—
“Nephythys. Your presence demanded mine.”
She spun around and found Anubis bowing to her.
“Goddess, it has been a very long time since you visited.” Without her permission, he rose and his gaze met hers. “However, you have appeared in the wrong chamber. SET resides on the opposite end of the palace. May I show you?”
“I did not come here for SET.” She glared.
His face showed surprise. “Then I am honored.”
“Anubis, this is a dangerous game you play.”
“Game? I don’t understand? We all play this game and danger makes everything more interesting.” His lips peeled back and all his teeth showed.
Small of stature, thin framed and mottled pasty skin, he reminded her of his father. “Where is the Anu-Ra, The Sacred Dagger? Give me it.” She held out her hand.
“No.”
“You say no?” How dare he!
“You heard correctly, Nephythys. My answer to you is, no. I will not hand over the Anu-Ra. It evens the field in my favor.” He moved away from her.
“You think having a relic makes you an equal? Protects you from SET’s wrath?” She laughed and stalked him.
“No, knowing the face of your lover does. Shall I inform your husband of your faithfulness?”
His words halted her. “I have no lover.” She spoke truthfully.
“The man, hanging in your alcove. The forbidden human that sweats, and bleeds, waiting for your return. That is the lover I refer to.”
She couldn’t stifle her gasp or the sickening sneer gracing Anubis’ face. Somehow, he’d touched her personal Null, Kema. That is the only way he could know all of this.
“He would not appreciate the news, Anubis?” Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “It took you long to recover from the last time you brought unwanted news to your father, did it not?”
His voice shook and his thin frame along with it. “My father loves me—”
“And would still peel the flesh from your frail body.” She loved reminding him of SET’s sadism.
“No different from you or any of the Gods on Chemmis. You’ve come for one reason and now you must beg for my silence. Not what you planned for this evening, but I am entertained.” His smile had the warmth of an asp.
The tips of her hair quivered in agitation. She didn’t beg, at least not to him.
“Is your lover still there waiting for you?” Like a gleeful child, Anubis rocked on the balls of his feet.
Angry, the tips of her hair flamed. “What petty scheme are you up to, Anubis?”
“I shall tell you so you don’t have to wonder. I have scented my champion with the blood of your lover. Returned him to earth. I will kill him and cleanse the dishonor you have brought to my father’s name.”
“You care nothing for SET.” Nephythys voice rose, her cold, distant composure slipping under pressure.
Glee danced in Anubis’ eyes. “And neither do you, but he is still my father and I will honor him.” He stated with all the conviction of a dutiful son.
She laughed. “You are not God enough or man enough to kill him. He has slaughtered thousands and is the best killer nature has ever made.”
“A challenge.” Anubis nodded. “Good.”
“A lesser god stuck in the shadow of his father, what do you know a
bout a challenge?” She raked him with scornful eyes.
He stepped close, close enough to touch her. She could shield herself, but admit fear to Anubis—never.
“My slave against your lover. That is my challenge.”
“That pathetic creature you have turned?”
Anubis’ eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back in a snarl. She’d struck bone, however, her joy was short lived. A lesser god challenged her. She couldn’t refuse. The rules of the pantheon demanded it. But that would mean releasing her love.
“The challenge is met.” She hid her trembling hands in the folds of her robes.
Anubis’ thin lips peeled back over sharp canine teeth. His true nature, The Jackal, bled through his human façade. She’d call him a mongrel. Unfortunately, she knew well his pedigree.
“Send your lover back quickly, Goddess. I long to avenge my parent.” He leered. Drool crept from between his teeth and trickled down his chin.
He wasn’t a god, but an animal. No, he resided lower than any noble creature that walked the earth. “You are never welcome in my presence again.” She started to flash, but before she faded, Anubis whispered.
“Was I ever welcome, Mother?”
No, he was not the child she wanted and nothing would ever make her love him.
Returned to her palace, she paced, flinging objects out of her way as she walked. Kema had vanished. No doubt used and slaughtered by Anubis.
She couldn’t lose her love, wouldn’t. Not for SET, not for the pantheon. He was the only bit of happiness she had in thousands of years. He belonged to her and nothing would make her give him up.
The stark hand of reality seized her by the throat. “I cannot keep him.” She gasped and lowered herself into a chair. “And even if I could keep him, he will not stay.” Especially not after how she treated him.
What if he were slain? Impossible. About to cast away the absurd thought, she paused. Her love was human, mortal. His life extended at her discretion. Once he left Chemmis, he would be as frail as the rest of the human race. She had to see Anubis’ champion, see what his opponent would be. Carefully, she brought forth her Scrying bowl. Made from beaten Egyptian gold and the first sands from the great desert, hieroglyphics covered every inch.
Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1) Page 21