Chapter Three #4
They were always so formal with each other.
He and Angie hadn’t wanted Walter here, watching over them.
Walter didn’t seem to like being anywhere.
They had never broken the ice to something more than sparring partners and living under his protection as his assets.
The lack of relationship was what they all wanted, yet it still rankled for reasons EJ couldn’t fathom.
Carrying her large mug of fresh tea, the mug marked with a pithy saying EJ didn’t bother to read, Angie returned to her well-worn, puffy chair.
Walter rested his elbows on the upholstered chair arms and steepled his fingers in front of his face, absently hiding the scars. Pedantically he said, “I read-and-bled both captives. Labaka is a beautiful idiot, who is madly in love with Angelina’s club persona, Baby.”
“Ick,” Angie said.
“Labaka was not part of the attack on you. He was heroically saving you, and expected you would fall upon him in thanksgiving, cover him with kisses, and tumble into his bed. His thoughts are wildly romantic and sexual.” Walter’s eyes glittered with amusement above his fingers. “Do you want particulars?”
“Gag,” Angie said.
“I thought not.”
EJ smothered a laugh. Angie’s expression was priceless.
“The other man, Tony Montgomery, was human. And he was not looking for you at all. He was paid muscle, and he wanted…me.”
Angie’s eyes attached to Walter’s face with such intensity that EJ went still and tight, magic ringing inside his head as clearly as if bells sounded in the room.
His sister uncurled her legs and placed her feet on the floor.
A strange tightness came over her, her head cocked ever so slightly to one side. “Ohhh. I see.”
At that moment, little strands of this web came together for EJ as well.
Tony was the hired hand, working for someone who wanted Walter.
Like, perhaps, Willim Yorath, Walter’s abuser, Walter’s onetime owner, his slave owner.
Yorath had always wanted Walter back. Yorath had been at the queen’s reception a week past. Walter had not.
Ivyanna Holmes had disappeared from the party where Walter was supposed to be. Maybe their client, Chancy, and the missing subject, Ivyanna, were the lures. What if Willim Yorath was still in the area, looking for Walter?
“Tony was supposed to take you, in order to get to me, except he made a critical error and took Corry instead. Then you disrupted his car before he could get his hostage off premises.”
“And it turned out he had Corry,” Angie said, “by mistake. Where was he taking me?”
“He was to call a number for instructions. Unfortunately, the disruptor workings destroyed his unicom, and its data is gone. He is a dead end without the electronics.”
“What did you do with the men after you sucked them dry of blood and information?” EJ asked, still watching Angie.
Walter’s eyes were on his sister as well. It seemed EJ wasn’t the only one who recognized his sister’s tells. She was either being hit with precognition, or one wasn’t far behind.
Walter dropped his hands, revealing his face and the initials branded into it. “I returned Labaka to the club with a lovely memory of Baby’s undying thanks, and a hearty handshake from her nonexistent boyfriend.
“Tony,” he said, his tone merciless, flowing like molten steel, “is no longer a problem.”
Walter was in full-blown protective mode.
EJ sipped his coffee, watching their caretaker.
Either Tony Montgomery had died during interrogation—unlikely—or had been picked up by the queen’s “investigative team.” No one outside that select team, led by a two-thousand-or-so-year-old bloodsucker named Koun, knew what they did to acquire information or achieve results, but they were the best. And likely the worst.
The slightest hint of stiffness in his own tone, EJ said, “I see. And now we turn to other things, like the queen’s reception, which you refused to attend, and which may be tied into Tony Montgomery, Chancy Bigelow, our client, and our missing woman, Ivyanna Holmes. And Willim Yorath.”
Walter’s lips tilted the slightest bit on the unscarred side. “I suppose you discovered why I refused to attend the queen’s reception for the emperor.”
“You could have told us that Willim would be there. He avoided us both quite neatly. If I had known,” EJ said, “I could have sought him out and beat him to death for you. Hell. You could have told Aunt Jane. She would have kicked his ass for us all.”
Walter chuckled, sounding nearly human. “You could have gained access to the guest list prior to the event,” he said.
“It isn’t my error that you did not bother to ask for it and run every name and bio.
And besides, dear boy, Willim Danil Yorath would have killed you in a trice.
As to the queen, Her Majesty keeps her enemies close, especially when little birds bring her information about impending treachery, rivalry, and conflict.
Unlike you, I was invited to attend the event of the season, not commanded.
For whatever reason, you did not question that. I did. I read the guest list.”
EJ sat up straight in his chair. “Well, hell.” He had missed all the tiny little signals and signs. All of them. During the war, nothing got by him. His game was slipping.
“Now,” Walter said. “Tell me about the case.”