Lure of the Wicked Part 23

Pristine, even.

Did the man even use this thing?

Circling the desk, Naomi gave it a brief look-over and shook her head at the chair tucked neatly into place, the complete lack of fingerprints on the monitor, and the clean keyboard built into the polished surface of the desk.

Phin Clarke was a neat freak. Given the state of her suite this morning, this didn't surprise her. Even the leather chair lacked the kinds of nicks and scratches that the Mission office collected like blue ribbons.

Frowning, she turned toward the rows of boxes. Each boasted a label, a panel with neat, printed block letters, but they made no sense to her. A code. Some sort of personal security process.

Not stupid at all. "d.a.m.n."

"Can I help you find something?"

Naomi spun, one hand automatically reaching for the gun that wasn't tucked at her shoulder. Her fingers closed on the bandage under her sweater, her heart pounding as she met Gemma Clarke's a.s.sessing brown eyes.

The woman leaned against the doorjamb, her tailored suit sunshine gold and accented by an ivory blouse. Her hair was pinned up, so much nicer than Naomi's messy knot.

Swallowing hard, Naomi lowered her hands to her sides. "Mrs. Clarke."

Phin's mother stepped into the room, surveyed it quickly. Finding nothing out of place, that astute gaze slid back to her. Narrowed. "What are you looking for?"

She could lie. Very little could explain her presence in a locked office, but she could lie about what she intended.

But looking into Gemma's shrewd eyes, she knew it wouldn't matter. "Mrs. Clarke, I can explain."

"I expect you to," the woman said, her tone not entirely friendly. "But first, I would like to know why my son performed a rather dignified walk of shame into the family wing this morning."

Oh. "f.u.c.k," she muttered.

Gemma's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. I would also like to know why the Church saw fit to infiltrate"-she held up a hand as Naomi opened her mouth-"yes, I mean infiltrate my business with spies."

Naomi fisted her hands against her hips. "What did Phin tell you?"

"I don't want you to repeat what you told my son," Gemma said, and her tone was as matter-of-fact as her regard. The woman had a bulls.h.i.t meter Naomi could only envy. "I want to know what your mission is, and how it's going to interrupt our lives."

Naomi took a deep breath. "It won't," she said, and added quickly, "at least not any more than it already has. I just need a few things and then I'm out of your hair."

"Such as?"

"I need the guest lists for the past two weeks. Day-trippers and residents."

Silence greeted her candid relay. Silence, and one shaped brown eyebrow.

Naomi had slept with this woman's son. She'd spent the night s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him until they were both blind with exhaustion. Even now, her body ached, pulsed with the memory of it.

And Gemma knew. It probably didn't make her look very good in the woman's eyes.

Not that she gave a d.a.m.n what anyone else thought.

She shifted uneasily. "Look," she said, spreading her hands, "I'm here to put a stop to something that might be a problem. I don't want to cause trouble, I want to stop it."

Gemma's mouth thinned. "Does this problem have anything to do with the body found this morning in the laundry facility?"

"What the h.e.l.l are you-" Naomi frowned. "A body?"

The woman propped a round hip at the edge of the desk. She didn't bother softening her tone. "One of my maintenance employees, Miss Ishikawa. Mark Vaughn. He was found with his skull caved in, quite dead and buried in a vat of towels."

Maintenance. Naomi thought fast. "Does maintenance have key cards to every room?"

"Of course."

s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, f.u.c.king two-timing luck. That answered that. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d witch had easy access to her room. But why? She set her jaw. "Yes," she lied. "He's one of the reasons I'm here. How long has he worked here?"

"Three weeks."

Was the timing right? Naomi took a step forward, stopped abruptly and stared at the ceiling. "Did he have any friends?"

Gemma watched her, wary. "Not many. A few of the other employees."

"Does maintenance have the run of the building?"

"They have to," Gemma replied, and her brow furrowed as Naomi's fist punched through the air.

"That's it!" she crowed. Carson bribed the witch into letting him in. It had to be as simple as that. Once the maintenance man was no longer useful-trying to kill her twice was about as fail as she could imagine-Carson must have just taken a copy of the man's maintenance keys and called it good.

But a hunter working with a witch?

And why remove him from the armoire?

s.h.i.t. She'd figure that out later. "Yes, Mrs. Clarke," she said in more even tones, "I can tell you it's only getting worse. I think that my target, Joe Carson, has already tried to kill one guest, and succeeded in killing your man." Lies upon lies. She was so f.u.c.king good at them anyway. "Gemma, believe me, I'm not out to hurt you."

"Aren't you?" The woman adjusted the rolled up cuff of one sleeve, smoothing the wide, flat fold. "How is your shoulder, my dear?"

Momentarily scattered, Naomi's hand flattened over the bandage. "Fine," she said. "It's only a scratch."

"Is it related?"

She nodded, once. "Given how bad the conditions were, only a trained sniper could have made that close a shot."

Gemma's eyes narrowed. Flickered in a steely resolve that Naomi couldn't misread. "Why did you tell Phin it wasn't related to this?"

G.o.d d.a.m.n it! Didn't he keep any secrets from his parents? Naomi sighed. "Because," she said, gritting her teeth, "if I had told him that I was after a trained killer, he wouldn't have let me do my job. And," she added as the woman stared at her, "you know he would have tried to take on Carson himself. Gemma, Carson's an a.s.sa.s.sin. What did you want me to say?"

Gemma took a slow, deep breath. Then, quietly, she met Naomi's eyes and asked, "Who was the sniper aiming for?"

This lie sprang easily to her lips. "Me."

"Fine." The woman straightened, rounded the desk, and gestured Naomi out of her way. "Then I'll get your information."

Naomi stepped aside. "Just like that?" Suspicion unfurled in her chest, her voice. "No more questions?"

Placing her hands on the top of one plastic organizer, Gemma straightened her shoulders. Without looking at Naomi, she said quietly, "I have a lot of questions, Miss Ishikawa. I want to know who you really are and what you intend with my son." Naomi flinched. "I very much want to know where one of my guests is, and whether she's in danger."

That was news. "Who?"

Gemma raised her eyebrows. "Katie Landers. She's Jordana's a.s.sistant."

Naomi flashed to an image of the mousy brunette seated alone in the breakfast nook and rapidly calculated the odds. "When was she last seen?"

"Yesterday, about mid-morning."

"What's her room?"

"Jordana's suite, seventh floor." Gemma smoothed back her curly hair and shook her head. "When this is all over, Miss Ishikawa, I really do expect answers."

"Someone will be in touch," Naomi replied by rote, knowing it for the bulls.h.i.t it was. The Church didn't make apologies.

Then again, the Church didn't usually drop agents in the middle of the superrich and elite.

"The Holy Order?"

"Yes, ma'am," Naomi said. "They hold all the cards here. I'm just an agent."

Gemma's smile flipped crookedly. "I doubt that very much, Naomi. So then what you're saying, what you told Phin, was true?"

"Which part?" Naomi said flatly.

The woman's smile evened. "Touche, Miss Ishikawa. The Church doesn't suspect us of doing anything illegal? We're not under suspicion? Accused?"

Naomi shook her head. "I'm sorry. You're just the foxhole."

"Then I'll get your information," Phin's mother repeated simply. "You've had plenty of time to do worse than a little lock breaking and some white lies, and you haven't."

Worse? Naomi's smile bit hard. One corpse down and how many less-than-white lies up? She'd done worse, all right. She'd do even worse before this was done. But she said nothing as Gemma studied the labels on the boxes.

"Understand," she continued in her crisp, efficient way, "Timeless and this family are the most important things in my life. If anyone, anyone, tried to hurt them, there would be a reckoning like the world has never seen." She glanced over her shoulder.

Naomi stilled.

"You understand that feeling, don't you?"

Fists curling, Naomi stepped back. Retreated. "Thank you for finding those files," she said, and knew she was acting like a coward. Leashed tension tightened every word. "We'll keep them confidential."

"I'm sure you will." Gemma bent to a box on the second row. "I'll send them along. Anything else?"

"Blueprints?"

Her smile was sad. "They don't exist."

Naomi nodded, once. "I thought as much. I'll just-"

"Naomi?"

She didn't want to stop. Didn't want to hear what the woman with Phin's dark, knowing eyes had to say. But she did.

Because anything else would be unacceptable.

Coward.

She braced a hand on the door frame. "Yes?"

"Will you be staying long?"

Killer. "No," she said. "Just long enough to take care of the mess."

Gemma nodded. "Will you tell Phin before you go?"

Oh, Jesus. "He'll know," Naomi said evenly. Without her having to say a single word, he'd figure it out.

She was a killer. Not a therapist.

"All right," Gemma said. "Try not to hurt anyone." She turned back, cracked open the sealed flaps of a box, and Naomi fled.

Try not to hurt anyone.

That just wasn't her specialty.

Chapter Fifteen.

She'd struggled only a little.

Joe didn't bother hiding her body any deeper than he had to, and the locker wouldn't afford him much time at all. Of course, he didn't need much. Either he'd get what he needed soon or he'd be dead. Naomi West was closing on his heels.

He could sense her.

It was now or never.

The rumors, the legends, were true. He knew it in his gut, and his hunches had never been wrong. That's what made him a d.a.m.n good missionary. The best. Hunches and action.

Experience and raw instinct.

His gut told him that the fountain was here. That he'd find it at last. He just needed the right key. And the right lock to fit it in.