Read Online Soul Song by Marjorie M. Liu - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjorie M. Liu
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he was the man she was referring to.
Kit forced herself to sit up and went searching for her jacket, which was still wet. She rummaged through the pockets and found the soggy remains of the business card Alice had slipped her. The card was simple and white. It belonged to an Alice Hardon, Youth Counselor, at 300 Templar Street.
A youth counselor worth killing over? Worth paying cops to break the law?
Kit blew out her breath. Alice had given her the card for a reason. Perhaps someone at her workplace would know what kind of trouble she was in. Maybe even how to find her. Not that Kit could go to the police with that information. She wasn’t sure she could trust any cop now.
Kit drummed her fingers against the bed, weighing her options. There were only two: run or fight. Both were poor. She was no Rambo Tomb Raider Amazon who kicked ass on her days off.
But she was no coward either. Not even close.
Kit grabbed the phone. Hesitated, then dialed a number. Held her breath. Because when times were tough, it was good to have a best friend. Maybe her only friend, given that Kit socialized about as much as a rock. Delilah Reese was another fine artist, but her medium was metal, not music. Not that it mattered. Their grandmothers had been friends, and had introduced the two girls at the tender ages of twelve and thirteen. No looking back after that.
But Dela was more than a good friend; she was a friend with connections. The kind that carried guns.
She answered on the third ring, sounding calm, alert. Probably up to her elbows in hot metal. She had an art exhibit soon.
Kit exhaled. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Hello to you, too,” Dela said slowly. “But why do I get the feeling this isn’t a pleasure call?”
“Because it’s not,” Kit replied, and after making sure her friend was sitting down, told her entire story. Mostly. She left out the part about how she knew Alice was going to die. Nor did she mention how M’cal had breathed for her underwater, or forced men to kill themselves with nothing but his voice. That was too . . . strange. And disturbing. Something Dela would never believe. Something Kit did not want to explain. She had secrets, just as Dela, she suspected, had her own.
Her friend remained silent for a very long time. Kit said, “Hey.”
“Hey. Would it be impolite of me to say that you’re screwed?”
Kit rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”
“You need to get out of town?”
“I wish.”
“Well, wish your way onto an airplane. I’ll even spring for the ticket.”
“It’s not that easy, Dela. I can’t go until I know this woman is safe.”
“Bullshit. You’ve done your duty with this phone call. The agency will handle the rest. They’re the best, Kit.”
They, meaning Dirk & Steele, the detective agency Dela’s grandparents had founded and run for the better part of sixty years. According to her, it had one of the finest reputations in the world; and Kit believed it. She had even dated one of its agents—Blue Perrineau, a real boy scout. All of the agents were to some degree, best as she had seen. She doubted Dela and her family would settle for less. “I have to be involved,” Kit said.
“You’re in danger. On more than one front.”
“Doesn’t matter. I feel responsible for Alice. You’d feel the same if you had been there. They were brutal, Dela. Ruthless. But she still tried to help me. Those men were forcing me out of the car, and she ...” Kit stopped, swallowing hard. “I have to do this.” Had to help one person, as if it would make up for all the others. Though if Alice, then why not M’cal as well? Why had she resisted telling him?
He said he was going to kill you. What do you owe hint for that?
Easy answer. She owed him her life. Kit counted heartbeats. Listened to the wind howl outside the hotel window. A storm was coming.
Dela finally sighed. “We need to find out what Alice Hardon and her uncle were into.”
“Hope you’re not
Kit forced herself to sit up and went searching for her jacket, which was still wet. She rummaged through the pockets and found the soggy remains of the business card Alice had slipped her. The card was simple and white. It belonged to an Alice Hardon, Youth Counselor, at 300 Templar Street.
A youth counselor worth killing over? Worth paying cops to break the law?
Kit blew out her breath. Alice had given her the card for a reason. Perhaps someone at her workplace would know what kind of trouble she was in. Maybe even how to find her. Not that Kit could go to the police with that information. She wasn’t sure she could trust any cop now.
Kit drummed her fingers against the bed, weighing her options. There were only two: run or fight. Both were poor. She was no Rambo Tomb Raider Amazon who kicked ass on her days off.
But she was no coward either. Not even close.
Kit grabbed the phone. Hesitated, then dialed a number. Held her breath. Because when times were tough, it was good to have a best friend. Maybe her only friend, given that Kit socialized about as much as a rock. Delilah Reese was another fine artist, but her medium was metal, not music. Not that it mattered. Their grandmothers had been friends, and had introduced the two girls at the tender ages of twelve and thirteen. No looking back after that.
But Dela was more than a good friend; she was a friend with connections. The kind that carried guns.
She answered on the third ring, sounding calm, alert. Probably up to her elbows in hot metal. She had an art exhibit soon.
Kit exhaled. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Hello to you, too,” Dela said slowly. “But why do I get the feeling this isn’t a pleasure call?”
“Because it’s not,” Kit replied, and after making sure her friend was sitting down, told her entire story. Mostly. She left out the part about how she knew Alice was going to die. Nor did she mention how M’cal had breathed for her underwater, or forced men to kill themselves with nothing but his voice. That was too . . . strange. And disturbing. Something Dela would never believe. Something Kit did not want to explain. She had secrets, just as Dela, she suspected, had her own.
Her friend remained silent for a very long time. Kit said, “Hey.”
“Hey. Would it be impolite of me to say that you’re screwed?”
Kit rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”
“You need to get out of town?”
“I wish.”
“Well, wish your way onto an airplane. I’ll even spring for the ticket.”
“It’s not that easy, Dela. I can’t go until I know this woman is safe.”
“Bullshit. You’ve done your duty with this phone call. The agency will handle the rest. They’re the best, Kit.”
They, meaning Dirk & Steele, the detective agency Dela’s grandparents had founded and run for the better part of sixty years. According to her, it had one of the finest reputations in the world; and Kit believed it. She had even dated one of its agents—Blue Perrineau, a real boy scout. All of the agents were to some degree, best as she had seen. She doubted Dela and her family would settle for less. “I have to be involved,” Kit said.
“You’re in danger. On more than one front.”
“Doesn’t matter. I feel responsible for Alice. You’d feel the same if you had been there. They were brutal, Dela. Ruthless. But she still tried to help me. Those men were forcing me out of the car, and she ...” Kit stopped, swallowing hard. “I have to do this.” Had to help one person, as if it would make up for all the others. Though if Alice, then why not M’cal as well? Why had she resisted telling him?
He said he was going to kill you. What do you owe hint for that?
Easy answer. She owed him her life. Kit counted heartbeats. Listened to the wind howl outside the hotel window. A storm was coming.
Dela finally sighed. “We need to find out what Alice Hardon and her uncle were into.”
“Hope you’re not
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