Shrike (Book 2): Rampant (19 page)

I'm beginning to wonder if she left them out as an insurance plan in case I came looking for her. Maybe she went somewhere unsure about whether or not she'd come back.

Or maybe she just thought all this shite could fuck right off and moved to Cuba.

Either way, I have the letters now, and I need to comb through them to find out if there's anything useful in there besides the knowledge that Andrew Granger wanted out of the family terrorism business.

Finding nothing else, I go back to the front door and attempt to make the latch look less like it's been dented by a human fist and more like it's performing its proper function and keeping her flat locked. The metal is bent, but the outside part of the door looks relatively normal once I tamper with it a bit. I push Gina's kitchen table in front of her door and wedge it shut. Anyone from the outside will notice that the latch has been tampered with if they look closely enough, but I'm hoping barricading the door will keep any intruders out. After a second thought, I drag the metal cabinet over as well to add some extra weight.

I climb out the window, shutting it behind me. The box of letters I keep tucked under one arm.

I long for my bed and for Taog's warmth — even his feverish extra warmth today — but I don't think I'll get to it any time soon. At least not to sleep.

Magda is asleep when I arrive at my flat, and I take the box of letters straight over to Taog's. He's awake and sitting up, though his eyes are glazed, and he looks as though he feels like a week-old haggis left out in the sun.

"Hiya," he croaks when he hears the window open.

"Still not feeling better?" I set the box of letters down on his desk and come to sit at the foot of his bed. My pity for his condition is beginning to morph into concern. I look at him more closely. "Taog, your eye."

He cracks a half smile. "Bit of a bad coughing fit earlier. Popped a couple capillaries."

I upgrade concern to alarm. "Have you been to the doctor?"

"Aye, earlier today. They gave me some antibiotics and put me on bed rest. I made sure to change the sheets, as I thought you might come over and not want to sleep in a puddle of my sweat."

"Thoughtful even whilst ill." I try to smile at him, but it doesn't really work. Instead, I reach out and touch his face. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Nothing some rest won't cure," he says. "I reckon this is my body telling me to go to bed."

I reckon he's right, but I don't like seeing him this way. But then, for the last four months,
this way
has consisted of exhausted, grieving, frustrated, angry, and lost. For the both of us. I think we'd both welcome something new and different. Like a positive emotion, for example.

Still, I take comfort in his presence as always. "If you'd prefer I go home so you can flail about to your heart's content, I'll go."

He reaches out and takes my hand with his, which is so warm I can tell he's still feverish. "Stay. Please."

I nod and join him in the bed after picking up the box of letters. It's not something I want to burden him with, but he'll need to know about it sooner or later.

Taog's quiet for several minutes after I tell him what I've discovered. I show him the first few letters, and his face goes still, like it always does when he's deep in thought. Even though he never met Andrew personally, I've told Taog about him before.

"So this is why that woman is helping you. For her boyfriend's memory."

I nod. "I guess so."

Taog places the papers back in the box with the same reverence I felt whilst handling them. He slides the box under his bed and turns to look at me. "Gwen," he says. 

His voice cracks on my name, and I'm not sure whether it's his illness or something else. Or both. 

I meet his eyes, feeling my chest rise and fall faster. 

"I'm not great at expressing myself sometimes. I know I haven't said anything to you about how I feel since my show that day, and even that was out of line. I guess there were too many things going on, ye ken?"

I'm not sure what he's about to say, and I fight the urge to hold my breath. 

"But you've been here, by my side, through all of this." Taog pokes at his shoulder, where I know there's a round scar from where Edmund Frost shot him. "You've always been someone special, but to me, you're extraordinary. I don't know what I would do without you."

Tears well up, and I can't stop them. He's still holding my hand in his, and I hope he sees how true those words are for me as well, how coming home to him each night gets me through the cold. How much I care. I don't want to interrupt him.

"And I can't help but think about everything that's happened and everything that's still happening. I feel like you're going off to war each time you leave the house. Every night I am bloody terrified that my mobile will ring and it'll be Trevor telling me you're no coming back." His voice cracks again, and I know it's not because he's ill. He swallows and reaches for his glass of water with his free hand. He takes a couple sips and replaces it. "I guess I just didn't want you to ever leave this house again without knowing how much you mean to me. I don't know what will happen with us when this is all over, but I do know I want you in my life as long as you're willing to be part of it."

I don't know what else to do. I lift his hand to my lips and kiss it, and when I lower it, my fingers cling to his as if they're the last water from a desert oasis. "I want the same thing, Taog," I say softly. Then the words pour out of me, words I've heard in my head and heart for months. "All of what you said is what I feel. I fear for your life every day, and I wish I could be here all the time. I don't trust the Gu Bràth security detail to keep you safe, and I certainly don't know what I would do if I came back into this bedroom to find it empty again. I saw that once before, and it gutted me. And that was before. Before all these nights spent with you here, before you became one of the two people on this planet I truly trust, before I knew how long this was going to go on, this day to day fear we live in now."

There are no confessions of love, no promises we both know we may not be able to keep. He and I understand each other. We both know that he's right; each day I set foot out the door may be the last of my life or his. There is no denying that, nor would it do either of us any good to pretend.

Instead I lie down on the bed, partially propped up on the pillow, and he lies next to me with his head on my breast. My fingers find his hair, stroking the waves of reddish brown against his head.

We may not have tomorrow, but we have tonight.

We don't even get the whole night.

At ten past four, my mobile rings. I've dozed off with Taog's head still upon my right breast, and he startles awake when I move. I pick up the phone and answer. No good calls come at four in the morning, and when I see it's Trevor, my stomach plummets.

"Hello?"

"Come outside. Now." That's all he says, and he hangs up.

Taog and I exchange a long look. I kiss his hand once more, and he reciprocates by raising mine to his lips. He turns over in bed, but I know he won't be going back to sleep now, no matter how ill or exhausted he is.

It takes me less than three minutes to throw on my Shrike outfit and rush out the door. It gives me a chance to put my speed to the test. Trevor's parked outside my house in a squad car, and I get in without question. He briefs me as we drive. 

"The surveillance people at Adair McCullough's home spotted Granger about twenty minutes ago," he says. "They surrounded the place and got inside, but Granger had already escaped."

My stomach can't sink any more than it already has. "Is she—"

"She's in critical condition. Granger missed her heart but punctured a lung. Probably because our people startled her, or because Adair fought back. She's got a black belt in tae kwon do."

"Where are we going?" I can't think about Adair now. If she's going to live, she'll live. If not, she's another name Granger has to be held accountable for.

"Sarah MacKay's. We think Granger might try to circle back. We're trying not to alert anyone so they can actually see her approach."

I've seen Sarah MacKay, and her brown eyes hover in front of my face like a plea. "She's still at the same home?"

"We thought moving her could be too risky. She's got five total bodyguards on her, three from St. Leonard's and two volunteers from Special Forces."

That announcement startles me. "Volunteers?"

"Aye, we've had some off duty military personnel offer to help. With a list this long, we don't have enough constables to do the job." 

I try not to think of John Abbey and how if he is the head of Britannia, anyone in the military could be a plant as well. Not that the same isn't true for Trevor's constables. My trust of humankind seems to grow thinner by the day.

"When we get there, Gwen, I need you to get in, get Sarah out, and get her to safety." He rattles off an address. "That's a house we use for people in witness protection. Take her there."

"I will." 

We arrive minutes later, and Trevor drops me off one street away. He points up. "There's a maintenance hatch in the building next to Sarah's. They connect through the loft. Get in that way, and don't be seen."

I'm climbing the wall of the row of houses almost before he finishes speaking. The hatch he mentioned is just that, a square hole in the roof with no visible latch for opening it. I grip the edges and yank, and it comes off in one large chunk with a crack of metal that sounds frighteningly loud to my ears. I drop down into the hole. It's dark in the maintenance tunnel, and cobwebs brush my face. 

I hate spiders.

My eyes adjust, and I am thankful I can see better in the dark than most. I follow the loft — which is more of a crawl space —through a small opening that connects the two buildings. I have to get on my hands and knees to get through it, but I fit easily. I find the way down into the building, a rickety staircase that opens into a familiar corridor. It's empty. I go straight to Sarah's door.

It's ajar.

I burst in without hesitation. "Sarah!"

"I'm here." Her voice quavers, but she steadies it with her next words. "I shot her."

"You what?" 

"I shot Granger." Sarah MacKay points across the room, where Rosamund Granger is slouched against the wall, unmoving, a crossbow bolt sticking out of her shoulder. 

Right where Frost shot Taog. 

"Sarah, I need you to get out of here. I'm going to take you somewhere safe, but I need to make sure Granger is incapacitated first." I take her by the arm and show her to the door, pointing down the corridor where I just entered. "There's a loft through the fourth door on the right. Take the staircase up and go all the way to the end of the loft. You'll have to crawl through a small tunnel between buildings. Do it. Wait for me there. I'll be along in a minute."

Sarah looks at me, uncomprehending. 

"Get out of here, MacKay. Go."

She jumps and hurries down the hall. Her steps widen into a run after a few steps, and I wait until she reaches the door and vanishes behind it before turning around.

"You ruin everything you touch, Gwen Maule." The rasping voice doesn't surprise me. 

"Playing dead for your mouse?" I ask, turning back into the flat. Sarah shot her in the shoulder, but that was it. Maybe enough to make her pass out, but certainly not lethal. Granger's just out of eyesight. I finger the pocket on my torso, where the slim black case I nicked from Gina Galbraith sits. I unzip the pocket and pull out the case. 

"I didn't fancy the idea of her shooting me again." 

I stay where I am for a moment, thinking. I could kill Granger, right here, right now. To many people, that would be justice. For me, that'd only be the start. 

"Why are you killing all these people, Rosamund?" I use her given name on purpose, hoping she'll respond.

She just laughs, and I hear the crack of wood. She must have broken off the bolt. 

"Ever have someone by the bollocks before, Maule?" 

I don't know what she's talking about. If she's referring to our current situation, I'm not sure this qualifies.

She's going on. "Sometimes you have to do unpleasant things to get what you want."

"So murder's unpleasant. Braw."

I hear a spitting noise and finger the case in my hands. She doesn't speak again, so I prompt her.

"What is it you want, Rosamund Granger?"

"I want my family back."

I'm so surprised by the answer that I almost drop the case. Then I relax, taking a step forward but remaining out of her field of vision. "Your family's dead. Try again."

"Not all of them."

I freeze. I knew of Andrew, her son. Her husband I thought was dead long ago, and I know Edmund Frost was her brother. Does she have someone else? Another sibling? Or another child? There's one thing I understand in this moment: Macy — Gina — was right. Rosamund Granger is working on a timeline. 

It's just not her timeline.

Someone else is telling her what to do.

And I'm suddenly one hundred percent certain that they're holding one of her family members hostage to get her to cooperate.

My fingers itch on the case. Time is running out. I need to follow Trevor's instructions and get Sarah to the safe house. I should have rang him already, told him I have Granger. But part of me knew I would have to make this choice, and now I have to do it. I have to decide.

I can turn her in to Trevor, watch her high-profile case take over every news channel for the next year, watch her rot in prison for the rest of her life. 

Or I can try and follow her back to whoever she works for. My fingers make my decision for me, unzipping the case and palming the first syringe. I tuck the case back into my pocket and zip it tight. Then I rush Granger, flicking the syringe's cap off. 

I grab her by the collar and stare deep into her eyes, pouring every ounce of hatred I have into that stare. "You had your chance with your family, and you let your insane brother murder your son because you're weak. You think you find strength in making others suffer. You made Andrew torture for you. You practically poured the blood all over his hands."