Beautiful and smart, she was quite the adversary. If it hadn’t been for the informant, she would probably not only have succeeded in killing me, she’d most likely have gotten away with it.
The knowledge was both shocking and frightening. But it also made me mad. She’d tried to kill me. She actually tried to fucking kill me. So much for not being much of a threat to her.
“I’m smiling, Griffiths, but heaven knows what people are reading in my mind.”
He squeezed my arm reassuringly. “That is why I am walking with you. I’m blocking your mind from outside reading or attack. Your thoughts are your own until this is over.”
It was a relief to hear. “Thank you.” Now I could be angry and hurt and terrified and still pretend for the public and the cameras that everything was fine. Everyone would think I was happy while in fact, I felt a level of rage that, if not held in check, was likely to bring out my inner monster. I managed to control it. But it wasn’t easy.
As a consequence, the ceremony was something of a haze to me. I was there. I did my part, but I don’t remember anything specific. Adriana and Dahlmar made their public declarations of love and fidelity, then kissed on the steps of the courthouse amid deafening cheers. We all made happy-happy in our lavalavas, and congratulated the beaming couple by tossing a few thousand flowers’ worth of fragrant petals into the air to fall in a cloud around them. Flashbulbs went off so fast that the air turned white.
Fortunately, there were no other threats. I’m a professional, but I have my limits. Knowing that someone hated me enough to plant a bomb likely to kill not only me, but pretty much anyone within a full square block, was mind-boggling. Shock and anger washed over me in alternating waves as I struggled to wrap my head around the idea.
How the hell had Angelina Bonetti gotten a sample of my hair? After the events of the past couple of years I have become almost fanatically paranoid about preventing that sort of thing, for exactly this reason.
I could only think of one logical possibility. Well, actually two.
John Creede had lost his siren charm, which was made from my hair, in our battle with Glinda. Someone might have found it and made it available on the black market. The other choices were that it had been destroyed … or that it had been taken to Hell. I didn’t want to think too much about the latter option. It was just too frightening.
It was much more likely that Angelina had gotten my hair from the charm I made for Bruno. Maybe that was how she knew he didn’t have it—because she did.
What worried me more was that Angelina wasn’t a witch, and Griffiths had said bio-magical. That little fact was just sinking into my head. Yeah, Mrs. DeLuca, Grand Hag of the East Coast, hates me, but I didn’t think she’d actually help someone murder me. I mean, there’s hate and there’s hate. Besides which, Isabella DeLuca is smart and subtle. A bomb didn’t seem like her kind of thing, particularly one that could be traced back so easily. She’s more the death curse or poison sort of person.
Griffiths gave me his cell phone and helped me slip into the courthouse after the ceremony and before the wedding photos. Rather than use the women’s room and risk getting interrupted, I ducked into the “family” restroom, which was a single seater and had a changing table attached to the wall.
My first call was to Alex. If the locals weren’t in charge, she’d know who was.
Alex picked up on the first ring. “Detective Alexander speaking.”
“It’s me.”
“Christ on a crutch! Where the hell have you been? Don’t you ever pick up your voice mails?” She was almost snarling.
“Where have I been? Are you freaking serious? It’s Adriana’s wedding day.”
“But you weren’t supposed to be going to the ceremony on Serenity. We’ve been looking everywhere for you! There was word someone had predicted your kidnapping so we’ve been treating you as a missing person. Bruno is gone. Dawna hasn’t heard from you for a couple of days. We can’t reach John Creede.”
Oh, crap. Of course she was worried. We deliberately hadn’t made my change of plans public.
“Geez, Alex, I’m sorry. Things changed and the Serenity Secret Service kept some details from the press for security reasons. I’ve been on Serenity for a few days. I just heard about the bomb in my building. Are your guys handling it?”
“Just crowd control. The feds are taking care of actually setting the damned thing off. You really need to call Rizzoli and Dawna—she’s an absolute basket case.”
I could believe that. “I’ll call her as soon as I’m done with you.” I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “The guy who told me about the bomb said it wasn’t the terrorists, that it was personal. He said that they traced the magical signature to a particular woman.”
“Did he now? And how did he happen to get that information?”
“Off the record?”
“Oh hell,” she grumbled. “Fine, off the record.”
“He’s Queen Lopaka’s fixer. An informant told them about the bomb, and he had King Dahlmar’s fixer look into it.”
She swore colorfully. “Fixers. You mean international spies and mercenaries. Jesus, Celia. You are seriously telling me that you’re in bed with international spies?”
“I’m not in bed with them.”
“Unh-hunh.” She gave a martyred sigh. “I’m hanging up now. Call Rizzoli. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the hell out of hearing this.”
I called. He wasn’t thrilled to hear from me, but at least he wasn’t surprised about where I was. His wife and kids were obsessing over the whole royal wedding thing because they actually knew somebody in the wedding party. He already knew about Angelina, too. He was going to tell me—if I ever got around to returning his call.
I winced at the none-too-subtle hint. “Sorry, it’s been nuts and we’re on security lockdown here.”
“Your life is always nuts. Curled up in a corner yet with loaded weapons?”
Ouch. He was right, but saying so wasn’t exactly tactful. Still, part of the whole friendship thing is putting up with the other person’s foibles. Dom and I might have started out as business acquaintances, but we’d been through a lot the past couple of years. Somewhere along the way he’d become one of my friends.
So I ignored the verbal jab and changed the subject. “Have you picked Angelina up yet?”
My question was met with silence. A long, meaningful, silence. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a clue what it meant. “Dom, are you still there?”
“Yeah, she’s in custody now.”
There was something weird about his inflection when he said it, a tiny bit too much emphasis on the last word. I was about to push him to try to get more information, when there was a pounding on the bathroom door.
Oh, hell. I should’ve known. I couldn’t have five full minutes to myself. There simply wasn’t room for it in the day’s schedule.
“Princess, are you all right?” Baker didn’t sound worried, but she wasn’t happy, either. “They’re looking for you for pictures.”
“I gotta go, Dom—” I started to ask when it would be a good time to call him back, but he cut me off by saying “No problem” and hanging up. Hmnpf. Something was very definitely fishy.
“Princess?” Baker repeated.
“I’m fine,” I assured her as I was opening the door. “I was just making a couple of calls.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re needed for photos. Any other calls you wish to make”—her expression made it clear that it wasn’t acceptable to do that in the middle of a royal wedding—“will have to wait.”