Deadly Sting

straining to hear every single thing I could from the marbles walls, every harsh note, every soft whisper, every sly murmur.

And I finally found something—a suspicious mutter that was just a little louder and just a little sharper than all the others. I trailed my fingers over the smooth stone, following the echo of that mutter like notes on a roll of sheet music. The sound led me all the way over to a shelf in the back of the vault. To my surprise, there was only one item on this shelf: a tube made out of ebony.

Small, thin, lightweight. There was nothing extraordinary about the tube, except for the design inlaid in the center of the black wood, a thumbnail-size ruby surrounded by several wavy golden rays.

A sunburst. The symbol for fire. Mab Monroe’s personal rune.

“I found it,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Owen asked, coming around one of the tables to where I was.

My fingers closed over the tube, and that mutter in the marble took on an even uglier, darker, harsher note. “I’m sure.”

“What do you think it is?” he asked. “A portrait? Maybe some sort of small painting?”

I shrugged and stuffed the tube into one of the pouches on my stolen utility belt. I also took a moment to snag the diamond necklace I’d noticed earlier and dropped that inside the pouch too. “Don’t know. We can look at it later. Right now, we need to move.”

17

Owen followed me out of the vault. I stopped in the exterior chamber long enough to do a quick pat-down of the three dead giants. Key cards, a couple of metal batons, pepper spray, walkie-talkies. Same old, same old. Owen picked up two of the men’s guns, while I handed him all the extra ammo I found stuffed in their pockets. He reloaded both weapons before tucking one against the small of his back and keeping the other one in his hand at the ready. He nodded at me, and together we crept up to the exterior door and peeked outside.

I didn’t see anyone in the hallway, but I heard something just as worrisome—the steady thud- thud-thud of footsteps, growing louder and louder as they pounded in this direction.

“Let’s go,” I whispered. “They’re headed this way.”

Owen nodded again and followed me into the hallway. I headed right, away from the sound of the footsteps, and we ran in that direction. What followed was a desperate series of zigzags as we tried to avoid the giants. Clementine’s men were everywhere we turned, walkie-talkies screeching as they yelled instructions at each other and searched for whoever or whatever had caused the explosion. Three times we started down a hallway only to pull up short and backtrack when we caught a glimpse of a couple of giants lurking at the far end, guns up and ready to fire at the slightest movement. Oh, yes. Everyone knew that I was here now.

There was no way we could break through the perimeter they’d set up without making a whole lot of noise and bringing them all down on top of us, so Owen and I ended up crouching behind a doorway in a room down the hall from the vault entrance. It was far too close to the vault and the main force of giants in the rotunda for my liking, but all the other exits from this part of the museum had been cut off. We’d just have to hunker down and see what happened.

We didn’t have long to wait. We’d just slid into the shadows when Clementine ran down the hallway, with Opal and Dixon following her. The three giants rushed through the open door that led into the vault area.

“Dammit!” Clementine’s scream erupted out of the chamber a minute later.

I grinned. Such a satisfying sound. Always nice when you could make your enemies bellow with anger. Across from me, Owen gave me a sly wink.

A moment later, Clementine stormed out of the vault entrance and back into the hallway. Opal and Dixon followed her, although the two younger giants were careful to keep out of arm’s reach of her. A good idea, on their part.

Clementine raised her walkie-talkie to her lips. “Somebody go out front and see if the cops are here. Right now.”

“It’s not the cops,” one giant answered her a few seconds later. “I’m out by the moving trucks, and there’s no one here. No police cars, no cops, nobody. All of the art is still inside the truck, and it doesn’t look like anything’s been stolen. Er . . . re-stolen.”

“Roger that. Stand by for further instructions.” Clementine clicked off her walkie-talkie and stuck it back onto her belt.

She paced back and forth for a few seconds before whirling around and facing Opal and Dixon again. Her features, which I’d thought so attractive before, were twisted and mottled with purple rage. Lips flat, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed to slits.

Opal and Dixon glanced at each other and took another step back. Dixon swallowed, and Opal wiped a bit of nervous sweat off her forehead.

“How the hell could this happen?” Clementine finally barked at them.

“Now, Mama, just calm down,” Opal said, holding her hands palms up in a placating gesture. “I’m sure we’ll get this all figured out. Whoever set off that bomb couldn’t have gotten far. It’s not the cops, so that’s a good thing. We’ll take care of whoever it is.”

Clementine cocked her head to one side, and she advanced on Opal, who immediately sucked in a breath and plastered herself against the wall. Dixon scooted out of the way. Opal glanced at her cousin for help, but he smirked at her. Opal sighed and turned her head back in her mama’s direction.

Clementine coldly eyed her daughter. After a moment, she drew back her fist. Opal shuddered, waiting for the blow—but it never came.

Instead, Clementine slammed her hand into the wall beside Opal’s head. The sharp, stinging crack reverberated down the hallway, seeming almost as loud as the bomb blast. But the giant didn’t stop with just one punch. Again and again, Clementine rammed her fist into the marble inches away from her daughter’s head. Opal stood there and watched her. Mouth open, nostrils flared, eyes wide. Her expression a far more terrified version of her mother’s murderous one.

Finally, Clementine stopped her assault on the wall and glared at her daughter once more.

“I don’t care about the damn bomb,” Clementine said, every word as sharp and clipped as the punches she’d just plowed into the wall. “What I do care about is the fact that someone used it to lure us away from Grayson and the vault. Something that is your fault, my darling girl, since you assured me that everyone was corralled inside the rotunda.”

“Yeah, Opal.” Dixon sneered, sidling up to Clementine’s side. “That was your job. Looks like you’re the screw-up tonight. How does it feel, cuz?”

Clementine immediately turned on her nephew, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him off the ground. She slammed him back into the wall and kept him there.

I eyed Dixon’s feet, which were dangling six inches above the floor. Dixon was no lightweight, but Clementine was holding him up with one hand like he didn’t weigh any more than a wet kitten. My gaze flicked to the basketball-size dent she’d punched into the marble wall. Impressive, indeed.

“And you, you little weasel,” Clementine growled. “You can’t do anything without half-assing it or fucking it up completely. Where do you think our surprise guest got the bomb from? My guess is the bridge or one of the moving trucks. Which means that whoever it is has probably been following you around for who knows how long, watching you check the charges with your phone, and you were too stupid to even notice.”

Dixon’s mouth opened and closed, and opened and closed again, but the only sound that came out was a faint, pitiful squeak, the kind a rabbit might make before a wolf snapped its jaws around the rabbit’s throat. Clementine shook him once, then dropped her hand and stepped back. Dixon landed in a heap on the floor, a perfect red handprint ringing his throat like a rash.

“We’ll fix it, Mama,” Opal said, her voice a little higher and more desperate than before. “We’ll find whoever’s responsible for this and make them pay.”

“You’d better hope so,” Clementine growled. “You’d both damn well better hope so.”