Jeanne Stein - Retribution

The world stops.

Literally.

Everyone around us freezes in place.

Everyone except the redhead and me.

The unfamiliar face looking at me smiles and the glamour falls away. I’m staring into Belinda Burke’s amused eyes.

“Very good, Anna,” Belinda Burke says. She points to the amulet. “Now wherever did you get that little beauty?”

I lunge for her, drawing the gun.

She flutters manicured fingertips and I’m trapped, too, in suspended animation.

I can’t move. Not my limbs. Not my head or hands. My thoughts slow, become sluggish.

I can only watch helplessly while she steps close. She reaches for the amulet, but smoke and a tongue of flame shoot out. She snatches her fingers away.

“Cute trick,” she says, shaking her hand. “From a witch, am I right? I’ll have to pay her a visit. Too bad it won’t save Culebra. Or that pathetic shape-shifter with his derisory spells. I should have killed that one when I had the chance.”

She’s enjoying herself, enjoying the sound of her own voice. If I could break free, I’d wipe that smug smile off her face.

She cocks her head and watches me, as if privy to my thoughts. She’s not afraid, though. Why should she be? I can’t move a fucking muscle.

Her smile widens and she goes on. “Culebra’s finding me was an inconvenience. I would like to have had a little more time to —” She lets her voice drop and sighs. “Well, we can’t have everything, can we? It was good while it lasted. Life has a way of throwing you curves when you least expect them. The trick is to know how to adapt.”

She leans her head closer and whispers in my ear. “I could kill you, too. Right now. But what fun would that be? I think we should play a little game. See how clever you really are. Then you can watch your friends die.”

The hand flutters again and the bodyguard is released from the spell. He acts neither surprised nor shocked, but simply goes to the table, retrieves her jacket.

Burke slips into it. “Have a nice day, Anna,” she says.

I struggle against invisible bonds, powerless to stop them as they leave the restaurant. For another ten seconds, nothing happens. Then, the world returns to normal. People revive and resume whatever they were doing without the slightest notion of what happened. I hide the gun down by my side, look around. I appear to be the only one who feels slightly off-kilter, faintly nauseated at being suspended like a bug in amber.

By the time I gather my wits and race for the exit, Belinda Burke is gone.

GRUDGINGLY, I GIVE THE DEVIL HER DUE. THE witch pulled off a good one.

Shit.

I’m looking up and down Prospect with no real hope of spying the limo and the sinking realization that it would make no difference if I did. By the time I retrieve my car, Belinda Burke will have vanished.

I run back to the garage to get the Jag.

Thoughts cascade through my head like white water over a dam. She knows about Frey. She knows about the amulet. Can she trace it back to the witches in Balboa Park?

I’ve got to warn them.

The first call I make is to Frey. He doesn’t answer. I try Culebra’s cell, hoping Sandra will pick up.

Once again, there’s no answer.

I disconnect and, fighting off the fear that they are both dead, call Williams. He does answer. Before I can ask, he tells me that he talked with Sandra a few minutes ago. Culebra is hanging on. I fill him in on what happened with Burke, including her threat against the witches.

He assures me they are protected as long as they stay at the headquarters. He asks the obvious questions and I give him as full a description as I can of Burke’s new persona. He wants me to come in and give the description to a psychic artist who can render a sketch.

There isn’t time.

Now that I know Burke’s assumed the guise of someone else, my next task has to be to determine who that someone else is. And get to her fast.

We ring off.

I’m back on Prospect. Burke must know it was no coincidence, my appearing in the restaurant. She’s smart enough to know I probably followed her from the warehouse, which makes it safe to assume she won’t be going back there anytime soon.

Which also makes the warehouse the logical place to start.

I’m retracing my footsteps to National City. Worry about Culebra and Frey and sudden doubt about my choice to go back to the warehouse are unwelcome passengers in the car with me. What if I ’m wrong and Burke is waiting for me at the warehouse? What protection do I have against her power? I was helpless in that restaurant.

I’m suddenly aware that I’ve got the charm clutched in my fingers.

This is my protection. The moment I feel its warning heat, I’ll know she’s near. This time, the moment I see her, I’ll shoot the bitch no matter where we are.

The warehouse parking lot is still crowded. Trucks from a loading bay around the side come and go. I pull right up to the door and park in a visitor’s space.

May as well.

I check the .38 and slip it into the pocket of my jacket.

Quicker access.

I touch the amulet.

It’s cold.

A gun and a charm.

I’m not leaving anything to chance.

A glass door opens into a reception area. Simple, utilitarian, no fancy furniture. Only an oversized metal desk behind which sits a woman with a computer monitor in front of her and a telephone headset attached to her ear. She’s in her twenties, stylishly dressed in a light wool pantsuit and silk blouse. She has dark hair and eyes. When she looks up at me and smiles a welcome I detect no threat. She’s human. That doesn’t mean she can’t be a witch. Or that Burke hasn’t assumed another disguise.

I touch the amulet to be sure.

Nothing.

She’s not Burke and Burke must not be close.

The woman has not yet greeted me and I realize she’s talking on the phone. She rings off and says, “Sorry about that. The phones have been crazy since that newspaper article appeared yesterday. Are you here to place an order?”

She pulls a clipboard from a stack on her desk and holds it out to me. “We’ve had trouble with the website. So many hits, customers have not been able to access order forms. I’ve been telling them to come in and do it in person if they’re in the San Diego area. They’ll get the product much faster that way.”

“Product?”

“Eternal Youth.” The smile dims a little when she sees I’m not reaching for the clipboard. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Eternal Youth? Why does that ring a bell? I let the name filter through the cogs. It comes to me in a lightning bolt of recognition.

Yesterday’s paper.

Gloria and her new gig.

And something else.

The woman with Gloria. The president of the company.

The redhead, Simone Tremaine.

One and the same. Belinda Burke.

The woman behind the desk has returned the clipboard to its stack as she takes another phone call. I’m processing possibilities. I could go to Gloria and see what she knows about Simone Tremaine. Good old Gloria, once again she ’s gotten involved with a less than scrupulous business partner.

Last resort. I’d rather not see Gloria again—ever. She’d likely use any opening to weasel her way back to David.

The second possibility is to find out what I can from the receptionist. I doubt she ’s going to give me Simone’s address or home telephone number no matter how sweetly I ask.

That leaves two options. Go back to the cottage and do an Internet search. Most likely a waste of time since Simone Tremaine is probably unlisted.

Or come back tonight and go through Belinda’s files. Behind the reception area is a door with a glass window. I mosey over and look in.