“That’s enough,” Skinman said, standing up. The three minions stepped aside as he approached Max and shook his hand. Firm handshake, but not a fighter. Things were looking up.
“Who sent you?” he asked Max.
“Levinson. Friend of mine. He says he got a skin off you.” It was a partial lie. Max had never met Levinson, but Bart had given them the name.
Skinman studied him and Max hoped he bought it, or this was as far as they’d get. Taking on four shifters in close quarters would be suicide, even for him. He needed to split them up. Hopefully, Seneca had figured that out too.
“I don’t usually accept walk- ins,” Skinman finally said, his gaze falling on Seneca. “But I’ll make an exception this one time.”
A strange possessiveness gripped Max. It had started in the tunnel and now threatened to rage out of control. Besides, Seneca would kill him if he got too protective of her. He tried to draw Skinman’s attention. “I’m looking for new skin. This one has some baggage associated with it.”
Skinman grinned and spoke to Seneca directly. “Is that right?”
She smiled demurely, a look Max had never seen and would never forget. Her voice was slow and sexy. “That’s right, sugar. And this time, I get to choose what I want.”
Skinman crossed his arms and asked Seneca, “You know how this works?”
“All I want to do is pick out his new look. You boys deal with the details.” She latched onto Max’s arm and her jacket opened enough for Max to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra. He resisted the urge to cover her up.
“I work in cash or trade,” Skinman said, staring at her breasts. “Which are you interested in?”
“Cold hard cash,” she replied with a sly smile.
“That’s a shame,” he replied.
Max was seconds away from knocking the lecherous look off Skinman’s face when he said, “Follow me.” Then he turned and ushered them through the open doorway in the back of the room. Seneca slipped her hand in Max’s and played the good girl. Her transformation was nothing short of a miracle. She could be a Shifter if she wanted to.
Brownie and the pierced kid followed them into the back room with guns drawn, while the quiet one stayed in the main office area. The bunker was made of concrete and was probably damned thick. Skinman pushed the heavy steel door at the end of the corridor open, entered, and flicked on a light.
Cold air hit them in the face, and Max heard Seneca’s gasp. The interior room was lined with shelves and shelving units. Every shelf was packed with jars and containers—bits and pieces of human remains.
Skinman spread his hands out wide. “The finest inventory you will find anywhere on this planet.”
For a moment neither of them moved, and then Seneca said, “Dear God. Where did you get all these—these people from?”
“The morgue,” Skinman replied smoothly. “No humans were harmed.”
Bullshit,
Max thought.
For her part, Seneca kept her cool and gave a disgusted grimace. “Well, I’m not buying anything based on a foot.”
Apparently, Skinman found that funny and laughed. He said, “You’ll find a picture of the body on every container. With all the parts you’re looking for. What are your specifications?”
Max surveyed the containers. There were a lot of bodies here so photos would definitely help identify the victims. Then he realized that Seneca was talking about him.
“I’m looking for someone with his height and build. I like them big,” she said, emphasizing the “big” part.
Max eyed her as she sized him up. “Maybe a bit more muscle,” she added. “Darker hair, blue eyes, big hands, bigger feet. Perhaps a better sense of humor. And, of course, he needs amazing stamina.”
He might have objected if he weren’t just about to tear this place apart. “Give the lady whatever she wants.”
Skinman motioned to the far corner of the room. “I think I have exactly what you’re looking for. Let’s start over here.”
Seneca and Skinman walked past the first shelving unit, and the pierced kid followed her with a gunpoint. When she turned the corner, Seneca glanced over her shoulder and gave Max a pointed look.
That was when he moved on Brownie.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I
t took every bit of self- control Seneca had to not kill Skinman on the spot, the sonofabitch. She’d never seen so many remains in one place in her life. There must be hundreds of people in those jars and containers. A leg here, an eye there. It was morbid, but not as morbid as the photos of each dead body stretched out on the floor. And the bastard had the gall to be proud of his slaughter.
“You’ve got enough DNA here to build an army,” she said, offhandedly.
He smiled smugly. “I do.”
He could too, and who would prevent him? Dempsey was right. This had to end now.
Skinman stopped in front of a shelf with four large containers. Each sported the photo of a young, perfect, twenty-something corpse. “I think this specimen will do.”
Specimen.
Like the dead man had been nothing more than a piece of DNA. A hunk of meat. Her anger grew, but she needed to play nice long enough to give Dempsey a chance to take out the other Shifter.
“Not bad,” she said, forcing a smile. “Was he healthy? I don’t want someone who’s died of some gross disease.”
Skinman shook his head. “Perfectly healthy. Pristine, virgin DNA.”
“Then how did he die?”
“Gunshot,” Skinman deadpanned.
And that much was probably true. The victim had been murdered in the prime of his life to fill an inventory slot. “How much does he cost?”
“For you?” Skinman said, stroking his chin. “Twenty thousand.”
“Dollars?” she asked, genuinely shocked. “That’s a little steep. What’s to stop me and my fiancé from finding some dead guy on the streets?”
Skinman squinted at her. “I have a guarantee.”
It gets better
. “What kind of guarantee?”
He grinned. “If you don’t like the final product, I’ll replace it.”
Lovely
. “I don’t know—”
“Hey, I like my customers happy. Otherwise, I don’t get more clients.”
She sighed. “You have a deal.”
Then his grin turned ugly, and his voice became a snarl. “And if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, we’ll find you and kill you. And your family, your pets, your neighbors, and I’ll pin your lover for everything.”
She gasped. “What?”
He raised his hands. “I’m just protecting my business.”
And she was really going to enjoy putting him out of business. “I’ll never tell a soul. I promise.”
He nodded to the kid with the pierced face. “Carry the container.”
Seneca’s pulse quickened. The kid would have to holster his gun to carry the container. He’d be defenseless, except for the part where he was a Shifter.
The kid did just that. He led the way with Seneca behind him and Skinman behind her. She calculated the steps, the open space between the rows of shelves, and figured Dempsey had already dealt with the other Shifter and was waiting for them. He could handle the kid. Skinman was hers. She reached into her coat and slid the disrupter out of its hiding place.
They turned the corner and a big, gray Shifter hand caught the kid in the face, sending him flying into the wall. Seneca swung around and elbowed Skinman in the face as hard as she could. He gave a yell and covered his face, even as he began to shift. He knocked jars and containers out of the way as he quickly morphed into Primary Shifter form.
By the time she had the disrupter pistol pointed at him, he’d shifted into the smallest, scrawniest Shifter she’d ever seen and had disappeared around a shelving unit before she could get a drop on him.
She cast a quick glance at Dempsey, who ran past her, massive and solid. He yelled at her, “I’ll take Skinman.
Don’t
go after the one in the office alone. Wait for me.”
Seneca watched him turn the corner in disbelief. She hated when he ordered her around, and she headed in the other direction. The kid with all the piercings was slumped on the floor, dead. She found the other Shifter stabbed and lifeless at the entrance of the cooler. Dempsey wasn’t kidding around. He didn’t plan to leave any survivors, and now she understood why. How many more of these coolers were there? She shuddered to think. But maybe if they took this one down, it would send a message to any wannabe Skinmen in this town. Don’t screw with XCEL.
Then the lights went out.
Busted,
she thought. Did the guy in front kill the lights or someone else? She was taking no chances. She reached for the prototype UVC grenade with her free hand. She hadn’t had a chance to test it. In fact, she wasn’t even authorized to have it without proper training, but that didn’t stop her from stealing it from the XCEL weapons room. She peeked around the cooler doorway into the hall leading to the front office area. It was completely black as well. No shadows, but the Shifter was waiting for them. There was only one way out of here, and he knew it.
She had a flashlight in her pocket but she couldn’t use it, couldn’t risk it giving her location away. She’d have to rely on her ability to see his shadow. She dragged her shoulder against the wall as she walked the corridor, counting steps. She’d ticked off forty-two on the way in, and right now, they felt like an eternity. At the same time, she kept her gaze and her gun focused on the end of the hallway. When she got to thirty-five steps, she slowed and pressed against the wall. No sounds, no movement in Skinman’s office.
Just maybe, the Shifter had skipped out and she wouldn’t have to kill anyone. She took a careful look around the corner. The room was illuminated only by a stream of light from the canal. Then she caught a flash in the room, a ghost behind a chair. She flicked open the safety on the grenade and rallied her concentration. All her senses rose, noting every nuance, every sound, every moment. Time slowed. Her body hummed and synchronized.
In a fluid second, she pressed the grenade trigger, started a mental count, and tossed the grenade into the room. There was a blue flash and she entered the room, disrupter leading the way.
One.
Crap, there were a pair of Shifters—one on each side of the room.
Two.
She fired at the closest target to her left as his shadow floundered under the effect of the grenade, and hit him in the center of his body mass. He dropped.
Three.
She spun right, where the second target was stumbling toward her.
Four.
She shot at his torso, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.
Five.
His arms flailed at her clumsily, almost blindly, in the aftermath of the UVC blast.
Six
. . . She ducked out of the way of his blows, hopped up on the edge of the desk, and rolled over the top of it.
Eight.
The Shifter turned toward her faster, recovering with amazing speed. Damn, they were good.
Ten.
She grabbed the chair and flung it over the top of the desk at him. She launched herself after the chair, smashing it into him. He stumbled backward to the floor, the chair landing on top of him. She hit the concrete floor hard beside him, jamming her shoulder. Ignoring the jolt of pain that shot down her arm, she reached out, grabbed a piece of Shifter, and said, “Shift.”
Energy pulsed through her body and hand. The Shifter let out a shrill yell and took a whack at her. He caught her in the temple, sending pinpricks of light across her eyes. She spun out of reach, and he curled up like a baby. His cries echoed off the walls as she sat back, gathering her senses.
All the noise was sure to draw more Shifters. She pushed to her feet and reached the first Shifter, who was still disoriented, and force-shifted him before he came to. Then she heard thumping footsteps from the side door just before it opened. Couldn’t be Dempsey; he hadn’t come down the hallway yet, so as soon as the shadow appeared, she fired the disrupter.
The charge struck a Shifter in human form, creating a dark spot on his upper torso, and he staggered slightly as he stopped to stare at her but he didn’t fall.
“I knew I should have brought the Glocks,” she muttered and ran for the canal, the only lit place she had. He followed, nearly catching her before she rounded the doorway into the water tunnel. She ran for her life, but she had no idea where she was going. The tunnels were out of the question, and she couldn’t see how far the canal walkway ran.
Then she noticed the break in the concrete and remembered the whirlpool. She stopped and turned to face the Shifter as he lurched toward her, a little woozy from the disrupter. That was when she saw the gun in his hand.
“I’m unarmed,” she said, tossing the disrupter on the walkway between them.
“I’m not,” he said, slurring his speech. He leaned against the wall, waving the weapon at her. “Sucks to be you.”
“A big boy like you afraid of one woman?” she said, truly disgusted. “What a coward.”
He frowned. “I’d rather be a live coward than a dead human any day.”
She lifted her chin. “Fight me like a man. Or maybe you aren’t a man. Can never tell with you freaks.”
“This freak can kill you either way,” he said and shoved his gun in his waistband. He lunged at her, and she ducked low, dropped her shoulder, and took him out at the knees. Her sore shoulder buckled under his weight. One of his feet caught her in the head, nearly knocking her into the rushing water with him.
She scrambled to the safety of the wall and watched him splash in the water as he was pulled deep into the center of the whirlpool. And then he vanished.
“Let’s see how fast you can turn in to a fish, asshole,” she said and checked the underground tunnel. Thankfully, she didn’t see any more Shifters around because, frankly, she was beat. Her shoulder hurt like hell, her hands were battered and bleeding, and she had a headache that would kill a horse.