Black Order (Sigma Force 3)

Fiona sighed and leaned forward, uncrossing her arms. She squinted at the symbols.

"Bird scratches," she said. "Nothing worth murdering over."

Gray rolled his eyes, but he held his tongue. Fiona's mood had darkened. He preferred her vengeful amusement and manic anger. With their incarceration here, she seemed to have drawn inward. Gray suspected she had driven all her grief and energy into the ruse to obtain the Bible, her small act of revenge against her grandmother's murder. And now, in the dark, the reality was setting in.

What could he do?

Picking up pen and paper, he sought some means to keep her focused on the present. He drew another symbol, the small tattoo on the back of the male bidder's hand.

He slid it over. "How about this one?"

With an even louder, more dramatic sigh, she again leaned forward to stare. She shook her head. "A four-leaf clover. I don't know. What's that supposed to…wait…" She took the notebook and looked closer. Her eyes widened. "I've seen this before!"

"Where?"

"On a business card," Fiona said. "Only it wasn't like this, more of an outline." She took up his pen and began to work.

"Whose business card?"

"The prat who came months ago and searched through our records. The guy who stiffed us with the fake credit card." Fiona continued to work. "Where did you see it?"

"It was drawn on the back of the man's hand, the one who bought the Bible."

Fiona practically growled. "I knew it! So it's been the same bastard behind this all along. First he tries to steal it. Then he tries to cover his tracks by killing Mutti and burning down the shop."

"Do you remember the name on the business card?" Gray asked.

She shook her head. "Only the symbol. Because I recognized it."

She slid her drawing over to him. It was a more detailed line-drawing of the solid tattoo, revealing more of a tangled nature to the symbol.

9B?

Gray tapped the page. "You recognized this?"

Fiona nodded. "I collect pins. Course I couldn't wear them with these naff clothes."

Gray remembered her hooded jacket, the one he had first spotted her wearing, festooned with buttons of every shape and size.

"I went through a Celtic phase," Fiona said. "It was the only music I'd listen to, and most of my pins had Celtic designs."

"And the symbol here?"

"Called an Earth Square or Saint Hans Cross. It's supposed to be protective, calling on the four corners of the earth for power." She tapped the cloverleaf circles. "That's why it's sometimes called a shield knot. Meant to protect you."

Gray concentrated but found no significance to the clue.

"It's why I told Mutti to trust him," Fiona said. She had sunk back. Her voice lowered to a whisper, as if afraid to talk. "She didn't like the man. On first sight. But when I saw that on his card, I thought he must be an okay bloke."

"You couldn't have known."

"Mutti did," she said sharply. "And now she's dead. Because of me." Guilt and anguish rang through her words.

"Nonsense." Gray moved closer and put his arm around her. "Whoever these people are, they were damned determined from the start. You know that. They would have found a way to get that information from your shop. They wouldn't have taken no for an answer. If you hadn't convinced your grandmother to let them look through the records, they might have killed you both on the spot."

Fiona leaned against him.

"Your grandmother—"

"She wasn't my grandmother," she interrupted hollowly.

Gray had figured as much, but he stayed silent, letting Fiona speak.

"She caught me when I tried to nick some stuff from her store. Two years ago. But she didn't call the police. Instead she made me soup. Chicken barley."

Gray didn't need to see in the dark to know Fiona had smiled slightly.

"That was the way she was. Always helping street kids. Always taking in strays."

"Like Bertal."

"And me." She stayed silent for a long moment. "My parents died in a car accident. They were Pakistani immigrants. Punjabis. We had a small house in Waltham Forest in London, even a garden. We talked about getting a dog. Then…then they died."

"I'm sorry, Fiona."

"My aunt and uncle took me in…they had just arrived from the Punjab." Another long pause. "After a month, he started coming into my room at night."

Gray closed his eyes. Dear God…

"So I ran…I lived on the streets of London for a couple years, but I got in trouble with the wrong people. Had to run. So I left England and backpacked across Europe. Getting by. I ended up here."

"And Grette took you in."

"And now she's dead, too." Again that ring of guilt. "Maybe I'm just bad luck."

Gray pulled Fiona tighter. "I saw the way she looked at you. You coming into her life was not bad luck. She loved you."

"I…I know." Fiona turned her face away. Her shoulders shook as she quietly sobbed.

Gray just held her. She eventually turned and buried her face in his shoulder. Now it was Gray's turn to fight twinges of guilt. Grette had been such a generous woman, nurturing and instinctive, kind and empathetic. Now she was dead. He had his own culpability to balance here. If he had proceeded with more caution…been less reckless with this investigation…

And the cost for his neglect.

Fiona's sobbing continued.

Even if the murder and arson had been planned regardless of his own blundering inquiries, Gray judged his actions afterward. He had fled, abandoning Fiona to the chaos, leaving her to her grief. He remembered her calling out to him—at first angered, then pleading.

He hadn't stopped.

"I have no one now," Fiona cried softly into his suit.

"You have me."

She pulled back, teary-eyed. "But you're leaving, too."

"And you're coming with me."

"But you said—"

"Never mind what I said." Gray knew the girl was no longer safe here. She would be eliminated, if not to gain the Bible, then to shut her up. She knew too much. Like…"You mentioned you knew the address from the Bible's bill of sale."

Fiona stared at him with open suspicion. Her sobbing had stopped. She pulled back and eyed him, judging if his sympathy was a ruse to get her to cough up what she knew. He understood her wariness now, born of the streets.

Gray knew better than to push it. "I have a friend flying in on a private jet. He should be touching down at midnight. We can connect with him and fly anywhere. You can tell me where we have to go once we're on board." Gray held out a hand, prepared to seal the deal.