Chapter Eighteen
Later that evening, Bryn sat slouched in his beanbag, a cold compress pressed against his forehead, while Gunnar worked at his desk nearby.
Gunnar had turned off the overhead lights in favor of a lamp on his desk, which cast long shadows across the cluttered office.
Bryn was grateful for the simple consideration.
“You know, staring at me isn’t going to make my headache go away any faster,” he said without opening his eyes.
“I’m not staring,” Gunnar replied. “I’m reviewing case files.”
“The same page you’ve been reviewing for the last twenty minutes? Because you haven’t clicked that mouse once.”
“It’s a very complicated page.”
Despite the throbbing in his skull, Bryn smiled. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“How are you feeling? Really?”
Bryn opened his eyes. Gunnar had abandoned all pretense of working and was watching him with an intense expression that meant he was cataloging every sign of pain or discomfort.
“Better than I was two hours ago. Still feels like someone’s using my brain as a drum kit, but the meds are dulling the pain. Warden stocks the good stuff.”
“Good. Reading that woman did a number on you. I’ve never seen you react so strongly on connection like you did with her.”
“Katarina’s emotions were…I don’t know. Intense doesn’t begin to cover it.
The grief was bad enough, but the murder fantasies she’s been nurturing?
Those packed a punch.” Bryn shifted the compress to another spot.
“I’ve never read someone with such a vivid, detailed revenge scenario.
I think she must have rehearsed Russo’s death a hundred times in her head. Makes her dangerous.”
“Makes her predictable. People that focused on revenge tend to make stupid mistakes.”
Bryn sat up straighter, wincing at the movement. “Where’s Emmett? He said he’d track down that fifth dagger. Or did I miss him going home?”
“He went to grab dinner and check on something. Should be back soon.” Gunnar’s expression grew concerned again as Bryn rubbed his temples. “Maybe you should call it a night. Go to bed, get some real rest.”
“There’s too much happening.” Bryn reached for his coffee mug, found it empty, and made a face. “Besides, if I go now, I’ll lie in bed thinking about everything we don’t know.”
“I’m sure Warden could provide a sleeping pill.”
“No thanks. The last thing I need is more drugs.”
Gunnar’s phone buzzed before he could respond. He glanced at the screen and frowned. “Bell’s calling.”
“Put it on speaker.”
Gunnar answered the call. “Bell, you’re on speaker with Bryn and me.”
“Good. I’ve got updates on the Kozlov situation, and none of its good news.” Bell’s voice had a rough edge.
“You sound worse than me, Bell,” Bryn said. “You need rest.”
“Yeah. I remember sleep. Vaguely.”
“What do you have for us?” Gunnar asked.
“First, we’ve confirmed that Katarina isn’t working alone. Boston PD spotted at least three known Kozlov associates in the city over the past week. They’re keeping a low profile, but they’re here rather than on home turf in New York.”
“How many people could we be talking about?” Gunnar asked. “There must be more that haven’t been spotted.”
“Hard to say. Could be anywhere from five to fifteen. The Kozlovs don’t typically travel light when it’s family business.”
Bryn leaned forward. “What kind of resources are they bringing to bear?”
“The kind that makes my job a lot more complicated. We’re talking about experienced operators with access to serious firepower. These aren’t street thugs, they’re seasoned killers.”
“Fantastic. Anything else?”
“That isn’t enough?”
Bryn exchanged a glance with Gunnar.
“Are we looking at war on the streets here, Bell?” Gunnar asked. “What’s your assessment of the threat level?”
“High and getting higher. If the Kozlovs think Russo is planning to eliminate them using high-octane, gene-enhanced fighters, they’re not going to wait around for him to make the first move.
They’ll strike first, hard, and anyone they see as connected to the enhancement program becomes a target. A family vendetta is perfect cover.”
“Katarina knows what I am,” Bryn said. “Do you think the Kozlovs are aware that Russo has a hard-on for my brain?”
“Nothing would surprise me. I’d recommend increased security measures, at a minimum.”
“I’ll talk to Warden,” Gunnar said. “Anything else?”
“Keep your heads down and watch your backs.” The call ended.
Bryn groaned then tossed the now-warm compress at the trash can. “Well, that’s just perfect. As if my day wasn’t already complete.”
“Russo’s made a lot of enemies.”
“Yeah, but thanks to Katarina those enemies know what we can do and where to find us. I’d say that’s a significant disadvantage.”
Before Gunnar could respond, the office door opened and Emmett entered, carrying a brown bag that smelled like Chinese takeout and wearing the satisfied expression of someone who’d accomplished something important.
“Please tell me you brought enough food to share,” Bryn said. “Because I need to stress-eat.”
“I brought enough for four—me, you and two portions for Gunnar,” Emmett replied, setting the bag on his desk. “But first, you need to see what I found about the fifth dagger.”
“Good news or bad news?”
“Depends on your perspective.” Emmett pulled up a file on his computer and turned the screen so they could see. “The fifth dagger is on display at the Peabody Museum at Harvard, in the Medieval Islamic Art collection.”
Bryn stared at him. “There were two in the same city, you’re kidding me? It’s sitting less than an hour away from us?”
“Gets worse,” Emmett said. “Remember the letters you’ve been getting from Dr. Templeton? The postmarks.”
“Please tell me you’re going somewhere good with this,” Gunnar said.
“The postmarks on the letters match cities where other daggers have been stolen. The letter from Dallas was dated two weeks before the theft from the Dallas Museum of Art. The one from Tulsa a month before the Mabee-Gerrer Museum of Art in Shawnee was hit, which isn’t that far from Tulsa.
The first letter from the Wolf Run didn’t have a postmark, but the first theft was from Paris, so that’s probably why. ”
Bryn went very still. “Oh, fuck.”
“I would guess that the letters and the thefts are linked.”
“We haven’t had a letter from Boston.”
“But the theft was very recent.”
“It has to be Templeton,” Bryn said.
“And that’s what Giles has been hiding,” Gunnar said. “That sneaky son of a bitch already spotted the link but didn’t tell us what he was up to. I’ll bet good dollars that Warden knows too, hence the ‘research’ he’s had Giles doing for him.”
“Giles is going to love this latest development,” Bryn said. “But first, I’m going to kill him.”
As if summoned by his name, Giles appeared in the doorway. “Love what?” He took in the room. Bryn was hovering near Emmett. Gunnar was pacing. The room smelled of Chinese food.
“Emmett found the last knife,” Bryn said through gritted teeth. “Something you want to tell us?”
Giles stepped further into the room. “You worked out the postmark correlation.”
“You’d already figured it out, hadn’t you?” Emmett asked.
“I thought it was a possibility.” Giles’ gaze flicked to Bryn. “I think Templeton has been orchestrating the thefts.”
“If I wasn’t feeling like hammered shit, I’d smack you around the head with Emmett’s stapler, Delacourt.” Bryn scowled. “You should have told us straight away.”
Giles shrugged. “It could have turned out to be nothing. What would have been the point of getting you worked up?”
“Oh I call bullshit, Giles. Since when did you develop sensitivities about my feelings? Did Warden make you take a course?”
Emmett squeaked and pulled at his bow tie. Bryn immediately felt contrite. “Sorry, Emmett. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just him.” He glared at Giles. “Now look what you made me do.”
Giles gave a slow smile.
I really, really want to wipe that smile off his smug face. Bryn kept his mouth shut.
“He’s not stealing the knives himself,” Gunnar said. “He’s got people doing it for him. Probably paying them, or promising them something. As soon as the bodies turn up, we’ll find out what they got for their work.”
“The FBI aren’t getting anywhere tracking him down,” Giles continued. “If this is him, and that’s still not certain, maybe this will help them get ahead of him.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” Gunnar said. “He’s not stupid.”
“No, unfortunately he’s not.” Giles turned to Bryn. “How are you feeling, by the way?”
“Like I got hit by a truck driven by a vengeful Russian mobster,” Bryn replied. “But thanks for asking.”
“Good. That means you’re not completely addled by pain medication.” Giles’ tone was brisk. “We need to move on this quickly. If Templeton is collecting ritual daggers, he’s not doing it for scholarly purposes.”
“What’s he going to do when he has all the daggers?” Emmett asked.
“Well, they were designed for human sacrifice,” Giles replied. “The ceremony was meant to be as prolonged and painful as possible. I don’t think we need Bryn to read his intent.”
“Well, that’s horrifying,” Emmett said.
“If I had to make an educated guess,” Giles continued. “I’d say he intends to use the knives on you, Bryn, and he wants your death to be as brutal as possible.”
“Thanks for that, Giles. Makes me feel just great. If Templeton wants to slice me up with ancient knives, I’m not really feeling that plan.”
“Me either,” Gunnar said, a growl rumbling in his throat.
“We have no evidence at the moment, so let’s not jump to conclusions,” Giles said. “I’m going to have to share this latest development with Warden.”
“He’s going to be more than pissed,” Gunnar said.
“Unsanctioned interviews, working in secret… I don’t rate your chances, Giles.” Bryn grinned.
“You still think he didn’t sanction everything? That’s sweet. Of course he knows that you were willing to go behind his back.”
“Fuck my life. Someone kill me now.”
“So dramatic. We’ll need Warden to authorize a team to watch the Museum of Fine Arts. That has to be the next step.”
“Fantastic. So let me get this straight,” Bryn said.
“We’ve got an impending war between Russian mobsters and Russo’s Italian mafia.
Russo wants to suck my brain out of my ears and launch an army of gene-enhanced killers on the street, and a sadistic serial killer wants to torture me to death for shits and giggles.
On top of that, my boss is probably going to put flogging in the staff handbook as a permissible punishment. This day just keeps getting better.”
“Look on the bright side,” Giles said. “At least the Russians will want you dead quickly.”
“That’s not comforting,” Bryn replied. “At all.”
“So what now?” Gunnar asked.
“For tonight? Nothing,” Giles responded. “We need more intelligence before we move and I need to go see Warden.” He glanced at the Chinese takeout. “Is there enough food there for one more? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“There’s always enough Chinese food,” Emmett said, pulling containers out of the bag. “I got extra of everything.”
“Bless you, Emmett,” Bryn said, “you’re officially my favorite person today. I’m starving.” Bryn swayed. “Also, my blood sugar is probably in the basement thanks to the reading hangover.”
Gunnar was at his side, steadying him with a hand on his elbow. “Easy.”
“I’m fine,” Bryn said automatically, then caught the look on Gunnar’s face. “I’m fine-ish. Better with food.”
They gathered around Emmett’s desk, which was transformed into an impromptu dining table. Emmett distributed containers of all their favorites and various entrees.
“So,” Bryn said around a mouthful of food, “how do we go about stopping an escaped serial killer from completing a freaky murder ritual? Because that wasn’t covered in my ‘How Not to Get Slaughtered’ training manual.”
“Carefully,” Giles replied. “Templeton isn’t some random madman. He’s intelligent, methodical, and he enjoys what he does. He’s a master manipulator because he seems to have a network of people willing to carry out his instructions at great personal risk.”
“What if we take the last dagger and deny him a full set. Won’t he call it a day?” I can hope. Bryn grabbed a spring roll.
“I think he’d adapt. He has an end game in mind and won’t want to be denied his fun.”
“What about the museum?” Emmett asked. “Should we warn them?”
“They need to know someone is coming after it, but we need to let it happen.”
“What? Why?” Bryn sputtered.
“Because if he follows the pattern, someone will be fearing for their loved ones if the robbery isn’t a success. He needs to think he’s succeeded.”
“We track the thief to Templeton,” Gunnar said.
“That sounds like a horrible idea,” Bryn said.
“Gunnar’s right,” Giles said. “Finding Templeton and taking him down before he gets anywhere near you is our only option. We need to be subtle. Controlled. Not something you three thrive on, admittedly.”
“Hey,” Emmett protested. “I can do subtle.”
“You brought cookies to work because you spent the night at your boss’s place,” Bryn pointed out. “That’s many things, but subtle isn’t one of them.”
Emmett’s cheeks turned red. “I thought we agreed not to discuss that.”
“We agreed I wouldn’t tease you about it. Stating facts isn’t teasing.”
“That’s absolutely teasing,” Gunnar said.
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Children,” Giles interrupted. “Perhaps we could save the relationship gossip for a less potentially fatal moment?”
“Point taken,” Bryn said. “But for the record, when this is all over, I want details about everyone’s love life. It’s only fair.” He grimaced at Giles. “Except yours. I already feel sick, and don’t need to add to it.”
Giles smirked. “Trust me, my love life would split your head wide and have your brains leaking from your ears.”
“Gross and no, not happening,” Emmett said.
“We’ll see,” Bryn replied.
Giles shook his head. “Finish eating, then get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
The last thing Bryn wanted to do was rest. What he wanted was for Gunnar to pin him to the bed and do whatever the hell he wanted to him. That was the therapy he needed. Not that that was something he ever intended to share with Giles fucking Delacourt.