She could only tilt her head and offer a doubtful shrug. If Maxfield’s guess that the skull only worked in the hands of those who had not received enough good already, she figured it would produce a maelstrom for Ben.

“I would give my very heart to have it work.” Ben clenched a hand over his shirt. “I would rip it out and hand it over to you, if you could tell me this skull can stop death.”

“I…I can’t do that. Who do you need to save?”

He was starting to frighten her now. And with her arm twisted uncomfortably behind her, she was in no position to escape.

The man with the machine gun had moved closer to Maxfield. “Let him go,” she tried again.

“Ben!”

Annja recognized the voice yelling from the doorway behind her. She flinched as the sound of bullets ricocheted in the room—and struck flesh and blood.

The man guarding Maxfield dropped to the floor. The thugs behind Annja engaged and prepared.

“Hold your fire!” Ben shouted. He held the box, unflinching.

Tears ran down Maxfield’s face.

Annja was able to stretch a glance over her shoulder. Two men were down. Serge approached with a pistol in each hand.

“I thought you weren’t into taking life, necromancer?” Ben challenged.

Annja struggled against her captor, but he held her wrists behind her back firmly.

Serge didn’t answer Ben. Instead, the tall bald man aimed for Annja and pulled the trigger.

37

An SUV slid to a stop at the end of the pier. Bart paused from inspecting the warehouse fronts. Thick snowflakes dusted the black night sky. The world was strangely silent, save for the rumble of the engine. A huge man with hell in his eyes swung out from the car and stalked toward him.

“Who are you?” he growled at Bart. He reached inside his leather jacket, as if going for a weapon.

Not easily riled, Bart flicked his jacket to expose his detective badge. “NYPD.”

He had no time for a harried husband with a pregnant wife needing to get to the hospital, or a drunk looking for a fight. Annja would not wait for him. He knew that better than he knew his own mind.

Then the guy surprised him by asking, “Where’s Annja Creed?”

“Why don’t you tell me who you are, and—I hope that’s not a gun under your coat.”

“It is.” The man propped a hand at his hip, boldly revealing the weapon. “Annja’s in danger. And I’m Garin Braden.”

That was a name he had heard. A couple of times.

Bart nodded once. “Bart McGilly.”

“I’ve heard of you…”

“Seems we’re both in Annja’s circle. I don’t think we should waste time chatting about her, though, do you?”

“Nope. Benjamin Ravenscroft may have her,” Garin said.

“Shit. You know which warehouse?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“There’s only a few on this block that aren’t occupied, but the buildings are huge. Let’s split up. But keep your weapon holstered, buddy.”

The man didn’t reply, only rushed down the sidewalk, leaving Bart damn sure his warning would go unheeded.

THE THUG’S BODY SLAMMED into Annja’s back as he took the bullet from Serge’s pistol. Pulled down by the man’s drag on her wrists, Annja stumbled forward, landing on the ground on her stomach.

“Stay there,” Serge commanded her. One of his pistols was aimed at her head. “And you won’t be harmed.”

It was a good option. For now.

Pressing her palms flat, Annja inched onto her knees to assume a ready-to-move position.

Serge’s long strides passed her as he approached Ben. All of Ben’s guards were down. Unless he had some hidden out of sight for emergency. Good villains always stashed a few thugs for such an occasion, she thought.

“We are at an impasse,” Ben said to Serge.

“Only from your perspective. Hand over the skull.”

“And then you shoot me?”

“No. Then I walk away with my freedom,” Serge said. “You’ve been served your part of the bargain. You got the skull. Now it’s my turn.”

“But I’ve not had the opportunity to use it,” Ben argued. “Hell, I haven’t even looked at it. She could have put anything in this box.”

“Open it,” Serge commanded.

Annja tilted to rest on one hip and Serge pointed the gun at her leg. “Be still.”

“Gotcha,” she muttered.

The idea of holding the sword hummed loudly in her brain. It was as if the sword wanted to become whole, while she still felt it wasn’t the right time. She could sweep up and kill the bad guys and rescue Maxfield.

But she wasn’t so sure Serge was a bad guy anymore. He could have shot her. Instead, he’d granted her freedom by shooting her captor. Nothing made sense.

“You must allow me to use the skull,” Ben said as he snapped open the locks on the box. “You would not allow an innocent little girl to die, Serge. I know you. You’re compassionate.”

“I am. But I’ve told you the skull does not hold the power of life.”

“We’ll see. If it can cure my wife, it’ll cure Rachel.”

“Your wife?” Annja said.

“She tried to kill herself earlier. A few hours ago. And my daughter has bone cancer. She’s suffered so much. You see why time is so desperate?”

“Did you call the police about your wife?” Annja asked.

“My secretary is with her. Why do you care, Annja? You, who would ignore a little girl’s plea for help.”

“I’m not following you, Ben.”

“My daughter e-mailed you a few days ago about the skull. She told you about it. You didn’t bother to reply. Busy TV star too good for the little people?”

“She e-mailed me?” Annja didn’t have to think hard to remember. “PinkRibbonGirl?”

“Yes. She was excited to have contacted a woman she looks up to. She watches your show. She wants to be like you someday. And you ignored her.”

She had dismissed the girl’s suggestion the skull was the Skull of Sidon. Until she’d learned differently. “I would have never purposely ignored her, Ben. I get a lot of e-mail. I can’t answer them all.”

But that didn’t make her feel any better. She should have replied to the e-mail.

“Enough! I will walk out of here with this skull. My daughter’s life depends upon it. I can save her!”

Annja caught Serge’s droll look. The bone conjurer said, “He’s not so magnanimous. He’s been using me to steal and extort.”

“Yet you helped him,” she argued.

Serge’s eyes burned into her gaze. “He threatened my family.”

“I gave you a home and pay you well,” Ben interjected.

Annja glanced to Ben, whose focus was on the skull.

“What if the skull doesn’t work for you, Ben?” Annja tried. “It’s been in many hands lately, and hasn’t done a thing. You’re not going to give your daughter hope and then let her down. A caring man would not do something like that.”

“What about the man in the warehouse?” Ben asked. “Garin Braden. He’s with you. He held the skull on you and my man, and defeated you both.”

“He’s not working with me. And that was the wind.”

“The wind! You’re not a good liar, Annja.”

“I don’t care what you think of me, Ben. Just give Serge the skull and be done with it.”

She caught Serge’s hopeful glance. Yeah, I’m on your side, she thought with a shrug. For now.

Ben dug in the wool inside the box. “You don’t want it anymore?”

“Of course I do. Well, I don’t. It doesn’t belong to any of us. It belongs to Mr. Wisdom. And it will be returned to him. But suddenly I’m thinking I’d rather stand on Serge’s side, if I have to choose sides.”

“I want my freedom,” Serge said. “To keep my family safe.”

The ache in the bone conjurer’s voice took Annja by surprise. His freedom? From Ben. The bastard had threatened Serge’s family to get him to perform his necromantic arts for him.