Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel by Mari Carr (desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

liked Nyx—the other woman didn’t bother with niceties when she felt they weren’t needed.

“I will take a few hours,” Nikolett said. “I was working on this block in Dublin.” She pointed at the map beside her computer, her assigned section traced out in highlighter.

“One of us will take care of it,” Grigoris murmured, standing and stretching.

Nikolett rose, her back muscles protesting. Her shoulders, which had been knotted for what felt like hours, physically ached.

For one quick, weak moment, she wished she had someone waiting for her. Someone she could go to. Someone who would take care of her, rub her shoulders, the way Grigoris was now rubbing Nyx’s. When Nyx leaned her cheek against her husband’s wrist, Nikolett jerked her attention away.

She glanced around the room and cleared her throat. “I’d like to thank each of you for coming in to work on this.”

People replied in murmurs and nods.

“If you’re tired, take a break. Sleep. Eat.” She smiled. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

Instead of looking at her with derision, or maybe contempt, her people smiled back at her, some nodding. Having the respect of not only her peers, but the people under her command and care, was still novel.

Prior to her position as an admiral for the Masters’ Admiralty, she’d been a politician. She’d been thought of as a ball buster, making waves in the National Assembly by taking a strong stance in the opposition party. Nikolett had spent too many years being called a bitch—either behind her back or to her face—during her time in politics, for doing the same things her male peers did that got them labeled intrepid or innovative.

She stopped in the second conference room to deliver the same message—thanking everyone and reminding them to stop and rest, eat when necessary. In here, a printer had been set up, and stills from the various surveillance videos the team was scanning were posted on the walls—one wall for Krakow, one for Dublin. A third was covered in Post-it notes all related to victimology. Because the killer most likely hadn’t picked Josephine so much as had her name suggested by Petro, Annalise had told them that any study of victimology might be futile at best, and misleading at worst. Still, one of the harcos who’d come in to help had insisted on starting a victimology study.

All these images were also being run through facial recognition, where possible. As it was explained to her earlier, even the most advanced facial recognition needed a decent photograph of the person in order to analyze as many of the nodal points on the face as possible to create the facial signature. Then the facial signature was converted into a mathematical formula that was compared to others.

They were sourcing security camera feeds from both public and private sources—traffic cameras, security feeds from banks and restaurants. None of those were mounted at eye level, many had low pixel numbers, and those factors combined with the angles meant there were relatively few faces they’d actually be able to run. The only reason Dimitri had been able to use facial recognition to help find Dr. Fischer’s stalker was because the Ritter had told them to check with passport control for any German nationals. That had meant a small pool of potentials, and allowed the less-than-ideal still image to render a match that it wouldn’t otherwise have selected.

So far there were no matches between the two sets of pedestrians—aka, potential serial killers.

They’d find something. They would.

Nikolett went to her office, closing the door behind her. Her office was the same size as Nyx’s, but instead of a conference table, she had a couch and two armchairs, perfect for less formal meetings.

That had been deliberate. Nikolett knew she could come across as too aggressive, too outspoken and demanding. Again, if she’d been a man, and older, those words would have been “commanding” and “decisive.”

So when she had a meeting in her office, they sat in the deliberately informal space.

It had the added benefit of giving her someplace to sleep if she worked too long.

Her vice admiral and security minister might work long hours, but Nyx and Dimitri had people to go home to. People who made sure they ate and slept. People who brought balance to their lives.

Nikolett took off her earrings, grabbed a makeup wipe out of her drawer, and removed her long-wear lipstick. Her mascara was waterproof and she didn’t want to deal with it, so she would just have to hope it survived.

Then she went to one of the wide wooden filing cabinets and pulled out a fluffy blanket. It was pink and soft and matched nothing else in her office or her life. She loved it.

Nikolett wrapped the blanket around herself and collapsed on the couch, head pillowed on her arm. She closed her eyes, relaxed her shoulders, and…

Was no longer tired.

With an aggravated sigh, she rolled onto her back and fished under the blanket, digging her phone out of her pocket. She’d been ignoring it, but as she looked at the dozens of waiting messages, she grinned.

Each of the other eight admirals had texted, with messages ranging from, “Thank you for the information” to “What new information do you have? What’s going on?”

Nikolett cackled quietly.

She could have kept the information Dr. Fischer had brought her quiet, but she’d had a much better idea. After checking in with Sophia, who was the acting Fleet Admiral, and Arthur, to make sure he agreed with her reasoning for her keeping the case, Nikolett had reached out to the other seven admirals and let them know that she and her territory were actively investigating who had murdered Josephine O’Connor and that they could confirm it was a serial killer.

That hadn’t just been about sharing information—something she was pushing for the territories to do more openly, rather than each acting in isolation and in perceived competition with each other.

No, letting the admirals know, and then asking them to pass on any information they might have that could