Wild Card (49 page)

“They still there?”

“I think so. There’s a dark Chrysler about fifty yards behind me. I can’t be sure it’s the same one.”

And I couldn’t be sure who was in the car. But at this hour, behind her all the way from Arvada?

Melissa drove past, and I put on my blinker to pull out, waiting like a good little driver until the Chrysler went past as well. My headlights picked out two figures. I got the impression of a man in the passenger seat and a woman driving. The man was looking my way, but it was too dark for him to see me. He turned away rather than look at my headlights, but the glimpse of him side-on was enough for me.

Melissa had picked up a couple of Nagas. I’d busted that guy out of Ops 4-10 at induction.

I pulled out behind them. We were the only three cars on the road.

“Melissa, I’m going to take them out, but I’ll need your help.”

“Okay.” She sounded nervous.

“What you have to do is very straightforward. Drive normally until the turnoff to the shrine. Don’t put your blinker on. Leave it till the last possible moment to turn, and then go up that hill as fast as you can without crashing. Did you do the evasive driving course at the PD?”

“Yeah.”

“Any good?”

“Yes!”

“Then you’ll be fine. These guys aren’t racing drivers and they don’t know I’m here. That’s two huge points in our favor. Leave the line open and I’ll tell you when to come back down.”

“If there’s a problem…”

“Get to the shrine. There’s some kind of accommodation there. Get inside and call Bian. She’ll be here quicker than the police.”

“Okay. I see the turnoff.”

She did exactly as I had asked. Her brake lights flared and her car twisted around the hairpin bend and shot up the road to the shrine.

The Nagas had left enough space between them and Melissa. As soon as Melissa hit the brakes, they’d known what was happening and that they’d been spotted. So far, so good. Their really clever move would have been to wave it off and call in the reinforcements that had to be converging. There was no way out from the road up to the shine.

They didn’t take that option. The Chrysler skidded around the bend and tore after Melissa. Their bigger engine would outpace Melissa on the straightaway. Unfortunately for them, this road was anything but straight.

I killed the lights and followed, the Audi snarling. With its hard suspension and four wheel drive, it gripped the road like a demon. Almost fun, if Melissa hadn’t been in danger.

“They’re catching me,” Melissa yelled.

“Concentrate on driving.”

The Nagas didn’t check the rear view mirror, they didn’t look back. They were completely focused on overtaking her. Mission blinkers, we used to call it in 4-10.

On the third switchback, a left-hander with Melissa taking the inside line, they drifted wide, the weight of their car losing them traction, but right in close behind her. I gunned the Audi at the small gap between them, aiming for the driver and switching on my headlights.

Then she looked back.

She did what anyone would have done with two tons of screaming metal appearing out of nowhere and seemingly intent on ramming right through her door—she jerked the wheel right, swung her car away. The Audi helped her on her way.

There was a small ditch followed by a raised bank beyond the road. The Chrysler lurched into the air and seemed to hang there, rolling slowly as the nose floated down. Then it hit a rock and twisted viciously with neck-snapping flick. I was out of my car and running toward the crash before it’d finished happening.

The first moments were critical. Even if they weren’t seriously injured, a crash like that is disorienting, but those two had the same training I did and probably more weapons. If I let them recover, I was in trouble.

The Chrysler settled on its roof. The far door got kicked open. Passenger door; the man was coming out. The first lick of flame fell from the engine compartment.

I bent low as I ran. I couldn’t see through the air bags to the other side of the cabin, but there was no movement on this side. Twenty yards away and I came back upright, leading with the HK.

He wasn’t using the car as cover, so he was thinking clearly. Cover that was about to blow up wasn’t good cover. He was limping backwards, a shotgun waving in my general direction, and a gym bag gripped in his left hand.

It took a moment to realize he couldn’t see me in the darkness.

I couldn’t kill him like that.

“Put the shotgun down,” I yelled.

He fired at the sound of my voice, and too freaking close. And the fire was catching now. If he couldn’t see me, he would soon.

I stopped running and put a round through his right leg. The impact buckled it under him, pitching him down into the dirt.

He didn’t try and crawl. He ignored the wound, scuttling around till he presented the smallest target to the direction of my shot. With his elbows on the ground, the shotgun was steadier than it had been.

With a sudden whoosh, the car was burning. Now he could see me.

He fired again and I rolled to the side, coming up with my arms extended and braced. Both hands gripped the butt of the HK, steadying it. In the time it took him to jack another cartridge, a single round from the HK through his forehead ended it.

I ran over and took the gym bag. If it had been important enough he’d tried to protect it, I wanted to know what was inside. I shoved the shotgun in and took off for the road.

Melissa’s car skidded to a halt at the corner and she got halfway out before I pushed her back.

“You weren’t supposed to come back down,” I growled at her. “I’ll turn. Follow me down. There’ll be others coming.”

I threw the gym bag in the trunk and looked at the scene.

Damn. Damn. Couldn’t leave it like that. A body with a gunshot head wound and residue on his hands. The media would be all over it. At least removing him would slow things down and make it less newsworthy.

I ran back and picked the man’s body up. He weighed over two hundred pounds and I felt every pound jarring my knees as I trotted back with him draped over my shoulders. But I’d carried bigger for Ops 4-10. He leaked all over me, of course. I was going to need another change of clothes.

Melissa had seen what I was doing and jogged over carrying something she’d taken from her trunk—a body bag. Trust a CSI.

We slid him into my car, neatly bagged, and set off.

At every turn I expected to see cars full of Nagas coming up at us, but we made it to the main road without meeting anyone. Just yards away, the interstate traffic ran by, oblivious to what had been happening. We turned and tracked alongside it for a mile before we could join and disappear into the anonymous crowd.

I called Bian.

“You still alive, Round-eye?”

“Yeah. Thanks. D’you know any all-night Audi repair shops?”

She snorted. “Don’t tell me you bent Naryn’s car.”

“Just a headlight and a bit of crumple zone.”

“Drop it off and run, Round-eye. Seriously, he’ll be irritated, but it’s nothing on the rest of the problems he thinks you’re causing. Oh, and that blank check, it’s just picked up another digit.” Her voice got all breathy. “You will be working this off with me a
long
time.”

“Uh. Yeah. There’s also a body in the trunk. Can your cleanup crew handle it?”

She sighed. “Anyone I know?”

“A Naga.”

“What the hell?” Leopard Bian disappeared and the Diakon got back into full swing. “Where was this? I thought this was something to do with Melissa?”

“My question exactly. Meet us at the gates.”

Chapter 50

We got to Haven and the guards directed me down into the underground parking garage where Bian was waiting.

The damage to Naryn’s car looked worse under the lights, but Bian scarcely glanced at it.

We hauled the body bag and the gym bag out onto the ground and unzipped them.

The gym bag had Clayton’s journals and notebooks in it.

Melissa started to flick through the notebooks while Bian inspected the dead Naga.

“He called me and said he had something he wanted to show us,” Melissa said. “It sounded important, and I couldn’t get through to you, so I went.” She passed an arm across her face. “He was old-school. Kept a notebook for every case and a journal. So, theoretically, somewhere in here are his case notes from his investigation of the rogue.”

Melissa and I split the pile between us and started to go through them.

“When he called you, did he say specifically that he would show us his notes?”

Melissa frowned. “No. Just that he wanted to tell us about the case. Something about the information he wasn’t even allowed to put onto the PD computers.”

I put another journal aside. It was from years ago. Some of the journals had pages that were going brittle and yellow. I moved all those into the reject pile.

Bian hissed. “Never just one thing, Round-eye.”

I joined her. “What you got?”

She’d stripped back the man’s shirt and wiped the blood off his neck.

Midway down the left side of his throat were two old wounds, about an inch and a half apart. Athanate fang marks.

“The colonel told us he was afraid there was contact between Petersen and Matlal.” Bian checked the right side of the neck and ran a finger over older scars that might have been fang marks as well. “So the odds always were that they’d find each other in Denver. But killing this detective and staking out his place? His only connection with you is his investigation into the rogue.”

“Is there anything else you know that could possibly have attracted their attention, Melissa?”

She shook her head.

“Then we have the rogue cooperating with the Matlal and Nagas,” I said. “Just wonderful.”

“But why would they?” Bian frowned.

I got up and leaned against the car, smearing more blood and mud on it.

“Nagas are here for me, Julie and the colonel. The rogue sent a message to me with the murder in Wash Park, either keep away or he’s coming for me. The Matlal…”

“…have you to thank for their House being destroyed.” Bian said. “And you’re leading a search for them.”

I shrugged. “Okay. They all have it in for me. Then
how
? We can’t find the rogue. How would the Nagas? Or Matlal?”

“What about the other way around?” Melissa said. “The rogue finds the Matlal, persuades them to help with whatever he wants, and they get the Nagas involved. As for finding the Matlal, maybe he’s just been looking longer than we have.”

Bian and Melissa stared at me. It felt odd, as if it were half a solution. What if the rogue had only been looking for a link to Basilikos? The rogue wanted to live somewhere else? Have the protection of a group who didn’t care how sick he was?

“Well, then, we step it all up. Find the rogue or the Matlal, and we might unravel the whole thing in one shot.”

I raised an eyebrow at Melissa.

“Great plan, but we’ve struck out here,” She said. “There’s nothing in these journals, they’re too old.”

I slid down the side of the car and sat in a frustrated heap on the ground.

“You said he was meticulous in keeping notebooks and journals,” I sad. “That has to mean the recent ones are missing.”

“Maybe the Nagas kept them separately?”

“The guy took the time to grab this gym bag as he was getting out of a car that was about to blow. No. He thought this was it.”

“So the missing notes will be back at his home.”

Or in some lock-up somewhere.
I caught the demon before that came out.

I sighed. “The trail starts back at his home in Arvada. And it’s too late to go to bed. Come on, Melissa.”

Bian scowled and touched my arm.

“Your security is becoming an issue, Round-eye. I can’t keep ignoring it.” She was looking at Melissa, who was trying to shrink behind me.

“Melissa is House Farrell.”

“Is she? No bites. No bond. First Julie turned up at Haven, now Melissa. Even if I did ignore it, Naryn gets gate reports and he’s going to ask, believe me.”

“It’s in process. We’re Panethus, Bian, it’s got to be voluntary on both sides.”

“Deal with it, or I’ll have to.” Her eyes had gone all glittery and I could feel her fangs just ready to manifest.

Melissa was trembling, and it wasn’t the cold that was reaching down into the garage.

I put an arm around her and glared at Bian. I understood the problem, but this wasn’t getting us closer to the solution. If anything, I thought it was making it less likely.

“Ah, mmm…” Melissa stuttered. “Maybe David?”

Where did that come from?

“See.” Bian smiled, showing no fangs. “Progress.”

My Athanate growled silently. Time to get out of here.

Looking around, I saw my car was back, but there was a problem with that.

“Can I borrow another car, Bian? The Matlal know my car, and Diana’s Jeep.”

She had a closer look at Naryn’s and rejected it. The damage would attract attention. She walked back to the board where all the keys were stored.

“You are kinda hard on cars. Hmm. I know!” She pulled a set of keys off and tossed them to me. “It won’t matter if you crash the Hill Bitch.”

“The what?”

She pointed down at the far end.

In the gloomy recesses, almost too tall for the garage, sat a modified Jeep Wrangler on supersize tires. It looked dirty, but as we got closer, that turned out to be hundreds of scrapes and scratches in its dark blue paintwork. It had a bare cabin, five point seat harnesses and a roll bar. Stick shift. No heater or entertainment console. Just a double helping of attitude.

“Fine,” I said. Not the discreet transport I needed as a PI; in fact, totally inappropriate, but beggars can’t be choosers. “At least I’ll be following Duane’s advice.”

“Felix’s nephew?” Bian asked. “What did he say?”

“He said to get better snow tires this weekend.”

Bian laughed. “You got ’em.”

Chapter 51

Clayton had a repo single-wide, tucked in between a couple of old cinderblocks and tight against the railroad tracks. It was a handy two blocks from his bar.