Revealing Silver (18 page)

Marisol reached the end of the line for the tenth time, her gaze drawn to Sophe. She was the quietest of the girls. Caused the least trouble. Always kept her eyes down when Marisol was near and muttered agreeable things like “yes, ma’am” to anything Marisol instructed. It was probably safe to say the girl was her favorite of the bunch, and there were scars on her shoulders, her back, and her ribs to attest to that fact. Marisol couldn’t help herself when it came to some of the girls. Their blood sang to her, the briefest touch giving her a buzz for the rest of the day. She never quite absorbed enough of them to manifest their powers. Or if she did, she never exhibited them for long. But she couldn’t afford to drag her heels any longer. One of the girls would have to be sacrificed to the greater good. She needed to bring Remy down. At the moment, they were equally matched, which would never do.

She took Sophe’s arm without speaking and dragged her away from the lineup. Sophe gave a little cry of shock, pulling against Marisol’s thin fingers, looking back to the other girls in desperation. They watched without making a sound, eyes wide, dumbstruck. Marisol had never been more grateful of their ignorance. If any of them knew what they were capable of, they might be able to stop her. She’d been tempted a few times to explain it all to them, wanting them to understand they were special, that they had an ancient connection to something powerful and greater than anything they could truly comprehend. But the risk was never worth it. So they lived in a perpetual state of confusion, not knowing exactly what Marisol wanted with them or why she found them so fascinating.

Marisol took Sophe into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. She forced her to strip and pushed her into the bathtub, turning on the cold water. Sophe hugged herself, teeth clattering as the water swirled around her feet. She looked so small and young that Marisol almost felt a twinge of remorse for what she was about to do. But it couldn’t be helped. She needed to defeat Remy without shooting her, stabbing her, or sending a few towering hulks after her to rip her apart. Remy was too much like a feral animal for Marisol to overpower on her own. Not like the children she’d lured into the back of her car, oftentimes in the middle of their very own neighborhood.

Besides, she always knew it was going to end this way for the girls. From the moment she discovered them and the strange, intoxicating qualities of their blood, she knew it would end like this. So she was sorry, but not sorry enough to stop herself from slamming the hammer against Sophe’s temple.

The sickening crunch of heavy steel connecting with her fragile skull echoed off the bathroom tile. Sophe had enough time to look at Marisol with surprised confusion before she crumbled into the tub and the pink, icy water. She dropped the hammer and put her hand against the gushing wound, painting her skin a deep crimson as something buttery and hot flowed through her veins. She closed her eyes, dropping her head back, feeling drunk on the fresh power within seconds of touching the dying girl.

The first thing Remy was going to do when she got back to Nathan and 2010 was learn Spanish. Well, maybe the second—okay, third thing. But living and working with him in L.A. meant coming into contact with a lot of people who didn’t speak a word of English. So far, she’d managed to scrape by with the few words Nathan had taught her, but seeing Olivia fly through Marisol’s notepad the night before had sealed the deal for her. She could’ve had the information it contained hours earlier if she could read the language. All of this footwork could have been done already.

Not that Marisol had laid everything out nice and neat for them to follow. The sole address went to a block of office buildings, short and squat as if they were trying to crawl back into the ground to hide from the California sun. The parking lot was empty when she arrived, and she circled the broken sidewalk twice, looking for the best way to get in without drawing attention from the cars starting to fill the road.

Most of the doors were chained shut. At least one hadn’t been unlocked in months if the rust and grit was anything to go by. A service entrance at the back had a numbered keypad for entry. She swore under her breath when she saw it. That usually meant an alarm company, which would draw undue attention if she set it off trying to get in. Nathan had a gadget he’d bought from a kid at Cal Tech that plugged in and neutralized the alarm on these kinds of locks, but for the trillionth time, she had to remind herself he wasn’t here to help her. She had to do this on her own. If she failed, or if Olivia failed, he’d die, and no way was she going to let that happen.

When she rounded the rear of the buildings to check the front out again, she discovered a new arrival parked near the entrance at the far side. A thickset man in jeans and a windbreaker stood at the open trunk of the tan sedan, fumbling with a large box that had been jammed inside. The wispy gray strands from his comb-over blew in the morning breeze, and his breath huffed visibly in front of his face as he struggled.

Remy jogged closer. “Hey,” she called out with a smile. “Need help with that?”

He glanced up as she approached. He was easily in his fifties, his bulbous nose red, capillaries broken along his cheeks to spider and disappear beneath the full beard he wore. His blue eyes narrowed as they scanned her, his hands tense and wary. She stopped several yards away to allow him the freedom to relax and realize she didn’t have to be a threat.

Another jerk at the box did nothing to free it. His shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yeah, if you think you can.” He stepped to the side to give her room to come closer. “My son put this in here for me last night. He must’ve used a crowbar to shove it in.”

Remy laughed. Tilting her head, she peered inside, behind the thick cardboard. “Nah, it just looks like he skewered it on your tire iron.”

The man tried to bend in to see for himself, but his bulk made it impossible to get around the large box. “I don’t suppose you can reach in there and get it off for me.”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing.”

Bracing her knee on the back bumper, Remy shimmied in around the side of the box, stretching her arm around the rear to grasp the rusty bar. The angle was awkward, but there was no way the guy would’ve gotten in to do it himself. She had to grit her teeth against the ache in her shoulder as she wrenched it free.

None of that showed on her face when she popped out. “There. Try it now.”

His meaty hands scooped around the sides of the box. In the watery morning light, the beads of sweat that had started to dry along his scalp shone with his new effort, but this time, he yanked it free on his first try.

“Whew.” Panting for breath, he rested the bottom on the edge of the trunk and swiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead. “First thing I do when I get inside is drink two gallons of coffee.”

She glanced up at the building. “You need help with the doors?” She kept her tone casual, though the excited thought of finally getting inside to check it out thrummed through her veins.

“You’re a godsend.” His pocket jingled as he pulled out a thick key ring and handed it over. “Big silver key with the blue edge.”

Remy walked alongside him, matching his pace until he reached the sidewalk. Then, she darted forward to get the door unlocked so he could enter without having to stop. She had to step far out of his way to give him room to enter, but slipped inside behind him once he’d crossed the threshold.

The man dropped the box to the floor outside a closed door. The placard in the frosted glass running alongside it said, “Wm. Reinbold, Financial Services,” and a whole lot of letters, though she had no idea what they meant.

“Close enough for government work,” he huffed. As she passed back the keys, he smiled. “Thank you. I would’ve been stuck for hours if you hadn’t come along.”

“Not a problem.” She nodded at the sign. “You’re a money guy?”

“Sometimes, I think I’m an idiot guy for choosing this profession. This time of year kills me every time.”

“I thought people didn’t start worrying about their taxes until January.”

“Most don’t.” He nodded toward some of the other closed doors that lined the dim hallway. “Four other accountants have moved into this building in the past five years. I’ve got to get started early if I want to stand a chance against them.” He jabbed a thick finger at the one across the corridor. “George is the worst. Biggest shark I’ve ever come across. And some of the clients he keeps…”

When Mr. Reinbold turned back to his door to open it, Remy took the reprieve to more carefully look at the office he’d indicated. Sure enough, the name on the door read “George Hawkins.”

The same name on the card from Marisol’s purse. A money man, which could only mean he was handling some sort of business transaction for her. Especially if Mr. Reinbold’s assessment of his clientele was accurate.

“You want a coffee for your trouble?” Mr. Reinbold stood in the doorway, a trash can propping it open. Leaning over, he grabbed the edge of the box and dragged it inside the rest of the way. “It’ll just take me a couple minutes to put the pot on.”

Accepting would give her reason to stick around longer. “Sure, thanks.”

“Be back in a couple of ticks.”

He lumbered off, leaving the door open. Remy marveled at how quickly he’d come to trust her, though on the one hand, it was comforting to know people in this city could still believe in others. A twinge of envy pricked her gut. How wonderful it would be to think the world actually deserved the level of trust Mr. Reinbold displayed.

It made it a little harder to turn her attention to the other door, then, though she did it anyway. Certain things had to be done, no matter how she felt about them. Including finding a way to get into George Hawkins’s office.

The lock was simple, opening with the first probe of her pick. With so much security outside, the building’s occupants probably felt safe enough to only have basic locks on their offices. Lucky for her, especially since Mr. Reinbold returned within moments with a Styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee.

“I don’t know how you like it,” he apologized.

“This is fine.” She sipped at it to prove it to him. “Thanks again.”

With a little wave, she headed for the exit, keeping up the pretense of leaving. The sound of the trash can sliding across the floor came seconds before the office door clicked shut, and Remy bolted back to let herself into Hawkins’s office before Mr. Reinbold saw her.

The office was dark with no exterior windows. The only light trickled in through the glass pane beside the door. She couldn’t risk flipping a switch, either, just in case anybody walked by. Turning the lock on the door would be her only warning if somebody decided to come to work early.

She waited a minute to let her eyes adjust, then moved farther into the room, her fingers trailing against the wall to guide her. Her knee bumped against the edge of a desk, and she bit back her curse at the sharp pain shooting down the back of her leg. The damn cut from the gangbanger hadn’t healed great. She hadn’t said a word to Olivia about it—the woman had been through far worse than Remy had, and the last thing she wanted was to whine about a single injury—but if it didn’t do some serious stitching up soon, she’d have to come clean before they tried getting the girls. Olivia needed to know their weaknesses, and fuck if Remy didn’t rage at the thought of being any kind of a weak link.

A huge computer occupied the center of the desk. If all of his files were digital, they were screwed. Remy sat in the narrow seat and searched the blotter for any business deal details. When that came up empty, she started going through the desk.

She hit pay dirt in the bottom drawer. A manila folder near the front had a yellow Post-It attached to its tab, the number written on it the same as Marisol’s cell. Remy pulled it out and flipped through the contents. Most of it didn’t make sense, but toward the back was a thick sheaf of papers with the words “Leasing Agreement” typed across the front.

It might not be what they wanted, but she’d leave it to Olivia to figure out. She was the brains of their operation, as well as native to the city. She’d be the one to lead Remy into the fight. Any other woman and Remy might have balked. She didn’t do authority.

But Olivia was different, and had been from the start. Remy felt safe around her. Gabriel would argue it all came back to the Silver Maiden. Maybe that was true, but she wasn’t so concerned with reasons as she was with results.

Olivia had her back. She fought for the other girls as fiercely as she was fighting now for Nathan and Isaac.

Remy refused to let her down.

There was less dust on the floor and the windows, but otherwise, the warehouse looked more or less the same as it did yesterday, ten years from now. Remy told her Marisol had abandoned the place, but that didn’t mean none of Parker’s thugs were there. Or even somebody with legitimate business—it wouldn’t do if people suspected that the warehouse was just a front for something. But Olivia timed her visit to be in the early morning hours, hoping it would minimize traffic either around or in and out of the building.

Without a car, she had to take a taxi most of the way and then walk the last half mile. Any other time, the walk would have been nothing more strenuous than a brisk stroll with Tiberius through the park, but that morning her body protested every single step. She was battered and bruised from Gabriel’s rough treatment and rolling around the back of the semi, not to mention the bone-jarring, teeth-clenching ordeal of being magically transported ten years into the past without any real warning. Her eye was still swollen shut, and the wound on her temple would scar without stitches, but that would have to wait.

At least she had her gun. Gabriel had allowed for that, handing the unloaded weapon to her just before he used the coin to send her away. She wished she had a backup weapon. Not to mention actual backup, preferably in the form of one Isaac McGuire, but she didn’t, and there was no point in dwelling on everything she lacked. She had Remy, who was back at the hotel doing what she could with the items she’d found in Marisol’s purse, and she had her own brains. Hopefully, she’d have a few clues when she was done searching the warehouse.

To her surprise and great relief, the keys Isaac had given her still fit in the lock, and she quietly let herself in. Remy might have been right about this being a waste of time. Olivia sincerely hoped she was right. She hoped her search of the basement didn’t turn up any of the missing girls—or any other grisly discoveries. Even though her only purpose was to find Marisol, she almost hoped the warehouse was a dead end, as empty as Remy claimed. She’d rather her mission be made more difficult than find the evidence that Marisol had turned into a butcher.

Olivia advanced slowly, weapon drawn. There were different stacks of crates, changing the floor plan enough to disorient her in the dark. Some streetlight filtered in from the grimy windows, but not enough to be an advantage—or a disadvantage, as the case may be. She had a flashlight she’d picked up from the gas station near Remy’s hotel, but she didn’t want to use it where somebody could see the beam through the window. She’d wait until she was in the basement and wouldn’t risk discovery. That meant that, at times, she needed to walk with her empty hand straight out in front of her to ensure she didn’t slam face-first into a cargo crate.

“I know somebody’s there.”

Marisol’s voice sent trickles of ice water down Olivia’s spine, but she took another careful step forward. If Marisol didn’t know exactly where she was—she likely didn’t if she was making announcements like that—then she would press her advantage as much as she could. It occurred to her she could end it all right there if she got close enough to grab Marisol and use the coins in her pocket to send her back to Gabriel. Remy and the other girls would still be stranded, but at least the immediate danger would be removed, and Olivia could always figure out a way to get back. But she didn’t let that thought distract her from her surroundings.

“Show yourself now, and I might not kill you.”

Her voice was coming from the rear of the warehouse, near the offices. It was impossible to say for sure with the words bouncing off every flat surface in the building. Olivia ducked to the left, sliding between two narrowly stacked crates.

“Remy? Is that you? I’m going to take the cost of that purse out of your flesh.”

Olivia eased the safety off of her gun. She couldn’t kill Marisol. That wasn’t part of the deal. Gabriel wanted Marisol back and he wanted her alive so he could deal with her in his own way. She didn’t want to turn anybody over to Gabriel’s sadism, but it might not come to that if Isaac found them. Gabriel wasn’t expecting anybody to show up, and if Isaac could take Gabriel by surprise, he might have the other man cuffed and secure by the time Olivia returned. It was such a long shot Olivia knew she shouldn’t even fantasize about it, much less count on it. But a part of her did count on Isaac without hesitation or reservation.

She rounded a tall stack of boxes, hoping that would put her in position to see Marisol without being spotted herself. And it did. For a split second, she was in the perfect position, she had the perfect angle, and she was ready to squeeze the trigger.