The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation (29 page)

The muscles in my arms were now approaching
the full throes of cramping. If I was unable to change my position
soon, the heightened discomfort I was currently battling was going
to become searing agony. If that wasn’t enough, Albright had not
bothered to set the stops on the handcuffs—purposely I’m
betting—and the metal bracelets were cutting off the circulation to
my hands. The first one she had slapped the restraint around had
already gone numb, and the second was well on its way.

Topping it all off, I was still dealing with
the complaining nerve endings that surrounded my various injuries
of the day.

I heard Albright force out another angry
breath although this one sounded as if it held a bit of resignation
as well. A moment later, the pressure against my back released and
the jangle of keys met my ears.

“This is not over by any means, Gant,”
Albright warned as she unlocked the cuffs, taking little care as
she did so.

First, one of my arms, then the other fell,
coming down to my sides just as the initial wave of severe cramping
was about to attack. I shook them loosely and then stretched.

“You had best hope that Porter does not harm
that young woman.” Albright continued to lecture me.

I worked my fingers in and out of my palms as
I turned to her and then inspected my wrists. I stopped for a
moment to rub the thick, red depressions that encircled them,
biting my lip as feeling returned, taking the form of countless
shards of broken glass and barbed hooks rattling about inside my
digits.

“I doubt you’ll be able to find anyone who is
hoping for her safety any more than me,” I echoed with as little
anger in my voice as I could manage.

She simply glared at me, her jaw working as
she clenched her teeth behind the thin gash formed by her intense
frown.

“Storm,” she finally snapped, turning to him.
“Mark my words, Detective. Your days are numbered.”

“Yeah.” Ben half nodded. “I’ll be sure to put
it on my calendar.”

Albright snorted haughtily then turned on her
heel and stalked toward the front of the apartment. When she
reached the door, she rested her hand on the knob and hesitated.
After a brief moment, she turned to glare at the four of us.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” I asked, not sure what
else to do.

“Just exactly what were you saying earlier,
Miz O’Brien?” she queried in a demanding tone. “You kept repeating
something.”

Felicity glowered at the lieutenant as
she crossed her arms beneath her breast. I could tell by looking at
her that it was taking an immense amount of effort on her part to
remain calm. My wife arched one eyebrow and spoke, her accent and
brogue heavier than usual from the anger, “Aye,
Fek tù saigh,
maybe
?
”

“Yes,” Albright snipped. “I suppose that is
one of your Witch curses.”

“Oh, nothing so eloquent as that, then,”
Felicity answered. “But, aye, it was a curse all right.”

“What then?” Albright pressed.

I couldn’t help but notice that she reached
up and began fingering the small cross hanging around her neck.
Unless I was misreading her, there was actually a small swath of
fear in her face.

“Are you certain that you are wanting to know
that, then?”

“I ASKED, did I not?” Albright barked.

Her voice cracked when she spoke, revealing
for a fact what I had suspected. For all her verbal bravado, she
actually harbored a fear of WitchCraft.

Felicity drew in a deep breath, cocked her
head to the side, and then translated the phrase into carefully
measured English. “Fuck. You. Bitch.”

Indignation filled the lieutenant’s face, but
not before a barely noticeable wave of relief washed over it. If I
hadn’t been watching as close as I was, I never would have seen it.
Nevertheless, I did, and I logged it away for the future.

She said nothing in return, but upon her
exit, I would almost have to say that Lieutenant Albright gave my
wife a run for her money in the door-slamming department.

“Damn,” I muttered in the wake of the door’s
echo. “She’s getting just as melodramatic about this as
Porter.”

“Yeah,” Ben acknowledged with a heavy sigh.
“She’s got a real bug up her ass when it comes to you.”

“You mean she’s always like this?” Mandalay
asked. “How does she keep her job?”

“Well, she was a lot worse just now than I’ve
ever seen,” Ben told her. “Usually she’s just a Bible thumpin’…
How’d you say that, Felicity? ‘Sigh’?”

“Aye,” she nodded. “
Saigh
.”

“Yeah, one of those,” he continued. “But
tonight, this was… Hell, I dunno what this was.”

She looked at him and shook her head in
disbelief. “Storm, you absolutely have to go to Internal Affairs
about this woman. I hate to sound cliché, but she’s a loose
cannon.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed. “I’m tight
with a copper that moved over to IAD a couple years back. Maybe
I’ll drop in on ‘im tomorrow if I have a few minutes.”

“I think it would be advisable,” Mandalay
replied.

“Well,” I spoke up. “I appreciate both of you
coming to the rescue. Thanks.”

Ben grunted, “Uh-huh. I’ll prob’ly regret it.
I’m bettin’ I shoulda let her arrest ya’ anyway.”

“What for?”

My friend turned his gaze on Felicity. “Did
you talk him outta puttin’ his ass on the line?”

“No,” she returned with a shake of her head.
Her voice was still covered with a frost of anger.

Ben swung his head back to me and then jerked
his thumb toward Felicity. “That for.”

I expelled an annoyed breath, frowned at him,
and then said, “We aren’t going to go down this road again, are
we?”

“Somebody’s gotta chase after ya’,” he
replied.

“Look,” Mandalay interjected. “Before you two
start arguing, let’s just see what happens.” She rolled her arm up
then pushed back her cuff to glance at her watch. You could almost
see the quick mental calculation going on behind her eyes as she
spoke. “It’s just past seven. The last call from Porter was a
little less than forty-five minutes ago, and they had pegged a grid
location on him. We haven’t heard a peep out of him since.

“We’ve all been a little preoccupied,
especially with Lieutenant Albright. For all we know, this just
might be a moot point by now.”

“Yeah.” Ben nodded in agreement with what she
was implying. “The S.O.B might be cornered somewhere right now. Or,
if we’re really lucky, maybe they’re stuffin’ his ass in a body
bag. I’ll check with one of the coppers that I know who is on
tonight. Mandalay, why don’t you call the Feeb house and see if
they have anything.”

Constance gave her head an annoyed shake.
“Field office, Storm. Can’t you just say field office? You should
know we aren’t exactly fond of the nickname ‘Feeb.’”

He returned an innocent, questioning stare.
“What? I didn’t call YOU a Feeb. I LIKE you.”

She rolled her eyes at him in answer then
reached into her pocket and extracted a cell phone. She flipped the
cover on the device open with a quick snap.

“So Mandalay,” Ben said as he fumbled his own
cell from his belt with his wounded fingers. “Thanks for the backup
with Albright.”

She continued looking at her cell phone as
she keyed in a number. “No problem, Storm. Even with all your
faults and overabundance of testosterone, I like you too.”

“I think I might have just been insulted,”
Ben quipped.

“Give me a break,” she returned. “Just take
it in the spirit it was intended.”

“So lemme ask you somethin’.”

“What’s that?”

“You really salutatorian of your class at
Cornell?”

“Actually no,” she replied as she hovered her
thumb over the send button and glanced up. “I was valedictorian. I
just didn’t want to sound too pretentious.”

“Jeezus, Mandalay.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“WHAT, Storm?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re a pretty good
copper.” He gave her an embarrassed glance and half shrugged as he
spoke. “And, sometimes, like when you fix yourself up… Well, you’re
kinda hot.”

She squinted one eye and shook her head at
him. “Storm, are you hitting on me? Because if you…”

“Hell no!” He scrunched his face and gave her
a dismissive wave as he rushed to cut her off. “I’m just kinda
surprised to find out you’re a nerd too.”

Mandalay rolled her eyes then turned her back
to him as she dropped her thumb on the keypad and headed out into
the living room.

“I’m going to check the television,” I
announced as Ben began fat-fingering his own cell phone.

“Yeah,” he called over his shoulder absently.
“Friggin’ media is prob’ly interviewin’ the bastard on every
channel as we speak.”

I gave Felicity a nod, and we skirted around
the massive Native American obstacle. He sidestepped as I gently
nudged him, moving against the wall and allowing us to pass. We
rounded the corner at the mouth of the small corridor and moved
into the edge of the living room.

An earlier thought pushed itself up into view
from the swirling tumult of my overtaxed brain, and I faltered for
a moment before coming to a halt.

“Caorthann
?”
Felicity called my name in Gaelic, her voice threaded with mild
concern. This was a pet name she’d had for me back before we were
married, and I hadn’t heard it in a long while. “Are you okay,
then?”

“I’m fine, honey.” I reached over and gently
took hold of her arm. “What does the Queen of Swords mean?”

“The tarot card?” she answered. “I’m not
sure. Mourning isn’t it? Feminine sadness? The tarot is really not
my strong point, but that’s what I seem to recall from the little
white book.”

The little white book; I hadn’t heard
that one in a while. It was an affectionate nickname given to the
booklet of definitions provided with what had to be one of the most
widely known decks on the market—the
Rider-Waite
tarot.

“I know, mine either,” I told her as I felt
my brow crease with concentration. “I think you’re correct, but it
just doesn’t feel right.”

“Aye, where did you see this card?”

“When Albright had me up against the wall,” I
explained. “When she was touching me, I saw a vision of the
card.”

“Aye, you’re sure it was the Queen of Swords,
then?”

“Pretty sure,” I nodded to her as I answered.
“I had to really concentrate on it since it was upside down.”

“Upside down?” she echoed. “Inverted, then.
That would change the meaning, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re right,” I said.

“I still can’t be sure, but I think that
reversed it means something like malice.”

I reached up, pinched the bridge of my nose
between my fingers, and let out a sigh. I was still grounded, but
something out there was knocking at the ethereal door leading into
my brain, and it was being very insistent. I had a feeling that it
was going to call for reinforcements soon.

“You’re sure that you’re okay?” Felicity
asked again.

“Yeah,” I looked back at her with a slight
smile. “Just tired.”

“Aye,” she returned. “I’ll be right
back.”

She turned to the side and started away from
me with a determined stride.

“What…” I began.

“The door,” she answered without waiting for
the rest of the question. “It needs to be locked.”

I personally didn’t feel that the task was an
imperative with both Ben and Constance here, but I didn’t disagree
with her. If the simple act of setting the deadbolt would make her
feel better, I was all for it. Besides, it was easily possible that
she was picking up on things that I wasn’t. It wouldn’t be the
first time.

I glanced around and saw that Mandalay had
paced her way into the dining area, so I headed directly for the
coffee table and scooped up the remote. Aiming the controller at
the corner, I pressed the power button. The screen on the
television flickered to life, and I immediately thumbed the volume
down a few notches just in case.

I brought my gaze up and saw that Felicity
had one hand on the knob for the deadbolt and one on the swing bar,
pressing it tight against the door. Her head was down, and her
shoulders relaxed noticeably. Apparently, that small measure of
security had meant more to her than I realized.

Looking back to the television, I saw a tight
aerial shot of what appeared to be an old multiple-story,
warehouse-and-office type of structure. The front side of the
building filled the screen, but any details that might have been
present were all but faded into the background.

The scene was dark, but emergency lights were
painting predictable swaths of red and white as they flickered from
the tops of squad cars. I watched intently as they strobed,
revealing a level of decay that told me the building was probably
abandoned, or at the very least, had been vacant for quite some
time. The setting was generic enough that I couldn’t place exactly
where it was, but it did appear to be somewhere near the
riverfront.

The vehicles in the foreground were angled
haphazardly across the partially cleared street, nosed into piles
of snow along the curb. The tableau looked, at first, like toys
left in disarray by a child in the midst of an imaginary game.
Closer inspection showed that there was some amount of method to
the madness, in that they formed a rough, staggered barrier.

Between the patrol cars and the building, a
dark-colored sedan sat with the corner of its front bumper against
the wall of the building. The car’s headlights were still burning,
slicing into the darkness to illuminate a small section of the
structure’s brick face. At the moment, it seemed to be the primary
focus of the officers’ attention.