Royally Screwed Page 4

  First thing upon arising, she’d rented a car. Then she’d met the bitch from hell.

  Following directions to one of the more exclusive sections on the outskirts of the Maine city, Candy had driven up a private drive to a big-ass house on a hill. She’d rung the doorbell, and a maid in a uniform—yeah, in a freaking uniform—answered the door.

  She’d been shown in, and the douchebag Miranda Worthington waited for her with tea and some small-ass sandwiches, acting like Candy was some long-lost relative. Well, screw that. There would be no social la-de-dah’s. A frigging job was a frigging job. No tea, no finger food, just the basics and off she’d go. Candy hadn’t even bothered to sit down. She’d removed her tablet out of the black leather messenger bag she carried over her shoulder.

  “Right,” she’d said, powering up. “Tell me everything you have on this guy.”

  “Well, good day to you, Agent Lane.” Miranda Worthington looked more than put out. She looked downright affronted, the only word that came to Candy’s mind. Excellent. Always a gratifying way to start out with an arrogant client.

  “Nothing good about it,” Candy had sent back. “Sucky flight. Shitty hotel room. Breakfast at a fast-food joint.” She’d glanced over and looked up and down the height of the frilly dressed, tall but overweight woman, who smelled like some old-lady lavender shit, then nailed her right in the eyes. “I don’t waste time, Mrs. Worthington. You pay me for a job, I don’t spend my hours sitting in fancy chairs and eating crap with the crusts cut off. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s get to the stuff that will lead me to your objective.” She’d gone back to her laptop. “Huxley Abelard stole money from you, and I’ll bring him in. End of story. Help me out here with a profile.” Candy had made her point.

  Mrs. Worthington composed her face.

  “He didn’t steal money, my dear.”

  That “dear” shit again. It had to be part of Worthington’s upper-class packaging, or maybe it was like a guy calling another guy “buddy”; something meant to put you in your place.

  “He owes me money.”

  Mrs. Worthington had not been lying as far as Candy could see, at least not at that point.

  “He borrowed from me to open and equip his workout studio. He has since reneged on part of our agreement.”

  Miranda went on to explain that, over the past six months, and the reason Candy Lane stood in Mrs. Worthington’s prissy parlor, was that Huxley had stopped coming to deliver his payments.

  Candy had narrowed her eyes. Something smelled fishy. Dear, old Miranda hadn’t been giving the whole story. Subterfuge had been written all over her wrinkly face, and Candy should have refused the job that very minute. But no. There was still that pesky bit of information about Candy’s last bust that the bitch held over her head to consider. It sucked to kowtow to the woman, but Candy wasn’t going to make it pleasant for her.

  She’d tapped annoyingly on the margins of her keyboard and waited until Worthington shrugged and began again.

  “His name, as I’ve told you, is Huxley Abelard.” She named the town, downriver, from whence her quarry hailed. “He owns a workout studio there and lives with his father a few miles out of town. The father’s name is Gregory.” Candy’s fingers had tapped away, recording the information.

  “His mother is deceased but he has two sisters. One left home quite some time ago without any forwarding address. The other sister left home almost a year ago, and up until June, she had a lease on a duplex in Quincy, Massachusetts, although it looked like she hasn’t live there for several months. Currently, there is no sign of that sister either.” Miranda told her she’d already hired a private detective who couldn’t find Huxley but had supplied her with this information.

  Miranda picked a folder up off her lap and threw it onto the small breakfast table in front of her. “Here is everything else you’ll need to know. My sources have been quite thorough, but Mr. Abelard has yet to be found.”

  Candy remembered rolling her eyes at the balls on the bitch. If Worthington had sent the information to her without insisting on this meeting, Candy would have read the entire file while traveling endlessly from the West Coast, and already been up to speed. Fucking hell.

  She’d reached forward and snatched the file with attitude.

  “Is there a problem, Miss Lane?”

  “Nope.” Candy had managed to keep her tongue in check. “Everything’s just peachy.” She’d stuffed the file into her satchel along with her tablet. “I’ll keep you updated on my progress. If you have any problems or concerns—or Mr. Abelard shows up—you have my cell phone number.”

  There had been no handshake, just a nodding of heads in each other’s general direction. Obviously no love would be lost between employer and employee.

  Candy had left the room, not waiting for the maid to let her out. She’d emerged onto the doorstep and instantly leaned down to place her hands on her knees to take in gulping breaths of fresh air. Fuck. She’d purposely been using only a quarter of her lung capacity the whole time she’d been inside. That perfume shit was toxic. Didn’t the woman ever open a window?

  Candy had quickly hoofed it back to her rental, head still clearing and driven back into the real-people part of town where she’d found a sub and pizza shop and ordered herself a couple of slices and a soda.

  She’d received more than a few looks from the locals, being a stranger, but mostly—probably—from the hard-ass and suspicious way she carried herself. Despite her height—no more than five foot four—her jeans clung to muscular legs. Her black T-shirt, which stated “I make bitches cry,” clung to what were still firm, high breasts, and its chopped off sleeves accentuated her pumped arms. She kept her short, black hair closely cropped—she’d forgotten to spike it with gel that morning—and it flopped into her face, almost but not quite obscuring her violet eyes.

  Candy always viewed her body as too short and too curvy. She’d done her best to tame the latter through rigorous workouts, but all she’d succeeded in doing was surrounding her previous shapeliness with muscle. That annoyed the shit out of her, but delighted the few males from her inner circle who she allowed to razz her. She was fully aware of the reaction men had to her body. It remained a plus when doing her job, and she worked it when necessary.

  Candy was not oblivious to the appreciative male glances during her lunch while she’d stuffed pizza in her mouth and gone over Huxley’s file. It took her less than a half hour to memorize everything about him. That info led her first to his studio then down the road to his home.

  There had been a young man on the grounds—sixteen maybe seventeen—mowing the lawn. She took distinct advantage.

  Candy had rolled up in front of the two-story farm house in her rental car and put down the window. “Hey, kid,” she yelled, waving and giving a piercing whistle in his direction. She’d emerged from the vehicle as he turned off the mower.

  “Hey,” she’d restated then leaned back against her car, stretching her upper body. She’d known it would have the desired effect. He was fucking adolescent and male after all.

  Sure enough he had trotted over, and after Candy fed him her story—that she was an old friend of Huxley’s stopping by to say hello—he had told her all about the Abelard’s taking off, closing up the house, and Mr. Abelard going on his long-desired cruise.

  He’d asked if she knew the other old friends of Huxley’s who’d been staying with the family while they had closed up—a guy named Dagon who’d married Hux’s sister Holly, and a very nice woman with whom the youth had also seemed to be smitten—a doctor from Boston by the name of Whitehill, first name Dani-Lee.

  Candy had kept a smile on her face, and shaken her head while filing away the names for future reference. The kid didn’t have much more he could say, but he’d been damned helpful.

  “I’ll let Huxley know you asked for him when he gets back.” The kid had attempted to put his eyes back in his head and waved as Candy drove off, clearly not remembering he’d never asked h
er name.

  Now after dark, Candy sleuthed back at the farm. She’d been through the house and currently stood in the main study. Her light shined into desk drawers, finding things very organized. Stapler, scissors, paper clips, and other office-like paraphernalia lay in designated slots. She grinned when she opened the big bottom drawer and found an extra-large bag of gummy bears. A man after her own heart.

  She sifted through a raft of stacked, paid bills and some receipts for groceries and gasoline. Mr. Abelard displayed a succinctness and an old-fashioned attention to detail with his paperwork, so she was therefore disappointed not to find an address book with telephone numbers. In her experience, there persisted a fifty-fifty shot that older folks put that information on a smart phone, with the other half still writing it down just in case.

  Candy’s eyes travelled to the top of the desk and noted that the otherwise precise Mr. Abelard was a doodler. Yeah. This could be a lucky break.

  Bingo. Amongst the doodles, a series of names and phone numbers had been jotted down in what probably had been a hurry to put them safely into whatever archives he kept at a later time. Her eyes scrolled down the list.

  Tess, Holly, Huxley. Got it. Candy took out her phone and snapped a picture. Her eyes continued down the list. Marduk, Dagon, Enlil. What the fuck? What kind of twisted names were those? Then there looked to be an Anshar and a Lenore. Lenore she could take, but Anshar?

  This job got more interesting. What kind of shit were the Abelard’s involved in? Could it be the sisters and Huxley had something going on and shipped the old man out to sea to keep him in the dark? The phone numbers looked real enough. Candy snapped another picture. Time enough to sort them out later. Right now she had a twenty-seven-year-old fish to find and fry.

  She punched Huxley’s number in on her phone then thought better of it even though she’d bought a special model that couldn’t be traced. She stuck it back in her pocket and looked at the old-fashioned land line that sat on the desk, lifting the receiver just for jollies. Sweet. Dial tone. It hadn’t been disconnected along with the other utilities. Candy took her time and punched in the desired number.

  “Hello?” The male voice on the other end sounded puzzled, as well he should be, getting a call from a phone in Maine where no one was supposed to be in residence.

  “Hello, Mr. Abelard?” Candy lowered her voice several octaves and affected her most officious, clipped tones that often emanated from a civil servant on the job.

  “Which Mr. Abelard are you looking for?” Huxley questioned right back.

  “Anyone connected with a home residence at…” Candy spouted off the address and then waited.

  “Well, you’ve got Huxley Abelard.” He clearly had lost patience. “Now do you want to tell me who you are and what this is all about? And why my caller ID says you’re in my house?” The last was said with some displeasure and suspicion, both of which Candy put to rest.

  “This is Officer Dunsky of the Maine State Police.” Let fucking Agent Dunsky twist in the wind if his name got out, and see how he liked it. “I’m sorry to tell you we had a report of your house being broken into and we’re on premises at the moment trying to ascertain the damage and see what items might be missing.”

  Candy had mentally cataloged a few high-tech goodies that might be of importance to the family as she’d cased the place earlier. “We have wires hanging on a living room wall, which may mean a television has been taken.” No response. “We also noticed an open cabinet in an office that has camera bags inside, but no cameras.” Still nothing but a slight “mmm hmm.” “And there’s a jewelry box on the bed in what looks to be the master bedroom. Its contents have been strewn around, but we have no idea what, if anything, is missing.”

  “Fuck.” Huxley clearly pulled the phone away from his ear, but not so far enough that Candy didn’t catch the expletive. Excellent. She’d hit a sore spot.

  “My mother’s jewelry.” He stopped and started again. “My mother passed away a number of years ago, but my father keeps all her jewelry for sentimental purposes. It isn’t worth much, but it would be bad if it went missing.”

  “Mr. Abelard, I’m going to have to ask if you or a family member would be able to meet me first thing tomorrow morning at the house to catalog exactly what has been taken.” Candy held her breath and counted to ten, waiting for his answer. When it finally came, a slow smile spread across her face.

  “I’m in the middle of something important where I live, so we’ll need to make it quick.” He sounded torn. Good. Torn often times made for sloppy. “How does eight sound?”

  “Eight tomorrow morning will be just fine,” Candy replied. “We’ll do our best to close things up here. I’m afraid they made a mess of your front door.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Huxley muttered.

  “No. Thank you, Mr. Abelard. Once we have a full report, you are free to call your insurance agent. Good bye now.”

  Candy smiled in the darkness. She was not at all disturbed by the lies she’d told. After all, someone really had broken into Huxley’s house, he just didn’t know it was her. At least she’d made sure not to break any windows or doors, her skillset being more finely honed than your normal, run-of-the-mill burglar.

  Now all she had to do was find a good observation point and camp out until her prey came to her. Easy as pie. And speaking of pie, fuck, her stomach gurgled hungrily. No more skulking about in Huxley’s little town though. Too many prying eyes, and she didn’t want to get in a situation where somebody would ask questions. As far as anyone knew right now, she was an old friend of Huxley’s come to visit. End of story.

  So, nope. She wouldn’t belly up to the only bar in town. She’d make the twelve-mile trip to the next burg down the river to get some chow. With luck, she’d be back here within the hour and hunkered down for the night. She wasn’t an outdoorswoman, but a stakeout with wild animals couldn’t be as bad as the one’s she’d gotten used to with junkies in abandoned warehouses.

  Candy checked her gun. Yup. Strapped securely to the outside of her right ankle. Let the bears chew on that one, if they wanted.

  All in all, Candy was pretty pleased with herself. Less than twenty-four hours on the job and she was well on her way to apprehending her man.

  Chapter Five

  Four in the morning. Huxley walked across the yard and breathed in the cold air, full of that super alertness that only the early hours before dawn could bring. White puffs of air came out of Dani’s mouth as she walked ahead of him. He wheeled the bike a distance away from the garage before getting on and starting it. No need to wake up the entire compound, even though everyone had been apprised that they were leaving. He beckoned for Dani to mount up.

  When he’d informed her last night of their pending trip, she hadn’t demurred. Not even close. She’d simply said she’d be ready. Nergal was not so complacent. He’d wanted Huxley to start looking for Ereshkigal right away, and talk of the side trip to Maine only served to piss him off. But the witches, with some weird-ass looks on their faces, told the king to chill, out and oddly, he had.

  Hux hadn’t said more than two words to the doctor this morning before heading out. He’d encountered her in the dark kitchen sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Ready?” He’d gone to the refrigerator and opted for a quick swig of orange juice right out of the carton. Nobody would care. He’d seen Dani’s raised eyebrows. But by the time he’d turned around, she’d rinsed her cup and stood waiting.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Huxley would do this with her, but he didn’t have to be happy about it.

  Tess and Holly, always trying to protect him, had immediately volunteered to go in Huxley’s place when he’d told them of the break in, but Marduk shut them down.

  They needed to be careful. Matthew, the rogue goddess Beletseri’s new human henchman and someone all too familiar with the Abelards, was a weasel, and the gods would take no chance the call was a ruse to lure immortals from the compound. Hux, h
aving very little god energy to detect and Dani having none, could both sneak out of the compound then hopefully up to the farm, undetected. As a matter of fact, Shamash had been up all night, monitoring his surveillance equipment, and let Huxley know the coast remained clear.

  If an ambush became imminent, it would now be on the Maine end of things and Huxley would be alert. It was a shame the call from the police hadn’t been earlier last night. Hux would have asked his neighbors to check things out. But the farmers would have been tucked into bed for nearly two hours by the time Officer Dunsky called. Waking them was not an option.

  Same with this morning. Even though farmers rose with the dawn, four still sounded pretty fucking early. Not only that, but they would have to take valuable time away from feeding and milking to travel the couple of miles to the Abelard’s farm and back. Huxley didn’t want to put them out or inadvertently put them in danger. Better to face this himself. He just wished Dani-Lee wasn’t huddled up to him on his bike. Now he’d have to keep himself safe and her too.

  That reminded him. He needed to teach her some self-defense techniques. As a doctor, she kicked ass, but he’d seen her messing around in the gym with the goddesses, and she sucked at protecting herself.

  He contemplated the queen, kidnapped and vulnerable and vowed he’d help Dani hone her skills, so she didn’t become yet another statistic.

  When speaking to Shamash earlier, the god had informed him that Nergal had been miraculously able to contact Ereshkigal at three this morning very briefly, and it had given him renewed resolve. The king would send the witches out to do some initial scouting before Hux returned. Damn. Huxley was anxious to have this trip to Maine over with so he could get started.

  He gave the bike some gas and tried hard not to sense Dani and how good it felt to have her warmth hugging his back as they made their way up a nearly deserted Route 95 going north. It actually surprised him, the amount of Boston traffic already headed south into the city before dawn.