Hell, yes. You’re the one they’re after and you’re unarmed. Let me do my damned job.
Stress always made my telepathy work better and I knew Adriana could hear me clearly.
Fine. But give me one of your guns.
I risked a glance at her.
What? Are you nuts?
My cousin gave me a scathing look.
I know how to shoot. And if something happens to you, I’d like to at least be able to defend myself.
She had a good point and I didn’t have time to argue. I handed her the derringer from my boot and slithered as quietly as I could to the next rack.
They’d reached the last dressing room and found it empty. Scowling, they started scanning the store. They knew we had to be in here. But they didn’t see us and they were running out of time. Police sirens wailed in the distance, closing fast. If the attackers didn’t go soon, there’d be no chance of escape.
They split up, each moving down an aisle of racks. I shifted position, getting ready. Switching off the safety, I braced my gun hand and waited until the first man leaned down to check under the counter. Then I stood. It only took a second, but I felt like I had all the time in the world. The second guy turned at my movement, his gun pointed straight at me. But he hesitated for just a fraction of a second. I didn’t. I fired three rapid shots into the central mass of number two’s neck before diving under a clothing rack, rolling as fast as I could through the tangling fabric. Even if the bad guys always seem to wear vests, they nearly always forget to protect their necks. A head or neck shot will kill you just as dead.
Number one fired at where he assumed I must be. Close, no cigar. I felt the sting of splintering white oak flooring entering my flesh through my jeans, but the bullets themselves missed.
The police sirens were close now. Swearing, the assassin bolted out the back door. I heard the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires, and he was gone.
I bolted out from under the rack and started to give CPR to Thug Two. I would be damned if he was going to die before he told me why they wanted Adriana dead. My cousin joined me a moment later, just before the police edged in cautiously, weapons drawn. I would have done just the same, considering the dead bodies and blood everywhere. They found me keeping the guy’s heart beating—a bit of a losing battle because Adriana was having a hard time keeping his blood in his carotid artery. I hadn’t meant to sever it, but there you go. Adriana and I had tried to save him, and I knew the EMTs who’d come with the cops would do their best, but the odds weren’t good.
11
“O
ne more
time, if you would, Ms. Graves. I understand that you called out as the car was pulling up to the curb and shoved your cousin behind you. No one else had noticed anything wrong with the limo. How did you know there was a problem?”
I sighed and tried to stay calm. It had been a very long, stressful day. I needed to eat. I’d been at the police station for a number of hours by now and, while I can go longer between feedings than I used to, my control isn’t perfect by a long shot. Especially when I’ve been busy trying to save lives.
My stomach growled impatiently. I tried to ignore it, forced myself not to look at the pulse beating so temptingly in the detective’s throat.
Deep breath. The man’s just doing his job. Stay calm.
“Most of the others were probably at bad angles, and the windows were tinted. Adriana and I were the last to leave the store, so we had a different point of view, through the windshield.”
“Ah. And what did you see that tipped you off?”
I’d had time to think about it and had finally realized what had been bugging me. “It wasn’t the same driver we’d had earlier in the morning. The first guy’s hair was really short; the second guy’s hair brushed his ears and collar. It also seemed to me that the car was moving too fast. I mean, yeah, the driver might’ve been the kind to slam on the brakes at the curb, but most pros aren’t like that, especially when they’re driving royalty.”
“Detective Rawlins,” my attorney, Roberto Santos, said in his honey-smooth voice, “my client has been extremely cooperative. She has given a full statement.” He was sitting next to me, which was the usual for me when I was being interviewed by the police, at least in this country—even when I was just a witness. He hadn’t had a lot to do thus far, because there were all kinds of witnesses saying that I’d basically saved the day and helped foil an assassination attempt.
Self-defense and defense of the life of another notwithstanding, I’d put three bullets into a guy’s neck. He was dead and I’d killed him. It was all clearly visible on the store’s security feed.
Roberto continued, sounding perfectly reasonable, “Ms. Graves has worked with your sketch artist and given a description of the man who escaped. But she has a serious medical condition that is made worse by stress. I really must insist that we take a break at least long enough for her to use the facilities and to eat so that nothing …
unfortunate
happens.”
Okay, maybe that was pushing it a little. Of course, Roberto couldn’t know how much progress I’d made in controlling my condition.
“Mr. Santos.” The detective’s lips moved up in a semblance of a smile, but his eyes were cold, hard pebbles set in an equally stony face. “A man is dead. Your client killed him. She shot him, deliberately and repeatedly. She will sit here answering questions for as long as I feel it’s necessary.”
I didn’t sigh. I didn’t fidget. I just closed my eyes and counted to twenty. Perhaps Detective Rawlins was just a good, old-fashioned, hard-headed detective. Then again, it was possible he was one of the members of my “fan club,” the group of officers who’ve decided I’m a monster and are willing to go to almost any lengths to prove it. They want me locked behind bars or put down like a rabid dog. Either way, he was pushing my buttons. That was a very bad thing.
There was a tap at the door. Rawlins made a low, grumbling noise, then rose and left the room, closing the door behind him. I’m sure they didn’t think I could hear them through a closed door, especially since they were speaking softly. But my vampire nature was very close to the surface now, and that made eavesdropping easy.
“You have to let her go,” said a man’s voice, not one I recognized.
“The hell you say! She’s a freaking killer. She’s admitted it.” That was Detective Rawlins.
“Doesn’t matter. It was a righteous shoot. Even if it wasn’t, she’s got diplomatic immunity from
two
countries. She’s also a freaking celebrity, and she just foiled an assassination attempt on members of a royal family. We’ve got press screaming for blood, politicos riding our ass, and no good reason to keep her. We can bring her back in if we need to. For now, cut her loose.”
“Have you
looked
at her? She has
fangs
. She should be staked or put in a fucking cage. Even her attorney admits that she could lose control if she doesn’t eat.”
“So let her eat, and let her
go
.”
“Is that an order?”
A pause and then the voice lowered to a growl. “Does it need to be?”
There was a long silence. I could hear Rawlins breathing harshly. “We’ll wind up regretting this. When that time comes…”
“
If
that time comes, there’ll be a note in your file.” The voice made it a threat.
“Good,” Rawlins spat. “Glad to hear it.”
When they cut me loose, the first thing I did was grab my cell phone and dial Adriana’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. Annoying, but not unexpected. Roberto had told me that Lopaka and the others had been taken to the secure ward of a local hospital, but he didn’t know which one. If Adriana was there with her mother, it was likely that no call could reach her. So I dug out the card Baker had given me and keyed the number into my phone. The line rang only once.
“Princess.” Ah, caller ID, gotta love it.
“Special Agent Albright.”
She sounded both amused and exhausted. “Am I to assume the police have finally tired of interrogating you?”
“They have. How is the queen? Where are Adriana and the others?”
“Her Royal Majesty is in intensive care at St. Anthony’s Hospital. Princess Adriana is with her.”
Intensive care? It was that bad? I couldn’t help but worry. Despite only knowing her for a short time, I really liked Lopaka.
“What about Olga and Natasha?”
“They’re secure at the Ruslandic Embassy.”
“As soon as I can get some weapons, I’ll head over to the hospital.”
“Don’t bother. We’ve got it covered for now. Get some rest. Check in again in the morning.” She hung up before I could argue. No surprise. She had a lot on her plate.
My aunt, the queen of queens, the most powerful siren in the world, was in intensive care. Crap.
It took a minute for that to fully sink in, which told me just how distracted I was. Sirens are hard to kill. Very, very hard to kill. I’d seen one get shot to pieces and she had kept breathing, her damaged heart still beating. It isn’t public knowledge, but I had it on good authority that the only things that can actually kill a pure-blooded siren are weapons wielded in jealousy—an emotion that is a poison to us—or certain specially made magical artifacts.
The shooters in the car hadn’t been women, so jealousy wasn’t a factor. That told me two things. First, someone in the know had leaked exactly where we were going and when we’d be there. Second, the attackers had arranged for literally dozens of bullets to be spelled—because that was the only way to try to kill royal sirens. Even a thousand standard rounds wouldn’t be enough. The cost to prepare this attack, in both time and money, had to have been outrageous. So we were looking at a well-funded group with inside information and access to some of the top-tier mages in the world. Artifacts take a long time to produce, which meant that these had been created long before Adriana and Dahlmar’s engagement was announced. The wedding was just an excuse.
That was
very
interesting.
I couldn’t help Lopaka at the hospital. My job was to protect her daughter. I wouldn’t be able to do that properly without rest. I wanted to do that someplace safe. I also wanted to go over the intel Baker had given me, and see if there was a clue that would tell me who the traitor was.
Because there was a traitor. Someone allowed that limo to get close enough to kill.
12
“I
really
appreciate this, Emma.”
“So you’ve said … repeatedly.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words. “Seriously, it’s all right.” She handed me a nutrition shake. “Drink this. You’re glowing.”
She was right. I didn’t feel vampy, exactly, but I wasn’t myself, either. I’d been hungry back at the police station and while I was waiting for Emma to come pick me up. Now, back at her new home, not so much. Still, I twisted open the bottle and drank as Kevin shoved past me into the main living area.
I flinched. He was really pissed and not even trying to hide it. I hadn’t expected him to show up, but he and Emma had arrived in his big truck and Emma had given me a this-wasn’t-my-idea look as they pulled up to where I was sitting and watching cops and civilians flow in and out of the precinct house. The ride back to the old church had passed by in a silence cold enough to frost the windows of his truck. Emma might not mind my being here. Her brother obviously did.
The second I stepped into the living room Kevin turned to me, his expression granite. In a flat yet furious voice he said, “Computer, big screen, channel six.”
At the far end of the room, the television came on. The perky brunette and her silver-haired coanchor wore grim expressions as film of the front of the destroyed bridal shop ran in the background, immediately followed by photos of King Dahlmar and Princess Adriana.
“A terrorist group calling itself the Guardians of the Faith has used various social networks to claim responsibility for the attack.” A close-up of a screenshot appeared; the group’s avatar was a blue-green
S
bisected diagonally by a bloody harpoon. I’d seen that symbol before, but couldn’t remember where or when.
I pummeled my brain, searching for the answer as the anchorwoman droned on. “The group has vowed to continue the violence against all sirens unless King Dahlmar breaks off his engagement. Our sources say that the governments of all three nations are treating this as a credible threat.” An image flashed onto the screen of a note written in a foreign language, accompanied by photocopied pictures of Lopaka’s face, Adriana’s, and mine, all marred by black “X” marks.
My stomach heaved and I locked my knees to keep from swaying on my feet. It’s one thing to hear you’ve been targeted. It’s quite another to see it in color on the big screen.
“Damn it, Kevin!” Emma was seriously pissed. Her eyes were blazing and there were two spots of color on her cheeks. “Was that necessary?”
Her brother was perfectly calm. Smug, even. The bastard. “She wasn’t taking it seriously enough. She never does. She brought you into it without a second thought.”
Emma rounded on him in fury, hands balled into fists at her sides. “You didn’t have to do it that way. You were deliberately brutal and callous and you know it.”
“Celia’s tougher than you give her credit for. Quit treating her like a fragile snowflake.” Kevin made a disgusted noise and stomped over to fling himself into a recliner. Emma led me to a nearby chair, where I sat down hard and lowered my head into my hands. Above and around me, I heard Emma and her brother arguing and the television playing sound bites of statements released by the Ruslandic and Siren ambassadors, but nothing really sank in. Terrorists. I was being hunted by armed, organized, freaking
terrorists
.
“She needs to know what
you’re
risking, having her here,” Kevin said.
Emma glared at him. “It’s my choice to make,”
He slammed a fist down on the armrest, causing his assistance dog, Paulie, to raise her head just a bit. “It’s unnecessary. There are other places she can go. Places that won’t endanger
you
.”