She’d gone for gold and a magical persuasion pin. She’d escaped with her life and diamonds. At the time she’d convinced herself it had been a good trade, but any tomb raid that ended without the artifact in hand couldn’t be excused as anything other than a pathetic failure.
What? I think I’m okay to go back at some point because that trapped-log maze collapsed? What if some super-powerful water witch goes over and just parts the lake like she’s Moses?
The job hadn’t been finished. Even if she didn’t care about the gold, she needed to go back someday and get that pin for her own sanity.
I don’t fail. I only retreat temporarily.
Shay grinned. She’d make her mistakes part of her way going forward. The students might like to hear about Lake Toplitz. She wouldn’t tell them, of course, about how she’d gone there to acquire the pin, but it’d be a nice entry point into the magical aspects of the Nazi regime and how their dangerous artifacts were now spread all over the world.
The tomb raider opened the book to Chapter Four, The Lost Gold of the Third Reich, and smiled.
Past failures might burn, but there was only one direction to go: forward.
“I’m doing pretty damned well so far,” Shay mumbled.
Chapter Seventeen
Shay yawned and stretched her hands over her head as she stared at her bedroom computer. She missed James. He’d headed out of town for some stupid barbeque thing the same day she’d returned from England. They just kept missing each other lately.
She chuckled. Guess this is what it means to be a busy couple with independent careers.
The tomb raider tapped away, delving into the nastier and seedier corners of the dark web. Although Peyton’s assistance had freed up her time so she could concentrate on artifact recovery, she didn’t want to get too lazy and forget how to find information herself.
Peyton wasn’t a piece of equipment, but a man. He couldn’t guarantee he’d be with her forever, either by choice or tragedy. To that end, it was good to spend time during the week checking into her old online haunts for information and figure out what was new and hot in the world of murder and assassination.
Her phone rang with a call from Peyton.
“Huh, he’s up late.” Shay picked up the phone. “What’s up? Trouble?”
“His heart didn’t grow three sizes that night,” Peyton answered. Panic was evident in his voice.
“What are you talking? Whose heart?”
He sighed. “My brother. I was just following up on Randy, and I found some people poking around looking for me, and I’ve traced them back to you. He hasn’t given up completely. Like I said, his heart didn’t grow three sizes. He’s never going to give up.”
“We did the Christmas Carol, not The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.” Shay adjusted the phone so she could hold it with her neck.
She started tapping at her own computer. She wanted to verify what Peyton was telling her and make sure he hadn’t imagined things in a fit of paranoia. After all, she’d spent months trying to instill paranoia in him.
“Same difference,” Peyton replied. “The point is, he’s still coming. He’s just hired guys who are a little more careful and subtle this time. What are we going to do? Shit, shit, shit.”
“The way I see it, you’ve got two options here.” Shay frowned at a window that popped up. Peyton was right. His brother was still poking around.
You stupid dumbass. You’re really trying to push me into killing you, aren’t you?
“What are the options?”
“Option one: I become Old Shay and handle him in a very final and bloody manner. I can do it in such a way that it won’t be linked back to you, which is easy anyway because you’re officially dead, even if the authorities are still poking around.”
Peyton groaned. “I…I don’t think I can do that.”
“You wouldn’t have to do it, and he tried to do it to you.” Shay clicked back to her previous screen. “I would do it. A threat to you is ultimately a threat to me. Even though the cartel is gone, it’s still in my best interests for the assholes of the world to think Killer Shay is dead.”
“But he’s my brother, Shay.”
Shay snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? The guy paid to have you killed. This isn’t like you two had a falling out during Thanksgiving dinner over which candidate you supported in the last election. The fucker wanted you dead because even though he was already rich, he was a greedy son of a bitch who wanted even more money he didn’t have to earn. If it were me, I would have gone and stabbed his ass already.”
“Well, I’m not you, or him,” Peyton snapped. “All right?”
Shay pulled the phone away for a minute, surprised at the man’s vehemence, even if she wasn’t surprised at his reticence. “Yeah, you aren’t, which is why I mentioned a second option. This one doesn’t involve shooting, stabbing, or blowing Randy up.”
“And what’s that?”
“Your brother isn’t some sort of super-resourceful badass, and he doesn’t have any magic. His power comes from one thing: money.”
“Yeah, so? What’s your point?”
Shay chuckled. “Come on, Peyton. In this day and age, money is mostly just bits on a computer. We make his money go away. It’s not like you’re ever going to need it, and your other relatives have separate accounts. I doubt they’re going to loan him piles of money so he can chase down the ghost of his dead brother. From what I can see, he’s not talking to anyone else anymore.”
Peyton sighed. “Yeah, when I looked into it, that’s what I saw, too. Without my dad as the glue, the family died when I did.”
“Then we should do it. Hey, Lily and I presented a dark future of poverty. Scrooge had his fucking chance to reform, now the future’s gonna come barreling down at him.
