Money Shot (33 page)

“She’s gone.”

Harris came to his feet and Maria flew forward. “What?” She took Lila’s hands in both her own. “Yarrow? She’s gone?”

She nodded. “Yes. Einar and I went upstairs to fetch her and she wasn’t there.” She turned frightened eyes to Rush, then the agent on the other side of the counter. “She’s not here. She’s gone.”

Thr cmng 4 u. Rn. Mt u l8r 2nite @ stn altr.

 

Einar’s text message had arrived while the dead-eyed Secret Service agent was sitting down in the tea shop with Lila and Maria, and Yarrow hadn’t taken even a moment to wonder what she should do. She simply threw a change of clothes, some granola bars and a water bottle into her backpack.

Then she’d crept down the back stairs and run. Run straight into Einar and Rush, almost. She’d hunkered down in the shadows between Lila’s and Ben Barnes’s front porches as they passed within three feet of her head. Then she’d flown into the falling darkness. Away from danger. Toward true love.

Or at least what she hoped like hell was true love. It was markedly less amazing and more fucking frightening than she’d always imagined.

 

“WHERE WOULD she go?” Lila’s eyes were wide and wet as she stared out the window. “It’s getting dark, and it’s so cold.” A tear slid down her sharp cheekbone. “She doesn’t know the island. She’s only been here a few months. She could get lost, or hurt. Or she could fall through the ice—”

“We’ll find her,” Maria said, putting a hand on Lila’s tense shoulder.

“She’s a damn strong skier,” Rush said softly. “If she wanted off-island, she could be on the mainland in forty-five minutes.”

Lila sobbed softly and Einar said, “I don’t think her leaving the island is our biggest worry.”

Lila lifted her head, her mouth a perfect, trembling O. “Einar, no. She wouldn’t—”

“She’s tried before,” Einar said. He shifted his gaze to Harris. “She’s a suicide risk.”

Harris absorbed that, then turned to Rush. “You’re the park ranger here. How much territory are we talking about?”

“Twenty-six square miles, give or take,” Rush said.

“Can we use the chopper to search any of it?”

“Not likely. There are only three trails running end to end, and all of them are densely wooded. One on the mine side of the island, one on the mainland side and one running down the center. There’s also the ice bridge to consider.”

“The ice bridge?”

“It’s a trail of ice, four miles, connecting the island to the mainland. The ski team laps it every afternoon as soon as it gets cold enough to freeze solid.”

“And it’s solid now?”

“Hasn’t been above minus ten for a week.” Rush tucked his hands into his pockets. “It’s good.”

“How do you propose covering the territory?”

“Lila stays here in case Yarrow comes home. That leaves four of us and four trails.”

“Fine.” Harris looked down at his polished brown loafers. “Any chance the Park Service can lend me some weather-appropriate gear?”

Lila swiped her fingers over her cheeks and drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ll call Ben. My next-door neighbor,” she told the agent. “He runs an outfitter. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

“Get him set up,” Einar told Rush. “I’m already geared up. I’ll start on the mine trail.”

He was out the door before Maria could disentangle her hands from Lila’s. She caught Rush’s eye. “Let’s get this party started,” she said.

 

RUSH WATCHED Maria point Harris toward the ice bridge as a half-moon breached the horizon.

“He’ll be fine,” he told her. “Trail’s well established and the ice is dead solid.”

She nodded, then turned big, determined eyes on him. “I want the mine trail. I’m going after Einar.”

“Fine.” He didn’t waste time arguing. “Let’s go, then.”

“Rush, no.” She frowned. “You should take the ridge trail. I already feel bad enough that we’re leaving the lake trail uncovered on nothing but a hunch. You need to—”

“And if that hunch is right, you’ll be facing down an uncooperative teenager, and a potentially dangerous man who has you by a good fifty pounds.”

“I’m an armed federal officer,” she said. “I’m trained for that kind of thing.”

“Not as well as I am.”

There was a long beat of stubborn silence, then she sighed. “Plus you don’t pass out when you shoot at people.”

“There’s that.”

“Rush?” Lila appeared in the yellow rectangle of light pouring from the tea-shop door. “Maria?”

Rush’s heart gave a hard thud and he followed Maria into the tea shop at a dead run. The heat was stifling after the bitter outdoor air, and Rush pulled off his hat.

“Did you find her?” he asked.

Lila’s eyes went wide with chagrin. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Of course you’d think, with me shouting out the door like that . . . no. I just thought you should know that day I had Maria and Yarrow together in the circle? The day I asked to perform the protection ceremony?”

He nodded his encouragement when she stopped, but she had turned to Maria. “I thought it was you in danger, but it wasn’t. It was Yarrow.” She pressed her lips together until they were a thin white line. “I can’t believe I was so blind. You begged me to protect her and I still refused to
see
. I could have helped her. I could have—”

“Lila, stop,” Maria said. She snatched up Lila’s hands and squeezed them strongly. “That’s done and gone. Forget it. Help her
now
. Tell us what you saw.”

“Danger,” she said. “She’s out of the light of Our Lady. She’s been drawn into darkness. Such great and terrible darkness. Wicked. Malevolent.” She shook her head. “Dark.”

“Dark?” Maria asked. “What does that mean? Like literal darkness? Is she—”

“I don’t know,” Lila snapped. “Do you think I’d be talking in riddles if I did?”

Maria shut up.

“All I know,” Lila said, her teeth clenched over what looked like the mother of all headaches, “is that the danger is now. It’s
present
. Immediate.” She pulled a hand from Maria’s grip, offered it to Rush. Her skin was cold against his palm, but her eyes were hot. Hot and urgent. “She needs a soldier, Rush. A warrior.” She shifted her eyes to Maria, blasted her with that gaze as well. “She needs forgiveness. She needs hope. She needs you both. Find her.”

“We will.” Maria took Rush’s free hand with hers, made them a circle and power flowed into him, through him. “We’ll bring her home to you, Lila.”

Lila bowed her head. “An’ the goddess will it.”

“So mote it be,” Rush said. He pulled on his cap with one hand while Lila pressed something into the other.

“Take this,” she said, and Rush looked down at an old carved knife in his hand. The ritual knife Lila had used at every esbat and sabbat Rush could remember.

“Your athame?”

“It’s moose horn,” she said, and turned to Maria. “The warrior god is often symbolized by a stag. A horned beast.” She turned back to Rush. “It’s Yule Eve. The god is close and the veil is thin. Reach out for him, Rush. You’re a soldier, a warrior. You’re his child. He’ll help you.”

Rush had a little more confidence in the rifle waiting for him on the porch but didn’t argue. He took the sharpened antler and stuffed it in his belt. He and Maria hit the mine trail at a sprint as the Yule moon began its ascent.

YARROW WAS cold. Not a biting, burning cold, but something sluggish and weighty that dragged at her. Without Einar, the altar in the mine was barren and stark. Not just uninviting, but actively hostile. She wished she could light a candle, chase some of that dark malevolence away. Provide a little heat, if nothing else. But she didn’t dare. She knew they’d be looking for her, and if they caught up to her before Einar did, it would all be over.

Einar. He’d come for her. He’d come and they’d fly away in his plane just like he’d promised. With all the cash she’d helped him bring on-island, they could afford to go anywhere they wanted. Somewhere warm, she hoped, but far enough away that nobody would know them or ask questions. Somewhere they could be happy together. In love. Just like he’d promised.

She curled her hand around the phone inside her mitten, around the text message that had saved her. She wanted to see it, to let the proof of his love warm her the way a candle never could, but she didn’t want to wear down her battery. God only knew when she’d see an electrical outlet again.

Then she heard it. The shush-shush of snowshoes whispering over squeaky-cold snow. Her heart thudded painfully in her ears, and she shuffled on numb, clumsy feet around the altar where she squatted in the shadows.

A flashlight beam played over the rocky walls and she stopped breathing.

“Yarrow?”

Relief blasted through her so hard that tears came to her eyes and she knew she must have doubted. Some part of her must not have believed he’d really come. The uncertain, vulnerable part of her that had actually listened while Agent di Guzman talked.
Fuck you, Agent Smiley Face
, she thought, and stood up.

“Yarrow!” Einar rushed across the room and swept her up in his arms. “Oh, thank Christ. I was half worried you’d run away.”

“From you?” She laughed. “Not likely. I’m totally frozen to death, though.”

He set her back on her feet, a small smile playing over his beautiful lips. “Well, we can’t have you freezing to death, can we? That would hardly do the trick.”

She blinked up at him. “What trick?”

He rubbed his gloved hands up and down her arms. “No trick, honey. It was just a figure of speech.” He hugged her. She made a noise and burrowed into the solid heat of him. She was so cold. She reached up for his kiss, his warmth, but he pulled back, his eyes feverish and bright. “It’s time, Yarrow.”

She nodded. “Yes. All right.”

She was still smiling up at him when his fist clipped her chin and she fell into a starry, pain-washed blackness.

 

CONSCIOUSNESS DRIFTED back on cold, gasoline-scented air. Yarrow shivered and tried to turn away from the bitter scent, but pain shot hot and brilliant from her jaw all the way to her hairline. Jesus, her head ached like a motherfucker. She couldn’t remember exactly why. Couldn’t see any point in trying to figure it out, either. Pain was pain.

Blackness beckoned, heavy and warm. She’d had enough of the merciless cold anyway. She turned toward oblivion, then a voice drew her back.

“Yarrow.”

She knew that voice. A thin thread of anxiety unspooled inside her. Einar. Beautiful, terrifying, beloved Einar.

“Yarrow, darling. Wake up.”

She forced her gritty lids to open and saw him looming over her. His face was shockingly handsome in the flickering light. Candlelight? Her eyes wheeled about and she suddenly understood a number of realities, none of them particularly encouraging.

First, she was naked. Which explained the cold. Especially since she was outdoors. Well, not outdoors exactly. Underground. That was it. Earthen floor, rocky walls, thick timber beams. Cold stone under her skin. The Stone Altar.

Memory came rushing back and she bolted upright. Or tried to. Pain—shattering and immediate—bloomed behind her eyes and she lay back.

“Oh, darling, your head?” Then his hand was on her forehead, his touch cool and obscenely gentle.

“Einar,” she managed. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, Yarrow. It couldn’t be helped.”

She glared at him through slitted eyes. “You couldn’t help punching me?”

“There’s been a change of plans.” He gave her a flat-eyed smile and her stomach clenched.
Nothing’s free, sweetie. It’s just a question of what you’re willing to pay. And then making sure you don’t get taken
.

Betrayal sank sharp claws into her chest as Agent di Guzman’s words echoed in her head. Which was stupid. Absolutely fucking
retarded
. Because what right did she have to feel betrayed? You couldn’t be betrayed unless you had expectations. Unless you believed the world owed you good things.

And Yarrow knew better. She knew what the world owed her. Shit. Trouble. Pain. Everything she’d been dealing out her whole life.

Knowing that, she reflected bitterly, wasn’t quite the same as experiencing it, though.

“What . . .” She curled onto her side and drew up her knees, hiding her nakedness, her pain. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a very special girl.” Einar gave her a soulful look and an ocean of agony welled up inside her. “I wish I could keep you. I do.”

“But?”

“But everything costs. And what I want? What I’m destined to have? It doesn’t come cheap.” He smoothed the hair back from her forehead with fingers that smelled of gas. “Our Lady requires sacrifice, Yarrow. Always.”

“Sacrifice?” Fear jolted through her and she struggled to sit up. To stand up. To run. Einar twisted his fingers into her hair and cracked her head back against the stone table with a careless strength that sent hot shards of nausea dancing in her stomach. She cried out, partly from the pain but mostly from despair.