He was right about that.
Jake pressed on. “But you don’t know. None of us know anything other than that his loyalties are in question. I’m not the only one who feels this way, either, and you know it!”
My mouth went dry. My heart was pounding with a fear that had nothing to do with physical danger. I’d really hoped Jake was the only one working against me. If he was telling the truth, and he believed he was, then the situation might be worse for Tom than I’d imagined. When we’d first started seeing each other I’d had no idea that being with me was going to cause him this kind of trouble. But even if I’d known I wasn’t sure I’d have done anything different. I was pretty sure I was in love with Tom. I sure as hell didn’t want to lose him before I knew for certain. But if some of his pack mates had their way, I just might.
“We aren’t going to discuss this here.” Tom’s voice was deceptively smooth, but I could sense the anger beneath the calm words. “And we don’t have time to waste if we’re going to make it to the meeting on time.” He turned to me then.
“I’ll call when I get back.”
“Do that.”
I didn’t make any move to kiss him goodbye in front of Jake. Tom gave me a sad little smile to let me know he appreciated the thought, but pulled me close. “I think they already know I kiss you, Katie,” he said teasingly. With that he moved his mouth over mine.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. He took my mouth, muscles in his mouth and jaw working with almost bruising force until I opened my lips and let him in, his tongue tangling with mine. I moved my hands to his chest, sliding underneath the jacket. I felt his heart pounding through the thin fabric of his shirt. I forgot where we were; forgot Jake and Rob were watching us. My whole body ached with the need to touch and be touched by this man. When he pulled away, I let out a small involuntary sound of regret. I would’ve staggered if his arm hadn’t been there to steady me. He smiled. It was obvious he was pleased that I still reacted to him this way nearly every time we kissed. Jake growled, and the sound made the hairs all over my body stand on end. Both Rob and Tom put themselves between Jake and me once more.
“We’d better go.” Tom didn’t look at me when he spoke. His eyes were all for Jake. It wasn’t a friendly look. “I’ll see you after the meeting.”
“See you then.”
I watched them go, my body seemingly frozen in place. I’d known I cared about Tom, almost from the beginning. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much I cared. They say you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. I just hoped I wasn’t about to find out.
I don’t know how long I stood there. Long enough, at least, for the hallways to clear and the clerks to lock up their offices for the night. The building was nearly empty by the time I started making my way slowly to the elevators in the main hallway. The light shining through the tall windows had taken on the blue and pinkish tint of sunset. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice the two men who stood in a shadowed corner beneath the state and federal flags that flank the entrance to the city council chambers until they stepped forward, into the light.
“Good afternoon Ms. Reilly, I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet. I’m P. Douglas Richards.”
I tensed immediately. He was right, we hadn’t met. But I’d heard of him. Doug Richards was the new queen of the Denver hive. They’d brought him in from New York City. He was short, probably five feet five, but he had a runner’s build: strong and wiry. His face was all sharp angles, with a prominent brow and heavy silver eyebrows over a beakish nose. He wore a heavy wool coat unbuttoned over a suit of expensively tailored silk in a shade of charcoal that exactly matched the color of his eyes and looked great with his salt and pepper hair.
Standing next to him was a man who needed no introduction—at least not to anybody who’d ever looked at the sports page of the newspaper: Lewis Carlton, former bad boy of the NBA. He stood a solid seven feet two, had a shaved head, and wide expanses of his coffee-colored skin had been tattooed. More to the point, he was built like a brick wall. He wasn’t wearing a coat, or even a warm-up jacket. He stood in the halls of justice in a white tank top and white warm-up pants with navy piping. Every inch of him was rock solid muscle. He looked me slowly up and down, his gaze assessing. It was positively scary, and I wished to hell I was wearing my leathers and had found a way to get through the metal detectors with my weapons. And I was still wearing heels, damn it!
“I see you recognize Lewis.”
“Mr. Carlton, Mr. Richards.” I greeted them politely. After all, if they’d intended to attack me, they could’ve done it. I’d been ripe for an ambush. “To what do I owe this… honor?”
Lewis Carlton smiled, deliberately flashing an impressive set of fangs that hadn’t been there back when he was playing power forward. Shit.
“We have a business proposition for you.” Richards said we with that special emphasis that told me he was referring to the hive rather than himself and Lewis.
“And if I don’t want to do business?”
He smiled pleasantly, showing his own fangs. “Then Carlton here is going to challenge you to a little game of oneon-one—without a basketball. Right here. Right now.” He used Lewis’s last name. Then again, after all the years of hearing him referred to that way on television play-by-play it’s how I thought of him, too. Well isn’t this just ducky. I opened my senses and knew, without them saying a word, what they wanted. The hive hadn’t stolen the eggs. They wanted me to find out who had them so that they could get them back.
“You’d be better off hiring a detective.” Why pretend I wasn’t connected? They knew better. The statement wasn’t a lie, either. Lying cost me my status. But more to the point, I believed it. If the Thrall hadn’t been the ones to steal the eggs, and they truly wanted them back, they should hire somebody who would know what in the hell they were doing.
“No.” Douglas’s voice was firm. He didn’t elaborate why and blocked me out when I popped in to find out. I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t have the proper connections, experience, anything, to do this sort of thing. The last time was a fluke. I’m just a simple bonded air courier.”
“Perhaps you don’t have the proper connections,” Doug agreed, with a slight nod that reminded me a lot of my attorney. “But you have access to those who do. And through you we can observe and participate.”
Oh fucking goody.
A smile twitched at the corner of Carlton’s mouth and his dark eyes sparkled for an instant. I wondered if he’d heard the thought. He might have. Like it or not, my psychic abilities had grown even stronger after my last encounter with the Thrall. I find myself hearing things I didn’t mean to, and responding as though they’d reached air. The confrontation with the wolves a few minutes ago was just another in a long line of incidents over the past few months. Before he’d left town, Henri Tané had started working with me, teaching me how to control my gifts, which are quickly becoming a curse. Even since returning to Haiti, he’s kept in touch, contacting me mentally once a week to see how I’m progressing. Our last conversation had been almost three weeks ago. It had ended with me smashing an alarm clock into the wall in frustration—a bad habit, but cheaper than drinking. He had accused me of blocking my own abilities because I’m not willing to accept them. I probably wouldn’t have been nearly as angry if there hadn’t been at least a bit of truth to the charge.
A few days ago I received a package via FedEx. It was from Henri and contained several books dealing with psychic phenomena and a letter warning me that if I didn’t control the gifts, they would control me. He suggested that when I was ready and capable I contact him.
Richards’s voice brought me back to the present. He spoke to me with the condescending attitude I see a lot of bosses use with underlings they consider beneath them. I gritted my teeth and held my tongue, but it certainly wasn’t easy.
“Unfortunately, there is a deadline involved, Ms. Reilly. Without implantation or cryogenic preservation, the eggs will only be viable for a week to ten days. You are to find and return them to us before they perish.” He took a deep breath and continued. “We will, of course, pay your customary fee for your time.”
He took the two steps between where he stood and a glass display case of trinkets from various trips around the world made by the mayors of Denver throughout history. He set his briefcase on top of the glass and opened it, pulling out a bulky 11x13 padded envelope that had my name emblazoned on it in black block letters. He handed it to me, along with his business card. The front of the card had the printed information for his downtown law office. On the back, in that same neat block print, was a cell phone number.
“Keep in touch. Don’t make Carlton track you down.” He reached over, closing the case. He nodded to Carlton and the two of them strode across the hall to the staircase. Carlton stopped at the top of the stairs. He turned, giving me one last assessing look before following Doug down the stairs and out of sight. As I listened to their retreating footfalls I wondered just what in the hell I was getting into. I left the building through the main doors on the second floor. It meant I had to go down a long set of stone steps in my high heels, but it put me on the same side of the building as Civic Center Park and the last stop of the mall shuttle. I’d save a lot of time if, rather than waiting for a cab, I just walked the couple blocks from the courthouse to the station and took the shuttle.
Normally I would have just taken a short cut through the park, but my encounter with the Thrall queen and his oversize flunky had made me realize just how vulnerable I was in my current outfit, and it was nearly full dark. So I took a slightly longer route, crossing Colfax, walking quickly and with attitude across the various cross streets until I reached the bus stop.
I waited beneath metal and plastic awnings that looked vaguely like umbrellas and turned up my blazer collar against the icy breeze that whipped through the skyscrapers. The white fluorescent lights reflected oddly off the black and gray stone that formed the building. I heard the rumbling of a bus motor, and watched one of the cross-town express buses make its way up the ramp from the underground garage.
If I’d arrived a few minutes earlier I might have caught the outgoing shuttle. I could see it moving down the street, only a block or so away. But I’d missed it. So I either had to wait a few minutes for the next one, or walk the distance in uncomfortable shoes. I decided to wait.
I wanted to be home. Home, for me, was a converted brick warehouse in Lo-Do, the opposite end of downtown from where I was currently standing. I’d bought the property back in the days when the neighborhood was bad and property was cheap. It had been structurally sound, but in sorry shape. Still, it was all I had been able to afford with the savings I had accumulated from my career as a professional volleyball player, and my portion of the inheritance from the death of my parents. It was taking a lot of work to convert it into lofts. But it was work I loved, and was good at. It really bothered me that because of my injuries, and lack of funds, it was taking me so long to finish. Even with the renovations half-done the building had been appraised at more than four times what I’d paid for it. I’d been lucky rather than smart. The once derelict area of lower downtown had become über trendy. Now expensive restaurants, fern bars, and lofts compete for space, butting up against the seedy old remnants of the past. The last traces of daylight smoothed into a deep sheet of black as the late stragglers who’d worked overtime in their corporate offices wandered up to join me in my wait. Eventually our patience was rewarded. The shuttle made its way back around. It rang its bell, the doors opening to disgorge one or two passengers before the rest of us climbed in. I grabbed a seat in the back, my purse and the envelope in my lap. I stared blankly out the window as the bell rang and the bus jerked into motion.
It was a slow ride from one end of the route to the other. We passed all the landmarks, The Pavilions, the clock tower, the Cheesecake Factory, several local microbreweries, and a couple of art galleries. Every so often the bell would chime, and the bus would come to a stop, picking up or disgorging passengers. I watched as a mountie rode his patient horse down the opposite side of the mall, keeping an eye on the street kids who hung out in doorways or leaned against the kiosks that had closed and locked up for the day.
I sat on the uncomfortable bus seat, thinking about Tom and his meeting with the pack; about Carlton Lewis and the package in my lap; about the unknown someone who managed to break into the hospital to steal the eggs of an insane vampire; and even about the court case. Not one thing on my mind was comfortable or pleasant. I almost wished that way back when, I’d made my way into the corporate maze like so many of the people I knew. Almost. I still valued my freedom too much. Besides, I was a smart ass. With my mouth I wouldn’t have made it long. The bus pulled to a halt. I’d reached my stop. As the bell rang and the doors whooshed open I rose to my feet. I stepped down onto the pavement and started the short walk to my building.
I entered through the parking gate, rather than through the front door. The front lobby is beautiful, with an art deco feel to it. That elevator serves all the apartments. But during the remodel I’d left the old freight elevator in place. It’s big, noisy, and opens directly into the garage, and into my apartment. It’s my own private entrance, and private was what I needed right now. I was in no mood to meet up with any of the tenants. God knows how I’d react if one of them had a complaint.
I’d locked off the freight elevator this morning when I left, so I had to use the key to get it running. As I pulled the gates closed and hit the button for my floor I closed my eyes and told myself to concentrate on the positive. It wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Yes, I’d gotten out of the situation with Richards without getting hurt, but I don’t like being threatened. I particularly didn’t like being successfully threatened. I rode up to the apartment in the freight elevator, telling myself I’d been sensible—there had been no way I could have survived a fight with Lewis Carlton unarmed, It didn’t make me any happier.