Revealing Silver Page 21

  “You want a coffee for your trouble?” Mr. Reinbold stood in the doorway, a trash can propping it open. Leaning over, he grabbed the edge of the box and dragged it inside the rest of the way. “It’ll just take me a couple minutes to put the pot on.”

  Accepting would give her reason to stick around longer. “Sure, thanks.”

  “Be back in a couple of ticks.”

  He lumbered off, leaving the door open. Remy marveled at how quickly he’d come to trust her, though on the one hand, it was comforting to know people in this city could still believe in others. A twinge of envy pricked her gut. How wonderful it would be to think the world actually deserved the level of trust Mr. Reinbold displayed.

  It made it a little harder to turn her attention to the other door, then, though she did it anyway. Certain things had to be done, no matter how she felt about them. Including finding a way to get into George Hawkins’s office.

  The lock was simple, opening with the first probe of her pick. With so much security outside, the building’s occupants probably felt safe enough to only have basic locks on their offices. Lucky for her, especially since Mr. Reinbold returned within moments with a Styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee.

  “I don’t know how you like it,” he apologized.

  “This is fine.” She sipped at it to prove it to him. “Thanks again.”

  With a little wave, she headed for the exit, keeping up the pretense of leaving. The sound of the trash can sliding across the floor came seconds before the office door clicked shut, and Remy bolted back to let herself into Hawkins’s office before Mr. Reinbold saw her.

  The office was dark with no exterior windows. The only light trickled in through the glass pane beside the door. She couldn’t risk flipping a switch, either, just in case anybody walked by. Turning the lock on the door would be her only warning if somebody decided to come to work early.

  She waited a minute to let her eyes adjust, then moved farther into the room, her fingers trailing against the wall to guide her. Her knee bumped against the edge of a desk, and she bit back her curse at the sharp pain shooting down the back of her leg. The damn cut from the gangbanger hadn’t healed great. She hadn’t said a word to Olivia about it—the woman had been through far worse than Remy had, and the last thing she wanted was to whine about a single injury—but if it didn’t do some serious stitching up soon, she’d have to come clean before they tried getting the girls. Olivia needed to know their weaknesses, and fuck if Remy didn’t rage at the thought of being any kind of a weak link.

  A huge computer occupied the center of the desk. If all of his files were digital, they were screwed. Remy sat in the narrow seat and searched the blotter for any business deal details. When that came up empty, she started going through the desk.

  She hit pay dirt in the bottom drawer. A manila folder near the front had a yellow Post-It attached to its tab, the number written on it the same as Marisol’s cell. Remy pulled it out and flipped through the contents. Most of it didn’t make sense, but toward the back was a thick sheaf of papers with the words “Leasing Agreement” typed across the front.

  It might not be what they wanted, but she’d leave it to Olivia to figure out. She was the brains of their operation, as well as native to the city. She’d be the one to lead Remy into the fight. Any other woman and Remy might have balked. She didn’t do authority.

  But Olivia was different, and had been from the start. Remy felt safe around her. Gabriel would argue it all came back to the Silver Maiden. Maybe that was true, but she wasn’t so concerned with reasons as she was with results.

  Olivia had her back. She fought for the other girls as fiercely as she was fighting now for Nathan and Isaac.

  Remy refused to let her down.

  There was less dust on the floor and the windows, but otherwise, the warehouse looked more or less the same as it did yesterday, ten years from now. Remy told her Marisol had abandoned the place, but that didn’t mean none of Parker’s thugs were there. Or even somebody with legitimate business—it wouldn’t do if people suspected that the warehouse was just a front for something. But Olivia timed her visit to be in the early morning hours, hoping it would minimize traffic either around or in and out of the building.

  Without a car, she had to take a taxi most of the way and then walk the last half mile. Any other time, the walk would have been nothing more strenuous than a brisk stroll with Tiberius through the park, but that morning her body protested every single step. She was battered and bruised from Gabriel’s rough treatment and rolling around the back of the semi, not to mention the bone-jarring, teeth-clenching ordeal of being magically transported ten years into the past without any real warning. Her eye was still swollen shut, and the wound on her temple would scar without stitches, but that would have to wait.

  At least she had her gun. Gabriel had allowed for that, handing the unloaded weapon to her just before he used the coin to send her away. She wished she had a backup weapon. Not to mention actual backup, preferably in the form of one Isaac McGuire, but she didn’t, and there was no point in dwelling on everything she lacked. She had Remy, who was back at the hotel doing what she could with the items she’d found in Marisol’s purse, and she had her own brains. Hopefully, she’d have a few clues when she was done searching the warehouse.

  To her surprise and great relief, the keys Isaac had given her still fit in the lock, and she quietly let herself in. Remy might have been right about this being a waste of time. Olivia sincerely hoped she was right. She hoped her search of the basement didn’t turn up any of the missing girls—or any other grisly discoveries. Even though her only purpose was to find Marisol, she almost hoped the warehouse was a dead end, as empty as Remy claimed. She’d rather her mission be made more difficult than find the evidence that Marisol had turned into a butcher.

  Olivia advanced slowly, weapon drawn. There were different stacks of crates, changing the floor plan enough to disorient her in the dark. Some streetlight filtered in from the grimy windows, but not enough to be an advantage—or a disadvantage, as the case may be. She had a flashlight she’d picked up from the gas station near Remy’s hotel, but she didn’t want to use it where somebody could see the beam through the window. She’d wait until she was in the basement and wouldn’t risk discovery. That meant that, at times, she needed to walk with her empty hand straight out in front of her to ensure she didn’t slam face-first into a cargo crate.

  “I know somebody’s there.”

  Marisol’s voice sent trickles of ice water down Olivia’s spine, but she took another careful step forward. If Marisol didn’t know exactly where she was—she likely didn’t if she was making announcements like that—then she would press her advantage as much as she could. It occurred to her she could end it all right there if she got close enough to grab Marisol and use the coins in her pocket to send her back to Gabriel. Remy and the other girls would still be stranded, but at least the immediate danger would be removed, and Olivia could always figure out a way to get back. But she didn’t let that thought distract her from her surroundings.

  “Show yourself now, and I might not kill you.”

  Her voice was coming from the rear of the warehouse, near the offices. It was impossible to say for sure with the words bouncing off every flat surface in the building. Olivia ducked to the left, sliding between two narrowly stacked crates.

  “Remy? Is that you? I’m going to take the cost of that purse out of your flesh.”

  Olivia eased the safety off of her gun. She couldn’t kill Marisol. That wasn’t part of the deal. Gabriel wanted Marisol back and he wanted her alive so he could deal with her in his own way. She didn’t want to turn anybody over to Gabriel’s sadism, but it might not come to that if Isaac found them. Gabriel wasn’t expecting anybody to show up, and if Isaac could take Gabriel by surprise, he might have the other man cuffed and secure by the time Olivia returned. It was such a long shot Olivia knew she shouldn’t even fantasize about it, much less count on it. But a
part of her did count on Isaac without hesitation or reservation.

  She rounded a tall stack of boxes, hoping that would put her in position to see Marisol without being spotted herself. And it did. For a split second, she was in the perfect position, she had the perfect angle, and she was ready to squeeze the trigger.

  In the next second, the gun was ripped from her hands with so much force it bent her fingers back at a painful angle. Olivia yelped, clutching her hand to her chest and looking around wildly for whatever might be attacking her. There was nothing there and Marisol was out of sight. Olivia dove behind the nearest crate, bullets ricocheting around her head. She covered her head with both arms and ducked down, making herself as small as possible as the torrent of bullets continued around her.

  It only took a handful of seconds before the clip was empty, but it felt like an eternity of thunder, roaring in her head and making her teeth vibrate in the enclosed space. By the time silence descended, her ears were ringing, and the pain in her head had increased to something that threatened to split her skull in two. Olivia closed her eyes tightly, trying to concentrate, searching for any hint of Marisol’s approach beneath the ringing in her ears.

  “I know you. You’re the Keeper, aren’t you? What are you doing here?”

  Olivia duck-walked several feet to the right before answering. “Gabriel sent me to find you.”

  “I thought he was safely tucked away in prison.”

  “Well, he changed his mind. He knows what you’re up to, Marisol. He knows about Sophe.”

  Marisol sucked her breath. “How could he know about her?”

  “Because we found her body. Look, Marisol, we can talk about this. Gabriel just wants you back in 2010—”

  “I’ll blow your head off before I let you take me back to him.”

  “I’d rather we not do this the hard way, Marisol.”

  “Tough shit. You might be a Keeper, but you don’t control me.”

  What did she control in her role as Keeper? “What are you doing here, Marisol? I thought you’d abandoned this warehouse.”

  When Marisol didn’t answer, Olivia dared to peek over the top of the box she was hiding behind. She didn’t see any sign of the other woman, and it seemed like there was a good mile between herself and the door. There had to be another way to escape. A back door somewhere, or a fire exit. She liked her chances better outside of the dark, increasingly claustrophobic building. Not that she had any reason to like her chances at all right then. The crate in front of her moved without warning, sliding away from her and into the wall with enough force to shatter it into splinters. Olivia moved without thinking, rolling behind the next one, only for it to be ripped away with as much sudden force.

  Fuck. Was Marisol doing that? She must have been. But how? What had she done to suddenly become telekinetic? And how could Olivia hope to escape her if she could just start throwing giant boxes, or shooting, or picking Olivia up and bashing her against the wall? One good blow would have Olivia broken and bloody. Her hand automatically went to the coin in her pocket. Not because she thought it could do anything to protect her, but because she wanted to do everything she could to protect it. If Marisol could rip the gun from her hand, what would stop her from ripping the coin away too? Adrenaline flooded her at the thought, panic spiking through her brain, and everything narrowed down to the business of stopping Marisol from getting anywhere near the coin.

  “Give up, Olivia, and I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to kill you. Your kind is even harder to find than the descendants.”

  “My kind? You mean a Keeper?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you didn’t need me for the ritual, right? So why should I believe you’d keep me alive now?”

  “You’re chosen. The other girls are born.”

  An echo of what Gabriel had already told her. “What difference does that make?”

  “All of the difference. She’s close now, if she’s made a Keeper.”

  “I know you killed Sophe, and I’m not going to let you get away with that.”

  Olivia caught movement from the corner of her eye, no more than a shadow moving against a shadow. She dropped to one knee, prepared to tuck and roll, her hand extended in a fruitless gesture of defense. It wasn’t as though she could catch the bullet before it reached her head, but she was in that position when the report from the gun crashed around her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the searing hot, tremendous pain of a bullet sliding through her flesh like a knife through hot butter, but the pain never came. The explosion from the weapon was quickly followed by a scream that didn’t come from her own throat. When she opened her eyes, pale blue light emanated from her clutched palm and Marisol was doubled over, clutching her arm.

  Marisol lifted her head, looking more like an injured bird than a woman. Her eyes glittered, and her lips were back in a tight grimace. The gun rested at her feet, and dark blood dripped down her arm like oil. Neither of them moved for the space of a heartbeat, Marisol’s gaze locked on the new light. It seemed to be growing brighter, illuminating not only the immediate space around Olivia, but up to the ceiling as well. Olivia shakily pushed herself to her feet, her lungs burning with the need for oxygen, her pulse hammering in her throat, and her arm still outstretched.

  “You’re hurt,” Olivia tried. “You should let me help you.”

  Marisol responded in a rapid flood of Spanish, most of which involved various curses on Olivia and her whole family. Olivia refused to move, holding her ground even when she sensed Marisol’s voice rising. She felt something pushing against her, like the centrifugal force generated on a carnival ride that spun too fast. It was a motionless wind, pushing against every square inch of her, pressing into her skin and bones. Just as she was sure her ribs might crack from the pressure, it disappeared completely.

  She didn’t realize how much she’d been resisting the wall of force until it was gone and there was nothing to support her straining muscles. She toppled forward, tripping over her own feet as she tried to right herself. Marisol took advantage of her distraction, moving with surprising speed toward the back of the building.

  Olivia gave chase, determined not to let the opportunity slip from her fingers. All she needed to do was get close enough to touch Marisol and recite the words Gabriel had forced her to memorize. But Marisol knew the layout of the floor plan better than Olivia did, and she moved with surprising speed, clutching her arm the whole time, leaving a trail of blood behind her. When she saw the crack of light that indicated a door opening, she turned up the speed, pushing herself as hard as she could for those final yards. Maybe if Marisol had driven herself to the warehouse, Olivia would have made it. But all she could do was watch as Marisol jumped into the moving car. As soon as the door closed behind her, the driver pushed his foot on the accelerator, and the car roared into the morning light.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Compared to what waited for Olivia inside Marisol’s mansion, the first stone wall barely presented an obstacle. Olivia scaled it easily, thankful she still took the time to go climbing once or twice a month even though it wasn’t an activity she particularly enjoyed. There weren’t motion detectors or light sensors at the top, or any nasty surprises in the shape of broken beer bottles or razor wire. She vaulted herself over and landed in a crouch, watching the house through the shrubs and row of trees to see if anybody had been alerted to her presence. When no lights flashed or people shouted, she advanced forward, still on the lookout for sensors as well as more troublesome obstacles, like dogs or armed guards. She didn’t know how many men Marisol had working for her, and she didn’t know how far the other woman was willing to go in the name of security. She’d honestly anticipated more than this, though.

  Her confidence grew with each careful step she took around the edge of the yard. She’d expected to lose time scouting for a safe entrance, but now she was beginning to wonder if she’d get away with walking through the front door. Easier and safer than breaking in through
a window, but not as much fun. Three-quarters of the way there, a low growl ground her to a halt. She wasn’t alone.

  She surveyed the yard for glowing green or red eyes. The growl came again, closer this time. Close enough to send chills down anyone’s spine. Olivia turned toward the sound and slowly put her hand out, palm side up, then stood perfectly still. The dog seemed to melt from the darkness, his black coat and dark brown markings blending in almost seamlessly with the night. He growled another warning, but Olivia didn’t waver, her nerves and stomach calm.

  The dog approached cautiously, the glint of his teeth just visible. He pushed his nose against the palm of her hand, and moving in the same deliberate way as before, she turned her hand to pet his muzzle and the top of his head. The dog leaned in to her touch, and she sighed with relief. This wasn’t a vicious guard dog waiting to attack.

  “Sit down.” She pointed at the ground. “Sit.”

  The dog sat.

  “Now stay.”

  The dog wagged his tail but remained where it was. Olivia managed to make it all of three steps before the beast barked.

  “Shh. Shut up.”

  Another step. Another bark. The porch light flooded the front yard, stealing away any hiding spots. The dog still sat where she told it, but now wore a very pleased expression. With nowhere to go except forward or over the wall, she tried to compromise by ducking behind the shrubbery. She narrowly missed the wall and hunkered down behind it. Several seconds passed without a sound, and then the dog barked again. This time, the damned thing was standing right in front of her, sniffing the ground and nosing the hedge. Olivia tried to shoo him away, but her efforts only made the situation worse, causing the shrubbery to move and shake with each frantic gesture.

  “Who’s there?”

  She held her breath and waited. As the man moved closer, she undid the strap on her holster, ready to fire her weapon if absolutely necessary. Remy had offered to arm her with a few knives for self-defense, but Olivia had no intention of letting anybody get within knifing distance. Not that she would feel comfortable handling the sort of knives Remy seemed to favor. She could use a knife to chop onions, but she had no desire to try out one of those vicious-looking blades. Which left either hand-to-hand or her gun, and every instinct she possessed resisted firing on a civilian in a quiet neighborhood.