Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (23 page)

Thank God for Max. He had more connections, buddies, and amicable exes than any
other guy John knew. Max had been on the phone all morning, frantically dialing, then smoothly convincing everyone he spoke with to help him. It had paid off, first with a Boston destination, then with the London flight information.

Harrington said, “My recommendation, fully brief IPPC in person. In the interim, send us the missing person and flight details. We’ll start looking for a connecting flight, refuel, or transport out of the airport. You’re flying out?”

Harrington seemed to have no qualms with Texas conducting its own investigation. Although John didn’t plan to inform Harrington that he wasn’t acting on behalf of the Texas Pack. At least not until he arrived.

“Yes. My anticipated arrival to Heathrow is late evening your time. We appreciate any help IPPC can provide. I’ll be in touch once we arrive.” After he hung up, John stared at his
cell. He would find her.

The plane ride was just as fabulous as
Lizzie had expected. Which was, not at all. She’d been slightly nauseous from airsickness, tired from yet another night of interrupted sleep, and unable to sleep in such trying circumstances. Add to that the panic she felt regarding her recently disclosed purpose—read a bunch of magic books, no problem. She wanted this all to end if only to let her squeeze in a reasonable seven to eight hours of sleep for a few consecutive nights. Her normal low-fizz, almost bubbly personality was flat. Much more of this and she’d be downright cranky.

The sad thing was she’d flown in style, and she hadn’t been in a state of mind to appr
eciate it. Well, London to Prague had been stylish. Albuquerque to Boston, and Boston to London had been commercial first class. She’d never be able to return to her former travel habits. Cheapest flight, economy seats, long lines. She’d been spoiled for travel by repeated kidnappings. Her life had truly reached the height of bizarre.     

Lizzie remembered standing in front of John
, asking for help. She was confident that he would come for her—if he could find her. But she didn’t want to
be
rescued. She wanted to rescue
herself
. She had to learn to live in this new and strange world. Maybe now was the time to start.

As Lizzie was trying desperately to settle her stomach against the pitch of the descending plane, a fatal flaw in her plan became obvious to her. Even if John found her, even if she discovered a way out herself,
her kidnappers knew where her family and friends lived. No one had been hurt yet, but the threat of violence was real. She could feel it in her gut. She needed some kind of leverage. Some way to dissuade them from taking action against her and her loved ones. That thought kept her occupied long past the plane’s descent.

The drive from the private airstrip to the house was brief. Lizzie had never been to Prague before, so she was only able to note the general direction the car was moving in. She tried to make note of unique landmarks, but all of the houses looked old—historic preservation society old—and fancifully colored and shaped. She tried to remember the street names, but after the fifth or sixth they started to run together. Apparently, these skills were the type one acquired with practice, because her attempts proved fruitless. Nonetheless, she was still determined to remain aware. Her goal was to seize what opportunities arose, especially for information gathering. The key to her escape was gathering more information and developing some way to utilize that information. She sure as heck wasn’t going to fight her way out or blow up the evil mastermind’s headquarters. And on that thought, the car arrived. 

A townhouse?
Maybe an apartment? It looked like a dollhouse, brightly colored with each window outlined by bright white trim. The walls of one house touched the next, but each house had a different color that clearly delineated where one stopped and another began. Larry and Moe brought her to the door of a rich, wine-red townhouse. She’d seen from the exterior there were five floors. As she trudged up the stairs behind Moe to the fifth floor—Larry had disappeared into a side hall as soon as they’d entered the house—her legs started to ache. She arrived at the top slightly out of breath and took note that Moe was looking fresh as a daisy and not even a little winded. Outrunning any of her guards certainly wasn’t an option. But she had made a note of the layout of the house. What little she’d seen, anyway. She needed to focus on what she could do. 

Moe opened the door to a surprisingly bright, cheerful room. She looked out one of the windows and saw the rooftop of the neighboring attached house. This house must be the tallest in the row, which allowed for more light. The windows were large and allowed light to wash through the entire room. The furniture was elegant, the fabrics clearly expensive.

“This is your room.” Moe added a small hand wave that encompassed the room. He’d already deposited her bags on the floor near the door.

“Um, thanks?” Good lord, she thought. He looked like he expected a tip.

“There’s a bath at the end of the hall. You and the other ladies share.”

“Other ladies?”
She could have bitten her tongue. As soon as she spoke, Moe had blinked and then shook his head. She must have reminded him he wasn’t supposed to disclose any information.

“Stay on the fifth floor. Someone will come get you for dinner.” And then he left, closing the door behind him.

Left alone, Lizzie spent a few moments looking through her bags and investigating what they’d thought appropriate to pack. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo and conditioner. No makeup or skin care products. Underclothes, several pairs of pants, shirts, a sweater, socks and a pair of her running shoes. No dress or PJs. She felt ready to go camping but not quite up to par for her elegant surroundings.
Men.

Grabbing her toothbrush
, toothpaste, and a hand towel from a pile of linens on top of her bed, she left the room to explore the bathroom. She had some experience with beautiful old houses and their sketchy plumbing, so she was ready for the worst. Upon entering, she was pleasantly surprised. Her expectations were well exceeded by the spacious marble splendor of the bathroom. The owner had done some recent, and significant, remodeling. There was even a skylight in the bathroom. She eyed it critically.
Hmm.
Too high, and definitely well secured.

After her trip to the bathroom, she was feeling refreshed and a little more hopeful of a positive outcome. She eyed the doorways dotting the corridor with a speculative eye. She counted
three doors in addition to her own. She contemplated whether she should knock on one. Moe had told her to stay on the fifth floor. He said nothing about poking around on the
fifth floor. She nodded her head decisively, then walked up to the nearest door and rapped firmly two times.

John arrived in London with Max and
Kenna in tow. As Lizzie’s situation began to escalate, he’d called for reinforcements, only to find Ben and James unavailable. When his temper, rarely lost, was about to skyrocket, Chris told him Arkansas had become…complicated. When pressed she said she thought Ben had fallen for a local girl. Ben? He found that highly unlikely.

He couldn’t remember the last time Ben had talked about a woman, any woman. And
he had only been in Arkansas a few days. Ben was the opposite of a player; he had absolutely zero game. Chris was likely being generous. He’d probably just gotten laid for the first time in five years and didn’t want to leave town. That was his anger speaking. John chastised himself. Ben was solid as a rock. Completely dependable.

Chris had diverted him for long enough
to calm his temper. He wasn’t acting in his official capacity, so he could hardly expect the same level of blind and immediate obedience he would normally receive. But he was still pissed.

He’
d never traveled so much, with so little protection. The IPPC was a potential ally, but still unknown. He simply felt outgunned. So when Kenna insisted on coming, he’d reluctantly agreed. Except for the motel incident, she had kept a level head. And her efforts had pointed them in the direction of Prague, a lead that might yet prove useful. Max had been strangely silent about her inclusion, almost sulky… John mentally shrugged. He had no concern about Max’s reliability, and that was his primary concern.

The threesome arrived at the address provided by Harrington. Very clearly
, the sign read: Ingram, Paige, Parisi, and Cunningham, Security and Investigations. The receptionist at the front desk walked them through security, back through some cubicles, and finally to Harrington’s office. Well, at least his contact was someone who had graduated out of the cubicle farm.

After everyone shook hands and introductions were completed, John commented on the newness of the building and the location.

Harrington replied, “We’re working with local magic-users to provide the warding, but much of the security is what you’d see in any private investigation or security firm. We blend very nicely with the local businesses. And we do, in fact, provide security and investigation services to a select, non-magical clientele. The business is more than just a cover.”

“Warding?” John raised his eyebrows.

“I’d heard the American and Canadian packs were less open to working with other groups—somewhat xenophobic even.” Harrington’s face remained impassive. “No offense intended.”

How could John take offense when
Harrington spoke only the truth? He just shook his head.

Harrington
’s tone was cautious. “I understand spell casting communities are quite small in your part of the world. But is there no intermingling between any of the magic using communities?”

Not interested in revealing his complete ignorance,
John opted for the short answer. “None that I know.”

“
Hmm.” Harrington murmured. “You call the women Record Keepers in the States, I believe.”

John nodded his agreement, determining the less said
, the better, until he could get a good read on the IPPC. It was past time for Texas to get more progressive. The world was only getting smaller, the magical community included.

“But to answer your earlier question, spell casters can ward objects, including buildings, against certain types of magical attacks. And this building has been thoroughly warded from fire, audio and visual bugging, and illusions, to name a few.”

“We have been removed from the magical community too long, it appears. I hope I have an opportunity to speak more at length with some of the locals once this crisis is resolved. But for the moment, Lizzie Smith is my priority.”

“Of course, what
has your investigation revealed thus far?” Harrington asked.

John summed up what little they knew of th
e Austrians who, they had concluded, were not actually with the Austrian pack but likely hired guns. He told Harrington about the American professionals involved with the hostage-taking and how they’d exchanged Kenna for Lizzie. John also discussed the intelligence received from Jack regarding the source of the funds for the Austrian’s kidnap attempt.

Harrington showed marked interest when
John mentioned Prague.

“Prague is significant?”
John asked.

Harrington nodded slowly. “We only have one active file there. We’re far from fully operational, but I have suspected for some time
that the lack of intel coming out of Prague isn’t the result of our poor development of contacts in the area. I think criminal activity in Prague is filtered through Zack Worth. Not a kingpin, I suspect, more a conductor.

“What exactly is an active file?” This came from
Kenna. She’d been silent up to this point.

Harrington said,
“IPPC opens files on individuals suspected of either criminal activity or overtly public use of magic. Worth is very discreet. He is, however, suspected of criminal behavior. There’s not much information available about him, which is suspect in itself.” By this point, they had all seated themselves around a small table opposite Harrington’s desk. He looked around the table. “Eight years ago, he appeared on the scene in Europe with no background. His financial resources are vast. Since he appeared in the European magical community, he has developed a broad range of contacts, including magical and non-magical mercenaries. Even contract spell casters.”

Max had a small pad out and occasionally made a notation.

“What’s not in the file—he’s quite ruthless. And I believe he’s one of yours, an American expatriate,” Harrington said, looking pointedly at all the Americans at the table.

“Why him?” Max chimed in. “Is there a reason you suspect him, besides the geographic link?”

“Until you mentioned the Prague connection, I wouldn’t have identified a pattern. Consider this
: He’s been moving money around more actively within the last six months. The countries into which he has funneled significant amounts of money are the US, Canada, Mexico, Australia, and Columbia. Now consider Lizzie as a financial investment. The cost of the layers of corporate fluff designed to conceal the financial backer. Investigation and research to find her. Last minute, private air transport, mercenaries, and so on.”