Dancing in the Shadows

Ayiana

Chapter 13

Gabriel kept his menagerie of big cats in a fenced and wooded enclosure behind the main mansion. Each carefully selected animal had its own cage and caretaker. The panther was both his newest, and his favorite cat. Gabriel watched it pace. Its coat gleamed in the moonlight, and when it snarled, drawing an answering snarl from the jaguar in the next cage, the sound made the hairs on the back of Gabriel's neck stand up. The panther was sleek, its muscles lean and powerful. It could kill a man in seconds. Gabriel had witnessed it himself.

"Cold night." Snow's voice came from several feet away.

"Yes." Gabriel turned away from the cage. "How long have you been there?"

"Just long enough to make sure you were alone."

The panther paced, its tail twitching, irritation rumbling in its throat like distant thunder.

"I have a job for you."

"I'm retired." Snow's white hair gleamed in the moonlight.

"Unretire"

"Why should I?"

"Because there's money in it."

Snow shook his head. "You're boring me."

"For old time's sake."

"For old time's sake—" Snow stepped closer, and the panther paused in its pacing, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "I could kill you quick."

"You could try. But then there'd be no one left to blame." Gabriel gazed at the restless cat, ignoring the threat in Snow's tone. "You'd be all alone."

Killing Raul had been the beginning of a career for Snow, and though he claimed he hated his work, Gabriel knew his brother reveled in the challenge, delighted in the taste of blood and the smell of fear. But he also knew that in those rare moments when Snow felt the small, sharp teeth of remorse, he blamed Gabriel for all of it. After all, it had been because of Gabriel that he had first learned the fierce joy and power that came from killing.

Gabriel was Snow's only weakness, his sole vulnerability. And both men knew it.

"I heard about your little war," Snow said. "It's no challenge for me to kill a guy like Elliot Burch."

"Burch is an inconvenience." Two cages away, the white tiger roared, and Gabriel waited until quiet returned before continuing. "I wouldn't dream of wasting a man of your talents on him." He turned away from the restless panther. "You've heard about our little merry-go-round murders?"

Snow's pale eyes gleamed with veiled interest. "Friends of yours?"

"I had years invested in Moreno." And until the last few months, the idiot D.A. hadn't even realized he was being manipulated. The conquest had been one of Gabriel's biggest triumphs, and his hands tightened into fists at his sides as he contemplated the loss. But Snow just shrugged.

"Too bad politicians don't come with a warranty."

"Do you?" Gabriel took a step closer to his brother. "Moreno and Cates were ripped apart—eviscerated by something with inhuman strength and speed." He pulled a video tape out of his pocket. "The police are keeping a lid on it. They seem to think the particulars might be too ugly for public consumption." He extended the tape. An offering. A challenge.

There was a long pause during which Snow stared at the tape, and Gabriel could almost hear him weighing the pros and cons of the job in his mind. He reached out, and for a brief moment their hands rested fingertip to fingertip. Matching rings gleamed in the moonlight. But an instant later, Snow turned away empty-handed.

Gabriel smiled—a slow, brittle smile that spoke more of hubris than of humor. "You might be interested in this," he said, knowing his brother wouldn't be able to resist the challenge. "The night this tape was made, eight armed men were ripped apart. Just like Moreno." He laid the tape down on a low stone wall and stepped away.

Snow's gaze settled on the tape once more. This time he reached out casually and picked it up. "Creature feature," he sneered as he walked away. "Maybe I should make popcorn."

"Snow!" Gabriel called, just loud enough for his brother to hear. "I have a child." Pride and triumph straightened his spine and lifted his chin. "A son." He loved the sound of that. A son. A successor. Source of his ultimate victory.

Snow kept walking. "I don't kill children anymore," he said over his shoulder. "Not even yours."

In the cage, the panther snarled.

 

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Early morning light brightened Diana's loft as she watered her plants. In the background, a sleepy disc jockey related the news and weather to a city just reaching for its first cup of coffee.

"Authorities are still scratching their heads over the deaths of Manhattan District Attorney John Moreno and an unidentified companion at the Central Park Carousel last Wednesday night. As the investigation continues, it has become increasingly apparent that Moreno had ties to organized crime, though it is unknown if his death resulted from criminal activity. The district attorney's office and the mayor are offering no comment at this time."

Of course they weren't. The manner of Moreno's death wasn't exactly fit for public consumption. How had they managed to keep that out of the media, anyway? When Joe had told her about it, the shock and dismay in his voice had made her want to reach out to him, to offer comfort. There'd been an awkward moment before she'd dropped her hands to her side and backed away.

"The mayor announced today that he would choose an interim D.A. to serve the remainder of Moreno's term by the end of the week."

That would be interesting. Joe's office must be in an uproar. Maybe he'd be too busy to ask her about Catherine Chandler for a few days. The breathing room would be nice.

Diana turned off the radio and crossed to Cathy's bedraggled little rose bush as Mark came into the room rubbing sleep out of his eyes. The plant sat on a little table at the end of the couch, and Diana couldn't help but think it looked a little like an aged and neglected queen.

"What's that?" Mark asked, crouching beside her.

"Rose bush." She tipped a little water over it.

Mark looked doubtful. "A former rose bush, you mean."

She smiled and plucked a dead leaf out of the pot.

"Don't you usually prefer live plants?"

"It was Cathy Chandler's. I found it out on her terrace." Which didn't exactly answer his question, and yet, to her, it made perfect sense.

She talked to the plant then, a habit that always made Mark shake his head. "Come on, Baby." She tilted a little more water into the rich soil. "Have another drink. I know you're going to make it."

"I don't think so." Mark wore a look of tolerant amusement that irritated her, but she left it alone, unwilling to start her day with an argument.

"No," she said. "This one's got life in it. I can feel it."

He stood up and reached for his jacket. "Am I going to see you for dinner tonight?"

She looked up at him with a regretful half smile. "Not tonight."

"Spelunking again?"

She nodded, and he shook his head, swinging his jacket over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator. "Only in Manhattan."

 

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In his chamber, Vincent leaned back in his chair, his eyes downcast, his hand wrapped around Catherine's and resting in his lap. He'd just finished telling her what had happened at the carousel. She had listened quietly, her fingers tightening around his when he described the gunmen.

"Moreno," she said. "It must've been."

He nodded. "This is what I believe, as well."

"But the other man. Who was he?"

"This I do not know." He looked at her with regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know John Moreno was your friend."

Catherine shook her head. "No, he wasn't. Not really. But he was someone I looked up to. I thought he was one of the good guys."

"Perhaps something happened to him, something that made him believe he had no other choice."

"There are always choices, Vincent."

"Yes, but sometimes the choices are hidden," he said. "And we only become aware of them when it is too late."

Did he recognize the double entendre in that comment? Was he thinking of their relationship, and the fears that had nearly cost them their future? Looking into his eyes, she thought maybe he was, and she leaned toward him, her gaze intent on his.

"And sometimes," she said quietly, "life gives you a second chance."

 

********************

 

City Hall, always a busy place, was a madhouse on Monday mornings, and Diana blew out an exasperated sigh as she tried to get the elderly clerk's attention. "Excuse me," she said, when the clerk finally drifted close enough to hear her raised voice. "Are these the only maps that you have of the tunnels under Central Park?"

"I'm afraid so." He leaned against the counter, checking the map legends. "What are you looking for?"

"Last night I was underneath this building on Central Park West, and there was this whole network of old brick tunnels down there."

"And you can't find them on the maps." His voice was matter-of-fact. He'd had this request before.

"No, I can't."

"That doesn't surprise me," he said. "There are hundreds of miles of old tunnels down there. Did you know that when they built the subway, they found a station from an earlier subway that had been forgotten for thirty years?"

Diana suspected she had stumbled upon his favorite topic. "No, I didn't."

"It's true!" he said. "Can you imagine? Losing a whole subway station?"

He was settling in for a cozy chat, and though his story was probably a fascinating one, Diana was in a hurry. "Yeah, well just so long as it's not Fourth Street, because that's where I've got to change trains." She collected her things and stood up. "Thank you."

She opened the door as a man was coming in. He had white hair and pale skin, and he said, "Excuse me," very politely as he passed Diana.

 

********************

 

Snow surveyed his brother's palatial estate. He'd spent an hour scouting the perimeter, checking out the security arrangements. There were dogs—big wolfish creatures that growled menacingly but took the drugged steaks he offered them with wagging tails. And the guards were useless. The schedule they followed was as predictable as the watch Snow wore on his wrist. It was a simple matter to dispatch one of them and slip inside the compound.

He found Gabriel inside with his treasures. That part, too, was easy. Gabriel was as predictable as his guards, it seemed.

"Gabriel!" he called from the staircase. He held the video tape by two fingers and dangled it over the wrought-iron railing.

Gabriel turned from the statue he'd been admiring. "How did you get in here?"

Snow tossed the tape across to him and strolled down the stairs.

Gabriel caught it single-handed. "I have twenty men patrolling the grounds."

"Nineteen." Snow dropped into a five-hundred-year-old chair and draped his legs over the spindly armrest. "I watched your tape. Then I went to the carousel. Your friend Moreno wounded him. There's blood spots. Faint. NYPD missed it. I followed the trail. It dead ends at a drainage tunnel under the park."

"Sometimes a dead end is the best place to begin."

Snow crossed to where Gabriel stood beside the clay figure. "He's beautiful."

"Yes," Gabriel said. "Qin dynasty grave figure. Two thousand years old."

"I'm not talking about the stupid statue." Snow slung his arm around its shoulders and slapped it on the chest, deliberately provoking Gabriel's dismayed wince. "He's not human."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "So few of us are these days."

"What do you think he is?"

Gabriel considered the question. Then he smiled coldly. "My enemy."

Snow watched Gabriel's eyes. Words might lie, but eyes always told the truth, and Gabriel's eyes were worried. And tired. It took a lot to worry Gabriel these days, which made this entire adventure that much more fascinating. Too bad Gabe would insist he kill the beast. He would've liked to study it, learn what it was about the creature that terrified his little brother so.

"You're frightened, Gabe. You're not sleeping nights knowing that he's out there somewhere." Big brother was going to have to come to the rescue yet again. "But I'm going to fix it for you. So you can sleep like a baby." Snow started toward the stairs. Then he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Papa." He spat the last word like a curse.

"Then do it!" Gabriel taunted. "If you can."

Snow spun around, his gun already in his hand. His finger tightened on the sensitive trigger, and an instant later the statue lay in shards at Gabriel's feet.

Snow turned away, satisfied by the appalled look on his brother's face. "I can."

 

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Diana knocked once before pushing open the door to the district attorney's office. The chair was turned away from her, its occupant staring out the window. Spring fever, probably. She knew the feeling.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm Diana Bennett. I'm looking for the new acting district—" She stopped, startled, when the chair swiveled to reveal Joe Maxwell, an open file in his hands. "Joe."

He closed the folder and dropped it on the desk. "Hi."

"You?" He looked tired, and some of the eager optimism she was used to seeing in his eyes had faded.

"Until the next election anyway." He shrugged. "Weird thing is, the suspension worked out in my favor. With all the dirt turning up on Moreno, it was as good as a commendation."

"You don't look too happy about the promotion."

Joe took in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "I used to dream that some day I'd sit behind this desk," he said. "Only I didn't want it to happen this way." He got up and came around to her. "You see, I trusted John Moreno."

"You shouldn't trust anybody," she said, only half joking. She leaned against the edge of the desk. "Better get used to that feeling. You've got no friends in this world, Maxwell."

"I don't believe that." He folded his arms and rested his hip beside hers. Their shoulders brushed, sending an unexpected tingle through her arm.

"Good for you." She gave him a quick, approving smile. "Now. You sent for me."

"Yeah, I did. I want you on the Moreno case."

She looked away. "Does that mean you're taking me off the Cathy Chandler case?"

"It's the same case. I think we both know that."

"Yeah, I guess we do."

He walked back around the desk and picked up the folder he'd been looking at. He glared at it as though he held it personally responsible for what he was about to tell her. After a long moment, he said, "I'm calling off the search for Cathy."

Diana blinked. "Why?"

"I got people riding me." He dropped the folder back on the desk. "And other cases that need the manpower." He shook his head. "If she were alive we'd have found her by now. Besides, the coroner swears that with that kind of blood loss—"

"So it's a homicide again?"

"Yeah." He pushed the folder aside. "Her attorney's been calling me. Wants to know when he can probate her estate."

"She had an estate? I knew she came from a rich family, but—"

"She came from a very rich family. I didn't even want to give her a job here at first. Figured she'd stick around long enough to do a good deed or two and then she'd take off for a cruise around the world or something." He shook his head. "Ironic, isn't it? Moreno was the one who convinced me to give her a try. Pointed out that we were short-handed and she was a pair of legs and a brain." The telephone buzzed, and he glanced over at it. "I should get that."

"Yeah." She straightened and crossed to the door. "I'll be in touch."

"Thanks. And Diana?"

"What?" She turned back, her hand on the knob.

"Watch your back."

 

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Snow drifts in the tunnels. It piles against the walls as though hiding from the bitter wind. There are icicles hanging from the tunnel ceiling, and the ironwork gate wears a thick coat of ice. Against his will, he moves toward the gate. It's swinging in the wind, clanging dully each time it slams closed. He looks down and sees the dead. There are more of them this time, and he sees several he knows. They are his friends. His family. The feeling of desperation grows as he moves among them, checking for signs of life. Surely they aren't all lost to him?

And then he sees it. His own body. It too is covered in a blanket of snow, but he can see the features clearly. He rears back, roaring his fear and anger at the raging wind.

He was shrugging into his cloak when Father rushed in.

"Vincent! Dear God, are you all right?"

"The storm. I saw it coming." He pulled his hair free of the heavy fabric. "Where is Catherine?"

"I insisted she get some sleep," Father said. "Vincent, tell me. What is it? What did you see?"

"Snow howling through the junction door. Wind, cold as death." He shivered, remembering the icy bite of it against his skin.

Father shook his head. "There is no storm, Vincent."

"I could feel it!"

"You had a dream." Father was adamant. Vincent heard the note of desperation his voice, but he didn't have the strength to offer reassurance.

"This was more than a dream." The images lingered in his mind. Ice. Snow. Death. He tugged the hood up over his head.

"Listen to yourself, Vincent! Snow? Wind? That's absurd! No storm can reach us down here. You know that! It's your fever talking."

"No." Vincent was certain he was right about this. There was danger coming to the tunnels. Terrible danger. "I saw the dead. Frozen and faceless. I saw my own death!"

"And now you seek it out? Why?"

"Because I must." Vincent met and held Father's gaze. "If my death is the price that I must pay for her safety, for our son, I will pay it gladly."

Ignoring the pain in his chest and Father's desperate, shouted plea, Vincent strode from the room.