Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) (13 page)

“Nice. Thanks, Bart.”

Her good friend and confidant, NYPD detective Bart McGilly, had once explained how to start a car without a key. Just in case she ever needed the skill. She did love his willingness to corrupt her with all his secret police knowledge. She looked at the damage she’d done to the ignition. Good thing this vehicle was registered under Garin’s name and not hers.

The SUV had half a tank of gas. The day wouldn’t end entirely on a bad note, after all.

* * *

W
HEN
G
ARIN
TOOK
in
the landing strip below he realized they would touch down at an actual airport, or something very close. It was small, and there were only a handful of buildings nearby, but it was marked with landing lights, designating it a landing strip.

When the helicopter landed, he unstrapped himself and opened the door. As he stepped out from the cabin and cleared the blades, he sighted a white limo driving down the landing strip. The night had grown long and the moon sat low behind high trees to the west. Had to be close to a town or city, but he couldn’t see any smoke or air pollution that would clue him to a direction. He’d been unable to get service on his cell phone in the helicopter to track by GPS, so he pulled out the phone now.

His instincts told him,
Get out now.
Yet he walked forward, his long, sure strides moving him toward the limo with its tinted windows. Behind him, the helicopter hadn’t lifted off. Waiting for a return ride home? It would probably need to refuel.

Fingers crossed that whoever was in the limo didn’t know who he was expecting to pick up, Garin heaved out a breath.

A man got out of the limo, slim and dark, nondescript. He waved him toward him impatiently. “Hurry, the plane is ready to taxi!”

A plane?

“A dropoff point,” Garin muttered.

This had just been the first stop. That little mail plane sitting outside the airport had to be his next ride. The plane didn’t look like it could carry a pilot and a passenger, let alone mail.

He slid into the backseat of the limo. The car wheeled around and less than a minute later had delivered them. An elaborate escort, considering he could have walked down the runway to the plane. If anyone were going to overdo the power play, leave it to Bracks.

Garin tucked himself into the back of the plane. Alone with the cooler. He wasn’t going to look inside. He should look. What was keeping him from looking? If he was going to be informed, and fight Bracks with as much power as he had, he needed to look. Especially since the cooler might be forcibly taken from him at any point, given that he had no idea who was controlling this journey he was blindly taking.

Sliding a hand over the rough plastic cover, he determined with a lift of the handle that the lid wasn’t vacuum sealed. He wouldn’t be able to see anything in the darkness of the plane. Relieved, he was able to put off opening the thing. He could at least wait until he had more privacy. If that was meant to be.

* * *

T
HE
PILOT
HAD
told
him he’d have to sit in the back because the passenger seat was filled with packages spilling out of a box. Garin assumed this wasn’t an official mail plane, and probably everything inside was illegal.

The back wasn’t officially the back, either. It was right behind the pilot’s and passenger’s seats, and was three-quarters stuffed with mailbags and plastic shipping containers. There was no seat. Garin sat wedged into a space on the floor where a seat might normally have been positioned, and was thankful a seat belt was available. The whine of the engine did not bode well for this trip. Neither did the odor of gas.

He’d been in smaller aircraft and had flown in an open cockpit biplane fighter in World War I. He could handle a puddle jumper like this for a few hours.

His right elbow resting on the cooler because a mailbag was suspended from a bright orange netting overhead, he eyed the pilot from behind. The guy hadn’t given him more than a nod of his head and directions to buckle up in the back. He was clearly just the transport pilot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Their destination was Gatwick, it turned out, thirty miles outside London. The flight would take a little less than three hours, so he hunkered down to catch a few winks while he could. He would probably sleep through any turbulence. He could sleep through an invasion, as he’d proved a few centuries earlier.

Funny thing about him and Roux. They’d walked through the ages together, reluctant companions who kept their distance. The other had once been his master, teaching him the ways of the soldier and martial arts skills. He’d at times been a father figure, a stern and demanding father, and at other times had been a brother soldier in arms. But they both knew they were in it—life—for themselves.

Tough love, that. Though Garin would never actually admit to loving the old man. A strong measure of like, for sure. And frequent annoyance, always. He supposed Roux was lounging poolside right now, a bevy of bikini-clad women purring around him. The man had taught him the value of luxury and women, and Garin would never begrudge him that.

Garin’s last thoughts before he fell sound asleep were so what if he wasn’t a morally upstanding man? He wasn’t preaching his nefarious ways to influential children or young athletes, so what the hell? He was fine with the life he led. And it wasn’t as though he had a family who looked up to him to show them the way. Any family he’d once had was centuries gone and forgotten.

At the tail end of a rainstorm, Garin awoke to see that they were soaring over the English Channel. Carefully, he tilted back the plastic cooler handle. It wasn’t locked, and the cooler was cheap, so by sliding back the handle, that released the grip on the cover.

Sealed? Not in any particular manner that would keep him, anyone, from opening it.

It popped open and a faint meaty odor trickled into his nostrils. Inside the cooler, ice packets lay on top but he saw the dark murky crimson color beneath and immediately knew it was blood bags. Like those he’d seen hanging in the warehouse?

What the hell was going on?

He didn’t want to risk digging inside the cooler, but a long tag, written on with black marker, stuck out along the inner wall of the cooler. He leaned in to read the words, which he believed were Slavic.
Játra
. He wasn’t sure if he was translating it correctly. His grasp on languages covered many, but not all, and the Romanian dialects were tricky.

Did it translate to
liver?

Garin closed the lid and rapped his thumb on the cheap plastic, but his thoughts soared far away, back to the Czech Republic. Blood and a liver. They had come from a dirty concrete warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

Were they transporting human organs? For transplant? Impossible. Official medical connections needed to be made. Even black market organs had to be transported in a more secure manner. The organ couldn’t stay viable in a simple plastic cooler. Neither could the blood. Not for any amount of time.

Who would accept an unviable organ, and for what purpose?

And since when had Bracks involved himself in the trade of human flesh and blood? He’d always been an arms and art kind of man.

This was disturbing, but the only way to truly know your adversary was to step into their shoes. Bracks did tend to slip into anything and everything. Seemed like the man gave new ventures a go, and if they were successful, he stuck with them. If not, on to the next project.

Garin tapped the cooler. Surely by exposing it to air he had decreased the viability rate, or whatever you call it, for the objects inside.

No, this wasn’t right. If indeed it was a human liver inside, it couldn’t be intended for transplant. No black market dealer would send an organ this way and expect repeat business.

So whoever was receiving the contents had a different use in mind.

He searched the archaic knowledge that floated in his memory for something, anything, that would clue him in to what was going on.

Of all the times he could have used Annja Creed’s esoteric knowledge, that time was now. Yet she would flip to know exactly what was in the cooler. And then she’d adamantly suggest they contact the authorities.

Not an option.

Wishing he had cell phone service to do some online research, Garin shifted a hip and eased his spine to fight the growing ache from sitting in this cramped position.

Soon enough, he’d have answers. He hoped to get them directly from the horse’s mouth. And then he’d silence that horse forever. Bracks was one man he couldn’t allow to live.

* * *

T
HE
PILOT
FOLLOWED
him down the runway toward the waiting limo. Garin had considered him innocent beyond being a means for transportation, but Garin could be wrong.

A man in dark clothes waited outside yet another limo, a thick black envelope in his hand. An exchange? It was beginning to look like it.

What if he refused to play along? He needed to keep a fix on the cooler because he knew that would lead him to the man he sought. But to refuse would reveal him as an imposter and he’d have to take out both the pilot and the man waiting, and possibly the driver. Which would put him back to square one.

There was one other option.

The man held out his hand to receive the cooler, and tucked the envelope under his arm. Garin didn’t hesitate in handing it to him. Flipping open the lid, he merely glanced inside, then shut the lid and slapped the envelope into Garin’s palm. “Thanks. See ya.”

And he got into the limo and the car took off, leaving Garin standing alone on the dark runway, only the flash of the signal lights moving the airplane toward the hangar.

“So much for not breaking the seal.”

And so much for him staying close to the cooler.

Garin reached inside his suit jacket and drew out the business card he’d claimed from Skinny.

“All righty, then,” the pilot said from behind him. “Shall we return?”

“Thanks for your service,” Garin said, strolling away from the pilot toward the small airport’s only building. “I’m going to stop in town for a bite to eat. I’ll find my own ride home.”

“I was instructed to bring you back, but if you’ve made other plans, then have a good one.
Ciao!
”

The send-off only reminded Garin of the weekend in Venice he was missing because he’d decided that silencing Bracks once and for all was a better idea than lounging between two scantily clad blondes while floating the Venetian canal on a gondola beneath a brightly striped sunshade.

He could taste the two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Lafitte right now. Some days he really hated playing games.

Chapter 10

Once back on the main road and headed toward Chrastava, Annja found she had cell phone service. She dialed Luke’s number and he answered on the first ring.

“Annja, where are you?”

“Just outside town.” She realized now she’d been gone all day. Both men must have been wondering about her at the very least. “How are things there? You and Doug get my stuff out of the hotel?”

“Yes, we’re fine, and we’ve moved you to my room for now. The skull is intact despite all the joggling. We went to the dig site earlier and managed to get the torso of the skeleton unburied before it began to rain. No signs of the guy with the sword or any protesters. Curious, don’t you think?”

“Maybe the rain kept them away.”

“It wasn’t raining for the first few hours we were there.”

“I should arrive at the hotel soon. I’m going to stop to pick up something to eat. Can I bring you and Doug anything?”

“Anything sounds great. So you didn’t catch your man?”

“I did. And we followed the guys who kidnapped Doug out of town. How is he?”

“Only a little battered and bruised.”

“Is that Annja?” she heard Doug call from the background. “Tell her, wherever she is, she should be filming.”

“You should be—”

“I heard,” she said. “No camera. And this is not related to vampires. At least, I don’t think it is.”

On the other hand, she had no idea what had been in the cooler, but the idea of what sorts of things could be kept in a cooler made her angry.

“What’s up, Annja?” Luke asked. “I don’t understand what’s become of our innocent foray into skulls and bricks.”

“I don’t, either. But I don’t think the chewing dead or some wolf-shaped
mullo
has much to do with the trail Garin and I picked up. Unfortunately, Garin decided to go it alone. He left me behind to follow the trail of breadcrumbs, which has disappeared.”

“And you let him?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” She stretched her aching jaw. She needed ice to keep it from swelling. “I’ll see you in a bit. Talk later.” She hung up and swerved into the parking lot beside a local restaurant.

* * *

A
NNJA
HANDED
L
UKE
the brown paper bags of food and he immediately dug into them, laying out the paper-wrapped sausages and plastic containers of salad and potatoes. The restaurant had included plastic plates and utensils and napkins. She’d stopped by a gas station to pick up Gatorade and soda, and some protein bars to restock her dwindling supply.

Luke turned, and as she was walking by him, he caught her by the wrist. His eyes went directly to her jaw, narrowing. “Annja, what happened?”

“Has it bruised?”

“It’s dark purple.”

“The bruise should match the shape of Garin Braden’s knuckles.” She strode into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping it around ice from the bucket Luke must have filled earlier. She pressed the improvised ice pack to her jaw. “I’m fine,” she answered Luke’s worried look when she came back out.

“Food looks great, Annja.” Doug downed an entire can of orange soda before dishing up a plate. “I’m starving.” He swirled what looked like a wooden dowel as if it was a baton, then dove into the food with the plastic fork in his other hand.

“What is that? No, wait, don’t tell me what that is.” Annja stared at the wooden object Doug tapped against his knee.

“It’s a stake, Annja,” he replied, his mouth full of food. “I picked it up from a merchant in town. I got holy water, too. You want to see?”

“Help me, please.” She flashed a pleading look toward Luke, who smiled from behind a bite of sausage.

She grabbed one of the sausages for herself before the men claimed them all. Mounding salad on her plate, she then settled onto the bed, stretched out her legs and, before eating, tilted back her head and closed her eyes a moment, placing the ice at her jaw.

She was angry at having been cut out by Garin, but was also determined not to let it get to her. She’d come to Chrastava for this dig. Shouldn’t she focus on that?

Not if an innocent child was somehow involved, her conscience nudged her. A conscience that was inextricably connected to Joan of Arc through her sword.
Her
sword.

And to top it off Doug was going to make a production out of the whole thing, stakes and all.

“Here.”

She opened her eyes, and accepted the bottled water Luke handed her. He sat on the end of the bed, while Doug had claimed the chair by the table where the microscope was set up.

“Did you tell her I’m using your iPad?” Doug said around a mouthful of food. “I love this! I can film and edit all with the same device. The resolution isn’t optimal, but it’ll serve for scenery segments. And long shots.”

“You’re filming?” she inquired. “What, exactly?” She looked to Luke. “Please tell me he hasn’t gotten you to wield a stake menacingly for a shot. If there’s a silk-lined cape around here...”

Luke laughed. “Not yet.” He winked at her. “Doug is showing me how to use the apps I’ve never had time to sit down and muddle out,” he said. “I wanted to get your take on the fact that we didn’t encounter any protesters at the site.”

“I wish you guys would have stayed away from there. I warned you.”

“You don’t think the mild-mannered archaeologist can handle an angry crowd?” He puffed up his chest.

Annja laughed, shaking her head. “It’s the overzealous cameraman with a penchant for creating drama where there is none that worries me.” She caught Doug’s openmouthed gape. “I just don’t want you to get carried away. When you start suggesting fake fangs and blood—and you will—then I will cut you off, okay? And I’ll have Luke to back me up.”

“Though the holy water is cool, Annja,” Luke said.

“Yeah,” Doug cut in. “The label claims it’s been blessed by the Roman Catholic Church.”

Annja couldn’t help it, she rolled her eyes.

“We’re going to head out again after midnight,” her producer added, and then caught Annja’s castigating look. “Best time to stir up the undead is under the full moon.” He tilted his can of soda at her defiantly.

“So much for practical,” she said.

“Don’t argue with the producer. I know what sells, and fangs and blood sell. Though I was disappointed by the site this afternoon.”

“Just a bunch of bones?” she guessed.

“Right. I can never understand why you love your job so much. It’s always just a bunch of bones. And for what?”

She and Luke exchanged knowing looks. The thrill of discovery trumped any labor spent under the hot sun and backbreaking hours hunched over the dirt with the tiniest of brushes.

“For history,” Luke offered, “and the knowledge that comes along with it.”

“I’ll join you on your return to the site,” she said. “You’ll need a narrator for the clip.”

“Nice,” Doug said with enthusiasm.

“Did you get a chance to inspect the skull further?” she asked Luke.

“Cleaned out most of the dirt from the brick and almost have it dislodged—”

“While I filmed!” Doug chimed in. “Although, brushing away dirt in a hotel room won’t make it into any highlight reel.”

“Another hour and I should be able to remove the brick,” Luke said. “I would prefer to take it back to London and work on it there. All the equipment I need to date the artifacts is at the university.”

Despite having been ditched by Garin, Annja was glad to be back with this pair. Doug would provide for some intriguing and adventurous fieldwork. And Luke continued to appeal to her sense of play. A girl couldn’t always be all about the work.

* * *

E
VEN
THOUGH
THE
iPad didn’t photograph well in the dark, and they needed proper lighting to do any narration shots, Doug played around with the apps to get some interesting effects as he wandered along the edge of the forest.

Luke pulled back the tarp and zoomed the flashlight beam over the pit to show Annja the progress he’d made that afternoon. Another day of both of them going at it, and the skeleton could be out, so long as they didn’t have any interruptions from protesters. Once it was out, he had an agreement with the country’s government, and the paperwork to prove it, to ship the find back to London, along with the skull. The other two skeletons would be exhumed, as well, but they would have to wait. Mueller and Addison had both gone home since their work visas had expired, and Luke was reluctant to call Daisy back on the job.

Annja was glad it was taking a while to unearth the complete skeleton, because that meant she had more time to inspect the skull. Even though all her instincts screamed that the safest path was to get the skull as far from the superstitious Gypsies as possible, she let herself believe it was secure in the hotel room.

Unless Bracks’s men were still in town. She would keep an eye over her shoulder.

If Bracks was related to whatever was in the cooler, were the cooler’s contents more valuable to him than the skull? Or did he want both? If so, why had he threatened to shoot the skull?

She’d tried Garin’s cell phone once more on the drive out to the site, but of course she hadn’t expected him to answer. Briefly, she wondered if a call to Roux might help in her efforts to reach Garin. Roux was not Garin’s keeper, nor did he always get along with him or know his whereabouts. But on occasion Annja felt Roux was more on her side than Garin could be, and she had used the one against the other a time or two. Roux was a little like a father figure who didn’t want to be bothered too much by the child, but should she happen to be in his company he was always glad to teach her what he knew. He had been the one to help her hone her sword-fighting skills after she’d taken Joan’s sword.

Bending at the waist to stretch out her spine, Annja did a sun salutation there before the dig pit, lifting her arms high to the moon.

“I love yoga,” Luke commented as he was pulling the tarp back over the pit.

Doug still wandered the edge of the forest, getting what he called mood shots.

“Just stretching out the kinks,” she said, spreading her arms wide and exhaling deeply. “It’s been a long day. You practice often?”

“Most days. Ever tried Bikram?”

Bikram yoga involved performing vigorous poses in a room heated to one hundred and five degrees. “Once. I don’t like sweating with others. It’s gross. I’ll stick to ashtanga and hatha and save the group sweat for gallivants through the tropical rain forests of South America.”

He climbed out of the pit and landed on his butt close to her, his legs hanging over the edge. In the darkness she sensed he was looking over her face, which was illuminated by the moonlight. Doug was not to be seen, though he could be heard, crunching the branches in the forest. And she was glad for that. The moment she couldn’t hear him, she’d have to go looking for him.

Abruptly Luke kissed her just as she was in the middle of upward dog, preparing to move backward into the downward dog stretch. Awkwardly, she plunked back on her heels beside him at the edge of the pit.

It had been too quick for a real kiss. She had, after all, been in the middle of sun salutation. But that kiss had left her wanting to pull him back to her mouth for a longer connection.

“Hey now, that’s enough, you two,” Doug teased them as he walked up to the pit. “Though—wait a minute. A little romance would beef up the ratings nicely. Yeah! Kiss again.”

“You’re out of line,” Luke said, and stood. He punched Doug’s arm as he passed. The Welshman strolled over to lean against the hood of the Range Rover.

“Sorry,” Doug offered to Annja as he folded the cover over the iPad and nodded toward the vehicle. “We heading back?”

“Yes, the site has been covered for the night. Luke and I intend to unearth the rest of the skeleton tomorrow. You get some good shots?”

“I’ll know in the morning when I can do some editing.” He yawned. “Let’s go, Annja. Today has been a long one.”

“You’re telling me.”

* * *

A
NNJA
DRIED
OFF
after her shower, and smeared the fog from the mirror with the back of her arm. Out in the other room, the two men munched more sausage and potatoes for breakfast. Doug was bent over the iPad to edit last night’s film footage, and Luke perched over the skull.

She didn’t mind the roommates, and hadn’t even thought to rent another room for herself. She could manage the expense but since no one had grumbled about sharing the room, why bother?

Now, she anticipated settling down with her laptop to research Bracks. Not that she expected to find anything on the business opportunist, but it was worth a shot.

She tugged on a T-shirt and her cargo pants, which were in need of a wash, but they’d do for another day. The hotel offered laundry service, but she’d grown accustomed to wearing her things well beyond their expiration date. Twisting her wet hair back into a ponytail, she secured it with a ribbon-wrapped elastic band, then tossed her towel onto the wet pile started by the guys, who’d had first dibs at showers. Chivalry? Ha!