Zahira sat down on the edge of the bed. “John…maybe it’s time to tell Director Kaniyar what’s happening.”
“No!” Ryan exclaimed. Then he seemed to catch himself. “I’m sorry, Zahira, but SPECTR are the ones who did this to John in the first place. Even if she didn’t know about John from the beginning, she probably does now, since she’s the director.” He paused, face darkening. “She might have even ordered the murders.”
“Kaniyar wouldn’t do that,” John objected.
“Are you so sure?”
“Yes.” Kaniyar was a lot of things, including absolutely ruthless, but he couldn’t imagine her ordering the beating death of a man who couldn’t defend himself. “Do I think she might have known about my memory rewrite from the day I signed on at the Charleston office? It’s possible. She’s not one to show her hand or discard anyone she might be able to use.” The fact he was walking around free now was proof enough of that. “But assassinations aren’t her style.”
“She took up arms against Forsyth,” Zahira said quietly.
“That’s different. I did too, remember?”
She looked conflicted. John winced. “I’m sure this isn’t how you imagined your career with SPECTR,” he said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this. If you want to report me to the director, go ahead. I’ll tell her you didn’t know about any of it, and I’m sure Caleb will back me up.”
“No. I made the choice to help you.” Zahira straightened her spine. “Perhaps once we get the results from the hard drive, we’ll know what to do.”
“I certainly hope so.” He glanced at the clock sitting on the nightstand. “Let’s get back to New Orleans.”
Nine
Caleb stared at John’s text, trying to decide whether to reply or not.
I’ll tell you about it when I get home. See you soon.
Was it on the abrupt side, or was Caleb reading too much into things?
Whatever. John didn’t want to talk now, was probably in the middle of getting his stuff together to come home. Caleb tucked his phone into his pocket and turned to Night, who as usual lurked in the corner being creepy. “I’m going Christmas shopping,” he said. “Stay put while I’m out.”
Night blinked once, very slowly. “Mortal foolishness.”
“He is not wrong,” Gray said.
We’re going to get something for John. Make him feel better about everything.
Gray seemed more interested at that, though only marginally. Caleb went down to Saint Charles and caught the trolly into the French Quarter. He’d wracked his brains over what to get for John—or even if he should get anything, considering John didn’t celebrate Christmas. But he’d been having such a lousy time lately, a present wouldn’t be out of line. They’d give it to him as soon as he got home, instead of making him wait until the twenty-fifth.
He went to a tiny vampire-themed shop in the French Quarter. A little tree decorated with vampire, skeleton, and bat ornaments stood in the window. The woman behind the counter sat up when she spotted him, and her eyes gave him an appreciative once-over before she said, “Let me know if you need any help. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Already spotted it,” Caleb said, and went to the area with bath products.
In the end, he left with a bag containing a bath bomb shaped like a coffin, a vampire rubber ducky, a chunky candle with vampire-themed pewter charms embedded inside, and a bar of dark chocolate with raspberry filling that he assumed was meant to resemble blood.
“This is nonsense.”
You’ve slept in coffins, though. Or hidden in them to avoid mortals, anyway.
“It is still nonsense.”
Caleb conjured up a brief fantasy of John relaxing in the tub with the bath bomb, the room lit by the flickering candle as Caleb stripped down to join him. Gray predictably perked up at that. “Perhaps I was too hasty in my judgment.”
I thought that would change your mind.
He made a brief detour to Bourbon Street and the vampire bar where he’d worked. The place was shut down now that both of the owners were dead at the hands of a doppelgänger, but he doubted anyone’d had time to clean it out yet. When he was sure no one was looking, he quickly scrambled up the wall and through an unlocked window. A few minutes later, he snuck out the same way, this time carrying the painting he and Gray had created, which had hung for sale on the wall of the bar.
From there it was back to the apartment to stash everything in the bedroom, check that Night hadn’t gone anywhere, and hop into the SUV to head to the airport. Zahira shot him a text when they were on the ground, and shortly thereafter they were climbing into the car, with Zahira in the passenger seat and Ryan and John in the back. Caleb twisted around to look at John. The eyes that met his were haunted.
He put the SUV in drive and headed out of the airport. “How did things go?” he asked.
John told him, with Zahira and Ryan chiming in. Caleb’s hands tightened on the wheel as they spoke, and he had to force his grip to relax before he snapped the plastic. “Of course it was fucking SPECTR,” he snarled, a bit of Gray’s rumble edging into his voice. “Why am I not surprised? Oh right, because of Forsyth and Barillo and all the rest of those fuckers.”
“I’m not sure Kaniyar ordered Walsh killed,” John said tiredly.
“If she wanted him dead, she could have just asked us to do it,” Caleb muttered.
John’s head snapped up, and he stared at Caleb. Shit. “I don’t mean it,” he said, though he sort of did. At least then he and Gray would be useful, would be doing something instead of sitting on the sidelines waiting for John to come home.
“What about you, Caleb?” Ryan asked. “Have you met the director? Do you think she’s trustworthy?”
Well, that was a hell of a question, and not one he could easily answer while having to edit the truth for Ryan’s consumption. “I think she doesn’t like wasted assets,” he said at last. “Which means I don’t think she’d have Walsh killed, because he might have still been useful.”
“She wouldn’t actually use him, or his research, though,” Zahira protested.
“Of course she would. She’s kept people on the payroll who killed an agent, albeit a corrupt one,” he said, meaning himself and Gray. “She didn’t fire Barillo. Or hell, Sean for that matter. And do we know where all of Forsyth’s research on building a demon army went to?”
“She wouldn’t build a demon army.”
“On that we agree. It’s not her style. But viewing Walsh as a useful asset absolutely is her style.”
“Keeping one of his victims close at hand is, too,” John said, and Christ, he sounded defeated. “If she knew the whole time…surely it would be in the records somewhere.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean she had access to that information,” Caleb said, less because he wanted to defend Kaniyar than because he wanted to make John feel better. “Hell, for all we know, whoever was behind this scrubbed everything to cover their tracks.”