Please keep him alive.
Trapped in a bell jar, a prisoner, she could only peer through the glass.
When she was eleven years old, she’d walked into the trailer and discovered her dead mother on the floor, an empty needle in her arm. Grief-stricken, she’d lain down beside her mother on that stained, threadbare avocado-green carpet. Until a neighbor found her the next morning.
She was now on the verge of that same stupefied kind of shock.
Determined not to slip over the edge, Edie lifted her head from her knees. The driving rain cast distorted shadows across her huddled body, the night animated with shadows. Dark, murderous shadows.
Earlier in the day, she’d pleaded with Caedmon to turn and walk away from the Emerald Tablet. Just like Benjamin Franklin had done more than two hundred years ago. It couldn’t have been easy for the inquisitive genius, but Franklin knew the staggering fallout that would ensue if the Emerald Tablet fell into the wrong hands. Men would lie, steal, and kill to learn the secret of creation. As Rico Suave had so pitilessly demonstrated. But Caedmon had been hell-bent. And now they had to contend with a fiend from hell.
To escape the monster, she’d sought refuge in a small hotel in D.C.’s Chinatown district. Mentally and physically exhausted, she’d picked up a take-out order of kimchi and bulgogi from the late-night Korean restaurant on the corner. She hadn’t eaten since early afternoon and needed to recharge.
She glanced at the unopened food cartons that she’d put on the desk, suddenly nauseated by the smell of cabbage and beef.
Worried that the outcome of Caedmon’s abduction was a fait accompli, she felt a deepening sense of dread. They were dealing with a preternatural killer who, from the onset, had been one step ahead of them.
How the hell did Rico Suave find us? Rhode Island, London, Philly, D.C. — somehow he’d always managed to put in an unwelcome appearance.
Okay, he probably trailed us from D.C. to Arcadia in the Audi, she thought, the fog slightly clearing. When the arrows started to fly, she and Caedmon had been forced to abandon the netbook computer. A casualty of war. It could be that Rico retrieved the netbook and discovered the online booking that had been made for London.
But how in God’s name did the fiend track us to the Christ Church Burial Ground? And then a day later track them to the Willard? Because, obviously, that’s what he’d done. And then he went the extra mile, locating the Mini in the valet parking lot and sabotaging the brakes. For all she knew, he’d been shadowing them the entire day.
Hit with a niggling suspicion, Edie crawled across the carpeted floor and snatched her leather satchel off the bed. Unzipping it, she rummaged around and removed a hardbound notebook. She flipped it open. That’s when she felt it — a small nearly invisible strip. She reached over and turned on the nightstand lamp. Holding the notebook near the bulb, she saw what appeared to be a clear Band-Aid stuck on the inside cover.
A magnetic tracking strip!
As she sat there mired in fear, the bastard, transmitting device in hand, was simply waiting for her to retrieve the Emerald Tablet from the Willard Hotel. The device would indicate exactly when she stepped foot in the hotel lobby. He could then follow her, forcibly take custody of the relic — and pull the trigger.
Fear now trumped by rage, Edie shoved herself upright, strode across the room and snatched the container of kimchi off the desk. Opening it, she smashed the magnetic strip into the fiery cabbage concoction, her nostrils twitching from the sudden burst of cayenne pepper. She then headed over to the window; a benefit of being on the third floor, the window actually opened.
For nearly five minutes, she stood at the ready, container in hand. A white pickup truck stopped for a red light directly beneath the window. The rap music blaring from the truck’s sound system meant—
Taking aim, Edie tossed the food carton.
The driver didn’t hear the thump in the truck bed when the kimchi plopped all over ribbed cargo space.
Mission accomplished, she walked over and grabbed the discarded cell phone off the floor. She set it on the nightstand. Rage a clarifying antidote for fear, she began to devise a plan of action.
Not having a weapon was most definitely a handicap.
No! That wasn’t true. Granted her weapon didn’t come with round-nosed bullets, but it was deadly.
Edie mirthlessly smiled.
The devil may have demanded a dance, but she would pick the tune.
CHAPTER 87
The hammer came down on Caedmon’s left hand with such violent force, he screamed in agony. The pain unbearable, he retched all over the table. One did not have to be a trained physician to know that more than a few carpal bones had been broken.
Trapped between the conscious and unconscious worlds, he sagged against his chair, his chin dropping onto his vomit-splattered chest. An instant later, he slipped into the latter world.
How many minutes passed, he had no idea, blissfully unaware of the passage of time.
Consciousness returned piecemeal, bogged down with an excruciating pain centered in his mutilated left hand.
Focus on something other than the pain, he silently ordered.
An impossible command, the very act of pulling air into his lungs an agonizing labor.
Not entirely certain of his whereabouts, Caedmon glanced around the windowless room. As if on cue, the steel door on the far side of the room swung on a rusty hinge.
A stylishly attired man with a battered face entered the room. “My stoic Englishman has finally opened his beautiful blue eyes. I trust that you’re enjoying yourself.” Smiling, he fixed his gaze on Caedmon’s bloodied and mangled hand.
As though a bucket of ice water had just been tossed on his head, Caedmon instantly revived.
“A jolly good time was had by all,” he snarled, glaring at the sadistic bastard. Hatred the only weapon in his arsenal.
“And to think the night is still young.”
Caedmon inwardly groaned. Mystics, the chronically obsessed, and serial killers all shared a common trait — insomnia, the ability to function on little more than a cat nap.
Saviour Panos seated himself at the table. “We have much in common, you and I.”
“We breathe the same air — that’s all that we have in common.”
“A cunning man, even now, face bashed, hand broken, you are trying to figure out a way to disarm—” He broke off in midstream and glanced at the mobile clipped to his waist, the device emitting a muffled whhrrr. “Ah! Your lady love has finally returned my earlier call. I took the liberty of photographing you while you slept. A little memento to ensure her cooperation.”
Smirking, Panos took the call. “Perfect timing! My sleeping beauty has just aroused.”
Caedmon felt the sting of tears. Edie was no match for a monster like Saviour Panos. Why in God’s name didn’t you go to the airport? Although he hadn’t done the tossing, he knew that Edie had been thrown to the wolves. His fault.
Forgive me, love.
A few seconds into the call, Panos’s mocking expression morphed into one of thunderous rage.
Jabbing his finger against the mobile, he disconnected the call. “That bitch!”