Every Which Way But Dead (38 page)

“It was the easiest way to get your attention.” Lee sipped his drink. “You've been inching your way past the Mississippi the last ten years. Did you expect anything less?”

Trent's jaw tightened. “You're killing innocent people with the potency of the Brimstone you're putting on the streets.”

“No!” Lee barked, pushing the glass from him. “There are no innocents.” Thin lips pressed together, he leaned forward, angry and threatening. “You crossed the line,” he said, shoulders tense under his tux. “And I wouldn't be here culling your weak clientele if you stayed on your side of the river as agreed.”

“My father made that agreement, not me. I've asked your father to lower the levels he allows in his Brimstone. People want a safe product. I give it to them. I don't care where they live.”

Lee fell back with a sound of disbelief. “Spare me the benefactor crap,” he simpered. “We don't sell to anyone who doesn't want it. And Trent? They want it. The stronger, the better. The death levels even out in less than a generation. The weak die off, the strong survive, ready and willing to buy more. To buy stronger. Your careful regulation weakens everyone. There's no natural balance, no strengthening of the species. Maybe that's why there are so few of you left. You've killed yourself by trying to save them.”

I sat with my hands deceptively slack in my lap, feeling the tension rise in the small room.
Culling weak clientele? Strengthening the species?
Who in hell did he think he was?

Lee made a quick movement, and I twitched.

“But the bottom line,” Lee said, easing back when he saw me move, “is that I'm here because you are changing the rules. And I'm not leaving. It's too late for that. You can hand everything over to me and graciously move off the continent, or I will take it, one orphanage, one hospital, one train station, street corner, and bleeding-heart innocent at a time.” He took a sip of his drink and cradled it in his laced hands. “I like games, Trent. And if you remember, I won whatever we played.”

Trent's eye twitched. It was his only show of emotion. “You have two weeks to get out of my city,” he said, his voice a smooth ribbon of calm water hiding a deadly under-tow. “I'm going to maintain my distribution. If your father wants to talk, I'm listening.”

“Your city?” Lee flicked his eyes over me, then back to Trent. “Looks to me like it's split.” He arched his thin eyebrows. “Very dangerous, very attractive. Piscary is in prison. His scion is ineffective. You're vulnerable from the veneer of honest businessman you hide behind. I'm going to take Cincinnati and the distribution net you have so painstakingly developed, and use it as it ought to be. It's a waste, Trent. You could control the entire Western Hemisphere with what you have, and you're pissing it away on half-strength Brimstone and biodrugs to dirt farmers and welfare cases that won't ever make anything of themselves—or anything for you.”

A seething anger warmed my face. I happened to be one of those welfare cases, and though I would probably be shipped off to Siberia in a biocontainment bag if it ever got out, I bristled. Trent was scum, but Lee was disgusting. I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up about things he didn't understand when Trent touched my leg with his shoe in warning.

The rims of Trent's ears had gone red, and his jaw was tight. He tapped at the arm of the chair, a deliberate show of his agitation. “I do control the Western Hemisphere,” Trent said, his low, resonating voice making my stomach clench. “And my welfare cases have given me more than my father's paying customers—Stanley.”

Lee's tanned face went white in anger, and I wondered what was being said that I didn't understand. Perhaps it hadn't been college. Maybe they had met at “camp.”

“Your money can't force me out,” Trent added. “Ever. Go tell your father to lower his Brimstone levels and I'll back off from the West Coast.”

Lee stood, and I stiffened, ready to move. He placed his hands spread wide, bracing himself. “You overestimate your reach, Trent. You did when we were boys, and nothing has changed. It's why you almost drowned trying to swim back to shore, and why you lost every game we played, every race we ran, every girl we made a prize.” He was pointing now, underscoring his words. “You think you're more than you are, having been coddled and praised for accomplishments that everyone else takes for granted. Face it. You're the last of your kind, and it's your arrogance that put you there.”

My eyes shifted between them. Trent sat with his legs comfortably crossed and his fingers laced. He was absolutely still. He was incensed, none of it showing but for the hem of his slacks trembling. “Don't make a mistake you can't walk away from,” he said softly. “I'm not twelve anymore.”

Lee backed up, a misplaced satisfaction and confidence in him as he eyed the door behind me. “You could have fooled me.”

The door latch shifted and I jerked. Candice walked in, an institutional-white mug of coffee in her hand. “Excuse me,” she said, her kitten-soft voice only adding to the tension. She slunk between Trent and Lee, breaking their gazes on each other.

Trent shook out his sleeves and took a slow breath. I glanced at him before reaching for the coffee. He looked shaken, but it was from repressing his anger, not fear. I thought of his biolabs and Ceri safely hiding with an old man across the street from my church. Was I making choices for her that she should be making for herself?

The mug was thick, the warmth of it seeping into my fingers when I took it. My lip curled when I realized she had put cream in it. Not that I was going to drink it. “Thanks,” I said, making an ugly face right back at her when she took a sexually charged pose atop Lee's desk, her legs crossed at the knee.

“Lee,” she said, leaning to make a provocative show. “There is a slight problem on the floor that needs your attention.”

Looking annoyed, he pushed her out of his way. “Deal with it, Candice. I'm with friends.”

Her eyes went black and her shoulders stiffened. “It's something you need to attend. Get your ass downstairs. It won't wait.”

I flicked my gaze to Trent, reading his surprise. Apparently the pretty vamp was more than decoration.
Partner?
I wondered. She sure was acting like it.

She cocked one eyebrow at Lee in mocking petulance, making me wish I could do the same. I still hadn't bothered to learn how. “Now, Lee,” she prompted, slipping off the desk and going to hold the door for him.

His brow furrowed. Brushing his short bangs from his eyes, he pushed his chair back with excessive force. “Excuse me.” Thin lips tight, he nodded to Trent walked out, his feet thumping on the stairway.

Candice smiled predatorily at me before she slipped out after him. “Enjoy your coffee,” she said, closing the door. There was a click as it locked.

I
took a deep breath, listening to the silence. Trent shifted his legs to put his ankle atop a knee. Eyes distant and worried, he chewed on a lower lip, looking nothing like the drug lord and murderer he was. Funny, you couldn't tell by looking.

“She locked the door,” I said, jumping at the sound of my own voice.

Trent lifted his eyebrows. “She doesn't want you to wander. I think it's a good idea.”

Snarky elf,
I thought. Stifling a frown, I went to the small round window looking out across the frozen river. Using the flat of my hand, I wiped the condensation from it and took in the varied skyline. Carew Tower was lit up with holiday lights, glowing with the gold, green, and red film they covered the top floor windows with so they would shine like huge bulbs. It was clear tonight, and I could even see a few stars through the city's light pollution.

Turning, I put my hands behind my back. “I don't trust your friend.”

“I never have. You'll live longer that way.” Trent's tight jaw eased and the green of his eyes went a little less hard. “Lee and I spent our summers together when we were boys. Four weeks at one of my father's camps, four weeks at his family's beach house on a manmade island off the coast of California. It was supposed to foster goodwill between our families. He's the one who set the ward on my great window, actually.” Trent shook his head. “He was twelve. Quite an accomplishment for him at the time. Still is. We had a party. My mother fell into the hot tub, she was so tipsy. I should replace it with glass now that we're—having difficulties.”

He was smiling in a bittersweet memory, but I had stopped listening. Lee set the ward? It had taken the color of my aura, just like the disk in the game room. Our auras resonated to a similar frequency. Eyes squinting, I thought about our shared aversion to red wine. “He has the same blood disease I do, doesn't he?” I said. It couldn't be a coincidence. Not with Trent.

Trent's head jerked up. “Yes,” he said cautiously. “That's why I don't understand this. My father saved his life, and now he's squabbling over a few million a year?”

Few million a year. Pocket change for the rich and filthy.
Restless, I glanced at Lee's desk, deciding I had nothing to learn by sifting through the drawers. “You, ah, monitor the levels of Brimstone you produce?”

Trent's expression went guarded, then, as if making a decision, he ran a hand across his hair to make it lie flat. “Very carefully, Ms. Morgan. I'm not the monster you'd like me to be. I'm not in the business of killing people; I'm in the business of supply and demand. If I didn't produce it, someone else would, and it wouldn't be a safe product. Thousands would die.” He glanced at the door and uncrossed his legs to put both feet on the floor. “I can guarantee it.”

My thoughts went to Erica. The thought of her dying under the flag of being a weak member of the species was intolerable. But illegal was illegal. My hand smacked into his gold earrings as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don't care how pretty the colors are that you paint your picture with, you're still a murderer. Faris didn't die because of a bee sting.”

His brow furrowed. “Faris was going to give his records to the press.”

“Faris was a frightened man who loved his daughter.”

I put a hand on my hip and watched him fidget. It was very subtle: the tension in his jaw, the way he held his manicured fingers, the lack of any expression.

“So why don't you kill me?” I asked. “Before I do the same?” My heart pounded, and I felt as if I was at a cliff's edge.

Trent broke his persona of professional, well-dressed drug lord with a smile. “Because you won't go to the press,” he said softly. “They will bring you down with me, and survival is more important than the truth to you.”

My face warmed. “Shut up.”

“It's not a failing, Ms. Morgan.”

“Shut up!”

“And I knew eventually you'd work with me.”

“I won't.”

“You already are.”

Stomach churning, I turned away. I gazed unseeing over the frozen river. A frown creased my brow. It was so silent I could hear the thumping of my heart—why was it that quiet?

I spun, hands gripping my elbows. Trent looked up from arranging the crease in his pants. His gaze was curious at the frightened look I knew I had. “What?” he said carefully.

Feeling unreal and disconnected, I took a step to the door. “Listen.”

“I don't hear anything.”

I reached out and wiggled the knob. “That's the problem,” I said. “The boat is empty.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Trent rose, his suit making a pleasant hush. He looked more concerned than alarmed as he shook his sleeves down and came forward. Nudging me out of the way, he tried the handle.

“What, you think it's going to work for you when it won't work for me?” I said, grabbing his elbow and pulling him out from in front of the door. Balancing on one foot, I held my breath and kicked at the jamb, thankful that even luxury boats tried to keep everything as light as possible. My heel went right through the thin wood, my foot catching. The strips of my beautiful dress dangled and waved as I hopped ungainly backward to disentangle myself.

“Hey! Wait!” I exclaimed when Trent picked the splinters from the hole and reached through to unlock it from the outside. Ignoring me, he opened the door and darted into the hall.

“Damn it, Trent!” I hissed, snatching up my clutch purse and following him. Ankle hurting, I caught up with him at the foot of the stairs. Reaching out, I jerked him back, sending his shoulder into the wall of the narrow passage. “What are you doing?” I said, inches away from his angry eyes. “Is this how you treat Quen? You don't know what's out there, and if you die, I'm the one that's going to suffer, not you!”

He said nothing, his green eyes choleric and his jaw tight.

“Now get your scrawny ass behind mine, and keep it there,” I said, giving him a shove.

Sullen and worried, I left him there. My hand wanted to reach for my splat gun, but as long as that purple disk was up and running, the potions in it wouldn't do anything but tick someone off as I got a nasty concoction of monkshood and spiderwort all over their nice dress clothes. A faint smile curved over my face. I didn't mind doing this the physical way.

What I could see of the room was empty. I listened, hearing nothing. Crouching to put my head at knee level, I peeked around the corner. I was down here for two reasons. First, if anyone was waiting to hit me, they'd have to adjust their swing, giving me time to get out of the way. Second, if I were hit, I wouldn't have so far to go to find the floor. But as I took in the elegant room, my stomach churned. The floor was littered with bodies.

“Oh my God,” I said softly as I rose. “Trent, he killed them.”
Was that it? Was Lee going to frame us for murder?

Trent pushed past me, slipping my grasping reach easily. He crouched by the first body. “Knocked out,” he said flatly, his beautiful voice turned to steel.

My horror turned to confusion. “Why?” I scanned the floor, guessing they had fallen where they stood.

Trent rose. His eyes went to the door. I agreed. “Let's get out of here,” I said.

His steps behind me were quick as we hustled to the foyer to find it predictably locked. Through the frosted glass I could see cars in the parking lot, Trent's limo parked where we left it. “I got a bad feeling about this,” I muttered, and Trent pushed me aside to look.

I stared at the thick wood, knowing I wouldn't be able to kick through that. Tense, I dug through my clutch purse. While Trent wasted his energy trying to break a window with a bar stool, I punched speed dial number one. “It's bulletproof glass,” I said as the phone rang.

He lowered the stool and ran a hand over his wispy hair to make it perfect again. He wasn't even breathing hard. “How do you know?”

I shrugged, turning sideways for some privacy. “It's what I would have used.” I returned to the gaming room as Ivy picked up. “Hey, Ivy,” I said, refusing to lower my voice lest I give Mr. Elf the impression I hadn't planned this. “Saladan locked us in his gambling boat and ran away. Could you come on out and jimmy the door for me?”

Trent was peering out at the parking lot. “Jonathan is there. Call him.”

Ivy was saying something, but Trent's voice was louder. I covered the receiver with a hand and said to Trent, “If he was still conscious, don't you think that he might be a little curious as to why Lee left and already have come to take a look?”

Trent's face went a little whiter.

“What?” I said as I focused back on Ivy. She was almost frantic.

“Get out!” she shouted. “Rachel, Kist had a bomb put on the boiler. I didn't know that's where you were going! Get out!”

My face went cold. “Um, I gotta go, Ivy. Talk to you later.”

As Ivy yelled, I closed the cover to my phone and tucked it away. Turning to Trent, I smiled. “Kisten is blowing up Lee's boat as an object lesson. I think we need to leave.”

My phone started ringing. I ignored it, and the call—Ivy?—was shunted into voice mail. Trent's confidence melted away to leave an attractive, well-dressed young man trying to show he wasn't afraid. “Lee wouldn't let anyone burn his boat,” he said. “He doesn't work that way.”

I clutched my arms about myself, scanning the room for something—anything—to help me. “He burned down your orphanage.”

“That was to get my attention.”

I looked at him, tired. “Would your
friend
let his boat burn and take you with it if Piscary was blamed for it? Heck of an easy way to take over the city.”

Trent's jaw tightened. “The boiler room?” he asked.

I nodded. “How did you know?”

He headed for a small door behind the bar. “It's what I would have done.”

“Swell.” I followed him, my pulse quickening as I stepped around the unconscious people. “Where are we going?”

“I want to look at it.”

I stopped dead in my tracks as Trent turned to go down a ladder backward. “You can dismantle a bomb?” It would be the only way to save everyone. There had to be a dozen people.

From the bottom of the ladder, Trent peered up at me, looking odd in his dress suit among the filth and clutter. “No. I just want to look at it.”

“Are you nuts!” I exclaimed. “You want to look at it? We have to get out of here!”

Trent's upturned face was placid. “It might have a timer on it. Are you coming?”

“Sure,” I said, stifling a laugh; I was pretty sure it would come out sounding hysterical.

Trent wove through the boat with a disturbing lack of urgency. I could smell hot metal and smoke. Trying not to snag my dress, I peered into the dimness. “There it is!” I shouted, pointing. My finger was shaking, and I dropped my hand to hide it.

Trent strode forward and I followed, hiding behind him when he crouched before a metal box with wires coming out of it. He reached to open it, and I panicked. “Hey!” I cried, grabbing his shoulder. “What the Turn are you doing? You don't know how to turn it off!”

He caught his balance without getting up, looking at me in annoyance, every hair on his head still perfect. “That's where the timer will be, Morgan.”

I swallowed hard, peering over his shoulder as he carefully opened the lid. “How much time?” I whispered, my breath sending his wispy hair drifting.

He stood, and I took a step back. “About three minutes.”

“Oh, hell no.” My mouth went dry, and my phone started ringing. I ignored it. Leaning, I looked closer at the bomb, starting to feel a little unsteady.

Trent pulled on a watch fob to bring out an antique-looking timepiece and set the modern timer on it. “We've got three minutes to find a way off.”

“Three minutes! We can't find a way off the boat in three minutes. The glass is bulletproof, the doors are thicker than your head, and that big purple disk will soak up any spell we throw at it!”

Trent's eyes were cold on me. “Get ahold of yourself, Morgan. Hysterics won't help.”

“Don't tell me what to do!” I exclaimed, my knees starting to shake. “I think best when I'm having hysterics. Just shut up and let me have them!” Arms wrapped around myself, I glanced at the bomb. It was hot down there, and I was sweating. Three minutes. What in hell could you do in three minutes? Sing a little song. Dance a little dance. Make a little love. Find a new romance.
Oh God. I was making up poetry.

“Maybe he has an escape route in his office?” Trent suggested.

“And that's why he locked us in there?” I said. “Come on.” I grabbed his sleeve and pulled. “We don't have enough time to find a way off.” My thoughts went to the purple disk in the ceiling. I had influenced it once. Maybe I could bend it to my will. “Come on!” I repeated as his sleeve slipped through my fingers when he refused to move. “Unless you want to stay and watch numbers count down. I might be able to break the no-spell zone Lee has on his boat.”

Trent rocked into motion. “I still say we can find a weak point in his security.”

I headed up the ladder, not caring if Trent noticed I wasn't wearing undies or not. “Not enough time.” Damn it, why didn't Kisten tell me what he was doing? I was surrounded by men who kept secrets from me. Nick, Trent, and now Kisten. Could I pick 'em or what? And Kist was killing people. I didn't want to like a guy who killed people. What was
wrong
with me?

Heart pounding as if marking the reducing seconds, we went back to the gaming room. It was silent and still. Waiting. My mouth twisted at the sight of the sleeping people. They were dead. I couldn't save them and Trent. I didn't even know how I was going to save myself.