Siren's Call (A Rainshadow Novel) (11 page)

She broke off because Rafe wasn’t paying attention. He pulled down the control panel that was suspended from the roof of the vehicle and flipped the intercom switch.

“Stop the car,” he ordered.

There was no response from the front seat. Instead of trying again, he eased off the rear seat and made his way forward, crouching to avoid the low roof.

When he reached the partition he rapped sharply on the tinted glass. There was no reaction from the front seat. If anything, the car picked up speed.

A faint, cloyingly sweet scent stirred Ella’s senses—not in a good way. Her first thought was that it was an air freshener. But the interior of the limo started to melt around her.

“Rafe.”

“Gas,” he said. “It’s coming through the air-conditioning system. Cover your nose and mouth and get down on the floor.”

She pulled her wrap across the lower portion of her face, unfastened her seat belt, and rolled off the seat. She reached
up and pressed the button to lower the door window to allow some fresh air into the car. The window did not move.

She tried the door handle. It was locked.

It was getting harder to breathe through the wrap. Or maybe she was having a panic attack, she thought. She held the fabric a couple of inches away from her mouth and inhaled sharply, desperate to fill her lungs.

She got a full breath but at a price. The limo once again started to dissolve. The disorienting effect left her dazed and vaguely nauseous. Hastily, she drew the wrap across her nose and mouth again.

She turned her head and saw that Rafe was breathing through a white handkerchief. As she watched he reached inside his jacket. She barely had time to adjust to the realization that he had a gun in his hand before he used the butt of the weapon to hammer the glass partition.

Glass exploded into the driver’s compartment. Briggs yelped and reflexively hit the brakes.

“What the fuck?” he shouted.

An instant later he trod heavily on the accelerator. The big car lurched forward.

“Stop the damn car,” Rafe ordered.

He leaned through the jagged opening and put the barrel of the gun against Briggs’s neck.

“I said stop the car,” Rafe repeated evenly.

Briggs obeyed. He took his foot off the accelerator.

“You’re crazy,” he said. “They never told me you were fucking crazy.”

“Surprise,” Rafe said.

He aimed the small gun at Briggs’s shoulder and rezzed
the trigger. There was a muffled crack of sound. Briggs screamed.

Ella was so stunned she forgot to breathe. Rafe had just shot a man at point-blank range.

Briggs slumped in the seat.

“Rafe?” she managed.

“He’s not dead. Para-shock pistol. Coppersmith lab device designed for law enforcement. Knocked him out but the effects are temporary.”

Rafe used the butt of the gun to knock the remaining shards of glass out of the partition. Leaning into the driver’s compartment, he pressed a button.

“Try the door,” he ordered.

She yanked the handle. “Still locked.”

“I was afraid of that. They’re overriding the locking system.”

“What? Who is overriding the system?”

“Whoever arranged for you to get a new car and driver tonight.”

He made his way back to the rear seat and slammed the butt of the gun against the window. The glass did not even fracture.

“High-tech glass,” he said. “The damn stuff probably came out of a Coppersmith lab. Can’t even put a hole in it with a mag-rez pistol. Good thing they didn’t bother to install it in the partition.” He slipped the gun back inside his jacket. “Help me pull out the backseat. We can get out through the trunk.”

“Wait,” Ella said. “Let me see what I can do with the window. It will be faster.”

She planted one palm flat against the glass and drew hard on her talent. It took a precious few seconds to find the right notes but glass was glass. There was always an inherent instability where it was not quite a liquid and not quite a solid.

“Got it,” she said.

She sang the silent, destabilizing song. The bells on her bracelet chimed. The glass resisted at first and then melted like butter in a hot pan.

Rafe flashed her a quick grin. “You are one killer soprano.” He motioned with the gun. “Out.”

With some forceful assistance from Rafe, she scrambled out through the window. There was a sharp ripping sound at one point. She knew the narrow skirt of her dress had been torn.

When her high heels touched the ground she straightened, gripped the roof of the limo, and drew a deep breath of fresh air into her lungs. Her head cleared.

Rafe followed her through the opening with the agility of a rock climber slipping through a narrow crevasse. He raked the street with an assessing gaze while he breathed deeply.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Whoever is running this operation will know by now that things have gone wrong.”

“What in the world is happening? None of this makes any sense.”

“This is an ambush,” Rafe said. “The pickup team will be along any second.”

She wanted to ask more questions but it was clear that this was not the time or place for an in-depth discussion. She looked around, still a little woozy from the effects of the gas.

Abandoned, boarded-up buildings that dated from the Colonial era loomed on either side of the narrow street. The pavement dead-ended at the towering green-quartz Wall.

“Are we going back the way we came?” she asked.

“No, this is a classic box-canyon setup,” Rafe said. “The rest of the crew will come straight down this street any minute now. We don’t want to run into them.”

“I take it that means we’re going to break into one of these buildings?”

“It’s our best chance.”

He was already moving toward the doorway vestibule of one of the darkened buildings. She hurried after him.

“Stand back,” he ordered.

She stumbled to a halt. Rafe grasped the edge of a sagging board and hauled it away from the doorway. The old door was still in place but transients or vandals had smashed the lock long ago.

“This will have to do,” Rafe said.

He moved into the deep shadows. Ella heard the low whine of a big engine just as she followed him into the dense darkness.

“Why are they doing this?” she asked. “What do they want?”

“You, probably.”

“
Me?
Why?

“My fault. I’ll explain later.”

Rafe slammed the door closed behind her. She turned to look at him. With her own senses jacked up she could see his dreamlight. The psi-fever had kicked up again. It burned with laserlike intensity in his energy field.

This was a hell of a time for the fever to spike, Rafe thought. He had been fighting it for several minutes now, ever since he had realized that the car had been hijacked. The visions were getting stronger.

He struggled to suppress the surge of heat and energy that was rushing through him. Maybe the knockout gas had triggered the latest spike. No telling what had been in it, obviously some crap that affected the para-senses as well as the normal senses.

Every day brought a new and more unwelcome discovery concerning the nature of the low-burning fire that was ravaging his senses.

Note to self: In future, avoid toxic fumes of unknown origin.

He focused on the only job that mattered now. His first priority was to get Ella safely out of Crystal City and into
the protective custody of Coppersmith Security. He had brought the devil down on her tonight. He could not allow the fever to get control of his senses until he made sure that she was out of reach of whoever was trying to grab her.

His senses were still jacked, enough so that he could see Ella standing in the shadows, watching him, just as she had watched him in his dreams for the past three months. He could sense her fear and feel the jumpy vibe of her heightened talent. But she was in control. Hell, even after having been dosed with some unknown gas, she was still powerful enough to melt glass.

A man could get used to having a woman like this around.

He opened the door an inch and watched the street. The heavily shadowed vestibule provided ample cover for the moment. The pickup team would not immediately notice the door slightly ajar.

A heavy Resonator 600 slammed to a halt directly behind the limo. Two men dressed in head-to-toe black, ski masks covering their faces, leaped out of the big SUV and ran toward the other vehicle. Their outfits were identical. The only visible difference between the two thugs was that the driver was a few inches taller and heavier.

He reached the limo first.

“Briggs is here but the targets are gone,” he announced. “Looks like one of them got through the partition and took out Briggs. Must have been Coppersmith. Shit. The glass in the door window in back is gone.”

“How the hell did that happen?” Shorty demanded. “That stuff is bulletproof.”

“Coppersmith must be armed with something that
came out of one of the company labs.” The driver took a small device out of his jacket. “There hasn’t been enough time for them to get far. We’ll track them down. We’ve got the woman’s frequency.”

Rafe heard Ella suck in a sharp breath.

“My amber,” she whispered. “It’s all tuned. They know the freq. They can follow me anywhere, even Underground.”

“Strip,” Rafe said.

He did not have to explain. He could hear Ella rustling around, removing her earrings, the amber hairclip, and a few other items from locations he knew would not have been obvious to the casual observer.

“Got her.” Tall Bastard looked hard at the dark vestibule. “She’s inside that building.”

“Coppersmith’s probably with her,” Shorty said. “He’s armed. If we charge that doorway we’re going to make really good targets.”

“I removed all of my amber,” Ella whispered. “Now what?”

“Just leave it on the floor,” Rafe said. “We’re not hanging around here for long. But before we leave, I’d really like that pair to come out from behind the Resonator. I can’t shoot through the steel on that vehicle.”

The driver opened the cargo bay door of the Resonator.

“You’re going to use the damned bell?” Shorty asked. He did not sound thrilled.

“You volunteering to rush the door and take a chance on getting shot with whatever shit took out Briggs?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then we use the bell.”

“I hate that thing. Alien tech gives me the shakes.”

“Alien tech is going to make you rich,” the driver said. “Put on the headphones. The boss says this thing will take care of anyone in the vicinity who isn’t geared up.”

“So much for hanging around for a good shot,” Rafe said quietly. He closed the door and shoved a chair under the handle. “No way to know what kind of Alien tech they’re about to use, so we’re getting out of here.”

He pulled out the flashlight.

“You wore a gun
and
a flashlight to the reception?” Ella asked. “I’m impressed.”

“Helped myself to the flashlight. It was in the limo console. And don’t be impressed. I’m the guy who let you get into the car even though there was a different driver.”

“Yes, well, I’m the one who booked the service.”

“We can argue about it later.”

He rezzed the flashlight. The narrow beam speared the darkness, revealing a jumble of small round tables, cushioned banquettes, and a stage.

“Looks like an old nightclub,” Rafe said. “With luck, that means there will be a hole-in-the-wall in the basement. Clubs in the Quarter always like to feature a little extra psi to go along with the booze and other assorted drugs being served.”

“I can sense it,” Ella said. “Somewhere down below.”

“Yeah, I can feel it, too.”

She looked at him quickly. “You can still sense that kind of energy? Even with a fever?”

“Yes, damn it.” He did not mention the hallucinations.
It would only make her more nervous. Besides, he had them under control. Sort of.

She flinched.

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean—”

“Never mind. Let’s move.”

Wonderful. Now he was snapping at her.

The whiff of catacomb energy floated up from somewhere behind the bar. He started toward it. Ella followed.

The tattered remnants of a black velvet curtain loomed in the beam of the flashlight. An ancient sign hung above the arched doorway:
INVITED GUESTS ONLY.

He pushed aside the curtain and started down the stairs into shadows lit with green energy.

“We’re in luck,” he said.

He was listening intently for the sound of the front door being forced open when he heard the eerie tolling of a terrible bell. It rang with mind-destroying force, freezing him on the stairs.

Ghostly energy threatened to ice his aura. Mortal dread slammed through him. A tsunami of nightmares and hallucinations surged out from the depths of his unconscious mind. He somehow knew them to be different from the visions he’d been experiencing. These dreams could shatter his senses and stop his heart.

His first thought was that the psi-fever was spiking higher than ever. This time it would kill him. He could not let that happen until he got Ella to safety.

An incomprehensible urge to rush back up the stairs and outside into the street almost overwhelmed him. Part
of him was certain that obeying the summons of the bell was the only way to survive.

Except that it was not the way to survive. Responding to the hypnotic music would get them both killed. He knew that, but the knowledge did not seem to have any meaning. It was just a fact, and not a particularly important fact, at that.

“Rafe?” Ella called to him from the top of the stairs. “Are you all right?”

“That bell,” he said through clenched teeth. “Alien tech.”

“Yes. It’s some kind of mesmeric device but it works on music frequencies like a lot of Alien tech. I think I can handle it.”

Her musical voice was a flame in the night, briefly pulling him out of the trance. He used all of his willpower to heighten his senses. For a moment he was able to refocus.

“I’m not sure I can handle it,” he said. He undid his cuff links. “Take some of my amber. It’s tuned. Judging by what they said, they have your frequency but not mine.”

“Rafe, listen to me.”

“Go down into the tunnels. Pick a random exit point. When you come out, don’t go home. They’ll have your place staked out.” He tugged his wallet from the inside of his jacket and extracted a business card. “Call this number. It’s Joe Harding’s private line. He’ll take care of you. Understand?”

“Listen up, Coppersmith. I am not about to call the FBPI. I’m pretty sure Harding doesn’t trust me.”

The nightmare bell tolled again, smashing against his senses in waves of darkness.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“Give me your hand,” Ella said.

“Just go, damn it. I’ll cover you.”

But she grabbed his hand. He felt the rush of her talent. Her aura enveloped him.

. . . And mercifully the sound of the bell receded.

He managed to take a deep breath.

“Okay, I can suppress the energy of the bell,” she said. “No problem. I can’t give you complete protection but I should be able to shield you from the worst of the effects.”

The eerie bell tolled again, sending out another wave of terrifying energy—but the summoning effect was oddly muted. Ella shuddered.

“Good grief, how did you manage to handle the first wave?” she asked. “Most people would have lost consciousness.”

“You’re good,” he said.

“Like Mom says, we all have a talent.”

He could hear the lilt in her voice and knew that she was getting a little buzzed because she was using her paranormal senses. Some of the thrill she was experiencing was affecting his aura due to their physical contact. He suddenly felt more confident. His senses steadied.

“Can you keep this up long enough for me to deal with those two?” he asked. “Because I’d really, really like to know who they are and who sent them.”

“I think so.”

“Then we have a change of plans. Stay behind me. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

He threaded his fingers through hers and drew her back up the basement steps. They took cover behind the bar.

The driver kicked the door open. Shorty was right behind him. For a moment they were clearly silhouetted against the green psi-light emanating from the ruins. The driver was clutching an object the size and shape of a small, graceful flower vase in both hands. Even Alien weaponry was ethereally beautiful, Rafe reflected absently. But the device glowed with a hellish light.

He got a fix and took the first shot. The driver grunted and went down. The artifact fell to the floor with a thud. The nightmarish tolling ceased abruptly.

“Shit,” Shorty muttered.

He tried to retreat back through the doorway but he wasn’t fast enough. The shot caught him in the shoulder. He flung out his arms and collapsed in the vestibule.

Rafe waited a beat to be sure that neither man made a move toward the Alien device. Then he released Ella’s hand.

“Are they unconscious?” she asked. “Like the driver?”

“Yeah.” He went forward, crouched beside the driver, and ripped off the headphones and the stocking mask. He aimed the flashlight at the man’s face. “Know this guy?”

Ella moved closer. “No. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Rafe rose and bent down to take off Shorty’s mask. Ella shook her head again.

“No, I’ve never seen him, either,” she said.

“Neither have I.”

He did a quick search of both of the fallen men.

“No ID,” he said. “Not even a driver’s license.”

“Maybe in their vehicle?”

Rafe shook his head. “Doubtful. Whoever sent them did not want to take the chance that they might fail and wind up leaving a trail.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would send a bunch of thugs to kidnap me. It makes no sense.”

“And why now?” Rafe went to the door and studied the expensive Resonator. “There has to be a connection between what almost happened here tonight and that contract you and I just signed. Otherwise the timing is just too damn coincidental.”

She blew out a small breath. “I see what you mean.”

“Maybe Coppersmith Security can get something off the equipment these bastards are carrying and their locators. I want to get that damn bell into a vault as soon as possible, too.”

He stripped off every piece of gear he could find on the unconscious men, including the odd earphones. It was a large haul—far too much stuff to carry in his hands. He decided the easiest way to transport the assorted devices would be in a sack made from a shirt.

He saw the first tattoo when he unbuttoned the shirt of the man who had worked the bell.

“Well, damn,” he said softly. “This is interesting.”

It wasn’t much as tats went—certainly not exotic artwork—just a small tornado or waterspout done in black ink on the upper chest.

Ella came to stand on the other side of the fallen man. “A lot of people have tattoos.”

“Yes, but usually the artwork is more elaborate.”

He got to his feet and went to Shorty. He unfastened the jacket and opened the shirt.

“Same tattoo,” he said.

“Gang markers?”

“Probably. Definitely some sort of identification tag.”

He took out his cell phone and snapped pictures of the two men and their tattoos.

“That’s it,” he said. He clipped the phone to his belt. “Can’t risk staying here any longer. Let’s go.”