Authors: Jennifer Rardin
“You don’t know what she looks like?” Albert asked. The disbelief in his voice reminded me of a disgruntled restaurant patron. What do you mean you’re out of roast beef?
“She’s new,” I snapped. “All we got from our guy is that her contact name is Bea. She first surfaced about six months ago, but she’s gained impressive credentials since. She’s credited with the assassination of the president of Southern Kordofan as well as General Imran Salim, Ambassador Baldric Smythe, and the women’s rights activist Safia Mian.”
Albert shrugged. “You’ll get her.”
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Despite the fact that I still wanted to punt him out the door and watch him roll down the hill, his confidence warmed me. “That’s the plan. However, Safia, besides traveling with two superbly trained bodyguards, also kept a Seer on her payroll. The fact that the Seer never had a clue about the origin or identity of Safia’s killer means we’re going against superior skill and atypical power.”
I put a lot of no-big-deal into my tone, but underneath I was shaking hard enough for my organs to sprint for the nearest sturdy doorway. Because I wasn’t convinced we were going to survive this mission. The third we’d originally requested might’ve been able to understand and combat the kind of power I’d described. A warlock with impressive skills and a helluva record, he’d have come in handy both in sniffing out our assassin and in warding off any surprises Floraidh and her coven might throw at us. The fact that Vayl, who’d been denied nothing in his eighty years with the department, had been assigned Cole instead did not bode well for support on the home front should this mission start to stink. And I’d already begun to smell sulfur.
Albert, still mulling Safia’s fate, said, “Well, there had to at least be a fight, right? I mean, with that kind of firepower at hand, the activist bimbo didn’t die quietly, did she?”
How has no woman ever yet clonked you over the head with a purse full of quarters? I shook my head, wishing I could be the first, but knowing it wouldn’t be likely. Since I didn’t carry a purse. I said, “No, Dad. Our understanding is that the neighbors heard the bimbo and her staff screaming for several minutes before the house they were renting burned down around them.”
Albert didn’t wince. He’d taken too much of my crap and seen too much other shit in his time for either sarcasm or arson to part the stones that held his expression in its regular, harsh lines. “So Bea’s a firebug?” was all he asked.
“We thought so at first,” I replied. “Nearly all of the bodies had been thoroughly charred. But now we think she was trying to disguise the real cause of death.”
“Which was?”
“Snakebite.”
Albert shifted in his seat so he could see me better. “Why would that make any difference?”
“Not sure. But the sprinkler system preserved one of the bodies well enough that we can surmise it was covered in bites, almost like somebody had dumped a barrel of snakes on it. And these were ones from a particular species. The most venomous land snake in the world. It’s called the Inland Taipan, a shy mouse eater that’s only found in Australia. Strange deal, because Safia and her people were living in Lebanon at the time.”
The longer I talked about the Taipan the tighter Vayl clutched the wheel, until it began to creak under the pressure. He loathed snakes. Even worse than I disliked tight spaces. I wanted to reach out, give my boss a comforting pat. I lifted my hand, looked at it, ran it through my curls.
Meantime Albert had not digested my news well. The bushy eyebrows inched upward as his green eyes pierced right through me. Ten years ago I’d have given up every secret I thought he hadn’t already discovered under that glare. Now I just waited silently for his verdict. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Inland Taipans as an assassin’s tool? That’s pretty sick. Did you bring antivenom?”
“Yeah. But I gotta tell you, it’s not a hundred percent effective. Something about the venom can sometimes sneak past the cure. Obviously we believe she’s a Medusa, so we’re hoping to kill her before she makes her move.”
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As Albert imagined the horror I’d just described, a woman who wound her pets around her hair like a turban only to set them loose on her unsuspecting victims when the killing mood struck her, he produced that sucking-on-teeth noise that made my ribs ache. It meant he was about to say something important. I waited for him to tell me he was impressed that the CIA trusted such a tricky assignment to his own daughter.
“You should’ve brought a warlock,” he said before turning back to his map.
I leaned over to Cole. “I should’ve killed him on the plane.”
Chapter Four
Albert surprised me by navigating us straight from the A9 to a winding country road to the long tarmac lane that led to Tearlach. As we drove toward the house, I realized it may have been our first trip together where he didn’t decide on a last-minute detour to some obsolete hole like the Museum of Big Gray Rocks or the Littlest Loch in the Nairn Valley.
“Would you take a look at this place?” Albert said as he folded the map.
“Reminds me of thter„e Hansel and Gretel story,” Cole replied.
Much like the woman herself, Floraidh’s place exuded warmth and hospitality. From a distance we could glimpse orderly gardens just beginning to blossom in the promising warmth of mid-May. They surrounded a four-story confection whose designer must’ve had a wife who adored jewelry. So why not throw a bunch of doodads on the house as well? Six gables that I could see made the roof a reshingler’s nightmare. The front porch, which ran around three-quarters of the house, had been enclosed to begin with, along with the two sunporches that jutted above the main entrances, which were at its east and west ends.
“What the hell kind of monstrosity is that?” wondered Albert as he eyed the four smoking chimneys and the gingerbread molding edging the roofline.
“I believe that is called a Queen Anne Victorian,” said Vayl.
“No wonder they have to take in guests,” he replied. “It must cost a fortune to heat. And it probably never gets warm inside. Not even in the summer.”
Yeah, go ahead, Pops. Enjoy the show. Even the trees marching down the edge of this smooth, straight lane want you to believe the sham. But wait’ll you hear Floraidh’s secret.
She and her coven worshipped Scidair, a sorceress whose legends told how she’d become Satan’s concubine in the afterlife. When you kept that in mind, you could see the reality behind the advertising: a looming old construction laced with manipulative magic, guarded by green, bushy lumps with hidden thorns poised to reach out and grab the unsuspecting guest. Backing up my observations were tall thin rocks that jutted from the earth at random points in the yard, as if Mother Nature herself was giving us the middle finger. She’d shaded most of them gray, but at just the right angle they glittered so brightly that if you looked at them wrong you saw dots for the next two minutes.
Jack jumped down to get a better look out the window. Something on my side of the lane had caught his attention. He began to scratch at the glass.
I ran my hand down his back. “I don’t see anything, dude. What—”
Movement. I caught a blur out of the corner of my eye just as Albert yelled, “Watch out!” and threw up his hands.
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I leaped forward, putting myself between my dad and whatever had startled him, practically sitting on his lap as Vayl jerked the wheel to the left. The van spun sideways, giving me half a breath to realize that a man had stepped into the vehicle’s path. He didn’t even look up as the tires squealed, signaling imminent impact. I got the impression of shaggy brown hair with a matching beard. A suit coat and pants in the same color that sagged so badly the man must’ve bought them when he was forty pounds heavier. And a gold chain running from pants to vest pocket.
Then our window swung sideways. I braced myself against the dashboard. Craned my neck, trying to see whether the man had jumped out of the way in time, tensing against the thud that would signal the beginning of a dreadful few days. It never came.
As soon as the Alhambra screeched to a stop we jumped out and ran to the spot where the man’s body should be lying. Nothing.
“You all did see him?” Vayl asked as he yanked off his sunglasses and shoved them into his pocket.
We agreed somebody had walked in front of the van. “Even Jack noticed him,” I said. But now the dog, who should’ve been straining at his leash to explore new scents, stood right next to me, his shoulder leaning against my knee as if to push me back into the vehicle.
“He cannot have gone far.” Vayl strode toward the trees on the west side of the lane. I followed him, pulling a reluctant pup behind. Beyond the nice, neat outer row of Scots pines grew a thick copse of spruce, larch, and fir that pressed so close to one another we couldn’t find any easy way to step among them. At least not without taking cuts and scratches that our pedestrian would surely have avoided.
“Where’d he go?” I whispered as we turned back to the road. Cole had knelt to look under the vehicle while Albert leaned against the hood and worked on lighting a fat cigar.
“I cannot—” I lost the rest of Vayl’s sentence in a furious red haze as I raced back to the van, Jack galloping gleefully by my side.
“Are you out of your mind?” I demanded. I yanked the cigar from between Albert’s teeth and threw it on the ground, grinding out the barely smoking tip with the heel of my boot. “What, you’re free of your nurse’s care for a few days and suddenly you think you’re cured? Shelby must’ve wanted to shove his resignation down your throat when he saw you’d started smoking again!”
“He didn’t quit,” Albert growled. “He got married. And I haven’t started anything. I just thought it would be a treat.”
“Diabetics don’t smoke for a reason, Dad! For chrissake, the last thing I need in the middle of an important assignment is to haul your ass to the hospital!”
“Aw, would you look at that? Now your mutt’s eaten my cigar!”
I glanced down. Sure enough, Jack had chewed up and swallowed the best part of it. Goddammit! “When he pukes it up, I’m going to make sure he’s standing over your suitcase,” I informed him. Unfortunately Jack had an immediate reaction, which left the remains of Albert’s treat all over the lane. “There you go,” I snapped. “Smoke that!”
“I don’t see why you’re getting all bent out of shape,” Albert grumbled. “It was just an old stogie.”
He shuffled back to the van, his ruined knees making him much more the candidate to carry Vayl’s cane than the vamp who swung it thoughtfully between the fingers of his left hand as he,
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too, made his way back to the vehicle.
I gestured for it. Inside the tiger-carved sheath was a sword I could use right now.
Vayl shook his head. Behave yourself, his eyes told me.
Huh.
I followed Albert around to the passenger door. At least I knew why he’d come now. Without his nurse to take care of him, he’d had to resort to one of us kids. Dave had taken his Special Ops unit deep into North Korea for some major hush-hush mission, so he was off the hook. Albert had just spent the past couple of weeks with Evie. So now it was my turn. s wt="0%">
And how exactly did I feel about an extended visit with dear old Pops?
When he turned his back on me to open the door I performed several head kicks and one sweeping skull punch that just missed him every time. My Dad Is an Asshole. I’m telling you, it’s going to be a bestseller.
Chapter Five
By the time we pulled into Tearlach’s drive, all the inhabitants had piled out of the house to greet us.
“Are you all right?” gasped the leader of the pack as we emerged from the Alhambra. “I heard tires squeal and then, when I looked out the window, your van was parked sideways on the lane!”
Floraidh Halsey’s picture didn’t do her justice. She looked even sweeter in person. A plump, shiny-haired forty-something who gave the impression that she was about to run off to volunteer at the nearest nursing home.
“We’re fine,” I assured her, keeping a firm grip on Jack so he wouldn’t jerk us both back into the van. As Vayl went around back to grab some luggage, I let Floraidh see my alter ego’s smile. Lucille Robinson could bullshit with rapists and serial killers without losing any wattage off it. I wanted to snap at her to cut the crap. I knew exactly what crawled under that thick layer of L’Oréal.
“We nearly hit a guy, though,” said Cole as he joined me. He gave Floraidh the once-over and, having seen what he expected, moved his gaze to the crowd. Someone there caught his interest, because I felt him go watchfully still.
If he’s found another stray from the department’s hit list I’m going to bang my head against the van. Strike that. I’m going to bang his head against the van. No, that’s not hard enough. Maybe the side of the house.
“That’s awful!” said a woman from the group, the six of whom looked us over with varying degrees of curiosity. She plowed through the rose-covered arch that marked the end of the walk, her sensible heels clunking against the bricks like tiny jackhammers. “What did he look like?
Maybe we know him,” she announced in a precise British accent that let you know she came from money, knew how to spend it, and didn’t intend to give you a dime. She motioned for her companions to join her.
Before Cole could describe our near-victim Floraidh said, “I’m sure it was that Sean McGill from down the road. He’ll get himself killed walking so close to traffic one of these days.” She turned to the crowd, beckoning for the backmarker to push her way forward. As the woman rumbled to the front Floraidh said, “This is Dormal, my right hand. If you have any questions or needs during
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