Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (18 page)

I had to walk for three hours before I finally spotted a cab. The closest things I had to water were the energy and strength potions I’d snagged from Domingo, so I drank them as I walked up the highway toward Los Angeles. I was jittering hard by the time I got into the checkered cab.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked me.

My hands were shaking like I’d tossed back a twelve pack of Red Bull. I raked my fingers through my hair. I was soaked with sweat.

It wasn’t just the walk or the potions. It was knowing what I had to do next.

For a second, I thought about telling him to take me back to Isobel. I thought about locking myself in the RV with her and seeing what else she’d been thinking about doing to me. I thought about asking her how she felt about spending the summer in Mexico with Ofelia, maybe heading into Guatemala to visit Abuelita’s family.

But Isobel wouldn’t take me back, so I gave him a different address.

The driver turned on the meter and got on the road.

Fritz Friederling lived in Beverly Hills. He’d told me over drinks at The Pit once that his great-grandfather had been big in mining—something about minerals—and Fritz had inherited everything when he was sixteen. He worked for the OPA because he was passionate about keeping the country safe, not because he wanted the benefits. Definitely not because he wanted an extra eighty grand a year. It was pocket change for him.

His house was wedged in between two celebrity mansions. The kind of place that buses visit on tours. The cabbie gave a skeptical look at the elaborate gate guarded by stone lions with uplifted paws and said, “This right?”

“This is right,” I said, and I gave him a sweaty wad of cash.

He was gone before I’d gotten all the way to the intercom.

I buzzed. The speaker crackled on, and I said, “It’s me, it’s Cèsar Hawke.”

The gate swung open immediately. Fritz’s front lawn was bigger than most public parks. It was early in the morning and gardeners were working on maintaining his flowerbeds. The staff didn’t even glance at me as I headed for the front door.

A man emerged from the house, half-dressed for work in charcoal gray slacks. He was a suave motherfucker with his blond hair slicked back, a tie hanging around his neck, and a watch that probably cost more than Domingo’s house. I’d always thought he looked kind of like James Bond.

“Cèsar! Thank God!” Was I imagining things, or did Fritz look relieved to see me?

I lifted my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not here to fight. I’m turning myself in.”

“Turning yourself in?” Fritz frowned deeply. “Aren’t you going to try to defend yourself?”

“No. I’m just…turning myself in.”

“Well,” he said. “You surprise me.”

I’d surprised myself, too. “I’ve had a bad week, man.”

He obviously already knew that. He swept a hand toward the front door. “Let’s go inside. You look like you could use a drink.”

+ + +

Fritz had servants. One of them brought me a snifter of brandy. Not my usual breakfast, but considering I was about to go somewhere that I’d never have a drink like this again, it seemed like a final act of generosity from my boss. Even so, I didn’t want to drink it. I never wanted to drink alcohol again. I cupped the snifter between my hands and warmed it with my body heat as Fritz hiked up the legs of his trousers and settled on the chaise across from me.

He looked like he was going to speak. I didn’t let him.

“I’ve been doing some investigating in my…time off. Trying to figure shit out. Get my head on straight. You’ve probably heard some of it from Eduardo and Joey.”

Fritz’s eyes sparked with interest. “Agents Costa and Dawes? What about them?”

“They didn’t tell you that they found me?” I asked.

“They haven’t been back to work in days.”

Well,
that
was interesting. “They caught me at an RV park, dragged me out to the desert, and tried to execute me.” Fritz’s jaw dropped open. I quickly added, “I left them alive. All I did was tie them up.” I didn’t mention Isobel. If the OPA didn’t know how to find her, I wasn’t going to help them.

“I believe you,” Fritz said. “I know you wouldn’t lie about that.” He raked a hand through this hair. “That’s not good, Cèsar. Costa and Dawes are with the Union, and as you know, there’s somewhat of a…veil of secrecy between our department and theirs. I’ll have to go through official channels to get authority to investigate them.”

“But you
will
investigate them?”

“I’ll investigate,” he said.

Relief warmed me. At least something good had come out of this. The only good thing, maybe, but at least it was
something.

Fritz leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at me intently. “Now do you want to talk about what’s happened with Erin Karwell?”

I stared into the brandy. The pattern of the marble floor was distorted through the curved side. “Not really.”

“I wish you had come to me when you left the police station.”

“Would have made your job easier, huh?” I asked.

He looked surprised. “I might have been able to help you.”

“I don’t think there’s any helping me now.” It wasn’t about me anyway. Even if he could have waved his hand and made the problem disappear, it wouldn’t have fixed anything for Erin.

“You’re a good agent, Cèsar. I don’t have many good agents under me—and fewer that I can trust. I’d hate to lose you.”

Even though I’d killed a woman? “I’ve always appreciated my job,” I said cautiously. “But you didn’t send anyone to pick me up from the 77th Street station. I figured you’d written me off.”

He shrugged. “The paperwork takes time. You never would have gone to trial.”

I didn’t know what to say about that. I opened my mouth then shut it.

A man wearing a black suit and tie stepped into the doorway. He caught Fritz’s eye. My boss stood.

“Finish your drink,” he said. “I have a phone conference I can’t miss.”

What was more important than a fugitive agent showing up at his door?

As if he could read my mind, Fritz said, “There’s been new evidence in your case. They’re debriefing me on it now.” He gave me a sideways smile. “With this new development, I’m sure the meeting won’t last long.”

I didn’t see anything amusing about it. My fingers tightened on the snifter hard enough that the pads went white.

Fritz followed his security guard or assistant or whatever into the kitchen. I could see through the doorway that Fritz’s kitchen was as nice as the rest of his house. Marble countertops, big island thing, cast iron cookware hanging from the rack. There was a freaking waterfall on the back wall.

I wasn’t sure how long it would be until the Union came to take me away, but I felt antsy, like I was going to get jumped at any moment. I paced the room, set the brandy on his antique bureau, checked my reflection in the mirror. The week had aged me. I was scruffy and sunburned and dirty.

I scrubbed my jaw and stared at the face of the man who had killed Erin Karwell. That guy deserved everything he was gonna get.

My hip buzzed.

I just about jumped out of my skin at the sensation. Patted my pockets. Felt something hard on the right side.

Domingo’s cell phone. I forgot that I’d been carrying it.

I glanced up at the kitchen. Fritz was still talking with his assistant, outlined in gold by the light through the window. They weren’t watching me. They didn’t notice when I stepped into the hall and answered the cell phone.

“You have to come back, Cèsar.”

Took me a second to recognize Isobel’s voice. She sounded like she was panicking. “Wait, what? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Agent Takeuchi—she did it, she was there—”

“Slow down, Izzy. What about Suzy? Where was she?”

“I grabbed some of Erin Karwell’s cremains before we ran. I’m sorry, I know it’s gross. But I used it to raise her again.”

“Why would you—”

“Cèsar, you’re as dangerous as a teddy bear. Erin never said that you killed her specifically, did she? I had to know.” Isobel plowed on without waiting for me to speak. The reception was bad—her voice crackled, faded, then came back. “—was there that night. At your apartment.”

What she was trying to tell me started to sink in.

“Suzy was there?”

“She was fucking
there
, Cèsar,” Isobel said. She didn’t seem to have heard me. I was losing her. “Erin saw her.”

It was impossible. No way Suzy would have been hiding that from me, not without a good reason. It didn’t mean she was a killer—it didn’t mean
anything
.

“Wait, there’s someone—” Isobel began.

The sound crackled, fuzzed, and cut off abruptly.

The call had died.

Fritz’s front gate was closed. It was tall. And there were two black SUVs parked on the other side. The Union had arrived to arrest me, take me to a detention center, make me vanish.

They were going to be disappointed.

I veered off the path, hurtling through the gardens. “Sorry!” I shouted to a gardener as I pulverized his begonias.

There was a tree planted near the wall. It had been trimmed to keep the branches from hanging over the opposite side, but it was easy to climb from the gardens. Domingo and I had climbed a thousand trees to sneak out and party on the weekends, and my muscle memory hadn’t faded. I was over the wall in seconds.

I jumped over the side. Landed hard on my knees. Got up to run.

Hands grabbed my jacket from behind. I swung a right hook as I turned.

It was only Suzy’s lightning-fast reaction time that saved her from getting a face full of fist. She grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back. I felt my elbow pop.

“Suzy!”

She forced me to the ground with her grip on my arm. “Shut the fuck up, Cèsar,” she hissed under her breath. “They’re on the other side of that wall.”

Once she was sure I was quiet, she released me and leaned around the corner to look at the SUVs. Her hand rested on her hip where a holster should have been. For the first time, I wondered why she hadn’t been carrying her sidearm. I hadn’t seen her with it in days.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Looking for you.” She showed me a crystal filled with a faint turquoise glow. “Tracking spell. I used the clothes you left at my house as a focus.”

“Why? Because you want to tell me the truth about what happened the night Erin died?”

The blood drained out of her face. “Cèsar—”

“So it’s true.”

Her lips pressed into a thin frown. “Stonecrow?”

I nodded.

She pushed her hair out of her face, closed her eyes, seemed to think silently for a moment. When her eyes opened again, she looked resigned. “You were drunk off your ass, Hawke. You’d been arguing with the waitress outside. When I saw you leave with her, I followed to save you from a drunken one night stand.”

“And then?” I pressed.

“I confronted the two of you in the parking lot outside your place. I told Erin to go home and offered to pay for a cab.” She glanced at me. Then back down. Couldn’t meet my eyes. “You had your tongue halfway down her throat, but you found the oxygen to tell me to fuck off.”

“So you shot her?”

Suzy’s eyes widened. “What? No. I fucked off, like you told me to. I went home.”

“You knew what I’d done this whole time,” I said.

“Of course I did. I’m not stupid, Cèsar. Everyone knows what you did. Everyone fucking saw you leave The Pit with Erin Karwell.”

“If you were so intent on hiding the truth from me, then why did you take Isobel and me to the morgue?”

“I didn’t think Stonecrow would actually be able to talk to the dead. I read her files. I was convinced she was bullshitting you, bullshitting everyone, and that she’d just make something up that made you happy. I didn’t think she’d tell you that you actually…” She stopped talking. Shut her mouth.

My head was swimming. I felt sick.

I didn’t realize I’d sunk into a crouch until her hand dropped onto my shoulder.

“They’re going to arrest you, Cèsar, and who knows what comes after that? We need to get out of here.”

This time, when she grabbed me, I let her. She ran toward the street behind the house. I followed her.

A black SUV stopped at the end of the alley.

She skidded to a stop. Planted both hands in my chest, pushed me the other way.

But when I turned, there was a black SUV there, too. We’d been caught on both sides. Now men were jumping out wearing tactical gear, shouting for us to freeze, drop our guns, put our hands in the air. Suzy was swearing again.

“I’ll talk us out of this,” she said.

I lifted my hands to my shoulders. My heart wasn’t even beating fast now. I wasn’t scared of facing what was to come—what I deserved to deal with.

The men stepped into the alley and circled us. Six of them, all carrying M16s and wearing ballistic helmets. Their flak jackets had bold white letters on the chest: “UKA.” It was a full unit of Union kopides—and they weren’t messing around.