No Rest for the Wicca (9 page)

“Yes, we pretty much do, and you would do well to remember that little fact.” He reached out and touched the tip of my nose with his forefinger. An electric tingle shot through my body, all the way down to my toes.

I wonder what he’d look like naked?

To cover my embarrassment, I swiped at my cheeks with the heels of my hands. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s been a long, tough day.”

“I should say so,” he clucked his tongue. “You spent the morning eradicating a particularly stubborn daemon, then you learn not only has your cousin’s best friend bought the farm, but your cousin herself just missed becoming a corpse.”

  He trained those eyes on me. “It certainly has been an extremely trying day for you.”  He motioned to the bartender. Jake set another Scotch in front of him, pointed to my near-empty mug. “Refill?” he asked.

I held the mug out to him but Cole shook his head, placed his hand over the lip of the glass. “Ms. Hawkes is cut off, Jake. I need her with a clear head tomorrow.”

I stared at him. “Do you mean…”

“Report to my office at City Headquarters at oh-eight hundred,” he said. He removed a snakeskin wallet from the leather jacket he wore, slapped a fifty down on the bar. “That should cover our bill, with a nice tip for Jake.” He eyed me again. “You’re positive. You won’t change your mind tomorrow and try to back out of this, will you?”

I lifted my head. “No. I-I’ll see it through.”

“Good,” he smiled. “I advise you to return home, get a good night’s sleep. I’ll call Gilley, make the arrangements. Tomorrow you’ll meet my superior,” he grinned. “And if you think I’m a handful, wait till you get a load of Commander Stone.”

I got up early the next morning, changed into light sweats and a tank, and did a quick two mile run down the winding road to the beach and back. When I returned, I spent an hour in my office doing high-kicks and leg lifts. I changed into simple black denim pants, white cotton shirt, no jewelry save for my watch and a pentagram Xia’d given me for my twenty-first birthday tucked between my breasts. A light breakfast of yogurt and oatmeal and I hustled out the door and into my convertible, heading toward the business district of Central City.

The building that housed Special Forces offices was a far cry from the worn-out and faded one PSI operated out of. Cone-shaped and made of some impenetrable material resembling smoky glass, it rose like a majestic sphere on the corner of
Park Street
, overlooking Central City Park. I stood for a moment to take several deep breaths.

What’s with the nerves?
It’s not like you’ve never faced high-ranking officials before, girl?
Calm down.

I had an uneasy feeling the fluttering in my stomach could not entirely be attributed to my impending meeting with Commander Stone. Those black, mesmerizing eyes appeared in front of me again.

“That’s how he got me to agree to this,” I muttered. “Damn those Inheritors. Even when they don’t use glamour, they use it.”

No, Morgan.
Cole St. John had nothing to do with your decision.
You, girl, just can’t turn your back on someone who needs your help, living or dead.

Or on a good mystery.

I hunched my shoulders in my good leather jacket and walked up the massive granite steps and into the lobby.  Done in a spectrum of light and dark blues, knock-offs of oil paintings by the likes of Picasso and Monet dotted the walls. Thick chairs and sofas in a soft, buttery-colored leather were a sharp contrast to the thick brown shag carpeting. The heels of my boots easily sank at least half an inch into the plush material as I made my way to the receptionist’s desk. Carved of granite in the shape of a lion, it cut an imposing figure. The girl behind it spoke in low tones into a headset perched atop a shining, bullet-shaped cap of russet hair as she looked at a monitor. Apparently a multi-tasker, she gave me a brief nod as she reached for a message pad with her left hand, while the fingers of her right continued to fly across the keyboard, not missing a beat. I chuckled inwardly, thinking the girl, whose nameplate read Chandra, could definitely teach Danny a thing or two. His idea of multitasking consisted of eating a coffee roll while he typed reports with his middle finger.

Her call finished, she pushed the pad off to one side, removed the headset in a graceful motion. She smiled, white teeth glistening against skin the color of rich caramel cream. “May I help you?” she said, in a voice rich with an accent I couldn’t quite place.

I cleared my throat, feeling a little self-conscious. “Morgan Hawkes,” I said. “I’m here to see—“

One perfectly manicured finger flew up in the air. “You’re the woman from PSI. Yes, I have it right here—“ she whipped a piece of paper from a Velcro board next to her monitor. “Just one moment, please.”

She slipped the headset back on as her Mocha Pink lacquered nails flew over the telephone pad. She spoke softly into the mouthpiece, turned to me with a smile.

“Commander Stone and Special Agent St. John are expecting you.” She extended the paper to me. “Go right on up, Ms. Hawkes. Twentieth Floor.”

I swallowed. Of course, their offices would be on the top floor. They were high-ranking respected officials. “How do I—“

She pointed straight ahead and I saw the bank of elevators running along the left wall. I blanched. I’d always hated those small metal cages.

“Take the middle one,” she advised. “It’s express, and the ride is extremely smooth.” Her voice dropped one octave. “Helps when you have a fear of enclosed spaces.”

I gave her a sharp look. This time when she smiled, I noted the overlong incisors. I folded the paper, slipped it in my pocket. “Inheritor Vamp?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Danubi. Our mind-melding abilities put Inheritors to shame.”

I moved off, wondering how a paragon of efficiency like her would be received in PSI Headquarters.

The elevator ride turned out to be just as Chandra’d predicted, smooth and swift, with none of the bumps and jerks I’d come to associate with our trusty department lift. I stepped out, this time into thick rose-colored shag carpeting, and looked around. A long hall stretched in front of me, a water cooler at the end. Since no one stood there to meet me, and I had absolutely no idea where in Hell to go, I decided a drink wouldn’t hurt. Just as I started down the corridor, a door to my left opened. I glanced over and immediately sucked in my breath.

Cole lounged against the doorjamb, looking remarkably savvy in a navy-blue jacket and pants clinging to every inch-and I do mean every inch-of his muscular body. “Good Morning, Ms. Hawkes. You’re early.”

I shrugged, unable to tear my gaze away. “Sorry. It’s a bad habit I’ve been meaning to break.”

He laughed. “The Commander had an emergency meeting. Shouldn’t take too long. Come on,” he inclined his head. “We can wait in my office.”

I stepped over the threshold and bit my lip to keep from crying aloud. My gaze took in the soft, muted yellow walls, the artfully arranged landscapes, the desk carved of fine ebony, obviously the centerpiece of the room. I walked over to stand in front of one of the banker’s bookcases that lined one wall.

“Pretty classy. Not what I expected.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow quirked upward, and I detected a definite hint of amusement in his tone. “What did you expect? Gleaming tripods with black candles, portraits of nudes, their soft column of throat exposed, perhaps a coffin in the corner?”

“You’re a barrel of laughs, Agent St. John. Of course not.” I jammed my fists into my jacket pockets. “No, I expected something a bit more…Spartan, perhaps? Utilitarian, that’s the word.” I cocked my head to one side. “More like you.”

Those magnificent lips parted in a half-smile. “You see me as a Spartan type? A warrior? Well, at least it’s a step up from bloodsucker.”

I took a step away from the bookcase. “I’ll tell you what I didn’t expect. I didn’t expect you to have an office done in soft hues, nor a bookcase filled with—“ I ran my finger along some of the leather-worn spines. “Classics.” I tried to keep the edge of surprise from my voice, but failed. “
Keats, Complete Works of Shakespeare, Complete Works of Poe, O. Henry
.” I cut my wide-eyed gaze to him. “I’m impressed.”

He smiled. “As would your cousin Xia be, I imagine. She’s fond of the classics as well, correct?”

“Yes, and how—never mind.” I held up two fingers, a peace sign. “Special Forces background checks are extremely thorough.”

His eyes flashed again, an emotion I couldn’t quite discern. “Extremely.” He motioned to a soft leather chair. “Sit, Morgan. We might use this time to get better acquainted.”

“You mean there might be something about me you don’t know? Amazing.”

I slid into the chair. He perched himself on the edge of the desk, picked up a brass paperweight in the shape of a pyramid and fingered it. “Contrary to your beliefs, we at Special Forces do not pry into anyone’s background. But we have to be thorough when we employ someone. Cuts down on the risks of infiltration.”

“I can understand it,” I said. I crossed my legs at the ankles and stared down at his rug, a soft brown and beige Burburry. “You people have pretty plush digs here. I’m used to scarred hardwood, coffee-stained desks, and crime scene photos on the walls. I have to say I’m impressed.”

He leaned forward.  “I imagine it would take a lot, wouldn’t it?’ he said softly.

I dragged my gaze away from those eyes with an effort. “A lot what?”

It came out a seductive hiss. “To impress you.”

I shifted in the chair. “Really not. Truth to tell, I’m quite easy.”

Both eyebrows went up. “Are you now?”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Great balls of Hades, I didn’t mean it to sound like
that.
”

“Like what? A seductive invitation?” He made a quick motion with his wrist, as if to brush off an unwelcome fly. “Don’t worry, it didn’t.”

I bit my lip and almost had a suitable retort ready when the door opened. A prim-looking woman, sixty at least, gray hair styled short and neat in a dark blue suit stood on the threshold.

“
Agent St.
John.”

“Martha.” He smiled at the woman, glanced at me. “This is Martha Beswick, Commander Stone’s right hand, left hand, sometimes even a foot.”

A light tint of pink crept up the side of the woman’s neck. “Honestly, Agent St. John,” she murmured. “You exaggerate.”

“Not at all. If anything, I’m underplaying your importance.” He slid off the desk, straightened his jacket. “I take it the Commander is ready for us now?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Thank you, Martha.” He extended his arm to me. “My dear. Shall we brave the lion’s den together?”

I shrugged his arm away and got to my feet. “I can see it now. Working with you is gonna be a real blast.”

He grinned. “There’s one way of looking at it.”

Cole and I followed Martha down the hall to a massive set of carved double doors. She swung them open wordlessly, motioned for us to enter.

“The Commander will be just a moment,” she said. With a brief look at me and a smile for Cole, she moved off. I took a moment to study the surroundings.

The office walls were painted a plain beige, and several abstract portraits were scattered across them. The carpet was a deep, rich pile, a warm brown, and the matching chairs were wide and looked comfortable. The massive cherrywood desk positioned right in front of a picture window took up one entire wall and afforded an excellent bird’s eye view of the park and surrounding buildings. In one corner of the room stood a separate console and work station. The station looked to be made of carved ebony. A tiny teak figure sat just to the left of the monitor, almost hidden. A closer look revealed it to be a large bird, wings spread. My lips curved upward. A hawk, perhaps? Well, well.  Maybe this could be an omen my luck was about to change.

It m
ust be nice, to have a Commander’s rank, prestige…and salary.

“I’m sure it is. Who knows, someday you might find out.”

I glared at Cole as he touched my arm. He chuckled. “When you’re done gawking, have a seat.”

My nostrils flared. “I’m not gawk—“ I began, but I stopped abruptly as a door at the far end of the room opened. The woman who emerged appeared no bigger than Xia, yet she exuded an aura of importance, respect and, yes, power. She wore a simple navy suit, crisp white blouse open at the collar. Her only accent was a simple silver chain looped around a slender neck that gleamed in sharp contrast to her coffee-colored skin. Thick black hair sat wound tightly into a French bun at the nape of her neck.  Her eyes were gray, the color of the sky on a dark, stormy day, and her lips, painted a soft rose color, were full and unsmiling. She crossed the room to stand in front of us, extended one perfectly manicured hand to me as she slid her steely gaze to Cole.

“
St. John
. I assume this is Hawkes?”

“Yes.” He rose. “Morgan Hawkes, may I present Commander Stone.”

I took her hand. Firm handshake, warm grip. Definitely not a vampire.

She cocked her head, apparently studying me. “Not what I expected,” she said at last.

I felt a sudden flare of temper. “Begging your pardon, neither are you, Commander,” I shot out.

Her eyes narrowed. “You expected a man, no doubt?”

I looked at the tips of my black leather boots. “Well, yes.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Sit, the both of you.” She moved with a panther’s grace to the leather chair in back of the desk, settled in. Cole eased his lanky frame into one of the two chairs. I still remained standing.

Her head snapped up. “Sit, Hawkes. Don’t stand around like an awkward teenager on her first day in a new school. Although I imagine all this must seem pretty intimidating to a PSI—what’s the title again? Oh, yes.” Those full lips twisted into a half-sneer. “Paranormal Investigator.”

I slipped into the chair next to Cole. Commander Stone’s gaze settled on me, penetrating, unwavering. I frowned. She didn’t seem like a were, either.

“Wondering what sort of paranormal I am, eh? What’s the matter, Hawkes? Is it so improbable to think the Special Forces Commander might be—heaven forbid—a human?”

I met her gaze. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but considering what you have to deal with on a daily basis, and your level of responsibility, I’d say the probabilities the Mayor would entrust this job to a total human would be one in ten million.”

“That’s all?” She leaned back in her chair. “Try one in ten billion, Hawkes. This isn’t a job for pussies.”

Something clicked. “No, but I guess a Morph can get pretty far.” I sat up a little straighter in the chair. “Vesuvian Shapeshifter or Mercurian?”

“Neither. Adelphi.”

I nodded. “Strongest breed. I should have guessed.”