Her Black Heart (The Dark Amulet Series Book 2) (22 page)

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SIX

Maurice

Flying first class had perks. Maurice deplaned first. He’d arranged for a car to pick him up at O’Hare International Airport. The service took him straight to the Hyatt, where he’d made the reservation for his usual penthouse suite. Traffic ahead of the black-out sedan came to a complete standstill a quarter-mile from the hotel. He peered through the windshield. Dozens of red and blue flashing lights gathered in the vicinity of the hotel.

Maurice smoothed his tie. “Driver, can you tell what is going on? Is that
mess
in front of my hotel?”

“I believe so, sir,” the man replied with a thick Indian accent.

“I’ll walk from here. Open the boot, please.” Maurice exited the vehicle and waited for the driver to pop the trunk. He grabbed his Louis Vuitton suitcase and wove his way through the other cars and several buses to the sidewalk.

When he reached the corner of the block the building rose up from, yellow caution tape surrounded a form laying on the cement left of the front doors. He only needed a quick glance to know the covered lump was a dead body. He inhaled sharply then looked up. A white sheet stained with a reddish-brown blotch clung to the side of the building. The Englishman stepped under the steel and glass awning.

“Are you a guest of the hotel, sir?”

“Wha…oh, yes, officer. I am.” The cop opened the door for him. “Thank you.” Maurice slipped inside and headed for reception. A woman he recognized behind the counter greeted him with a thin smile.

“Checking in, Mr. Winslow?”

“Please.”

The clerk tapped on a keyboard and frowned. “I’m sorry, but the penthouse is unavailable at the moment.”

“I see.” Evidently, the dead man out front had thrown himself off the penthouse balcony. Splendid. “Is there another room available with comparable standards to the suite?”

“Let me have a look.” She looked down at the monitor. Maurice drummed his fingertips on the granite counter, starting with his index finger then reversing the order beginning with his pinky. “I think we can accommodate your needs, Mr. Winslow. We can offer the suite directly below. It has a sitting room in addition to the bedroom. Jacuzzi-style bathtub and—”

“When will it be ready?”

“Right away. Let me make you some keycards.”

***

Maurice rounded the corner toward his room. A hulking beast of a man with dark hair and steel blue eyes whisked past him in the hallway outside his replacement room. The bottom flaps of his suit jacket lifted in a gust of wind. He paused and looked behind him; the man shimmied his upper back in an odd fashion, almost how a bird would shake rainwater from its feathers. Maurice spun on the balls of his feet and inserted the key card into the slot.

The room was larger than he imagined. He turned on all the lights, including the bathroom, and adjusted the AC. His suit jacket he hung on the clothing rack, annoyed the rack was out in the open. Hadn’t anyone ever heard of a wardrobe? He unpacked his belongings, hanging the Desmond Merrion custom tailored suit next to his Brooks Brothers’ coat and filled the dresser with his boxers and socks.

Maurice checked his watch and prepared for his afternoon meeting with the head museum curator. He opened his briefcase to reassure himself he had brought along his pegboard of checks. A sizable donation sometimes required that one actually see the check as it was being written to appreciate. He needed the amulet and wasn’t going to stop adding zeroes until he got what he wanted.

At a quarter to four in the afternoon, he went down to the lobby and had the doorman hail a cab.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

“Chicago Field Museum, please.” He always tried to be polite; after all, he was an English gentleman. The taxi pulled up to the curb in front of the wide steps leading to the museum. Armored angel statues stood guard outside the building. It was funny, he didn’t remember the sculptures being angels. What had happened to the lions? Weren’t they lions before? He smoothed the front of his suit as he approached the information desk.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Koebel,” he said to the young, fresh-faced woman manning the desk.

Her smile morphed into a frown. “I’m sorry. Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes. He told me to stop by anytime I was in town.”

“But do you have an appointment?”

Maurice cleared his throat. “I’m here to see Mr. Koebel and to make a sizable donation.”

“I can help you with that, mister…?”

“Winslow.” He cleared his throat. “
Maurice
Winslow.”

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to mean something? Does he know you?”

He briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Losing patience wasn’t going to help. “Are you in the habit of insulting your patrons, especially large donors like myself? In fact, now I must insist on speaking with your supervisor.”

“Uh, no, I um, you said you’d like to meet with Mr. Koebel,” the woman said, quickly backtracking. “I-I’ll page him right now.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider ignoring your rudeness in exchange for an apology.”

“I…I’m sorry—”

He held up his palm to stop her and smiled without joy.

Mr. Koebel’s assistant greeted him at the information desk and ushered him behind a door marked
‘Private.’
“Mr. Koebel will be with you in a moment. Please have a seat outside his office. May I get you anything while you wait?”

Now that’s more like it.

“No, thank you.” The woman dressed in casual clothing retreated. Maurice looked at the floor. By the time the office door opened he’d counted five hundred tiny square tiles. This part of the museum where the offices were located appeared to be in its original state. Most of the other areas appeared to have been remodeled. “Winslow, come in, please.”

He sat across from Mr. Koebel with his legs crossed and his hands clasped over his kneecap. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. You said whenever I was in town to pay you a visit. I understand museum patrons are on the rise.”

“Cut the crap, Maury, you didn’t come all this way to chitchat. You’re after the pendant you claim was stolen.”

“Yes.” Maurice reached inside his suit pocket and produced a drawing of the amulet. “This is what I came to retrieve. See, Tomas, this necklace, as I told you on the phone, has been in my family for generations and was taken from my home. It’s quite priceless.”

Tomas Koebel took the paper and examined the design. “Hmm…I do remember this being checked into inventory yesterday. Let me make a phone call. Oh and…I do expect a check. Today.” Maurice made an off-you-go motion with his hand. He listened to Tomas’ side of the conversation.

Koebel hung up. “The piece has been sent down to authentication and cleaning. The museum has until next week to officially close the deal with the museum back in Detroit, although the curators are all enthusiastic about its authenticity.”

Maurice leaned back in his chair and smiled. “My amulet isn’t for sale. Furthermore, it’s not what you believe it to be. It’s not worth a penny.”

“Then why, may I ask, are you so eager to get it back? And so willing to pay a large sum of money to ensure that?”

“I told you, it’s a family heirloom. It has
sentimental
value and you cannot put a price high enough on that.”

“Be that as it may—”

“Let me remind you that if you receive stolen proper—”

“Please, if you were going to call the police you would’ve already.”

Maurice glanced around the tight office. A coatrack full of cheap looking neckties sat in the corner. Another suit jacket and pants hung from a hanger. He looked back at Tomas, who had his hands cradling the back of his head. The man eyed him as he rose and walked over to the ties. Maurice grabbed a pale blue tie and sat down.

“You like that tie? Wife got that for me for Christmas last year. All of them on that rack were presents.”

Leaning forward, Maurice snatched a blade-like letter opener off the desk. “Maury, what are you—”

“You know what, I’ve grown tired of you. So here’s what you are going to do.”

“Wha—”

Maurice made a slashing movement with his hand, got up, walked around the desk, and stood next to the man. He bent over and spoke into his ear. “You’re going to pick up that phone and dial whoever you must and tell them I’m on my way to the information desk to pick up my amulet.”

Tomas’s mouth fell open and he looked over his shoulder. “I will do nothing of the sort—ah, fuck!” Maurice’s hand had come down onto the man’s thigh with the letter opener. He clutched his leg after the tool was removed. The puncture was shallow but deep enough to scare the man. “What was that for? Motherfuc—”

“Would you like one on the other side?” Tomas shook his head. “Make the call.”

Tomas tried to get up, but collapsed back in the chair with a cry. Sweat poured down his face. He blew out quick breaths. Maurice picked up the receiver and handed it to him. With shaky hands, he dialed the three-digit extension and rested his elbows on the desk.

“The amulet…that is stol-stolen property. Please have it ready at the information desk for pick-up. Mr. Winslow will be waiting.” He let the phone drop and pressed on the wound with his hand.

“Thank you,” Maurice said, placing the phone on the cradle. He seized the hair on the back of Tomas’s head, forcing him to look at him. “Now, I can’t very well leave you here to call the police. Tell you what,” he wiped the opener on Tomas’s coat and put it into his own pocket, “you’ve got a problem and I want you to help me solve it.”

“Wha-What do you want me to do?” Tomas stammered.

“You know what sucks about polyester ties, they’re incredible strong when wrapped around someone’s neck.” Tomas blanched. Maurice chuckled. “Just joking. I had you going there for a minute.”

Tomas visually relaxed, even took a deep breath.

“See, I can’t have you calling the police and I’m not interested in killing anyone today,” Maurice continued. “I have an associate of mine paying a visit to your wife this afternoon.”

“Ha, I talked to my wife right before you came into my office. She’s at her friend’s house right      n—”

“Sylvia’s. Yes, I know.”

Tomas paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“If you’d like, I could tell him to kill her and her friend right now. Or would you rather I leave with my amulet and never set foot near you or your wife again? Oh, and did I mention that your daughter has company as well?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” Maurice grinned. “Once I’m clear, I’ll call off my men. But you’re going to stay put in your little office here. You wouldn’t want my associates to get nervous, would you? Return and finish the job?” He smiled. The last part he’d added for extra insurance and time to get out of Chicago. He turned to leave. “Oh, one last thing, I had no idea, you were into that sort of thing. Your wife might be interested to hear about your extracurricular activities.”

“What are you talk—never mind.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SEVEN

Julia

“Dammit, Joelle,” Julia said. The angel she’d never seen before stood inside the suite in the frame of the door-wall. “You know him, huh? I take it he always does that.”

“Yep, pretty much. In his defense, though, he’s not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” Julia asked.

“He’s a higher upper.”

And that means?

Why did everyone always assume she knew
anything
about angels? “Thanks, you’re so helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” the angel said and took a test tube of purple liquid out of his pocket. Another angel with dark gray wings wheeled a yellow mop bucket up to the angel with the vial.

“You must be Soapers?”

“Right you are.”

The gray-winged angel stuck his palm up in a quick greeting. “Hey, I’m Jeremiah.” His smile caused her to do a double-take.

Jesus.

Her whole outlook on the future changed for a moment as she stared at his face. “You really like your job, don’t you?”

“No, not particularly. I love Earth.”

“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip. The other angel dunked a sponge into the bucket and swabbed up the drops of blood left from the dead guy. Jeremiah followed behind with a white rag. If she understood things correctly, Soapers ensured no evidence of angel activities, including biological, was left for police to find.

Julia took the one flight of stairs down to their floor. A scent tickled her nose when she entered the hallway from the stairwell. She waved her fingers over her crinkled nose. “Achoo! Achoo!” Who the hell bathed in their cologne?

Oh. Shit
.

She cringed, her heart beating faster. “Not good. Not good.” The only person she’d ever known to wear that strong expensive crap was Maurice.

The smell became more pungent as she tiptoed down the corridor, past the narrow table with a golden vase full of fresh flowers. Her eyes watered and her nose threatened to explode again. She pressed her index finger under her nostrils trying to force her sneeze to wait until she reached her room.

Outside the door where the scent lingered, she held her breath. She wasn’t sure which side of the hallway was the correct room. The sound of metal clicking inside a suite sent her running. Julia shot down the hall. Raz stepped out of their room several doors down.

“Go back inside!” she whisper-yelled and clawed at the air in front of her. “Get back in there!”

Once they were back inside, she slammed the door and slid down to the floor. She gasped and swallowed hard several times. She stood up after a second or two and looked out the peephole.

Raz situated himself directly behind her. “What’s the matter?”

She flinched, her hand covering her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that? What are you doing?”

“What are
you
doing?” He shooed her away from the door. “Let me see. Hmm…”

“Do you see him?”

He peeked at her over his shoulder. “See who? There’s no one out there.”

“Maurice. He’s here, I know it.”

“Did you see him?”

Julia dropped her gaze to the floor. “Well, no.”

***

Maurice

Finally.

Maurice set the velvet pouch down on the hotel suite’s coffee table and parked his butt on the sofa in the sitting room. The amulet’s power already flowed through his veins. Heatwaves seeped through the fabric. A wide smile spread across his face.

He fished his phone out of his breast pocket and dialed Shane and another of his associates to let them know they were free to leave their babysitting duties behind and join him at the hotel. However, he knew only one of them would return, the other liked his anonymity. Who could blame him? Maurice sent him a text:

Free 2 go.

Shane answered on the second ring. “All set.”

“Do you need me to take care of things?”

Maurice held the cell between his ear and shoulder. “That won’t be necessary.” He shook the contents of the black bag into his hand. “Join me at the—Nooo!” The phone slipped and bounced onto the carpet off the low table. He bounded from the couch, shouting, “Incompetent ingrates. Those bloody wankers!” The square,
not
round, pendant he whipped through the air made a three-inch hole in the drywall.

Sonofabitch!

He paced around the room. His phone lay on the floor, Shane still squawking on the other end. Maurice put the cell back up to his ear and cleared his throat before speaking. “As I was say—”

“Is everything all right, sir?”

“Yes, now will you listen to me? Please. Join me at the hotel for a meeting at once.” They needed a new strategy.

“Is there a probl—” Maurice hung up, uninterested in continuing the conversation.