Stay the Night (13 page)

“I cannot believe it.” Robin shook his head slowly. “First this mortal treats me like a discarded garment, and now she means to entrap and imprison me.”

Salva finally understood Locksley's anger, and the odd smell of human female lingering about him.
He has been with her, while she deceived him about her identity.

“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, my lord?” When Robin turned to her, she continued: “As I have told you, my talent is persuasion. I could attend this gallery show with you, and easily convince this mortal female to surrender the manuscript to you voluntarily. Would that not be fitting revenge for what she has taken from you?”

Locksley made a curt gesture. “She took nothing from me.”

She saw that he was tempted. “Perhaps nothing material, my lord. But your trust has obviously been violated, and by a woman who would gladly do much more harm to you. You are a suzerain; she is but a mortal. If word of this were to spread among our kind . . .” Delicately she trailed off.

“No one need know anything about this,” his seneschal said, frowning at Salva. “I'm sure such an
old
and
trusted
friend as you, my lady, will keep my lord's confidence.”

“You can depend on me to be as silent as a mute,” Salva said. “But what will you do about this mortal who dares to hunt you, my lord?”

“I will teach her a lesson,” Robin said. “One she will not soon forget.”

Chapter 6

C
hris adjusted the small gold brooch the A/V tech had pinned to her jacket lapel. The cluster of crystals covering the ornate pin disguised a tiny camera lens, which would transmit everything she saw in the gallery.

“How's the picture on your end, Dennis?” she asked.

“Great,” he said over her earpiece. “The mikes around the gallery are picking up every sound you make, so you don't need to wear the wire. Video transmission's good, too. At this moment I can see every pore on your partner's big, ugly black nose.”

“If you're talking about my nose again, Dennis, I'm going to come back there and kick your tiny white ass.” Hutch checked his watch. “We've got thirty minutes to go. Let's walk through it one more time.”

As they went through the gallery, Chris examined everything with a critical eye. The carpets had been professionally cleaned, the furnishings polished, the paintings—all excellent forgeries that Chris had brought with her from the Chicago art and antiquities task force's collection—properly hung and lighted, and the display cases wiped down. What didn't glitter, gleamed.

“Childers and Barclay are covering the entrance,” Hutch said. “Alpert and I will have both ends of the alley, and Wardell and Anderson are on the roof.”

Despite the many precautions they'd taken, Chris still felt uneasy. “Is there any other way in or out of the building?”

“All the windows have been wired, so Dennis will sound the alarm if he tries to climb his way in.” He stopped in front of the case containing the illuminated manuscript. “Don't mother-hen it, but watch this thing. If one of the guests bumps it the right way, it'll set off the net. I still think we should have used agents to play the attendees.”

“Then we couldn't have advertised it, and how many guys in the bureau do you know who would look like patrons of a gallery?” Chris asked, amused. “If the Magician is familiar with the local fine-arts scene, which we have to assume he is, he's not going to be fooled by a bunch of feds in off-the-rack suits pretending to be fascinated by medieval treasures.”

“Yeah, well, if things get hairy, you pull the plug and protect the citizens.” He inspected her. “You should wear your hair down more often. You look good.”

“Thank you.” Chris never wore her hair down if she could help it; it made her look too young and frivolous. “It covers my earpiece.”

“You should know that Hutch's wife is a six-foot-two ex-hurdle jumper who looks like she could stomp John Cena into dust,” Dennis said over her earpiece. “Just in case you're feeling a little partner love there, Agent Renshaw.”

“I appreciate the advice, Dennis,” Chris said smoothly. “I'll pass it along to Agent Hutchins. I'm sure he'll remember it the next time we need someone to search an overflowing Dumpster.”

“Okay, okay,” Dennis said. “Geez.”

Chris straightened her jacket carefully to avoid jogging the brooch. She was more accustomed to wearing a wire underneath her clothes, but Dennis had assured her that they'd planted so many bugs around the gallery that no one would even hiccup without him getting it on tape.

“Did I tell you we got the report today from forensics on that weird slug from the bank job? Turns out it wasn't a slug at all. They identified it as a copper arrowhead.”

“An arrowhead? From someone's pendant?”

“From a real live arrow. The found some splinters of wood from the shaft embedded in the metal.” Hutch bent to pick up a piece of snipped electrical wire caught in the carpet pile. “All handmade, so it couldn't be traced to a manufacturer.”

During her years in the bureau, Chris had heard plenty of stories about the strange weapons some bank robbers employed. They ranged from open jars of hydrochloric acid to homemade flamethrowers. But this? “Hutch, they're not seriously suggesting that the Magician held up the bank with a bow and arrow? The guards would have shot him.”

“Yeah, once they stopped laughing,” Dennis put in.

Hutch shrugged. “They found traces of blood and black leather on it.”

Chris remembered the odd cut the medical examiner found on the back of DeLuca's hand, and the blood he'd dripped all over the hotel room before shooting himself. “Have they run the blood?”

“Yeah. It was DeLuca's.”

Chris saw a well-dressed couple standing outside the locked entrance, and set aside the ten thousand other questions she had. “Here we go.”

 

Helen Moran usually didn't like the boys her daughter, Jane, brought home, but for once she'd found herself a nice, quiet boyfriend. He wore the most unusual cologne—it reminded Helen of the pomfrey cakes her aunt used to send her from England—and it seemed to fill the air whenever he came near her. Jane explained that she'd met him at the shelter where she'd been working off her community-service sentence.

He was so thin and tired he could speak only in a whisper, and Helen felt so bad about his being homeless that she had immediately offered to let him stay as long as he liked in their spare room.

Later she'd seen Jane go into the spare room, but Helen didn't mind. Her daughter was almost an adult, and certainly mature enough to have an intimate relationship with a man. She'd listened outside the door, but the sounds of pleasure Janey made reassured her. Her new boyfriend was obviously a very skillful lover: something every girl should have at least once in her life.

Helen had been a little startled when he'd come into her bedroom late that night, but then he'd whispered what he needed into her ear, and she'd moved over to make room for him. That he wanted to have sex with her didn't bother Helen at all. Janey was very young, of course, and she didn't have the experience her mother did with men. That and Helen hadn't been to bed with any man since her ex-husband had left her for a twenty-two-year-old bookkeeper's assistant at his accounting firm.

The sex she had with Jane's new boyfriend had blown Helen's mind. She'd done things with him that she'd never imagined, much less tried. She was still a little sore from the long hours he'd used her.

If only they had time to do it again before they left.

Jane did look a little pale as they got ready to go out, but Helen put that down to her daughter's endless obsession with dieting. She was so happy that was all over. From now on things were going to be so good for her and Jane. Her new boyfriend would take care of them. He'd take care of everything.

“You remember where he wants you to park the car?” Helen asked. She would be busy watching the side door for him, and she worried that Jane might forget his instructions.

“Sure, Mom. Right next to the emergency exit.” Jane's smile widened as he came into Helen's bedroom. “Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded.

“That suit never looked that good on my ex-husband.” Helen wanted to hug him, but settled for a touch on his arm. “Can I get you anything before we go?”

He curled his hand around her neck and drew her closer. Helen's eyes closed as he kissed her neck, and she moaned when she felt his teeth pierce her skin. It was over too soon for her, and she clutched at him until he removed her hands and reached for Jane.

Once he had been satisfied, Helen drove them all to the boutique downtown where she worked. She closed the shop at five, but as the manager, she had the alarm codes and the master keys to the building, so there was no problem getting back in through the service entrance. The old basement door had been painted over, but he was so strong it opened for him the first time he pushed on it. Once he had walked through the old underground passage that ran the length of the street, he came back up into the shop.

“Move the car to the side of the building,” he whispered to Jane. “Keep the engine running.”

After her daughter left, Helen went to stand with him by the windows and watched the people going into the gallery next to the boutique. “Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?”

“You will wait here.” As he spoke, the sweet smell of pomfrey cakes intensified. “When Jane returns from the airport, you will forget everything that has happened between us.”

“Wait. Jane. Forget.” Helen's eyes teared as part of her, the part that loved him, fought the need to obey. “But can't Janey and I come with you?”

“No, madam.” He looked through the window. “I leave your country tonight.”

 

As all of the seigneurs had not yet arrived for
le conseil supérieur
, Geoffrey invited Michael and Alex to join him that evening for an informal get-together with the ones who had.

“Gilanden will wish to play billiards, and Tristan will mope until someone plays a song on the pianoforte that he can sing to. Which would be none of those that have been written since music was invented.” Geoff laughed at his own joke and turned to Alex. “Are you musical, my lady?”

“Sorry, I can't even whistle in tune.” Alex glanced through the window and spotted Braxtyn out in the gardens. “If you boys don't mind, I think I'll go hang out with Brax. She promised to show me how not to get lost.” When Michael gave her a puzzled look, she added, “Walking through Geoff's labyrinth.”

Michael kissed her brow. “Enjoy yourself.”

Braxtyn and several of her maids were gathering flowers in baskets, but as soon as she saw Alex coming toward her she handed hers to one of the women. “Good evening, my lady. I see you successfully evaded the men.”

“They're going to shoot pool and gossip,” she told her. “And someone named Tristan is probably going to sing.”

“Perhaps we should call it a most fortunate escape.” She winked. “I had intended to come in search of you. Geoff and I were hoping we could persuade you to look in on some of our patients in the hospital.”

Alex perked up. “You have a hospital? Here?”

Braxtyn nodded. “ 'Twas necessary to convert the basement level into a ward for the burn victims. Lord Gabriel and Lady Nicola have been bringing survivors of Brethren attacks to us from France, Spain, and Italy for some months now.”

“Michael told me,” she said. “Are you having any problems with the patients?”

“To be frank, yes.” Braxtyn's smile faded. “Many come to us with wounds that do not heal. Geoffrey told me today that you were once a surgeon who specialized in repairing humans with such wounds. I do not know if you can do anything for our patients, but I would be grateful if you would examine them.”

Alex agreed, stopping only to retrieve her medical case and one of her white lab coats to wear over her dress. She didn't need the coat but felt it gave her an appearance of authority—something she always needed when dealing with injured Kyn. She found a clip in one of her coat pockets and put the end of it in her mouth as she began dragging back her curls and twisting them with both hands.

“How many have you got down there?” she asked around the clip.

Braxtyn thought for a moment. “Twenty at present, I believe. Lord Gabriel and his lady are tracking a cell in Portugal that is attacking Kyn strongholds there, so I expect at least a dozen more will be brought to us before the end of
le conseil supérieur
.”

Alex secured the bundle she'd made of her curls with the slide, and picked up her case. “Who's been treating the patients who are here now?”

“Geoff and I do what we can.” Braxtyn spread her hands out. “Under the circumstances, bringing human physicians here is dangerous, and we have no doctors among the Kyn, my lady. At least, not until you came to us.”

Alex nodded. Because of their unique physiologies, the Kyn couldn't go to hospitals or have any sort of conventional medical treatment. “How serious are their injuries?”

“Very grave, but it is their mental state that concerns me.” The other woman's expression grew sad. “Two lost limbs during the attacks on their strongholds, and chose to end their lives. Another, Lady Blanche, was so badly burned that she is permanently disfigured. I fear she is on the brink of suicide.”

“We'll just see about that.” Alex headed for the door.

Two of Geoffrey's men stood guard on either side of a wide elevator in an unoccupied section of the house. They bowed to the women but remained silent and alert.