Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) (28 page)

Her mind a blur, she found Davinia and said goodbye. She hurried back down the hall and told the doorman to tell Mr. Parker where she’d gone if he returned. Then she headed out on foot, down the castle steps,
over the century-old walkway, her fury building like a raging wildfire with each step.

How dare Parker leave her behind like this?
If Scorpion or Shrivel didn’t kill him, she might do it herself.

Parker sat nursing his German lager in the far corner booth of The Winking Owl, his back to the wall, his eyes on the door.

The place
seemed darker than the night they’d followed Shrivel here, but definitely not as crowded. The jukebox was off and only the monotonous voice of the soccer announcer contended with the conversations of the patrons under the low green-globed lights.

I
t was mostly men tonight. Tough-looking workingmen with bitterness in their eyes. And non-working types with even more bitterness. The type he’d seen in the bad parts of almost every city he’d worked in during his career. The type who might slit your throat for a few dollars. Or in this case a few pounds.

But
perhaps he was reading too much into the clientele because of the one he’d come here to meet.

The
two barmaids on duty looked more worn out tonight, though their workload was lighter. As she wiped down surfaces and cleaned glasses behind the bar, Winnie Waverly seemed particularly tired and distressed.

She hadn’t waited on him
, but he’d seen the sneer of recognition she’d given him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He’d also seen her slip off with her cell phone in hand. Calling Shrivel to tell him he’d arrived and was alone?

He hoped so.

He glanced down at his watch. Winnie had made her call twenty minutes ago, and Shrivel had agreed to meet him ten before that. He was making him wait.

Shrivel was being careful.
Or he was getting the money together.

Parker had told him on the phone he had information about the dagger
, which he would exchange for a sum he had named. He planned to get him into his car on the pretense of taking him to where the dagger was. He would use the voice recorder on his phone without Shrivel’s knowledge and get a confession from him. Then drag him to the nearest police station.

Then b
ack to Quinton Castle, pay his respects, pick up Miranda, head home.

The business with Shrivel
would be tricky, though. And risky to get into a vehicle with a man who had just hijacked a car and killed the driver, but he planned to frisk him first. If the young man didn’t comply, he’d simply take him into a nearby alley and force him to cooperate. And then drag him to the nearest police station. But he knew he had to keep his head if he wanted to help the courts get an unquestionable conviction.

The door opened and two large men strolled in and found a table. Parker looked down at his watch again. Forty minutes late. Had Shrivel changed his mind? Or was he smart enough to see through this ploy?

Parker took a slow draw from his beer. He wouldn’t have thought so.

His cell rang.

He stared at it a moment then picked it up. “Where are you?”

“
At home.”

“We agreed to meet
at the pub.”

“Too many customers. I can’t afford to show my face.”

Parker stiffened, nerves alert. Was he trying to play him? “Should I assume you’re not interested then?”

An ugly laugh trick
led through the phone. “Oh, I’m interested all right. Meet me ’ere.” He gave him the address, not knowing Parker already had it.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He clicked off and set the phone down on the table.

So Shrivel was smarter than he’d thought. But was he really at home when the police hadn’t been able to find him there?

This was a setup.
The question was what to do with it.

He could get in his car and drive to the local police station
without Shrivel. Have them send someone over to pick the murderer up. But if Shrivel was in fact in his house the sight of police cars would make him run and destroy any further chance of bringing the degenerate in.

Parker
got to his feet, tossed a few bills on the table and went out the front door.

He stood in the
shelter of the corner entrance, eyeing the street.

A group of about five men in leather and chains
loitered across the street to his left. They didn’t seem to notice him. He saw nothing on the road to the right where his car was parked.

Shrivel might be at the auto repair shop.
He’d drive over to Shrivel’s street and ride past the house to see if there were any sign of him there, then give him another call. After that, he’d try the shop.

Eventually he woul
d talk him out of his hiding place and into taking a ride with him.

Parker strode to the rental car and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He bent to put the key into the drive
r side door.

Just as it clicked
open he felt a body press up beside him. And cold metal against his temple.

“I thought you were at home.”

The only reply was a low laugh.

With a well-practiced move
Parker twisted, brought up his arm fast, and knocked Shrivel’s gun hand away. The swine still held onto the weapon. Parker lunged toward him and gave him a hard jab to the stomach.

Shrivel
doubled over with an
oof
.

Parker
reached out to take the gun from him. His fingers were inches away when someone caught his arm from behind, gave him a sharp punch to the ribs that took his breath, forced him against the hood of the car with a slam.

He
turned his head and caught the outline of a tall, bulky figure. He tried to get an elbow free, to get a foot around his leg to bring him down, but the hulking mass pressed in closer. He had no leverage.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Parker growled.

The big man yanked his arm behind his back. “I wouldn’t make any funny moves if I was you, septic.”

Parker
gritted his teeth at the sudden pain. “I came here to make a deal. What do you want?”

“
We wants you to take us for a little drive,” the man hissed in a thick accent. Then he reached for the handle and jerked the car door open. “Get in.”

This was a hell of a mistake.

After she’d left the
castle, Miranda had raced out into the street and had to ask five different people directions, like some lost tourist. They all told her there was only one mode of transportation to Tottenham so she ended up having to take one of those jolly red buses.

Now she was bouncing along trapped inside while the bus
took its sweet time with a winding path that seemed to stop at every corner to let passengers on and off. She checked her watch, glared out the window, counted the passing streets.

“Parker
, what were you thinking?” she muttered under her breath over and over. How could he do this to her?

After an ulcer-inducing hour-long ride, the
bus finally came to a halt on a street in the Tottenham neighborhood.

Hoping Parker wasn’t heading back to Camden by now, she
got off and hiked the few blocks to The Winking Owl.

As she walked toward the pub, she scanned the curbs.
Several empty parking spots. There weren’t as many people out as when they were here before. But she didn’t see the rental car anywhere.

She strolled past the
pub’s corner entrance where a couple was making out in the shadows and tried the side street.

Still no rental.

She went all the way down that street and stopped at the far corner. Shrivel’s house was that way. He’d walked here the night they’d followed him. She shook her head. He wasn’t at home or the police would have nabbed him already. That left only one other possibility she knew of.

With a sinking feeling, she realized where Parker was.

She turned around and headed back to the pub. At the corner entrance, she crossed the street and turned the other way, hurrying along, moving as fast as she could without looking vulnerable.

The gold chain
Parker had given her felt cold against her skin. Good grief.

Pretending to scratch the back of her neck, she reached behind her, undid the clasp, and slipped it into her pocket. Some people around here would
cut your throat for something like that.

She turned left at the next corner. Was this the right way? She
wasn’t sure, but she kept going and soon passed a dingy little café. With a breath of relief she recognized the shop’s faded green awning. In the next block she sniffed the odor of less-than-fresh grilled lamb coming from a place that boasted kebobs. She remembered that, too.

She was headed the right way
. But it seemed ten times farther than it had in the car. Didn’t matter. Next block. Next block. Turn. Next block.

She
pressed on. Past the buildings that grew darker and more menacing. Over the jagged bricks that made up the sidewalk, hoping a snag in them wouldn't catch her toe and bring her down.

No time for that now. No time.

Here was where even tougher looking gangs of jerks loitered around the corners with their black leather and cigs. As she passed a group across the street, one of them whistled at her like she was a dog.

She gave them her coldest fuck-off look and
plodded on. Faster. Faster.

Her heart banged in her chest in time to her footsteps and her breath hitched. She was getting that antsy feeling again, that prickle at the base of her skull. That horrible crawling feeling.
Like slimy snakes were slithering up her back and down her arms.

Something bad was going to happen. Or was happening now. Or had already happened.

She all but broke into a run. She had to get there. Had to get there. Had to get there.

She tore around another corner
, down another half a block bordered by a brick wall on one side—and there she was.

Shivering
in the damp, chilly air she pulled her suit jacket around her and stared through the chain link fence topped with barbed wire at the rusty auto repair shop with its worn sign.

Stingy streetlamps cast eerie shadows across the yard beyond. Dogs barked in the distance.
She took a step toward the fence. No windows on this side of the building. Hard to tell if anyone was inside. She peered around an ugly bush and her insides turned to dust.

Her blood pounded in her head so hard, she wanted to throw up. She couldn’t breathe. Her skin felt cold
er than if she were dead.

In the first spot
close to the side door where they’d seen Shrivel exit with the other hoods—sat Parker’s rental car.

Oh, God. Oh, God! What did he think he was doing in there? Why
in the hell had he come here? Why did he come without her?

Wind-
chilled tears stung her eyes. She shivered with rage now instead of cold. In the tumult of the angry, panicked thoughts tearing through her brain, only one surfaced.

How in the hell was she going to get in there?

Stay calm, she ordered herself and forced two full breaths of cold damp air into her lungs.

Wait a minute.
Hadn’t they seen a possible way in on the other side of the block when they followed Shrivel here? But how long would it take to get there on foot? She’d already wasted too much time.

She raised her head and studied the barbed wire atop the fence. It looked old like everything did here. Maybe it wasn’t really electrified.

She took a few steps, searching the ground for a stick to test it with when she caught sight of the neighboring yard. Was that an optical illusion? Wishful thinking?

She hurried over to
find out. No one around.

Yes, t
he gate really was open.

Just a tad.
Without considering the cons, she slipped through the opening and into the yard.

The
building next door was set farther back than the repair shop, the whole front was gravel. Vehicles parked every which way. They made good cover as she picked her way to the side, feeling every stone through the thin soles of her dress shoes.

She squinted into the darkness, her gaze scanning the
chain link barrier between her and the repair shop. A few more steps and she made out the form. A burst of joy exploded in her chest.