Devil’s Luck Page 11

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “I had to come down to the train yard to make sure no one could get this conversation with a long-range device. It’s too loud for that here.”

  The hair on Konstantine’s neck rose. “What’s going on?”

  “Diana Dennard is in town, checking up on Lou. I’m pretty sure she’s bugged my office and probably Piper’s apartment. She might have gotten something into the shop and our apartments too. I can’t be sure without being really obvious. She’s definitely got tails following us around. A woman in leather pants and a guy that walks with a pretty pronounced limp.”

  “To what end?”

  “She came in pretending to be Lou’s sister, asking me to find her. Didn’t Lou tell you about any of this?”

  “No.” Konstantine thought of the notification he’d received upon returning from La Loon. Someone had duplicated photos of Lou in both Tokyo and Amsterdam before his bots could wipe them. He’d been worried the Tokyo photo was Yamamoto’s doing. Maybe it wasn’t.

  “Since I can’t search for the bugs or cameras without them knowing we are on to them,” King went on. “I was hoping you could take care of that.”

  “I can try to disrupt the signals remotely,” Konstantine offered. “I need the addresses of all properties you think have been infiltrated and also the name of your internet provider.”

  He didn’t have to have this information, but it would make the job quicker.

  “Why?”

  “I can hack routers, networks, anything that they may be using as a signal for their devices.”

  King rattled off addresses and the name of his provider, while Konstantine scrawled the information on a notebook at hand. Then King asked, “How long do you need?”

  “Give me a day,” Konstantine said.

  “Better than I hoped.”

  King thanked him and terminated the call.

  “About the yakuza,” Stefano began, only glancing at the notepad beneath Konstantine’s hand. “Chris Litteri and John Christino just returned.”

  In the face of Stefano’s patience, Konstantine refrained from pulling out his computer and setting about the task that interested him far more than politics.

  “Yes,” he said, putting down the pen. “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  Piper was refilling the coffee pot when she felt King slip the note into her pocket. Her back stiffened as she repressed the urge to ask, What’s that?

  He’d trained her for this moment. If I ever slip you a note, it’s because something dangerous is happening and I can’t speak aloud. Don’t do or say anything. Don’t react. Just make an excuse to leave and read it somewhere safe. The farther away, the better.

  At the time she’d thought he was being a paranoid bastard. Sure, his ex-partner had snuck into his apartment one night and had almost shot him in the head, and they’d also gotten kidnapped by some Russians, but—okay, so maybe he had reason to be paranoid.

  Or this was a test.

  She checked the time. It was just past noon. “I was thinking about getting some sandwiches.”

  “I’d love a BLT,” he said, without missing a beat. He took his coffee and dose of cream back to his desk. “Let me give you some money.”

  As he handed over the twenty, Piper was careful to look him in the eye.

  His gaze betrayed nothing.

  Damn, he’s good. “Be right back.”

  The note felt like a stone in her pocket as she jogged down Royal to St. Peter, catching a streetcar at the edge of the Quarter. She rode it for ten minutes until the two women who’d boarded the car with her exited at a stop in the Garden District.

  Only then did she pull the note from her pocket, along with her phone, and unfold it carefully in her lap, pretending to look at the screen.

  Agency’s compromised. Meet me at Blues Bar at 1:15.

  That was enough time to get the sandwiches. And a cookie. Right now she could use a cookie.

  * * *

  Blues Bar was a honky-tonk place near Crescent Park. When Piper walked in with her bag of BLTs and cookies, she expected the doorman to stop her and tell her no outside food.

  Instead he nodded toward a closed door across the room. “He’s down there.”

  Confused, she entered the bar cautiously, finding it empty at midday.

  “Did a guy—” she began.

  He nodded toward the door on the far wall again. Piper had to squint to see it in the dim light. A red bulb overhead made the edges of its frame stand out.

  “Thanks.” She crossed to the door, opened it, and peered down into the darkness. Four white steps could be seen before the shadows swallowed the rest of the staircase.

  Oh man, she thought. If I get murdered over some bacon…

  She descended cautiously. She kept the sandwich bag close, ready to hurl it at an attacker if one appeared.

  But at the bottom of the stairs was nothing more than a concrete bunker and three people standing beneath a single swinging bulb.

  “Christ,” she muttered. “I thought I was going to get murdered down here. What’s going on, man?”

  Melandra, Dani, and King all turned at the sound of her voice.

  “Did you close the door?” King asked. Piper looked up the stairs to be sure she had.

  “Yes, now what’s going on?”

  He was frowning at the sandwich bag. “You actually got sandwiches.”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “You didn’t really want one? Well, I got them cut in half so everyone can have half a BLT and a cookie.”

  King opened the bag. “There are five cookies in here.”

  “It was five for two dollars. They’re Gino’s.” When King didn’t seem to understand, Piper added, “They’re amazing.”

  They passed around the bag until everyone was in possession of half a BLT and a cookie. Piper’s had M&M’s in it. Mel had taken the chocolate with white chocolate chips and Dani the snickerdoodle. King had passed on the cookie.

  Piper thought, Your loss.

  “How do you know about this place? Are you friends with a guy or something?”

  “I know the owner,” King said, half of his sandwich in his mouth. For someone who didn’t really want a sandwich, Piper thought he was really going at it. “She used to be a cop in Washington. She moved here and opened a bar when she retired in ’91.”

  Piper always thought it was weird how old people knew everything by year. I got my teeth out in ’83. I bought the house in ’01.

  Piper remembered her high school graduation year, class of 2014, and that was it.

  “Why the cloak and dagger meeting? What’s going on?” Dani asked.

  Piper caught her eye and they shared a smile. Dani looked really cute with half of a huge cookie in her mouth. Piper wanted to kiss her but knew this was a weird moment to start sucking face.

  “Diana’s been watching us, tracking our movements. I found a bug under my desk at work. I have a feeling that she probably put bugs in other places too, but I can’t confirm that yet. And I can’t get ahold of Lou either.”

  “She’s in La Loon,” Piper said.

  She took her boyfriend on vacation. Piper didn’t like to think about the Italian stallion if she could help it. Something about him got under her skin. But there was no denying that he was super into Lou and would do anything for her, so she let it slide.

  “Did Lou meet up with Diana?” Piper asked cautiously.

  “Yeah,” King said. “She said Diana wanted to hunt a guy together.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Mel said, finishing her cookie and wiping her hands together to rid them of crumbs.

  “Except Lou refused her.” King sucked mayo off his thumb and wiped the crumbs off his hands with a paper napkin. For someone who didn’t want a sandwich, he sure put it away. “I don’t think Diana will let it go.”

  Dani was rubbing the back of her neck. It was a gesture Piper knew well. She did it whenever she didn’t like what she was h
earing.

  “I just wanted you to be aware about the bugs and to tell you to watch what you say in the office until Konstantine is able to destroy the signal. And I want you to check your place.”

  Piper realized King was looking at her. “What place?”

  “Your place,” he said. “If there’s a bug under my desk, there’s probably something in your apartment. Maybe even a camera.”

  Dani choked on her cookie. “Excuse me?”

  Her face was reddening. Piper couldn’t tell if it was because someone might have taped them messing around or if she was actually choking.

  “You can’t say that stuff to her.” Piper scowled at King.. “You’ll freak her out.”

  “I want you prepared,” he said. “That’s all. We can’t be sure what Diana’s next move will be, so we need to be careful.”

  Dani began wringing her finger. The one Dmitri had cut off.

  Mel reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “We’re going to be fine, honey. You’ll see.”

  “Exactly. Diana doesn’t stand a chance,” Piper said, trying to reassure her. “Konstantine’s doing his fancy computer stuff, and we’re awesome. And we’re ready. We’re ready for anything.”

  16

  Lou stood in the closet of her apartment, breathing slowly, her Browning pistol resting across her chest. She rotated her shoulder but found no pain there. It was tight, but that was it.

  She felt good. Really good.

  Better, better, better, her mind was chanting. I’m getting better.

  King had paged her twice, but it was no emergency. She ignored it. She had plans.

  With a smile, she exhaled into the darkness, trying to hold back her elation and excitement. She let the shadows wash over her like moonlit waves.

  St. Louis fell away in its place, the honking of a car and screech of a bicycle bell.

  Someone was yelling. And then the veil shifted and Lou slipped through.

  Prague sprang to life around her, vibrant and hurried.

  Lou stepped out onto Charles Bridge. The city was awash in lantern light with a cotton candy–purple sky. A church, or at least Lou thought it might be a church, was framed against that soft sky with its metallic pale green dome of a roof. Somewhere, a large bell began its toll.

  A woman with a cart sold circles of cinnamon and sugar dough that looked like bracelets. It made Lou’s stomach knot, but she’d eat later.

  For now her eyes remained fixed on her target. A short, muscular man. His leather jacket grazed his hips as he marched away from her. She followed him across the bridge, walking past couples hand-in-hand, students with backpacks, and children pinwheeling, arms outstretched.

  His boots clicked against stone and Lou fell into step with him, matching his rhythm.

  Jiri Svoboda was a middleman. When a riverboat full of heroin docked on the Vltava River, the drug lord made sure it was delivered to the dealers in the surrounding districts.

  It was a warm summer night. She was out hunting like she did back in the day. In her life before Konstantine, before King, before Piper and the rest of it.

  A surge of nostalgia overtook her, deepening her confidence.

  She followed him through the cobblestoned streets, enjoying the sounds of the city waking up at the promise of night. People stumbled out of restaurants laughing. A bus squealed its brakes in front of a Tesco.

  Svoboda cut down a side alley.

  Lou was on him a heartbeat later. She grabbed the back of his leather jacket and pulled.

  He turned, pivoting as if he’d expected her—and if not her, some kind of trouble.

  His elbow swung in an arc as the gun slid out of his jacket. Lou grabbed the back of his elbow, redirecting the energy down the same moment she slid him through the dark.

  Prague disappeared. Her lakeside sanctuary formed.

  Jiri was not perturbed by this shift.

  If he noticed that the city around him had disappeared and in its place stood a nighttime forest, his face showed no recognition. Something splashed into the lake, disturbed by the sudden arrival of unwanted guests.

  The swing of Jiri’s arm turned him away from her. She released her grip and he stumbled into the shallows. He dropped his gun as water sloshed over the tops of his boots. Without stopping, he pulled another from his low back.

  Lou had enough time to slip, sidestepping through the darkness, so that when he pulled the trigger, the bullet bit into the pine tree that had stood behind her, spraying bark like wedding confetti.

  She reappeared in time to bring her elbow down hard on the gun hand, knocking it free. It hit the water and disappeared. Ripples radiated across the dark surface.

  He threw himself against Lou, checking her bad shoulder.

  She cried out and went down, hitting the dirt hard. All the air left her on impact.

  He was trying to get his hands around her neck. She was bracing him above her with her forearm, but it was her bad side.

  That first ignition of pain incinerated her confidence.

  Pain rolled through her body, making her spine go rigid. Red bursts danced in front of her eyes.

  She managed to get her good arm between their bodies and cross-pulled a blade from her hip.

  She drew it across his throat in one fluid moment. Blood sprayed into her face from the split artery, then began to pour. It hit her throat, cascading over the skin into her hair, pooling at the back of her neck.

  He coughed, choking. His body grew heavy and slack against her good arm.

  When she was certain her shoulder would snap out of place if she held him a moment longer, she rolled, tossing him to one side.

  She sat up, panting.

  Her shoulder wouldn’t move. The arm was deadweight against her side.

  She tried to shrug out of her jacket and get a good look at it, but the movement sent ribbons of fire down her side until her vision darkened.

  Svoboda choked out his last on the riverbank then was silent.

  The chorus of crickets and frogs that had stopped rehearsing enough for this interlude to play out gradually recommenced their singing.

  Lou inched toward the lake. With her good side, she scooped water into her hand and splashed it against her face, wiping away the blood. She didn’t want it on her lips. Nothing to do about the vicious globs drying in her hair.

  The kill had been sloppy. Pathetic. She hadn’t gotten stabbed or shot, which could be seen as an improvement, but now her shoulder was throbbing so badly she thought she might black out.

  “I’ve hurt myself,” she murmured, and heard her own disbelief. How was that possible?

  Sure, sometimes she was shot or stabbed or thrown into something in the course of a good fight, but she’d never hurt herself.

  And the emotion she felt now, knowing that if she’d ruptured her shoulder or put herself out of commission for weeks, was that she had only herself to blame.

  Anger spiked inside her as she pulled herself to standing. She glanced at Svoboda’s body and bent to grab his leg with her good arm.

  She’d wanted to take an offering to Jabbers, to thank the beast for not eating Konstantine. But she wouldn’t be able to drag this corpse onto the shore. She would do well just to bring it to La Loon and leave it in the shallows for those strange reptilian orcas to eat.

  Body convulsing with pain, mind filled with bitter disappointment, Lou slid into the cold water with one thought in her head.

  I’m not ready. I’m not ready for anything.

  17

  Sometimes Diana lamented that her job involved so much time sitting in front of the computer. Tonight she had two monitors in front of her, twice the insult, as sweat trickled down the back of her neck. There was no A/C in this building and the walls themselves seemed to sweat from the heat.

  She squinted at the screen, rubbing at her dry eyes. One monitor showcased Winter’s feed—nine squares in total, each highlighting a different child.

  It was the little boy, maybe six years old, w
ho was getting the worst of it. His abuser kept alternating between raping and beating him, striking the boy over and over across his small back. When the boy bent, vomiting for the third time, she looked away from the grainy image and checked the second screen.

  The other monitor was a two-way split feed of Piper’s apartment and King’s office.

  Blair knocked on the door. “Are you going to eat?”

  “I already ate.”

  “What?”

  Diana made no answer.

  “What did you eat?” Blair insisted.

  “A sandwich.”

  “What kind of sandwich?”

  Diana scowled at her. “Why does it matter what kind of sandwich I ate?”

  “Because you’re lying. You’ve been in this room for seven hours and you haven’t left it once.”

  Diana turned away.

  “You’re useless to us if you don’t eat. And sleep.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Mom,” Diana said, using a blue bandana to wipe the back of her neck.

  “Ouch.” Blair threw something and it landed in Diana’s lap.

  “What’s this?”

  “A sandwich.” She smirked. “Eat it.”

  She pulled up a chair and sat down as Diana worked to peel back the plastic wrapping.

  As Diana ate, her sister watched the screen. When the little boy was thrown onto his stomach again, his mouth visibly mouthing No, no, wait, Blair cursed.

  “I don’t know how you can watch this shit.” Blair’s throat was tight. “It makes me sick. And furious.”

  “I don’t want to forget what a monster he is,” Diana said, forcing another bite of ham, cheese, and lettuce into her mouth.

  “Daniel is dead.”

  Imperceptibly, Diana flinched at the name. Daniel. Such a white, suburban name for the bastard who picked her up from school and locked her in a soundproof shed for months. Until she escaped and came back with a gun.

  “I’m talking about Winter.”

  “This isn’t Winter,” Blair said, motioning vaguely toward the screen. “It’s a whole bunch of other sick fucks.”