Grave Vengeance (4 page)

If he hurried, he could buy bagels from the diner across the street and be back before she finished her shower. Food would help her heal faster as well, and a quicker recovery time would unburden his conscience.

Or at least he hoped.

After dragging a T-shirt over his head and tucking it into his jeans, he tugged on his flack boots and strode toward the exit.

He yanked the door open and stopped dead in his tracks. A plain white envelope was taped below the peephole, with Gwen’s name written across the front in neat block lettering.

Dmitri’s gaze darted about the hallway, the parking lot, and the small strip mall across the street, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. The only activity was at the diner, where a few cars were parked out front. A tractor-trailer drove past on the main road, the rumble of the engine fading as it rounded the bend and disappeared from view.

Turning his attention to the letter, he pulled it off the door and stepped back inside. The paper felt damp from the morning dew, and the flap on the back was glued shut. Not bothering to wait until Gwen got out of the shower, he tore the envelope open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded into three sections.

More gibberish. The letter appeared to be written in the same code as the message on the wall in Charleston, a sure sign it originated from Ziegler. And since he lacked the ability to read the code, he had no choice but to wait for Gwen to decipher it. The knowledge stuck in his craw. As much as he disliked depending on others, he hated having to depend on her.

The water cut off in the shower. A few minutes later she emerged from the bathroom dressed in faded black denim and a clingy blue tee. Her wet hair was slicked back against her skull, making the bruises on her neck more pronounced.

She pointed with her brush toward the opened envelope on the bed. “Where did that come from?”

“I found it taped on the door.”

She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. “Hey, my name’s on that.”

“So I noticed.”

“That means it’s for me.”

He gave her a level look. “What’s your point?”

“Jackass.” She shook her head in disgust as she snatched the letter from his hands. Her eyes skimmed over the paper, her forehead crinkled with concentration. “It’s the same code as before.”

“No shit. What does it say?”

Gaze never leaving the letter, she held up a finger to indicate she needed more time. At last, she said, “He wants to meet with me to discuss the situation at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History.”

“When?”

“This morning at ten-thirty.” She glanced down at the clock on the nightstand. “That gives us a little more than three hours to get there.”

“That shouldn’t pose a problem.” The motel was located about forty miles outside the District. Barring some type of traffic nightmare, they should be able to reach the museum with time to spare. But the impromptu nature of the meeting made him edgy. It gave him little time to turn the situation to his advantage and no time to prepare for contingencies.

“There’s more.” She glanced up, her eyes catching his. “While I’m meeting with him, he wants you at the National Air and Space Museum. If he doesn’t have confirmation from his people that you’re there, the meeting’s off.”

“He has people?”

“Apparently so. That might explain what happened to the missing reapers from Charleston.”

Dmitri frowned. “Out of the question. That leaves you without cover.” Not to mention it made it impossible for him to nail the bastard. In all fairness, he would have done the exact same thing if the roles were reversed. Part of him admired Ziegler’s tactics even though it meant his own job just got a lot harder.

“We don’t have a lot of say in the matter. This is probably our best chance at finding out what he’s up to. It’s either meet according to his terms or we don’t meet at all.”

Dmitri shot up from the bed and paced across the room. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t like it, either, but I don’t see much in the way of alternatives. If I talk with him, maybe I can figure out what’s going on inside his head, and we can use that information to bring him in.”

Deep down, he knew she was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Until they knew more about Ziegler’s motivations, they had no way of predicting his movements. Meeting him alone had red flags all over it, but if she was willing to take the risk, who was he to stop her?

Gwen leaned against the wall by the bathroom vanity while she laced up her shoes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about that. You’re a big girl, you can handle yourself.”

“Gee, you keep talking like that and I’m going to get misty.” She hitched the duffel over her shoulder and walked toward the door. “I’m starving. Let’s figure this out over breakfast.”

A
fter breakfast, they drove to the capital, parked the Challenger at Van Dorn Street, and rode the Metro to the National Mall.

The city was already bustling with tourists eager to visit the sites. Vendor carts were lined up along the sidewalks, selling food, American flags, T-shirts, and an eye-numbing array of patriotic souvenirs.

Gwen’s gaze darted from building to building, her eyes wide and her mouth partly open.

“What is it?” Dmitri asked.

She shook her head. “Oh, nothing.” Still, she gaped at the scenery with a sense of near wonder. “It just looks so different from what I remember.” The National Mall was almost unrecognizable from the way it appeared in the early 1960s. Back then, the Capitol Dome had been under reconstruction, the National Gallery didn’t have an East Wing, and the National Air and Space Museum hadn’t even broken ground at its current location.

“You lived here?”

“Yeah, but not for long. I only stayed here for a few months while I trained for—” She caught herself before she said too much. “Never mind.”

Dmitri laughed as they hooked a right onto Constitution Avenue. “They trained you well. Even after all these years, you still obey your masters.”

Bastard.
Three hours after apologizing for choking her, and he was back to acting like an asshole. “Like you’re any better.”

“I never claimed to be.” Together, they stopped to wait for the light at the crosswalk. He looked down his nose at her, the condescension plain on his face. “How far did you go to serve your country,
zaika
? Did you step up, or lie flat on your back?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“Ah. On your back, then.” He smirked. “Tell me, how many men did you fuck during your time at the Bureau?”

A few, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Come hell or high water, she’d completed every mission, and her body had been a powerful tool in her arsenal. Each encounter had left her feeling cheap and unclean, but it was a small price to pay for the sake of national security. “I’m warning you. Drop it.”

His smirk widened. “Dozens? Hundreds? Did they leave their money on the dresser or the nightstand?”

She slapped him so hard his head whipped sideways.

“Don’t you dare try to act all high and mighty on me,” she hissed. “You did the exact same thing, probably worse, and so did your precious Elena.”

The ice in his eyes let her know she’d hit a nerve. He caught her by the crook of her arm and dragged her around the corner. After waiting a few moments for a family to walk past, he pinned her against the cool, polished limestone of the Department of Justice Building. With both hands braced against the wall on either side of her head, he towered over her, scowling.

“Do not ever speak her name in my presence,” he snarled. “
Ever.
Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

No way was she going to let him bully her around. She tipped up her chin and met his furious glare. “Don’t act like an ass, and there won’t be any need to bring her up.”

His nostrils flared and she could have sworn she heard him growl. This close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, and on some sick level it gave her a thrill. “You’re pushing your luck,” he warned.

“Oh, and what are you going to do about it? Even you’re not stupid enough to cause a scene in a public setting.”

“No, but as soon as I get you alone—”

“Excuse me,” a man’s deep voice said from behind. “Is there a problem?”

Gwen peered around Dmitri and spotted a police officer standing about ten feet away. Middle-aged and physically fit, he had the look of a man who’d seen a lot during his years of service. One hand rested on the top of his radio while the other hung loose at his side.

“Everything’s fine, Officer,” she answered with a smile. Dmitri moved to the left and faced the cop, allowing her room to maneuver.

D.C.’s finest didn’t appear convinced. “Are you sure, ma’am?”

“Positive.” She could plant a mental suggestion to compel the officer to move on, but she’d rather conserve her energy. She stepped beside Dmitri and looped an arm around his waist. To anyone else he probably appeared relaxed, but she felt the slight flinch of his muscles at the contact. “We’ve only been dating for a few months, and he just can’t keep his hands off me. Isn’t that right, honey?”

She flashed him such a sickeningly sweet smile it made her own teeth ache. There’d be hell to pay later, but for now she was enjoying his discomfort.

Much to her surprise, he upped the ante. “That’s right, sir.” He mimicked the cadence of her accent perfectly. “Sorry if we caused you any problems.” She nearly yelped when he palmed her ass and pulled her tight against his side.

“Where are you two headed?”

“The museums,” Gwen replied.

“In that case, you should probably get moving. Most of them opened twenty minutes ago, and this time of year they crowd up early with kids on field trips.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for the tip, Officer.” She watched as the cop walked away, only stopping when an elderly couple asked him a question. As soon as he turned the corner, she shifted her attention back to Dmitri. “You can take your hand off my ass now.”

Instead, his palm skimmed lower, his fingertips brushing the center seam of her jeans. “So soon? But you just told the nice police officer I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”

Heat flared between her legs, and she cursed her body’s reaction. Reaching back, she swatted at his hand but his grip failed to loosen. “Knock it off. You know why I said that.”

A wolfish grin lit up his face. “Sure I do.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let me go. I’m supposed to meet Patrick in less than ten minutes.” The National Museum of American History was just across the street, but she didn’t know how long it would take for her to reach the Americans at War exhibit on the third floor.

“If you insist.” When he released his hold, she wasted no time putting a few feet of concrete between them.

“Thank you.”

“I still don’t think you should meet him alone.”

“Duly noted, but his instructions were specific. The meeting’s off if his associates can’t verify your presence inside the National Air and Space Museum.” To be honest, she wasn’t thrilled with the terms either. With Dmitri at the opposite end of the Mall, she had no support in the event things went sour. It railed against her sense of self-preservation, but she couldn’t think of a better alternative.

He frowned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. There’s no way Patrick would ever hurt me.” Of course, that applied to the Patrick she knew before. After what she saw in Charleston, all bets were off.

“I’m not worried about you,” he said. “I’m worried about losing the opportunity to take the bastard down.”

“Gee, thanks. You’re a prince.”

“It’s all part of the service.”

 

She reached the exhibit with a little less than three minutes to spare. The cop had been right; the museum was buzzing with school-aged kids on field trips. The boisterous hum of human vitality filled the building, making it difficult to search through the clutter for Patrick’s essence. Groups of children moved from one display to another, some snapping pictures while others looked bored to tears. Nearby, a chaperone scolded two preteen boys for talking too loudly while their tour guide spoke about George Washington’s uniform and scabbard.

If given the chance, Gwen could spend an entire day viewing the endless array of exhibits. She’d always been inquisitive by nature and spent much of her childhood at the public library. To be surrounded by so much history was simply awe-inspiring. Was Dmitri sharing a similar experience inside the Air and Space Museum? Maybe she’d ask him later, when they met at the designated place and time.

“Ma’am?”

Gwen twisted her neck toward the sound of a boy’s voice. He appeared to be no older than nine, with chubby cheeks and a mop of curly red hair. She returned his shy smile. “Yes?”

Looking nervous, the boy stepped toward her and held out an envelope with her name written across the front. “Um . . . some guy asked me to give you this.”

Her gaze darted about the crowded room, scanning for signs of Patrick but finding none. No surprise there. After working as a reaper for close to thirty years, he’d become an expert at blending in with a crowd. Extending her hand, she accepted the envelope the boy offered. “Thank—” The kid took off before she could finish her sentence.

Wasting no time, she tore the envelope open and found a museum postcard inside. On the front was a picture of Dorothy’s ruby red slippers from
The Wizard of Oz
. On the back was a simple message:
Follow the yellow brick road. You have five minutes.

Well, shit. She had no idea where the Smithsonian displayed the Oz memorabilia. “Excuse me,” she said to a passing guide. “Do you know where I could find Dorothy’s slippers?”

“I sure do,” the older woman chirped. “They’re in the American Stories exhibit. Second floor, east side.”

“Thank you.” Gwen slung her purse over her shoulder and rushed for the stairs.

She found the red shoes near the Kermit the Frog puppet with under a minute to spare. No sign of Patrick, but an older man handed her a note, this one with instructions to go to the First Ladies exhibit on the third floor. From there, she was sent to the American flag that inspired “The Star-Spangled Banner” and then to the main cafeteria on the first floor.

One more stupid note and she was calling it a day, she thought as she trudged past a table full of rowdy, middle school–aged girls. She stalked across the crowded room, mentally sifting through the mass of humanity but finding no hint of Patrick’s life force. For all she knew, he was jerking her chain for kicks and giggles while his followers ran amok.

For a moment, she wondered what Dmitri was doing. Were Patrick’s people doing the same thing to him? How much would he put up with before finally losing his patience?

Just as she was about to give up the search, the faint pulse of immortality tinged the air. She froze where she stood, using her mind to track the signal back to its source.

Northeast corner.

She turned, her eyes searching the far side of the cafeteria until she found Patrick’s bright, smiling face.

In her mind, she struggled to reconcile the memories of the Patrick she used to know with the reality of what he’d done. He still looked every bit the idealistic young man she’d taken under her wing nearly thirty years before. It was hard to believe he’d committed such atrocities, and yet she couldn’t deny the facts. Somewhere along the line, the naïve young man she fondly remembered had morphed into a ruthless killer. With a heavy heart, she crossed the room.

“It’s nice to see you, Gwen.” Patrick motioned for her to join him at the table. “Thank you so much for coming.”

For the sake of civility, she sat on the chair across from his. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“As do I. My apologies for sending you on a wild goose chase, but I had to make sure you were alone.” His gaze moved over her while he sipped his drink. Nothing rude or overtly sexual, just the casual appraisal of a longtime friend. “You look tired, dear lady. Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Her fingers brushed over her throat. The bruises had already faded, but the memory was fresh in her mind. “I didn’t sleep well after seeing what you did to poor Lazlo.”

Regret shadowed his face. Was it genuine? She had no idea. “That was most unfortunate. I wanted to include him in my plans, but he didn’t respect my vision.”

“So you hacked him to pieces and sent him to judgment?” She flushed with indignation. “With the sins on his soul he’s as good as damned. How could you possibly do that to him?”

Patrick leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “What makes you so sure he’s damned?”

“You know the rules as well as I do. A reaper sent to judgment with an impure soul means automatic damnation.”

“You understand the rules you’ve been given.” He combed a hand through his short sandy-brown hair, and a stray lock fell over his forehead. “How do you know they’re accurate?”

“Because I learned them through firsthand experience.” Samuel had given her a taste of damnation after an early act of defiance. The memory still gave her chills. Since then, she’d been willing to do whatever it took to make sure she didn’t end up on the wrong side of the hereafter.

“What you know is illusion.” He finished the last of his drink and pushed the empty cup aside. “Everything Samuel’s told us is a lie. There is no judgment, and there is no Hell. It’s all an elaborate scheme to enslave us.”

At first she thought he was joking. But then she recognized the fire of fanaticism in his eyes, the absolute belief on his boyish features. “You’ve watched
The Matrix
too many times.”

“This isn’t a movie!” His clear, crisp voice rose loudly enough to make the guys at the next table glance over to see what the fuss was all about. When Patrick noticed them watching, he blushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“It’s okay.” Actually, it wasn’t. He was starting to give her the creeps. “Explain it to me, Patrick. Why did you hurt Lazlo and the others?”

He stared down at the table for a few long moments, his long, slender fingers busy tearing a paper napkin to shreds. At last, he looked up again, his face filled with grim determination. “In your time as a reaper, how many souls have you harvested?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” She preferred not to dwell upon the legions of souls she’d collected in her years of service. Instead, she kept her focus on the goal of salvation, where she’d no longer feel haunted by the ghosts of her past.

“Think about it. You were drafted into service in the early nineteen sixties. Even if you only harvested one soul a day, that would add up to at least twenty thousand. That’s a tremendous amount of stress for one reaper to bear.”