One Dark Wish, page 19
She pushed her empty pie plate away, crossed her arms on the table, and laid her head down again. “I want this day to be over.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He rubbed her neck. The irony was he didn’t want this day, or the next, to ever end. “I know.”
* * *
Zack came downstairs dressed in what he hoped would be clothes worthy of a goth strip club whose previous manager sold prostitutes and tainted heroin on the side. Tonight he wore his leather biker pants and a black tee. He’d strapped a gun to his leg beneath his pants and hidden a knife in his leather coat.
He’d just spent the last hour reading through what the other men had written about the night Jack’s and Nate’s teams were taken and comparing it to the spreadsheet Luke had compiled for their defense arguments. So far, Zack had found nothing new.
The gym was busy. The ring was occupied, and there was a waiting list. Vane had the beginner Krav Maga class, while Pete had taken an advanced class. Zack had had to hear Vane complain about that injustice all afternoon.
Luke sat at the front desk, a cell phone connected to his laptop. Zack went over and dropped a Post-it note on a pile of papers. “Here’s my list.” The fact that his list fit on a Post-it note told Luke everything about Zack’s pathetically small personal arsenal. “One nine-mil. One fully loaded magazine. Two knives.”
“Thanks.” Luke looked up. “Nate said he’ll meet you at the club.”
“Great.”
“Cain!” Luke waved to Cain, who was leaving the main gym area. “Where’s your list?”
“Dudes.” Cain wore black sweats and nothing else. From the size of his pumped-up arms, he’d probably finished his daily program of lifting and pull-ups. “One Glock. Three magazines. One empty, one full, one with three bullets.”
“And?” Zack asked.
Cain ran his hands over his shaved head. “Three knives. Charlotte has pepper spray.”
“Thanks.” Luke wrote on the same Post-it below Zack’s list.
“No prob.” Cain pointed to the desk phone. “Did Charlotte call the gym today?”
“No,” Zack said. “Why would your wife do that?”
“Because my phone died and I can’t find my charger.” Cain walked away, grabbing a towel off a stack on a metal chair. “Let me know if she calls.” He moved so quickly the stack toppled over onto the floor. The same stack Zack had washed and folded earlier.
Aaaaaaaand Cain kept moving.
“Sure,” Luke threw out after him with all the excitement of a kid waiting for a flu shot.
Cain raised a hand and headed for the stairs.
Zack exchanged a grimace with Luke. Cain shared a room with Vane, who was OCD tidy while Cain dropped shit everywhere. “What are the chances the charger is buried under laundry?”
“Nah.” Luke started typing again. “I bet Vane hid it.”
“You’re probably right.” Zack clapped Luke on the shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Nate took this phone off Etienne today. I’m looking for clues, except some of the numbers are encrypted.” The phone buzzed, and Luke squinted at it. “It’s a text for a change to a meet-up tonight.” Concern carved lines on his face. “Etienne was supposed to meet some guy down the street behind that abandoned service station. Name of Leroy.”
* * *
Five minutes later, Zack held three beer bottle necks in one hand and walked down the street toward the abandoned gas station He inhaled the night air until he entered the alley, where he gagged on the stench of mildew and urine.
It didn’t take long to find the two men who’d been living in this alley since Zack and his men arrived. Despite being high or drunk, they’d not caused problems. The short one had even come into the gym to remind them that trash day was Tuesday instead of Thursday.
“Hey, man.” The short man sat on his ass, propped up by the moldy brick wall. “Wat up?”
Zack handed him two of the beers, already opened. “Just being neighborly.”
“Cool.” The short man whistled, and the tall, thin one appeared. “Brews, bro. On. The. House.” He slapped the ground between the latter three words.
Thin Guy stopped near his buddy and took a beer. “Yo.”
Zack took a drink. “My friends and I are running the gym now.”
“Dude,” Short Guy said. “That’s awesome. Old goat who ran the place before was a real prick.”
And a hoarder. “A man came in today, and I was hoping you two could fill me in on the rules around here.”
“You met Antoine.” Thin Guy’s voice was so weak Zack wondered if he was sick. “Antoine’s harmless. A go-between.”
“A wannabe,” Short Guy said.
Both men clanked their bottles in agreement.
Zack lifted his bottle to his lips, trying to figure out the best way to ask the next question. Except he didn’t have to. Thin Guy brought it up on his own.
“Stay away from Leroy. He’s involved in serious shit.”
“Yeah,” Short Guy whispered, “Leroy is a Russian vor.”
Zack didn’t know much about Russian mobsters, but he knew the word vor: a dangerous, high-level thief in the Russian mob. “What is a vor doing in Savannah?”
Short Guy chugged his beer. “Not sure. Leroy entered the game when that tainted heroin hit the streets and made friends with Antoine. We”—Short Guy nodded to Thin Guy—“thought Leroy was the source of that poison, but then it dried up and Leroy is still around.”
Thin Guy nodded as if agreeing with his buddy’s assessment.
Zack pretended to look confused. “My buddy was supposed to meet Leroy tonight behind the old service station. Any ideas why?”
“Don’t know,” Short Guy said.
“Do either of you know a man named Etienne?”
Both men shook their heads.
Great.
“Some neighborly advice?” Short Guy stood. “Whatever’s going on, stay out of it. Leroy is bad news.”
Zack handed over his unfinished beer. “Thanks, bro. Appreciate it.”
Short Guy smiled, showing two missing teeth. “No prob, neighbor. No. Fucking. Prob.”
Zack headed to the gym. If Leroy was a Russian vor and if he was working with Remiel, Zack and his men would need a lot more Post-it notes.
Chapter 23
After dinner Nate walked Sarah to the club and settled her in the security office. He didn’t want to leave her unprotected, and the fact that she didn’t argue with him meant she was more freaked about what had happened at her house than she’d admitted.
Once at the club, Zack informed Nate of the link between some Russian thief named Leroy and Etienne Marigny. Except Nate, not a great multitasker, focused on the job of the moment. He introduced Zack to the staff members, including bartenders, waitresses, strippers, and Bruce—the manager of the VIP room and main club.
At ten thirty, Nate entered the security office. The screens gave him visuals of every room from every angle, including the front door and back alley. At the entrance, two guards in black leathers counted people coming and going. A heavy-metal screech band played in the main room.
Nate clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched his arms. Bruce, in the VIP room, gave the camera a thumbs-up. Zack had moved into the main bar to handle a potential two-boys-one-girl situation. If Nate could come with Vane and Ty tomorrow night, show them the setup, Nate would feel better about leaving them.
Nate wasn’t happy about his men having to work at the club in addition to their other duties. But they needed the steady source of intel and cash income the club provided.
He heard a sound behind him. Sarah was asleep on the small couch, and a book had fallen onto the floor. A pencil was stuck in her ponytail. He took it out of her hair and grabbed the book. It was a ledger written in old-fashioned handwriting.
A knock sounded, and one of the bartenders stuck his head in. “Was on my smoke break in the alley when a man showed. He wants to see you.”
“Who?”
“Not sure. Could be a booze delivery.” The man left.
At this time of night? The alley’s camera didn’t show anything. He slipped on his jacket and put his gun into the pocket. Then he kissed Sarah on the head and left.
* * *
Nate let the steel-reinforced door shut behind him. Security lights had been added in the alley, yet there were plenty of shadows. He rolled his shoulders and exhaled. “Show yourself.”
A man emerged in a long leather coat over black pants and silk shirt. Tall with sharp features and dark hair, he had to be related to Etienne. The man moved into the light, and Nate’s heartbeat intensified. Where Etienne was on the ugly side of average, this man could only be described as classically beautiful. Pale skin, intensely blue eyes, and dark hair swept back from his forehead. All of his stark features in perfect proportion, as if carved by a Renaissance master.
Remiel Marigny?
Nate went for his weapon until he heard a click and felt a gun’s barrel against his head. Shit. He turned slightly to see the shadow of the large man behind him.
Remiel took Nate’s gun and laid it on the ground. Then he kicked it away. “I want to talk.”
“Then tell your thug to back down.”
“No.” Remiel said. “I’m here to offer an incentive for helping Miss Munro solve her cipher.”
“I don’t—” The man behind Nate pushed the gun even harder against Nate’s skull.
Remiel smiled. “I know about the Prince’s counteroffer, which has put you in a difficult position. Miss Munro solves the cipher and her father goes free, yet Jack Keeley dies. She doesn’t solve it and Jack Keeley lives, while her father’s life, as he knows it, is over.”
“Fuck you.”
“Very eloquent.” Remiel’s pupils appeared edged with silver. “You’re conflicted. You want to kill me, yet if you do you’ll never get the answers you desperately need. I’m sure those questions are part of the reason you don’t sleep well.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“Too bad they shoved so many needles in your arm in the POW camp. If you had your memories”—Remiel shook his head—“we’d have much to talk about.”
Nate was too tired for bullshit, and he felt a headache building behind his temples. “What do you want?”
Remiel looked up at the last sliver of moon partially hidden by storm clouds. “If you solve the cipher in time, I will guarantee Jack Keeley’s safety in prison. If you don’t, then I will have Jack killed.”
Nate’s harsh laugh startled the rat that’d been scurrying behind the Dumpster. “You mean I should side with you over the Prince. Despite the fact that I’ve no doubt he has a man inside the prison willing and able to carry out Jack’s execution. Yet I’m supposed to believe that you have a way to thwart the Prince’s orders?” Nate snorted. “That you have a man inside Leedsville prison as well?”
Remiel smiled, showing off his straight, shiny whites. “You don’t believe I can play at the Prince’s level? Despite the fact that I managed to take out two A-teams, send those A-teams to a POW camp for years, and set up Kells Torridan’s men to take the fall for the Wakhan Corridor Massacre?”
“Nope.” Although the word carried confidence, Nate swallowed, hating the doubt that snaked through his mind. He’d recently discovered Remiel’s involvement in those horrific events but had still assumed Remiel had had help.
After all, until recently Nate and his men hadn’t just known Remiel as a low-level gunrunner. They’d thought Remiel was dead. With all the shit that had happened to Nate’s unit during the past five years, none of them had ever considered Remiel as the cause.
“Then let’s reacquaint you with someone who’ll make you believe.” Remiel raised a hand, and a flashlight shone behind him. A moment later, the man in the black hoodie came forward with the light in one hand and a rope in the other. He yanked, and someone fell out of the shadows with a noose tied around his neck. The man lay on the ground, in the flashlight’s beam, protecting his ribs.
Fletcher Ames. A memory came rushing in, and Nate’s gag reflex took over. He fell to his knees and threw up. Once his stomach finished curling in on itself, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Fletcher Ames had been the head torturer in the POW camp. Fletcher Ames had beaten so horrifically that one day felt like it lasted years.
“Let me make myself clear.” Remiel sank on his haunches nearby. “You and Miss Munro have until noon on Sunday to solve that cipher. If you do, I’ll save Jack Keeley from the Prince’s assassin, and I will release Joe Munro. If you do not…well, you know the rest.”
Nate’s palms slipped on slimy brick ground, and he fell onto his side. He could barely breathe. Barely move. Not even when Remiel leaned down and said, “You need to accept that you can’t protect everyone. One of the people you love most in the world will get hurt. You get to choose which one, the other you get to betray.”
Nate was barely aware of Remiel and the others leaving. Barely aware of time passing. Barely aware of his own breathing. The only things he could do were close his eyes against the seizure’s flashing lights, keep his breath as steady as possible, and pray this nightmare would end.
* * *
Sometime later, a hand fell on Nate’s shoulder and squeezed. “’Tis a sorry state, my lord. I wish it were not so.”
Nate rolled onto his back and, with Cassio’s help, sat against the alley wall. “What am I going to do?”
Cassio squatted until they were eye level. “Join us. Let us take care of this fiend. Let us save you.”
“What about Sarah? And the rest of my men? Jack? I can’t leave them unprotected.”
“We cannot help them. By joining us, you will become part of something that will put an end to these villains.”
Nate shook his head. “Why doesn’t the Prince order the Fianna to kill Remiel?”
“That is a question for the Prince.”
The last thing Nate wanted was a Q and A with the Prince.
Cassio took a tissue out of his pocket and handed it to Nate. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know.” Nate wiped his mouth. “But I won’t leave Sarah and my men unprotected. I can’t.”
“You’d offer your life for a woman you barely know and a friend who betrayed you?”
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s you who cannot bear the truth. And your trust will mean your doom.” Cassio rose, struck his chest with his fist, and bowed his head. “If you fail, Hell and night will bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.”
Meaning? If Nate fucked this up, Remiel’s devil-backed plan—whatever it was—would succeed.
Hooah.
* * *
What is that ringing noise?
Sarah sat up to find her phone, and her glasses fell on the floor. “Hello?”
“Sarah? It’s Hugh. I heard someone fired a gun in your house?”
“It was a misunderstanding.” She looked around to realize she was alone in the security office. And the reverb that shook the room was from the band’s bass in the main bar. “Is that why you’re calling?”
“Yes. Also, I heard from your father’s military contact. I’d forwarded him that name you gave me as well as those photos you sent me earlier today.”
She’d forgotten about that. “It’s okay, Hugh. I don’t—”
“The contact called me.” Hugh’s voiced dropped in tone, and she heard him tapping his fingers on the desk. “Major Nate Walker is involved in serious black ops stuff. He, along with the men whose names were printed on that page in the photo you sent me, were members of the 7th Special Forces Group at Fort Bragg under the command of Colonel Kells Torridan. Torridan, Walker, and the rest of their men are either in prison or dishonorably discharged.”
“Excuse me?” Nate hadn’t mentioned that.
“My contact told me the unit was accused of the Wakhan Corridor Massacre.”
She put the ledger, glasses, and pen into her straw bag. Nate hadn’t lied to her, he’d just left out all the gray parts.
“The contact discovered two other interesting things. Nate Walker was accused of being the mastermind behind the massacre. His men were ambushed and captured. Because he was sick when he and his men were rescued, Major Walker was sent to a secret military prison hospital for the criminally insane. I’m still waiting for more info but wanted to let you know.”
Sarah heard noises outside the room and said, “Thanks for calling, Hugh.” After hanging up, she noticed she’d missed a call from Calum. He’d left a message saying that her father was more stable and they were moving him out of ICU into a private room. Calum was hoping he could get in to see her father tomorrow.
She put the phone in her lap and closed her eyes. Please let my father be okay.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Miss Nell. It’s done.
Thank you. She breathed deeply so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. She’d suspected that Nate and his friends had sketchy backgrounds, but nothing like this. Maybe she should go to her house, grab a bag, and drive to Charleston. Hugh would know what to do. Except she couldn’t leave her father. And she had to solve that cipher.
With her mind spinning and feeling sick to her stomach, she found the female employees’ bathroom, where she washed her hands and splashed water on her face. Then she made her way into the strippers’ changing room.
The area was filled with white lockers and low benches covered in feathery boas and glittery heels. One wall had a dressing table with mirrors above and stools below. Brushes and hairspray bottles along with curling irons and hair straighteners filled the counter. She sat on a stool, took the band out of her hair, and stared at her reflection.
What should I do now?
“Hey.” Samantha breezed into the room in a black mini circle skirt, patent-leather stiletto boots, and a black satin bustier. She’d somehow restrained her wild reddish-blond curls into a tight bun on the top of her head. Her only makeup was red lipstick. “You’re awake.”
