Blood Trust

place for traveling salesmen and account executives getting their rocks off with someone else’s secretary. Every once in a while a delivery would be made to one of the rooms. When that happened Gunn got out of the car and followed the delivery boy to see if he’d been summoned to room 261.

Gunn, following John Pawnhill like a bloodhound, had seen him make his escape and was briefly impressed. He’d seen him get picked up by a man Gunn didn’t recognize. He had followed them out here to this motel with its blinking neon sign, buzzing fluorescent lights, and a soda machine that didn’t work. The sound of passing traffic was a roar as relentless as the surf.

At 10:52, a white car with the logo of a nearby Chinese restaurant pulled into the parking lot. Once again, Gunn removed himself from his car and, stretching, strode after the young man. He delivered two large paper bags to room 261. Gunn saw a glimpse of Pawnhill’s driver as he took possession of the food and handed over some money. He screwed the suppressor back onto his Glock. The delivery man went down the stairs, got into his car, and drove away.

Gunn walked up to the door of room 261 and knocked.

“Who is it?” a voice came from the other side of the door.

“You didn’t give me enough money,” Gunn said in a passable simulation of the delivery man’s voice.

The door opened a crack, Gunn shoved his Glock through it, and shot the driver squarely in the forehead. As the driver’s body arched backward, Gunn kicked in the door and strode inside. Pawnhill threw a white cardboard container of food at Gunn. Gunn dodged away, aimed, and shot Pawnhill twice in the chest. Pawnhill crumpled. Gunn walked up to him and, for good measure, put two more bullets into him. Then he turned and left.

* * *

THE NIGHT is a time for memories, Vera thought as she lay on her bed in Fearington. She remembered her childhood, when she and Caro shared a room. Of course, they each had sumptuously decorated bedrooms, but she and Caro had insisted on being together at night. She remembered how Caro used to read to her from her favorite book, The Little Curiosity Shop, stories about a fabulous old store in London’s World’s End, crammed to the rafters with magical wonders. She sat up suddenly and, swinging her legs over the side, stared at the bed across from her. Alli Carson’s bed. It was empty now, of course. Who knew where Alli was, or if she was still alive? Vera glanced over at the foot of the bed, and then, because she couldn’t help herself, she stared at the neatly tucked-in sheet, she stared at the pillow with its black case imprinted with white skulls. Strange fucking girl, but, oddly, she missed her. Maybe she missed hating her.

She lay back down, but knew right away that sleep was on some other continent. So she did what she always did when she couldn’t sleep—went to her desk, turned on the task lamp, and fired up her laptop. She was going to open her Web browser when she noticed a new folder on her desktop. It was titled “curio_cabinet.”

She felt a little thrill go through her. There had been a curio cabinet in The Little Curiosity Shop where all the most magical items were kept under lock and key. She scanned the folder with her security software, but it was clean. Also, it was encrypted. Every time she tried to open it, she was asked for a password. She thought for a moment, then typed in “TLCS.” That didn’t work. Then she thought of the curio cabinet itself. Of all the special items in it, the most magical to her was the book that opened a doorway to the Land of the Fayries. What was the name of that book? She screwed up her face in concentration. Ah, yes.

She typed in “Maeve’s World.”

Wham, she was inside the folder. Her heart beat faster. Could this mean what it seemed to mean? Then her heart sank. The folder contained only one minuscule file. But still … She opened the file and read:

HEY THERE, SIS. HOWZ TRICKS?

* * *

JACK COULD see the stars. They looked close enough to reach out and touch. The military jet Paull had had waiting for them in Brindisi was taking them all home.

Alli came and sat next to him. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a train.” He laughed softly. “Several trains, actually.”

She hesitated only a moment. “I wanted to thank you.”

He turned to her.

“You believed in me.”

“Annika believed in you.”

“You had faith in me, Jack. I never got that from my parents.” She frowned. “I suppose you think there’s something wrong with me because I haven’t grieved for them.”

“You grieved plenty for your father.”

She looked thoughtful. “Maybe I did.”

“And as for your mother.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that will come in time.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then it doesn’t.”

She was silent for some time. Then she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Every doctor who examines me tells me there’s something wrong with me.” Her eyes cut to his. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Of course he did. He’d been told the same thing when he was young.

“But sometimes I feel…” She turned her head away. “I feel as if I’m numb inside, as if I’ll never feel anything deeply again.”

Jack took her hand. “You know that’s not true.”

Tears trembled at the corners of her eyes. “I wish to God I did.”

Jack desperately wanted to help her, but in this instance he knew he needed to be patient, especially because right now she couldn’t be.

At that moment, Annika came by.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

Jack glanced at Alli and shook his head.

Alli leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “See you later.” Then she stood up and walked with Annika to another set of seats, where they sat down together.

For a time, Jack tried to think about nothing at all, but his brain, working out the last of the conspiracy, wouldn’t rest. Then his cell phone buzzed and he caught the call from Alan Fraine, the D.C. Metro Police chief.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Fraine’s voice sounded thin and far away. “Pawnhill got away.”

Jack stared into the blackness of the night. “What happened?”

“We tracked him to Billy Warren’s apartment. He apparently found a DVD, but it was in a booby-trapped attache case. The DVD was almost entirely dissolved by acid. Nothing usable was left.”

Jack thought a moment. “Billy must have stashed the incriminating data he’d found on Middle Bay’s servers. That’s why he was tortured and then killed.”

“So it was Pawnhill, not Dardan Xhafa, who did it.”

“Pawnhill hired McKinsey, who was nursing a grudge against Billy,” Jack said.

“Your boss, Dennis Paull, ordered all of Middle Bay’s files, records, and computer data confiscated even before he landed, but so far he tells me there’s no sign of incriminating evidence.”

“And there won’t be,” Jack said. “Pawnhill has had unlimited access to the bank’s data for the past week. He’s sure to have deleted it all.”

Fraine sighed. “Probably. But Paull claims he’s got some first-rate techs in data recovery. They may find something Pawnhill overlooked.”

Jack saw no reason to say what was on his mind. He didn’t think Mbreti had left even a single kilobyte to find.

“Well, one good thing,” Jack said. “You can get Heroe out of custody.”

“Really? How’s that?”

“Now that the data’s gone, there’s no longer a need for a cover-up.”

“I’m not so sure it will be that easy.”

“Chief, she’ll be sprung the moment you make the request, trust me.”

There was a slight pause, then Fraine said, “Do you know who’s behind the cover-up?”

“I have a good idea.”

“Then you’re going to need some help when you get home. These people play at the highest level.”

“I appreciate the offer, Chief. But go take care of your own. I’m better off handling this myself.”