Page 70 of Dead Girl Running

Now Mara went over and slapped the blinds out of Destiny’s hands. The blinds fell with a clatter and everyone turned to find Mara with her hands on her hips. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“You’re right,” Ellen agreed. “But he’s got good hair.”

“How does she have time for this while Annie is away?” Destiny shook her hands as if she had hurt them. “She’s been working all day.”

Daisy chortled. “But not all night!”

A short burst of laughter. Groans.

When the merriment died down, Xander said, “She has superpowers.”

He was so calm, so Zen, everyone stared at him trying to decide if he was serious.

“Frances is dating Mitch, and Mitch said while overseas she saved them more than once from impossible situations. They found out—”

“They who?” Mara asked.

“Her team, the people in maintenance, found out that her parents were spies, bred by the government to have superhero powers.”

“Wow,” Destiny said in an awed voice.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Daisy said.

Mara sighed and used the corkscrew to noisily crank the cork out of another bottle of wine.

The oven timer dinged. Xander swooped in and removed the margherita pizza, sliced it and put it in the middle of the coffee table.

Everyone settled down to food, drink and speculation about Kellen Adams, who she really was and where she had come from.

25

“Mr. Gilfilen, please. Priscilla Carter is dead. Lloyd Magnuson has disappeared. Someone out there is smuggling something they’re willing to kill for. Won’t you let the government agencies handle this rather than putting your life at risk?” Kellen stood with her hands clasped at her chest, watching Mr. Gilfilen make himself a cup of oolong tea.

He had returned to his suite mere moments before, dressed in military camouflage, frozen to the bone and calm in the face of tonight’s failure. “Miss Adams, I appreciate your concern. But I am not without resources. Like you, I’ve served in the military, and unlike you, I promptly went into security as a way to utilize my training. If these smugglers are bringing in illegal and lethal drugs to distribute to our young people, or munitions that they plan to assemble in an act of terrorism, would I be satisfied to tell myself,At least I kept myself safe?” He lifted the tea bag out of his cup and looked inquiringly at her. Politely.

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” Kellen understood that cutting the umbilical cord of funding to the terrorists would benefit the United States, but Mr. Gilfilen clearly believed he was taking direct action against the evils that threatened society, not stopping the illegal import of ancient artifacts. “Sometimes what comes in isn’t lethal in and of itself.”

He sugared his tea and took a sip.

She tried again. “I’ve been doing research.” Which was a kind of truth. “The head of this smuggling operation is without scruples, compassion, the slightest shred of humanity.”

“Miss Adams, please don’t tell me you think someone who would kill a young woman and cut off her hands is not a good person.” His humor was so dry it could flake paint off the wall.

Right. She wasn’t going to win this argument—the argument with Mr. Gilfilen, or with herself. If Nils Brooks and Mr. Gilfilen worked together, they could possibly find and disable the Librarian sooner. But she had never completely trusted Brooks, so if she told him about Mr. Gilfilen and Nils was a bad guy, she had betrayed a man of honor. She wanted to tell Mr. Gilfilen about Nils Brooks and the MFAA, but did she dare gamble her trust on such an important issue?

She couldn’t see a way out of this moral dilemma, so she said, “Please be careful, and please know—if you need help, I will be there for you.”

“Miss Adams, I do know that, and I promise, I depend on you.”

She couldn’t force the man to take care, not without explaining everything she knew, and she suspected even then he would do what he thought best, regardless of his own safety. With a nod, she left him alone with his tea and headed toward maintenance to talk to someone sensible, well-balanced and with two X chromosomes. Birdie.

She took one of the resort’s ATVs and drove along the lighted paths. Ridiculous. She hadn’t really seen a ghost. What she’d seen had been an illusion brought on by… Well, she didn’t know what brought it on. Exhaustion. The strain of so much responsibility. Being pleasant to guests. If she had seen a ghost, could she outrun it in an ATV? It was a question that occupied her mind until she pulled up to the garage. She knocked loudly on the door, used her pass card, and as soon as she stepped into the tall, cool, echoing structure, she was glad she’d knocked.

Birdie stood in the loft above, her Glock in hand. “Come on up,” she said. “Bring hot chocolate, two marshmallows in mine.” And then she disappeared from the railing.

Kellen made two hot chocolates, and balancing them carefully, she made her way up the spiral staircase. She found Birdie sitting on the metal floor, surrounded by reams of paper. She handed over a mug. “Are we having fun yet?”

“Just for that, you can take that pile of car service manuals—” Birdie pointed “—put them in that cardboard box—” she pointed again “—and take it downstairs to the recycling bin.”

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