Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) (38 page)

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She was Ariadne in reverse, drawing him not out of the labyrinth but into it. It had crossed his mind that this was a trap, the slaughter above notwithstanding. She dealt with people who wished him dead, and right now, as she admitted, she needed to appease her clients. He’d make a lovely offering. But she’d dangled the carrot of his son and he’d follow her to hell and back on the promise alone.

Once they’d descended the stairs, she took him into a crudely hewn passage that forced the both of them to crouch, and soon enough they were wading in brackish water up to their knees. The air turned foul, but Sweetly pressed on. The tunnel wound onwards through the darkness for several hundred meters, bending back and forth as it followed some long tapped seam. Finally, it rose into a dry, circular chamber from which branched a half-dozen smaller passages, but she didn't need to lead him any further.

Around the room, alcoves were carved into the rock, each containing a pile of small bones, each pile a grisly little pyramid topped with a jawless human skull. Small human skulls. Children.

He couldn’t move. He’d turned to stone, like everything around him. In his dark hours he’d imagined the horrors Tommy had experienced. The taunts, the violation, the torture—in all the scenarios, it had ended in death. And there had been a kind of twisted peace to that. But this—this was an outrage that went beyond death. He stared at the first pile of bones, focused on the perfect set of upper teeth.

The Sweetly woman came alongside him, the beam of her light joining his on the pile. “I couldn’t go on,” she said quietly through her mask. “Suppose you could say I’d not the heart for it.”

Her admission eased him somehow, gave him the courage she claimed not to have. Slowly he stepped to the second pile, then the next, moved from one alcove to another, inspecting each set of remains, careful not to disturb them. Her beam of light followed along, doubled on his to bring extra strength. That was useful because the lenses of his mask dulled his vision. Then again, there was an advantage to not seeing things too clearly. Finished, he switched his light to the floor, Sweetly’s right with him. There were drag marks on the dark earth, and one of them had uncovered a twist of red cloth.

He walked over to it, and setting down his light, tugged it free to reveal a child’s torn t-shirt, the front emblazoned with the barely recognizable figures of Tom and Jerry.

His Tommy had been wearing a Power Rangers shirt. The pain he carried night and day like a chronic ulcer flared inside, and he was glad to be already bent over. He stroked the rotting cloth for a long time, remembering, and at the same time, trying not to remember. It came to him after a while that it was Sweetly’s light alone that was on him, his own too low to reach his hands. She watched and said nothing. Waited for him.

He let go of the shirt and found he could speak. “The bones aren’t fresh but they aren’t ancient, either. We need a forensics team, but I'd say these are all children. Judging from their size they were prepubescent. All about ten years old."

"Your son was nine when he went missing, right?" Zephanie asked. "My aunt told me."

Leona Sweetly would know. They’d clashed. "I had a lead that took me into your territory. But your family didn’t lift a finger to help. Your aunt tell you that too?"

Her light didn’t waver. "We did look for him, Mr. Coyle. We may not have told you, but there was a search. Everyone of us Sweetlys looked for him everywhere we could think to."

"Obviously not successfully,” he gritted out.

He heard her draw breath, a hoarse intake through the mask. “Any of these—you recognize?”

“No. My boy was missing one of his canines at the time of his abduction. All of these have them."

Her breath blew out through the filter. "How long have they been here?"

"No way to tell. Not by looking, anyway. T-shirts like this one didn't become popular till the 1960's, so odds are at least some of these kids have been here since then. The bones were thoroughly cleaned before they were left. Scraped free of flesh and dried, which would explain why the rats didn't get at them. We need to bring in the police."

"I know you're not going to want to hear this, but I can't lead the cops down here," she said. "No way."

Coyle felt his usual blaze of anger against those who stood in the way of justice. "Somewhere, somebody is looking for these children," he snapped. "Fathers, mothers—they have a right to know what happened to them. You have no idea how much they suffer from just not knowing."

"I'm sorry, but I can't. If our clients knew we were working with the cops in any way, then my whole family would be at risk. This place stays a secret."

He stood. "Then we need to bring the bones out. Drop them somewhere the police will find them.

He moved to the nearest alcove, and was reaching out when she seized him by the arm. "Don't touch them," she hissed, her strange eyes on his. "For the love of God, don't move a thing."

Coyle yanked his arm away, glaring at her. "Why not?"

"Because they belong to the Rat Queen. And you don't bloody well cross the Rat Queen."

And here he thought he was dealing with a rational woman. "And who's she?"

"I swear I'll tell you everything I know, Mr. Coyle, but now that you've seen this with your own eyes we have to get out of here. Understand?"

No, he didn’t. He had no idea where this was heading, or even if he wanted to find out. Yet he gestured to the passage behind them. "Fine then. Lead the way."

She did, and at a pace as fast as he could follow.

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Prologue

Akeno savored the sweet metallic purr of the antique safe as he smoothly spun its dial first right, then back. With the ocean of blood money Matsuda possessed, he could’ve had something more modern protecting his cash, but Akeno appreciated the crime lord’s old-world style. The Swiss precision of the mechanism, the Italian polish of its fittings—he was so glad he didn’t have to violate the artistry with the usual drills and picks and pliers, yet part of him also felt denied its deflowering on this, his final take.

So far, everything tonight had gone like clockwork. The mansion’s formidable security system had been deactivated with the codes provided, and the key to the old man’s office had been hanging right where it was supposed to be. It was shaping up to be a classic inside job—quick, easy and relatively low-risk. The real test was going to be getting away with it afterwards, especially considering who Matsuda was.

The last number reached, Akeno drew in a long, slow breath, and exhaled on a three-count. In a moment, he’d discover if his love really knew her employer’s secrets as intimately as his own. Pressing down on the safe’s handle, he heard a quiet but distinct click, then slowly swung it open to reveal the prize.

Although he’d paid many uninvited visits to wealthy L. A. estates in his career what Akeno saw before him now made his heart kick like never more: stacks of hundred dollar bills almost filled the safe to capacity. Without a doubt, the biggest single haul of his life sat right before him—even after splitting it with his accomplice.

Well, she’d certainly earned her money. He pulled a large microfiber bag from his pocket and swept the cash into it. Now, to make his escape. So long as there was nothing suspicious to tip off the old gangster, days, perhaps even weeks, might pass before the robbery was detected. By that time, they would be on the other side of the country, sipping margaritas in the Miami sun and living out their fantasies.

As Akeno eased the safe door shut, however, his sensitive ears caught the almost imperceptible turning of the office door handle. He ducked behind the nearby desk, an instant before the door swung open, a dim arc of moonlight spilling in from the hallway.

He rested his head against the hardwood floor to peer under the desk. There was a single pair of feet in black running shoes, and from the shape of the shadow that stretched behind, his visitor was a woman. She slipped inside, shut the door, and a familiar voice spoke in the quietest whisper. “Akeno? Are you here?”

Anger and relief flooded through him as he rose to his feet.

“Susan,” he hissed, “what the hell are you doing here?”

She turned towards him in the darkness, and though her face was concealed by a balaclava, he knew she was smiling that devilish grin of hers. She sauntered towards him. “Now is that any way to talk to your Mistress?”

Akeno had no idea how to respond to that. Was she here out of her insatiable need for danger? From the past two months of sex he could believe it. The woman was a handful, two handfuls, actually. And she had a way of mixing pleasure and pain into a cocktail more potent than either.

“What’s the matter?” she breathed. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

No, he wasn’t, because it meant she didn’t trust him, understandable given his profession, but the lack of faith still stung. “You know how dangerous you being here is? This isn’t one of your games, Susan.”

She gave an amused shrug, slinking around the desk to him. “I like risk, Akeno. I thought you did, too.” Her body rubbed against his as she eased up her hood to reveal her mouth, with its hot red lips and perfect white teeth.

He gave her what she wanted because he was powerless to do, otherwise. He yanked up his mask, crushing his lips against hers. To say he was being unprofessional was an understatement, but as her tongue slid into his mouth he had a hard time thinking about anything else. He ran his free hand over the silky fabric of her midnight bodysuit, enjoying the curves sheathed within.

It was she, as usual, who broke off the kiss, tugging her mask down to blank out her face again. Her fingers trailed down his arm to where his hand held the bag. “How much did we get?”

He covered his face. “About a million. Maybe a bit more.”

Her dark eyes glinted. “Mmm…with that, we could do a lot of things for a long time.” Akeno knew what she meant, and he couldn’t help but reach for her, again.

Suddenly, the room was again bathed in dim light, the office door opening to reveal a young man standing in the hallway. Akeno froze. The youth squinted into the darkness. “Jeanelle?”

Akeno spun about, his eyes darting in search of an escape route, but then a gunshot blasted through the room and the boy collapsed like a rag doll. Before Akeno could react, Susan seized him by the arm. “Come on! Run!”

The whole house was awake now, and in a rich neighborhood like this, they had only a couple of minutes before the cops would be on them. There was no time to argue. Leaping over the crumpled body, Akeno felt a spike of sickness drive right through his heart.

The kid couldn’t have been older than sixteen, dressed in his robe and pajamas, completely unarmed. There was a neat little bullet hole in his forehead, and from the way he’d fallen, he was clearly dead. Oh God, he thought, sprinting after his lover down the curving stairwell to the front entrance. Oh God, Susan, what have you done…?

Chapter One