Chapter 19
Trying not to show how freaked her uncle’s bleak expression made her, Jane shared a silent car ride while they drove all over the city.
Her uncle continuously scanned the rearview and side mirrors, as if checking for a tail.
She frowned. “I don’t see anyone.”
“I don’t either. But it never hurts to be safe.”
He directed her through a few more twists and turns before she pulled into an unfamiliar drive in the exclusive Broadmoor neighborhood, a gated residential community and golf club in northern Seattle that seemed to have been expecting them.
“What the heck is all this?” she asked as she parked. “Who do you know that lives in here?”
“Don’t act so surprised. I know people from all over. Not just back alleys and rundown villages.”
“Could have fooled me with the company you keep.”
“Quit talking about our family that way.” He smiled briefly before he put his war face back on and studied their destination.
The Georgian styled house was made of red brick and possessed quite a footprint, set high off the street for privacy.
The landscaped front yard boasted blooming California lilac and shrubby bright red roses.
Two Japanese maples bordered either side of the entrance, and a wrought-iron grill with a sculpted peacock protected the solid mahogany front door.
The transom and sidelights glowed in various shades of violet, blue, green, and yellow, the stained glass the colors of a peacock’s feathers.
Someone wealthy lived here. Someone her uncle wanted her to see.
Everywhere she turned lately she brushed up against money.
Jane didn’t like it.
Her uncle frowned at the house. “Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here.”
“Question. The last time you were here, were you invited or did you break in?”
He grinned at her. “Perspective is an important part of any story.”
“Uncle Chris.”
At this rate, Jane would be the one contacting Detective Ryan for a get-out-of-jail-free card. And wouldn’t Raine just love that.
Her uncle left the car suddenly, and she quickly followed. He appeared focused, almost angry. So she didn’t expect to see him break into an enthusiastic smile when Lionel Gambol walked out a side door, scowling.
“Well, heck. I had a feeling you’d end up stopping by instead of calling to bother me.
Out of the country, my foot.” Lionel Gambol had at least a decade on her uncle and looked it, though he wore his years well.
His short, dark hair had gone to gray, his harsh features lined with wisdom and experience, suggesting he was more than capable of holding his own.
He stared at the world with the dark eyes of a predator, attentive and all-seeing.
Sharp, secretive, and deadly, the man had clearances that supposedly made her uncle jealous, or so Uncle Chris had once said. Lionel also had the respect of Team Ten, not to mention a bit of fear on the part of a few of their rowdier members, who’d run into him a time or two.
Jane didn’t know exactly where Lionel fell in the hierarchy. He claimed not to work for the FBI or law enforcement. Like her uncles, he probably swam in the murky waters of the government, the ones hiding deep sink holes. She wouldn’t be surprised to know he’d buried his own share of bodies.
Lionel looked her over. “Jane. You’re looking well. How are the ribs faring?”
Son of a… Did everyone know she’d been injured? “I’m just fine, thank you.”
Her uncle grinned. “Still hurts. You can tell by the way she moves a little more slowly than she should.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated and forced a tight smile, trying not to grit her teeth.
“Ah, the resilience of youth.” Lionel sighed. He acted like he was a bazillion years old but still moved with the lethal presence of a man she wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. She could feel his power in the way he spoke, his intelligence and perception as sharp as any knife.
Uncle Chris scoffed. “I think you mean the stupidity of youth. Which reminds me, I ran into your little protegee not long ago.”
“Protegee?” Lionel smiled. “Oh, that’s right. You ran into Gunther abroad, didn’t you?”
Jane blinked. “Gunther Rapp?” The special ops guy slash supposed FBI agent she’d once worked with on Lionel’s task force?
“Your old friend Gunther says hi,” Uncle Chris deadpanned to her before turning back to Lionel. “And he told me to tell you he’s still considering your offer. But he’d have to pick his own team.”
Lionel huffed. “That idiot’s going to cut it close. He never healed right after that incident in Qatar. And he knows it. He’s putting off the inevitable.” Lionel looked at Jane. “A lot like this one.”
“What?” Jane scowled. “What the heck is going on?” She turned her ill favor on her uncle. “And why all the cloak and dagger to get here?”
“I wanted to see if you’re still being careful. You can never be too safe, even in the civilian world.”
She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “You and Raine are the same person. Overly dramatic.”
Lionel started laughing.
“She’s not that funny,” Chris muttered and nudged his friend toward the house. “Go on. Invite us in. I didn’t come all this way just to get made fun of by a government stooge.” He shot Jane a sneer. “And I don’t mean Lionel.”
It took her a moment, but she followed him and Lionel inside the grand home. “Ha ha. Keep it up and I’ll leave you here.”
“Please.” Lionel shuddered. “Don’t punish me just because you find your uncle’s poor sense of humor intolerable.” His teasing tone changed, however, as he studied her. “We really do need to talk, Jane. You’ve stumbled into something that’s turned into a real problem.”
She trailed him past brick floors giving way to glossy parquet tile.
Light gray walls accented with cream trim provided a backdrop for a host of paintings detailing long-forgotten wars fought by ancient heroes.
She recognized a few. The Siege of Troy, The Apotheosis of Hercules, The Battle of Alexander at Issus.
And there, in Caron’s The Triumph of Mars, the god, himself, lording over his warriors as they fought for the honor and glory of his people.
It just figured Lionel would prefer scenes of conflict instead of peaceful landscapes. Perhaps so he never forgot his place in the world? To keep those conflicts at bay?
They made it to the kitchen, where a carafe and three cups sat waiting.
Lionel’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Tea?”
“What kind?” Her uncle looked around. “No cookies?”
Lionel sighed. “You really are a boor.”
Chris smirked. “I’m actually pretty discerning about my biscuits, Lionel.”
Despite the clear differences between the sophisticated Lionel and the rough and tumble force that was her uncle, the men were eerily similar. Men of action who did what they thought right, regardless of society’s laws.
Laws she herself was bound to.
She waited until Lionel had seated them at the small nook adjacent to the kitchen. The plate of cookies he set down looked decadent, so she tried one crusted in dark chocolate and had to contain a moan.
I really need to stop all this sugar.
When she’d come up for air, she noticed her uncle and Lionel waiting.
Jane sighed. “Okay. Hit me. Tell me exactly what the Collective is all about and why I should be more careful than I’m already being.”
Lionel looked surprised. Had he really thought her that dense that she couldn’t see the conspiracy winding through everything?
Before he could respond, she answered for him. “And tell me why you haven’t brought August Kaminski in yet when you know what he’s been up to since the Mazzuca case.”
Her uncle sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave a harrumph. “Yeah, what she said.”
Then everything happened at once.
Lionel opened his mouth to answer.
Her uncle barked, “Down,” and tackled her to the floor.
Lionel crashed beside them while glass from the window behind the nook rained down amidst a hail of bullets.