through the shadows after them, then ram my knife into Clementine’s back. Once she was dead, I’d find a quiet, secluded corner in the museum where I could question Dixon—a place where no one would hear him scream out the answers. Depending on what he told me, I’d either wipe his blood off my knives and go back to the exhibit, or I’d find Finn and tell him that we had a situation to deal with—
“Is everyone else in position?” Clementine asked.
Dixon reached down and grabbed a walkie-talkie that was clipped to the black leather belt around his waist. “Team one?”
A staticky crackle sounded, along with a male voice. “In position.”
“Team two?” he asked.
Another crackle, another voice, this one female. “In position.”
He repeated the procedure, checking in with three other teams. I didn’t know how many folks were on each team, but I was willing to bet that it was several. This was what the stones had been murmuring about all evening. Whatever was happening, I was going to stop it—and the giants.
Clementine nodded, satisfied. “All right. Grab her, and let’s get out of here.”
“Aw, do I have to?” Dixon whined again. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Because you’re the idiot who shot her in the face. You made the mess, so you can carry her. Do you have a problem with that?” Her voice was calm, polite even, but her hazel eyes were cold, flat, and empty.
“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Dixon said. “I can get her. No problem, boss.”
This time, Clementine smiled. The expression reminded me of a fox baring its teeth at a fat hen. “Good. Then let’s get the show started. We wouldn’t want to keep our guests waiting.”
Turning her back on her underling, Clementine set off down the hallway.
* * *
Dixon stared at Jillian’s body for a moment, his lips curled with disgust. Finally, sighing, he holstered his gun and attached the walkie-talkie to his belt again. He reached down, grabbed Jillian’s leg, and hurried after his boss. His inherent giant strength and the smooth marble floor made it easy for him to drag the body, like a kid pulling a wagon behind him. In seconds, the two of them had rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
I got out of the chair, went back into the bathroom, and grabbed my shoes. Then, knife still in my hand, I opened the exterior door and eased out into the hallway, looking left and right. Not seeing anyone else or hearing any footsteps clattering in my direction, I hurried down the hallway after them, my shoes clutched in one hand and my knife in the other. The marble floor felt as cold and slick as an ice rink against my bare feet, but I didn’t dare take the time to stop and put my heels back on. They’d make too much noise cracking against the floor, anyway.
Guilt surged through me once more. I should have realized something was wrong the second Clementine had sidled up to me in the rotunda, and especially when she’d done the same thing again in the bathroom. Clementine had been making sure I was inside so Dixon could shoot me. But somehow, while they’d been off plotting my demise, the two of them had missed Jillian entering the bathroom. And since he’d shot Jillian so many times in the face, destroying her features, they both assumed he’d killed the right woman in the red dress.
I didn’t know anything about Jillian Delancey. Didn’t know if she was good or bad, kind or indifferent, sweet or cynical. If she had a family, if she was a loner, if she had a couple of cats at home. If she gave money to charity, if she saved every penny, if she was a ruthless businesswoman who crushed everyone who stood in her way. All I did know was that Jillian had been in the wrong place at the wrong time—and wearing the wrong damn dress.
The giants were going to pay for that—in blood.
The determination to end Clementine and Dixon burned through me, but I made myself rein in my anger and focus on the pertinent questions.
As for why the
“Is everyone else in position?” Clementine asked.
Dixon reached down and grabbed a walkie-talkie that was clipped to the black leather belt around his waist. “Team one?”
A staticky crackle sounded, along with a male voice. “In position.”
“Team two?” he asked.
Another crackle, another voice, this one female. “In position.”
He repeated the procedure, checking in with three other teams. I didn’t know how many folks were on each team, but I was willing to bet that it was several. This was what the stones had been murmuring about all evening. Whatever was happening, I was going to stop it—and the giants.
Clementine nodded, satisfied. “All right. Grab her, and let’s get out of here.”
“Aw, do I have to?” Dixon whined again. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Because you’re the idiot who shot her in the face. You made the mess, so you can carry her. Do you have a problem with that?” Her voice was calm, polite even, but her hazel eyes were cold, flat, and empty.
“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Dixon said. “I can get her. No problem, boss.”
This time, Clementine smiled. The expression reminded me of a fox baring its teeth at a fat hen. “Good. Then let’s get the show started. We wouldn’t want to keep our guests waiting.”
Turning her back on her underling, Clementine set off down the hallway.
* * *
Dixon stared at Jillian’s body for a moment, his lips curled with disgust. Finally, sighing, he holstered his gun and attached the walkie-talkie to his belt again. He reached down, grabbed Jillian’s leg, and hurried after his boss. His inherent giant strength and the smooth marble floor made it easy for him to drag the body, like a kid pulling a wagon behind him. In seconds, the two of them had rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
I got out of the chair, went back into the bathroom, and grabbed my shoes. Then, knife still in my hand, I opened the exterior door and eased out into the hallway, looking left and right. Not seeing anyone else or hearing any footsteps clattering in my direction, I hurried down the hallway after them, my shoes clutched in one hand and my knife in the other. The marble floor felt as cold and slick as an ice rink against my bare feet, but I didn’t dare take the time to stop and put my heels back on. They’d make too much noise cracking against the floor, anyway.
Guilt surged through me once more. I should have realized something was wrong the second Clementine had sidled up to me in the rotunda, and especially when she’d done the same thing again in the bathroom. Clementine had been making sure I was inside so Dixon could shoot me. But somehow, while they’d been off plotting my demise, the two of them had missed Jillian entering the bathroom. And since he’d shot Jillian so many times in the face, destroying her features, they both assumed he’d killed the right woman in the red dress.
I didn’t know anything about Jillian Delancey. Didn’t know if she was good or bad, kind or indifferent, sweet or cynical. If she had a family, if she was a loner, if she had a couple of cats at home. If she gave money to charity, if she saved every penny, if she was a ruthless businesswoman who crushed everyone who stood in her way. All I did know was that Jillian had been in the wrong place at the wrong time—and wearing the wrong damn dress.
The giants were going to pay for that—in blood.
The determination to end Clementine and Dixon burned through me, but I made myself rein in my anger and focus on the pertinent questions.
As for why the
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