by Amy Vansant
“He doesn’t have the Angeli master plan. Hasn’t shown up on your radar.”
“So to speak.”
“If he was morphing, couldn’t you stop him from becoming an Angelus?”
“It’s never come up before. If it’s some sort of evolutionary leap, I can’t stop his evolution any more than you could stop a child from becoming a teenager.”
Anne nodded. “Good analogy. Probably a similar evil.”
“A teenager and a Perfidia-infected Kairos?”
“It was a joke.”
“Ah. I see. I get it. Teenagers are troublesome.”
Anne tapped her front tooth with her fingernail, thinking. “Can I kill infected Kairos?”
“I don’t know. You were created specifically to syphon infected Angeli. Kairos run at a different frequency.”
“Do you need to create some kind of new Sentinel? Like me, only set to a different frequency? Or adjust me.”
“No. You’re perfect the way you are.”
“Good answer. You’re learning.”
Michael smiled and then clucked his tongue. “But seriously, developing a new Sentinel could take years. If it could even be done.”
“So, any ideas?”
“One. The L.A. Kairos have a man and a woman in their group who seem unique.”
“How so?”
“Well, he’s a sort of warrior class we’ve never seen before. He came into contact with the infected Kairos as a child and I think it triggered something inside of him.”
“Like some evolutionary shift for battling the bad guy?”
“That’s my theory. He comes from a strong line. His father took the arm of our suspect Kairos, but it wasn’t enough to reboot him. I think this warrior might have the ability to help.”
Anne clapped her hands together. “Well, then, there we go. Problem solved. Glad I could help.”
She stood and Michael cocked an eyebrow.
“What?”
“There are complications.”
Anne flopped back down again. “Why are there always complications?”
“He doesn’t know what powers he has or how to use them.”
“So tell him.”
“We don’t know either. Though I think a big part of his enhanced strength is to protect the other. The female. She might be our answer.”
“How so?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
Anne bit her lip, staring at Michael. “You know, for such powerful beings, you people—” She paused. “I mean, you Angeli, really don’t seem to know much of anything.”
“I’m starting to realize that myself.” Michael reached out and took Anne’s hand in his, his blue eyes staring deep into her own. The dimple on his left cheek deepened.
That’s not good.
“What are you up to?”
Michael smiled. “They’re going to need training.”
The door of the apartment opened and Anne’s assistant, Jeffrey, entered, grocery bags hanging from both hands.
“They didn’t have the kind of jelly you wanted so—” Jeffrey scowled at Michael. “What’s he doing here? And why do you both look so serious?”
“Guess,” said Anne.
Jeffrey’s jaw fell slack. “I thought we were done with all of that.” He put the groceries down on the kitchen island with a pouty flounce.
“On the upside, I think we’re going to Los Angeles,” Anne called to him.
Jeffrey perked. “Ooh, can we go to Spago?”
“Is that still a thing?”
Michael sniffed. “They just had a remodel.”
“How do you know that? Never mind. Just get us packed, Jeffrey.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Anne slid her hand out from under Michael’s. “So, what’s this special Kairos name?”
“Brochan.”
“Brochan, who?”
Michael looked up to the right as if searching for the answer. “No last name. Not at the moment.”
“How am I supposed to find a guy with one name?”
“Oh. He works at Parasol Pictures. His father, Sean Shaft works there as well.”
“Sean Shaft? What is he? A porn star?”
Michael ignored her. “Sean’s adopted daughter, Catriona Phoenix, the special one, works with them as well.”
“Catriona Phoenix? Where are they getting these names? Aren’t there any named Bob Jones? Todd Smith?”
“I could get you a list of all the Kairos’ names if you’d like to compile a directory.”
“No, thank you. Long story short, I have to go to Parasol Pictures in L.A.”
“Yes. But watch out for an actress there named Fiona Duffy.”
“She’s the bad guy?”
“No, his name is Rune.”
“Again with the stupid names.”
“Catriona and Fiona are Rune’s daughters. We don’t know where Fiona falls yet. Early reports don’t place her on our side.”
“Gotcha. Could be she’s special, too? In a bad way?”
“Could be.”
Anne turned to Jeffrey and twirled her finger in the air. “You’re not packing yet?”
“I’m putting away the food.”
Anne moved into the kitchen. “I’ll do that. You fold better than I do.”
Jeffrey slumped toward the bedrooms with a dramatic sigh. “Here we go again.”
Chapter Seventeen
Broch tore strips of cloth from the fallen ninjas’ costumes and used them to dress the stab wound and gag and tie the unconscious man to Catriona’s already hobbled victim.
Broch dragged Catriona’s victim to his stab victim and loosened his ties enough that he could guide the man’s hand to his friend’s side. He pressed the ninja’s palm into the blood.
“Keep pressure oan that wound.”
Broken Knee’s eyes widened and he said what sounded like you’ve got to be kidding me as well as he could with a gag in his mouth.
Broch squat down and patted Knee on his cheek. “Ye’d rather he die?”
Knee rolled his eyes and pressed.
Catriona and Broch moved to the far left door to find it opened to a room as the acolyte had promised, empty but for a desk and a chair. The surface of the desk was empty, apart from a silver-framed, larger version of the photo Mason had shown Catriona of his father at the U.S. Open.
Catriona lifted the photo to study it more closely. “Does this seem odd to you?”
Broch cocked an eyebrow. “Aye. Is thare anythin’ ’ere that isnae odd?”
“True. But this...” Catriona tapped the frame.
“Mebbe he’s been keeking Dungeon Decorating on the HGTV.” Broch laughed at his own joke. He’d been smitten with house shows as of late. They served as a primer for modern conveniences for him and as far as Catriona could tell, now he wanted all of them.
“Look at you with the modern references.”
He beamed. “Ah’m a fast learner.”
“Mm. Right. Because we all say keek instead of watch nowadays. Can we get back to saving the missing actress?”
“Aye. Sorry. Whit is it with the picture?”
“This photo struck me when Mason first showed it to us. Some sort of blood-sport I’d buy, but golf seems civilized for a guy who spends his spare time snipping off people’s pinkies.”
Broch huffed. “There’s nothin’ civilized aboot golf. Ah played wance. It made me wantae wrap mah club aroond someone’s neck.”
Catriona closed her eyes and tried to remember watching the U.S. Open with Sean. She found herself sitting on Sean’s sofa in his office at Parasol. Golf played on the small television. Sean sat, tilted back in his office chair, feet on his desk, watching.
There must be something here.
Behind Sean hung a calendar. Staring at it, she could feel it was June sixteenth, a Friday. Golf generally ran from Thursday to Sunday, so that meant the tournament had run from the fifteenth to the eighteenth.
Eyes still closed, she talked h
er way through the timeline, recalling the facts of Pinky’s dark history.
“Pinky’s fourth victim disappeared from her daily jog the evening of June thirteenth.”
“Aye. Sae?”
“They found her dead on Sunday the eighteenth.”
That’s it.
She opened her eyes and held up the photo. “That’s the exact time period Pinky was hundreds of miles away at the U.S. Open. How did he kidnap and kill a girl here?”
Broch shrugged. “He teuk her, murdered her, gaed tae watch some golf and then cam back and dumped her body.”
Catriona shook her head. “That would work, but when they found her, her body was fresh like the others. That was part of his M.O. He liked to let the authorities know where to find his victims moments after he’d dumped them. I suspect so he could watch them react to his work.”
Broch scratched his chin and then swept his hand through the air, motioning to the dark room around them. “A’ richt, howfur aboot he kept her chained in this hell hole and then murdered her when he returned?”
Catriona shook her head. “Too risky. I have another idea. How about it wasn’t him.”
“Whit wasnae him?”
“Everything.” She thrust out the photo. “See? This rebuilt warehouse is supposed to be accurate, but why would Pinky put a photo of himself at a golf tournament in the middle of his own torture maze?”
“Sae the eejits like them oot thare can worship him?” Broch jerked a thumb in the direction of the ninjas.
“Maybe. But that seems unnecessary. Those idiots were already ready to kill for him.”
Broch tapped his lip. “Tae pat the wummin at ease? Mak’ thaim think he’s a good man and then snip.” Broch pantomimed clipping off his own pinky with shears.
“I don’t think so. I think this photo is special to Mason.”
“Mason?”
Catriona nodded. “I thought it was weird how eager Mason was to show me this. Then here it is again where the cameras won’t miss it. He’s bragging. He’s telling the world he’s the one who killed the girls. Just like a kid, he ran out and grabbed a victim while his dad was away.”
“Girls? All o’ thaim?”
“All of them. I bet the girls’ disappearances all coincided with golf tournaments. Easy enough to check.”
Broch scowled. “But the wee cop shot the da.”
“Soto shot the man he saw stuck in the wall and assumed that’s who cut him. But think about it, why would some sick mastermind get caught in his own maze? He couldn’t pull back in because Mason prevented him. He wanted the world to think his father was responsible.”
“Och. Tae clean his slate.”
“Exactly. But he wants someone watching this film to see this photo and figure it out. He’s teasing us. Daring us to figure it out.”
“Bit then he’d git caught.”
“I bet he plans to be long gone by the time the movie’s released.”
Broch put his hands on his hips. “Shuid we gang back tae the front room and grab him?”
Catriona took a moment to consider the idea. “No. I don’t think he’s there.”
“Ye ken he’s in here.”
Catriona nodded. “He knows now is the time to pick us off, in the maze he knows best. Before we open the doors and ruin his plans.”
Chapter Eighteen
Catriona left the small room to reenter the larger rectangular area and Broch followed. He glanced at the surviving acolytes and Knee’s eyes popped wide as they entered.
Broch dismissed his panic with a wave. “Dinna worry yerself laddie, we’re done wit’ ye.”
Doors one and two remained open following the ninjas’ dramatic entrance, both leading to darkened halls. Broch was about to ask Catriona which hall she’d like to try first when he heard what sounded like whimpering.
He cocked his ear toward door one. “She’s ’ere.”
With Catriona on his heels holding her phone flashlight aloft, Broch hustled down hall one as quickly as he dared until a door stopped his progress. He quietly tried the knob.
“Locked,” he whispered, holding his finger to his lips.
Placing his ear against the door, he heard the whimpering noise again. Broch took a step back and threw his shoulder against the door. It gave way easily, the frame splintering around them.
A dark-haired young woman perched on the end of a cot, her mouth gagged. She jumped as they entered, screeching, but her arm, chained to the wall behind her, jerked her back to the cot.
“Jessica?”
At the sound of a woman’s voice, Jessica stopped thrashing, her wide, red-rimmed eyes shiny with fresh tears. Catriona pulled away the gag and Jessica’s body shook, her teeth chattering with nerves the moment the cloth left her lips.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you found me. He heard you coming. You saved me. He was just about to—”
She motioned to a pair of shears on the ground.
Sobs rose in Jessica’s throat and Catriona put an arm around her. “Who did this?”
“It was Mason. I thought he was kidding at first but—”
“Mason. I knew it,” said Catriona.
Broch couldn’t help but smile at how excited Catriona sounded to find her theory correct.
“Whaur did he gang?”
Jessica’s brow knit. “What?”
“Where did he go?” translated Catriona. She shot Broch a look, which he translated as See? I told you you need to work on that accent.
With her left hand, Jessica pointed to what looked like an open vent at the bottom of the wall across from her cot. Broch was relieved to confirm she still had all her fingers.
Catriona’s eyes widened. “He went through the vent?”
Broch squatted and peered into the hole.
“You can’t fit through there,” said Catriona. “These low tunnels must be how he sneaked around, that little creep. Slithering like a snake.” She turned her attention to the cuff around Jessica’s wrist. “We have to get her out of here.”
Broch tested the chain spanning from the cuff around Jessica’s wrist to the wall. He gathered the chain near the plate and, blocking the girl with his body, gave it a yank. It ripped free.
“The walls ur lik’ paper.”
Catriona motioned to the door. “Take her back to the dining hall.”
Broch scowled. “Whit aboot ye?”
She glanced at the vent and he shook his head. “Na. Na. Yer nae goan in there wi’oot me.”
“I can fit. You can’t. Having you here does me no good.”
He glowered at her. “Na.”
“You’re getting her out of here, and I’m going after Mason.”
“Wait ’til ah git back.”
Catriona shook her head. “I can’t wait. He’ll be long gone.”
Jessica tugged at Broch’s shirt, the chain hanging from her wrist jingling. “Please. I have to get out of here. Did you already save the other lady?”
Broch glanced at Catriona and she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Broch easily translated that look as well.
Don’t tell Jessica the other girl is dead.
He looked down at the actress.
“Ah’m aff tae git ye oot first.”
It wasn’t a lie.
“Go with him,” said Catriona.
The girl stood, wobbly on her shaking knees.
Broch knew what he had to do, as much as he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Catriona behind. He had to get the girl to safety. He froze, wishing he had a twin so that he could send him out with the girl and he could stay with Catriona.
Na. He couldn’t split himself, but he wasn’t leaving yet.
Nae until ah dae this.
He took a step toward Catriona.
“Kiss me, wifie.”
Catriona’s brow knotted. “What?”
“Ah’m askin’ ye fer a kiss. Dae ah hae yer permission?”
“Um...” Catriona glanced at the girl. “Is this really the time—�
��
“Aye or na?”
She nodded. “Sure. Yes.”
Broch leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She slid her hands along his sides and gripped him tightly to her. He thought he could feel her shaking, but didn’t know if it was his kiss or her plan to follow Mason inspiring the reaction.
He liked to think it was the kiss.
With a final press of his lips, he pulled from her grasp and turned to scoop the frightened girl into his arms. His gaze met Catriona’s once more.
“Ah’ll be back.”
She giggled, looking flush. “You sound like someone.”
He didn’t know who.
Chapter Nineteen
Catriona watched Broch and Jessica leave before lowering herself to the floor and peering into the tiny tunnel.
Her stomach twisted into knots. She’d forgotten how much she hated small spaces.
This is possibly the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.
The screen of her phone warned it had fifteen percent power left.
She sighed. “Great. Perfect timing.”
Turning on the flashlight, she shimmied into the vent. Phone in one hand and gun in the other, she used her elbows as pikes to drag her body through the tube.
Progress proved painfully slow with no free hands to help. Unwilling to tuck away her gun, she took a moment to balance the phone in her cleavage. The soft glow between her breasts illumined the path before her and she continued forward, singing Neil Diamond’s Heartlight in her head with slightly different words to distract herself from her rising claustrophobia.
Turn on your boob light...let it shine wherever you go...
That’s when she saw it.
A wire had been strung across the vent. She put down the gun and pulled the phone from its breast nest to get a better look. The wire hung from the ring of a grenade, which perched at the top of the duct, held tight by duct tape.
If she hadn’t turned on her booby-light, she would have triggered the booby-trap.
That little bastard.
Stuffing the light back into her dress, she untaped the grenade and moved it to the opposite side of the vent. Gathering her gun, she held her breath and slithered on her side past the balled wire.
Catriona could feel nerves bouncing in her chest. She tried to push her thoughts to those happier moments before she’d been stupid enough to crawl into the vent.