a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures (14 page)

A faint rap sounded from the direction of Fion’s office and I froze. Someone knocking on the hall door? Or was Connor rapping her knuckles on her desk?

“Enter.” Fion sounded miffed.

Chair creaking, door clicking open, soft squeaky footsteps, and mumbling voices. My brain cataloged the information, and I pressed my back tight against the wall, blending in with
my
photographs.

“…need help…wrong with…” It must have been a butler or maid with the squeaky shoes, someone who waited on Connor. I couldn’t make out the nuances of the voice well enough to tell the gender.

Connor’s voice, however, came through clearly. “You’ve made so many mistakes today, Nolla, that I’m surprised you dare face me.”

Well, that answered any question about who’d appeared at the office door. Cait had been right. Nolla hadn’t stayed away, even though Fion had kicked her off the premises. There was more than one crazy person living in this house, and hopefully they’d keep each other busy while Pierce and I found a way for me to escape the loony bin.

“…problem…kitchen…come…”

Yes! Maybe Connor would go with Nolla to check the kitchen. At least that’s what it sounded like. And it provided me with the perfect escape opportunity.

“You should be able to handle these things, Nolla. It’s what I pay you to do.”

“Fuse…circuit breaker…can’t locate…”

I lasered some subliminal suggestions toward Connor.
“Go. Fix the problem. You’re needed in the kitchen. Now.”
And then I took a second to text Pierce.
Fion talking with Nolla in outer office. Both leaving? Hang tight. In wait mode.

No visible exit from your location. Checking kitchen.

NO.
I punched Send but the message wasn’t delivered. Damn it, he must have turned his phone off.

The chair squeaked and groaned. Heels clacked on the wooden floor. “I’ll take care of it. Stay out of the way, Nolla.”

Pierce and Connor were on a collision course. Nolla could end up anywhere.

The office door shut with a bang.

I held my breath, waited. No sound. Inching the secret room door open, I peeked out. Empty office. In a nanosecond I’d fled my temporary prison, screeched to a halt in front of the office door, and rested my fingertips against the wood. Warm. Connor hadn’t reset the energy lock. I palmed the Smith&Wesson and slipped into the hall. No one in sight.

Pausing by one of the hallway light fixtures, I checked Cait’s diagram for the location of the kitchen. The tables had turned. I was Pierce’s backup now. He’d given me this mission, and by all the gods and goddesses I was going to make it a success.

The kitchen was at the end of a far wing that led off the main living area, on the exact opposite end of the estate from Connor’s office. I took off at a steady jog, weapon clasped in my right hand, and my left hand pressing the folders and phone in my hoodie pocket tight to my abdomen. Losing any of them wasn’t an option.

It was easy to tell when I neared the kitchen area. The air was permeated with the scent of roast chicken, and then there were large splashes of light bouncing around just ahead of me. The hazy circles had to come from flashlights, and Connor, and possibly Nolla, were swinging them around so that the beams randomly highlighted the hall where I was attempting to blend in with the wallpaper. There wasn’t so much as a table or console for me to duck behind.

I slowed my pace, listening. Cait had assured Pierce and me that no one would be in the mansion. She’d been thirty minutes off on her mother’s arrival time, and it was enough of a blip to tip my spidey senses into high gear.

There could be someone else in the building besides Nolla and Connor. Unlikely, or Fion would have sent them to help Nolla with the power issue instead of going herself, but the possibility was still a potential glitch that I needed to factor it into any escape plan.

When I neared the kitchen entrance I pressed my back to the wall, checked the S&W magazine, and crept slowly toward the scent of roast chicken and the bobbing circles of light. Apparently they hadn’t been able to locate or fix the tripped circuit breaker. Or fuse. I had no idea how those things worked in England.

Voices. Connor’s raised in irritated impatience, and Nolla’s mumbling self-deprecating responses.

Where the hell was Pierce?

FOURTEEN

PIERCE OBVIOUSLY WASN’T IN THE
kitchen, and that gave Fion Connor the advantage of surprise. It’d be best if I headed him off with a warning about her location. I tucked the Smith&Wesson in my waistband, opened Cait’s diagram, and started to ease my way back down the hall toward the library. The French doors leading from that room would probably be my best bet for escape.

Fion Connor’s shout stopped me. “What was
that
?”

Nolla muttered something.

“No, it’s not Cait. Someone just broke through my wards, and
she
knows better.” Fion’s voice vibrated with anger.

Pierce. He didn’t know better. At least I didn’t think he did, but we’d never discussed witchcraft. Or wards, which I vaguely remembered were associated with pagan spells of some sort. And I was positive that Pierce’s extensive training as a super spy hadn’t included creating or dismantling protective energy locks. The prickly feel and the change in temperature simply wouldn’t compute for him, and he’d probably barged right through it.

“Hand me the Glock, Nolla.”

Adrenaline slammed home. If Pierce had touched one of Fion’s wards, he’d be incapacitated in some way. And Connor had a gun.

Footsteps. A drawer thumped closed. “Here you are Miz Connor.”

“Dial nine-nine-nine, but don’t connect the call until I tell you. And turn that flashlight off. It blinds me.”

Darkness descended.

I inhaled, listening, pinpointing my best guesses about the changing locations of Nolla and Connor. Soft, squeaky shoes had moved much farther away from me. Sharp, clicking heels had taken exactly twenty-two steps in what sounded like a straight line from where I stood.

The dark was my friend. Silently I folded the map, slipped it and my phone in my back pocket, and yanked the Smith&Wesson from my waistband. I had to get through the kitchen while Nolla was busy on the phone. Shooting
her
wasn’t an option, but if Connor so much as aimed her Glock at Pierce, she’d be dead.

Easing around the doorway and into the kitchen, I spotted Nolla first. She was about thirty feet from me, facing away. Perfect. Connor stood twenty feet in front of me, the Glock in her right hand and pointed toward the outside door, her left hand on the doorknob. Neither of them had noticed me.

I hugged the wall, blood pounding in my ears. Black crept around the edges of my vision, and I inhaled two long, slow breaths. Now wasn’t the time to pass out. I drew in another deep breath.

Connor opened the door a crack, peeked out, then froze. “Who the bloody hell are you?” Her voice was tight, confused.

I spared a glance at Nolla. She was staring at me, eyes huge, hand covering her mouth. I used the Smith&Wesson to motion her to the floor. She dropped immediately. One down, but I’d have to keep her on my radar.

Connor had opened the door wide and was poised on the threshold in a classic Weaver stance, with her left foot leading, her body sideways toward whoever stood at the door. “On your belly, feet wide, palms up. Now.”

How had it slipped my mind that she was a trained agent? I relaxed my stranglehold on the S&W, aimed for center mass, and focused on breathing and tracking Connor’s movements. Her attention was riveted on her target, giving me a few precious seconds to make my decision: call to her, and split her attention between whoever was outside and me, or inch closer to better assess the situation. I was ninety-nine percent sure Pierce was her target, but whoever it was hadn’t responded to Connor’s commands. Before I shot her, I wanted confirmation.

With a sudden movement, Fion left the threshold and moved outside, away from my line of sight.

I shot a glance at Nolla. Still face down on the floor, so I crept toward the open door, hugging the shadows.

One step. Two.

Energy swirled around me, cool and brittle. Must have been backlash from the lock-field Connor had created on the kitchen door—probably what she’d meant when she referred to a ward. Whoever was out there had obviously tripped it, and I was struggling with the chaotic energy that battered my aura. Backlash was a bitch for destroying concentration.

I positioned myself with as little vulnerable body mass as possible, the butt of my weapon close to my chest. I needed to be ready to fire if Connor turned around, but, more important, I didn’t want to give her the chance to grab my gun. I kept my attention on the kitchen door, moving forward another two steps. I had to be certain she was aiming at Pierce, and that he was alive, before I neutralized the destructive energy that was free-floating around the three of us.

Fion had to be immune to the crazy energy, since she’d created the field, but I wasn’t. And that meant shooting was out of the question unless it was a life or death situation, because there was no telling how the wild energy would affect my ability to aim or the trajectory of the bullets.

I couldn’t afford to move close enough to see who Connor was aiming at, but if it was Pierce, I should be able to detect his energy when I started the healing process.

A lump of fear lodged in my chest. I’d never tried to divide my attention when I was in healing mode, but there was no way I could allow my focus to slip away from Connor. Eyes open, I kept Fion, her movements, and her words, in my peripheral awareness—like a rote holding pattern. Then I turned my attention to the outside edges of my aura, and reached out for the lock-field Connor had created.

It was a mess, a jumble of disconnected energy, and the base pattern had been completely destroyed. I had no idea how to knit it together. A surge of adrenaline kicked up my heart rate, then slowed time to an almost complete stop. I reached beyond the free-floating fragments, searching for whoever had tripped the energy lock.

It took but a second to identify Pierce. He was alive but unconscious.

That left Fion Connor and me.

Woman to woman. I rubbed my diamond.

She outclassed me in terms of training and experience, but I had the advantage of youth, faster reflexes, and a fierce need to protect Tynan Pierce. She had insanity on her side. I had respect and love on mine.

Love trumped insanity. Oh, damn. Love. Later, much later I’d invest some serious thinking about putting love and Pierce in the same bucket.

I adjusted my stance, honed in on Connor, and aimed. “Place your weapon on the ground. Do it now.”

Connor whirled to face me, her Glock pointed at my chest. And she froze, eyes glazed over, her face morphed into a mask of horror. “Everly Gray.”

My name had never been spoken with such revulsion. Her hatred must have permeated the ethers, because her malignant energy attached to the remnants of the lock-field, and they began to reconnect in a coherent pattern. One I could neutralize, but not until it had completely formed.

Ignoring the energetic activity, I stared at the woman who had probably conspired to murder my parents. She was taller than I was, her posture stiff, her madness palpable. The thought of touching her churned ugly in my stomach. “You killed my parents.”

She blinked. And then shrugged. “Their deaths were necessary. But you’re too valuable to kill, Everly Gray.” She smiled, and I saw the demon living inside her.

I gagged.

Connor shifted toward me, raising her weapon. “Mutilating you, however, would be my pleasure.”

I ducked, scooted behind a center island. Bullets split the wood an inch from my face. That pissed me off. Anger throbbed in my temples. Pierce was out there, alone and unprotected.

A strangled sound came from my right. Nolla. I spared her a brief glance. Her face was parchment white, eyes wide with fear, and she was gnawing on her knuckle. No help there, but no threat, either.

A bullet smashed into the wall two inches above Nolla.

No threat to
me
. Apparently Connor didn’t care who she shot. But this wasn’t Nolla’s fight. I fired in Connor’s direction.
Keep her busy, Everly, while you heal that damn…ward.

The S&W had a fifteen round magazine. I had fourteen shots left, and I needed to pace them, keeping Connor occupied while I worked on the energy attacking Pierce. Ears tuned to Fion’s whereabouts, I began the healing process while spacing my shots two deep breaths apart. Breathing was an intricate part of the energy work I was doing, so it was easy to combine the activities into a fluid synchrony.

Until Connor made a dash for the kitchen door.

The healing was in process, but there were still stray bits of chaotic energy running rampant in the ethers. I put the cleanup on hold. Protecting Pierce came first. He was struggling to wake up, but wouldn’t be battle-ready quickly enough to defend himself.

I jumped up, chased after Connor, weapon heavy in my sweat-slick hands.

“Stop right there.” Connor was fifteen feet away, standing next to Pierce’s motionless body, her Glock aimed at my chest.