Chapter 12 #2
After checking the bag to make sure it wasn’t spelled in any way, I carefully unzipped and opened it; inside was an assortment of the usual items needed for a hospital stay—undergarments, nightie, slippers, toiletries—most of which still had tags attached.
Whoever had brought this bag in had simply purchased it all to provide a cover story, knowing the guards would likely check before they let him or her in.
It couldn’t have been Lanie or even Luke, though, because we had alerts out on both, and the guards would have been advised about them.
The guards were human, and we have no idea when they were compromised, Atticus said. They also wouldn’t have sensed an image-altering spell had one been used.
Yes, but Monica should have.
It is possible that while Monica was awake, her magic remained restrained. Remember, we are dealing with at least one person capable of tripping through the thoughts of others.
True. I moved the bag and heard something drop to the floor.
I glanced down, spotted the earwig, and bent to grab it.
And in the process, saw Ginny’s phone tucked in behind the bag.
I picked it up, and the screen came to life.
I typed in the code—though we both had biometrics activated, we also knew each other’s security code, just in case our own phones became disabled and we needed to make an urgent call.
But, more importantly, we both had an emergency contact app on our phones, set up so that either one of us could send a coded alert to the other.
I hadn’t received one, but that didn’t mean Ginny hadn’t tried to send it.
I opened the app, and there, unsent, was an 801 alert—the standard code for police in trouble. Either her phone had been taken before she could send it, or whoever had entered this room had telepathically frozen her movements.
I drew in a deep breath that did little to calm the inner worry. I had few enough close friends; I didn’t want to lose her.
The earwig buzzed. I quickly tapped it and said, “You found her.”
“As long as she’s still with the tracker, yes. I just sent you the address. You want me to call in teams to assist?”
I hesitated. “Not yet. Let me scout the location first and see what we’re facing.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
“I’m not. I have a fast and furious cat with me.”
There was a longish pause. “Familiar?”
“Kind of.”
“That is an unusual statement.”
“He’s an unusual cat.”
I prefer the word “special,” he said.
You are indeed. I paused. Thanks for taking out that gunman.
I didn’t actually end his life or save yours, but I appreciate the sentiment.
“I also did those other checks you requested,” Betty said.
The somewhat subdued note in her voice told me what she’d uncovered, but I nevertheless said, “And?”
“You were right. Jack never contacted the guards at the door, and he himself has disappeared. I just can’t believe he would be involved in something like this.”
“I don’t actually think he’s involved. I just think he took cash for ‘minor’ information and tasks, not seeing any real harm in what he was doing. He did mention he had a bad gaming habit.”
“A gaming system is not worth more than people’s lives.”
“No, and perhaps that’s why he’s done a runner. He realized his error in judgement.”
She harrumphed. “Well, Lowell’s put out a warrant on him. He’ll be found and prosecuted.”
“Agent Kang?” an unfamiliar voice said from the doorway.
I clicked the earwig off, then turned. A thickset man with crimson hair stood in the doorway. “Yes?”
He raised his badge. “Agent Ilian Ashworth, HCI. I’ve been ordered to take over this crime scene.”
“You’ve not come alone, have you?”
“No, my partner is down the hall, interviewing Mr. Jones.”
“Ah, good.” I gave him a quick but thorough rundown of events, then added, “There’s some sort of explosive spell on the door handle. I’m not skilled enough to remove it, but if we can get a read on the pattern of magic, we might be able to run a trace.”
“Running a trace will be tricky, but we could certainly run its logistics through the system and see if there’s been any other occurrences.”
“That would be brilliant. Thanks.”
“We’ll need a statement—”
“Yes, but right now, I need to investigate a possible location lead for Monica and my missing partner. That, I’m afraid, takes precedence.”
He hesitated, then nodded and stepped aside so I could get past him.
The alarms had been silenced, but the hallway was busy now that someone—likely the newly arrived agents—had deemed the situation contained.
Privacy screens had been set up around our two dead men, while nurses and hospital porters ferried patients in the rooms either side and directly opposite elsewhere.
The doctor and the nurse had left René’s side, replaced by Gerard and another man I presumed was Ilian’s partner.
The former was still in the process of healing while the latter was putting his phone away and rising, having obviously finished taking René’s statement. He nodded at me as he walked past.
I stopped next to Gerard and said, “What’s the damage?”
“Bad, but not deadly.”
“Well, that’s always good.”
“Indeed, because death does not release her souls easily and it would take more energy than I currently have to retrieve said soul had he been walking that path. Of course, I know from experience René here will foolishly not heed medical advice, meaning the reopening of the wound remains a factor.”
“I can hear what you’re saying, you know,” René said without opening his eyes.
“Yes, but will you take any notice of it?”
“He certainly will,” I said. “If he doesn’t, I’ll take his toys away.”
René opened his eyes, his gaze all but consuming mine. It briefly felt like I was drowning in a sea of devilish blue. “You can hardly take away what has not yet been given.”
“No, but I can delay the giving.”
“You would do that to an injured man?”
“If the injured man refuses to be sensible, yes.”
“If only,” Gerard said, his tone dry, “the arbiter of such sage advice would take heed of her own words.”
My eyebrows rose. “Did you see me limping? No? That’s because I heeded.”
“I was referring more to your brother’s warning.”
“I have yet to rush in foolishly anywhere during this investigation.”
“But you plan to?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “The possibility remains ever present.”
Gerard rolled his eyes and glanced at René. “You two are a perfect pairing.”
“My sentiments exactly,” René said, the wickedness back in his eyes. “She, however, refuses the pairing part of that statement.”
“The more you push, the longer the refusal stretches.” I rose. “If he’s cleared to drive, we need to go.”
“He’s cleared to leave, but he can’t drive for the next couple of hours.”
My grin broke free again. “Meaning I’ll have to drive his sports car? That’s a shame.”
“You, my dear Hanna, seem to be under the delusion that I have a problem with a woman taking control.”
The wicked glimmer left me in no doubt he wasn’t talking about driving. I raised an eyebrow, and the wicked glimmer just grew.
Gerard made a noise that sounded like a mix of a snort and a laugh, and rose. “I’ll leave you two to the flirting. But please, both of you, do try to avoid any more injuries in the next twenty-four hours. I need time to refuel the healing well.”
“Tell my big brother I shall definitely try.”
A smile touched his lips, confirming my suspicion he had been asked to report back. “I will.”
As he left, I offered René a hand. He clasped it with his good arm, his fingers so warm against mine and grip strong without being overpowering. A man who knew his own strength and how to use it.
I pulled him up, but didn’t release him immediately, waiting a couple of heartbeats until I was sure there was no lightheadedness after rising so quickly. Though to be honest, even if there had been, he likely wouldn’t have allowed it to show.
He dragged his keys from his pocket and handed them to me. I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t the car push-button start? I don’t need to be physically holding the keys—as long as you are, we’re good.”
“Consider it more a symbol of me handing the reins of control over to you.”
And once again, he was not talking about driving.
I rolled my eyes and walked toward the stairs. “Have you always been such an outrageous flirt?”
He fell in step beside me, his long strides restrained to match mine. “I prefer to call it an outrageous zest for life and an unwillingness to waste a moment.”
“Which does not actually answer the question.”
“No.” He hesitated. “Let’s just say that while I have always had a sound appreciation of the opposite sex, it intensified after my father’s death.”
“Because you realized how short life really is?”
I felt more than saw the brief swirl of anger that ran through him. Which, considering he otherwise remained a dead zone to my senses, was testament to the sheer levels of anger he held for his parent.
“Because I realized at that moment in time how fragile life truly is, and just how quickly it can be snuffed out if one is not vigilant.”
It was a sentiment I understood only too well, given the inner darkness and how dangerous it would be if I ever lost control.
But my situation was not his, and it made me wonder what darkness he was talking about.
It involved his father—the fury so evident whenever he mentioned his parent made that obvious—and yet I had the strangest feeling that it had not always been so.
That, despite his father being a dark practitioner, he’d had a happy enough childhood.
Or was I totally misreading the situation and him?
It was possible, given I’d spent more than half my life keeping people at a distance. As a result, my empathic abilities—if I’d actually inherited them—were raw and untrained.
“Life and death situations do have a way of turning your life around,” I commented, as we made our way down the stairs.