Whisper of Shadows (The Diamond City Magic Novels) (6 page)

She rose and walked down to the end of the desk. She paused beside a waist-high door and keyed in a code. A soft chime sounded, and the half door swung open. She motioned us through. “This way.”

Interesting. I hadn’t thought it would be so easy. We followed her down a corridor, past a number of matching closed doors. Finally, she pressed buttons on the exterior of one and opened the door. “Can I get you any coffee while you wait?” she asked as we walked in. “Special Agent Henry will be with you in just a few minutes.”

This didn’t feel right. I didn’t know a thing about FBI investigations, but I was pretty sure that family members of arrested suspects didn’t get special sitting rooms and offers of coffee. Already I felt trapped. The room felt more like an interrogation room than a waiting area, despite the comfortable chairs. One wall had a long mirror that I guessed was two-way. Otherwise, there were no windows. It felt clinical and cold. The receptionist started to retreat, swinging the door shut behind her.

I went to block her, but Pia arrived before me. She smiled at our irritated guide. “Is there a bathroom I could use?”

The receptionist nodded, and the two disappeared. The door shut firmly. Instantly Mason tried to open it, to no avail. We were locked in.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “What’s going on?”

“We’re no doubt being observed and recorded,” Taylor said. “So if there’s anything you want the FBI to know, now’s the time.”

I turned to look at the window. “When are you going to figure out who killed my mother?” I demanded, glaring at my own reflection. “The way I see it, you really suck at your jobs.”

“Anything else?” Taylor asked, her lips twitching slightly.

“That about covers it. For now.”

Pia returned, escorted by the receptionist. This time, though, Mason planted his foot in front of the door to keep it from shutting when the receptionist tried to leave.

“What are you doing?” she asked in annoyance.

“We prefer it open,” I said. “You know, so we don’t get that feeling like we’ve been falsely imprisoned. I think that’s illegal, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Taylor said.

“It’s for security purposes,” the flustered woman said. “You can’t be wandering about unattended.”

“We promise to stay put.”

She gave me a withering look. “It’s not a choice. If you don’t wish to abide by the rules, then you’ll have to leave.”

“All right,” Taylor said. “Let’s go.”

I totally agreed, but at the same time, I had no intention of leaving Price here without knowing just what the fuck was going on. Before I could say so, my phone rang. Touray.

“Hello?”

“I told you not to go to the FBI. Where the fuck are you?”

I was rattled enough to give him a straight answer. “Fourth floor in some kind of observation/interrogation room.”

“Get your ass out of there right now. Don’t say a word to anybody. I’m on my way up.” With that, he hung up. He really needed to work on his phone manners.

I put my phone back in my pocket, even as both Pia and Mason got texts. Touray clearly didn’t think I’d obey his orders and had sent the same message to the bodyguards. Not that I was going to disobey. I didn’t really have a choice. I’d just had a lesson in how little I knew about dealing with the FBI. I expected he had a lot more experience. I hoped so, anyway. I looked at Taylor. “Lead the way.”

“Agent Henry is on his way,” the receptionist said, looking like she was going to throw her body in front of us to block our exit. “It shouldn’t be long at all.”

Probably as long as it took to get out from behind the observation window and around the corner.

“Tell him we waited as long as we could,” I suggested before breezing past her.

“Oh but—!” She called out as Taylor, Pia, and Mason followed me.

We reached the exit gate. It had no knob, only a keypad. I was tempted to vault over, but Taylor motioned for our receptionist to come open it.

“Release us,” she said, sounding imperial.

The other woman sputtered and tried to argue, but Taylor wasn’t having any back talk. She pointed at the keypad. “Now.” The other woman made an irritated noise, but she obeyed.

The door swung open, and we made our escape. At that point, Special Agent Henry arrived. He looked almost innocuous in a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a blue-striped tie, with polished black shoes and a high-and-tight haircut. His hair was dark blond and he wore horn-rimmed glasses—an affectation, given how cheap and easy it was to get tinkered to 20/20. Maybe he just wanted to look geeky-harmless so suspects wouldn’t take him too seriously and would spill their guts. I wondered if it worked for him.

“My apologies,” he said as he joined us. “I understand you are inquiring after the Clayton Price case? I’m the Special Agent in charge, Ezra Henry. And you are?” He held out his hand out to Taylor first.

“Taylor Hollis,” she said, returning to that faintly stupid-but-sweet fashion-plate persona.

She smiled as she took his hand. He stared at her, mesmerized. And why not? My sister is beautiful. She’s got lush auburn hair that tumbles down her shoulders to the middle of her back. Her eyes are ocean blue. Add in porcelain skin, full lips, elegance, and an athletic body swathed in high fashion—she
is
mesmerizing.

“You’re so kind to meet with us, especially when you’re so busy.”

I kept quiet. I was willing to let Taylor play this game to see what she could find out. She’d wanted me to trust her more, and frankly, this particular investigation was in her wheelhouse.

Special Agent Henry stumbled over his words, saying something to the effect that it was his pleasure, then reluctantly let go of Taylor’s hand and turned to me. His eyes slowly focused, and he managed to reel in his hanging tongue. “And you are?” he asked, taking my hand.

Like he didn’t know. I almost rolled my eyes, but decided to follow Taylor’s lead and play dumb. “Riley Hollis.” I pulled away.

“You’re sisters?” He smiled, focusing back on Taylor. “I should have seen that right away.”

He didn’t seem inclined to get introduced to Pia or Mason, giving them a glance but clearly dismissing them as unimportant. I bristled at that, but let it pass. They preferred to stay in the background until needed on center stage.

“I’m happy to discuss the case with you,” he said, mostly to Taylor. “Can I offer you some coffee or juice?” He pushed the gate open again and held it. The receptionist must have keyed in the code for him.

“Absolutely not.” Touray launched himself onto the landing from the stairs. His glance slashed across us, then settled on Special Agent Henry. “They aren’t going anywhere with you,” he said, his mouth pulled into grim lines.

Price and Touray shared a father. They both had black hair and pale skin, but then the resemblance muddied. Touray’s hair was cut short, almost military style. Price’s was longer, down to his collar. Where Price was more lean, Touray was thickly slabbed with muscle. His face was square, and his black eyes held scary shadows. He radiated menace and ruthlessness. I expected Special Agent Henry to fold up under that scowling regard. He didn’t. Instead, he sharpened into a hard blade. He turned to Touray, his brows arching above the nerdy glasses, his expression carefully deadpan.

“I’m sorry, who might you be?”

Again with the questions he already had to know the answers to. I had to admire his cool. Touray liked to call himself family now, and he still made me nervous most of the time. When he went into a rage, I mostly wanted to crawl under a rock and stay out of his way. Right now, wearing a tailored suit, he looked the part of a mob boss, which he was. That veneer of money and civilization didn’t really hide the fact that he could easily tear someone’s throat out. Just at this moment, that someone was Special Agent Henry. I was a close second.

“That might be none of your damned business.” Touray glared at me. “You were supposed to come down to the lobby.”

I could feel Taylor stiffen. On a good day, she didn’t like Touray. This was not a good day. She tossed her hair. “We don’t answer to you.” She let her gaze run over him from head to toe, her lip curling, then turned to the agent. “I would love some coffee. It’s so kind of you to offer.”

He grinned and flashed a triumphant look at Touray before offering Taylor his arm. She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow with a feminine giggle. She glanced at me. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I really hated letting her go off with the agent, but I’d decided to trust her, and my sister wasn’t dumb. She could handle herself. I hoped. “Sure. Call me when you can.”

I could practically hear Touray gritting his teeth. “Don’t be stupid, Taylor. This isn’t some game. He’s a federal agent and he wants nothing more than to milk you for information. ”

Taylor let her face go blank, and she blinked at him as though hurt. “Don’t be silly. Special Agent Henry has been a gentleman and quite helpful. Besides, what information could he possible want from
me
?” She shook her head, then reached out to pat Touray on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Daddy Dear, I’m all grown up now. But if it makes you feel better, if it comes to it, we’ll use protection.” She laughed merrily and took hold of the agent’s arm again. As they strode away, she bent and whispered in his ear. They both laughed.

I’d thought Touray was pissed before. That had been a shadow of the real thing. Now he was positively on fire. His fury was so thick, it made it tough to breathe. Pia started to follow after Taylor, but I caught her arm.

“Let her be.”

Touray’s head twisted, fast as a rattlesnake striking. “You’re on board with this?”

“Taylor knows what she’s doing.” I hoped.

His lip curled into a sneer. “Like hell she does. You and your sister are damned fools. You realize you’re playing with Clay’s life?”

I bit back my response, more than a little aware of our audience. “Maybe
you
should offer
me
a cup of coffee,” I suggested, my jaw jutting.

“Maybe I should offer you a gag and some duct tape,” he muttered. “By all means, let us go have coffee,” he said and grabbed my arm like he was afraid I might run off.

I let him drag me downstairs because I wasn’t going to start a fight in the middle of FBI headquarters, and because I knew he was worried about Price. So was I. Only I was about to find out that I wasn’t nearly as worried as I should have been.

Chapter 4

TOURAY MARCHED me outside. “Where’s your car?”

“In the garage, but it isn’t mine. Taylor’s got the keys.”

He nodded and gestured for Mason. “Get us a vehicle.”

Mason punched a text into his phone, and in less than a minute, a black SUV turned around the corner. Touray maneuvered me into the passenger side, then went around to take over driving. He said something to Mason I couldn’t hear and then floored it. The wheels spun on the frozen ground, then grabbed, and we jerked out onto the road, fishtailing before we straightened out.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe where you won’t get into trouble.”

“I’m not going to sit on the sidelines. I want to help Price.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair and glanced at me. “You have no idea what’s happened, do you?”

“Price got arrested by the FBI,” I said. “I was there, remember?”

He shook his head, and then it shifted to a nod. “What do you think that entails, exactly?”

I frowned at him. “I don’t know. I guess the usual. He gets interrogated, asks for a lawyer, gets one, sees a judge, gets bail—what?”

“He was arrested under the Rice Act—one of the provisions of the Magical Crimes Act.”

“Which doesn’t make any sense at all,” I said. “That only applies to people with talent and Price is mundane. They made a mistake. So sic your lawyers on straightening it out.”

Touray’s jaw knotted. He didn’t say anything, staring at the road ahead like it might suddenly disappear.

My stomach cramped with foreboding.

“What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?” It was right there in front of me, but I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. If it was true, then Price had been lying to me all along. I reached out and grabbed the car’s armrest, feeling like I was in freefall without a parachute.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said he doesn’t know he has a talent.”

I heard the words. I knew that they were a sentence—subject, verb, all that sort of thing. All the same, I couldn’t make any sense out of them. Touray might as well have been speaking Chinese. My response, ever erudite and whip-crack smart, was “Huh?”

Touray sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. I wondered if he worked with his barber to get a haircut that would look good when he was attacking it.

“It’s a long story, but what it comes down to is that Clay has a talent. None of us know what exactly what it is, except—” He broke off and then shrugged. “It manifested once when he was very small, and never again after that. It was . . . traumatic . . . and he doesn’t remember. We figured he’d suppressed both the memories and the ability. The doctors, tinkers, and dreamers we took him to all said that forcing him to remember could be disastrous to his psyche and to just let him be. One day he might remember on his own, or maybe he won’t. In the meantime, he’s not suffered any ill consequences.”

“Until now,” I said, reeling. I hardly knew what to think or feel. Price hadn’t lied to me, knowing that steadied me. “How did the FBI find out?”

“Remember Madison’s father?”

Madison was a young woman I’d helped rescue from Percy. He’d been holding her family prisoner, using them in his ugly schemes. Madison’s father could sense not only that a person had a talent, but could tell exactly what it was. “He told you what Price’s talent was?”

Touray shook his head. “No. He refused. Said if Clay wanted to know, he could ask, but he was done stealing people’s secrets. But while the ability to read someone else’s talent is almost unheard of, simply knowing that someone has a talent is less rare. Agencies like the FBI troll for those people. They have to be certified before they can be used in law enforcement, but then their word is enough to invoke the MCA.”

I let that sink in and weave together with what Mel had told me. “Oh God,” I muttered as the pieces settled into place. I swallowed so I didn’t throw up. “They’re going to torture him.”

“Seven business days,” Touray said grimly. “It’s no accident they arrested him tonight. It gives them a free day tomorrow, plus next weekend, before they have to take the next steps. Ten days.”

“Fuck.”

“As you say.”

“What do we do?”

“I’m working on it. It would help if I didn’t have you distracting me.”

I frowned. “Why did they grab him at all? Why not go after you? You’re the one they really want.”

Touray sighed. “I can be a greater asset out of jail. Clay provides them with leverage. They can trade him for my help and information. Even once they release him, they can always take him again.” He glanced at me. “They might be planning to use the same leverage against you. They may come knocking on your door for favors.”

I thought of Special Bitch Arnow. Speaking of favors. I pushed the thought away. She didn’t matter right now. “How do we get him back?”

“I’ll get him out and you don’t need to know. You just have to stay out of the way. Along with your blasted sister.”

We drove into the Eisley Tunnel that would take us up to the Midtown level. On the other side, Touray eyed his mirrors, then turned sharply so that I jerked up against the door.

I glanced back through the tinted glass. Headlights followed us. Probably our bodyguards. “Is something wrong?”

He made a noncommittal sound that could have been a yes or no. I looked back again. He made another sharp turn and another. The SUV skidded and wiggled drunkenly as Touray straightened out. The lights followed us.

“That’s not Mason?” I asked.

“It is.”

“Then what’s with the Indy 500 driving?”

He shook his head and didn’t answer, instead doing another fast turn and speeding up. He ran a red light and two more, then turned again. The following car clung to our bumper throughout.

“Some people might worry about getting a ticket,” I said, folding my arms to keep from grabbing the armrest. I kept my feet flat on the floor so I wouldn’t stomp my invisible passenger brake, either. I was just hoping I wouldn’t pee my pants. Also that he wouldn’t turn us over. It felt like we went up on two wheels every time we hung a turn.

“I don’t get tickets,” he said, whipping into a grocery-store parking lot. He jounced across the speed bumps while our bodyguard’s car slowed down, preventing anyone behind from catching up to us. Touray pulled back out on Valger Boulevard. It ran in a straight line across the length of the Midtown shelf. Because most of it was elevated, the only cross streets were when it touched down to the ground, a total of six times. Touray gunned the engine, and we sped along, weaving in and out of traffic.

“Are we really being followed or are you just releasing your inner suicide driver? If so, I know where we could get you a couple pounds of valium. Cheap.” My stomach churned with fear for Price, fear for me, and general helplessness and rage at the mess that was currently my life.

“I’m always being followed,” he said, almost absently.

“Do you always drive this way?”

He flicked me a glance. “No.”

“So what’s special about the here and now? You know, aside from the FBI arresting Price and all the rest?” I waved my hand dismissively, trying to obscure my mistake. He didn’t know about my dad or Arnow’s request for help. I didn’t want to explain. Unfortunately, he wasn’t stupid.

“The rest?”

“Long story,” I muttered, looking down to avoiding his penetrating black gaze.

“Give me the highlights,” he said. Ordered.

I bristled. I’d never been good at being bossed around. You’d have thought he’d have figured it out by now. “No,” I said. “Maybe when I figure some stuff out. For now, none of your business.”

“It is if it threatens you or Clay,” he declared, getting that obnoxiously intractable look of his. Like a buffalo with a hernia. “And so far, for the couple of months I’ve known you, there’s little in your life that doesn’t get you into trouble. Explain. Now.”

He might be helpful. I knew this, but I hadn’t had a chance to think about my dad. I needed to process. I needed to talk to Price, my mom, and the rest of my family. Which, I supposed technically Touray was, since once I’d started dating Price, he’d declared that we were family. Of course, tonight had been my first actual date with Price. What a disaster that had been. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to let Touray in on Agent Arnow’s request. So I just stared out the window at the passing lights and said nothing.

He swore. I looked at him. “You have to trust me, Riley,” he grated, clearly holding back some choice things he wanted to say.

I gave a little headshake. “No, I don’t. I doubt I ever will. I believe you want to look out for me and Price, but I’ve learned the hard way that people will do things for ‘your own good’”—I put air quotes around the phrase—“that end up being worse than whatever the bad guys have in mind. So whatever your intentions, I can’t trust you. I won’t.”

“Even if it means Clay’s life? Who are you to decide what might help him? I’m his damned brother! Tell me or—”

He broke off, and I couldn’t help the shiver that ran down my back. He called me family, but the truth was that Price was Touray’s flesh and blood, and if he had to choose, I wasn’t the one who’d win.

“Or?”

“I’m going to do whatever it takes to save my brother,” he said in a gravelly voice, and the look he turned on me was smoldering hot. As in, fire and brimstone and hellfire and damnation.

The threat was clear. He wasn’t going to let me stand in his way.

“Message received,” I said in a low voice. “Just so you know, I’m going to do the same.” I grinned fiercely at him.

He growled.

“Down boy. Sit, stay, heel.”

“You need to let me handle this. Clay would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

“Actually, what I need to do is help Price, and then figure out my own damned life, thank you very much. I also need you to stop ordering me around like I’m your servant.” It was good to have someone to snap at. Everyone else I was pissed at was off the radar. Touray was a convenient target, and itching for a fight himself.

“A servant? Hell no. You’re not nearly competent enough to get paid for the trouble you cause. You’re a child. A stupid, irresponsible, moronic, ungrateful child at that. You’re going to get Clay killed, or yourself, and he’ll blame me.”

“Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” I said.

He didn’t seem to hear me. He slowed the car. Ahead of us at the Bitner crossroad, sirens wailed and lights flashed. It was an ambulance. It veered around stopped cars and into the intersection. There must have been a patch of black ice. Instead of stopping to let the emergency vehicle through, two cars spun wildly and the ambulance T-boned one of them. The ambulance swirled sideways, then rolled over. Sparks sprayed as metal scraped across the pavement.

Other cars coming down the boulevard braked, and there were more spins and crashes as they hit the invisible ice and smashed into one another. Touray drove up on the sidewalk as he braked. A car bumped the left corner of our bumper and we jolted, but didn’t lose traction.

He stopped, putting the SUV in park. He popped open the console. Inside was a stash of several handguns. He pulled two out and handed one to me.

“It’s chambered,” he said, leaning forward to slip his into his rear waistband. “I want you to get off the Boulevard and go somewhere safe. Call Mason and he’ll pick you up.”

“You think this is a trap for you,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“I think it’s a trap for one of us or maybe both.”

“We could both run. We should be able to get away. And you can travel through dreamspace.”

He grimaced. “It might not be a trap,” he said. “People might need help.”

“Help is probably on the way.” He surprised me. I didn’t see him as a guy who helped strangers.

“They might not have time, and I’m here now.” The corner of his mouth quirked momentarily in grim humor at my astonishment. “I told you before—this is my city. My circus, my clowns, my problems. All of them.”

I stared. As scary as he could be, as vicious and brutal and ruthless, he had a core of kindness and generosity that defied sense. He’d give his life for strangers because he’d adopted them as his own. For that, I could almost learn to like him. Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to roll over and play dead when he irritated me. The man needed someone in his life who didn’t ask, “How high?” when he said, “Jump.”

He pulled his door open and went around to the rear of the vehicle. I followed. From an emergency box in the back, he pulled out some flares. He handed me one. At my doubting look, he smiled. “Makes a hell of a weapon.”

I nodded and put it in my pocket. I thrust the gun into the other pocket. I wished I had better shoes on and maybe pants. Teach me to get dressed up.

He drew out a shiny silver thermal blanket. It was wrapped in a pouch no bigger than the palm of my hand. “Just in case,” he said.

In case of what? I wanted to signal space? I took it without arguing.

“Have you got money? For a cab or the subway?”

I nodded. Some things were old habit. My bra held more than my boobs. I also had an emergency pack strapped around my thigh. It contained a couple hundred bucks, a knife, and some ChapStick.

He handed me a pair of gloves. “Take these.” With that, he shut the back of the SUV and pushed me toward the rail, out of sight of the road.

“Get going.” He hesitated. “If this does go sideways, I’m counting on you to help my brother.”

“I told you I wasn’t backing off,” I said. “For the record, if this goes sideways, I’ll come for you, too.” I flashed a slightly malevolent grin. “You’d better hope I’m not as incompetent as you think.”