Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) (10 page)

“Superstitions are often rooted in truths.”

She shot a glance at the misplaced gangster. She could feel the heat of his body along her arm, and she didn’t care for the proximity. “Do you believe in vampires, Mr. Bracks?”

“Of course not. But belief can be a powerful thing especially for a—”

“Business opportunist,” she finished for him.

He preened a hand over his suit sleeve. “The Romas call it
mullo
.”

“You know your supernatural myths.”

He shrugged. “I am a man of knowledge. Graduated first honors from Cambridge.”

“What major?”

“Business and accounting. Step aside, will you? Back beside your companions.”

She did so and watched with fists tightened near her thighs as Bracks looked over the skull. Surprisingly, he took care and only touched it lightly with two fingers to move it side to side. The brick was still firmly wedged between the mandibles thanks to the dirt they’d left packed in the skull. A thorough cleaning would loosen it, and confirm whether or not it had a hole in it, which would place it in the nineteenth century. Or perhaps even the twentieth.

The skull could be even more recent than either she or Luke suspected. Which would give more credence for the Romas believing it was one of their own.

“The
mullo,
” Bracks said grandly. He glanced to his guards, and one of them made the sign of the cross. “You see?” Bracks looked to Annja and winked. “Superstition is deeply rooted in these parts.”

“You said something about it not being bad for your line of work,” Annja mused. “You moved operations to Chrastava after hearing about the discovery? That means you’re either a vampire or a purveyor of fear.”

“Both would be considered in the same line of work, yes?”

“In a manner, yes. Care to enlighten me on this particular business opportunity?”

Bracks chuckled, and with a gesture over the array of weapons spread across the bed, Annja decided she’d framed that question incorrectly.

“Gunrunning and vampires don’t logically mix,” she said.

The man scoffed. “I’m a businessman, Annja, and I take offense at that suggestion.”

“Right. An international entrepreneur who thrives on the illogical beliefs of others?” She couldn’t piece together the weapons and the lure of a possibly centuries-old skull, and she suspected he wasn’t going to do it for her.

Bracks stubbed out his cigar on the edge of the nightstand, then tossed the butt in the tin waste can across the room by the door, making a basket.

Annja exchanged looks with Luke, who offered her a calm nod. In vast opposition to Luke’s cool, Doug was sweating despite the rickety air-conditioning unit in the window that kept the room reasonably cool.

“So you’ve seen the skull,” she said. “We’ll wrap it up and take it along with us, and be on our merry way.”

With a lift of his chin, Bracks silently commanded one of the men. A gun barrel poked into Annja’s spine.

“I need to ensure this precious artifact does not fall into the hands of the ones who wish to burn it,” Bracks said. “Can’t snuff out the superstition before my work here is done.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a valuable archaeological find. If anyone steals it they’ll be looking at jail time.”

“It’s easy enough to destroy something without taking it away from the owner.” Bracks reached for a Glock, checked the magazine and aimed it at the skull.

Luke tensed beside her. “Annja,” he said on a breath.

Bracks was going to destroy the only evidence of the fascinating legend.

Annja curled her fingers about the intangible hilt of her sword. Was one damaged skull worth revealing Joan of Arc’s sword in front of Doug and Luke? Or further endangering the two?

On the other hand...

At a knock on the door, they all froze. Annoyed, Bracks waved the gun toward the door. “Who is it?”

A kick against the wood slammed it inward. And standing in the doorway, Garin Braden flashed a devilish smile. Until he met eyes with Bracks, and then his charm dropped like rain. He growled and raised his fists.

“You!”

Chapter 7

Only pausing at the surprise of seeing Garin in the doorway for a moment, Annja used the distraction to kick the backs of one man’s knees with the hard rubber sole of her boot. He went down, his gun hand flailing out, and she grabbed the pistol by the barrel and easily twisted it out of his fingers.

His cohort was more on the ball, and swung a punch that connected with Annja’s bicep. She almost dropped the weapon, but instead used the force of the punch to swerve and roll across the end of the bed, gun still firmly in hand. At the last moment, she remembered the skull on the bed. It was near the pillows, safe for now.

At the door, Garin pushed Doug and Luke aside. One of his meaty fists crunched as it met the jaw of one of the gunmen. A pistol round echoed in the small room.

Annja scanned the scene as she righted herself from the bed. Abruptly an arm went around her throat from behind. Her attacker’s other hand crushed her wrist and squeezed relentlessly, compressing the ulnar nerve so she dropped the pistol onto the bed. Still, there was a nice assortment of weapons to choose from, if she could get her wrist free.

Luke had backed his shoulders up to the wall, watching helplessly. That was fine by her; he was out of immediate danger. Doug had crouched on the floor, arms before him in defense.

She couldn’t place Bracks, but at the moment had to hope Garin’s bulk blocking the doorway would keep everyone inside from leaving before they had permission.

The arm about her neck squeezed and lifted her jaw, compressing her throat. The attempt to kick off the bed and crush her attacker against the wall was only halfhearted, and Annja managed to stumble backward, being dragged as her aggressor lost his balance and they both went to the floor. Choke hold released, Annja rolled off him, gasped for breath and searched the floor for the gun she’d dropped.

One of the gunmen knelt in the doorway, spitting blood. He looked up in time to catch Garin’s fist against his skull. Processing the impact, the man wavered, but didn’t go down. Garin lifted him by the shirtfront and swung him around to land on the bed. While his attention was focused on the bed, Annja saw Bracks in his sleek pin-striped suit slip out the door, followed by the one who had been choking her.

She spied the pistol under the bed, but determined it was a long reach, so instead lunged up for a bowie knife on the bed. She threw it out the opened doorway, but the fleeing men had already turned a corner.

“Shoot.” She grabbed another knife and asked Luke if he was okay.

The Welshman nodded and winced. “Who is that?” he asked with a nod toward Garin, who now loomed over Annja’s shoulder. “Wasn’t he out at the site the other day?”

“A friend—” Annja started.

“You said he wasn’t a friend.”

“Nice,” Garin commented as he turned to check over the fallen man’s body for weapons. He pocketed a switchblade and tucked the pistol inside the back of his jeans. “Not a friend?”

“Not always,” Annja insisted as she grabbed Doug’s hand and helped him to stand. Her producer was shaking, but he’d rally in a few minutes. “Who were they, Garin?”

“No time for chatter.”

“Really? I’ll lay bets that you’re not here just to see me. You know those guys? What’s up?”

“I hadn’t expected him to be here. We’ll discuss this later. Get your
friends
to a safe location. I’m going after them.”

And with that, Garin strode out of the hotel room as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared.

Annja blew out a frustrated breath at being left behind to babysit the menfolk. Whatever Garin was involved in, she was in it, too. How that had happened, she had no clue. So she would do her best to get that clue.

She dug in her pants pocket for her hotel room key and slapped it into Luke’s hand. He now held the skull to his chest.

“Is it okay?” she asked.

“Think so. Now what?”

“You and Doug catch a cab and head to my hotel room. Although it isn’t safe anymore. Just gather up my laptop and things, will you? Two minutes. No more. Then go to your hotel. It should be safe because Doug didn’t know where you were staying to tell anyone. Got it?”

Luke nodded, then he pointedly looked toward the bed, scattered with weapons. “What about that stuff?”

“Grab a few if you’re so inclined, but they’re probably black market.”

“I think I’ll stick with the skull,” Luke said.

“But, Annja.” Doug sucked in a breath and blew it out, shaking out his shoulders and bushy hair as if preparing for a race. “They knew who you were when I mentioned you on the way to the dig site. Who were those men?”

“I honestly don’t know, Doug. But I’m going to find out. And what was that about, anyway? Do you often walk up to armed men and announce you’re looking for me?”

“No, they jumped me and tossed me in the van. I was standing in front of the grocery store drinking my soda, minding my own business and waiting for a cab.”

“Then someone must have seen you were American and put two and two together. I’ll check in with you later. I have to catch Garin.”

“The man who is not a friend, yet apparently you’ll not let him out of your sight,” Luke commented.

Annja twisted a look at the archaeologist and wondered if that had been jealousy on his part. Interesting.

“Sometimes it’s a good idea to keep the enemy close,” she said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I should come along,” Doug said as he followed her swift exit down the hotel hallway. “I can film you in action.”

Not if she had anything to say about that. “Where’s your camera?” she called over her shoulder.

“Oh, hell. Those assholes busted it when they searched my bags.”

Exactly.

“Doug, keep an eye on Luke. He’s more skilled in history than espionage.” She knew that word would bring a glint to Doug’s eye. “The two of you go to Luke’s hotel and wait. I’ll be back. Promise.”

Handing him some responsibility was what he needed to boost his confidence. “I can do that, Annja. I have everything under control!”

Annja dashed out of the hotel and scanned the parking lot for Garin’s black Mercedes SUV. She spied it driving north a block away, and set off at a run. Surely, she could catch him. The town had a speed limit for vehicles, but not runners.

Annja heard a few car horns honking in the distance and determined the noise was due to Garin’s pursuit of Bracks. The commotion sounded to be about a quarter of a mile to the west. She veered left, and caught sight of the black SUV as it slowed to a rolling stop.

She pushed off the balls of her feet, pumping her arms and legs. Since taking possession of the sword her athletic ability, which had been exemplary to begin with, had increased measurably, and she was still thrilled by her faster speed and greater strength. If she could ever figure out a way around the unfair edge the sword gave her, she’d like to run the Boston marathon. Although she’d need at least a month free to train.

Like that was ever going to happen.

Her momentum slammed her against the passenger door of the Mercedes and she pounded on the window to get Garin to unlock the door. When he did, despite his obvious exasperation, she opened the door and slid onto the passenger’s seat.

“Annja!”

“I’m as thick in this as you are.”

“You have no clue what you’re dealing with.” He pulled left, and she swung the door shut and buckled her seat belt.

“But you know what’s going on, and that’s what counts. Why am I suddenly chasing the same people you seem to be chasing? Or was that just a valiant rescue effort back there at the hotel?”

“Much as the idea of sweeping in to rescue the damsel in distress appeals to me, I know there’s no damsel in distress in this car with me.”

“You got that right. I don’t think the glass slippers would fit. Besides, I’d break them the first time I tried to walk in them. Who is this guy? He and his men kidnapped us. I need to know who and why, and I think you have the answer to that question.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t?”

She eyed his square-jawed profile as he navigated the street, which headed out of town and toward the hilly, forested terrain between Liberec and Chrastava. His jaw pulsed as he stared straight ahead. His dark hair swept his black shirt collar and he was currently wearing a goatee—perhaps to hide the scar she knew dipped from his lower lip to his chin. The man was vain about his looks.

Garin’s fingers wrapped tight about the steering wheel. He liked to keep information close to the vest, and rarely doled out all the intel he knew. She accepted that about him. He wasn’t an upstanding citizen by any measure, though he had shown her rare heroic moments that made it difficult to label him friend or enemy.

“Man’s name is Bracks,” he provided.

“I know that. He introduced himself. A business opportunist, of all things. And he’s British and apparently educated. What else do you know about him?”

“That’s all I can give you, Annja.”

“That’s all you’re
willing
to give me, but I’ll take it.”

The car swerved onto a gravel road and gripped the surface with ease.

“Now answer this one,” Annja said. “Do Bracks and his men have anything to do with vampires?”

She gripped the hand bar above the door as the SUV accelerated. Loose pebbles drilled out from the back wheels, spitting into the close ditches and pinging the interior metalwork.

“Vampires? Are you still on that kick?”

“It’s become a common thread in my troubles lately. And you did almost get staked the other night. My mind just put two and two together.”

“Vampires aren’t real, Annja.”

He had once shown her a scar on his chest from when someone had actually attempted to stake him because they’d thought he was a vampire. The former soldier who had once mentored under Roux to protect Joan of Arc had clearly lived a long time.

“I know that. You know that. But some people, most especially the Gypsies in this area,” she continued, “steeped in tradition and age-old beliefs, don’t know that.”

Bracks had wanted to capitalize on the superstitious for reasons that evaded her. What kind of capital could a skull and frightened Czech citizens provide him? Didn’t sound like the guy was dealing in illegal artifacts. He wouldn’t need to scare the locals for that. Would he?

“The vampire connection doesn’t feel right to me, Annja.” Garin took another turn, and she saw the vehicle he was following. The road was well traveled by trucks so they went unnoticed as a tail.

“Well, something about the vampire myth has lured these guys to Chrastava. Bracks wanted the skull we’d lifted from the dig site.”

“The one with the brick in the jaws?”

She gaped at him.

“Twitter,” he explained.

“You’re on Twitter? Wonders never cease.”

“I change with the times. Unlike a gray-haired old bastard we know.”

“Roux is pretty modern. And, hey, you seem to be trying to pattern your life after him—the big mansion, the British butler—so I wouldn’t knock him if I were you.”

Roux was the one Annja had to thank for Joan’s sword. Of the two men, he was older, wiser and calmer than Garin Braden, but he’d never give up gambling or women.

“I don’t get Bracks’s desire to steal your discovery. It’s a damn brick in a skull. And a dirty old brick in a skull, at that.”

“It’s valuable only historically to researchers. And yet, if the media picks it up in a big way, it could prove a tourism boost. I don’t think Bracks is the sort of entrepreneur who’s after the media and tourism angle, though.”

“Too honest. Not his scene.”

“Belief,” she muttered, tapping the window as the foliage whisked by outside. Bracks had been keen on exploiting the local belief in vampires.

Men had committed terrible crimes because of strong beliefs. The Jonestown suicides. The Nazi concentration camps. The Trojans’ belief in the wooden horse as an omen had supposedly brought them to their knees.

Briefly, Annja wondered what she believed in. She wasn’t particularly religious, even having grown up in a Catholic orphanage. Leave it to the sisters to chase the faith out of her with a ruler and a stern demeanor. As a rule, she didn’t believe in mythical monsters unless there was compelling archaeological evidence of its existence. And some monsters did exist. Some of them were even human.

She believed in owning her strength and following the way of the sword she controlled. Sometimes it seemed as if the sword controlled her. As if the sword demanded that if she could help someone she must.

Vampires? Not so much. But men who lived for centuries...

She glanced at Garin again.

The road had narrowed and both ditches were hugged by thick forest and roadside scrub. The car they’d been tailing was nowhere in sight, yet Garin still drove with determination.

“You know where you’re going, don’t you?”

He nodded, and didn’t say anything else.

He knew what was going on, but he wasn’t ready to tell her. She’d have to stay close to him, and hope they weren’t driving into a nest of real bloodsuckers. The human kind who wielded weapons.