The Other Crowd (12 page)

“The Emerald Isle has long been known for gorgeous landscapes, mysterious and mystical rock formations and even a leprechaun or two.”

Annja paused and shook her head. “This isn’t working.” The sun hit her eyes and not squinting made them water.

“It’s working, Annja,” Eric coached. “Just go with it. We need an opening segment.”

“Right.” She had a lot on her mind, but reminded herself she was getting paid for this. Assuming professional TV host mode, she pasted on a smile and repeated the opening monologue to the
Chasing History’s Monsters
episode.

They finished ten minutes later, and Annja felt drained. She was the one who bolstered the show’s fantasy and high-jinks with facts and knowledge. It was Kristie Chatham’s job to do the puff pieces and attract the viewing public with her silicone smile.

“It’s people, not faeries,” she said to Eric as they hiked to the Mini Cooper. “People with guns, I’m sure.”

“Just because the guy wants to protect himself doesn’t mean he’s capping people, Annja. Slater’s cool.”

“Really?” She waited for Eric to slide his equipment into the hatchback. He was careful with his equipment, which went a long way in endearing him to her. He was young, yet he did want to learn. And he was skilled with the equipment. She shouldn’t have prejudged him so harshly. “I saw him yelling at you yesterday. Is it his Rolex or his smart-ass attitude that impresses you so much?”

“Annja, he’s just doing his job. Obviously whatever they’re digging for is valuable.”

“Any artifact can prove of value. But most of the time that value isn’t proven until much later, after the dig has been backfilled and the artifacts have been studied in a lab. We saw a skeleton less than a foot under the topsoil, Eric. That doesn’t make it old. For all we know, it could have been a hiker who went missing ten years ago.”

“That’s callous.”

“But it’s a possibility, and we have to examine all possibilities before arriving at a truth. There’s no reason for security unless it’s been proven items of value have been uncovered. I want to know what Slater’s team has uncovered.”

Eric slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Do you always use company time to go off on your own and do side projects, Annja?”

“I’m going to forget you just said that.”

“Sorry.”

She did not do that. It so happened that the side projects followed her, no matter where she traveled.

“But seriously,” Eric continued, “you’re on Doug’s dollar. Or rather, my father’s.”

“Your father?”

Eric shifted on the seat. He scanned the horizon, avoiding her eyes. The sky was gray and promised imminent rain.

“I’m not following,” she prompted. “What does your father have to do with this trip to Ireland? I thought it was just a box of cigars he’d sent along for Daniel?”

Eric rubbed the heel of his palm against his jaw. Nervous. And so he should be if he was hiding something.

“Eric?”

“My dad is financing this trip. He provided the tickets here and is paying for room and board for me. He wanted me to get a good start in the business, and
Chasing History’s Monsters
is my favorite show.”

“So Doug was bribed? Why does that sound so believable?”

Doug Morrell was a great guy, had unique and oftentimes insane visions for the show, and at times Annja considered him her friend.

As far as possessing a moral compass, Doug was all over the map. He wasn’t beyond Photoshopping fangs on Transylvanian villagers to up the ratings, and Annja felt sure he was behind the incident last year that saw her head pasted on a nude body and circulated on all the online celebrity skin sites.

“Was the other cameraman even sick?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Doug about that. I wanted to do an amazing project for my final exam,” Eric said. “My media teacher is going to love this stuff.”

“Are you a college freshman?”

He shrugged and still didn’t meet her eyes. What was so wrong that he’d suddenly clammed up? There wasn’t a secret the guy could harbor that would top her secret. Unless…

Annja dropped her head against the headrest. “Don’t tell me.”

“All right, I won’t. But it would so rock if you’d come to my high school graduation, Annja. My friends would get such a kick out of meeting you.”

His
high school
graduation. She was sitting in a foreign country with a high school student determined to ace his finals with a complex study in faeries, and who had begun to idolize a man who liked to caress his gun and bully reporters.

“Are you telling me the truth that your father knows all about this?”

“Definitely.”

“And he’s cool with his son taking time off from school to do this project?”

“It’s spring break, Annja, if you haven’t noticed.”

She had missed that one. Must be the lacking beachfront and bikini-clad girls gone wild. “Next time we hit the pub,” she said, “you are drinking soda.”

“Come on, Annja. I’m eighteen.”

“The drinking age is twenty-one.”

“It’s eighteen in Ireland. My father raised me with European esthetics. I’ve been drinking beer for years.”

“Whatever. I am not your mother.” As he’d so snidely pointed out already.

Annja drove the next forty-five minutes with the radio turned up loud.

Though Cork was the third largest city in Ireland, and was a major seaport, it was easy enough to navigate, if you didn’t have to cross the river Lee. The river spread through the city in two channels, forming an island of the city’s center much like Paris, and Annja guessed if you had to go anywhere fast, you’d have to constantly cross bridges.

The hospital Beth had been admitted to was on the west edge, so she needn’t venture too far into the city. After she’d wrapped filming, she intended to finagle a day of sightseeing here before returning to the States.

But tonight was all about the fight club.

She still hadn’t decided what to do with Eric. He shouldn’t be allowed to watch. On the other hand, he was a guy; this was probably his kind of thing. On the other hand, he was only eighteen. On the other hand, if she tried to tell him he wasn’t old enough, he’d flip.

And on the final hand, she wasn’t his mother. And she had run out of hands long ago.

The whole parenting thing must be the toughest job out there. Annja had been raised in an orphanage. She had no idea what it was like to have parents, let alone be a parent.

She parked in the shade and asked Eric to remain by the car while she went in to see if there was a chance of catching Beth coherent, and not surrounded by militant nuns.

“L
EARN ANYTHING
?” Eric asked when she returned to the car.

“I managed to peek in her room, but she’s still out of it. She’s listed as serious condition. That’s very odd. I never thought LSD could be so dangerous.”

But then, any kind of recreational drug had devastating effects if used in large dosages.

Annja navigated an intersection and noted the white van that had been following for a couple blocks turned the same direction. There were no plates, and the windows were blacked out.

If that wasn’t suspicious, she’d eat Mrs. Riley’s black pudding for breakfast tomorrow without complaint.

Checking the rearview mirror, Annja verified that the white van still followed them. She turned right. The van turned right. She kept pace with the minimal traffic and eyed an alleyway set between a closed automotive shop and a music store. With her turn, the van also turned.

They were not being covert at all. It was as if they wanted her to know they were following. That made them either stupid or looking to talk.

Eric looked up from his camera. He’d been reviewing video. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Your knuckles are white, and you keep checking the mirrors.”

Points for the cameraman. “We’re being followed.”

“Followed?”

She slapped an arm across his chest before he could completely turn in his seat to look out the rear window.

“By who?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but don’t be so obvious. Stay calm. And…can you film the van covertly?”

“Covert? Oh, yeah, no problem.” He positioned the camera between the seats. “Dude, there’s no plates on the van. Is this normal for the show segments?” he asked. “All this stealth and covert sneaking about?”

“To a degree. Depends on who you talk to and if you ask the wrong questions.” And whether or not your name was Annja Creed. “But honestly, no, this is not normal.”

Two men sat in the front of the van. Annja had no idea if there were others in the back. She didn’t spot weapons, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. She had the sword to hand whenever she needed it, but sword fighting required close contact. A girl couldn’t toss a three-foot sword from the car and expect it to meet its target, then return to her.

Although, that was kind of how Mrs. Collins had explained the spear of Lugh worked. Okay, so she wouldn’t dismiss the possibility such a spear existed just by principle, but if it did exist, it was not presently hanging on Mrs. Collins’s wall.

“Gotta try that move sometime,” she muttered, and slammed on the brakes to avoid a bicycle crossing against a red light.

“Try what?” Eric asked, bent low in the middle of the seats and filming.

“Biking with a death wish,” she muttered.

The geriatric cyclist didn’t even glance at the vehicle that had almost killed him. Steady and straight on, he continued his lethargic crossing. How he even maintained balance fascinated Annja.

“I can see you doing that. BMX would be right up your alley, Annja.”

She could handle the rugged mountain trails with the right bike and equipment. But flying through the air and doing loop-de-loops for the sporting entertainment of it? Not so much.

“All right, enough filming. Time for you to buckle up. They’re getting aggressive.”

Annja turned away from the main streets and aimed for what she hoped would be a less populated neighborhood. She should drive out of the city but she hadn’t got her bearings and with the unfamiliar roads she just wanted to keep Eric safe.

She missed a stop sign, and Eric directed her left. She turned right.

She saw the glint of a pistol jut out the passenger window of the van. “Here we go. Head down!”

She slapped her palm against the back of Eric’s head as a bullet pierced the rear window.

Eric swore and slid down as far as the seat belt would allow. “They’re shooting at us? What did we do? Is this about filming on the dig?”

“It had better be.” If there were thugs after her for other reasons, they could take a number because she only had time right now to deal with this situation. “Hold on.”

Swerving sharply, the Mini’s tires thudded against the curb as she entered a tight alley. The tarmac was loose and potholes shook the tiny car.

Too late, Annja saw her mistake. The alley was a dead end sided by brick walls. Laundry hung across three or four lines from the second floor up to the fourth.

The white van barreled up behind them and braked to a stop.

“Now what?” Eric had forgotten her suggestion to keep his head down. He eyed the shattered window, which provided no good view of the van. “This isn’t cool anymore. They have guns!”

“I don’t want to do this with you,” Annja said. “I can’t risk you being hurt. Sorry about this, Eric.”

She punched him under the jaw. The sharp angle rocked his skull and pinched off his oxygen. A knockout punch. He slumped on the seat. Annja shoved him farther down so his head was below the window level and out of risk for catching a bullet aimed at her.

Kicking open the driver’s door, she stepped out. A bullet hit the brick wall three feet from her and sprayed the rubble of brick against her shoulder and cheek. She ducked behind the open car door and summoned her sword to hand.

“Watch it, idiot!” a man shouted from near the van. “He said not to kill them.”

The door slammed against Annja’s shoulder. Someone had kicked it from the other side. Wanting to get the attackers as far from Eric as possible, she climbed onto the hood, ran over the car’s roof and jumped off.

One thug was behind her, and one stepped out from the driver’s side of the van. Only two. But one was armed. And though she’d heard the order to keep her alive, Annja knew from experience that thugs weren’t always good at following orders during the heat of the moment.

Proof pinged the van’s hood. The bullet ricocheted and more brick wall exploded next to the driver’s head.

“That’s me bloody van, idjit!” the driver shouted.

Hearing the shooter’s heavy breaths come up behind her, Annja ducked and swung out her sword, cutting it through the air. The blade connected with nylon jacket and flesh and blood.

“What the hell?” the shooter cried. “She’s got a bloody sword!”

Following the swing, Annja put the driver in sight. He bent and lunged, going for her legs. She leaped, higher.

One foot landed on the hood of the van. She pushed off and flipped backward in the air. The gun went off again. Landing behind the shooter, she sliced the sword across the thick part of his thighs, dragging it through flesh. The wound felled him. He rolled to his side, clutching his legs.

She kicked his gun under the Mini Cooper. The clearance was too low for anyone to snake out something from underneath.

The driver wisely put up his hands and pressed his back to the brick wall. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he demanded more shakily than assuredly. “You’re starkers, you are.”

“You don’t even know who you’re following?” Annja swept the sword out wide, sending blood spraying from the blade and across the front of the white van. A samurai move. “I get to ask the questions.”

With a flick of her wrist, she pressed the blade under his chin. “Who sent you?”

“I don’t rightly know,” he mumbled. “I didn’t get a name.”

“Liar.”

“I’m a feckin’ freelancer!” he protested. “Watch the blade, will you, luv? I think you killed me partner.”

“He’s not dead. He passed out from the pain. Pain I promise
you,
if you don’t start talking. Now you’ll have me believe you don’t know the name of the guy signing your paycheck?”

“It’s all cash now, isn’t it?”

“What was the order?”

“To follow the American woman and make sure she gets out of town. Oh.” He shrugged and offered a sheepish, blood-spattered grimace. “Get out of town, luv.”

“You first.”

Slamming the sword hilt against his jaw, Annja knocked him out. He fell in a graceless heap. Checking the other thug to ensure he’d passed out, as well, she bent to pat down the driver’s pockets. She found a wallet full of pound notes but no ID.

Turning, she patted down the other guy. He moaned as she dug in his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. The card stock was thick and edged in gold.

“Wine,” she read the single word. Below that was a phone number. “Wine?” Wouldn’t a liquor store have a grander name?

“Annja?”

She’d forgotten about Eric. Thrusting her right hand out, Annja released the sword to the otherwhere. She hoped he hadn’t seen her pin the thug to the wall with the sword.

“We should hurry,” she called out. She told Eric to grab his equipment from the hatchback and follow her out from the alleyway. “They’ll come to soon.”

The redhead staggered out from the Mini, rubbing his jaw. “You punched me!”

The sight of the fallen men had him sputtering and giving Annja a double take. At the signal, shaking her head negatively, he didn’t ask. She could tell he wanted to, but he earned points for discretion.

If he didn’t get an A for this project, she’d talk to his teacher personally.