Deadly Sting

Page 4

The old man was always giving me little pop quizzes like this, always making me put myself in my target's shoes, always drilling into my head that it was better to think ahead, to plan, to act rather than to react, no matter what situation I was in.
I thought about all the things the old man had taught me and everything I'd learned about Delov while we'd been watching him. "The most common places for people to go in their own house late at night are the kitchen and the bathroom. So either he got up because he was hungry or he needed to take a leak. I'd vote for the kitchen, given his enormous appetite. He's always munching on something in all the surveillance photos I've taken."
Fletcher nodded, agreeing with me. "Okay. Now, stay close to me while we go see if you're right."
Together, we tiptoed over to the bedroom door and slipped out into the hallway. The third floor of the mansion was devoted to Delov's personal quarters, and each room was more opulently furnished than the one before it, all with slightly oversize chairs and tables, the better to accommodate the giant's tall frame. One by one, we peered into the rooms we passed, but they were all as empty as his bed had been.
Finally, we reached the last room on the floor - the kitchen. The double doors were thrown open, and light spilled out into the hallway. A soft snick sounded, like someone opening a refrigerator door, followed by the faint rattle-rattle of dishes. Fletcher grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
Fletcher and I eased up on either side of the doorway, still keeping to the shadows as much as possible, and peered inside. The kitchen was just as large and spacious as the other rooms and featured two of everything, including twin refrigerators situated side by side along the left wall. The doors on both were wide open, and Peter Delov stood in between them, perusing all the items inside.
Delov was big, even for a giant, topping out at almost eight feet. His back was to us, but I knew from my surveillance that he had tan skin, brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, and dark brown hair that was always slicked back over his high forehead. Delov considered himself to be a handsome man, and given his massive drug empire, he treated himself to the very best of everything, from clothes to cars to women.
But his main passion was gourmet food, and both fridges were stocked with bottles of pricey champagne, tubs of expensive caviar, and wheels of exotic cheeses. I wrinkled my nose. Very smelly cheeses. Several packs of crackers were crowded onto the counter to the right, along with a tray of cold cuts and another one piled high with an elegant arrangement of chocolates, strawberries, and kiwi slices. Looked like Delov had developed a hankering for a late-night snack. I hoped he was enjoying it, because it would be the last meal he ever ate.
Maybe it was wrong, but I didn't feel bad about plotting Delov's death. Not bad at all. I knew exactly what kind of scum he was. The giant sold drugs, which was sleazy enough, but he specialized in getting kids hooked on the stuff. He had a whole network of dealers whose sole job was to push his product to the local middle and high schools. A few weeks ago, a thirteen-year-old girl had died after getting a bad batch of Delov's drugs, and her nine-year-old sister had also gotten sick and almost perished. The girls' parents had somehow reached out to Fletcher, and now here we were, about to get payback for the dead girl, her sick sister, and her grieving parents - permanently.
Fletcher gave me a hand signal. I nodded, understanding that I was to hold my position in the hallway and watch our backs, just in case there was anyone in the mansion who wasn't supposed to be there. Fletcher palmed one of the silverstone knives he carried for jobs like these, slid into the kitchen, and crept closer to Delov.
I was so busy studying Fletcher that the faint click-click-click of toenails on the hardwood floor behind me didn't register for a few precious seconds. When it finally did, I froze for a moment, then slowly turned my head to the side and looked down.
A fat, fluffy Pomeranian with golden fur sniffed my left boot like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
I bit back a curse. We hadn't seen Peaches while we'd been skulking through the mansion, and I'd thought he must have curled up on another floor and gone to sleep for the night. I liked dogs, really I did, but they'd screwed up more than a few jobs Fletcher had taken me on. Still, I couldn't kill the curious fluffball. Peaches was innocent, even if his owner wasn't. No pets, no kids - ever. That was the code Fletcher had taught me and I was determined to live by it.
I eased down to my knees and held out my hand, hoping that would distract the dog long enough for Fletcher to kill Delov. He was only about fifteen feet away from the giant now and closing fast. Ten more seconds, and he'd be in range. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .
Peaches sniffed my fingers and gave them a tentative lick. And then he started barking - loud, yippy, there's-someone-new-new-new-in-the-house barks.
Oh, no.
Delov immediately whirled around at the sounds. Clutching the butcher's knife he'd been slicing cheese and cold cuts with, he slashed out at Fletcher with it. Fletcher managed to jump out of the way, but Delov came at him with the knife again. Back and forth, the two men fought through the kitchen, knocking over dishes, silverware, and plates of food. I winced at all the noise they made. Good thing the guards were away for the night, or we would have been well and truly screwed. Beside me, Peaches kept barking and barking, but he seemed smart enough to know he would get stepped on and squished if he darted into the kitchen right now.
I got to my feet, ready to charge in and help Fletcher, but there was nothing I could do. Since there was only one entrance to the kitchen, Delov would see me coming, so I couldn't even distract the giant by sneaking up on him from behind.
And then the worst thing of all happened. Delov's fist actually connected with Fletcher's chest.
Fletcher cursed and stumbled back. Delov surged forward, looking to press his advantage, but the old man grabbed a copper pot from a rack above his head and smashed it into Delov's face. The giant growled in pain. He staggered and slipped on some of the broken dishes that littered the floor, going down on one knee.
But instead of regaining his feet, Delov fumbled with one of the cabinet doors below the sink, yanked it open, and reached inside. A second later, the glint of a gun appeared in his hand.
"Run!" Fletcher yelled at me. "Run!"
The old man had taught me to obey his orders no matter what when we were out on a job, so he didn't have to tell me twice. I turned and ran, with him right behind me.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Bullets chased us down the hallway, and the acrid stench of gunpowder burned through the air, overpowering the moldy cheeses. Fletcher and I darted into a sitting room, raced through it and out into another hallway on the far side. We zigzagged through the third floor of the mansion, never taking the obvious, straight route but moving toward our escape point all the while.
Delov must have stopped to reload or maybe grab another gun from somewhere, because we quickly outran him, and I didn't hear any sounds coming from behind us. But just before we got to the balcony and the stairs that would serve as our exit, Fletcher put a hand on my shoulder.
"Stop, Gin," he mumbled behind me. "Or at least slow down."
Slow down? We couldn't afford to slow down, not while we were still in the mansion. Delov having a gun was bad enough, but if the giant caught us, he could always beat us to death with his fists. They were almost as big as the wheels of cheese he'd been cutting into.
Still, it was an order from Fletcher, so I stopped and turned around - and that's when I realized he was bleeding. An ugly bullet hole had ruined his blue work shirt, close to where his left lung would be.
I gasped. "You're hurt!"
Fletcher tried to smile, but his green eyes crinkled with pain. "Looks that way."
For the first time, I heard the hoarse, raspy wheeze in his voice. It sounded like the bullet had done something to his lung, maybe even punctured or collapsed it, which meant I needed to get him to Jo-Jo - right now.
"Come on," I whispered, putting my arm under his shoulder and preparing myself to drag him the rest of the way out of the house, across the grounds, and into the woods. "I'm getting you out of here."
Fletcher shook his head. "No. Not before the job's done. We have to get Delov tonight. This is our best chance - our only chance. All of his guards are gone. It's just him and us. We have to end him now."
"But you're hurt," I pointed out. "And he has a gun. Maybe more than one by now. You always told me that it was okay to walk away from a botched job. And we both know that I messed this one up."
Fletcher shook his head again. "A dog barked. It happens, Gin, even to the best of us."
He bent over and started coughing. He put his hand to his mouth, but I still saw the blood trickle out between his fingers.
"Here, at least sit down," I said, helping him over to a nearby chair. "Rest for a few seconds, and then we'll get out of here."
"No," Fletcher said, his mouth settling into a thin, stubborn line. "I made a promise to the Kilroy family, and I intend to keep it. Besides, I'll be easy pickings for Delov now. We both know how fond he is of taking care of his dirty work himself."
In addition to his love of gourmet food, Delov also fancied himself something of a hunter, and more than one poor animal's head decorated the walls of his mansion. He even had a poaching trip planned for his time in the Keys. So I had no doubt that Delov would relish the challenge of tracking us down.
Fletcher couldn't kill the giant. Not now, not with that injury.
But I could.
"Give me your knife," I whispered.
He stared at me in surprise. "You don't have to do this, Gin. I can finish it. I can - "
Another coughing fit cut off his words, and more blood dribbled down the sides of his fingers, even though he tried to hide it from me.
Fletcher looked at me, his green eyes searching mine. "Can you do it, Gin? Are you ready for this?"
I stared at the knife still clutched in his hand. The silverstone gleamed like a sharp star in the semidarkness. I'd killed people before. Buried men in the falling stones of my childhood home. Stabbed a giant to death inside the Pork Pit. And I'd watched Fletcher kill a dozen more.
But this - this was different. Before, I'd lashed out at the others in the heat of the moment. Because they'd threatened me, hurt me, and I'd just been defending myself. But tonight I'd come here knowing that Delov would die. I just hadn't thought that I'd be the one to do it.
It was one thing to watch - it was another to twist the knife in coldly myself.
Maybe - maybe I wasn't as ready to be an assassin as I thought I was.
But there was nothing to be done about that paralyzing thought. No changing it, no fixing it, no time to think about it. Because it was him or us now, and I'd pick us every single time, no matter what it cost me in the end.
I hesitated a moment longer, then took the weapon from Fletcher. "I can do it."
"I know you can," he whispered back.
"Come on," I said, helping him to his feet. "I'll help you find someplace to hide. Then I'll go look for Delov."
Fletcher nodded, in too much pain to do anything else. I put my arm under his shoulder again and led him deeper into the house, back toward Delov, ready to do what needed to be done . . .
My eyes fluttered open, and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. That I was safe in bed in Fletcher's house and not being stalked by a giant with a gun and a grudge. I let out a breath, trying to calm my racing heart and banish the rest of the memories. Slowly, far too slowly, they finally faded away.
I didn't know what had triggered this specific memory of Fletcher and Delov. It certainly wasn't the worst one I had. In fact, it was pretty mild compared with some of the other things I'd seen, done, and been through over the years. But something about that night felt particularly important - and ominous, almost like it was a warning of things to come.
I wasn't an Air elemental, so I never got any glimpses of the future, not like Jo-Jo did. But I couldn't help but think that something was stirring all the same. Something dark, something dangerous, something that might finally be the death of me.
But then again, this was just a dream, just one of many terrible memories I'd collected over the years, and no doubt more were on the way.
"Paranoid much, Gin?" I said.
Of course, no one answered back. The house was empty. All the whispers of the stones told me so, but for once, the soft, familiar sounds didn't soothe me. I lay there and closed my eyes, but it was a long, long time before I was able to sleep once more.
Chapter 3
Two nights later, Finn pulled his Aston Martin up to the back of a long line of cars.
"See?" he said. "This isn't so bad, is it? I've got a new car, you've got a new dress, and we're going to have a fabulous time lusting after all of Mab's loot. What could be better than that?"
"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "Sitting at home having a nice, quiet evening. Reading a book. Making some sort of sinfully rich and decadent dessert."
"Spoilsport," Finn huffed.
I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. Despite the fact that I hadn't really wanted to come, I still found myself peering out the window. Curiosity. It was one emotion that always seemed to get the best of me, even tonight.
The exhibit of Mab's loot, as Finn had so eloquently dubbed it, was being held at Briartop, Ashland's largest, fanciest, and most highfalutin art museum, located in the uppity confines of Northtown. But what really made Briartop unique was its placement on a large island in the middle of the Aneirin River.
The island, also called Briartop, was like a miniature version of one of the Appalachian Mountains that ran around and through the city. The museum itself was perched on a wide plateau at the very top of the island. A series of stone walkways led out from each one of the three wings into the lush gardens and immaculate lawns that flanked the main building. The paths spiraled down the rocky hillsides before the landscape gave way to dense woods choked with briars and brambles. Back before the museum had been built, blackberry and other briars had covered the entire island in a thicket of thorns. Hence the name. Even now, the museum gardeners waged a constant battle to keep the briars from creeping up and overtaking the colorful flowerbeds and intricate copses of trees they'd worked so hard to cultivate over the years.