Bishop Takes Knight Page 5

  I’m not sure why that rather backward compliment pleased me, but it did. I sensed compliments weren’t something Russo gave out often. Or maybe it was because, although I no longer had nightmares about losing my job, I still felt like an outsider at Redclaw.

  The door opened again, and Miss Climpson entered, turning bright pink on seeing Russo by my desk.

  “Mr. Russo.” The emphasis she laid on the ‘mister’ implied some sort of hanky panky between us, which was ridiculous. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon. You—”

  As rouged as her cheeks had appeared before, all color fled and her lips thinned to the point of invisibility when she caught sight of the spider under the glass. She pressed a hand to her chest, her stubby, ink-stained fingers splayed over the squirrel trim of her winter coat. Her mouth formed a perfect little O of shock. “How did that come to be here?”

  Her accusatory tone annoyed me, as though I’d broken into the private office and released the little bugger of my own accord.

  “This?” I pointed at the glass with the eraser I used to correct typos. “I found it under my desk when I came back from lunch. You didn’t notice it?”

  If she’d been pink before, Miss Climpson turned an alarming shade of puce now. “I should say not.”

  “Then you don’t know where it came from?”

  She hesitated just long enough for me to see her formulate the lie. “I imagine it’s one of Mr. Jessop’s mechanical toys. You know he collects them.”

  I reached for the glass. “Well, then. If it’s a toy, there’s no reason not to let it out.”

  “No!”

  Russo and Miss Climpson spoke in unison, holding up hands like synchronized swimmers to stop me. They exchanged a somewhat guilty glance, and then Russo withdrew from my desk. By distancing himself from me, it had the effect of suggesting he’d chosen to side with Miss Climpson.

  “Perhaps we should just keep it contained until Mr. Jessop returns. I’m sure he would be sorry to lose something of such fine, er, workmanship.” Miss Climpson grimaced a smile and took Russo aside. She spoke to him in an agitated whisper. I couldn’t make out their conversation, and he left soon afterward. Miss Climpson unlocked her desk drawer and pulled out a small red ledger, making several notations before replacing it and starting on a new client folder.

  “Oh my,” Mr. Jessop said, upon returning from his meeting and spying the spider still confined on my desk. “What’s been going on here?”

  He listened with frowning concentration as I relayed what had happened, worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he did so. Then, with only a brief glance at Miss Climpson, he went into his office and came out with a small metal case. “I’m going to hold this open at the edge of the desk, Miss Bishop. If you would be so good as to sweep the, er...device within?”

  He opened the lid and pressed the case against the lip of my desk. I slid the glass containing the spider to the edge and shoved the device over with a swift movement. He pulled the box back and snapped the lid shut, beaming in relief. “Well, now. That’s taken care of. Thank you, ladies.”

  And with that, he went back to his office, holding the case aloft as though it held a jar of nitroglycerin.

  I won’t say the experience led to my snooping afterwards. After all, I would do nothing to jeopardize my job. But I paid more attention to things when I took something in to Mr. J, and I was alone in the office most days when Miss Climpson took her lunch break. If the circumstances of my father’s death had taught me anything, it was not to make assumptions about anything in my life and to always look for a second set of account books. While I needed this job, I would never again ignore the warning signals laid before me.

  Even if I didn’t fully understand them.

  My casual observations and mild snooping around made me certain of one thing: I didn’t work at an ordinary office. There were too many reports that never crossed my desk. I might never have learned more about Redclaw other than what my employer wanted me to know, had it not been for another disturbing incident.

  It happened a couple of weeks after my run-in with the mechanical spider. Spring battled with the last dregs of winter to make a full appearance, and after waking to a cold rain, I’d decided to bring some soup in a Thermos to work instead of taking my lunch out. On previous explorations of the building that housed Redclaw, I’d discovered an unlocked, empty room on the second floor. I’d just borrowed the latest Agatha Christie from the library, and while I could have eaten at my desk, I preferred to get out of the office for a while and read in peace. When it came time for my lunch break, I collected my Thermos and book and went upstairs.

  The former occupants had stripped the office of everything save a dilapidated chair, either forgotten or deemed not worth moving. By positioning myself near the window, I could prop my Thermos on the sill and read while I had my soup. The room was chilly but quiet, and I lost myself in the story of the disappearing scientist. I’d long ago figured out the key to solving the typical Christie mystery, but she spun a good tale and I enjoyed the process of everyone else figuring out who the villain was.

  Deep into the tribulations of the main character, a young woman with nothing left to lose, I heard the outer door below open and shut. The sound reverberated in the empty room, jarring me out of the story. When no footsteps came up the stairs, I realized it must have been another one of Miss Climpson’s personal clients, and I went back to the book.

  A moment later, I heard a dull thud.

  I couldn’t place what had made that noise, and that bothered me. It might have been nothing, and had it not been for the business with the mechanical spider, I might have gone back to my reading. I’m a great believer in trusting one’s instincts. My gut never steered me wrong. Right then, my gut sent up a red flag. I closed the novel and left it beside the open Thermos, steam still rising from the open container. Uneasy, I collected my purse and crept down the stairs.

  Outside the door to Redclaw, I paused. A glance at my watch told me I still had at least a half hour to go on my break, something most of the ‘special’ clients would know. Pressing an ear to the paneling, I heard the thunk of slammed drawers. The movement within had a sense of anger and haste that was out of character for Miss Climpson.

  I opened the clasp on my purse and felt for the comforting presence of the Browning. With my free hand, I tuned the knob and burst in, already speaking. “Wouldn’t you know, Climmy? I forgot my lunch money.”

  The man at Miss Climpson’s desk whipped around at my entrance, his lips curling into an ugly snarl. I’d seen that expression once before when I came across a leopard defending its kill. I halted, letting my eyes go wide and my mouth fall open in an expression of clueless surprise, the one I’d witnessed so often on Em’s face when she played the innocent.

  “Oh, my,” I breathed. “You startled me. Miss Climpson must be in the ladies’ room. May I help you find something?”

  I did my best to look vacant and accommodating, even as my fingers closed around the Browning. Someone had wrenched several of the file drawers open, and folders stood in an uneven row where a hasty search had pulled them up. I saw one of Miss Climpson’s shoes sticking from behind the desk. I forced my gaze to remain on the face of the intruder instead of letting them register on Miss Climpson’s prone body.

  The feral expression on the man’s face faded into a genial smile as he did his best to smooth out his anger at my presence. “You must be the new girl. Yes, Miss Climpson had to step out for a moment. But I’m here on urgent business and can’t wait. Perhaps you can help me.” He swung around the desk with the confident grace of a predator that knows no fear.

  Every hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. He kept coming.

  My father taught me a long time ago that if you wanted to take out an attacking animal, you aimed for the head or the legs. Body shots, while an easier target, might not disable something bent on killing you in time to save your life. When the intruder kept walking toward me with that sm
army smile on his face, I lifted my purse toward his head.

  My voice was steady, for which I was proud. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

  “Or you’ll do what, little lady? Throw your purse at me?”

  I detest being called ‘little lady’. I also don’t believe in letting the bad guy know your every move. So I said nothing and kept my purse trained on him.

  Something about my silence and posture registered with him anyway, and he let out a throaty growl, the likes no human could ever make. When he lowered his head, I could have sworn something flashed in his eyes, momentarily gleaming gold. His fingers curled into angry claws, and I realized with a start they were becoming claws. With a gasp, I glanced up at his face. Gray fur sprouted along his cheekbones. His shoulders seemed to expand, stretching the cloth of his raincoat tight against them. When he bared his teeth, his canines were considerably longer than they should have been.

  As he sprang forward, I adjusted my aim to his kneecap and fired. The gunshot rang in the small room, as did the shriek of agony from the intruder as he went down clutching his leg. Brilliant scarlet blood oozed through his fingers as he rolled about on the floor, gasping and moaning.

  The eyes he lifted toward me blared red with anger. They also weren’t human.

  To my horror, the intruder placed bloody hands on the floor and pushed upright.

  I shucked off the ruins of my purse from around the Browning and held him in my sights. “If you take so much as a deep breath, I’ll shoot you again.” I hoped I sounded confident, and that he didn’t notice the trembling of my hand. What had I gotten myself into? And could a mere bullet incapacitate whatever species lay before me? Already, the flow of blood from his leg had stemmed, and he pulled his feet underneath him as though preparing to spring at me.

  The sound of footsteps pounded along the corridor. Someone must have heard the gunshot. But friend or foe?

  The door flew open, and a man stood in the entrance. I swung my weapon toward him. “Stop right there. Identify yourself.”

  The stranger in the doorway took one look at the intruder on the floor and then brought his gaze back to the gun in my hand. His face broke into the most ridiculous smile. “My dear Miss Bishop. You may call me Ryker. I’m your boss.”

  Chapter Four

  Well, that was embarrassing.

  Almost shooting my boss, that is.

  Rykerwore his dark brown hair swept back from his forehead and a beard and mustache neatly trimmed to frame his jaw line. With a dash of silver at his temples, he looked like a reformed pirate. Certainly the way he took over reminded me of a captain on the command deck of his ship.

  In the aftermath of Ryker’s arrival, things began happening in short order. After telling me to maintain my cover of the intruder with my weapon, Ryker checked on Miss Climpson. To my relief, he pronounced her stunned, but coming around. Then he pressed a button under the edge of her desk, causing a greenish light to bathe us all in a sickly hue. After a bit, there was a faint odor as well, like the air after a lightning strike. Ryker then told me to stand down. I lowered my weapon but remained on alert. The prisoner howled in dismay and began sobbing incoherently.

  “I don’t like it, either.” Ryker’s voice lacked any trace of sympathy as he glared down at the prisoner. “But we can’t have you changing on us. I’m surprised and disappointed in you, Billy. You of all people should be on our side.”

  Billy? Something other-than-human went by the name of Billy? It boggled the mind. That, and the fact my employer knew the intruder.

  Had I imagined Billy’s hands turning into claws?

  Ryker grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him to his feet with surprising ease, seating our ‘guest’ with little care for his comfort in the nearest chair. My boss moved with the studied elegance I associated with fencing; I pictured him with a foil in his hand. He reminded me of the mysterious golden-eyed stranger in the office on the day of my interview—there was a similarity of grace there. Instead of swooning at Ryker’s forceful handling of the situation, however, I felt frustrated once more by not knowing the whole story, of being an outsider.

  “Side? You think you’ve chosen a side?” The prisoner, unaware of my musings, bared his now human teeth in a sneer. “It’s going to come down to us against them, Ryker, and you know it. Sooner or later, us against them.”

  “So you thought you’d steal from Redclaw?”

  “Do I have to spell it out? These things, these incredible tools, they’re meant for us. To give us the advantage over them. You’re collecting them and locking them away. It’s stupid.”

  Ryker shook his head. “You have no idea what these devices are capable of. No one does. That’s what we’re trying to figure out here.”

  “Yeah, well, some people think Redclaw shouldn’t be making all the decisions,” Billy said with snide bravado, which faded when Ryker turned a burning glare on him.

  “You’re working for Rian, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t know who Rian was, but I knew I never wanted to be on the receiving end of such a look from my boss.

  “I didn’t say nothing!” Billy’s sharp voice rang with anger, and perhaps a touch of fear.

  Ryker stared at him a moment longer and then turned to me. “Miss Bishop, if you’d see to Miss Climpson? I’ll handle our prisoner.”

  A whine grated in Billy’s voice. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps de Winter will have some thoughts on the matter.”

  “Hold on, now. You don’t have to bother the Council over this little business, do you?”

  “If you’ve seriously injured Miss Climpson, I’ll deal with you myself.” The chill in Ryker’s voice left no doubt his manner of dealing with Billy would be highly unpleasant. But then he shrugged. “As for bringing de Winter and the Council into the matter, you’ve left me little choice.”

  Whoever this de Winter fellow was, the thought of his involvement in the matter turned Billy pale. I moved away to check on Miss Climpson, who stirred feebly.

  In due course, I had her sitting in the most comfortable of the visitor chairs with an icepack purchased from the local five and dime resting on the goose-egg lump she had on the back of her head. A hot cup of tea, laced with a shot of Mr. J’s brandy, brought the color back into her cheeks. She fixed a glare on Billy as soon as she could focus her eyes. If looks could kill, she would have drawn and quartered our good friend Billy on the spot.

  Ryker telephoned Russo, who arrived with a young man I’d never seen before. Where Russo was dark, the newcomer’s freckles and flaming red hair spoke of Irish descent. The two men stood guard as Ryker went into Mr. J’s office and came out with a set of manacles that gave off a faint green glow. Billy put up a bit of a protest, struggling to avoid having his wrists cuffed, but the fight went out of him as soon as the cuffs were on. After Russo and his helper led Billy away, Ryker flipped the switch under Miss Climpson’s desk and the lighting in the room returned to normal.

  A sense of pressure in my head that I hadn’t fully realized yet, receded, the more noticeable for its absence.

  Mr. J came bustling in, worried and anxious for Miss Climpson’s wellbeing. Ryker let him fuss and tut-tut for a bit, and then asked him to make sure nothing had been stolen or damaged. Miss Climpson offered to help, but Ryker ordered her back into her seat.

  Ryker fixed his gaze upon me. “Miss Bishop. A word with you in my office, please.”

  I followed him out into the corridor and down the hallway, past the restroom facilities and to an unmarked door I’d assumed was a utility closet. Inside was a small office, much smaller than I would expect for the head of the firm. At the same time, an authentic Persian rug carpeted the floor and a heavy mahogany desk gleamed in the overhead light. Which made the Magic 8 Ball sitting on the corner of the desk a bit incongruous.

  Once again, I wondered how Ryker had observed the workings within the main office, and where he’d been during Miss Climpson’s
attack.

  Ryker, who’d gone over to a sideboard similar to the one in Mr. J’s office, glanced back over his shoulder when he heard me mutter, “Damn.”

  “Problem, Miss Bishop?”

  “I just realized I put a bullet hole though my favorite purse.”

  Ryker’s unexpected laugh startled me; a sound rich with true amusement. “What I like most about you, Miss Bishop, is that you seem more upset over the ruined purse than the person you shot. Do have a seat.”

  I placed my clutch on the desk and took the guest’s chair.

  “May I offer you something? Some tea? Or perhaps you need something a bit stronger?”

  To my utter embarrassment, my voice quavered when I spoke. “Tea would be lovely.”

  “Ah.” Ryker set down the decanter he’d just picked up and opened a drawer in the sideboard instead. “Reaction setting in, I dare say. The best remedy seems to be chocolate.”

  He peeled back the paper wrapper of a Hershey bar as he approached and held it out to me.

  It was all I could do to refrain from shoving the candy whole into my mouth and leave smears of chocolate around my lips. Instead, I managed a lady-like nibble, eyeing my boss as he took his seat behind the desk opposite me.

  Ryker leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers together. On closer inspection, he was older than I’d thought. Besides the touch of silver at his temples, tiny lines formed around his brown eyes. “I imagine you have questions.”

  I nodded. “Several. What will happen to Billy?”

  He blew air softly through his lips. “He will have to answer for his crimes.”

  “But not to the police.”

  Ryker shot me a sharp glance. As I continued to eat the candy bar, a slow smile creased his lips. “No. Billy violated certain, ah, community laws. He will appear before those leaders.”

  I nodded. Billy had mentioned the Council. “Like the Freemasons? A secret order?”

  “Something like that.”

  Approval seemed to simmer in Ryker’s eyes, although I wasn’t quite sure what brought it about. If I had to guess, some underlying amusement resided there as well. Determined to show nothing but complete composure, I folded the paper around the rest of the chocolate and laid the bar beside my purse on the desk. “So you won’t involve the police? Despite the shooting?”