A quick search of local events told me there was a political rally scheduled to take place on the courthouse lawn in support of a guy running for county commissioner in a special election. There'd been talk of cancelling, considering the crazy spring blizzard, but in typical Michigan fashion, the sun had come out and the snow had melted, turning all the world gray and soupy. All the die-hard political folks would put on their thick wool socks and Timberlands and stand in the mud discussing the last big April snowstorm they remembered. Anyone who wasn't a political die-hard probably wouldn't have gone to the rally anyway.
I parked the Bronco in the courthouse lot and checked my pockets. Two sets of cuffs, industrial earplugs, and a Taser. No way was I going to carry a loaded pistol into a crowd if I had another choice.
Nick had used a permanent marker to draw an acorn over my heart. "It will help shield your soul, but in the end, it's just a doodle. Take care." He'd followed that chilling advice with a kiss that melted the chill away.
With a deep breath and a mental order to myself to stay focused, I threw open the Bronco door and planted my feet on the salted blacktop of the courthouse parking lot. A group of about two dozen stood near the steps, cheering and waving red, white, and blue signs in the air. It was hard to say for sure, as most of the group wore the same shapeless brown jackets and stocking caps, but they appeared to be mostly men and mostly over the age of fifty. On the other side of the street, a handful of women in denim skirts and plain wool coats stood in a small circle singing hymns. Twenty feet from them, a group of teenagers with unnaturally colorful hair held up an anarchy banner.
One of my favorite things about America has always been that no matter what you believe, main stream or extreme fringe, someone else is around to believe with you.
A row of low lampposts separated the wide yard from the parking lot. I leaned against one of them and settled in to watch for anything suspicious.
The candidate stepped out of the front doors of the building and the crowd went wild. The women bowed their heads in prayer. The anarchists shouted obscenities. A tall man with a stooped posture walked along the edge of the crowd and took a spot near the back.
I was watching him with so much intention, I never even knew someone was behind me until a sharp prick pierced the skin on the back of my neck. My instinct was to reach up and cover the hurting spot, but my arms refused to move. The last thing I heard was the guy with the microphone asking, "What more could any hard-working American ask for?"
***
A woman with lovely silver curls and a scowl like thunderclouds sat glaring at me.
I blinked. My eyelids weighed at least twenty pounds each. My head weighed five times that much. A lead blanket pressed me down onto a hard, flat surface. I drifted off again.
***
The second time I woke, my brain was clear enough for me to understand that I was in seriously deep trouble. It wasn't a lead blanket pressing me down. My limbs simply refused to respond. My vision warbled and faded before sharpening again the way the radio on my Chevy comes and goes, depending on whether I'm at the top of a hill or the bottom. Thankfully, most of Southeast Michigan is quite flat, so the signal remained regular, if a bit spotty. Weirdly, it always worked better at night. I'd often wondered if that had something to do with...
"Wake up!"
My eyes shot open. The silver-haired woman was standing over me. I must have been laying on the floor. The surface was smooth and unyielding. My forearms were crossed beneath my breasts and bound from wrist to elbow. My legs were tied as well. As my vision cleared, recognition came. "You were at the factory."
"You're an interfering bitch who ruined my life." She leveled a kick at my side that might have cracked a rib.
I fought with all my strength not to cry.
She sat in a rolling office chair beside me and crossed her legs. Her right foot, encased in a shiny gray shoe with a pointed toe and a three-inch heel bobbed in front of my eyes. "I'm going to tell you what you need to do, and you're going to listen very carefully."
I stretched my fingers this way and that along the edge of the rope. Stud had taught me how to twist and stretch and get myself out of standard behind-the-back wrist ties. This was anything but standard. She'd wrapped me like a wooden spool. "I'm listening."
"You and the rest of Nicolai Adamos's stooges slaughtered my men and took Ram into custody."
"Play criminal games, win criminal prizes."
She tapped my nose with the tip of her toe.
The pain was exquisite. Tears poured from my eyes. I gagged on the taste of blood and did my best to roll sideways and spit it out.
"As I was saying, your boss, who spends his life doling out justice, took it upon himself to break every law in The Code to save his people while simultaneously letting my people die. I want his pretty head on a stake so I can use it as a floor lamp, and you're going to get it for me." She dropped her foot to the floor and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. "But first, you're going to get Ram released."
I shook my head. "You picked the wrong agent to help you. I'm nobody. I don't have any clout. I don't even know who to call with a request like that."
She clucked her tongue. "You sell yourself short, dear. One call to Adamos and you can have anything you ask for."
"It won't go like that." I didn't know how it would go, but there would be blood. "He won't help you."
"I expect he won't want to do a thing to help me, but there isn't anything he wouldn't do to help you. I saw the look on his face when he saw you were injured. That man would have let everyone else in the room turn to ash if it meant saving you. Now I'm going to do him a grand favor and let him save you again. You can thank me later."
She produced my phone from her pocket and held it against my thumb so that it turned on. Then she pulled up Nick's contact info and hit the dial button. It rang six times and went to voicemail, but she disconnected before I had the chance to say anything. "Where is he?"
"How am I supposed to know? Besides, Nick's not the one you want to talk to. Maybe you're right about his feelings for me, but he's got no pull with The Organization. Half the higher ups there hate him. Let me call Mx. Landry. They're the ones who know everyone, everywhere."
Her lips formed a tight little line while she considered my words. "The freak with the sixties hair?"
"It's never a good idea to call people names when you're hoping they'll help you." I wiggled inside my rope cocoon. It didn't help at all. "Is Ram your lover?"
"Ram is a genius."
I wagged my eyebrows in an attempt to look braver than I felt. "And your lover, too, am I right?"
She stood up and walked out of the room, heels click clacking against the tile as she went. The door slammed, and a lock snicked into place.
With my eyes squeezed shut, I allowed myself about thirty seconds of full-on hyperventilating panic. Then I sat up—thank you, my dear co-workers, for helping me get in shape and improve my core strength—and looked around the room. Tears blurred my vision and snot dripped onto my upper lip. I tried to wipe my face on my shoulder, but only managed to clean along the edge of my jawline. Aside from the rolling chair, there was no furniture in the room. An acoustic tile drop ceiling might have provided a way out, but I couldn't bend my knees or move my arms at all. Wiggling my fingers and toes was about the extent of my bodily movements. By rocking my hips from side to side, I was able to scoot backward and wedge my back against the wall.
Okay, I'm as upright as I'm going to get. Now what?
I could wish Nick to me. Assuming there was enough mojo remaining in his supposed debt to me, he'd appear right in front of me.
But he'd been very clear that there were consequences from his doing "god stuff." Plus, my wish was my trump card—the one single advantage I might have if worse came to worse. Not that it wasn't already worse, but it could still get worse.
A weird bark of semi-hysterical laughter burst out of me just before the lock snicked, and the door flung open again. Ms. Gray Hair click-clacked back over to the chair and sat. "Fine. Call Mx. Landry."
"What should I tell them?"
"Tell them the truth. You're an incompetent twit who nearly got killed just a few days ago and now your boss's enemy has you tied up and held captive. If Nicolai Adamos wants to ever see you alive again, he'll find a way to get Ram released."
"Should I mention the bit about the pretty floor lamp?"
She grinned a wicked little grin. "You're quite the smartass, aren't you?"
"I try." I pulled against the ropes, unable to resist trying. "You're human, right?"
"Just like you," she said.
I snorted. "No, not just like. What are you doing working for a sleazebag who sells human children for food?"
Her smile faltered. "Are you seriously judging me?"
I rolled my eyes upward as if thinking about my answer. "Yes. Yes, I think I am."
"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" She opened my phone again and dialed Mx. Landry. "Make the call, Agent Nowicki. Do a good job. Your pretty little head is at stake."
"What's with you and heads and stakes? Geez."
Mx. Landry answered on the second ring. "What is it, Nowicki?"
At the sound of their low, droning voice, a thick lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard, and it made a weird clicking noise. "That trafficker, Ram? His side chick hit me with a tranq gun and tied me up. She's holding me in a facility that looks like an office building, based on the one small room I've seen. She wanted me to call Nick and tell him to get Ram released, but he didn't answer. I told her you're the one with all the connections. She says she'll kill me if you don't get him free and then she wants to—"
The pointy-toe shoe connected with my face again, sending me sprawling onto my side. Blood poured into my mouth. I choked and spat out a glob of ew.
"Thank you for taking my call, Mx. Landry," the lady said. "I'll need you to bring Ram to 1321 Swan Boulevard. Even after the shit your man pulled, I've got enough creatures to tear the south end apart. Nowicki's head rolls at sunset." She checked her watch. "I'd say that gives you a little less than three hours."
She hung up and leaned in close. "Spoiler alert. Our traps are already set and we're going to kill you, no matter what. Thanks to you, I've got hungry customers, and I think you'll make a tasty little meal for them. The supes won't be of interest to them, but I doubt they'll emerge from this with their heads intact anyway."