Veil of Justice, Shadows of Justice Book 3 (17 page)

Brian had picked up the chatter on the police
channel while they were at the warehouse. He'd made a valiant
attempt, but couldn't talk Kelly and Jaden into waiting for a
better time to raid the museum's vault. Every passing day gave
Kristoff more time to unravel their plans through Petra or possibly
Nathan.

The women looked at each other and gut
instinct filled in the blanks. They'd both thought it earlier, but
being on scene, they both felt it. This wasn't a coincidence.
Someone else had mimicked their plan and made a play for the map
box.

"We can't be too late," Kelly muttered, fear
and fury mounting to combustible levels. It was only the sheer
force of the woman standing next to her that kept her from bursting
into angry tears. Jaden was a warrior who'd lived and died and
never whined about it once. She'd probably class this as a minor
set back rather than cause for the panic washing over Kelly.

"Aw, crap."

It certainly wasn't the profound backup plan
Kelly hoped to hear. "Should we just go in the front?" she asked,
forgetting the tight security and metal detectors up front. They'd
never get through that.

Thankfully, Jaden didn't react to her stupid
question. It took all of Kelly's willpower not to blabber aloud the
thoughts racing through her mind at a thousand miles per second.
She'd been trained to protect treasures, not steal them. A cold
chill raised the hair at her nape. Her father would think the worst
of her standing here on the verge of grand theft map box.

She was so grateful he hadn't known where
she'd settled, and therefore never had to worry that she and the
maps were in such close proximity.

"There's our opening." Jaden became a blur of
motion and Kelly rushed to catch up.

Jaden latched onto an evidence cop, got just
enough out of him to get into the scene and then they were beyond
the loading dock and heading down the service stairs to the
vault.

Kelly knew only that they were meeting
someone else down here and she was nervous he'd been delayed
too.

"Slumming again so soon, love?"

Kelly looked for the owner of the voice, but
no one was with them in the stairwell. The disembodied thing didn't
faze Jaden, she went charging down the rest of the stairs on silent
feet.

Kelly followed slower, unsure of what was
waiting for them. When she arrived, Jaden was standing in front of
a door, talking softly with Cleveland. Tall, lanky, and slippery as
an eel, the man seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. A
serious history buff, his collections of everything from cars to
stamps were stuff of legends, but he had some truly unique
skills.

He beamed a wide smile, putting Kelly
instantly at ease. "Like my diversion up top?"

"Not so much," Jaden replied for both of
them. "How are the kids?"

"Fabulous." He winked at Jaden then pointed a
long index finger at Kelly. "You don't ever get the Mustang again,
hear me? I might get it fixed by the turn of the century."

"Don't let him fool you. He's just trying to
pad Nathan's bill."

Cleveland shot her a dark look before
squirting the hinges. The door swung open silently. "Ladies
first."

They hurried down a wide hallway, passing
several closed doors, before Cleveland stopped in front of a vault
that looked just like Petra's pictures.

"Count backwards from one hundred," he
said.

Jaden shoved at his shoulder. "Stop showing
off and open it already."

In her mind, Kelly ticked off ninety-nine,
ninety-eight, ninety-seven, and then Cleveland's flashlight lit up
the dark interior, sweeping across treasures of immeasurable value
covered by a thin fog of dust. "Get it and let's get gone," he
said.

Kelly recognized the map box at once. Eagerly
answering its quiet call, she darted inside, returning a moment
later with the ornate box under her arm. "Done," she said, feeling
the grin splitting her face. Not the coolest, or calmest, she was
definitely the happiest.

Cleveland looked longingly at the full,
neatly labeled shelves, but Jaden grabbed his sleeve. "Not this
time."

"Aww." His eyes sparkled with an idea. "It'd
clutter up the investigators."

"No," Jaden said.

Though she was more than a little mesmerized
by the box, Kelly heard the vault door swoosh closed and Jaden and
Cleveland saying goodbye.

She aimed herself toward the stairs, but
Jaden pulled her aside. "Slide it in here." When the map box was
covered, she gave Kelly a nudge and they headed up to the next
level. Cleveland apparently had another way out.

"There's an old employee exit at the next
landing. It's closer to the rendezvous point anyway."

Kelly nodded, her voice too clogged with
emotion to speak. Maybe her father was right and she didn't have
the guts to be a real guardian. It was hard to imagine her stoic
brothers suffering from a cold, nervous sweat while on duty. She
was experiencing a vicious cycle of goose bumps and shivers
exacerbated by the museum's climate control systems.

To Kelly's overwrought senses it felt like
she'd been shot from a cannon when they exploded into the night as
Jaden opened the door on the lake side of the building. A sharp
wind kicked up and she shivered again, but didn't miss a step as
they jogged to the observatory.

An abrupt giggle was the only warning of
attack. How had Kristoff's pet killer tracked them?

Jaden was jogging and then she was down.
Kelly reacted on instinct. Slinging the bag with the map box around
to her back, she faced Simon with her dirk in one hand and short
sword in the other.

"Whatcha got?" he said in his odd voice
trapped between man and boy.

Kelly didn't waste breath or thought on an
answer, she sensed a simple conversation wouldn't deter him this
time. She watched his movements and waited for the opening.

He lunged, she followed the motion, twisting
away at the last second. It was as if time stilled, she saw every
specific thing, every particle of everything in vivid detail. The
next thrust, the sweeping kick, an angry lash before he regained
control of himself. And as she evaded, she even saw the blood
droplets plinking one by one from Jaden's temple to the
sidewalk.

Anger, grief, it was all far from her as she
focused on the fight, on keeping this moment separate from the
next. He had the longer reach, but he moved so slowly she only had
to wait for the moment she could dart inside his guard. Her dirk
found its mark twice and wet ribbons of blood trailed along his
arm.

A siren wailed, distracting Simon. She
kicked, her foot connected with his head, just ahead of the flat of
her sword. He bled like Jaden, from the temple, but stayed upright.
Then he lunged again. She slid away, but he caught the strap of the
tote holding the map box.

She groped to hang on, but it slid from her
body and skittered away, the sound like sandpaper to her
hyper-sensitive ears. Ignoring Simon, she dove, putting all her
effort into reclaiming the map box. But Simon wasn't alone. Another
man, in black combat gear, burst from the shadows, grabbing the
tote and disappeared into the dark again.

Kelly screamed first at the loss, then as
fire seared across her shoulder. Simon's
Keris
blade sang as
it sliced through fabric and skin. Then she was alone.

Time snapped violently back to normal speed
and Kelly lay on the Chicago sidewalk, sobbing at her utter
failure.

They'd taken the box and her blood with
it.

It was over. She'd failed. She'd proved all
her father's worries correct – she was the ultimate failure of her
family and the legacy of protection they'd provided for centuries.
She couldn't even manage to avenge their deaths. Gripping her
sword, she rolled to her back, ignoring the white-hot flash of pain
in her shoulder. She dropped the dirk and spun the sword around,
prepared to drive it down, through her belly.

Her hands didn't move. Wouldn't move.

She tried, and failed, to lift her belly to
the blade. Her hips wouldn't cooperate. She couldn't even release
the scream building inside her.

Paracuron
. Kristoff's assassin must
have laced his blade with the drug.

"You wish," Nathan replied, as she sank into
the darkness crowding her vision.

* * *

Fear had always been a vague, foggy sort of
theory, until now. Kristoff tried to shake it off as he watched
Simon's approach on the monitor. The boy's face was swollen and
bleeding, and still he moved unerringly toward their hideout, a
dark, slim tote in his hands.

Pride pushed back fear.

Simon, unstoppable, remained Kristoff's
secret weapon in this war for his future. He pressed the door's
release code and then hurried to the stairs. He wanted to greet
Simon, but more he wanted to get that damned box safely locked
away.

"That's it?" he asked, fingers twitching
toward the tote. He didn't ask about the injuries, having taught
Simon to treat most common wounds himself.

Simon nodded, sending the trickle of blood on
a new path across his cheek.

Kristoff held out his hands. Tears of relief
filled his eyes as he unzipped it and looked inside. "Ah." He
clutched the tote to his chest, studied the battered face of his
assassin. "She fought hard to keep it."

"Yes, sir."

"Then it was worth it. It must be the real
one." He sighed. To hold the genuine article at last – to have and
all the answers and leverage he would ever need. "Witnesses?"

"Not anymore." An odd smile twisted Simon's
puffy lips.

So he'd defeated the female guardian and
eliminated the team who'd accompanied him on the museum mission.
Kristoff didn't blink at the loss of life, had expected it when Nin
had insisted the girl be kept alive. Simon needed to feed the
hunger that raged inside him and soldiers were easy enough to
replace.

"To your room, Simon," Kristoff ordered. The
boy wouldn't want praise and shouldn't see his master celebrating
the accomplishment. They parted, Simon taking the stairs down and
Kristoff going up.

In his private quarters, Kristoff pulled the
map box away from the tote and ran his hands over the ornate
surface. It was long and slim, carved of a mysterious wood that
seemed to absorb the light.

The copy had been excellent, all the same
details, but none of the magnetism that emanated from the box
itself. Kristoff stroked the wood, tracing the intricate loops with
his fingertips, becoming mesmerized by the pattern.

Nin, the first and greatest goddess – in her
own mind – had explicitly ordered him to turn it over to her the
instant it was retrieved. Though he knew she watched him, like
she'd watched the girl, he couldn't make himself do it.

He needed one more minute. Just one peek
inside and then he'd hand it over.

Kristoff reached for the plain clasp that
secured the box exactly on center. The ancient brass was warm to
the touch and as simple in design as the box was ornate.

He turned the toggle and screamed in pain.
Angry red streaks raced up his fingers, into his hand, leaving
chalky black stains behind. He rubbed and rubbed, but only
aggravated the lingering burn.

After glaring at the box, he went searching
for the right tools. He didn't have time to waste.

Pliers and a knife failed him, so he looked
longingly at the hammer. Nothing seemed as wrong as destroying that
perfectly carved wood, but he was equally compelled to get inside
it.

Now.

The hammer felt awkward in his left hand, but
his right hand still burned, so he swung at the lock anyway. Two
glancing blows had him cursing and lining up for a third.

The strike was true, but the effect
devastating. The hammer shattered, sending splinters into his arm,
face and chest.

Kristoff screamed in pain and
frustration.

"Foolish man," Nin said.

The dark, echoing voice made him wish for a
swift death. The last shred of his pride kept him stubbornly on his
feet as the goddess of the damned swept up the box and
disappeared.

Taking all his leverage with her.

* * *

Kelly was afraid to open her eyes. She knew
she was back at Slick Micky's infirmary, the rich scent of coffee
under the antiseptic gave it away, but shame – her wearying
companion – kept her eyes closed.

Suicide? Really?

She vaguely recalled distorted voices arguing
over her, over what transpired at the museum, but she couldn't
recall if they'd come to any conclusions.

She'd certainly reached her own conclusions
and she hadn't changed her mind since. Thorough, complete, and
irrevocable failure. Not that it mattered on a personal level,
since she'd soon be written out of the family records, but the
professional level was a different story.

With the map box, Kristoff could plunder
relics of immeasurable value and auction them to the highest bidder
– or worse – use them to gain power over humanity. The man had
already proven himself violent and diabolical in his manipulation
of the government and the men and women who served with such
courage.

Taking her own life had seemed the best
possible solution. Still did.

"I know you're faking."

She ignored Nathan and the words that
whispered across her cheek since she was on her stomach. She
supposed that made it easier for them to treat the wound that
marked her ultimate failure.

"You want us to pour salt in it?"

"Go away, Nathan," she mumbled, squeezing her
eyes closed against the welling tears of self loathing. Anger was
the next byproduct and she lurched up, grabbing at his shirt. "Why
couldn't you let me die?"

"Me? What the hell? I didn't do
anything."

He did a pretty good innocent look, but she
didn't buy it. She flopped back onto the pillow, wincing at the
pain in her shoulder. No one but Nathan possessed the talent to
paralyze her long distance. Besides, she'd heard
his
voice
as she struggled to end her life honorably.