Shadow of the Templar Omnibus Read online

  Sandra was still babbling even as she let go of Simon's arm and swayed forward to catch both of Brenda Morning's hands in her own. "Adam and I just had to come over and say thank you so much for inviting us! We've been down to see the Morning Star already and it's just beautiful. I may have to go see it again later!"

  Brenda Morning's expression wobbled for half a moment before years of hostessing took over and she went on autopilot. "Oh, no, thank you for coming!" Brenda gushed, squeezing Sandra's hands. Simon relaxed imperceptibly. "I'm so glad you like it — isn't it breathtaking? When he brought it home I just knew I'd have to throw a party and show it off!"

  "It's astonishing," Sandra said. "It makes mine look like gravel, honestly, I should have known better than to wear diamonds to this party!"

  Mrs. Morning laughed, dropping Sandra's hands. "Oh, nonsense, darling, your bracelet is perfectly lovely. But I mustn't be so rude! Mr. Crown, please, I'd like you to meet Tiffany Wellcome and... oh, dear, I'm afraid I didn't catch your name..."

  "Moore," Simon said, offering his hand to 'Mr. Crown'. "Adam Moore. Pleasure to meet you. And you are...?"

  "Ah," 'Mr. Crown' said, lazily taking Simon's hand. "James Crown, at your service, Mr. Moore. A pleasure to meet you —" He paused, squeezing Simon's hand once in lieu of actually shaking it, and then let go, turning to Sandra. "— both."

  Sandra bubbled out a laugh and held out her hand to 'James', who offered her an arch little smile and bowed over it. "Oh, goodness," Sandra said. "How Continental! Are you English, Mr. Crown? You sound it."

  "I do indeed have that dishonor," 'James' said, straightening back up. His thumb played over Sandra's knuckles. "It's quite a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wellcome. I don't suppose you'll be needing your hand back...?"

  Sandra barely hesitated. Her eyes flashed at Simon over 'James's shoulder and then she almost purred, "I'll make you a deal, Mr. Crown. You may keep my hand if you ask me to dance right away. Adam doesn't like to dance, the party pooper, and I'm just dying to..."

  "Of course! Where are my manners? Ms. Wellcome, may I have the honor of this dance?" 'James' turned to Mrs. Morning. "If you'll excuse us, of course."

  "Of course, of course," Brenda Morning said with heavy joviality, and shooed them both towards the dance floor. "Please, go, dance, enjoy the party!"

  'James's eyes met Simon's. "If you don't mind...?" he asked, his voice trailing off inquisitively.

  "I don't mind," Simon said, putting on his mildest smile. Surreptitiously he studied 'James's face, memorizing it as best he could. "Anything that'll keep me from having to do it."

  "Mm." 'James's smile was a slight thing now, one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Such a pity. Ah, well. Ms. Wellcome?"

  "Call me Tiffany, please," Sandra said. She came within a hair's breadth of batting her eyes at him, and Simon nearly choked.

  "Tiffany," 'James' said agreeably, leading Sandra out onto the dance floor. "And you must call me James."

  Simon watched them go, then excused himself to Mrs. Morning and left, looking for a quiet corner.

  "It's definitely Shadow," Simon said into his cell phone, watching 'James' and Sandra. Sandra's head was very nearly laying on 'James's shoulder, and 'James's hand rested on the small of Sandra's back like it belonged there. Simon felt a sudden stab of — not quite jealousy, no. More "get your hands off my teammate" than "get your hands off that girl". "Springheel, could you possibly dance any closer to him? Maybe you can find out if he's circumcised. I might need to know."

  Three or four disembodied voices choked back laughter. Out on the dance floor, Sandra's head twitched up slightly, and the hand on 'James's shoulder jerked once. 'James' smiled and said something, and Sandra forced a bright smile of her own and shook her head.

  "We'll keep an eye on him for as long as we can," Simon went on, now smiling just the slightest bit. "Springheel's probably got the radio tracer on him now. Shift your left hand if you have, Spring." Sandra's left hand shifted inwards, nearly grazing the side of 'James's throat. Simon's eyebrow twitched.

  "We have a problem, Templar," Rich said in his ear. "Tracer stopped working about two minutes ago. I'm working to bring it back online now."

  Simon's little smile vanished. "Shit!" he said through gritted teeth. "Okay, do what you can. We can track him visually if we have to, but I'd feel a lot better if we had the tracer going, too."

  "Working on it, Templar."

  "Good man, Specs Two. Okay, team, here's your visual, courtesy of yours truly: Jeremy Archer, aka 'James Crown', aka 'Shadow' thanks to those worthless uncreative idiots in Art Theft. 5'10 or so, tan skin, brown eyes, yadda yadda blah blah whatever, tuxedo, red bowtie, red cummerbund, black studs. Hair's a lighter brown than it was in the photos, slicked straight back except for those stupid little bits that hang down at his temples, curls a little in the back. He's got a red rosebud in his lapel with those little white flowers around it, whatever they're called."

  "Baby's breath," Johnny put in.

  "What the fuck ever," Simon said.

  "Just saying," Johnny said.

  "Gold watch, right wrist," Simon went on. "One of those expensive thin jobbies. Springheel, anything I've missed, share it with the goon squad after you're done humping the lucky bastard out there." Sandra's hand twitched again, flipping Simon off for a fraction of a second.

  "Looks pretty smooth," Nate said. "Man looks like he knows how to dance."

  "Yeah," Simon said, watching them. "Man does."

  "There's definitely something under his tuxedo," Sandra was saying five minutes later from the relative safety of the restroom. An immediate whoop of laughter on the frequency made her snap, "Some kind of undershirt, Honda. I don't know, but whatever it is, it's too thick to just be a t-shirt."

  "Aw, damn," Mike said, still laughing. "Way to ruin a whole string of 'concealed weapons' jokes, Springheel."

  "So was he circumcised?" Rich asked.

  Nate added, "Inquiring minds want to know!"

  "I hate you all," Sandra said. "He was a perfect gentleman. And a good dancer, too. You boys just wish you could be half the smooth operator this guy is."

  "Spring~heel and Sha~dow, sitting in a treeee~," Nate chanted. Someone — Simon guessed Johnny — snorted out a laugh.

  Simon, in the crush at the bar, swirled his ginger ale around in its champagne flute, making it bubble. He was only half-listening to the chatter on his earpiece, scanning the crowd around him and trying to locate 'James Crown' again. There were hundreds of men here, all in tuxedos, half of them with brown hair; tracking the man visually was turning out to be much more of a challenge than he'd made it out to be, and he prayed that Rich would get the tracer working soon.

  Across the room the string quartet finished whatever it was they were playing and started playing something else; it might have been the exact same song, as far as he knew. Simon repressed a sigh and took another sip of his drink as the chatter in his ear died down. He was just about to abandon his drink to its fate and take another swing past the buffet tables when Nate made a small surprised noise in his ear. "Don't look now, Templar," Nate said, "but he's heading your way at nine o'clock. I've got him on camera eleven."

  Startled, Simon grew still, then looked up and away, toward the restroom. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Moore," 'James' said at his elbow, and Simon looked around in not-entirely-feigned surprise.

  "Ah! 'scuse me, Mr. Crown." Simon edged aside, giving 'James' access to the bar. 'James' favored him with a thin little smile and picked up one of the flutes of champagne, then leaned against the bar practically at Simon's elbow instead of leaving. Simon's nerves immediately all prickled. For an awkward moment or two he waited for 'James' to excuse himself and vanish back into the throng, but 'James' didn't seem to be in any hurry to go. "Enjoying the party?" Simon finally asked, once 'James's amused silence grew too oppressive.

  "Mm. Well. It isn't bad as these things go, I suppose, but It was actually rather tedious before your lovely date showed
up." 'James' glanced at him briefly over the rim of his champagne flute, his little smile inviting Simon to share in the private joke.

  Wary, Simon tried to edge away and give 'James' a bit more room. Almost immediately he backed into someone, who muttered "Excuse me!" but didn't move away; the crush of partygoers at the bar was two and three people deep in places and only getting worse. Even as Simon recovered from the minor collision another guest wormed up to the bar behind 'James', who murmured an apology and slid closer to Simon in order to let the man pass. Around them the chaos of the party swirled and bellowed, but Simon's attention was riveted on 'James', now looking very properly apologetic about nearly being pressed into Simon's chest. I could grab you right now and put you under arrest, easy as anything, Simon thought, and his fingers twitched in anticipation at the idea. Instead he just said, "Tiffany has a way of making everything more exciting, that's for sure."

  Sandra came out of the restroom just then, tucking her tiny cell phone into her purse. Spotting Simon still standing with 'James', she stopped, and then caught the hand of a passing guest and led the startled man out onto the dance floor. "You just can't get her off the dance floor," Simon smoothly added, nodding in Sandra's direction.

  'James' turned to look, leaning back against the bar. His arm came to rest touched lightly against Simon's, so close that Simon could feel the band of 'James's watch warm against his wrist. "She's quite a wonderful dancer," he said idly, bringing up his champagne flute again. Simon, currently painfully aware of everything that 'James' did, could have sworn that none of the champagne actually made it past 'James's lips.

  "And I'm not," Simon said, on full alert now. "She always did love to dance. One of the reasons we broke up, in fact."

  "Really? That's a shame. The two of you make such a lovely couple."

  Simon forced himself to laugh it off. On his other side a bit of room opened up, and he was able to subtly edge away just enough to break off that bit of contact. "Oh, gosh, thanks so much," he said, relaxing somewhat. "Now all you have to do is start going on about what beautiful children we'd have had and you'd sound just like my mother."

  "Ouch." 'James' winced politely. "I'm terribly sorry. I assure you that wasn't my intention at all, Mr. Moore."

  "Eh, don't worry about it." Simon waved the apology away. "You know how these things go. It was nice while it lasted, but Tiff and I are a lot better off just being friends."

  "Oh. Yes. 'Friends'." 'James' made the little quote-marks with his fingers, smiling slightly. "So terribly American, that concept. In England, we're generally able to admit when we loathe each other."

  "Oh, yeah. I hear England is famous for letting it all hang out and getting in touch with its feelings."

  "No, no, you misunderstand me, Adam." 'James' brushed two fingers against his little smile, his fingertips tracing along the sardonic bow of his upper lip. Simon's eyes flickered helplessly to follow the little movement before he could stop them. "We English put on our famous stiff upper lip, like so, and very politely allow that we loathe our horrendous exes."

  Simon took uncertain refuge in his drink after one last glance. "So anything goes as long as you're polite about it, huh? Well, I can see how that would work out great."

  "Well." 'James's eyes sparkled, but he let his fingers drop again. "It would have excused you from spending an evening at this tedious party with a woman you're no longer seeing, now, wouldn't it?"

  "Oh, it's not that bad. I only really came to see the diamond anyway." Simon paused, watching Sandra dance with what he thought was the correct amount of nostalgia. "Have you been to see it? It's a hell of a thing."

  "I went earlier this evening, yes. It's not bad. If you're partial to large clear rocks."

  "Very expensive large clear rocks. Our host would be really upset if you forgot that part. And what business are you in, that you can afford to be so snobby?"

  "Mm? Ah. I'm with the British Museum, actually." The wry twist in 'James's little smile came and went so quickly that Simon almost missed it. "Antiquities."

  I'll just bet you are, Simon thought. Out loud, he said, "Ohh, so you're a shiny rock expert. Well, 'scuse me all to hell for doubting your credentials, sir. You actually do know what you're talking about."

  "Well," 'James' said wryly, touching his glass to his lips again and again failing to actually take a sip of champagne. His voice dropped to a confidential murmur, almost lost under the roar of conversation around them; Simon was forced to lean in to hear him. "There had to be at least one person at this benighted party who does," 'James' purred, casting a jaundiced eye over the room.

  Simon was startled into an actual, genuine laugh. "Boy, you really are English, aren't you?" he said, the first thing that came to mind.

  "Born and bred, as they say." 'James' put his still-full glass back down and took a single swift step backwards, bowing slightly. "And now, if you'll be so kind as to excuse me, Adam, the tedium awaits..."

  And before Simon could say anything else, 'James' was gone, sliding through the crowd like water. Simon watched him until he vanished into the crush.

  "My feet hurt," Sandra was muttering into her cell three hours later, once again safely ensconced in the powder room. "I've been on my feet all night in brand-new heels. If Shadow doesn't make his move soon, I vote we go pre-emptive and have Templar challenge him to a duel over my honor."

  Simon's eyebrow twitched, just a little. Someone yawned in his ear, proving to be Mike a moment later when the words "Jesus, this is a bust." slid out of the huge yawn. "He's not coming," Mike added irritably. "And I didn't get any shrimp things."

  "This tracer is a piece of shit," Rich groused. "I can't get it to respond at all. I know the fucking thing was working when I gave it to Springheel."

  "Guys," Nate said, sounding worried. "Come on, chill, okay? There's still another hour or so before the party's scheduled to end, let's hold it together..."

  "This is one hell of a shiny rock," Johnny added. "I could look at it all night."

  "You doing okay, Templar?" Nate said. "... wait, you're not on the link-up. Never mind."

  Simon stifled a sigh, then stood up and drifted off down one of the hallways. "I'm good," he said into his phone as soon as he managed to get away. "Wish that fucking tracer would decide to start working. It's damned hard to keep an eye on Shadow in this press."

  "You and me both," Rich said.

  "Okay. Run it down for me, people. Honda, has he come down to look at the rock?"

  "Not since you confirmed his ID, boss. I think he came by earlier, but he didn't do anything suspicious."

  "Texas?"

  "Yeah, he was here really early on. Acted like all the others, far as I could tell."

  "Springheel?"

  "He complimented me on my dress. And he kissed my hand. Pity he's slime. I think I'm charmed."

  Someone — Simon was pretty sure it was Mike — made a gagging sound. Simon snorted and went on. "Specs?"

  "Nothing. Not a damned thing. Lost him in the crowd a minute ago. From out here all you guys in penguin suits look alike. One little camera flicker and I can't even find you, let alone Shadow."

  "Specs Two?"

  "Tracer's a bust, Templar. Alarm systems are quiet. Everything but the tracer's working normally."

  "Christ." Simon exhaled, glancing around. "I hate lazy thieves. Wish he'd hurry the hell up."

  "Want me to go ask him to get on with it?" Sandra asked.

  "Nah. Maybe we scared him off, that would be great," Simon said, tugging at his tie. "Man, what I wouldn't give to peel off this monkey suit and order in a fucking pizza. I can't stand miniature food."

  "Aw, you're just saying that to torment Honda," Sandra said.

  Mike was silent.

  "... Honda?" Sandra asked.

  "Honda," Simon snapped. "Speak up."

  Mike was silent.

  "Shit. Shit! Camera flicker — it's going down, people, it's going down! Texas, lock down the gallery, I'm on my way down now!
" Phone still pressed to his ear, Simon bolted for the elevator. "Specs Two, standby for call for medical assistance! Springheel, take your goddamn shoes off, and if you see Shadow, throw down, we're through playing!"

  Johnny was also silent. Simon swore furiously, shoving past a scandalized knot of women in black dresses. "Honda, Texas, god fucking dammit, if you're there you speak the fuck up, do you hear me?" Nate and Rich were frantic background noise in his ear. Simon muscled aside a couple of loitering partygoers and slammed the heel of his hand into the elevator call button.

  "That won't do you any good," one of the women said snidely. "We've been waiting for almost five minutes. It's broken or something."

  "Fuck," Simon snapped at her. She visibly recoiled from him but by that point he was already gone, running for the emergency stairs. "Elevator's been disabled! Specs Two, why didn't we know this?"

  "Don't know, Templar," Rich said, his voice eerily calm. Simon's ears could pick out a distant clatter in the background; Rich's fingers were flying over the keys. "The alarm systems are all reporting normal operations. He's rigged everything somehow."

  "Templar, I'm on my way, don't you fucking dare go down there alone," Sandra said.

  Simon threw open the door to the stairs and went racing down, three and four steps at a time, skidding on the concrete landing. "Negative, Springheel, you keep the perimeter, that's an order. I'm going in armed and I will shoot this bastard if he does not come along meekly. Specs, what do the cameras say?"

  "Honda and Texas look normal on the cameras, boss. I think he got to those too. That or he's cut our link-up, and I don't think that's it."

  "No, they'd have realized something was wrong when we all went quiet. I'm going in. I want silence on this channel unless you have vitally important news." No one said a word in his ear as Simon kicked open the door to the basement hallway, his gun out.