Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 19

As I showered, I mulled over Rafael’s reaction to me. Although it was obvious Logan had been updating him, he’d left out crucial details that would have prevented Rafael from viewing me with suspicion. Like the fact I had been rescued by a six-legged, bear-like creature rather than single-handedly evading the army. There was also Kincaid and the gruesome evidence in the hijacked vehicle—proof of a struggle, not a negotiated exchange. And the truth about Remo—though explaining Remo would have been dicey since even I didn’t know why he targeted me. And then there was my real name. I’d thought Logan was trying to preserve my privacy when he’d used Eliza to introduce us, but now I wondered if there was something more behind that.

I tried to put myself in Rafael’s place. Would I have reached the same conclusion if I were missing those key details?

… After all he’s been through, he’d said. What did that mean?

If Logan had left multiple voicemails updating him, then Rafael had no reason to suspect any gaps in the information. I tried to look at it from different angles, but none made sense why Logan would want his friends to suspect me of anything.

One thing was for sure: Logan didn’t trust me. I certainly didn’t manipulate him to isolate us. If he didn’t take me to the place Rafael mentioned, it was because he didn’t want me to know its location. Or … he didn’t trust his friends with me.

I paused with the shampoo in my hand and frowned at the facts. What was I missing? No wonder Rafael was so paranoid about me. Given the same information, I might have suspected myself. But selling Logan out? He was definitely reaching and reaching far, wasn’t he? Maybe Logan had just as many people gunning for him as I did. If I could trust Rafael’s words and connect them with past events, the PSS and “Black Drammen” were two of them. Kincaid had admitted that he had orders to capture Logan. Two common enemies. It made me wonder about the guardians’ attack. I had assumed they were after me, but hadn’t the first move, the first guardian, gone for Logan first? And when Logan ran back to the hotel room, the guardian I’d been fighting had followed him. Maybe if I hadn’t kicked the hand of the second guardian, it would have followed him, too.

I was staring at a difficult puzzle, one with many pieces missing. I couldn’t even get a vague image of a corner, much less the whole picture.

God, what a mess.

I could hear Logan and Rafael murmuring outside and, leaving the water running, I strained to catch their words.

Logan was saying, “ … not waiting for the next meeting of the council for them to realize he’s really missing. They won’t even connect the case with the Society for a long time after that. They know I’m going, so if I get caught, they’ll have no choice but to come for me.”

Rafael argued, “Douglas is trying to reach Vincent. He’s been out of touch on a case, but he thinks he should be back soon. The Hunters will no doubt try to verify your claim. All you have to do is wait.”

“I can’t. The Society might just hide Archer. If it’s a formal call, they’ll have plenty of time to stash him somewhere no one will find.”

“The place is huge. It’s too secure, and you’re personally involved. You’re not being objective, and that is risky enough, and I’m not counting all the variables.”

“I’m not leaving him there. I’m going in. I already have a rough picture of the place if you can’t hack in.”

There was a snort—Rafael’s—and he said, “Doug showed me. It’s nothing more than chicken scratches; neither of us could make sense of it.”

I stiffened at his description of my sketches.

“She’s coming with us. She knows the place; it’ll come in handy.”

“That’s a huge mistake. The Society is hell bent on getting her back.” There was a brief silence before Rafael tried again, “Taking her is like gift-wrapping her for them. I’m telling you, man, this is a big mistake. The whole thing is.”

“She’s coming.”

“Archer won’t like it. Hell, the Council will lose their collective minds if they realize you’re taking Fosch’s daughter—”

“The Council can crash and burn in Hell,” Logan interrupted. “And I’ll deal with Archer when the time comes.”

“What about Roland? Can’t you tell him to take her somewhere safe until Vincent is back?”

Logan’s voice was grim when he announced, “He was the one who told me where to find her in the alley.”

I knew it! I clenched my fists to keep from opening the door and demanding he tell me everything he knew. I wondered now if Logan had used my fake name to introduce us to keep Rafael from saying something he didn’t want me to know. It was obvious from their words that Rafael also knew who my father was.

“We can take her to Doug’s.”

“No.”

A heavy pause. “You’re too involved. This is personal, and that’s dangerous. You need a clear mind to pull this off.”

“Damn right,” Logan growled.

The pause that followed was so heavy with tension, I could sense it through the closed door. “I just don’t want you to repeat your mistakes twice,” Rafael finally said, and I could hear an edge in his voice. Concern? Warning?

“Can you get in or not?” Logan snapped. I could practically see the muscle twitch in his jaw and the tension in his clenched fists.

“They have fail-safes. If I press the wrong key—and believe me, they’ve almost tricked me twice now—the whole program will shut down and delete itself. Want my opinion?”

“Hmmm.”

“If you’re dead-set on taking her, then don’t try to hack in. If they catch wind of a breach attempt, it’ll only alert them and make them tighten security.”

“I need in,” Logan said.

“I’ll try, but if I hit another wall, I’m done.”

Silence fell after that, broken only by the rapid clacking of keys. Committing all the names to memory, I shut off the water and began to dress slowly, hoping they would resume their conversation. I put on my black slacks and a green button-down shirt, then dried my hair, brushed my teeth, and checked myself in the mirror. The scrapes on my right cheek from my fall during the bus attack had faded. Aside from that, nothing marred my skin, and even the stitches had fallen out. I tied my hair back in a tight, high ponytail and found nothing else to do, so I opened the door and left the bathroom.

The rich aroma of coffee filled the room, and I zeroed in on the tray with the pot and finger sandwiches on the table by the sofa. My stomach rumbled in response.

First things first. I picked up a pair of socks and walked to the bed, my boots still where I’d left them by the foot. I sat on the edge of the still unmade bed, put on the socks, then slipped my feet into the boots. When I straightened, I noticed the black coat lying beside me on a dry-cleaner’s plastic hanger.

I eyed it with suspicion, my nose wrinkling in tortured remembrance. I didn’t think the smell would ever come off. I pinched the sleeve of the coat with my thumb and forefinger, and bent to sniff it, braced for the worst. It smelled wonderfully clean, surprising me. When I looked up, Logan was watching me with a gleam of amusement. I smiled.

God, wasn’t he handsome? And thoughtful?

The smile that tugged at my lips faded as I studied his face, wanting to commit every detail to memory. Even with the secrecy, mistrust, and violence that shadowed our brief acquaintance, I wanted to hold on to the good. The reminder that, for a brief time, I had been accepted and desired.

Small comforts, but they mattered. Things to help me when the darkness closed in and dragged me under.

I memorized the way his brown hair curled just a little at the ends, the sharp angles of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows, and those thick lashes framing eyes that could pierce through any facade. The killer smile. The considerate little things: pulling out a chair for me, slathering cream cheese on a bagel, carrying my bag. The anger when I was beaten, the promise of retribution for what had been done to me.

Something must have shown on my face because his expression sobered, and I found myself under similar scrutiny.

Did he feel like fate kept giving him the slip too?

“It smells good,” I said, looking down at the coat and tracing my finger over the soft material.

He came forward, stopping right in front of me, causing my heart to leap wildly inside my chest. He waited until I looked up and met his eyes before taking my hand and, without a word, pulling me up into a gentle embrace. I went willingly, my arms circling his neck and his my waist. My head rested on the crook of his neck. Tension I hadn’t known was there eased, leaving behind a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt for a very, very long time.

It was such a comforting, tender gesture—a gesture he no doubt used on other women. Some of the tension returned with the thought. I stepped back, my hands sliding out of his after a moment. He kept hold of my gaze before stepping away and looking at Rafael’s back.

“We’ll leave tonight,” he said in a casual tone.

I had the impression he was going to say something else, but just then we heard the ding of the elevator. In a hotel, that should have been a normal sound.

Except for the footsteps coming down the hall.

Lots of them. Like, at least half a dozen moving in unison.

Like marching.

Like trained soldiers.

We turned to face the door, instinctively backing away. My stomach roiled like waves in an angry sea, my mouth went dry. My inner alarm screamed for me to run, but I knew it was too late.

We were still backing away when the march stopped right outside. We reached the desk, and Logan stopped. I inched sideways to give him maneuvering room. Rafael was up and armed, and without looking back, Logan grabbed the pistol Rafael handed him.

Silence.

Then the door blew inward with a deafening boom. Splinters, dust, and debris filled the air as a chunk of the wall above the door crumbled.

Pandemonium followed. Screams erupted from everywhere. The fire alarm blared loudly, mingled with the wails of children and the frantic rush of feet. A agitated voice tried to restore order, but the panic was widespread—upstairs, downstairs, every floor was affected.

We remained where we stood, bracing for the inevitable, listening to the tumultuous sounds of terrified people. There was nowhere for us to go but through that door. We waited for what seemed like hours. But the hotel could only accommodate so many people, and eventually, the commotion began to die down. Soon, there were no more running feet. The fire alarm fell silent after that. Logan raised his weapon, aiming at the door. Behind us, Rafael readied his shotgun. They would shoot anyone foolish enough to come in. Logan tried to push me behind him and although I stayed back, I refused to let him shield me with his body. I wanted to hide, yes, but I would never use someone—especially Logan—as a shield, and that was exactly what he’d be. Anyone standing in front of me would be nothing more than collateral damage.

To my left and behind me, Rafael pumped his shotgun, the noise as loud as a thunderclap. Neither Logan nor I stood in his way.

“Mr. Graham,” a familiar voice called from the hall.

My shoulders jerked, and my eyes widened. I gripped my hands together in apprehension. The trembling that followed was due to sudden, paralyzing fear. I took a step back, denial clawing at my mind. Since Logan was to my right and front, Rafael was the only one who noticed my reaction.

“Mr. Graham. I know you’re there. I am Dr. Michael Dean, Chief Director of the PSS. I believe you have something of mine. Hand it over, and we’ll leave without any bloodshed.”

A nervous voice protested indignantly, “Bloodshed? Sir, you said this was a suspect apprehension situation. I believe I’ll have my assistant call our attorney now and—”

The voice cut off abruptly by a muffled thunk.

My heart pounded in my chest, an enraged beast wanting to escape. Logan gave me a questioning look, and I tried to smooth my expression as best as I could. I didn’t want him to see how much Dr. Dean’s presence affected me.

Rafael hissed as Logan shouted, “She doesn’t belong to you!”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Graham,” Dr. Dean said calmly. “I’ll be brief and to the point. You’re not in a position to argue or refuse. Give her to me, and I’ll let you live. Refuse, and you will die. There are two power rifles currently aimed at both of you from across the building. Ask Mr. Sanchez if you don’t believe me, but keep in mind that if he tries anything, my men have orders to remove any obstacles in their path. If I give them any signal, they will open fire. Any sudden or suspicious moves on your part will result in gunfire.”

Logan growled low in his throat, and Rafael confirmed, “Two laser beams. One on each head.”

And there it was—a red dot in the center of Logan’s head. A quick glance at Rafael showed him standing to the right of the open window, out of the snipers’ range.

“My men will come inside now to collect my property. I trust you will cooperate?”

So that was it. Dr. Dean would keep me unconscious for the entire trip, until he had me safely locked in a cage.

Panic surged and bubbled in my throat, threatening to choke me. I had to get past Dr. Dean and his men without giving anyone the chance to shoot me. I needed to be clever, fast, and utterly ruthless.

This was one person I wouldn’t mind killing. In fact, I had been looking forward to it for a long time. But who was I kidding? Dr. Dean was the type who hid his misdeeds and faults behind others, and for that reason, he would have brought his best men. He knew that if I had even the slightest chance to kill him, I would do it eagerly and with a smile. It was a fact he was very much aware of.

“Why don’t you come in yourself?” Logan challenged.

A soft chuckle sounded from the hallway before Dr. Dean, Chief Director of the PSS, appeared at the door, flanked by a guard on each side. I had expected a whole battalion.

Something about his casual demeanor felt wrong, but my heart was galloping like a racing horse, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating, unable to think clearly.

Dr. Dean was a man in his late forties, but he looked at least five years older. He was blond with a bald spot that accentuated his forehead. His pale green eyes, round face, thin lips, and small neck gave him an unsettling appearance. Despite this, his body was athletic—long and lean—and he took pride in it. He was also meticulous about his attire. I had never seen him in anything but black suit pants, polished black shoes, and a starchily pressed white shirt adorned with the hawk emblem of the PSS on the left breast.

To his right stood a stone-faced figure with a blue-tinged aura—an Elite. To his left was another blue-tinged figure … although, was it darker around the edges? I recognized him then. It was the guard I had punched: Beady Eyes. The shiner I’d given him made the hatred in his gaze even more pronounced.

Dr. Dean’s eyes zeroed in on me, and nausea churned in my stomach. I tried to keep a composed mask, though it was crookedly so.

“Ah, Subject UX01-484. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.” His gaze shifted from Logan to Rafael and back to Logan. “My man will approach my subject now. I trust you’re wise enough to know when to pick your battles.” Dr. Dean smirked, knowing there was nothing Logan could do without risking a bullet to his head. “We’ll be in and out in no time. Be assured, my men have permission to shoot if you so much as twitch.”

Beady Eyes came forward, his gaze shifting between Logan and Rafael. He approached cautiously, with hatred and excitement gleaming in his eyes. He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a syringe filled with a soft blue liquid.

A spell. I had learned through the years as a prisoner that any injection with a glowing liquid was magically enhanced. The darker the glow, the stronger the spell.

Beady Eyes kept glancing between Logan and Rafael, as if expecting them to jump him at any moment before reaching for me. I pulled back with a snarl. Beady Eyes flinched but quickly regained his composure, smirking nervously. I heard Dr. Dean’s voice cut through the tension with a clipped, “Negative,” just as Logan told me not to move through gritted teeth.

“Subject UX01-484,” Dr. Dean snapped. “don’t be foolish. There’s a laser beam on your head, waiting for any suspicious movement to end your life. Now, stay still.”

Beady Eyes gave me a malicious smile. He’d enjoy that. I shot Dr. Dean a hard, hate-filled look. He simply winked, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

I only had a light breakfast, but if I felt any queasier, I’d throw up. It would probably be worth throwing up on Beady Eyes—but I wouldn’t live long enough to gloat. When he reached for me again, I gritted my teeth and stayed still. He injected the contents of the syringe into a vein in the back of my left hand, and I felt the cold liquid creeping up to my elbow.

From a distance, I heard Logan demanding to know what they were injecting me with. I wanted to give him a reassuring smile, mostly so he wouldn’t snap the guard’s neck, but dread prevented me from doing so. I couldn’t even look at him.

Beady Eyes stepped back, staying well out of Logan’s reach, and timed the effect of the syringe. An eternity later, and after another ignored demand from Logan, he reached for me again, this time without fear.

I wanted to snarl just to see him jump back again, but nothing happened. My muscles relaxed, and when the guard took my hand and tugged me forward, my body obeyed his silent command.

“What did you give her?” Logan demanded again. “Where are you taking her?”

Rafael hissed, and Dr. Dean’s smile widened. “Please do, Mr. Graham. I’d enjoy watching you go down.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Logan threatened, his voice growing closer, but Dr. Dean only chuckled—the dry, infuriating sound I so despised.

“What did you give her?” Logan demanded once more.

I could tell he was struggling to keep himself from lunging at them.

“Nothing to be alarmed about. Just something to ensure her obedience until we get her home.”

When we reached Dr. Dean’s side, Beady Eyes let go of my hand with a smirk. I barely noticed it—because I had just realized what had been nagging at me about Dr. Dean. His aura. Something was wrong with it. Instead of sky blue, it had a dark, oily black ring surrounding it. It took me less than a second to remember where I had seen something similar: the Edmond brothers, also known as the Bad Boy Team. My eyes shot to Dr. Dean’s, the only voluntary motion I could still make, and met his triumph-filled gaze. Something ancient and inhuman lurked in its depths.

I had never dreaded anything more or hated anyone as intensely as I did him. At that moment, I would have sold my soul just to be able to drive a talon into his eye. My insides burned with loathing. I promised myself to kill this man, even if it was the last thing I did in my life, no matter the cost or consequences.

Dr. Dean’s narrowed eyes fixed on my face. The cold fury in his gaze told me that he hated me too, probably as much as I hated him. His hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling it back forcefully, making my head spin and my scalp burn.

Logan hissed—or maybe it was Rafael—but the roar in my ears drowned out everything but the overwhelming revulsion I felt at Dr. Dean’s touch.

“No letter opener, eh?” he mocked. The pockmarked scar on his cheek stood out starkly. From the corner of my eye, I saw Logan stiffen, his eyes narrowing to thin slits.

Tears clogged my throat. This was all I needed to complete my humiliation. Dr. Dean pulled me to him, taking a step back and out the door. A Hilton staff member lay slumped, unconscious beside a pile of debris, and I knew without a doubt Logan and Rafael would be blamed for it. Dr. Dean was nothing if not thorough. He’d cover his tracks and let others take the fall.

Two stone-faced Elites stood by the elevator, keeping the metal doors open. Before we stepped inside, Dr. Dean said, “Shoot to kill.”

The sound of breaking glass behind me was like needle stabs in my heart. My insides screamed at me to fight back, yet I was unable to do anything but follow Dr. Dean like a puppet on strings. I was surrounded by four guards, not counting Dr. Dean, and all were armed to the teeth. A closer look told me that all their blue auras had darker rings surrounding them.

Several hotel guests milled in the lobby, talking with nervous excitement. Staff members worked to calm those with frayed nerves while others clung tightly to the sobbing children.

A hush fell over the crowd as we approached, leaving only the children’s cries and the sound of the Elite’s marching boots to break the quiet. Beady Eyes and another guard took the lead, while the remaining two brought up the rear. I stayed beside Dr. Dean, moving to their rhythm.

We exited through the back door into the parking lot, where a few guests had sought refuge. They stood in huddles, some dressed only in flimsy nightgowns, others barefoot on the cold pavement.

All of them backed away when we appeared, putting as much distance as possible between us without leaving the parking lot. A barefoot man retreated into the hotel, realizing the danger was now outside.

A PSS SUV waited for us, idling in the middle of the lot. Another guard sat in the van, ready to take us to the nearest base. Without warning, the guard behind me fell limp to the ground, followed by the guard directly in front of me and the one behind. Three guards down—before Dr. Dean had the sense to cover himself, pulling me closer and using me as his human shield.

The few guests in the parking lot screamed and ran for cover, some holding up their cellphones in a desperate attempt to record the chaos. Beady Eyes whirled around, his shotgun ready, but there was no one behind us to shoot at. The shooter was upstairs, firing through a window.

The window of the room Logan and I had previously occupied. Beady Eyes realized that, raised his weapon, and fired blindly a few times before moving back towards the van for cover. But he never made it. A single, precise shot hit him squarely in the forehead, leaving a neat hole in front and a gory mess in the back of his head.

Dr. Dean tightened his grip on me, angling toward the van, pressing the muzzle of a compact gun against my temple. Meanwhile, the driver in the van opened fire at the hotel window.

When Dr. Dean moved far enough that I could raise my eyes without having to move my head, I realized why no one was getting a clear shot. The sun reflected off the glass surface, making it impossible to see the shooter, or even which window the gunshots were coming from.

There was another single shot from the hotel, followed by the van’s horn blasting as it lurched forward, the driver slumped lifeless on the steering wheel. The van crashed into a red Lincoln, denting the metal and setting off its alarm. Just then, Logan emerged from the hotel’s back door, gun raised. Sirens wailed in the distance, still far away but approaching fast.

“Let her go,” Logan said in a tone I had never heard before. It was devoid of inflection, of life. His face was cold, his eyes empty—the face of the killer I had met once in the desert.

Dr. Dean kept the gun pressed against my temple, his harsh breathing echoing in my ears and bringing back awful memories.

“Let her go,” Logan repeated.

“No, you back away or I’ll shoot her!” Dr. Dean shouted.

“You have no way of escaping without giving me or Rafael an opening. I won’t shoot you if you let her go, and neither will Rafael.” His voice was smooth, too smooth. It was a lie, and we all knew it. He was holding the gun in front of his body with both hands, his aim unwavering. He was barefoot. Neither he nor Dr. Dean seemed to care that the parking lot was littered with dead bodies.

“I’ll shoot her if you so much as take a step.” Unlike Logan, Dr. Dean’s voice was filled with emotion—fear, rage, hatred.

“If you shoot her, you’ll lose your only bargaining chip. I promise I won’t shoot you if you let her go unharmed.”

“All I have to do is wait for the police to arrive,” Dr. Dean said.

It was true—once the police got here, it wouldn’t take much brainpower to figure out who the villain was, especially given that Dr. Dean carried government credentials. The sirens were growing louder, closer, and all he needed to do was wait for a little bit more.

“Are you so sure Rafael won’t find an opening before then? Look at your men. It took him about thirty, forty seconds to dispose of them all. He could be …”

Logan’s voice trailed off, muffled by the nonsensical words Dr. Dean mumbled under his breath. No, not mumbled—chanted. He was chanting. Words I didn’t recognize. In a language I didn’t understand. Logan’s lips were still moving, but the sudden rush in my ears made his words sound as if they were underwater. Then the world began to tilt, and then I was falling.