Living with the Dead

FINN



FINN HATED TO BE UNGRATEFUL. But if there were people with other supernatural powers, he couldn’t help wishing he’d been blessed with a more useful one, like teleportation. Having a phantom partner who had to rely on public transit seemed rather mundane. And, under the circumstances, rather frustrating.

He’d sent Damon on ahead with Adams and the man Robyn had called Rhys. But when Finn lost their car in traffic, Damon had to bail, then hitch rides back to the spot where he’d last seen Finn, find him and tell him which direction Adams was traveling. Now they were stuck canvassing the area, searching for the car.

Or, Finn should say, he and Robyn were searching. When Damon got near his wife, he was as useless as a twelve-year-old boy with a naked supermodel. He just sat there beside her in the backseat, staring and fidgeting, frustrated beyond reason, able to see and not touch.

“Did you get her shoulder checked?” Damon slid to the edge of the seat and leaned over.

“Couldn’t. She seems fine with it, though.”

“Didn’t I warn you that as long as Bobby’s conscious, she’ll say she’s fine? She needs to see a doctor.”

“And she will, as soon as we’re done. That’s her decision.”

When Finn had first started talking to Damon, Robyn would look up sharply, listening just long enough to realize he wasn’t speaking to her, then nod and turn her attention back to the window. After a few exchanges, she’d caught on to the tone he used with Damon and stopped looking up. A fast learner. A fast adapter, too, already acting as if she’d spent her life around people who talked to ghosts.

“She looks good, don’t you think?” Damon asked.

Finn looked at Robyn in the rearview mirror. She did look good. But a grunt seemed the safest answer.

“She seems to be getting back on her feet,” Damon said.

Finn could agree with that, too. He had no idea what Robyn had been like before or after Damon’s death, but the woman beside him—keenly watching out the window, stopping periodically to pepper him with questions—was far from the shell-shocked widow he’d expected.

“Hold on,” Robyn said.

Finn hit the brakes.

She jolted forward, then gave a pained smile as she adjusted her lap belt. “I thought that would be less alarming than screaming ‘Stop!’ I was just going to say I recognize this area. Ahead is that bookstore I told you about, where we first saw the boy.”

“Rhys’s son.”

“Why would he bring Hope—?” Her chin jerked up. “Hope was on the roof when his son jumped. She was trying to talk him down.”

“But Rhys wasn’t there.”

“He’s clairvoyant, remember?”

It took Finn a moment to make the connection. Apparently some people were adapting to this stuff slower than others. “That means he gets a, uh, vision of people. In the present. So he could have seen Hope.”

“He did. He said as much in the motel. If he blames her for him jumping and he’s taking her back there now . . .”

“Direct me.”

She did.



ROBYN LED FINN to a medical office building. There were three vehicles in the lot. One was the car they’d been tailing. There was also a van and a car that Finn thought he’d seen earlier.

“Is that the van they put Marten in?” he asked Damon.

“Uh . . .” Damon popped into the front seat for a better look. “Shit. Yeah. It is.”

He parked at the far end of the lot. “Get closer and take a look.”

When Damon left, Finn picked up the radio receiver.

“What are you doing?” Robyn said. “That’s their car. They’re inside the building.”

“I know. I’m calling for backup.”

“What?” She shot to the seat edge.

“I’ve just confirmed that’s the van your friend Karl was in. That means we have a potential double hostage situation, possibly with two separate and hostile parties. I can’t go in there alone.”

“Fine.” She grabbed the door handle and wrenched. “Unlock this.”

“Calm down.”

The moment the words left Finn’s mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones. Now she turned her glare on him, her eyes flashing.

“I am calm, Detective Findlay. Calm enough to know that you’re going to sit on your ass while my friend’s life is in danger, and calm enough to know that I’m not going to do the same. Now open this door.”

“I need backup. Standard—”

“—operating procedure.” She twisted the words, wringing out a bucket of contempt. “Fine. You follow procedure, except on one point. You forgot to lock this door and I escaped.”

“The longer you fight me, the longer it’s going to take to make this call.” Again, regret dogged the words. It was a perfectly logical thing to say, and it came out sounding perfectly condescending, like when a kid got frustrated and the teacher made him sit in the corner with a singsong “when you can behave, you can rejoin the class.”

Robyn slid back in her seat. Her arms started to fold, then she thought better of it and let them fall by her sides. When Finn hesitated, watching her, she said, “Place your call, Detective.”

Damon leapt into the passenger seat, making Finn jump.

“Put ’er in reverse and peel rubber,” Damon said. “They’re on the way out.”

Finn backed from the lot.

Robyn shot forward again. “What the hell are you doing? They’re still in there.”

“Whoa, Finn,” Damon said. “Talk to her.”

Finn explained quickly as he found a spot to wait and watch.

“Who’s coming out?” Robyn demanded.

“Hope, Karl and that guy,” Damon said, and Finn relayed.

Damon climbed into the backseat. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing.”

“You did something. She’s furious.”

“Are Adams and Marsten coming out as hostages?” he asked.

“Change the subject, huh? No. They appeared to be with him willingly. I think stopping here was a trap for those SWAT guys. They rescued Karl and disabled his captors.”

“Disabled?”

“Knocked out. Tranquilizer guns.” Damon’s attention turned back to assessing his wife. Par for the course, but Finn had been with Damon long enough now to know he’d turned away a little too fast.

“What else?” Finn asked.

“I counted five guys in those SWAT uniforms, all unconscious now. There’s one suit, too. And a woman. A bystander, I think, but she’s okay.”

“I meant what else did you find? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Hmm?” He looked up. “That’s it. I’m just . . . still processing, I guess. Tranquilizer guns. This is truly some weird shit going on, Finn . . . oh, there they are.”

Through a stand of trees, Finn watched the trio head for a car.

“Robyn?”

“Hmm?” Polite, but cool. A petty grudge might be beneath her, but from her tone, Finn knew he’d slid from ally to enemy. Or at least obstacle.

“That guy.” He pointed. “Is that Rhys?”

She moved along her seat to the window. “Yes.”

“Da— Uh, David?”

“Nice save,” Damon said, with a look that warned him against slipping again.

“Go with them,” Finn said. “This time, if you lose me, keep going. Get their final destination, then rendezvous here.”





HOPE





Once they’d gotten rid of the Cabal tail and Karl was free, Rhys apparently considered their partnership at an end. He assured Hope and Karl that he’d look after Adele and find a way to clear Robyn’s name. Hope told him where he could shove his assurances—she wasn’t leaving him until she had Adele.

It took some negotiating, but he finally agreed Adele could be tried by the council, as long as Hope and Karl played bodyguard on his kumpania visit, which she suspected was what he’d hoped for all along.

When they left the medical offices, Karl was behind the wheel, Rhys in the passenger seat, Hope in the back.

On the way Rhys finally decided to tell them about the kumpania. Maybe that had something to do with Karl pulling over on Mulholland Drive and demanding to know everything before he went any farther, the looming cliff edge an unspoken echo to his earlier threat.

“Kumpania,” Rhys said. “It’s a Romany name.”

“Gypsy?” Hope asked.

“Right. The original members likely were, and the current bulibasha, Niko, claims to be a direct descendent.”

“Bulibasha?”

“Leader. Romany again. Supposedly the kumpania started in the Old World and came to the New World fleeing the pogroms. The kumpania likes its mythology. No one much cares how accurate it is, as long as it’s a good story.”

“And everyone in the kumpania is a clairvoyant?”

He directed Karl to take the next turn. “A full clairvoyant manifesting powers. The kumpania was created for two express and interconnected purposes: preservation of the bloodline and preservation of the power. Preservation of power includes strengthening it through training and avoiding the curse of madness.”

“Can they do that?”

He took off his ball cap and raked his fingers through his hair. “They’ve found that elusive happy medium, which works for most. And if it doesn’t? The kumpania doesn’t permit deviations from its core principles.”

“You think they kill anyone who shows signs of going mad?”

“The kumpania presents itself as a community idealizing clairvoyant life. But they have more in common with a cult than with a commune, including strict indoctrination, severe restrictions on their members’ movements and the willingness to kill to protect the community. Which is why Adele has no qualms about killing cops. It’s the kumpania way. Preservation of self at all costs.” He set his cap on the seat. “Which is not to excuse what she’s done. The kumpania isn’t a cult of murderers. In her case, it’s merely a mitigating factor, something to consider.”

“Which the council will.”

He nodded and went quiet. That was all the information she needed and, she presumed, all they were getting. But after a moment, he went on.

“The second concern of the kumpania is the preservation of the bloodline. All kumpania children have two fully clairvoyant parents. That inbreeding, though, causes genetic problems, so they regularly infuse the bloodline with outside clairvoyants—durjardo. That’s where I came in.”

Karl had slowed as the road narrowed. Rhys waved for him to keep going.

“I joined the navy right out of high school,” Rhys continued. “As a boy I was into Boy Scouts, Sea Cadets, the Junior Reserves . . . I had this fantasy of growing up to be a Navy SEAL, using my clairvoyance to protect my country. It didn’t work out. That’s when I met Neala, Colm’s mother. Not a coincidence, as I figured out years later. The kumpania has ways of finding suitable candidates. I was ripe for the picking. A young man, angry and lost, meeting a pretty girl, another clairvoyant, who brought me home to this amazing group that welcomed me and promised a life of balance and sanity. You can’t understand how important that can be.”

Actually, Hope could. But she said nothing.

He went on. “People hear about cults and they can’t believe anyone would join. But it’s easy. Just offer what’s missing in someone’s life, what they want most. The first year was great. Yes, I was picked for Neala, but it wasn’t like you’d think. I was in love; she was at least in like. I was happy. Twenty-one with a beautiful wife, a good job, a supportive community, a baby on the way . . .”

“Colm.”

“No. Our first son was stillborn. Serious genetic defects. Bringing in fresh blood doesn’t negate generations of cousin marriages. That’s when it started falling apart for me, after he died. The kumpania was so fatalistic about it. Callous even. Neala was heartbroken, but the bulibasha told her to suck it in and try harder next time. She got pregnant right away, with Colm, and that helped her, but it was too late for me. I started asking questions and chasing answers. Young and naive, I thought if I confronted the group with what I knew, the general members would rise up against the phuri—the elders—and we’d fix things.”

A pause, then, “Turn left up here, at the gravel road. We’re almost there.” He picked up his cap and ran the brim through his fingers. “Adele is where it really fell apart for me. She was another durjardo. She was five when she came. Colm had just been born and I was already on my mission, questioning everything. The phuri told Adele her mother gave her to the kumpania. Behind her back, but within earshot, they said her mother sold her.”

“And she overheard?”

“She was supposed to. That was part of the brainwashing. To her face, they were loving and kind, shielding her from the awful truth. But they found ways to let her know her mother didn’t want her. It . . . did things to her. Again, not an excuse. Mitigating circumstances.”

“Did her mother sell her?”

He shook his head. “She brought Adele to the kumpania. She’d heard about them and followed the trail through her clairvoyant contacts. She thought they could both live with the kumpania. But her mother was a pale ’cido—a clairvoyant by blood only, no powers. To the kumpania, that made her a burden. A liability even.”

“So they killed her.”

He nodded.

“Does Adele know?”

“I doubt it. She thinks the big secret is that she was sold, not abandoned. Growing up, thinking your mother sold—” He shook his head. “Mitigating factors. Karl? That’s it up ahead. Slow down so I can get a look, see what’s changed.”

Hope doubted anything had. The place looked like a commune out of the sixties. For the last ten minutes they’d been driving past large houses on lots of an acre or less. In this part of Southern California, those were considered palatial estates. She could only imagine how much the kumpania property was worth.

A fringe of forest hid the property from the neighbors, though it wasn’t anything she’d suspect would offend them—a collection of buildings, neat and pretty, surrounded by flower and vegetable gardens. There was even a small, whitewashed barn with chickens and goats. Picture-perfect commune living. The neighbors probably found it quaint, drove their visitors by for a look, the way Pennsylvanians did with the Amish.

There was a metal gate—painted gleaming white and entwined with vines. From here, it seemed it could be opened by hand. When Hope said as much to Rhys, he nodded. “It’s not locked. But there’s a camera there, in the birdhouse. And an alarm will sound in the main house when the gate opens.”

Hope was about to ask why clairvoyants needed a security camera. Then she answered her own question—their powers fixed on specific people, not locations or objects.

“So we’re going in the front door?” she asked.

“I want to make this visit as civil as possible. I’m here to take Adele and tell the kumpania about her and the Cabal. That’s it.”

“Warn them and let them run.”

“Most of the kumpania is exactly what they purport to be—a peaceful group dedicated to protecting and nurturing clairvoyants.”

“And the rest . . . ?”

He adjusted his cap. “Someday I’ll deal with that. I’ve been working on it for thirteen years, and it’s not an institution I can dismantle today. For now I need to give them an escape route, so they don’t panic. If things go wrong too fast, they have a predetermined course of action to follow, like most cults.”

“Waco?”

“Jonestown.”

Hope rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. In school, she’d read a reference to Jonestown, and—being fascinated by the macabre—had looked it up. She could still see the photographs, the halls and rooms of corpses, the children, all the dead children. She stared at those kumpania houses now and they didn’t look nearly as quaint.

Karl turned into the drive.

“I’ll get the gate,” Rhys said. “Before I do, though, I need to warn you again. As open and neutral as I try to make this meeting, we’re dealing with a lot of tension here and a lot of distrust. Hope, you have that gun I gave you?”

Hope nodded.

“Absolute last resort,” Rhys said. “The moment you pull that gun, you’ve shut down negotiations, and there are more of them—with many more guns. They’ll be on edge already, seeing me after all these years. A visit from the grave.”

“They thought you were dead?”

He nodded and opened the door.

“That could help,” Hope said. “A shock, yes, but a good shock.”

“I don’t think so.” He got out and leaned his head back in. “They’re the ones who tried to kill me.”





ADELE



Adele pulled the backpack from its hiding place in her bedroom, where she’d kept it packed since learning she was pregnant. She didn’t really believe Rhys was on his way. He wasn’t a fool. Maybe he would have come back someday, for his son, but Colm was dead and he’d never known about Thom. Rhys hadn’t been part of the kumpania long enough to be trusted with the secret of the seers.

She’d always suspected the kumpania was behind Rhys’s supposed death. Earlier, when she said she’d seen him, Niko had admitted it, saying she was old enough to know the truth, how they’d let this durjardo into their midst, given him one of their daughters, a job, a new life. Rhys had repaid them by trying to kidnap Adele and Colm and sell them to the Cabal. He was a monster, and they’d had to kill him.

All Adele remembered was Rhys coming to her late one night, Colm sleeping in his arms, telling her it was time. For weeks he’d promised to get her out and find her grandmama. It had been their secret.

Niko and the other men had caught him and hauled him before the phuri, while Colm and Adele were bundled back to bed. Then Rhys had been gone. The kumpania said he’d been exiled and, a few months later, died in a car accident—a fitting punishment from the gods.

Even when Adele had been old enough to suspect the kumpania had murdered Rhys, she’d cursed him. He’d promised her freedom and he’d failed. He was weak. He hadn’t been willing to take chances, to make the bold moves.

Maybe he had planned to sell them to a Cabal. It didn’t matter. Whatever happened thirteen years ago, Rhys would be a fool to return. Yet the phuri were convinced he was coming to see Neala now that their son was dead. Sentimental and silly. Why would you want to grieve with the wife who’d tried to kill you?

Unless . . .

If Rhys had escaped and the kumpania had been convinced he was dead, he couldn’t have done it alone. Who would have helped him, if not Neala?

She remembered how Neala had acted when told her husband might still be alive. She’d been quick to protest. Too quick.

Adele straightened, backpack dangling from her arm.

If Neala had rescued Rhys from a death sentence, that would be treason. Prove it, and Adele would be rid of her enemy. She wouldn’t need to run.

No, after what Adele had seen in Neala’s face, she knew the woman wouldn’t rest until Adele paid for Colm’s death. Threat of exposure for treason wouldn’t stop her. And now if Rhys was coming, if Neala told Rhys she thought Adele was responsible for Colm . . .

Time for Adele to settle her future as she should have done the moment she’d realized that killing Portia Kane hadn’t solved her problem. Get out, contact Irving Nast and finish the negotiations. Don’t let him know she was panicked. Use his greed to cut a fast deal.

The kumpania wouldn’t come after her right away. They’d be too busy grieving for Colm and worrying about Rhys. They’d presume, in her own grief, she’d run. By the time they started their search, she’d be safely with the Cabal.

She heard Hugh shout outside. A car door slammed. She raced to the window.

It was Rhys. Worse, he’d brought Robyn Peltier’s friends.

All three had their hands up—Rhys and the young woman holding theirs high, the dark-haired man’s at chest level, a halfhearted effort as he surveyed his surroundings.

Rhys was talking. Adele cracked open the window. Someone answered—Bernard, she thought, but couldn’t be sure. Hugh and whoever was with him were on the front porch, out of her sight line.

“Who’re they?” Bernard demanded, turning to Rhys.

“Delegates from the interracial council.”

The council? No way. Rhys was bluffing, and she had to run down there and warn—

How? The kumpania knew nothing about Robyn Peltier. Explaining that these were Robyn’s friends would do no good.

“You brought the council here?” Niko—she’d know his voice anywhere. “On our property?”

“I left my gun in the car, Niko, not my brain. The council knows these two are with me. We’ve arranged to have the kumpania coordinates delivered to them in three hours if we don’t make it back to L.A.”

“And what’s going to stop these two from bringing the council back?” Hugh said.

“When you hear what I have to say, that’s going to be the least of your problems. Niko, you and I both know your bullshit about the council being part of the Cabals is just that. But regardless of who works for whom, you don’t want either the council or the Cabal out here.”

“We’ll go inside,” Niko said.

“No, we’ll speak in the meeting—”

“Rhys!” Robyn’s friend yelled.

Rhys spun as Hugh charged. Lily—stupid Lily—screamed in terror. The dark-haired man shot forward, grabbed Hugh by the arm and swung him off his feet. Swung the brawny young man up like he was a misbehaving child, then held him by the collar at arm’s length. When Hugh struggled, the man only shook him.

“Before we talk, I should explain.” Rhys pointed to the young woman. “She is an Expisco half-demon. You don’t know what that is, I’m sure, but you just got a demonstration. She can read negative thoughts. If you try to attack, like Hugh did, she’ll know before you make a move.”

“And . . . that?” Lily had stepped off the porch and pointed at the dark-haired man.

Even from the window, Adele saw the man lift an eyebrow. “That? Hardly polite.” He threw Hugh toward her. “What am I? Let’s just say I won’t fetch a stick for you. I won’t beg for treats. And, no matter how nicely you ask, I will not roll over and play dead.”

“A werewolf?” Lily squeaked, and for once, Adele didn’t sneer at her terror.

If this man was a werewolf and the woman a half-demon—and whether they were or not, they were obviously supernaturals—then Adele had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

Robyn Peltier was no human, easily killed, quickly forgotten. She was a supernatural. Maybe even on the council herself. Or maybe being in L.A. meant she was part of the Nast Cabal. If so, then whatever deal Adele had with Irving Nast had evaporated the moment she set her sights on Robyn. Adele’s imagination scampered about like a mouse caught with the lights on, running this way and that in a panic, imagining death in every corner.

Adele slammed her hand down on the heat register, the metal vent biting into her skin. By the gods, she was as bad as Lily, sniveling and cowering in fear. Yes, this was a problem, but it wasn’t her fault. There was no way she could have known Robyn Peltier was a supernatural. The woman had tricked her, by hiding her powers and luring Adele in.

All that mattered right now was that those two were friends of Robyn’s, meaning they were about to expose Adele.

She glanced at the window. Everyone had retreated elsewhere to talk. When they came for her, she had to be gone.

She took a few minutes gathering her money. Her brain still scampered and gibbered, and she couldn’t concentrate, checking three past hiding places before remembering the latest.

She stuffed the cash into her pocket, down with the seer’s room key she’d grabbed on her way over. She’d planned to visit Thom one last time, get a quick fix on Robyn Peltier, maybe on that detective too. No time for that now, but she would keep the key. One more problem to distract the kumpania. Tending the seers would be more important than hunting her.

She looked around. Did she have everything?

Footsteps tramped onto the porch. The front door squeaked open.

“Adele?” Hugh called. “Niko wants to talk to you.”

She took a deep breath and shouldered her bag. Footsteps echoed across the floor below. Adele crept to the other window, the one overlooking the back porch.

She eased the window open and crawled out just as the stairs creaked. She closed the window all but an inch, stepped to the side and pressed against the wall, hidden under the leafy branches.

The bedroom door opened.

“She’s not here,” Bernard called.

“Check the closet,” Hugh’s distant voice replied.

Bernard’s footsteps lumbered across the room. The door squeaked. A grunt. Another squeak as he shut it.

“Nope.”

“Look in the other rooms. Niko says she came back here.”

Adele thanked the gods that clairvoyants couldn’t remote-view one another. She waited until Bernard’s footsteps retreated. Then she climbed onto an overhanging limb, shimmied along it and down the trunk. She darted to a shadowy pocket beside the porch. A pause, listening intently before she leaned out.

All was clear.

She took a slow step, hunkering down, ready to sprint to the next house. Then Lily lunged from behind that house, waving wildly for Adele to stop. Hugh strode around the corner, heading for the main house. Adele jumped back out of sight. As soon as Hugh was gone, Lily leaned out and waved Adele over.

Adele didn’t see a choice. If she went the other way, the stupid girl would probably draw Hugh’s attention trying to attract hers.

When Adele reached her, Lily pulled her into a tight hug, trembling against her, voice cracking as she said, “They’ve gone mad, Adele. Everyone’s gone mad. The things that awful man Rhys is saying about you. The lies. How can they believe him? I tried to defend you, but . . .” She sobbed. “Hugh told me to be quiet. Then he hit me, Adele. Hit me.”

Too bad Adele missed that. She patted Lily’s back and made suitable noises of sympathy.

Lily went on. “He’s been so angry. Like it’s my fault. Like I wanted the other men to . . . to . . .”

More pats as Adele peered over Lily’s shoulder. The barn was a hundred feet away, and in it, plenty of implements to help rid her of this annoyance for good.

“Wherever you’re going, Adele, I’m going with you. I’m going to help you escape.” Lily sniffled and straightened. “We’ll run to the barn. You can hide in there while I divert attention.”

Adele tried not to smile. “Sure. The barn. Good idea.”

With Lily watching her back, Adele ran to the next house. Lily caught up, then watched again as Adele made it to the barn. Adele walked into the dim interior, the bone-chilling dampness seeping through her clothes, the stink of beast and shit filling her lungs. By the gods, she’d be glad to get away from—

An ear-shattering crack made Adele stagger forward, the barn exploding in a blinding light. She dropped to her knees, arms flying up to protect her head. Another crack. Another explosion that left her ears ringing, her stomach pitching.

A bomb. Someone had rigged the barn with a—

A blow between Adele’s shoulder blades knocked her face-first into the hay, the chaff filling her mouth and nose. She tried to cough, but her head pounded like it would split if she so much as whimpered.

Another blow, this one glancing off her shoulder. There was no bomb. Someone was beating her. She tried to push up. Her stomach lurched and she gagged, vomit dribbling out.

A kick in the ribs flipped her over and she saw her assailant, a featureless figure looming over her, shovel raised. That shovel swung down like a scythe. Lily’s face appeared above it, contorted into a gargoyle mask of rage and hate.

Adele twisted out of the shovel’s path. It struck her hip, fresh pain jolting through her, the shovel glinting as Lily swung it up again.

“That’s enough, Lily,” said a voice behind them. “For now.”

Neala walked over and stood beside Lily. She looked down at Adele. Her eyes glowed, glittering orbs in a grinning death’s head, pale skin tight over her sharp cheekbones and chin.

Adele flipped onto her stomach and grabbed fistfuls of hay, pulling herself along the floor, trying to escape.

“Did Lily tell you she got the results from Dr. Briar?” Neala said. “He was running tests, trying to understand why they couldn’t conceive. Seems she was taking birth control pills. And it seems someone’s been a very sweet sister lately, bringing Lily’s coffee every morning.”

Lily walked over and kicked Adele’s ribs again, making her squeal like a spring piglet at the slaughter. “You think that hurts? It’s nothing compared to what Hugh’s going to do to you when he finds out.”

“Hugh,” Adele rasped. “It was his idea. The pills. He wanted to marry me, and if you couldn’t have kids, you’d have to go to the kitchens, and he’d be free.”

“Is that what happened?” Lily said sarcastically. “How can I ever repay you for telling me the truth? I know, I can let you go, right?”

“If you don’t, he’ll kill me. It’s not my fault—”

“Nothing ever is, Adele,” Neala said. “Lily, grab her other arm. We don’t want the others to miss out on Adele’s wonderful stories.”





ROBYN



Robyn watched Detective Findlay walk along the gravel shoulder behind the compound where Hope, Karl and Rhys had gone. He was returning to the car after talking to the rest of the team. He had his gaze down, watching the ground intently, as if it teemed with scorpions, but when a can lay in his path, he stepped on it, giving a start when it crunched underfoot.

Frown lines creased his broad face. When the wind ruffled his hair, he shoved the strands back from his face, frown deepening, gaze returning to its intent study of his path.

Preoccupied, but not with ghosts. Robyn had already learned to recognize that look, that dreaminess, so jarring on his craggy face, like a cowboy wistfully gazing at the mountains, dreaming of a ranch of his own.

This current preoccupation seemed equally out of place, too intense, too angry. Deep in thought, and whatever those thoughts were, he didn’t like them.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and stared at a dead bug on the windshield, as if trying to commune with its spirit. She didn’t expect him to speak. The tension between them had been stretching ever tighter since the medical offices.

She couldn’t regret her reaction, nor shake the feeling that it had, under the circumstances, been the right one.

For Detective Findlay, though, this was a job, and she didn’t expect him to put himself on the line for Hope and Karl, no more than she expected him to let her—his suspect—do the same. An irreconcilable clash of priorities that had settled into an irreconcilable war of intractability.

Even when Detective Findlay had finally managed to call for backup, it had only seemed to blacken his mood more. Apparently, he was stuck with a team from the sheriff’s department, men he didn’t know. He’d tried getting hold of a detective named Madoz, wanting him to be in on the takedown, and had been told he was on the way, but there was no sign of him yet.

She cleared her throat. “Detective Findlay—”

“You don’t need to call me that.”

“What’s your name?”

He blinked, apparently having forgotten that somewhere between the gun showdown and the car chase, they’d failed to perform proper introductions.

“John,” he said. “But everyone calls me Finn.”

“Which do you prefer?”

He paused, as if it had been so long since anyone asked, he wasn’t sure. “Finn’s fine.”

“Okay, so is the team ready to—”

A rap at the window. Finn lowered it. A beefy man leaned in too far, the invasion of space making the detective’s shoulders square.

“Alvarez,” the man said. “Just got here. My boys tell me you don’t like my plan, Detective.”

“I don’t see any reason to put Ms. Peltier in further—”

“No danger, Detective. My boys are the best. I need her on-site to ID her friends, make sure we get them out.”

“Out of what?”

“We don’t know what we’re facing in there. Our records show it’s a multifamily residence. Some kind of commune, we think. We have to be prepared for the worst.”

“Which is why Ms. Peltier shouldn’t go in. I can ID her friends.”

“We’d prefer her, for absolute confirmation.”

“I want to speak to—”

“It’s okay,” Robyn said. “I’ll go.”

Finn didn’t like that, lips tightening. Alvarez thumped the window sill and backed out. “All set then?”

He walked away without waiting for a response.



AS THEY TOOK UP POSITION in the woods surrounding the property, Finn only got moodier, snapping at the officers in a way that suggested he never snapped at anyone and didn’t like hearing himself do it. But that didn’t stop him either.

He seemed to be in communication with his spirit guide, but Robyn got the impression that at the moment, the ghost wasn’t doing much guiding.

“I need you two over there.” Alvarez pointed into the patch of woods bordering the property, then smacked binoculars into the detective’s hand. “That’s a safe distance. Have her pinpoint her friends and radio me with a full description of their location and apparel. Solheim here will go with you.”

Alvarez marched off with his men, leaving an officer about Finn’s age with a heavy brow and a heavier frown. He waved them into the forest and followed at their heels, rifle in hand. Every few seconds, Finn would glance back, as if being marched to a firing squad.

Robyn picked her way through the bush. When her feet got tangled, the detective pulled her up short and yanked wild grapevines from her ankles.

“Is this really necessary?” Finn said. “We can barely walk here.”

“Cover,” was all Solheim said.

When they were finally in deep enough, Solheim grunted for them to stop. Robyn could make out houses in the distance, and what looked like people moving between them, but it was so far away she doubted she would recognize Hope and Karl even with binoculars.

She glanced at Finn, who was squinting through them. She expected him to echo her thoughts, but instead he said, “How do you adjust these?”

Solheim grunted again, a sigh whispering through it this time. He set his rifle down and took the binoculars. Finn stepped back, behind Solheim, giving him a better vantage point. Robyn squinted, straining to see Hope’s denim jacket.

“See this dial?” Solheim lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “You need to—”

A crack. Robyn spun to see Solheim falling, Finn behind him, gun raised.

As she stared in shock, Finn knelt beside the officer’s body. “Out cold. Good. Now help me pull him—”

“You—you just knocked out a cop.”

“He’s not a cop, Robyn. None of them are.”

“What?”

The detective rose, pushing his gun back into his holster. “I have no idea what’s going on here, but I don’t know any of these men—”

“Because they’re from the sheriff’s office!”

“Who we’ve been working with on this case, and I don’t recognize a single name. Madoz is a no-show. I can’t get through to my station. My cell phone is blocked. And look around. What are we doing out here?”

“You wanted me to be safe. This is—”

“They’re sidelining us. Getting me out of the way. You gave them full descriptions of Adams and Marsten, down to what they’re wearing. Why do you need to do that again?”

“You called for backup. On your police radio. I saw you. You can’t tell me—”

“Something happened.”

She took a slow step back. “Oh, I know what happened. You called for backup, expecting to get men you know, men you could control. Hope was right. You do work for that company.”

“What? No. I—”

Robyn turned and ran. She felt his fingers brush her back, then an “oomph” as he stumbled in the undergrowth.

“Robyn!”

She reached into her jacket pocket for the gun, but it snagged and refused to come out.

“Robyn, just stop and listen—”

She ran faster, ducking to avoid a low branch, then, at the last second, grabbing it, pulling it as she ran, letting go, hearing it whip back, Detective Findlay cursing as he tripped again, trying to avoid it.

“Rob—Bobby!”

Grapevines seemed to snake from the ground, wrapping around her feet and she stumbled, twisting, hands flying up to ward him off.

“What did you say?” Her jaw wouldn’t unhinge enough to let the words out properly, her fury so hot she could feel it, see it, white sparks exploding before her eyes.

“Bobby,” he said. “Damon called you—calls you—”

“Don’t you dare!”

He reached for her elbow, then drew back, glancing to the left with a gruff, “I know. I’m sorry,” before turning back to Robyn. His lips twisted in what she supposed was a wry smile, but it looked like a grimace, and seeing it, she knew what he was going to say, what he was going to tell her, the lowest, cheapest ploy he could think of.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Rob—”

“If you tell me that Damon’s here, helping you, I will— I will—”She could think of no threat great enough.

Detective Findlay stepped back, voice softening. “He says he calls you Bobby because he misread the place setting tags at Ava’s wedding. It was a fancy script and he thought it said Bobby, and even after he knew your name was Robyn, he figured everyone must call you Bobby, so he kept using it, and it was months before anyone straightened him out.”

The rage reignited, tears evaporating. “Everyone knows that story. They told it at our wedding, for God’s sake. You and your people dug up everything they could, getting this lie ready to spring—”

“Fair,” he said quickly, desperation flashing in his eyes. “He—Damon—said you like fairs. Yesterday when we went there, he was telling me how much you liked . . .” He trailed off, glancing to the side as if listening, then nodding emphatically. “Okay, okay. He says you two went to the fair last year with a couple of his college buddies. Damon threw up on the Tilt-a-Whirl and promised to do the housework for a month if you said you were the one who got sick.”

The ground tilted as if, for a moment, she was back on that ride. They’d never told anyone that story, which was the point of course, saving Damon from endless razzing by his friends, who’d been on the other side of the ride and missed seeing which one of them threw up. Robyn teased him about it mercilessly, trying to blackmail extra chores for months.

If she’d never told anyone, and she knew Damon would never have told anyone . . .

Her gaze lifted to the spot beside Detective Finn’s shoulder.

“Damon?” Again, that slow tilt of the world shifting, and it was like when she was eighteen, getting her wisdom teeth out, the anesthetic taking hold, a languorous wave of delicious warmth washing over her, her whole body relaxing and surrendering to it. She felt that again, swaying, muscles letting go as if she’d been holding them tight for six months and all she could do was stare at that spot, that empty spot, and say again, “Damon.”

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, praying that when she opened them, she’d see him, see some part of him, if only a shimmer of light, something she could reach for.

She opened her eyes to dark forest. “What’s he saying? Can he hear me?”

“He can, and he’s saying that while he’d love to chat, you’ve got a psycho SWAT team on your tail, and you need to move your, uh, rear.”

She hiccuped a laugh, hands flying up to stifle it. “Damon.”

“You’re going to talk to him, Robyn. I promise.” Finn stepped toward her, taking her by the elbows. “When this is over, I’ll tell you everything he wants you to hear. But right now . . .”

“I need to move my ass.”

He smiled, a genuine smile, the first she’d seen from him, his eyes crinkling. “Exactly. Now, if we go this way—”

He wheeled, head jerking up as if hearing something. Then he spun back, big hand slamming her between the shoulder blades, and hissing,“Down!” She hit the ground, her sore shoulder knocking against a tree trunk. She swallowed a gasp of pain as he dropped beside her.

“Isn’t this where they’re supposed to be?” a voice asked.

Another answered, more distant, muffled. Robyn tried to listen, but all she could think about was Damon, here, right here with her, watching her, and everything she wanted to say, and how much she’d give to hear his voice, just hear him. She squeezed her eyes shut. How greedy was that? Only hours ago she’d have given anything for this much—the chance to know he was truly and beyond doubt someplace, that he was okay, that they would get the chance they’d been denied that night on the highway, those last moments to say everything that hadn’t been said, that it always seemed there’d be time—days, months, years—to say.

“Shit! It’s Solheim. He’s been knocked out.”

That snapped Robyn back to the present. She tried to creep forward for a better look, but Finn laid his arm over her back, holding her down.

“Solheim, come on, wake up.”

A groggy “Wha—?”

“Goddamn it, you were supposed to take care of them. You f*cked up, didn’t you? They saw you pull your sidearm.”

“Wha—? No, I never— It’s right here. I—I was looking through the binoculars, then . . .”

Robyn didn’t catch the rest, her mind looping back to the first bit. Take care of them? Pull his sidearm? She remembered trudging through the forest, Finn glancing back at Solheim, her thinking he looked like a prisoner being led to a firing squad.

Because he was.

No, that was crazy. Why would—?

Why not? Finn was right. These men weren’t police officers.

Running footsteps crashed through the forest. “Solheim, Barrett, Mac! Alvarez needs you up front. Something’s going down.” The footfalls stopped. “You took care of them, right?”

“They got away. We were just—”

“Shit! No. We need all hands up front. Their car is disabled, right? You managed that, I hope.”

A chilly, “Yes, sir.”

“Then, Solheim, scout the perimeter. Don’t let them escape. Barrett, Mac, follow me.”

When they were gone, Finn helped Robyn to her feet.

“We need to warn Hope and Karl,” she said.

“I know. You still have the gun?”

She reached into her jacket. It slid out easily now. All in the angle, she supposed.

“Any idea how to use it?” he asked.

“I’ll figure it out.”





HOPE





After what Rhys told them about Adele, Hope supposed she should have been able to dredge up a few ounces of sympathy for her, growing up in a cult, believing she’d been sold by her mother.

But she’d given her “sister” birth control pills so she’d be forced into what Hope could only call group rape. She’d preyed on Colm’s infatuation, then abandoned him, knowing he’d been conditioned to avoid capture with suicide. She’d murdered Portia Kane, Judd Archer, the bike officer and, if Rhys guessed right, an innocent bystander at the fair.

So as Hope stood in a garden and watched Adele—battered and bowed, her gun in the hands of the young woman she’d betrayed, her arm in the grip of the woman whose son she’d gotten killed—there was no mercy in her.

With each new accusation, Adele’s terror spiked. And Hope guzzled it down.

“You have betrayed the kumpania,” their leader, Niko, said. “You’ve maliciously interfered with your sister, Lily. You’ve caused the death of your brother, Colm. And you’ve committed the ultimate betrayal, conspiring with a Cabal—”

“No! It’s not true. None of it. I—”

Neala cuffed the side of Adele’s head. As Adele cried out, Neala’s expression didn’t change. When she’d first dragged Adele to the meeting place, delicious chaos vibes had danced around her, her grief mingled with the thrill of bringing her son’s killer to justice.

Rhys said Neala had been a beautiful woman, but the years had been harsh, and she looked a decade older than him, her bright red hair pulled back tightly, making her appear all the more severe.

“The evidence has been presented and accepted, Adele,” Niko continued. “I’ve rendered my judgment and now it’s time to pass sentence. As our laws dictate, you will be stoned by those you betrayed—”

Adele’s scream drowned out the rest, her terror so pure the demon gobbled it down and clamored for more, writhing in anticipation of such a gloriously chaotic death, such a—

Neala smacked Adele again and the girl blacked out, that momentary cutting of the chaos cord enough for Hope to fully realize what was going on.

“No,” she said, stepping forward. “You can’t execute her. She’s going into council custody.”

“Yes.” Adele shot straight, steadying herself against a birdbath. “That’s right. I claim council protection as a supernatural—”

“Adele?” Lily said. “Shut up.”

“That’s enough, Lily.” Niko turned to Hope. “I’m sorry, but Adele is ours and we do not recognize the council’s authority. We have the right to execute—”

“By what law? Not council, not Cabal, not human, and maybe you don’t like to ‘recognize’ those, but you sure as hell better start. There’s an innocent woman accused of Adele’s crimes, who could go to jail if Adele vanishes off the face of the earth.”

Karl moved up beside her. “Hope is right. We’re taking—”

“No, you’re not. I’m sorry about this woman, but she’s not our concern. Adele is, and we’re going to—”

“I’m pregnant,” Adele blurted.

“Oh, gods,” Lily muttered. “Here we go with the lies.”

“It’s not a lie. You have pregnancy tests in your room, don’t you? Go get one. I’ll take it right now and you’ll see.”

“The father.” It took a moment to track the whisper to its source and even then, Hope didn’t need to pinpoint the sound, just the face it came from—Neala’s, a note of hope in her voice that wrung Hope’s heart as no sob story from Adele ever could. “Is it Colm?”

Hearing that, Adele went still, like a predator catching a scent, and in her eyes Hope saw a beast less human than her demon, than Karl’s wolf, stripped of humanity, only instinct remaining, eyes glittering with a cunning that could pass for intelligence.

“No, it’s not Colm.” She looked around and Hope swore those bloodied and swollen lips smiled. “It’s Thom.”

Niko strode forward, bellowing, “Blasphemy! How dare you ever suggest such a—”

“Because it’s true.” Now that curve in Adele’s lips couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a smile. “You can run any tests you want. I’m carrying Thom’s child.” She turned to Rhys. “Congratulations. It may not be Colm’s, but you’re still going to be a grandfather.”

Silence. The chaos came in uncertain spurts.

“What?” Rhys said finally.

“Thom. Your—” Adele’s horrible smile stretched. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. Really, Neala, now would be the time to tell him, ease the loss of one son by letting him know he still has another. His firstborn.”

Rhys turned slowly. “Neala?”

Neala’s pain hit Hope like an energy bolt. Karl grabbed her.

“You remember your firstborn, don’t you?” Adele said. “The one Neala told you died? He didn’t, but he’s a retard. They keep him locked in a bomb shelter under the property, so they can use his powers.”

“Neala?” A plea now, Rhys begging her to tell him this was another of Adele’s lies.

Neala’s pain hit Hope again, knocking her back into Karl’s arms, her eyelids fluttering, seeing Neala step toward Rhys, her lips parting in an apology that Hope heard, over and over, in Neala’s thoughts, but wouldn’t reach her lips. Then, behind her, Adele spun, grabbing the gun from Lily’s hand.

A scream. A shot. Neala staggered, eyes rounding, that apology stuttering in her head, desperately trying to find a way out, and then the chaos, the sweet, sweet chaos . . .

“Neala!” Rhys shot forward, grabbing her.

Hope tried to focus, but the chaos was so sweet, so perfectly sweet . . .

“Call an ambulance!” Rhys shouted.

It wouldn’t help. Hope could feel Neala’s life seeping away, her terror, chaos thundering all around, then a young man’s voice yelling, “Niko! Niko!”

Footsteps pounded across the patio stones.

“Niko! Men—” Panting, gasping for breath. “Armed men. Guns. Hugh saw them. They’re—they’re all around—”

A scream cut him off. Then another.

Niko’s voice rose above them. “No! It’s all right. They aren’t here to hurt us. Stay calm. Everyone stay—”

A shot. A crack. The peppery smell of tear gas. A long, keening scream. Then the smoldering pit of chaos detonated.