CHAPTER 16
Faith laughed humorlessly. “Guess they weren’t real happy that Big A was still undead and brooding, huh? Or that he was trying to help me.” Leaning into Willow’s stroking fingers, Faith sighed. “I fucked up, Red. Everything I did…” Her words faded as the massage stopped and a finger tapped against her temple.
“I’m sorry. What was that?” Willow’s next tap was particularly energetic.
For an instant, Faith stiffened. Then she gave up. “Whatever. We ain’t ever going to agree on that, Red.” Letting the subject drop, she went back to the original topic. “So Lila and her boy toy set me up when I didn’t kill Angel like they wanted, and the Tweeds let it happen. Got it.” It made a sick sort of sense. Faith’s eyes closed again as she tried to remember the days right after her confession. Events were fuzzy and vague. She hadn’t really cared what happened after leaving Buffy on the roof of Angel’s building.
Willow’s shoulder moved under Faith’s head as she resettled closer. “That’s what Angel thinks. Gunn found some memos in the Wolfram and Hart files; it looks like Lilah and Lindsey were playing a pretty good game of ‘cover our asses’ after you rejoined the Good Guys.” Her fingers slid over the left side of Faith’s face and then played gently with the wisps of hair near Faith’s ear. “I should have told you what we were doing, Faith. I’m sorry.”
“For what, Willow?” Not really interested in moving, Faith nonetheless raised her head and opened her eyes. “For keeping me from going back to prison? For telling me the truth about the Council?” For being one of only two people to give a damn about me?
Wide green eyes stared intently at Faith, and Willow’s cheeks brightened with a fiery blush.
“Will?” Was something wrong? Faith started to sit up straighter.
“You’re welcome,” Willow whispered. “I…” She broke off and gripped Faith’s hand, keeping her from moving away. “We screwed up, too, Faith. All of us. When I read the memo and then started digging through the Council files, I couldn’t believe what we’d done to you.”
The words washed over Faith, stinging at first. Finally, after all these years, here was the acknowledgement of how badly the Scoobies and the Council had treated her. The momentary bitterness faded, and a feeling of…unaccustomed contentment and serenity replaced it. “Don’t, Willow,” Faith said. “It’s over. It’s history. Let’s move on.” As much as she’d needed to hear the words, Faith didn’t want them to lose sight of what was important. “I’m free. You made that happen. We gotta stop beating each other up over who fucked up the worst.” A grin tugged at Faith’s lips. “I’ll get you some colored pens and shit, and you can start a new list.”
“You think we’ll need it?” Willow giggled and wiggled her shoulder so Faith’s head bounced up and down.
It felt so good here. Faith took only a second to marvel at the way she had surrendered to Willow’s soft touch. “Bet on it, Red. Bet on it.” The words slurred slightly by the end. God, it had been a long day. Faith opened her eyes wide, trying to push the need to sleep back. There was one more question she needed answered. “What about me breaking out?”
If the seemingly unrelated question confused Willow, she didn’t show it. Without missing a beat, Willow said, “Well, we had to do some fast talking with that one.” Pausing, she yanked at the comforter under them until it was displaced enough to slide under. “Once the prosecutor found out that you wouldn’t sue the state – and him, personally – for wrongful prosecution and imprisonment, it was easy to convince him to go with time served.”
“Wicked.” It came out flat. Faith couldn’t keep up with her emotions anymore. They were up and down so fast and so often… Nearly numb now, Faith slowly grabbed the pillows trapped behind her. “We should do something. Celebrate, you know?”
“In the morning?” Willow’s words were punctuated by a yawn.
The action was contagious. Yawning, too, Faith managed to glance at the clock. “Might be up in time for breakfast tomorrow.” Swinging her legs off the bed, she stood up. “Come to think of it…lunch is a better plan. Ain’t getting up ‘til I have to.”
That was as far as she got. “You are so not sleeping on the floor, Faith.” Willow wrapped her fingers in the belt loops at the back of Faith’s jeans and tugged. “I’m too tired to tie you up and have my way with you tonight. We’ll try that tomorrow as part of our big celebration.”
Faith chuckled and reached back to untangle Willow’s fingers. “Thanks, Red. I was real scared of that.” Getting free, she spun until she faced the other girl. “Don’t take it personal, Willow,” she said, serious now. “I don’t do ‘sleeping together.’ Never have. I’ll use the chair.” She pointed to the chaise in the corner.
“Get in here. Now!” Willow pointed an imperious finger at the bed. “That chair looks ready to fall down, and…has it been cleaned in recent memory?”
Since Willow brought it up, Faith peered at the cushions. They were darker in places. “It’s all good, Red. This ain’t the Sunnydale Motor Inn. It ain’t gonna fall down.” Grabbing the covers on the bed, she tugged them up to Willow’s chin. “Sleep tight, Red. We’ll plan the big party when we wake up. I’ve already got the whips and chains on the list, though.”
***
The words of the report blurred in front of Chelsea’s eyes. Closing them, she rolled her head. Sleep wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not for – she cracked one burning eye open and looked at the computer screen – another four hours. “You know, Benson, real police work is easier than I thought.” Chelsea closed the manila folder and tossed it on the pile next to the keyboard.
“How’s that?” Olivia didn’t even look up from her own report.
“I’ve read the entire case file on Charlie McLaren. Twice.” Standing up, Chelsea placed both hands on her lower back and stretched. “Five of his eight known associates are dead.”
That brought Olivia’s head up. “Read the reports again, Lake. We thought the same thing the last time we looked at them.” A hint of a smirk played over her lips. “Keep in mind that Charlie looked pretty dead on paper, too.”
Narrowing her eyes, Chelsea refused to laugh at the joke. Humor took energy, and Chelsea didn’t have any to spare. “Why don’t we just go back to Canarsie with a handful of exhumation orders? If we start digging now, we might have all of the old gang on slabs by the weekend.”
“Hey, don’t get mouthy, rookie. I’m just making sure we don’t take the wrong information to Cragen again.” Olivia’s smile faded, and they shared a pained look. The earlier conversation with the captain had been anything except pleasant. Sitting back in her chair, Olivia closed the folder in her hands. “I have to admit, though, that I’m drawing a blank, too.” Stifling a yawn, she glared at the mess on her desk. “You said five were dead. Remind me what’s up with the other three?”
“Prison.” Not wasting time on explanations, Chelsea dug a legal pad from under a teetering stack of folders and read from her notes. “Robert Simpson. Been in Fishkill since eighty-five for two counts of felony murder after a robbery attempt. Turned state’s witness a couple of years ago and earned a better quality of cellmate and a lot less barbed wire.”
Olivia snorted. “We put ‘em away, and the DA cuts a deal to lessen their pain.” She sounded resigned to that fact. “Simpson’s in the clear. It’s hard to arrange to dig your friends up from prison. I’ll check the visitor logs, though, in case he’s more of a mastermind than we think.”
“Well, if you want to read more reports, my money’s on the next guy. Paul Dutton.” Chelsea retrieved the file and held it out to Olivia. “He was Charlie’s go-to man on most of his jobs. Nasty character.”
She gave Olivia a chance to skim the record. “Shit!” Olivia’s eyebrows rose sharply as she read. “Maybe Cragen wasn’t far off with his Mob idea.”
Nodding her agreement, Chelsea reluctantly sat back down. “Yeah. I saw the notes in the margin, too. You think Dutton could have used his connections to the Masucci’s to swing a deal for his buddy Charlie?” She watched Olivia intently, waiting for an answer.
“Maybe,” Olivia said slowly. She read through the information again. “It doesn’t track, though. If Dutton was important enough – and that isn’t too likely since he wasn’t ID’d as a Masucci employee until a few years ago – why use his influence for McLaren and not himself?”
“I hate you.” Chelsea gave in to exhaustion and laid her head on her desk. “Couldn’t you at least let me have some hope that we’d found an answer?”
The squad room doors flew open suddenly. “Stop napping on the job, rookie,” Munch announced as Chelsea jerked erect. “I’m starting to like you, and the captain doesn’t take kindly to his detectives taking time out for mundane things like sleep.”
Staring at Munch through exhausted and blurry eyes, Chelsea asked incredulously, “How can you be so…so awake?” Chelsea knew he’d been up at least as long as she had, Chelsea knew. She was about to slide under the desk, and Munch looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of Geriatric GQ.
“I don’t have a slave driver of a partner like Benson, here.” With a smirk in Olivia’s direction, he strode past and sat down at his desk. “It makes a difference, let me tell you.”
“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind the next time Cragen asks for my opinion on partners. You think he’d let me tag along with you?” Chelsea winked at a scowling Olivia. “You have years and years,” she enunciated, “of experience for me to draw from.”
Toasting her comment with his coffee cup, Munch laughed. “A sad, and yet true, statement, Chelsea. Now tell me…why do both of you look like the Chief of D’s put you back on traffic duty?”
“Traffic would be a field day compared to this,” Chelsea answered moodily. Although Munch’s attitude amused her, it only emphasized the apparent futility of their search for answers about McLaren. And, Chelsea admitted shamefully to herself, she didn’t want to talk about her current case. She really wanted to question Munch about Anshu and any leads he’d managed to find about her past.
“Not to fear, rookie. Sergeant Munch is here to rescue you.” If Munch continued to be so chirpy, Chelsea might consider stuffing him in McLaren’s empty coffin. “Put down those musty reports and gather round. I have news.”
Fatigue vanishing, Chelsea shot out of her chair. “What? What did you find?”
Munch’s cool gray eyes regarded her unflinchingly. “I discovered that a certain tiny bundle of joy isn’t as alone in the world as she once thought. In fact,” Munch continued with a sweeping wave of his hand, “I’d say she has a very large family, filled with some very important people.”
“Munch!” Chelsea took a single, warning step closer. “Get to the point.”
“That is the point, Chelsea. You aren’t an orphan. Far from it.” Reaching behind him, he lifted a notebook from his desk. “I chased down Mr. Grant before he boarded his flight. With a little gentle persuasion – and a few threats about jail time for accepting bribes – I convinced him to give up all his secrets.”
Chelsea stared at Munch in shock. “He talked?” She didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Her legs started to shake, and she dropped back into her chair. “What…what did he tell you?”
“There’s a lot, Chelsea,” Munch replied. “Some of it generated more questions than it answered.” He tossed the notebook across the room. It landed dead center in Chelsea’s lap. “You can take a look at my notes later; I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version now.”
Gripping the notebook tightly in her hand, Chelsea felt all of her muscles stiffen.
“Grant came to work early one day back in ‘74. Apparently he did that all the time. Only this time, he didn’t find the building empty. There was a man waiting for him – and he had a baby with him.”
“Any ID on the man?” Olivia leaned forward intently.
Although the interruption grated on Chelsea’s quivering nerves, she was glad Olivia had spoken up. She’d wanted to ask the question herself, but the words wouldn’t come.
“No name, I’m afraid.” Munch smiled sardonically. “That doesn’t mean we don’t have a pretty good idea. Before I lose my train of thought, though, let me get to the rest of this chapter in the story. The man gives Grant a duffel bag full of cash and the baby. Tells him that he can’t keep her safe and then disappears.”
It was a letdown. Munch had implied he had far more information. “How does that help?” Chelsea snapped. Damn it! She was tired and Munch was pushing her buttons with his teasing. “We’d figured that part out for ourselves.”
The squad room was silent for a second. “And that’s all we would have had, rookie.” The nickname shattered the previous stillness and warned Chelsea that Munch was on edge, too. “Lucky for us that Mr. Grant was a very smart and curious man. He did some investigating of his own – right alongside the cover up of his new-found wealth. The bag that the money had been left in yielded a few clues.”
The anger faded, and Chelsea focused on Munch’s words. A clue. There was a clue that might lead to her family.
“Under the money, Grant found a string of shells,” Munch continued.
“Shells?” Chelsea gripped the notebook so tightly it bent in her hand. “What do…”
Olivia jumped in before Chelsea could complete her question. “Shells from the beach, Munch?” She shot Chelsea a look that clearly said, Back off if you want him to finish.
“I don’t know if they came from anything so plebian as a beach.” Chelsea could feel Munch’s eyes on her as he resumed talking. “Grant didn’t look there. He recognized the way the shells were strung together. It was a particular ritual strand called wampum.”
The word was vaguely familiar. “Wampum...” Chelsea repeated, trying to bring recall where she’d heard that before.
She took too long. “A string of shells used as a ritual communications device by several tribes of Native Americans,” Munch informed her. “Apparently, Mr. Grant discovered that the types of shells used in this string, whelk and quahog clam, were most commonly used by the Iroquois or the Eastern Algonquin tribes.”
It was the first time in her life that Chelsea really gave thought to her past. “Did he…Was he able to connect the shells to a specific tribe?”
“No.” Munch watched her intently. “That was as far as Mr. Grant got.” A small smile crept out. “However, the title of Sergeant is not bestowed on the faint of heart. I continued the work begun by our intrepid, though corrupt, social worker.”
Chelsea couldn’t help grinning in response to his words. Munch had the answers. Of course he did. “And?” She took a deep breath, preparing for the news.
“And there are too many Native American tribes in New York to pinpoint one in particular from just those shells. However,” Munch turned back to his desk and typed on his keyboard for a second, “the name Anshu is a traditional Mohawk name. It would appear, Chelsea, that your late-night visitor and long lost relative has inadvertently solved our puzzle.”
***
Faith shot straight out of the chaise at the knock on the door.
“Uh…Faith? Willow? Are you guys in there?” Chanise called out tentatively.
Heart pounding, Faith slowly lowered the knife she’d automatically pulled from the sheath on the table next to her. “Yeah. Hang on, kid.” Glancing at the bed, she saw two green, sleep-encrusted eyes peering at her. “Looks like the celebratin’ may be on hold, Red. Rise and shine.”
A grumble followed her to the door. “Why do people always wake us up before get enough sleep?” Willow asked. “I mean, we’ve only been sleeping for…” Her voice trailed off as Faith reached for the door handle. “…twelve hours,” Willow finished in a squeak.
Faith’s fingers froze. “You’re shitting me. Twelve hours?” She looked at the bedside clock as she unlocked the door and turned the handle. The red numbers on the small clock read seven forty-five.
Before Willow could answer, Chanise stepped into the room. “Sorry for the wake-up call. We waited as long as could. We’ve got new information, and Giles thinks he’s figured out the missing part of the prophecy.”
“Whoo hoo.” Faith yawned and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “We rushing off for the big battle or do me and Red have time for a shower and food?”
“Faith!” Willow looked rumpled and grumpy across the room. “You think with your stomach.” With a final glare (and a barely hidden smirk), she turned to Chanise. “What happened?”
Glancing back and forth between them, Chanise hesitated. “Not battle,” she finally said. “At least…not yet. There was some activity from Lake’s computer, and Sharon was able to trace it. That guy Nicole saw at Lake’s apartment. Anshu? The cops figured out he’s a member of the St. Reginald Mohawk tribe. A personal messenger of their War Lord.”
It didn’t mean much to Faith. Willow, though, was bouncing on her toes. “Takarihoken, right? We knew that. Was Giles able to get more, though? You said something about the prophecy.”
Chanise backed up a step. “Um…I don’t…”
“Fuck, Red, give the kid a break.” Faith winked at Chanise and then pointed a finger at Willow. “I’m willing to forget about the big celebration you promised me. For now.” She couldn’t keep from grinning at Willow’s blush. “I ain’t missing out on the shower and breakfast, though. If the news was all that important, the phone woulda been ringing off the hook by now.”
Willow pouted slightly. “Fine. I guess I can wait that long.”
“Won’t be that long if you stop whining and hit the shower,” Faith pointed out. Ignoring the choked off giggle from Chanise, she took Willow by the shoulder and steered her into the bathroom. “Make sure I got some hot water left, will ya’?” She closed the door behind Willow and turned back to Chanise. “When you get downstairs, tell Nic I want a table full of food ready.”
“Anything else?” Chanise opened the door slightly as she asked the question.
Faith almost let her go. “Wait!” She changed her mind as the younger Slayer stepped into the hall. “Got one more thing.” Grabbing her wallet from the dresser, Faith dug a couple of twenties out. “Flowers.”
Chanise’s eyes widened.
“For Willow,” Faith clarified impatiently. “I’d get ‘em myself, but…” She stopped abruptly. No matter how much she owed Willow for taking care of her conviction, Faith had no intention of admitting to Chanise that she’d never bought flowers before. “Here. The gift shop had some shit. Saw it in the window,” she said gruffly.
The shower shut off. Faith was running out of time.
Stuffing the money in the astonished Chanise’s hand, she slammed the door in the other Slayer’s face as a towel-wrapped Willow emerged from the steamy bathroom. “Is everything OK?” Willow asked, staring at Faith as she leaned against the closed door.
“Five by five.” Faith flashed a smile at Willow. A smile that wasn’t very convincing, apparently, since Willow’s left eyebrow climbed into her damp bangs. “You done in there?” Edging away from the door, Faith noticed the towel start to sag around Willow’s breasts. Fuck. Nearly gasping aloud, Faith yanked her eyes away and sprinted for the bathroom.
The door closed, hiding Faith away from Willow’s piercing gaze. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” she mumbled as she stripped off her clothes and stepped under the warm shower. Flowers? A sudden urge to peep at Willow? “Think freedom’s making me crazy.” Gripping the tap, Faith changed the temperature as a deterrent to any more urges to ogle Willow.
By the time she dried off, Faith had herself under control. At least, she hoped so.
All her inner pep talks and the cold shower were wasted. The room was empty when Faith went in search of clean clothes. “Figures,” Faith reminded herself. “Bet Red’s making sure Sharon didn’t break the computer and catching up on the prophecy crap.” She yanked on a pair of jeans and a wife beater. In deference to the winter weather, she added the heavy Lakers sweatshirt Angel had given her for Christmas before heading for the conference room.
The hotel was quiet. Faith enjoyed the solitary walk, taking the stairs rather than the elevator. The few people she did see… She made sure to smile and nod at them. The specter of prison guards and the phantom sound of her prison cell door slamming were absent. Her smile stayed in place as she dodged clumps of Junior Slayers and waiters.
Her goal was the row of tables groaning under the trays of food. She never made it. “Faith!” Willow’s shout cut through the low murmur of voices in the room.
Changing direction without slowing, Faith strode to Willow’s table. “You been spending too much time with Little D. What’s with the yelling?” She dropped into a chair and peered at Willow’s laptop. “Thought we were going to save the research until after breakfast.”
Willow’s hand shot out and smacked Faith’s shoulder. “No. You made that decision. I overruled you. Research first, food second.” She grabbed the laptop and tilted the screen. “Chanise only got it partly right.”
Faith forgot all about breakfast, too. “We got enough weapons and Juniors?” she asked. If they were about to take on an army of vampires, Faith thought they might need to call in reinforcements – magical and otherwise.
“Not yet.” Willow pointed to a specific line of text on the computer. “Luckily, we have a little time. An entire week, maybe.”
“A whole week?” Faith felt the last of her exhaustion fade as a new, restless energy started to build. “That’s like a year or two in Scooby time.”
Willow smiled slightly. “Maybe, maybe not. If all we had to worry about was killing a bunch of vampires and demons, I’d say we could take a vacation to the beach before the big day.” The smile faded. “Unfortunately, the timetable and the other information Giles found makes life a bit more challenging.”
Of course. Faith looked at Willow’s laptop and started to scan the document on the screen. It didn’t immediately make sense; although, she did recognize the word “Takarihoken.” “What else did the Tweeds find? And…” Her mind was slowly getting into the game. “What are we gonna do about Lake and the cops?”
A narrow hand smacked Faith’s shoulder lightly. “And you claim to be slow.”
“Feeling that way, Red.” Grinning a little, Faith mumbled, “You wanna explain how I managed to get off the short bus, though? I don’t remember doing anything real smart.”
“Lake,” Willow clarified. “She’s the key. According to the Constitution of the Iroquois Confederacy, once Takarihoken dies, there’s some kind of ritual mourning period. Ten days, to be exact.”
When Willow paused to scroll through the stuff on her computer, Faith tried to find a connection between the ten days and Chelsea Lake. “Uh…”
“I’m getting there, Faith.” Willow quirked an eyebrow. “Smart, but no patience. Is that a Slayer thing, or a you thing?”
“Slayer. Gotta be a Slayer thing,” Faith answered with a wink. “I mean, you worked with B all those years. How good was she at the book work? We’re built for action, not talking or shit.”
Willow’s eyes slid over Faith’s body. “Action… I can see that.” She fell silent again, blushing brightly. Then she cleared her throat and pushed the laptop closer to Faith. “Anyway, back to the big news,” Willow mumbled. “After this mourning period, the female members of Takarihoken’s clan – he’s the Mohawk War Lord, by the way – get together to elect a new one.” She raised her eyes. “That’s when Giles thinks the prophecy comes into play.”
Still grappling with the information, Faith held up a hand to halt the flow of words. “OK. So we got a little time to figure out a plan and maybe get some more Juniors and witches here for the big day. Got it.” She stood and stretched. “I wanna know about the prophecy in a minute, Red. Right now, though, I’m grabbing breakfast.”
She ignored Willow’s protest and quickly strode to the buffet. As she piled her first plate with bacon and eggs, a shadow covered the table to her right.
“You gonna stand there or you gonna tell me what you want?” Faith didn’t bother to turn her head. Her Slayer senses warned it was one of the Junior Slayers behind her. She continued to move down the table, checking out the rest of the food offerings.
“We all heard about the deadline,” Nicole said. The shadow on the table shifted from side to side, and when she spoke again, her voice held a distinctly defensive edge. “I told Mr. Giles to send two more teams of Slayers and their Watchers to help out.”
The hashed browns looked good. Faith picked up a new plate and scooped a generous helping out. “And?” Finally glancing over her shoulder, she met Nicole’s determined gaze. “You want some kind of button or something? I put you in charge. You made the call. I ain’t gonna waste time getting pissed or whatever. Besides, I was just telling Red we needed to bring in more troops.”
“You aren’t? You did?” Nicole lost her composure – and then fought to quickly regain it. “I mean, I only did what I thought you’d want.” It came out a little too fast and high-pitched. Bouncing on her toes, Nicole couldn’t quite hide her smile of relief. “The new groups should be here in couple of days, tops. Mr. Giles pulled one of them off the Hellmouth in Cleveland since they were the closest.”
From the near-babble speed of the news, Nicole had obviously been spending too much time with Willow. Faith listened to the report with only part of her concentration as she got the last of her food. “Since you probably got more to tell me, carry a plate or two and we’ll head back and check on Red. I think she’s got some shit to talk about, too. You can both yap while I eat.”
In case Nicole had a problem with toting and carrying, Faith shoved the two plates in her hands at her and quickly loaded another plate with toast and doughnuts before filling a mug with coffee. Willow was still bent over the laptop when Faith and Nicole unloaded their burdens onto the table. “Better get something quick, Red,” Faith advised. “This ain’t gonna be enough to fill me up and there are Juniors licking their lips and eyeing the buffet…”
Willow’s eyes rose slowly from the computer screen. “If it looks like they’re going to eat everything, I’ll simply start turning them into toads.”
“Nah. We might need them later.” Scanning the room, Faith saw Juanita at a nearby table. “Hey, Crash,” she called out. “Get the witch some non-meaty food before she gets bitchier!”
“Faith!” Willow glared at Faith as Nicole giggled. “I’m not…I won’t…” She growled and spun in her chair to look at Juanita. “I am not bitchy, and I can get my own damned breakfast.”
She was too late with her protest. Juanita shot out of her chair. “Sorry, Willow. Faith bellowed, and I’m not stupid enough to risk a fight with the Old… I mean, the Lead Slayer.” Laughter drifted over her shoulder as she trotted through the other tables and groups of Junior Slayers.
Savagely stabbing a knife into a pad of butter, Faith scowled. “Gonna have to work on my rep. Used to be everyone knew I was the baddest Slayer in town. Now you got ‘em thinking they can treat me like the Sweet Slayer, Red.” She deepened her scowl when Willow smirked. “It ain’t funny!” she protested. Or, she tried to. It came out with more whine behind it than snap.
Nicole ended their play. “Have you talked with Mr. Giles, Willow?” She pushed the plates she’d carried closer to Faith and leaned her elbows on the table.
“No. Should I?” Willow, too, leaned in after moving her laptop out of the way. “Is there something he forgot to put in the email? He’s always doing that. I guess we should just be glad he’ll use it now. For the longest time…”
She was off and babbling. Faith shared a look with Nicole and gently interrupted. “Breathe, Willow. I think Nic wants to fill you in on the latest.”
“Oh.” Willow ground to a halt. “Sorry.” Crossing her arms on the table and laying her head on them, she spoke to the tablecloth. “I get carried away. I don’t mean to.”
Faith chuckled and patted the top of Willow’s head. “Wouldn’t be the same if ya’ stopped, Red.” Then she raised an eyebrow at Nicole to encourage her to go on.
Watching their byplay with a smile Faith didn’t understand, Nicole launched into an explanation of the reinforcements she’d called in. “Right now, Mr. Giles is arranging for the new groups of Slayers to come to Manhattan and stay at different hotels. I didn’t think that soccer team cover you arranged would work for all of us.”
Soccer team. Faith couldn’t place that and raised her hand. “For the slow students,” she said, ignoring the way Willow’s head popped up, “what soccer team? Cover?”
“Remember Detective Munch?” Willow turned away for a second and dug in the computer bag she’d left hanging on the back of the chair overnight. “I used it with him when we picked Nicole up from the police station. Giles and I thought we might have to have a good explanation for all of the girls being together. So we found a big soccer tournament in town, with an international draw, and that’s theoretically why we’re in New York.” When she turned back to Faith, Willow held out a packet of papers. “Fake registration papers for the tournament, and you and I have a document trail that says we’re teachers at a private school called The Academy.” All of her teeth flashed in an impish smile. “You’re the PE teacher, of course.”
***
Chelsea should have been upstairs in the crib, grabbing some much needed sleep. Instead, she scrolled through the information on the computer one last time. “You ever been upstate, Liv?”
“On cases, sure. For the obligatory vacation in the Catskills?” Olivia smirked and leaned back in her chair. “Not likely. Why? You asking me to a romantic cabin in the mountains?”
Scowling in mock insult, Chelsea shook her head. “As if.” She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting over Olivia, however. “I’m picky about who I spend my time with, you know.” In an effort to get back to her original point, Chelsea said, “The Mohawk tribe Munch thinks Anshu…I’m from is upstate. Almost to Canada, actually.”
“Ah. Sorry.” Olivia held up a hand in apology. “I haven’t been that far. El and I stick closer to home with a few trips to Jersey when we can’t avoid it. Munch and Fin were up that way on a case once. See if they’ve been through there.” A series of soft pops sounded as she arched her back. “Oh, God. I’m too old for this crap anymore. When was the last time we moved?”
“Last week,” Chelsea teased; although, it certainly felt like they’d been at their desks since then. Minimizing the window on her computer, she stood and stretched her arms over her head. “I was going to get some rack time, but I could be persuaded to get coffee and food first, if you want.”
That got her a long, intent glance from Olivia. “You aren’t planning on heading home.” It was a statement, not a question. “If you think there might be someone waiting for you this time, I’ll call in some favors and have a pair of unis make sure you get inside without a hitch.”
“Thanks.” Chelsea tried not to sound too sarcastic. “I’m pretty sure I can handle Anshu if he shows up again, though.” He’d gone down easily when she’d fought back.
“You’re call.” Tossing the folder in her hands onto the desk, Olivia rotated her chair until she faced Chelsea head-on. “I wasn’t really thinking of Anshu, though, rookie. Remember the tail this morning?”
She remembered. Chelsea had simply avoided dealing with that possibility. “We don’t know that wasn’t connected to the McLaren case.” It sounded weak even in her own ears. “If he was Mobbed up, we may be rattling a few cages by reopening the case.”
“Could be,” Olivia allowed. Then she met Chelsea’s eyes. “But we aren’t. Whoever was in that car wasn’t protecting some big Masucci family secret. They were watching you.”
It was an unpleasant reminder. Chelsea tensed and forced herself not to look away. “Why?” she asked in frustration. “Why are they watching? What the hell kind of danger could I be in? Nothing we read tonight indicates any threat or power struggle anywhere in the Mohawk nation, let alone to me in particular.”
“We’re still digging, rookie.” Turning her head, Olivia broke their eye contact. “Hit the rack,” she continued quietly. “I got some sleep last night; I’ll keep searching through the files while you spend some time in the crib. If anything comes up…”
Chelsea wanted to protest, even though sleeping had been a priority only minutes ago. She didn’t like leaving Olivia with the bulk of the work. “Look, this has waited almost thirty years. It can wait one more day. Why don’t we both go home and sleep? I’ll meet you back here in the morning and we’ll pick up where we left off.”
For a minute, Chelsea thought Olivia would refuse. Finally, though, the other woman climbed out of her chair and put on her leather coat. “Deal.” The she ruined the moment by adding, “I’ll share a cab with you and get you home safe.”
“Liv…” Chelsea started to insist she could get home alone.
“You say no, and the deal’s off.” Olivia didn’t appear to be bluffing. Hands on her hips, she glared at Chelsea. “We’re partners, rookie, and we’ve had this conversation once already today. Partners keep each other safe. Either let me escort you home or get your ass upstairs to the crib.”
In answer, Chelsea slipped into her own coat and resettled her gun in its holster. “Home it is.” She strode past Olivia and out of the squad room.
Olivia quickly caught up and they clattered down the stairs shoulder to shoulder. Uniformed officers still filled the first floor and tired, rumpled, and frightened civilians paced or sat uncomfortably in the chairs lining the hallways. Despite the crazy McLaren case and her own suddenly uncertain personal life, Chelsea was glad she wasn’t on patrol any longer. She’d hated the constant barrage of contact with the public and the never-ending slew of crusty patrol sergeants.
It was a relief to escape the crush of people and step outside. Chelsea took a breath of frigid air. Feeling calmer already, she waved a hand at a cab idling at the start of the block. The engine roared as it dropped into gear and moved closer. After giving her address to the driver, she slid across the cracked vinyl seat.
Olivia repeated the process and slammed the door. She remained silent for the drive, and the quiet lulled Chelsea into a light doze. “Hey,” Olivia finally spoke, snapping Chelsea back to full awareness. “We’re here. You see anything out of place?”
Like the previous night, there were only a few pedestrians. No one lingered in doorways and there were no figures huddled in any of the cars parked along the curb. “No. You going to insist on escorting me to the door?” Chelsea’s hand was on the door handle when a flash of movement caught her eye.
“What’s that?” Olivia had seen it, too.
Unsure, Chelsea peered through the dirty window. “I don’t…” she started to answer. Then the shadow stepped under a streetlight, and Chelsea relaxed. “Christ, we’re jumping at everything. That’s just my next door neighbor. She’s almost seventy, Liv, and it looks like she’s been grocery shopping.” The door to the cab opened. “I’m going to help her in. You can sit here and watch, if you want.” Looking at her partner, Chelsea said softly, “I’ll be fine. Mrs. Zamudio’s seventy, if she’s a day. I’m sure I can hold her off if I have to. Go home, Liv. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The cab pulled away – with Olivia inside – as Chelsea trotted down the sidewalk. “Hey, Mrs. Zamudio. Let me help you with your bags.” She reached out a hand without waiting for a response. It was late and cold and her neighbor shouldn’t be carrying all those groceries on her own.
The scarf-encased head rose. “Thank you, dear. I didn’t think anyone else was out right now. Even that boy down the hall stayed in today.” Mrs. Zamudio cackled. “I thought he might do something like that Ralphie character -you know, the one in the Christmas movie? - yesterday when he was showing off for his friends. I even had that digital camera my daughter bought be ready just in case.”
Snickering, Chelsea imagined that scene. The ‘boy’ Mrs. Zamudio referred to was in his twenties; although, he certainly acted far younger when he preened and posed for the young women in the neighborhood. “Well, if you manage to get a good shot, give me a call. I need something to put on my ‘fridge.”
As soon as she said the words, Chelsea regretted them. “You know, dear, if you had a good husband, you wouldn’t need me to take pictures for you.” Mrs. Zamudio’s eyes were sharp and piercing as she allowed Chelsea to open the door to the apartment building and lift the rolling cart inside. “You could have children – and they’d give you plenty of things to use as decorations. I still have some of my Maria’s drawings and artwork.”
It wasn’t a subject Chelsea intended to discuss. She ignored the pointed comment and hefted the cart’s handle over her shoulder. The metal dug painfully into her collarbone despite her bulky coat. “I’m surprised you’re out this morning. You’re usually up with the birds, but the weather is awful.” she said. “Why didn’t you call for a cab? It’s a long walk from the store.” Not to mention the chore of hauling everything up three flights of stairs. Chelsea shifted her burden into a more comfortable spot and began the climb.
“Oh, a little walk won’t kill me, Chelsea. I may be old, but I’m not feeble,” Mrs. Zamudio responded briskly. “I needed a few things, and once I was shopping, it didn’t make sense to wait for another few days and make a second trip. Besides,” Chelsea heard the older woman’s shoes scuffle on the stairs behind her, “there are plenty of you young people falling all over yourselves to help out the old people like me.”
“That’s because we like you.” Chelsea risked a look over her shoulder as she reached the second floor landing. “You can’t fault us for that.”
Mrs. Zamudio smiled. “No, dear. I certainly can’t. You know I’m only teasing. The people in this building are like family.” Her smile faded. “The only family I have left now that my Maria is gone.”
Damn. Chelsea cursed herself for bringing the conversation to this topic. “You’re all the family I have, too, Mrs. Zamudio.” Then she considered that. Maybe that wasn’t necessarily true anymore. Chelsea derailed that thought. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, and she didn’t want to get distracted by it, either. Sleep was more important than worrying about the return of (possible) long-lost relatives. “I’ve been meaning to ask: were you out of town earlier this week? I didn’t see you, and I was getting worried.”
“I was feeling poorly, Chelsea.” A gloved hand touched Chelsea’s free shoulder. “It kept me inside for a few days.”
“Glad it wasn’t anything more serious.” Chelsea eyed the third floor landing with relief. There weren’t a lot of bags in the cart she carried, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t heavy. Her shoulder ached as she took the final few steps. “Here you go, Mrs. Zamudio.” Trying not to pant too obviously, Chelsea slipped the cart off her shoulder and set it on the floor. “Can you get everything put away?” she asked, praying the answer was yes.
Mrs. Zamudio didn’t say anything. With a sniff and a stern look, she seized the cart and rolled it swiftly down the hallway. “Get some rest, Chelsea. You look terrible, if I do say so myself. How are you ever going to catch a husband unless you take care of yourself?”
It was such a typical response, Chelsea had to laugh. “I’ll try to do better, I promise,” she called after Mrs. Zamudio. Digging her keys from her pocket, she kept a close eye on the older woman until she stepped into her apartment and the door closed with a resounding thud. “Of course, I’d prefer to catch the bad guys and leave the husband for some other woman,” Chelsea finished softly to the empty hallway before entering her own apartment.
The small space smelled musty. Chelsea wrinkled her nose at the odor and vowed to air the apartment out as soon as the temperatures rose above freezing. No way was she even cracking a window tonight. With complete disinterest, she picked up the pile of mail on her kitchen counter and moved it to a new location. The bills could wait another day.
The blinking message light on the answering machine was a different story. Chelsea punched the button and slipped out of her coat as a mechanical voice announced she had three messages.
“Hey, rookie.” Munch’s voice filled the kitchen. “I hope you’re getting this as you head to bed. You looked worse than Liv after a night on surveillance.”
Shaking her head, Chelsea waited for the rest. It couldn’t be about her past or any active case. Munch would have called her cell for that.
The Sergeant didn’t disappoint. “Anyway, I figured you were having some fit of the vapors like most young women over the situation, and I thought I’d reassure you that I’ll be back on the trail first thing in the morning. Have a good night.”
A shrill beep indicated the message had ended. Chelsea barely heard it. She’d been wrong. Switching to SVU hadn’t been a bad decision. She hung her coat on the back of a kitchen chair and listened for the next message as she padded to the refrigerator for a drink and something to eat.
There was no voice from the machine, though. A second shrill beep cut the air. This one had been a hang-up.
Normally, Chelsea wouldn’t have even registered that information. The third beep, however, altered her usual routine. “Chelsea!” It was Anshu. Chelsea recognized his voice. “Last night…It was a mistake. I am sorry for surprising you. You must listen to me, however. Our enemies…your enemies are closing in. We think they have identified you. You are no longer safe. Do not…”
A final beep ended the urgent warning.
***
Faith stared at Willow for a second. “A teacher? No wonder that cop kept looking at me. I don’t look anything like a teacher, Red.”
She wasn’t expecting Willow and Nicole to burst into laughter.
“What?” Getting slightly irritated at the stereo giggles, Faith chomped on a piece of bacon and chewed energetically. She hadn’t been trying to be funny. She didn’t look like any teacher she’d ever met, and Faith’s skin still tingled from the memory of the long, assessing visual examination the detective had given her.
The laughter finally died off. “S-sorry,” Willow gasped. “Goddess, that felt good. You should have seen your face, Faith. It was priceless.” She lost control for a second and giggled again.
Scowling, Faith started to reply. They had serious things to talk about, and this wasn’t getting it done.
Nicole beat her to it, though. “Faith, Detective Munch didn’t look at you because he didn’t think you were a teacher. When you came into the room, your eyes were nearly as big as your head and I thought you might pass out. He probably wondered if he should call an ambulance in case you hit your head when you keeled over.”
“Oh.” Maybe the giggling hadn’t been so bad after all. It was better than the realization that she hadn’t hidden her fear as well as she’d thought. Not wanting to continue this conversation, Faith kept her eyes on her pancakes – and changed the subject. “How many Slayers are on the way, Nic? Is Tweed gonna send more, or are you thinking the two new groups is enough?”
She didn’t need to look up to see the glance Willow and Nicole shared. Faith could feel it. “We…He isn’t sending more, Faith. At least, not until we have more information. Apparently, there’s something big going on in LA and we’re spread too thin right now.” Nicole shifted uncomfortably. “I guess I could have argued a little harder…” she mumbled softly.
“Don’t worry, Nicole. I’ll simply call Angel back and tell him to take care of the problem on his own,” Willow said with a straight face. It lasted less than a second and then she winked. “Or not. I’m not sure we’re going to need more Slayers. If we can get Lake on board and talk to this Anshu, there might be help from that direction. I don’t feel comfortable having so many of the girls in one location.”
“Yeah, good point.” Faith scanned the room. “This gig ain’t supposed to be a group thing. Me and B broke all the rules and it was just the two of us. Now?” Pointing her fork at a table of Juniors, she went on. “It ain’t natural.”
“Until we have all the facts, though, I’m not sending anyone home,” Willow responded. “I’ve been reading this document Giles sent. It may have what we need, if I can just figure it out.” Tapping the screen, Willow frowned. “We know from what Nicole overheard, that the War Lord is dead. According to this, that means Lake and the other female members of the clan have to elect a new one.”
She fell silent as Juanita returned with her arms filled with plates. “Here. Hope this is enough, Willow. Slayers tend to eat a lot of meat so your options are limited.” Glancing at Faith, Juanita cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to order more food.”
“We’re good, Crash.” Faith tilted a head in Willow’s direction. “If Red needs something else, we’ll head out to grab it. I got a feeling we’re gonna be checking on Lake or this Anshu guy real soon. Why don’t you get the rest of the kids together, start making sure everybody’s ready to go?” Despite the time table Willow had given her, there didn’t appear to be a lot of actual useful information. If the computer didn’t yield anything more concrete, they were going to have to find new sources of information.
“Got it, Boss.” Juanita spun and trotted off.
The clink of Willow’s fork was loud as it scraped her plate. “Well, Boss,” she teased, “do you want to hear the rest of my report before you start ordering us around?”
“Funny, Red. Eat and talk. I know you said a week, but somethin’ always goes wrong. I don’t want to be playing catch up.” Faith stretched her legs out under the table and placed her hands behind her head. “You were saying something about Lake having to pick a new War Lord. How does Giles think that’s part of the prophecy?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Willow mumbled around a bite of toast. She had followed Faith’s edict and was chewing as she spoke. “The process looks straight forward. The women get together after the mourning period. They vote. And a new War Lord is elected.”
It wasn’t what Faith wanted to hear. In her experience, Willow always had – or found – the answer. “Fuck. What do we do next?” Her right leg began to bounce. “You said something about talking to Anshu…You manage to find where he was hiding?”
Willow peered intently at the eggs she was salting. “Um…”
Before Faith’s left leg responded to her increasing nervous energy, Nicole interrupted. “You didn’t read far enough,” she said softly.
“What?” Faith didn’t mind Nicole taking an active part in the research. However, she needed to learn to be less vague. “Read what, Junior?”
Pointing to Willow’s computer, Nicole explained. “There’s a lot more to the election than just the vote. While you were resting, I went through the whole thing.” She rubbed her forehead, looking both frustrated and tired. “I’m sorry. It didn’t make sense when I read it the first time.”
“It does now?” Willow put down her fork and moved the laptop closer to Nicole.
“Yeah, I think so.” Nicole pointed to the screen. “Only…” Clearing her throat and blushing, she murmured, “…I think you got the mourning period wrong.”
Willow’s head snapped up. “Wrong?” Faith had to bite her lip to keep from snickering at the outrage in her voice. “What did I get wrong?”
The finger pointed at the computer shook slightly as Nicole indicated the information. “Here. It says the mourning period is only if the War Lord dies during a Council meeting. Mr. Giles checked. There isn’t a Council in session right now.”
“What else you got for us, Nic?” At another time, Faith might have enjoyed the chagrin plastered on Willow’s face. She couldn’t stop to tease now, though. If there was no delay before the big vote, they had to be ready to move now.
Voice still soft, Nicole said, “I didn’t mention this to Mr. Giles. I…I wasn’t sure I understood this right.”
“Spit it out,” Faith ordered. She leaned closer and put a hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “You ain’t steered us wrong yet, kid. Don’t get all virgin in a whorehouse now.”
A hand reached out and smacked Faith’s shoulder at the same time Nicole’s eyes got wide. “Faith! You shouldn’t say things like that,” Willow said. She pointed to Nicole. “See? You embarrassed her.”
Nicole shook her head. “No. I’m fine. Really,” she protested. Her voice was higher in pitch than before, and her words tumbled over each other. “I read the whole Constitution. The part I think we should worry about is here: numbers forty-seven and forty-eight. If there are no surviving women in the clan, the voting right passes to a sister clan. On top of that, if the male heirs die off, too, then the sister clan gets to vote one of their own to the position of War Lord.”
With a cold, sinking feeling, Faith listened to Nicole’s next statement. “I had Sharon do some checking. The guy who died, Takarihoken? He and this Anshu were the last of the male line for their clan. As far as we could find, Chelsea is the last woman. If either of them die…”
Lips feeling numb, Faith mumbled, “If they both die, we’re fucked.” That’s what the prophecy had been about. “We got to keep Anshu and Lake from getting killed by an army of vampires…or whatever,” she tacked on, remembering the earlier conversation about the threat being something without fangs.
“Wow.” Dropping her fork into a pile of eggs, Willow rubbed the bridge of her nose. “On a scale of one to ten, this ranks around a twenty.”
“Don’t get all whiny, Red.” Faith rushed in before the breast-beating could begin. “Leave that for later . Right now, we need to get to Lake. She don’t got a clue what’s coming. Can you tell if she’s working or at home? Until the new crew gets here, I don’t want to send teams to both spots if we don’t have to.” Focus narrowing, Faith waited for Willow to respond.
She didn’t have to wait for long. Willow typed on the keyboard for a minute. “At home. She signed off shift an hour ago, and there’s a pending credit card receipt from a cab company. Their records show a drop off at her building.”
“OK, this is what we’re going to do.” Faith might not have everything planned out, but that didn’t mean she hesitated. They had to make sure nothing got to Lake while they pieced together the last of the prophecy. “Nic, you’re with me. Lake knows you, and I’m hoping she won’t shoot us the second we knock on her door.” Raising her voice, she called out, “Hey, Crash! Get over here!”
As if she had been listening in, Juanita arrived at the table seconds later. “What’s up, Boss? Did I get the breakfast order wrong?” Her cheery smile slipped when Faith scowled. “Uh…”
Faith held up a hand. “Breakfast is gonna wait. We’re on the move. You and Chanise get teams together. Full gear – but make sure the weapons can be hidden. Time’s runnin’ short and we can’t be bailing more Juniors out of jail. I don’t know exactly where we’re headed so you need to make sure your girls get some sleep. Try shifts, and make sure you got someone on the phones all the time. We might not get a lot of warning.”
Juanita glanced back and forth between Faith and Willow – and wisely didn’t ask the questions Faith could see in her eyes. “I’m on it, Boss. Anything else?”
“We’re good.” For now, Faith thought. With a tight nod, Juanita turned and hurried to another table. Attention back on Willow and Nicole, Faith laid out the rest of her thoughts. “Red, get in touch with Giles. Make sure he’s got the new info – and then see if you can order another group of Slayers. Looks like we were wrong about how many bodies we need. We got to protect two people now.” Springing from her chair, Faith looked at Nicole. “Move, Junior. We need to arm up. In case Lake’s enemies don’t go poof in sunlight, I want to be prepared.”
Green eyes narrowed and the muscles in Willow’s face tightened.
Faith thought Willow was going to object. Not ready for an argument, Faith stood. “We’ll be back,” she announced. “Soon. If something comes up, call or send one of the teams out.” Gripping Nicole by the arm, Faith started for the door.
“Faith!” Willow called out.
Damn. They hadn’t been fast enough. Shoulders aching with tension, Faith slowly turned back to the table. “Make it snappy, Willow.” The words were automatic; Faith knew Willow’s penchant for rambling conversations – not to mention her distaste at being left behind.
That’s why Willow’s quiet, “Be careful,” was such a surprise.
“Ah…” Faith floundered. Be careful? What was that all about? Where was the demand to join them on the trip? “Sure. Me and Nic’ll come back in one piece.” Willow’s eyes hadn’t left hers, and Faith took a step toward forward as if pulled. “There something you ain’t been telling us?” Was there something in the prophecy or Willow’s computer? “You know, like maybe this is supposed to go like B’s fight with the Master?” The heated air in the conference room chilled against Faith’s skin.
That got Willow out of her chair. “No! I would have told you if there were, Faith.”
Two arms wrapped around Faith, and she was now one hundred percent sure that Willow was lying. She couldn’t imagine any other reason for the tight hug. “Whatever.” It took a Herculean effort to untangle from Willow’s embrace. “Me and Nic will be careful.” Faith had no intention of dying. Not now. Not with her conviction overturned and freedom stretched in front of her.
This time when she strode for the exit, Faith didn’t look back.
“What’s the plan?” Nicole asked quietly once they were alone on the elevator. “I don’t think Detective Lake is going to believe us if we knock on the door and say, ‘Watch out. There are vampires and demons after you.’”
Snorting, Faith ran that scenario over and over in her mind. “Might be worth it, Nic. You got a camera on you?” She sobered quickly, though, as the lighted numbers over the doors rose in count. “Figure we can do the rest of the planning on the drive,” Faith admitted, giving Nicole a long look. “You did good work downstairs, and it might take both of us to get this right. It ain’t like we do this sort of shit every day.”
She’d surprised Nicole. A blush and a pair or wide eyes gave Nicole’s reaction away.
Faith didn’t give the younger girl time to recover. As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped smoothly out. “I’ve got weapons stashed in the room; pick up the pace, Junior.” She unlocked the door to the room and hurried inside with Nicole right behind her.
The weapons weren’t truly ‘stashed.’ Giles and Willow had designed a chest that looked like a regular suitcase – with a few modifications. Faith pressed her hand to the magically-keyed lock, and the lid popped open to reveal rows and layers of carefully stored stakes and knives. Wasting no time, Faith reached for her favorites.
Nicole was slower. She was still eyeing the collection when Faith stepped away and went to the closet. She wanted to be prepared for more than a vampire attack. If Lake wasn’t at home, as they suspected, it could be a long, cold wait in the car. “You about ready, Nic?” Faith asked after stripping a pair of hooded sweatshirts and winter coats from hangers.
Nicole patted her pockets and dropped a necklace with an ornate silver cross over her head. “Yeah. I’ve got so many knives strapped on we better not go through anything with a metal detector or a scanner. Not even Mr. Giles and the Council would be able to bail me out.” Her grin was wry. “You might have to bust me out. Rumor has it you know all about that.”
The tightening of Faith’s muscles was automatic. “Yeah,” she mumbled, trying to hide the reaction. Damn. Willow had taken care of the cops. How long would it take for her to stop jumping at the mention of police or prison?
Her efforts weren’t enough. Nicole must have seen Faith’s flinch. Smile faltering, she held out a hand. “Faith, I’m so sor…”
“Don’t, Nic.” Faith cut off the apology quickly. “My bad. Guess I’m not used to the whole ‘not a felon’ thing yet. Give me a day or two, will ya’?” She winked at Nicole in an attempt to keep the mood light and opened the door to the hallway. “Then if you want lessons in making a shiv out of a toothbrush, come talk to me.”
“Sure.” Still appearing uneasy, Nicole squeezed past Faith and led the way back to the elevator. Her obvious discomfort didn’t mean the younger Slayer let the comment pass. “I was thinking more about tying some bed sheets together in case I had to climb out a window, though. There was a guy in Cleveland. Gunn? He said you jumped out of a window, and well… I’m not so good with the heights.”
Chuckling, Faith slapped Nicole on the back. “It ain’t the height, Nic. It’s the landing you got to worry about.” The elevator doors slid open, and Faith stopped talking until they were inside and headed back down to the lobby. “Anything else you want me to teach you? How to make Tweed clean his glasses so hard the lenses break?” she teased.
“Actually…” Nicole yanked her coat closed as the elevator stopped on the ground floor. “Could you just answer a question instead?”
From the way Nicole avoided her gaze, Faith wondered what she had in mind. Nicole had done an excellent job keeping the other Juniors in line and helping with the research. This must be serious. “You can ask,” she allowed. No matter how much a part of the team Nicole had become, there were a few topics Faith had no intention of ever discussing. She carefully refrained from making any promises in that regard.
“When are you going to get your head out of your ass?” Nicole asked.
***
Chelsea punched the rewind button on the machine and listened to the message a second time. Even prepared for the information, the raw urgency in Anshu’s recorded voice shook her. “What the hell is going on?” When the message ended again, she picked up the phone and started to call Munch.
Three numbers in, though, she stopped. Despite the adrenaline jangling her nerves, Chelsea ruefully acknowledged that she was in no shape to go charging back to the station house. She replaced the phone and reached for her gun, instead. If Anshu wasn’t completely crazy and someone was planning on attacking her… Well, he or she had better be prepared for a rain of bullets.
The warning did convince Chelsea to triple check every lock in the apartment on her way to bed. Battened down tight, she shucked her clothes and placed her weapon on the nightstand and set the alarm clock for mid-morning. The sheets felt cool and comforting against her skin as she closed her eyes. Just a little sleep. That’s all she needed…
Unfortunately, every tiny sound or creak from the old building and her neighbors negated both exhaustion and the imaginary perps Chelsea counted. Growling, she tossed and turned and taunted herself with how much sleep she could still get…if only she fell asleep right now.
Her body responded to the internal countdown. The noises and lingering anxiety faded away and Chelsea melted into the mattress.
Minutes or hours later, Chelsea shot upright in the tangle of sheets and blankets. Heart pounding in time with the rapping on her front door, she reached blindly for her gun. She struggled up and out of bed with the heavy weapon in hand. “Hang on, damn it! I’m coming!” The safety clicked off, and Chelsea’s finger rested against the side of the trigger guard as she crept through her apartment.
The living room was bright and cheery with morning sunlight, and Chelsea squinted as she moved past the couch. She couldn’t hear anything over the knocking. How many people were outside? “Who is it?” Maybe it was only Mrs. Zamudio needing the help with her groceries she’d turned down.
The loud banging stopped as abruptly as it had started, but no one responded to her query.
“God damn it!” Chelsea had had enough. Still on edge and alert, she was nonetheless angry at the situation. Reaching the door, she hesitated with her free hand on the latch for the deadbolt. “I’m only going to ask one more time.” It wasn’t an empty threat. If no one answered, they were going to find themselves staring down the barrel of her gun.
Seconds ticked by in silence.
Nearly growling, Chelsea slipped to the left of the doorframe. The lock clicked open and she turned the handle in one smooth move. Not bothering to announce herself, Chelsea yanked the door wide and exploded into the hallway, leading with her gun.
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