Page 12 of Double Shot
“Yes, of course. That’s excellent.” I nodded to Sadie. The woman on the phone was going on about what we had purchased and how everything had just come together.
“Late is fine, nine will be perfect.” I gestured that she was going on and on, and Sadie gave me an exasperated hand wave. Then the woman on the phone said something that hit me in the solar plexus like a police-issue battering ram.
“What?” I grabbed the back of a chair and sat down in it hard. “No, no, please repeat that.”
I gripped the phone tight.
“I haven’t, no.” My heart had lurched to a halt.“We need to talk. In person.”
She tried to tell me there was no need, that it wasn’t important, but I cut her off.
“No, it’s very fucking important,please.” My voice cracked on the last word.
Sadie had gone very still, her eyes locked with mine, her face a mask of curiosity, her mouth poised to speak but waiting me out.
“Are you sure?” I asked, my empty hand clenched into a fist. Sadie’s eyes glittered and I could tell she was on the cusp of saying something. I held up a finger and asked the woman on the phone, “Can we meet sooner?”
I tore my gaze from Sadie’s and I ended the call. I stared at the phone but just held it in my hand, watching the screen go dark.
“Kyle? What is it?” Sadie asked, her eyes wide.
“That was Jocelyn, Reynaud’s personal assistant.” I tried to get more words out, but it seemed like the connection between my mind and my mouth had burned out. I took a moment and tried to force my thoughts into coherent words. “Reynaud made all of Roan’s prosthetics.”
“And?” Sadie asked, giving me a weird look. “Why would that come up?”
“She asked if he found his replacement acceptable.” I let my breath out slowly. “Roan hasn’t had a replacement made in five years, maybe six. They made a replacement for someone in the last few weeks.”
“Prosthetics like Roan’s need to be made to specification,” she said, sitting up straighter. “They’re made to fit the user. He told me that. Does what you’re saying she said mean…?”
“It might, I don’t fucking know how, but it might,” I said. “Those things areveryspecifically made, like it’s way more involved than a custom suit.” She put her hand over her mouth and I saw something like fire light up in her eyes.
“We have to go,” she said.
“We have to wait. She’s going to come here with the stuff we ordered. When she gets here, she might bring the old man. We’re going to find out everything we can,” I said.
* * *
At five ‘til nine,a large white SUV rolled into the driveway of the Phoenician Blvd house. Jocelyn pulled a large rolling luggage bag behind her, and the old man who followed her must have been Reynaud. I had never met him. Roan had handled all of this, and my first contact with any of them had been through the phone on the train.
I let them in, and we spent a good half hour going over the body armor, ranging from the actual vests and conventional armor, down to the discrete armor that can be hidden under regular clothing. The dragonscale required little demonstration, I was intimately familiar with it, and the old man knew. The vest and suit cut to fit Sadie did take a moment, because it had been made with something most people who wear dragonscale don’t have; tits. His assistant was pleased with it, and I could see that she wasn’t just a niece or personal assistant, she was his apprentice. When he retired, she would be the master armorer who held our accounts. She probably had made her set, the way the old man inspected her laying it out.
“I want to know about the prosthetic,” I said, almost interrupting Jocelyn.
“Ah, yes. Mister Roan’s prosthetic. I am still concerned about how he broke the last one I made him,” the old man said. “It was titanium and carbon fiber; it should have been very damage resistant.”
“Where did the new prosthetic go?” Sadie asked.
“Mont Saint Chauvignon,” he said and smiled. “And the only reason I tell you this, is because I can see that you have changed, Mister Lachlan.”
“Pardon?” I asked.
“We have met once or twice, I think. Definitely once.” He gestured, and his assistant helped him to his feet. “And you struck me as very much a black heart.”
“A black heart?” Sadie looked back and forth between me and the old man.
“Yes, a black heart – an evil man of violent disposition.” He smiled at her as she shook her head in silent denial before turning his attention back to me. “But you have changed, sir. I see you, and I think that you may be more of a black knight. Yes,” he nodded judiciously, “you are a black knight, and I have brought you your armor. I hope that you have someone to help you find a horse and a sword.”
“We don’t need either of those things,” Sadie said softly, refusing to look at any of us. She glanced in my direction; her deep brown eyes wet with unshed tears. “We need ourshield,” she murmured, and I didn’t say anything. What could I say? She was right.
