Magic Rising (18 page)

“The girl identified herself as Lora Shope. She said that she needs our help.” His voice rose a notch. “It has to be the same one. She called us.”

Her mind reeled. Deirdre had been involved in Jack Shope’s death, albeit indirectly. Kids usually didn’t see things clearly. Lora might blame Deirdre for his death.

A worse thought came to her, crashing in like Niam’s letter. Lora could be in trouble. Her father had warned Deirdre. For whatever reasons, Lora Shope could be in danger, possibly from her own mother. “When did she call?”

“About an hour ago. She didn’t leave a phone number, only said that Gladys would know how to reach her. The caller ID shows unavailable.”

“Find me this Gladys. I’m heading to the office. I want to know where that girl is by dawn.” She ended the call, standing in her hallway, and found herself hugging the handset.

A girl pursued and Niam lurking with a fresh group of martyrs. They couldn’t start up another Stone House. They wouldn’t need Lora for it. A girl like that wouldn’t have the training.

Deirdre went back to the bathroom, sitting in the tub long enough to wash off before putting on fresh clothes. Lora had called the office, so that’s where Deirdre wanted to be in case she tried again.

The night air hit her, cool and comforting as she got in her car and started into town. She drove with the window down, heater running, enjoying the wind in her hair as the radio played some rock tune. The words were lost to the sound of the wind but she loved it anyway. This was the best thing about being away from Stone House. Driving along, master of her own destiny, pure freedom whipped through her, surrounded her senses. She was a person, not just a pawn in a game. She smiled and realized that she was happy.

Maybe I have emotions after all
.

She parked on the street in front of her little security office. No other businesses were open this time of night. She had always been known to keep odd hours so they never questioned her when they saw her leave early in the morning or keep the doors locked during normal hours. Her clients never came in person, preferring to phone in their problems and wait for Deirdre to visit them.

A junk jewelry store sat directly left of her office. Next to it was a sporting goods/hunting supply store called Get Out. They carried a considerable arsenal and always managed to get her a discount on specific items she needed for work. Finishing that end of the road was a convenience store, complete with burned coffee odors and stale mini cakes.

On the other side was a lawyer’s office, very elegant from what little she’d seen of the plants and nice furniture through the windows. Their corner ended after the lawyer’s office. Her business occupied the street before the fancier retail area that surrounded her dowdy block.

There wasn’t much across from her except for a parking garage. The lights were always on there, with an attendant reading a magazine or watching the nine-inch television someone had snuck in. They were nice guys, sometimes stopping by when they saw her light on late at night.

Deirdre pulled a large round key chain from her purse with a dozen different keys for areas she frequented. Her car and house keys were kept on a separate set, for ease. The main office, Tech’s, and a few of the better hotels that used her services for security were on the other set.

The door to her business was marked in white with the words The Security Specialists printed below a pretty dragonfly riding between the y and s. She found the brass key and stuck it in the dead bolt, then turned another key in the second lock that went to the door. At that moment, she had thirty seconds to disarm the alarm system. Thirty seconds ticked by slowly, a lot of time for fighting, car accidents, computers, or getting away from the annoying person trying to keep a conversation going. For some reason it seemed like a blink when it came to the alarm, making her rush to enter her five digit code to disengage it.

Once the little white box had a green light, she was fine, locking the front door behind her. This front section should have a receptionist, except they rarely had anyone sitting there. All available manpower was used for jobs. No matter what a person was hired in to do, they ended up working security. She kept an answering machine and twice a week a college kid came in to answer the phones. That was it. Her business worked on word of mouth and all her clients knew the situation. The best clients had her cell phone number.

She went through the make-shift waiting room. There were two chairs, a television, and a table covered with magazines old enough to make a person cringe. Next came the receptionist’s desk. Further inside ran the hall, bathroom, a small kitchenette, and three offices. The largest was in the back. It functioned as a staging area where assignments were given. The two smaller offices belonged to her and Tech. Tech’s looked like pure chaos with disks, computers, computer parts, and papers littering everything, even the floor. Just walking through that place was a hazard. Tech didn’t work there often, preferring his home office to this one, but it sufficed during the planning stages of jobs.

She pulled out the awful loop of keys, and opened her office door. Her desk stayed neat, with only a phone and answering machine on the top. Behind the desk was another PC that Tech didn’t approve of. He rarely approved of anything inexpensive and turned his nose up at equipment more than a year old.

The only luxury she allowed herself was the large, comfy leather chair. There she sat, sinking into the soft cushions. At least one thing was going right today, she had her chair. She leaned back and saw her answering machine, the little black display had a red zero. Tech had purged all old messages. Deirdre would’ve preferred hearing Lora’s voice, but Tech was a creature of habit.

Why would trouble stalk a little girl?
The answer for that had never been clear.

The clock on the wall said one in the morning. She shouldn’t be this tired for one, but her eyes grew too heavy to deny. Sliding down into the chair, she shut her eyes and waited.

Chapter Twelve

The phone rang, pulling her from her dreamless sleep and back to the plain tan walls of her office. She jerked awake, glancing at the clock as her tongue fought against the funk that had coated her mouth.

“Security Specialists.”

“I found Gladys Shope. She’s Jack Shope’s mother, our last target.” There was no hello, no greeting at all. Tech sounded tired, excited, but needing rest.

Deirdre was very aware who Jack Shope was. She could still remember his voice, the look in his eyes when he spoke of the danger to his daughter. It hadn’t been a madman’s plea.

“Do you have anything definite on Tamara Haas’ connection to Jack Shope?”

“Sure do. She was his wife. They divorced during her pregnancy. It seems that Tamara made the mistake of listing the father’s name on the birth certificate. The state contacted him when Tamara tried to apply for welfare.”

“Welfare?” She shook her head and glanced at the clock. It was five in the morning. “I thought Tamara came from money. Why would she go on welfare?”

“Her family is rich but she tried to make it on her own. With a little girl, that was hard. Anyway, Jack Shope filed for custody and Tamara gave it over without a fight. They didn’t reconcile. Lora Shope spent her life with her father in Glendale, Arizona. We know that Tamara Haas continued on to have fame and fortune. Something happened though, I don’t know what yet. She must’ve reconciled with dear ole daddy because the mansion where she lives is in his company’s name. Despite her money, she seems to have become reliant on her father again.”

“The same company that owned Stone House?” She didn’t like the sound of this.

“That’s the one.”

Lora Shope was the granddaughter of the man who’d started Stone House. Tamara Haas was the daughter. With that kind of money why was Niam running his second rate operation while posing as a preacher?

“Give me the info on Gladys. I need to speak with her.” She held a pen. “Please tell me I don’t have to fly to Arizona.”

“As luck would have it, she’s in this state.”

Deirdre wrote the information then hung up with Tech. According to Tech, Gladys lived on a little farm out in Weaverville, not too far from here. Her name had been changed from Shope to Dillingham, but he was certain it was the same lady. From what he told her, it sounded like Gladys had gone to some lengths to gain anonymity.

After printing directions off the internet, Deirdre went to the bathroom. She kept a few toiletries stashed there for all nighters. Right now, she needed mouthwash. A rinse and a spit later, she was a new woman.

Back in her office, she prepared for the trip, pulling out her trusty 9 mm. It was black with chrome accenting two small stripes on the barrel that ran down both sides to the handle. The gun looked showy, but she’d wanted it from the first time she’d seen it in the store window. She purchased it the day after she started this business.

The gun went in a side holster. She wrapped a black band around her leg with a small collection of throwing knives tucked into each of the slots. At her ankle, she tucked a small .22. She didn’t like ankle holsters. Usually it messed with her during hand to hand confrontations, throwing off her kicks and stance. For this job, she wasn’t going to take unnecessary chances and preferred the added fire power. Even Niam would fall to a bullet.

The short chain wrapped around her wrist wasn’t for ornamental purposes, but a quick and dangerous weapon. She took two small inch and a half pins, sliding them into small grooved pockets along the wire in her bra. They would come in handy for lock picking, and no one would detect them. Finally, she grabbed her short sword and sheathed it. It fit on her back, but wasn’t very comfortable during long car rides.

Deirdre locked up the office and went down the deserted sidewalk, stopping at the twenty-four-hour convenience store. After purchasing a bottle of water and some plastic-wrapped crap they called doughnuts, she stepped back onto the sidewalk. All at once she stopped and went back inside the store.

She hadn’t reached out with her senses, hadn’t tested the winds for enemies, yet danger lurked close. It was strong enough to leave indicators without her trying to find them. Something was definitely wrong.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No cars drove by her building. The shadows were deep though. Night still reigned. The sun had not yet peaked high enough over the buildings to cut through the darkness. Evil lurked out there, making everything prickly, wrong. She felt a static charged death creeping along the street. Still, she saw nothing.

She knew the sensation well. It filled Stone House, charging it and making it seem invincible. The average person never understood pure evil until they were mugged, or saw a murder. Most never knew that it was more than an angry person, a bad situation. Some things, some people were malevolent. They carried weight with them, like the dark soul that shifted gravity, or maybe gave out a subtle warning only the careful perceived.

No one roamed the streets that she could see. Deirdre went toward the back of the store, peering over the magazine rack, trying to see more of the street in front of her business. She strained, staring, and then she saw it. A shadow ran beneath her car, its creator invisible, probably keeping out of sight and close to the building.

Out of curiosity, she hit the alarm button on her car. At first, the signal wouldn’t reach. She went out the door, then eased her way along to the dumpsters sitting alongside the store. From there she hit the alarm. At the first honk of the alarm, bullets filled the night. A semi automatic and an amateur with a jumpy finger to blame. After the cacophony, came cussing and she snuck a look as a man rolled out from beneath her car. The jerk holding the gun helped him up and the two took off running as the attendants from the parking garage came out from behind the white bar of the entrance. Deirdre killed the sound of the alarm.

She’d always been paranoid, and had special features installed along the undercarriage of her vehicle. Where others had open areas where the right criminal could disconnect alarms, cut break lines, and cause whatever vandalism inspired them, she had sheet metal bolted to the frame. Just to change the oil took an hour and her mechanic let his temper fly every time he had to unscrew the sheet.

Not every part was covered. That would be impossible considering the axles and struts, but planting a bomb or stealing her car would take more time and consideration than most criminals had patience for.

Deirdre walked up the sidewalk, knowing that the two had fled the scene. Something still didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe they’d stopped nearby to observe her.

She started to feel the air. Find the energy she sought. It took a little concentration and before she could pinpoint anything Scott, the garage attendant, came running. His bravery greatly enhanced by her presence. She should’ve been happy to see him instead it made her worry for his safety and stopped her search for the enemy. Still, a sinister sensation covered the area and Deirdre feared what might be waiting around the corner.

She wondered if he waited nearby.

“Everything okay, Deirdre?”

“Sure. Probably some kid trying to jack a car.”

It was a pleasant thought and possible. Anything was possible. Okay, most kids didn’t carry guns like that but she preferred that image to Niam waiting for her to arrive.