Rest For The Wicked (13 page)

“I know you got money, lady. Saw you get out of that fancy car.” The woman shuffled forward. “Gimme, and I won’t hurt you.”

A knife flashed in the hand reaching out from under the cloak, and the hood slipped back, revealing her thief. Definitely not Natasha. Heart pounding, Annie raised both hands, backing away from the woman.

“I’ll give you what you want. No need for violence—just give me a second—” She dug into her purse, pulled out the twenty she kept for emergencies. “Here—it’s all I have on—”

“I bet you got a fat bank account.” The knife moved closer. Annie stumbled backward—and smacked into the building behind her. The bank. “Whip out that magic card. Time to do your good deed for the day.”

“Okay—there’s no need for the knife. I’m just going to get my wallet.” She reached in, her hand shaking, finally managed to grab it, and held it up. “I’m going over to the ATM now, okay?”

The knife twitched, and Annie froze.

“Move it,” the woman said. “Before we get company.”

She herded Annie to the ATM machine. Then she slipped the knife up until the tip pricked Annie’s jaw; if her hands weren’t shaking enough before, that got them going. It took three tries to punch in her pin number—and the third time she forced herself to focus, or the machine would eat her card. Then she’d be shit out of luck.

“That’s it?” The woman pressed up against her, staring at Annie’s pitiful account balance. Her stale body odor made Annie want to recoil. “You have more—with that fancy car, you have to have more—”

“I’m sorry.” Annie eased away from the knife blade. “My friend is the one with money—I can give you—”

The woman screamed and lunged at her.

Annie retreated, arms raised, hoping the knife wouldn’t slice into something life threatening—

She tripped, flying backward. The knife thrust into the space she occupied a second ago. Scrambling to her feet, Annie ran.

She skidded around the corner, hoping to lose herself in one of the narrow alleyways on Forest. A body tackled her from behind. They tumbled to the sidewalk, Annie’s left elbow bouncing off the decorative brick. Pain radiated up her arm. She rolled over, tangled in the woman’s dirty cloak, cheap velvet snagging her good arm.

With a frustrated scream, the woman grabbed Annie’s hair and pounded her head against the sidewalk. Only Annie’s oversized purse kept her from serious injury. It acted like a buffer, but she still hit with enough force to make her dizzy.

Fingers scrabbled over her. Annie let out her own scream and slapped at the invading hands. She didn’t expect help, didn’t even hope for it. Not on a street full of businesses just after dawn—

The weight on her disappeared. Annie snapped up her right arm, ready to fend off another attacker.

“I’m here to help. Are you hurt, dear?” The low, muffled voice sounded female. Strong hands lifted Annie to her feet, led her away from the huddled pile of velvet, leaned her against the nearest storefront. “She won’t bother you again.”

“Thank you,” Annie whispered, her voice shaking almost as much as the rest of her. “Is she—”

“Just out of commission. Stop worrying, Annie. You’re safe now.”

“How do you—” Light from a passing truck flashed over her rescuer’s shadowed face, and Annie’s heart skipped. “Natasha—”

“Ah, you remember me.” Her grip on Annie tightened with bruising force. “That will save time on explanations. Come quietly, and I will not harm Claire.”

“What do you want with her—” She let out a cry as Natasha’s fingers twisted into her arms.

“Questions can wait. I will give you all the answers you want. Now, will you come quietly and not fight me, no matter what I ask of you?”

That ratcheted Annie’s panic. But she had no choice, no wiggle room.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll do what you want.”

C
laire unlocked the back door of the shop and stepped inside. Expecting to see the aftermath of her rushed packing job, and her confrontation with Marcus, she was only partly surprised by the tidy shop.

Annie.
She wouldn’t have left a mess for Claire, especially after what happened with Natasha. There were times when Claire knew she didn’t deserve the unconditional trust.

Headed for the front counter, she checked the message machine. Nothing. There had been no message at home either. She expected Annie to at least leave a voicemail telling her that Eric was gone. Claire wished him all the best—she just didn’t want to have to face him again to say it.

Kneeling, she pulled out her portable file box, set it on the counter and rifled through her various signs for the “Closed Until Further Notice” sign. She had it printed, along with the standard signs, hoping she would never need to use it.

But this time, once she walked out that back door, she didn’t expect to return.

Slipping the sign in front of her sliding Open/Closed sign, she took a final look through the front window. Another thing Annie fixed for her, calling to have it replaced while Claire recovered from Eric’s attack.

Trees swayed in the rising wind, their dark leaves fluttering, the late morning sun highlighting their rich color. Claire loved this street, had since the moment she rounded the corner off Beach and saw it for the first time, lined with trees and filled with people enjoying the sun and the eclectic mix of shops.

Rubbing one hand over her heart, she turned away, touching items as she made her way back to the counter. She tried Annie’s cell phone again, worry licking at her when it went straight to voicemail. On impulse, she scrolled through her contacts and found Eric’s number, stored there just in case. She connected, and it started to ring.

She was ready to disconnect when Eric answered.

“Claire? I didn’t expect to hear from you—”

“Is Annie with you?”

His silence notched the worry up to panic.

“I dropped her off just after dawn. I’m at the airport, and finally about to board my plane. She’s not home?”

Claire took a deep breath.

“Her phone keeps going to voicemail.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Eric—you don’t have to—”

“I care about her, Claire. Don’t make plans without me.”

Before she could argue he disconnected.

She decided to head over to Annie’s apartment; she should have checked there first before she started calling and sending other people into an unnecessary panic. Heading for the back door, she dug the keys to her rental car out of her jacket pocket. And halted when she saw Marcus standing outside the door.

With a sigh, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Were you planning on facing her again?” Marcus used his height and his anger to back her into the shop.

“Stop it—Marcus, stop.” She slapped both hands against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Annie may be missing.”

He caught her hands before she could pull away.

“Tell me how I can help.”

Tears stung her eyes. She forced them back, met his gaze. “I was just on my way to her place. She went to help Eric pack, and I think something happened between them.” She tapped his chest with her fingers when anger flared in his eyes. “Something good, so stop plotting his death.” A smile tugged at his mouth, and the anger retreated. “She is not answering her phone, and I wanted to make sure she isn’t just sleeping off a late night before I really start to panic.”

“My car is out back.”

Claire followed him out, and grabbed the door latch just as the shop phone rang.

“That could be her.” Claire ran through the shop, snatched the phone off the counter. “Annie—”

“So sorry to disappoint.” Claire stilled at Natasha’s voice, clutching the phone. “But she is close, very close. And you can save her.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Proof of life. Sorry, she can’t come to the phone right now, but she can yell.”

Claire heard shuffling, silence—and Annie’s voice burst out.

“Don’t do it, Claire! I’m not worth—”

Claire sank to her knees when a raw scream cut Annie off. Marcus knelt beside her, and she leaned against him, thankful she wasn’t alone.

“She is quite a spitfire, your Annie.” Claire closed her eyes. “She left you a gift. Check your front stoop. I will call back with instructions.”

The call cut off, the dial tone buzzing in her ear before she dropped it. Marcus caught the handset, laid it on the rug, then turned her to face him.

“Talk to me.”

“Let go—I have to—let go—”

She yanked out of his grip and pushed to her feet, running for the front door. With a shaky breath, she flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.

A small box sat on the mat. Claire reached for it, her fingers shaking. Pain radiated from the box, along with Annie’s energy. Claire swallowed, braced herself, and snatched up the box. That pain shot up her arm. She closed her free hand around her amethyst and threw up a barrier. The pain broke against it.

It took three tries to pull the lid off the wooden box—and she almost dropped it when she saw what lay inside.

Marcus cupped her hand, steadied her with his other arm. Claire leaned against him, fought the panic, the fury that pushed up behind it.

“It’s Annie’s favorite earring,” she whispered. And Annie’s small earlobe was still attached to it. “Oh, God—”

“Breathe, Claire.” Marcus pulled her inside, then reached around and shut the door. “She is alive right now. Think of that, hold on to that.”

“Right.” She took in a breath, clutching the box. “Natasha won’t hurt her—not until I’m in her sights. You have to get her out of there, Marcus.” Turning in his arms, she looked up at him. “Promise me.”

“We will all—”

The front door burst open. Eric stalked in, looking like an avenging angel.

“Where the hell is she?”

*

I
t took all Eric’s control to rein in the fury, the panic.

He wanted to lash out at Claire—Annie wouldn’t be in danger if she wasn’t friends with this witch—

But the anguish on Claire’s face stopped him. She cared about Annie, and he knew the feelings were mutual.

“What happened?”

Swallowing, Claire held out the box in her hand.

Eric stared at the bloody earring. The same earring he watched Annie slip on this morning—

I will fucking kill her, whatever she is—

“No, Eric,” Claire said. His head snapped up. “We are going to get Annie out, and I will deal with Natasha.
No
.” She slapped at Marcus and stepped away from both of them. “You have no idea what she’s capable of, how little she cares about anyone but herself. We agree, here and now, or you are out of it.”

“Claire,” Marcus said, his voice quiet and almost—hypnotic. Eric shook his head. “You cannot—”

“Don’t you
dare
use your hocus pocus on me.” He had never seen a woman so furious. She may have been tiny, but she radiated such power Eric believed at that moment she could take them both on. And win, hands down. “She already has the most important person in my life—I will not give her the chance to—”

The ringing phone cut her off. Eric watched her face go sheet white—then she sprinted around the counter and disappeared.

Both he and Marcus followed her, found her kneeling on the rug, phone clutched in both hands. She listened, eyes closed, then spoke a single word.

“Yes.”

Carefully, she disconnected, set the phone on the rug next to her, and stood. Head down, she moved past Marcus, past Eric—then took off at a run, headed for the back door.

Marcus went after her. Eric followed on his heels, joined the intimidation when he caught up with them just outside the back door. Marcus had her trapped against the wall, and she vibrated with rage.

“—me go now, or she will hurt Annie.”

“Not alone.” Marcus leaned in. “All of us or not at all.”

Eric waited for her to punch Marcus. Instead she took in a deep breath and nodded.

“Fine,” she said. “Now get the hell out of my way. We are wasting time.”

Marcus dragged her to his car, a sleek, black four door Jaguar. “I drive, you give directions.” He smiled when she glared at him, then glanced over his shoulder at Eric. “Coming?

Eric answered by sprinting to the Jag.

A
nnie closed her eyes, gave up trying to free herself from the ropes that bound her wrists behind her. Her skin was already raw and angry from the struggle, and she could feel blood trickle down her hands.

Natasha stashed her somewhere big and empty, and it smelled like it had been empty for a long time. No chance of anyone stumbling across her.

Annie shifted, chilled by the cold slab of concrete she had been dumped on. She was attached to a steel pillar, which meant she was stuck. Sunlight filtered in from the dirt-streaked window on her left side, splashing over her legs. Its meager warmth did nothing to take the edge off. The bitter cold woke her earlier, seeping through her jeans, just in time to hear Natasha’s phone call to Claire.