Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) (12 page)

She swallowed hard and then straightened up, steeling her shoulders. He wished she didn’t have to be so tough. “Maybe I ought to request Fulsom for my partner.”

He was so caught up in his regret, he missed the tease in her tone. “Well, there’s no reason he couldn’t be your partner, if that’s what you want. I can talk to Reynolds–”

She put a hand on his arm and stopped him. “I was kidding. Fulsom’s an asshole. I like you a hell of a lot better.” She looked at the doorway of the building behind her. “This is my friend’s place. Would you mind waiting with me while I call up to her. She’s not expecting me.”

So, not a boyfriend. Thank god. Although, possibly a girlfriend, if he was wrong about her sexual orientation. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, she was off-limits. “Sure, I don’t have anywhere else to be.” And there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He’d never felt that way with Frankie, he realized, as he watched Liza dial her friend and chat with her. He’d cared for Frankie, and he’d had a good time with her, but he’d always been counting the minutes. How much time did he have to put in with her to meet the requirements of a good boyfriend? How soon could he get back to working on his latest case, or get to the gym to work off some of his stress? Frankie had never been able to calm him the way a good workout could. But standing there, watching Liza, he felt his breathing go easier and his mind relax. The girl was already like a drug to him and he didn’t even know her.

Then she was smiling and waving to him. She disappeared into the building and he watched her go, one hand raised to wave goodbye, and that sense of calmness she’d given him vanished. He had to help her be okay. He wouldn’t let her become a tool for an organization that had no concern for her well-being. If he hadn’t met her, he might even say SPA was doing the right thing. She could solve cases and save lives. She could make a huge difference. But he had met her and he wouldn’t let that happen to her if he could help it.

The next morning, when Sloane’s alarm went off, he had to force his head off the pillow. He’d gone to the gym after he’d left Liza, to figure out how to play out his plan to save her and to clear his head of her. She might make him feel calm when she was around, but he knew he couldn’t get emotionally attached. So he’d stayed at the gym until two, until he felt like he could stick to the plan and not think about her. After only three hours of sleep, it was way too early to be up. The sun wasn’t shining, which, with electricity rations, meant he’d have a cold shower and have to get dressed in the dark, which he hated. But he needed to speak to his grandmother, and she was always up before the sun.

He dressed in his usual business casual attire and was out the door in record time. He made it the three blocks to his grandmother’s house and knocked on her door, flashlight in hand. Since the climate crisis had caught the world unprepared, the seas rising and the earth warming much faster and sooner than even the most aggressive scientists had predicted, the world had gone into extreme conservation mode. Alternative fuels needed to be put into play and people were working on it, or so they said, but with helping all the people in the world who’d been devastated by the rising sea and rebuilding businesses and infrastructures, the alternative energies weren’t getting funded or developed as quickly as they should. Everyone agreed, however, that humans couldn’t risk putting more carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and making things worse, so the rations had been instituted. Street lights no longer lit up the night and electricity could only be used from sunset to midnight in the summer and sunset to ten in the winter.

His grandmother answered on the second knock, dressed in a shimmery blue sundress that had to be vintage since nobody manufactured with synthetics any more, her hair in a tidy bun, her make-up neatly applied, and her eyes bright and alert.

“Well, Sloane, dear, how nice to see you. Won’t you come in?”

Sloane leaned in and gave his grandmother a hard hug that made her chuckle and slap him on the back. “Be gentle, I’m an old woman.”

He followed her into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. She had candles, homemade, burning on the table and on the kitchen counters. A solar-powered crock pot was merrily bubbling with something that made Sloane’s stomach rumble with hunger. She’d probably had the crock out in the sunlight all day yesterday, storing energy for her meal today. “So why are you here? Coming to cancel on our Sunday dinner?”

“No, Gran, I’m wondering what you know about banshees.”

“They’re extinct,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She didn’t trust the people he worked for and, he was pretty sure, she didn’t trust him. “I don’t know anything else about them.”

“Well, I’ve met one. She’s half banshee anyway.”

Gran’s eyes met his and flashed in the dim light. “Do they know about her?”

He stared at his reflection in the window as though someone out there might be able to help him. He knew better than to try to lie to his grandmother, but he hated telling her anything that made her dislike him or SPA any more than she already did. “Yes, I brought her in for questioning and they took a blood sample.”

He’d anticipated the slap on the back of his head, but it still smarted. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?”

“She knew things about a case she shouldn’t have known unless she was involved.”

“So you threw her to the wolves? And now you’re coming to me asking for more information to give them?”

He reached up and took her hand. “I’m not going to share anything you tell me, Gran. I want to help her. I want to make up for throwing her to the wolves.”

She sighed and sat down at the table next to him. “Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

He told her and she listened, her gaze intense, sympathy etching her face. As a full-blooded siren, his grandmother had the ability to lure any man she wanted, and it had earned her more than a few enemies among other women. She was a good person and Sloane had often imagined she would be surrounded by friends if it weren’t for her fae nature. There was a time when she had lived in a tight-knit group of sisters, like the mermaids did, but her sisters had all died and she was the only one left in North America. She’d had three husbands and Sloane was sure she could have the company of a lover if she wanted it, but she chose to live alone. His own mother had wanted nothing to do with her mother or her heritage, which is why Sloane hadn’t known about his siren blood until he’d started at SPA. He’d gotten to know his grandmother shortly after.

“A dreamer, huh? I don’t envy her that ability, I can assure you.” His gran patted his hand and got up to put a plate of cinnamon buns on the table. He had to be at work in fifteen minutes, but no one seemed to notice when he was on time and he needed to eat. He took a cinnamon bun and relaxed, knowing his grandmother couldn’t be rushed.

“Agent Rice, we are aware that you met with Liza Simmons last night. We are also aware that you took her to speak with one of your mermaid friends.”

His boss, Henrietta Reynolds, and her skittish lackey, Ernest Gardner, faced him from across an antique wood conference table. He’d been dragged into the meeting as soon as he stepped into work, twenty minutes late. He’d known right away what they wanted. When he’d met with Liza he’d known it was likely they’d put a tail on her in case she tried to run, but he hadn’t seen anyone he’d recognized at the restaurant and the risk would have been worth it, even if he had. There were several ways he could play it and he took his time to reconsider them and make sure he’d chosen the right one before he answered. It helped that he knew Reynolds, a small-minded, high-ambition woman who wanted nothing more than to be wealthy and powerful, hated to be kept waiting for anything. Rumor had it she’d been demoted to SPA because she’d tried to use sex to move up the ladder. Sloane didn’t believe the rumors, but she’d obviously pissed off the wrong people and had no sway with any of her superiors. If there was anyone who wanted a transfer out of the division more than he did, it was her, and, since she had no say in when or if he got his transfer, he enjoyed antagonizing her whenever possible.

Reynolds sighed heavily. “Spit it out, Rice. It’s hardly rocket science.”

“I went out for dinner and it just happened to be the restaurant where Miss Simmons works. She expressed to me an interest in the agency and I offered to answer whatever questions she had.”

“You were seen holding hands with her,” Ernest said, practically giddy with the possibility of nailing Sloane to the wall. Sloane figured Ernest was still mad about the time he switched the sugar with salt in the kitchen and Ernest had given Reynolds salt laced coffee. The left side of Sloane’s mouth turned up and Ernest glared at him, like he knew what he was thinking.

“She’s a friendly woman,” Sloane said. “I was having a bad day and she was comforting me.”

“Right, I’m sure friendly thoughts were all—”

“Enough, Ernest,” Reynolds spat. “Why did you take her to the mermaids? You know it’s against our rules to expose humans to the fae.”

Sloane knew that was where he could really get in trouble. Reynolds might not have the ultimate say in his transfer, but if she nabbed him for breaking the cardinal rule, he’d be out on his ass. He wasn’t supposed to know about the results of Liza’s blood test. “She said she already knows about the fae, right? She told me she’s got banshee blood and her lawyer told her about the existence of fae. She wanted to talk to Mel, because of some dream she had, but I told her not to mention the dream.” He snorted. “Who puts stock in dreams? She just wanted to meet a mermaid. I know it’s not normal procedure, but she really wants to be an agent and I think she’d be a good fit.”

Reynolds eyed him, assessing him with the speed of a bloodhound scenting prey. “Don’t you mean a good fit for you, Rice?”

Sloane widened his eyes and let his jaw drop. “A good fit for the agency. Look, we’re short on agents, you know that. Here’s a woman with fae blood and she
wants
to be an agent.” The fae division of the department had been staffed by fae in the hopes that the general population of fae would welcome their assistance and policing and not rise up in revolt. The fae didn’t revolt, but they didn’t exactly leap at the idea of working for a government they didn’t trust. The fae trusted very few of their brethren and almost no humans.

“I’ll see about that when I meet with her today. I would advise you to keep your distance until a decision about her placement has been made.” Reynolds sighed. “I also want you to stay away from the mermaids. We’ve been ordered off the case and I don’t want anyone thinking you’re still working it.”

“What? When did that happen? What about Louella?” Sloane knew Reynolds wasn’t a fan of the mermaids, but he didn’t believe she’d allow them to be murdered with no repercussions for their murderer.

“Louella’s body was found late last night and the coroner’s report is the same as the others, electrocution by eel. My—”

Sloane was on his feet in an instant. “Why wasn’t I told? That’s my case.”

Reynolds rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Agent. It’s not your case anymore. The order comes from the White House.”

Sloane sat down hard. He could argue with Reynolds, but he couldn’t argue with the chief of Homeland Security. “I want to tell, Mellita myself.”

Reynolds’ expression softened just a bit. “Of course. I understand.”

“While we’re here,” Sloane said. “I was wondering if you’d given any more thought to my request for a new partner.” He and Fulsom had worked out most of their differences, but if Liza was brought on board, he wanted to be there for her.

“You withdrew that request two months ago.”

“Yes, well, Fulsom and I’ve been having some differences of opinion lately and, if Liza is brought in, I’d be willing to partner with her, train her.”

Reynolds eyes lit, like she’d finally figured him out. “You want the credit for recruiting and training her, don’t you? It would look good on your resume.” She stared at him, like she was considering his offer, but he knew he already had her. No one liked to take on a trainee and there he was volunteering, making less work for her. “She’ll have to go through the same training courses as everyone else, and that’ll be six weeks. After that, I’ll place her with you if she agrees to it.” Agents in the fae division were typically fast-tracked through training and Liza would be no different. Reynolds started to stand, then stopped and glared at him. “You do understand that you are not to sleep with or date your partner, right? This isn’t some elaborate scheme to seduce her is it?” Reynolds had clearly been burned by some asshole in the past, but in general her hunch wasn’t a bad one.

“Of course.”

She nodded and stood. “Good.”

*LIZA*

“Good Morning, Ms. Simmons.” Miss Priss Agent Reynolds was seriously beautiful enough to be a super-model and the hand she extended to Liza was perfectly manicured and laughing at Liza’s chipped nail polish. Liza smiled brightly and didn’t hold the rudeness of her hand against her. She hadn’t liked the woman in the interrogation room, but maybe she’d been putting on her own bad cop routine. Liza sat down in a large, ornately carved chair and smiled at the agent. Ellison sat down next to her and placed a hand on her thigh under the table. He looked sleepy but happy, and Liza couldn’t wait to grill him about his night with Marcy.

“I apologize for my behavior yesterday, Miss Simmons. We are now convinced that you had nothing to do with the death of the woman on the beach and that you had no knowledge of your fae condition.”

“Condition?”

Agent Reynolds dropped her gaze to the table and her cheeks pinked. She cleared her throat. “Status.” She raised her gaze to meet Liza’s. “That said, now that your status is known, you have an obligation to use your abilities to assist the government and the local authorities as needed.”

Liza and Ellison had discussed her rights before the meeting, so she didn’t even look to him for help. “Agent Reynolds is correct, Liza,” Ellison said, probably for show as much as anything else.