Retribution

CHAPTER 30

I’M BONE WEARY.

Scalding hot water cascades over me, soap and shampoo wash away the smell and soot of the fire. But the image remains.

Ortiz.

His face before he was consumed. His face as we spoke in my kitchen last night.

Barely twelve hours ago. Now he’s gone.

I get out of the shower and slip into clean clothes. The cuts on my hands have already closed, the pain in my left arm has receded to a dull ache. My body hums with healing energy.

I wish my mind were so easily healed. Could I have saved Ortiz?

I refuse to believe it. Williams is playing games with me. If I had the abilities he says I do, I’d know it.

Wouldn’t I?

Everything I had on this morning I bag for the trash. Even if I could get rid of the bloodstains the smell would remain. And the memories.

In the bedroom, my glance falls on the bed. It’s still stripped, I haven’t had a chance to remake it after the cops took the bedclothes. I want nothing more than to lie down on the bare mattress, close my eyes. It’s been two days since I’ve had any sleep.

Another image chases the thought of sleep out of my head.

Culebra—near death.

When I call Frey, he picks up. Nothing has changed. Culebra’s spirit is being kept alive by Frey’s efforts, his body by an intravenous feeding tube. He has not regained consciousness.

What has changed is the sound of Frey’s voice. It betrays the burden of working such potent magic. He sounds like a palsied old man, his voice slow in cadence, tremulous.

He asks only that I find Burke, finish it.

I ring off with a promise. I hope I’ve succeeded at hiding what I’m feeling—a sense of futility.

So far, nothing I’ve done to save Culebra has worked.

Before I do anything else, though, I need to see Brooke—give her Ortiz’ last message. Maybe if I’d told Williams’ that his last thoughts had been with him, it would have eased the situation at the warehouse.

It’s too late now for what-if.

Besides, what happened between Williams and me was a long time coming.

WILLIAMS’ CAR IS PARKED IN FRONT OF ORTIZ’ HOUSE when I pull up.

I should have known he’d be here.

Still, it doesn’t shake my resolve to see Brooke. I have a message for her and it needs to be delivered in person.

When I ring the doorbell, Williams answers it.

I prepare myself for a psychic attack. He does nothing but hold open the door and stand aside, an invitation to come in. No challenge.

No threat. When I probe, he is not questioning my presence. His mind reflects only sadness.

Brooke looks up when I enter the dining room. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks flushed. If Williams told her it was my fault Ortiz was dead, her expression doesn’t suggest it. All I see on her young face is regret.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Her lower lip quivers. “I was mad at him,” she says. “I let him leave without telling him that I loved him. Now, he won’t know.”

“He knew. He gave me a message for you.”

She looks up. Tears well again, but there’s also a spark of anticipation and hope. “A message?”

I touch her arm, wishing I had more to offer. “He said to tell you that he loved you. He wanted you to know. He wanted you to be all right.”

Brooke starts to cry. A woman comes out of the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand. She looks like Brooke, same general build, same brunette coloring, same heart-shaped face.

Williams takes the glass from her hand and takes it to Brooke. “This is Catherine,” he says to me. “Brooke’s sister.”

Catherine acknowledges the introduction with a nod. “Were you a friend of Mario’s?”

“Yes.”

“I heard what you told Brooke. Were you there when—”

For the first time since I came in, I feel antagonism stir in Williams ’ thoughts. “Yes,” I reply simply. I look over her head to Williams.

How much do they know?

He answers with an arm around Brooke’s shoulders. He speaks aloud for their benefit. “They know Mario was there at that warehouse because he received a call about a fire. He went in to make sure the building was empty. He died a hero.”

It’s a good story. “Has anyone from the department been in touch yet?” I ask.

He nods. “The acting chief has already called. He’s on his way over.”

I can’t think of any reason to stay. Catherine has taken a seat beside her sister, slipping her arms under Williams ’ so she’s holding her sister as she cries.

Williams defers to Catherine, stands back and away. He does it reluctantly as if sharing in her sorrow lessens his own.

“I should go.”

Williams walks me to the door. He hands me a piece of paper. “The address of the safe house,” he says.

It’s where I’ll go next. The girls are my last link.

Williams is carefully guarded, his thoughts impenetrable. I’m on my way down the sidewalk to my car when he sends a message.

I want Burke. Let me know what you find out.

I pause and turn around. He’s still in the doorway. There’s a shift in what I see reflected in his eyes. Grief is eclipsed by a more powerful emotion. Here, with no one but me to see, his eyes shine with purpose. He grieves for Ortiz but that grief fuels a greater need.

It’s clear now, the change in his attitude toward me. It may be temporary but he’ll work with me. He wants Burke as much as I do. And for the same reason.

He wants revenge.