So, within the window of Ella disappearing. “I don’t like this.”
The Buick shifts, brake lights flashing, and then it rolls forward, away from the gate. I follow at a careful distance, tension coiled so tight my shoulders ache.
I glance at the dash. “Kaz, do you have anything yet on the elderly women?”
“Not yet. I’m not finding any connection to Ella, but I’ll keep digging.”
“Thanks.” I end the call.
The women turn off the main road and disappear under the trees. I keep going and then swing into the first shoulder I can find and kill the engine. The forest presses close, shadows stacked deep between the trunks. The air is colder here, carrying the damp bite of leaves and earth. I step out, Wynd on my heels, both of us armed and ready.
We move silently through the trees until the clearingopens ahead. The women are already at work, the duffel bag spilled open at their feet.
“Holy shit,” Wynd whispers.
I agree. Weapons. Not a couple of old revolvers or hunting rifles. Serious hardware. An FN SCAR with a collapsible stock, matte black and immaculate. A short-barreled Benelli M4, the tactical grip worn from use. I catch the gleam of an HK VP9 pistol, extra mags lined up in a neat row. Beside them sits a stubby grenade launcher that looks like it’s been oiled within the last week.
And in the middle of it all, absurd and glittering under the weak light, a tactical knife with a sparkly pink handle. Razor sharp, polished, deadly. Somebody took the time to bedazzle murder.
“Jos,” the woman in pink says, voice brisk, pointing at the woman in jeans. “You take the grenades. I dropped ’em last time.”
I stiffen.
“What I wouldn’t give for a rocket launcher,” Jos mutters. “Didn’t you have one of those, Aura?”
“Oh yeah. In the trunk,” the woman in pink replies cheerfully, walking over and popping it open.
The casual way she says it makes the hair at my neck rise.
“Should we stop them?” Wynd asks.
I don’t answer. I’m not entirely sure what we should do.
Leo turns and barks at me, sharp and happy. That’s enough.
All three women whip around, weapons already raised.
I step from the trees, Wynd trying to cover me. I shove him back. “Ladies.” My voice carries.
“Justice Beathach.” The woman in pink hardens herjaw. Papery skin, delicate lines, but confident with the Ruger trained steady on me. “What are you doing here?”
I cock my head. “You first.”
“None of your damn business,” the woman in the blue tracksuit says. Sparkles adorn her collar. She’s the only one whose name I don’t have.
Aura nods. “That’s exactly right, Mags. Beathach, you get out of here.” She waves her gun for emphasis.
“I don’t think so.” I keep my tone even. “Is Ella in TimeGem?”
The women glance at each other. I take two more steps forward, and three guns snap toward me in unison.
Leo gives a happy bark and bounds over, tail wagging.
Aura frowns, her arched brows drawing together. “Leo, don’t be nice to him. He’s the bad guy.”
The dog grins up at me anyway, tongue lolling, and my chest loosens despite myself. I keep walking until I’m close enough that one twitch could put a bullet in me. Wynd flanks my side. I don’t want him hurting any of these women, so I cut him a look. He nods once, sharp. If he moves, he’ll disarm, not destroy.
“Don’t you be looking at us like that.” Mags straightens, chin up. “We could take you both instantly. We haven’t shot you on purpose.”
