The Curse (Belador #3)(11)
An icy chill swept over Evalle as she realized what could be brewing. Her gaze dropped to the dead Svart troll. She’d killed their best lead.
Their only lead.
Just wasn’t her day. First Macha and now this.
Macha. Conlan. Tristan.
She’d locked Tristan out of her mind, so there went her lead on the traitor, too. She sent out a telepathic call. Tristan, you there?
Not a word in return.
FOUR
Evalle rubbed her aching neck, feeling bone-deep tired now that the Beladors had unlinked.
Where could Tristan be?
Was he screwing with her because she hadn’t answered?
Overhead lights flashed on, offering bright pockets in the pitch-dark cemetery. With the Beladors unlinked from her, no one else could see without a night-vision setup.
Tzader had just finished sending everyone off in different directions except her, Quinn and Devon when Horace Keefer, a Belador who looked old enough to be retired, showed up.
Horace pulled off his faded blue baseball cap and scratched his grizzled hair before putting the cap back on. His overalls were a bit frayed, but clean. Given his short stature and fuzzy gray beard, Evalle could see him as a leprechaun in a past life, a far more benign ’chaun than the ones VIPER often encountered.
Shaking his head at everything he saw, Horace said, “Ho, boy, this is a mess. Got your call and showed up soon as I could. Where you need me?”
Tzader gave the old guy an understanding smile. “The fighting’s all done, but we can use a hand with cleanup.”
Always one to jump in and help with anything, Horace nodded. “I’m on it.” He started to walk off and paused, looking down. “What kind of troll is that?”
Evalle said, “A Svart.”
“Do tell.” Horace shook his head. “Never expected to see one of those, alive or dead. Where’s the other one?”
Tzader, Quinn and Evalle exchanged looks, then turned to Devon, who had been working the troll investigations in Savannah for a while.
Devon asked Horace, “What other one?”
The old guy cracked his knuckles during the few seconds it took him to answer. “Don’t know, but I heard once that they like to work in no less than teams of two, and most times teams of four.”
Nodding as he digested that information, Devon said to Tzader, “I’ll put some feelers out when we’re through here.”
“Do that.”
Horace strolled off whistling, always happy.
Evalle envied someone so at peace with life.
Quinn eyed the dead Svart again, shaking his head. “We’re lucky to still have you with us, Evalle. Few people live through a Svart attack to talk about it.”
That made her feel a little better about giving a lobotomy to their best shot at intel.
“What you talkin’ ’bout, Quinn?” Devon could sound as if he’d just walked out of a Louisiana swamp when he didn’t want someone to know he’d gone to Tulane University on an academic scholarship. “That Svart didn’t have no chance with Evalle goin’ through EMS.”
She crossed her arms and shifted her feet apart. “Think you mean PMS, and if I suffered from that, the body count would be much higher, starting with a smart-mouth Cajun.”
Devon chuckled. “Nope, I mean EMS. You think about it, you’ll figure it out.” He strolled off.
When she looked around, she caught Quinn’s glance at Tzader, then Quinn’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. Based on the knowing glint in Tzader’s eyes, he understood Devon’s meaning and had just shared it with Quinn.
She growled at them, “What’s he talking about?”
Tzader backed away, dismissing himself from the conversation by saying, “Have to call Sen.”
“Hope you get a busy signal,” Evalle quipped even though Tzader meant a telepathic call.
Quinn muttered something like “Thanks, Z,” when he clearly didn’t appreciate being left to explain. He cleared his throat and told Evalle, “I believe EMS, my dear, is ‘Evalle missing Storm.’”
Her skin flushed embarrassingly hot all the way to her ears. She took a step in the direction of Devon, promising, “We’re not through tallying the body count.”
Quinn put an arm out, stopping her. “If you say a word to Devon now, you’ll only confirm his guess. As I understand from Tzader, you’ve been inquiring as to whether anyone has seen or heard from Storm. Most of the teams will think it’s because he was your partner, but a few sharper ones will suspect a more personal interest.”
“Is.”
“Pardon?”
“Is my partner.” Evalle refused to believe Storm hadn’t survived Sen’s kinetic power blast that drove his body against an unyielding wall. But had Sen known the identity of the black jaguar he’d tried to kill? She thought so, even though Storm had said he’d told no one at VIPER that he was part Ashaninka Skinwalker. He’d shifted into his animal form only to help her locate Tristan for a Tribunal hearing to decide her fate.
Then she’d allowed Tristan and his group to walk away. She’d had no choice when she’d ended up standing between Tristan and a human black-ops team determined to rid the world of Alterants.
That decision had almost gotten her killed, then it had landed her in a VIPER jail cell.