35

Maxfield Wisdom stood outside in the sleet, back to the black limo. He stared at the estate his host had insisted they stop at. The driver stood right beside Maxfield to keep him in place.

He’d never liked Benjamin Ravenscroft. Now, he wasn’t quite sure what the man wanted from him. He didn’t have the Skull of Sidon. Did he hope to use Maxfield to get it from Annja Creed?

He felt nauseous again.

He shivered, but didn’t want to get inside the limo. The cold air cleared his senses. And if he could figure out a way to distract the driver so he could start running, he was all for that. But who was he fooling? He’d get about two houses down the sidewalk before the driver caught him, huffing and slipping about on his dress shoes.

He felt quite sure the besuited chauffeur was also packing a weapon, for his coat strained across one shoulder where Maxfield assumed a leather holster must run.

Is this the kind of adventure Annja Creed experienced? He’d initially thought following her an intriguing notion, but now…

LINDA LAY SPRAWLED on their king-size bed in the pink silk nightgown Ben remembered giving her for their fifth wedding anniversary. A bottle of Vicodin sat on the nightstand, half-empty. He had no way of knowing how many pills she had consumed, but when he slapped her face gently, she didn’t rouse. Her skin was clammy. He found her pulse along her neck. Slow.

“Daddy?”

“Rebecca, take Rachel to her bedroom.”

The secretary complied. She was nervous, but not frantic. He gave her points for that. A strong woman, who took orders well.

“Daddy?” Rachel cried as Rebecca tried to shoo her from the doorway.

“Rebecca’s a new babysitter,” he tried, hating the lie, but blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I think Mommy isn’t feeling well. I’m going to take her to the doctor.”

“Like me?” Rachel’s voice cracked and tears started. She pulled at Rebecca’s gentle insistence.

“Go with Rebecca, please, Rachel. Mommy is going to be fine. Not like you.” Stupid. Why had he said that? “Just listen to what Rebecca says, and I’ll call you as soon as Mommy wakes up.

“Fuck,” he said as he touched the side of Linda’s neck. Heartbeats should be faster. “What the hell are you trying to do? Kill yourself? Leave our precious daughter alone? Stupid woman.”

He glanced to the phone. He should call for an ambulance. Could the limo get her to the emergency room faster?

Wisdom waited outside in the car. He knew Ben was not allied with Annja and had nervously tried to open the door as they’d driven from the airport. Rebecca had shown surprising sanguinity when she’d offered to hold the gun on Wisdom. It made Ben feel a little like Bonnie and Clyde.

Hell, he shouldn’t be thinking like that! Not now. Not here in his family’s home.

This night was not right. He had things to take care of. A means to save his daughter was out there. So close. All the elements to obtaining it had come together.

And now this…this distraction.

He tugged down the skirt of Linda’s nightgown and stood to pace at the end of the bed.

“Ben?” Rebecca popped her head in the doorway. “I gave her some milk and cookies. She won’t go to sleep.”

“That’s fine. Will you stay with her while I take Linda to the hospital?”

Rebecca nodded. “What about the guy out in the car? You want the gun?”

“No.” Ben exhaled. He could do letter openers, but guns?

On the other hand, he had vowed to do whatever was necessary to save his daughter. Linda was slowing him down. He didn’t need this complication.

“New plan. I’ll call an ambulance. You meet them and explain you’re the babysitter who arrived to find Linda like this, okay?”

“You’re going to leave me with the kid?”

“She’s my daughter, Rebecca.” He allowed her to embrace him from behind. It felt great. Strange, though, standing in another woman’s arms while his wife slowly died just five feet away on the bed. “You love me? You love my daughter.”

“I’ll do it, Ben. But I worry about you and Mr. Wisdom.”

“Give me the gun, then.”

She slipped the Ruger LCP from the pocket of her skirt. The small pistol was perfect for concealing. “You know how to use it?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” He checked the safety. It was on. “I just need to make it look good.” He kissed Rebecca’s mouth, full and warm and always ready for him. “I’ll call as soon as I’m able.”

He slid the pistol into a front trouser pocket, and strode toward the stairs. Then, realizing he’d have to pass Rachel’s room, he detoured toward the back door, stepping softly so she wouldn’t hear.

ANNJA ADJUSTED THE GREEN screen hanging in a corner of her living room. Standing back, she studied the lower left corner. That was the only place torn during Serge’s rampage. She’d fixed it with duct tape to the back and a coating of clear nail polish on the front. Not a perfect fix, but she couldn’t see the tear, and it shouldn’t show on film. And until she had the extra cash to invest in a new one—or could convince Doug Morrell to foot the bill—this would serve.

Chasing History’s Monsters may be winning some decent ratings, but it was still a strictly low-budget venture. She sometimes recorded spots for her segments in her living room or out in the field, and hoped Doug didn’t insert something like fangs on a local librarian or wings on the backs of a trio of schoolchildren walking away from the camera.

The man had no morals when it came to ratings. Wasn’t Kristie Chatham proof enough of that?

But would he go so far as to doctor a photograph of her? Annja couldn’t decide on that one. And she hadn’t heard from him after e-mailing him about it. Did that mean he was hiding in shame? Or laughing because he’d gotten away with it?

Her loft had been returned to a semblance of normality. She’d spent a few hours going over it, tossing two bags full of damaged food from the kitchen. A terrible waste. She’d even managed to dust the curtains. Hey, a few flicks of the material out the window worked better than a feather duster any day.

There were two books Serge’s rampage had damaged beyond repair. The spine had been ripped clean away from the signature pages on The Three Musketeers, published in 1894 with illustrations by Maurice Leloir. It was still readable, but her heart sank to her stomach at the destruction. This was one of her favorite volumes.

Now she sat on the couch and sipped a can of Diet Coke. She should hear from Maxfield Wisdom soon. His flight had landed half an hour earlier.

The skull sat on the coffee table, now bare of her collection of manuscripts. She’d tucked those in a neat pile on a bookshelf. A little cleaning never hurt anyone.

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble, you,” she said to the cranium. “I wish I could decipher the markings inside.”

Following that spark of curiosity, Annja went to her desk and spread the printouts Professor Danzinger had worked on beside the laptop. The design had a very Celtic look to it. There were interweaving ribbons and it was all very symmetrical. The Celts had invaded France a long time before this skull had been born.

“Fourth century,” she muttered. “The Templars weren’t established until the twelfth century.”

So while the design could be Celtic, she decided it probably wasn’t. It wasn’t her field of interest, though she had read a few papers about them in college. With the professor gone, she had no idea who to contact who might be able to help her.

But did it matter? Returning the skull to its owner was imminent. End of story. She’d go on to the next adventure. What would knowing what the markings were meant to say prove?

“Maybe they invoke some dark spirits?” She chuckled. “Annja, you’ve been chasing too many monsters.”

But she had found some real monsters during those chases. It meant there were many things on this earth that must be believed, if only one could open their mind wide enough.

“Maybe I should consider this as a segment for the show?” She pondered the carvings until her eyes unfocused and the dark squiggly lines blurred. “Necrophilia might be too extreme even for Doug. Ha.”

The phone rang and she nearly toppled from the chair. Dashing to the coffee table, she grabbed her phone. “Hello?”

“Miss Creed. I’ve got something you want.” The voice was familiar.

“Really?” Couldn’t be Wisdom. She had something he wanted. “Who is this?”

“Benjamin Ravenscroft.”

Right. She should have detected the sense of entitlement in his tone.

“Can we arrange to meet?” he asked.

“That depends. What is it you’ve got you believe would interest me?”

“Maxfield Wisdom.”

Annja exhaled. “You picked him up from the airport?”

“Yes, I told him you sent me. He was very agreeable until he decided I wasn’t going to take him to you. We’ve had to restrain him, poor fellow. The sooner you can get here with the Skull of Sidon the quicker the man can be undone and set to wander free. What do you say?”

“Why is the skull so important to you?”

“Does it matter when a man’s life is at stake?”

“You’d kill Maxfield?”

“I’m losing patience, Annja. I need that skull!”

“Why? Someone die?”

“You bitch!”

“Whoa.” She’d touched a nerve.

“Let’s meet in an hour. Why not somewhere in your neighborhood? Sunset Park. It’s private and out of the way, but that’s for the best, don’t you think?”

“Where’s Serge?”

“You haven’t stumbled across him? The fellow does have a manner of chasing in circles. Don’t worry, he won’t bother us.”

That meant Ravenscroft must have no idea where the necromancer was. Annja wasn’t sure she needed a bald bone conjurer thrown into the mix right now.

“An hour?” she said.

“At the Bush Terminal Piers,” he said. “Shall I send a driver to pick you up?”

“No, I’ll find you. Don’t hurt Maxfield, because if you do, I’ll hurt you.”

“You make me tremble, Annja. I must admit it is a thrill to feel threatened by a woman. I like your spark.”

“Yeah? Remember that when I’m forced to beat you bloody.” She hung up and put her head to her knees. “I can be so rash sometimes. I have no idea who this Ben guy really is or what I’m dealing with. And he’s holding an innocent man hostage.”

With Serge out searching for her, and Ravenscroft gunning for her, this night could prove interesting.

She reached to switch off the laptop but startled. The image of the interior skull map showed…

“Words? In…Latin.”

She tapped the screen and read, “Non nobis Domine, no nobis, sed nomini to da glorium.”

“‘Not unto us, O Lord,’” she interpreted. “‘Not unto us, but unto Thee give the glory.’”

“I know that quote. It’s…Templar.”