Page 73 of Deadly Deception
Sheriff Henson grunted and the three of us headed up the sidewalk. “I’ve got no plan beyond pulling my gun and shooting anyone that aims at me. Just to be clear, they don’t have to aim first. You get my meaning?”
I did and swallowed hard. Franklin did too. “I doubt we’ll be the only ones armed in that house. I’ll also be surprised if we’re allowed to keep our weapons.”
“You never know,” Henson replied. He stopped just outside the door and inhaled, holding that breath for half a beat before saying, “In case shit goes sideways, I just want to say that I appreciate everything the two of you have done. I know I can be an ungrateful hardass, but I wanted to say the words.”
I appreciated the sentiment. “You’ve grown on me, Sheriff. Pleasantly. More like moss than mold. At least moss is spongy and pretty.”
Henson’s eyebrows rose and his lower lip dropped open before his lips twisted into a grin. A bark of laughter shot out of his mouth. My smirk was obnoxious and playful. “You are nothing like I expected, Necromancer Boone. I mean that as a compliment.”
“Boone is one of a kind,” Franklin said. He meant it kindly. The truth was, I could very well be a singular anomaly. I’d yet to meet a necromancer with my abilities. Then again, I hadn’t met many necromancers in general. Assuming we lived through tonight, I hoped to change that soon.
Henson’s smile faded slowly as the weight of the situation settled on our shoulders again. “Shall we?” Henson asked while pressing a hand against the barely open door.
“I suppose there’s never a good time to be an idiot,” I answered. “Let’s go.”
Henson pushed the door open and the three of us walked into a house we might never leave again.
The foyer was warm, and would have felt cozy if it weren’t for the two men standing at the periphery holding guns that put Franklin’s and Henson’s to shame. They were the kind of weapons where aim wasn’t terribly important, as one had numerous opportunities given the number of bullets in the clip.
“Which one of you is the necromancer?” the larger one on the right asked. Middle-aged with a slightly paunchy gut, I guessed he was human. If he was another species, he’d really gotten the short end of the genetic stick.
“That would be me,” I answered while stupidly holding up my hand.
He nodded and motioned the gun toward my coat. “Boss says you need to empty your pockets.” The guy’s grin showed he’d had good dental work as a child. “We’ve seen the type of charms you carry around. They ought to fetch a good price. You try and activate one of them and my buddy will shoot your boyfriend.”
I pushed down the spike of fear. This asshole wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t expected. Reaching into my pockets, I turned them inside out. Nearly two dozen harmless charms tumbled out, hitting the ground.
“Good. Now, you two, leave the guns here.”
“That didn’t take long,” Franklin mocked while pulling his gun from the small of his back. He had another tucked into his boot. Henson removed three weapons. They laid them down on a nearby hall table.
“Let’s go.” Two guns were trained on us as we were guided down a hallway, deeper into the house. I’d expected to be led to the basement, or some other underground hidey-hole. Instead, we were led to the kitchen.
The smell of coffee filled the room. A television with the volume turned down low played in the background. The kitchen appeared to be recently remodeled with natural stone countertops, antiqued white cabinets, and lovely hardwood floors. Momma would have loved having a listing like this.
A large island separated the bulk of the kitchen from the attached family room. I could see the back of someone’s head as they stared up at something on the television. There was a woman I didn’t recognize sitting at the island bar and another man with yet another weapon guarding the French doors I imagined led out to a patio. Standing behind the island, casually sipping from a large coffee mug, was Sara Tompkins. Sometimes it royally sucked being right.
Henson indicated he agreed when he said, “I’d hoped we were wrong.”
Sara’s smile was halfway hidden behind her large mug but her crinkled, mirth-filled eyes were on full display. “You’ve been wrong about so many things, Alfonse. It’s amazing you got something right for a change.”
Henson stiffened and his fists clenched, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
Setting down her mug, Sara’s disinterested gaze swept up and down Henson. “I figured you’d show. I gave it fifty-fifty odds you’d show alone, not counting them.” Sara waved toward Franklin and me.
“You clearly didn’t care if we contacted others,” Franklin said.
“That’s true,” Sara answered with a nod. “Honestly, you could have brought the entire department and it wouldn’tmatter.” Sara shrugged as if the thought of killing everyone in the precinct wasn’t disturbing. Was her friendly disposition a total act? “Before you ask, Navarre and the medium are fine. Rita, if you’d be so kind.”
The woman at the island twisted a laptop our direction. Live video played on the screen. Navarre was sitting on a window seat in the distance while Tabitha sat on the bed, her head bent so I couldn’t see her face. Regardless, it certainly looked like her.
“How do I know that isn’t recorded footage?” I asked.
“You don’t,” Sara answered with a shrug. “But that’s the best you’re getting.”
“What in the hell happened to you, Sara?” Henson asked, his confusion plain as day. “This isn’t you.”
Sara’s laughter wasn’t sinister. It was simply amused. “Oh, this is very much me. It’s what they made me.” Her head cocked to the side and for the first time, a touch of sympathy graced her eyes. “I shouldn’t be so hard on you, Alfonse. You weren’t sheriff when everything went down, when my life changed and I was thrown to the wolves. I have no idea if things would have been different if you’d been sheriff instead of Myers.” I wasn’t certain whoMyerswas, but Sara’s tone made it clear she thought they were the scum of the earth.
