Revealing Silver (5 page)

Nathan’s attention darted to Isaac’s face before he nodded. “I hope so. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Have you touched the coin since…?”

“No. Not directly. So I can’t make any promises.”

“I understand.”

Isaac didn’t make a sound, but she sensed him behind her shoulder. She wished he would say something, but he was obviously waiting for Nathan, and Nathan was going to continue to be stubborn. They deserved each other.

Isaac did, however, touch her arm before they went back to the living room. “We should have water and Tylenol ready for you in case it does work. And maybe a bowl, if you feel like you’ll be sick.”

“I’ll get it,” Nathan said, looking at Olivia as though responding to suggestions she made.

Olivia crossed over to the couch, pulling the coin’s case from her purse. She wanted something safer than wrapping it up in an old sweater and sticking it in the bottom of her underwear drawer, so she’d hunted around until she found an old-fashioned metal jewelry box with a lock, they key to which she wore on a chain around her neck.

Olivia set the box on the coffee table. “It’ll be fine.”

Isaac prowled around the couch. “I’ll pass on agreeing with you just yet. But I’m still asking Nathan to research this Keeper stuff. We need to know if Gabriel’s blowing smoke.”

Gabriel hadn’t been blowing smoke, but she didn’t expect Isaac to accept that. Maybe if he had been there when Gabriel witnessed the connection between her and Stacy he’d be more inclined to believe it. He’d been excited at the sympathetic pain, and then desperate to keep her alive. Marisol would have shot her in the back, but Gabriel had stopped his cousin and used her newly discovered title to save her life. On the other hand, Isaac could experience the piercing headaches and mind-numbing visions himself and still insist they were a crazy delusion. He was a natural-born skeptic and stubborn as a mule.

Nathan emerged from the kitchen with the bowl, Tylenol, and water, setting it all down on the table beside the coin’s box.

“Where’s the other coin?” Olivia asked. “I don’t really want to find out what’ll happen if we have them in the same room.”

“In my safety deposit box,” Nathan said. “That seemed to be the safest place for now.”

Isaac hovered at the end of the couch, visibly torn about whether or not to sit next to her. He finally lifted his chin, looking directly at Nathan. “Had you heard about any of this Keeper stuff when you were in Argentina?”

“No. If the Keeper is part of the legend, then our guide either didn’t know about it or didn’t want us to know.”

Olivia took Isaac by the hand and pulled him down to the couch. She curled one arm through his, pulling her legs up beside her. Nathan’s couch was one of the few new pieces of furniture he owned, and it was plush and comfortable. That, combined with Isaac’s solid warmth, made her wish she could stay there for the rest of the afternoon, watching cheesy Christmas movies and eating leftover candy canes. But duty called.

She pulled the key from beneath her shirt and slotted it into the lock. The large coin gleamed dully from the bottom of the box, looking no more remarkable than a silver dollar. The intricate, beautiful carvings weren’t quite visible. If Olivia hadn’t already experienced a handful of out-of-body experiences, she would be entirely on Isaac’s side. Even now, it was still difficult to accept something so small, so insignificant, could hold so much power. Gabriel was willing to go to any lengths to secure it, and though she’d go to equal lengths to stop him, she couldn’t blame him. For a man like him, the Silver Maiden represented limitless influence.

With one hand curled around Isaac’s, she reached for the coin. Olivia had the time to look up to Nathan as her fingers moved over the rough surface, but she barely registered the hopeful concern on his face before the dreary apartment fell away. That initial shift in time and place was almost a physical pain, like stopping short on a fair ride and being slammed into the safety bar. It knocked the breath from her chest, leaving a knot of pain in her sternum before the image solidified.

“God, Nate, where are you?
”

A cheap motel room. Charges by the hour. Two beds against the ugly green wall, but only one has been used. The other is perfectly made except for the grocery bag. Stater Brothers. There’s sound behind me, distant, tinny voices droning. The mirror on the wall in front of me is empty except for the reflection of a strange woman. I know her.

I know her but I don’t recognize her.

“Violent shooting…three Japanese businessmen dead…police are saying no suspect.”

It’s all the same. No matter when, no matter where.

The woman pushes her red hair back, tugs the T-shirt off. She falls on the bed, graceful limbs and narrow-eyed concentration.

“This is Diana Crowley for KTLA News.”

“Remy!”

And Isaac was there, his free arm reaching across her hips, scooping her into his lap to cradle her against his broad chest. Her body racked with tremors. Burying her face in his neck, she breathed him in, grateful for his strong hands running up and down her back.

Nathan must have moved because Isaac tensed beneath her. “Just give her a minute, okay?” His head bent, and his dry lips brushed across her damp temple, settling at her ear. “You need anything?”

“No. Write this down before I forget.”

“Have some water at least.”

Olivia shook her head, but didn’t pull away from the warmth of his arms. “Write it down. She’s got red hair. She’s in a motel. Watching the news. Diana Crow…Crowley. There was a shooting on Sunset. I think the victims were Japanese.”

Isaac didn’t move, but he didn’t have to. The sound of Nathan scribbling down the details filled the room.

“Did you say Diana Crowley?” Isaac asked. At her nod, he looked over the top of her head at Nathan. “Diana left L.A. for CNN in 2001.”

Olivia frowned. “How do you remember that?”

His arms around her loosened a fraction. “We went out a few times before she left, that’s all.”

“She’s definitely alive.” Olivia looked up, seeking Nathan’s haggard face. “And she’s definitely in L.A. I don’t know why she changed her hair color though.”

“Marisol’s there, too, remember?” Like any of them could forget. The portal Marisol opened had been Nathan’s only chance to find Remy himself.

“Remy’s probably hiding out until she thinks it’s safe.”

Nathan shook his head. “She would never hide.”

“She hid from Kirsten.”

“No, she went looking for trouble Remember the shoot-out in the middle of the street?”

Isaac grimaced. “How could I forget?”

“So she was safe?” Nathan pressed.

Olivia nodded. “Yes. Perfectly safe.”

“She wasn’t hurt? You didn’t notice any marks or anything, did you?”

“No marks. No signs of distress.”

Nathan let out a long breath and sank down to the couch, his head cradled in his hands, every line of his body broadcasting his relief. The news was everything. Now maybe he could get some sleep at night. Olivia no longer trembled but she found it difficult to let go. He didn’t release her until she pulled back, easing out of his lap.

Isaac kept his eyes on Nathan, watching every move the man might make. “Was there anything else in the news report you heard?”

She frowned, replaying it in her mind. “Three men were shot. No suspect.”

“So we have three Japanese men shot on Sunset here in L.A. sometime before 2001.” He reached into his pocket for his phone. “Let’s see if anything pops up in the system. Maybe we can get an exact date on when Remy is.”

“It’s not ringing any bells for me, so it’s probably been solved.” They both looked skeptical, but Olivia knew her department. She knew the faces, and she knew the names of the ones who’d been identified, the numbers of those who hadn’t.

“Are you sure?” Nathan asked. “There’s a lot of cold cases, after all.”

“Pretty sure, but if Isaac doesn’t find anything, I’ll double-check.” But the more concerning question was what they would do if he
did
find something. Having a firm date in mind would be great, but without Bill and Ted’s phone booth how would they make use of that information?

They listened as Isaac relayed the details, the room’s silence booming while everybody waited for the response. Isaac’s reaction came first, a frown as he pulled farther away from Olivia and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Are you sure on that?…Huh. Okay, then. Thanks, Joe. I owe you.” He disconnected, but didn’t immediately turn back to face them.

“Well?” Nathan prompted.

“Three Japanese businessmen, shot on Sunset, just like Olivia saw.”

“What about the date?”

“2000.” His gaze swung over to Nathan. “Christmas Day.”

Questions immediately filled Olivia’s mind, all the more frustrating because there was no logical way to answer them. Why 2000? Was that on purpose? Or an accident? Could Gabriel control exactly where and when to send the girls? And if so, how could they make him explain the process?

“Maybe she’ll try to find us,” Nathan said. “She knows where to look.”

Isaac tilted his head, looking at Nathan curiously. “You don’t remember meeting her before, do you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I did. Maybe it’s just…wishful thinking.”

“It’s not.” When Isaac rose, he slipped his phone back into his pocket, but kept his hand there, idly jingling the change he found. “Redhead? Christmastime? Ringing any bells?”

Nathan blinked at him. “I don’t remember a lot about 2000. I barely remember much about last year.”

“That was the first year your parents invited me to their house for Christmas. Do you remember that? I showed up expecting this big English-style Christmas, and your dad was deep-frying a turkey on the back deck.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with the redhead at Christmastime?”

“Well…I couldn’t stop talking about her.”

Olivia calmly swallowed two of the Tylenol and most of the water. She had the feeling she wasn’t going to like this particular story. “You better start at the beginning.”

Another day in the hotel would drive Remy batshit.

She still had ten hours before Isaac expected to meet her at Smokey’s. She kept his card in her front pocket, but she didn’t intend to use it. If he had to work for her information, it would pique his natural curiosity as a cop. She’d holed up on Christmas Day, knowing the entire city would be closed, and brushed up on the year 2000. That basically involved watching a lot of television and now she was feeling locked up and restless. Stores were open at obscene hours for one more round of holiday sales and gift returns. L.A. was wide awake, waiting for Remy to come out and play.

She didn’t have a lot of spare cash, but there was a Best Buy about two miles away. The parking lot was jammed with people and the returns line snaked out the door. The store was literally bursting at the seams. She’d learned to lift as a child, but perfected the skill by the time she was fifteen. She didn’t get much real-world experience anymore, but Nathan made for an excellent, if unknowing, challenge. If she could take his wallet without getting caught or shoving her tongue down his throat, then she knew she still had the skills. Now she took cash, dropping the wallets and purses somewhere visible. Once she had a few hundred, she bought lipstick and a T-shirt from the clearance rack, and strolled out like she was a law-abiding citizen.

Practicing her innocent act on Nate kept that skill sharp, too.

But she was glad he couldn’t see her now. Stealing had been a fact of life before she’d jumped D.C. and she wasn’t sorry about that. She defended her decisions—or she would if Nathan ever called her on her past. Instead of berating her, he showed her what life could be like, gave her a new family to love, care for. Remy had tried to integrate herself into the mainstream, but she stuck out too much, unaccustomed as she was to respecting authority figures or anything related to customer service. Instead of falling back on old tricks, she’d become a part of his bounty hunter business. They were a team in every sense of the word and she was proud of the faith he had in her. He would be so disappointed if he knew what she’d resorted to.

The world tunneled down to tiny black points, her chest tightening to the point of pain. Each breath was a battle. She stopped in her tracks, grabbing the nearest immobile object—the rail on the shopping cart corral. Bitter tears stung the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Soon. She’d get home soon. To Nathan, to their apartment, to Isaac, who in spite of his occasional condescending disdain was as close to a big brother as she’d ever had. Olivia, too, because even if she and Isaac didn’t work out, Remy suspected their freshly developed bond would always connect them. Olivia understood in ways the guys never could. They might not have spent much time together, but Remy trusted the other woman with her life.

Slowly, the bands around her breasts loosened, making it easier to fill her lungs without feeling like the world was going to disappear. Thinking about home was dangerous. The last time the Silver Maiden decided to play roulette with her life, she’d been glad to leave D.C. and 2085 behind. This time, she’d kill to get back.

Eight and a half hours until Smokey’s.

Isaac and Nathan would have the resources to bust Gabriel’s men, but the more information she had for them, the quicker it would happen. She’d been too focused the past few days figuring out how best to contact them to follow up on the warehouse. Time for a road trip.

An hour and three bus transfers later, Remy walked past the 7-Eleven she’d found the night she arrived, toward the building in question. The T-shirt she’d purchased was a size too big, hanging like a sack over her tits and hips, hitting halfway down her thighs. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, too. It wouldn’t fool Gabriel if he followed her from 2010, but the men working in the warehouse had only seen a brunette in skintight leather. A redhead in baggy clothes might slow them down on an ID.

The neighborhood was even worse by day. The washed-out sky bled into the decrepit structures that lined the streets like broken teeth, while litter stuffed the cracks of the sidewalk and fell into oil-stained gutters. More than a few young street toughs hung around in doorways, tilting bottles to their mouths, ogling her when she passed by. Though she kept her chin up, she never glanced in their direction. The fine balance between “potential victim” and “not worth the effort” was all a matter of attitude. And when attitude didn’t protect her, the four knives she had strapped at strategic points to her body did.

Frankly, she preferred the knives. It was hard to argue with the power of pain.

The warehouse blended into its neighbors, completely nondescript in its ashen facade and boarded-up windows. Remy faltered. The place looked dead. Planks covered half of the front door. One board was snapped off, lying discarded on the sidewalk. Had she been disoriented enough that night to screw up its location? Maybe it was the building across the street. Or farther down the block.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowed as she replayed her flight in her head. No. She’d been frantic, but not blind, and several landmarks stood out from her flight. Her gaze swiveled back to the warehouse and caught on the yawning alley running next to it. None of the other structures had one, not on both sides of the street. It had to be the place.

“Whatcha looking for?” an accented male voice said from behind her. In a show of
you can’t seriously be talking to me
, Remy slowly turned to see him standing much closer than made her comfortable. A pair of his friends flanked him, all three dressed in big jackets and jeans belted unnaturally low around their asses. None of them older than twenty. The leader cupped his crotch, leering at her. “I got what you need right here.”

His buddies laughed. Remy did her best not to roll her eyes. Didn’t matter the decade. Assholes like this and their asshole friends always went for the easy target. Too bad they’d misread the situation.

“You guys from around here?”

His reckless smile faded, and his friends passed a frown between them. The leader tried to salvage his image by shooting off, “We look like tourists to you, bitch?”

“Depends.” She palmed her switchblade in her right hand and flicked it open. The morning sunshine hit the steel blade, scattering glints across the dirty sidewalk, but Remy took care to hold it sideways on display rather than brandish it like a weapon. “You think I care?”

They stiffened at the sight of the blade, the pair on the ends retreating a step to leave it up to their spokesman to make the decision. She might’ve been impressed by their deference if she was a part of their world. Or pissed off that her soldiers were cowards at heart.

“So you think you can just come strolling through our streets like you’re on fucking vacation?”

“Trust me. I’d rather be anywhere else.” Closing her switch, she slid it back into her pocket and gestured toward the warehouse. “What do you know about that building?”

“It’s got four walls and a roof.”

“Know who owns it?”

“Yeah. President Clinton.”

While his friends snorted, Remy sighed. “Right. So basically, you know shit.” She took a step back. “Good luck keeping your streets, boys. Something tells me, you’re going to need it.”

She’d gone two steps before the leader called out, “What’s the deal with that building?”

Remy stopped. “It’s bad news.”

“Like, I-got-plugged-in-the-chest bad news, or shit-I-stubbed-my-toe bad news?”

“Like, cops-are-going-to-be-crawling-through-here-night-and-day bad news.”

He stared at the warehouse, frowning in concentration, then shook his head.

“So what makes you think the cops are interested in it?”

“They’re not. Yet. But they will be. Maybe as early as tonight.”

The trio shuffled like dogs on leashes who’d caught a whiff of something bad. “That’s not right.”

“Oh?” He might still be in denial, but she was getting to him. She dared a step back to him, cocking her head in curiosity. “What makes you think it’s safe?”

“White dude owns it. Man’s got money. Too much money to get busted.”

“He’s white?” That, she hadn’t expected. No way could these three mistake Gabriel as anything but one of their own. “You got a name?”

The leader glanced at his buddies. After a moment, the one on the left spoke up.

“Goes by Parker. Sometimes he throws a job our way, but that’s it.”

Remy bit the inside of her cheek. Parker was a common enough name. That didn’t mean it was the same one who’d done everything he could to wreck Nathan and Isaac’s lives. “This Parker. He run guns?”

“Shit, no, all he’s into is girls,” said the leader.

“Prime pieces of ass,” Leftie clarified.

Nathan’s Parker had been using Susanna to distract him from the arms deals he had going. That’s what Nathan had called her, too. One of Parker’s girls.

Was he running a prostitution ring out of the warehouse? No, that didn’t make sense. What else could he use it for? Pornography? Remy didn’t even want to know what sort of porno Parker filmed in a seemingly abandoned warehouse. Gabriel had sent the missing girls back to a location where a few extras wouldn’t look amiss. Locals like these fine gentlemen would ignore girls coming and going, and not think twice about any black vans.

“Figures. When he wants you for a job, do you go to him, or does he come to you?”

“He usually comes to us. Danny here’s got wheels so fast, he makes those rich fucks and their Ferraris look like soccer moms.”

A private taxi service. With kids he could sacrifice if anybody got caught. Smart.

“You know how to get ahold of him if you need some extra cash?”

They laughed. “You looking? Forget the wheels. All you gotta do is spread ’em wide. Parker can always use some fresh pussy.”

The comment was obnoxious but at least he wasn’t making a move. She’d hate to have to clock one if he tried grabbing her. Fights before lunch—even fights she knew she’d win—weren’t her idea of a good time.

“I’ll take that as a no.” The well had gone dry with these idiots. She glanced up and down the street before stepping off the curb. “Thanks for the tips.”

Their low murmurs reached her ears, though the words blurred together too much to make out. The tone, however, was obvious. They weren’t used to people turning their backs on the threat they represented, especially women.

At the first sound of a rubber sole against the concrete, Remy grasped the knife tucked into her waistband firmly in hand. She ducked her head down, casting her gaze sideways, watching the shadows on the road approach. She couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t come up on the other side faster, but she had to play the odds they’d go for what they’d perceive was her weaker side, the one with easier access to her switchblade. As soon as the shadows had stretched close enough, she moved.

Her leg swept around in a reverse kick, the knife poised, ready to slash at whatever the shadow’s owner was going to throw. Her heel made contact first. It slammed across Leftie’s jaw, sending him reeling into his buddy. Both of them crashed to the ground, but Remy finished the move to come face-to-face with the leader.

He had his own knife, a dull six-incher that would hack to pieces with any kind of attack. His grip was lousy, though, and when he swung at her, she dodged him with ease, ducking beneath his arm to lash out with her heel and kick him in the side. He grunted and wobbled, but he was more solidly built than his friends. He slashed again, this time catching the back of her calf and slicing through her jeans. There was a sting of cool air against where the blade had broken the skin. It didn’t hurt, though. She risked a glance down as she danced out of his way to see her clothes had taken the worst of the cut.

“Son of a bitch.” She didn’t have a big enough wardrobe here to risk losing what few items she did possess. Plus, he’d come too close to hamstringing her. A little bit higher, a little bit deeper, and she’d be a dead duck for these three.

“You wanted to play, didn’t you?” he taunted. “So let’s play.”

“You should’ve let me walk away while you had the chance.”

A few people had begun to watch the fight, heads turned in their direction as Remy pulled a second blade from her boot. The leader’s dark eyes darted back and forth from the new weapon and her grim face, some of his bravado fading. He rolled his knife between his fingers. The tattoo on his neck shone with the fresh sheen of sweat.

Before his buddies stumbled to their feet, she moved in. One leg swept across his, while her fresh weapon sliced upward, through his sleeve and along his arm. She kept her blades sharp. The jacket’s canvas was no match for it. Concentrating on not landing on his ass, he’d loosened his hold on his knife even more, and the cut up his forearm was enough for him to drop the weapon entirely.

Remy kicked out at Leftie, who was trying to make another play for her. Her heel landed squarely in his balls this time. His fall from grace now was a hell of a lot louder than his first one.

“You got an audience now.” She jerked her chin at the people congregating on the walk behind them. “You want your streets to see the three of you get taken down by a girl?”

She hated the fucking gender card, but the best way to end this was to play on their pride.

The leader glanced around without trying to look obvious about it. Though his upper lip curled into a snarl, he pocketed his blade and took a step back.

“You’re not worth the fucking time.” He spat at the ground in front of her. “Be careful, bitch. Next time, you won’t get no warning.”

She stood her ground as he gestured for his friends to follow him back to their side of the street. The third had to help Leftie to his feet, supporting his weight as he continued to cup his crotch. Blood trickled down the back of her calf, but she didn’t move until the road was clear, retreating the last few feet to the sidewalk. Rather than give him the pleasure of checking it out, she turned on her heel, hurrying away from the warehouse, back to the 7-Eleven and its public bathroom. Scoping out any more of the building was out of the question. She wouldn’t be surprised if the trio kept an eye on it, waiting for her to come back. Plus, leaving blood evidence behind was out of the question. She wasn’t in the system, and she hadn’t been when she’d first met Nathan ten years from now. She had to do everything necessary to keep it that way.