40

The Gloup
Orkney Islands, Scotland

The warmth of the sun on her shoulders was at odds with the cave darkness that still enveloped her lower body and the bone-shivering that had overtaken her since she’d threaded the rope through the harness. She hoisted herself over the lip with her last bit of energy, crawling up the grassy incline leading to the prairie and the trail.

Two bodies lay on the ground.

Charlie was slumped over the anchoring rope, Bode on the trail halfway between the car and the sea cave entrance. Salem dropped her rock shard and ran-limped toward Charlie, flipping him over. He’d been struck hard, his cheek split like a ripe plum. The front of his shirt was tacky with blood. His chest wasn’t moving.

She reached for his wrist to take his pulse.

The middle finger of his left hand was missing.

Salem recoiled. “Charlie!”

He still didn’t stir. She pushed through her squeamishness and grabbed his wrist. She felt a pulse, weak but present. She twisted and scoured the landscape. Unless the attacker was hiding behind a hillock, he was long gone. The bleeding from Charlie’s finger stump was steady but slow. He was stable. She needed to get to Bode.

Her leg gave way when she stood. She fell hard to the ground, jostling Charlie.

“Salem?” He blinked. One eye was swollen shut, but the other tracked and found her. “You made it.” He tried to sit up and collapsed backward.

“What happened?”

“We were ambushed.”

“Bode?”

“Dead.”

Salem jerked toward the guide’s slumped form, her eyes hot. She’d known from the way he was bundled, like a bag of clothes thrown out a window, that he wasn’t alive, but she’d locked that away in a compartment to deal with Charlie.

“Who was it?”

Charlie succeeded in sitting up this time, his hand clutched close to his chest. “Two men. One was the gray-haired guy who was behind the breakfast counter at the inn. The one with the tufts of hair over his ears, talking to the innkeeper? I didn’t recognize the other one.”

“We need to get out of here,” Salem said. “And get to a hospital. Can you walk?”

“Can you?” Charlie pointed at her leg, the blood so thick it had grown black.

Salem nodded and stood so she could free herself from the harness. “I have to.”

Charlie watched her, his usually pale face an odd gray shade with shock.

“I found it,” she said quietly.

Charlie stiffened. “The end of the Stonehenge train?”

“I don’t know. It’s a box.”

She helped Charlie to his feet. Once he gained his equilibrium, some of his strength appeared to return.

“Lean on me,” he said. “My legs are fine.”

She did. They shuffled like zombies toward Bode, who lay face down. Salem felt part of herself detaching. “The Order was down there before me. Recently. They hid a drawing from Mercy in the same alcove where I found the box.”

Charlie drew a sharp breath. “Dammit. Is the box encoded?”

“I don’t think so,” Salem said. “I haven’t examined it yet.”

They reached Bode.

“They sliced his throat,” Charlie said. “You don’t want to turn him over.”

“We can’t leave him here.”

“I’m sorry, Salem.”

A black rage flooded her. “We are not leaving him here.”

Charlie sighed. “I’m sorry, love. Neither of us is in any shape to move him, and if we call the local constable, we’ll get tied up in paperwork for hours, if not days. We might lose your girl. I can bring the car over here to spare you the walk, but then we have to leave.”

Salem dropped to the ground next to Bode. His position reminded her of a sleeping boy, butt in the air, blankie tucked underneath him. From this angle, she could see the dark gash to his throat, the puddle of blood his face rested in. She reached out and slid her hand inside his.

The cold of death.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

The black rage returned, shoving aside the sadness. The burning anger made her feel powerful, huge, a vengeful Shiva. She was going to find the men who did this, the same ones who kidnapped Mercy, and she was going to make them pay. She would take their money, and their power, and she would show the world she’d beaten them. She would string them up by their testicle hair and sell piñata sticks to everyone they’d hurt.

And when they finally dropped to the ground, she’d kill the motherfuckers.

The labored breathing of an animal pulled her back into the present moment.

It was her.

She yanked her hand free from Bode. Her wits had scattered. She called them back.

A car rumbled to life. Charlie would soon be here.

She retrieved the jewel-encrusted box from her bandolier. It glittered in the sunlight, carpeted in diamonds the size of marbles, deep red rubies, emeralds a green so rich they reminded her of the rolling Irish hills. A simple clasp held it closed.

She popped it with her thumb and lifted the lid.