41
Nils’s voice caught her by surprise. Kellen looked toward the entry, then back at Max. “I, um, need to talk to him.”
“It’s not so easy,” Max said and released her.
She told herself she didn’t know what he meant. But she did. As she made her unsteady way to Nils’s side, Max took out his phone and made another call, and another, to emergency services and to the staff left in the resort, and all the while he watched Kellen.
Kellen meant to kneel beside Nils’s prostrate form; she got halfway down, collapsed onto her knees. That hurt; she’d have bruises tomorrow. But what were a few more bruises? She leaned close to Nils’s bloody head. “After I got to Temo’s and saw what was happening with him and his sister—I thought you were the Librarian.”
“I know.”
“How did you know about Temo?”
“I investigated everyone, especially the people close to you. He was acting suspicious, so I kept an eye on him and, sure enough, realized he had his kid sister living with him.”
“Why did you lie to me? Why did you send me on a wild-goose chase?”
“I read the report from the Army. I know why they discharged you.”
Kellen sat up straight. She’d been afraid of that, that if he’d hacked into her military records to discover her fighting skills, he would also have read all the details of her hospital stay.
“I didn’t want you to be hurt even more,” he said. “I believed I could handle it.”
“Of course you believed you could handle it. Now you know better.” At least in the Army, her men knew she could fight, and would fight to the death. “I’m conscious. That’s good enough for now.” She looked at Mara, bruised and unconscious. Or maybe just bruised; Kellen thought she could see the glint of her eyes beneath those lids. “How dangerous is she?”
Nils slid his hand up until it reached his chin, then propped his chin up under his hand. “Judged against Hitler? Or simply judged against greedy, ruthless female serial killers who happen to be narcissist psychopaths?”
He chilled her with his detached evaluation. She gestured Max over. “Did you call Sheriff Kwinault?”
“She’s on her way.” Max loomed, unmoving.
Nils ignored him. “A local sheriff will probably be outmatched. Mara will attempt to escape without a care to who or what she hurts.” He didn’t sound ominous. He sounded matter-of-fact, and that made it all the more chilling. “She is the Librarian.”
“She’s illiterate,” Max added.
Both Nils and Kellen started and stared.
Nils grunted. “That could explain a lot.”
Max radiated a solid satisfaction.
But all this information sent chills up Kellen’s neck. Annie had left her in charge of the resort, and Kellen had visions of explosions and flames. Urgently, she said, “We’ve got to get Mara out of here. You said it yourself. She’s a serial killer. That makes her the responsibility of the FBI. Get her out of here.” Kellen sounded excessively pleasant, and she put her hand on her knife. “Get her out of here or I’ll neutralize her myself.”
Mara was definitely conscious, for at Kellen’s threat she flinched a little.
Good. She was smart enough to fear Kellen.
“Get me a phone,” Nils said. “I’ll make some calls.”
Someone rang the suite’s doorbell.
“I called for a first aid kit,” Max told them and looked through the peephole. “I thought Nils would like to stop bleeding on the carpet.”
Kellen felt foolish for thinking Max needed to be defended, for reacting like a Victorian maiden to Max’s embrace and, most of all, for caring whether Nils noticed she had a thing for Max. Nils had kissed her a couple of times. He’d gone out and gotten into a fight because he was horny. So what? What happened between her and Max was nobody’s business but theirs, and furthermore, what had happened in the past was…
She slid down the wall. Everything in her future hinged on the past. Maybe that was always true, but at least now she knew. Didn’t she?
Max answered the door. Frances stood there, wide-eyed. She looked at the guns, looked at the knife, looked at the blood, handed Max the first aid kit, and in a slow, graceful slither, she fainted. Max caught her in one arm, handed Nils the kit and lowered her to the floor.
Kellen got up—rising was easier this time—and walked over to Mara.
MARA PHILIPPI:
FEMALE, WHITE, TANNED. HEALTHY, 5’6”, 130 LBS. EMPLOYED 8 YRS. SPA MANAGER. AGGRESSIVELY PHYSICALLY FIT. EAST COAST STREAKED-BLONDE PREPPIE. BLUE EYES. DORIAN GRAY PERFECTION OF SKIN TONE. BATTERED, BRUISED. UNCLEAR ON DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WAR ZONE AND GYMNASIUM. SMUGGLER. SERIAL KILLER. LIAR. ACTRESS. MASSIVE EGO. DO NOT LIKE. NO GOOD REASON. EVERY REASON.
Kellen should have trusted her instincts.
She knelt beside her, close enough to speak quietly, close enough to get in Mara’s face. “Your nose is broken.”
Mara pretended to be unconscious.
“That’s going to ruin your chances for the International Ninja Challenge.”
As Kellen had known she would, Mara opened her eyes. They snapped and sparked with fury. “You think I’m done? I’ll never be done.”
“You gave Lloyd Magnuson that heroin.”
Mara’s lips curled in a smile, and her lashes fluttered. “The poor dear man simply needed a bit of seduction and a push in the right direction. He was an addict through and through.”
Kellen had never seen the truth behind the mask Mara wore, because Mara believed she was justified in every cruelty, in every murder. “How did you find Priscilla’s body? Where did you take it?”
Mara’s smile disappeared. “We didn’t find it. I’m not so sloppy. I put a tracker on Lloyd. Mitch followed the signal and retrieved Priscilla’s body. I didn’t need any surprises popping out of her other shoe.” Mara’s eyes narrowed. “Who knew that bitch could be so devious?”
“You just confessed to killing her.” Mara wasn’t stupid; did she consider herself above the law? Or, more likely, that she would never go to trial?
“There’s no corpse to be found,” Mara said. “Not this time.”
“Let me unlock your handcuffs.” Kellen smiled invitingly. “You run really well. Let’s see you run now.”
“Run so you could find the nerve to shoot me? You can’t shoot me in cold blood? I chose you as my opponent because I thought we were alike, that you were worthy. But you’re weak.” Mara raised her head. “Yes, go ahead and free me. I’ll kill you all and I won’t run—I’ll walk away with your hands in my pocket.”
Her vitriol wiped the smile from Kellen’s face. “Then I’ll leave you bound. Because, by my count, you’ve now lost two shipments of Central American tomb art.” She waited a beat to see if Mara corrected her, if Mara said she had recovered the second shipment. But she didn’t, so she hadn’t, and that meant it was still somewhere on the property stored in an ATV. Kellen continued, “At best, you’re done as a smuggler. At worst, your twice-disappointed buyer is going to kill you.”
“I have allies in powerful places. Tell your Nils Brooks that one of those allies killed his MFAA bitch. He’s still out there, and he knows who to hunt.”
“Your cruelty makes you a target to be destroyed. Your position leaves you weak. Allies abandon the weak.” Kellen turned the taunt back on her. “You’re weak.” The trouble was, Kellen didn’t completely believe what she said. Something about Mara lured and attracted, and she feared Mara’s allies would try to save her.
As Kellen returned to the entry, Mara muttered, “Snakes and phantom faces, indeed.” A small frisson slithered down Kellen’s spine.
When and how had Mara found out about her husband, about Gregory Lykke? That face outside the window had been his, and Mara had been so convincing in her indignation about the snake in the fruit bowl, the snake that had been native to Maine…
Nils was holding an ice bag to the back of his neck. She looked into his eyes and said, “Listen to me. You find that stone tablet with the hieroglyphic curse and you take it, and all the Mayan carvings, out of the resort. Get the curse out. This resort needs to be curse-free now. Today. Do you understand me?”
As if he was surprised at her forcefulness, he leaned away from her. “A curse-free resort. Right. I’ve got it.”
She glanced at Mara.
Mara’s smile was all barbed wire lips and bared white teeth.
Kellen said, “And I don’t care what it takes, you put that bitch behind bars.”