“There’s household security and then there’s personal bodyguards. Humans are easy to kill. Preternaturals not so much.”
“How are you involved with Gibraltar?” demanded Wisniewski.
“Can’t say. Client confidentiality.” It was hard to stare her down through my sunglasses. But the rest of my expression was equally stony. “I’m investigating something for him. The details are only his to disclose.”
“Olivia, look at this.” Hardwicke used her first name. Wisniewski glared, but the black agent didn’t notice. She was too busy pointing at the monitor. Then Hardwicke looked up at me. “There’s a woman in the background. She was there before the black Cadillac dropped off our rich guy. Hard to make her out though. Sunglasses and a hoody pulled over her hair.”
I walked around the desk to peer at the footage. I hadn’t noticed the woman. It was a busy street. People walked to and from the beachfront businesses all day. A lot of them with sunglasses because it was sunny Southern California.
Hardwicke was right. The woman wasn’t dressed in the same styles I liked to wear. But she was hiding the same parts of her body. Arms covered by the hoody. Hands covered in gloves. Eyes hidden from sight. Too much similarity to be coincidence.
“Know her?” asked Hardwicke.
No hard edge. No accusation. Just curiosity. Good cop to her partner’s bad cop. Hopefully not an act.
“No. I didn’t even notice her when we reviewed the footage.” I reached past her arm, careful not to come in contact with her skin and rewound the image. The mysterious woman didn’t disappear until I’d scrolled back nearly an hour. “Looks like I have a stalker. Unless she’s law enforcement.”
Hardwicke shook her head. “Could’ve been personal surveillance. You have someone interested in who you meet with? Or your comings and goings?”
“Not that I know of.”
I kept my face expressionless. We were both thinking it. The woman in the hoodie was a succubus. Just like me. I’d never met another one of my kind. Seen one, sure. Years ago. Not that they’d let me talk to her. I’d born silent witness to her execution in Texas with mixed emotions. She’d murdered five men before they caught her. Five that they could prove. I suspected there were a lot more they hadn’t found. If my appetite was any measure.
“She didn’t leave the scene until she heard the sirens. Probably not part of the kidnapping.” Hardwicke looked at Wisniewski. “But you never know.”
Wisniewski nodded. She apparently hadn’t come to the same conclusion. Her response was indifferent. “We’ll have undercover cars patrol the neighborhood. See if we can find our mystery woman.”
“Let me know if you find her. I’m kind of curious now.”
I didn’t look at Wisniewski for confirmation. Hardwicke was the more cooperative. The black agent nodded. But I’d provoked her suspicious nature. Hard to be a cop of any flavor and not be suspicious of most things.
Wisniewski stood away from the monitor to stare at me. “We’ll pull Thrace’s file. Does he have a pack that might know something about his enemies?”
I shook my head. “No. My understanding’s that he isn’t affiliated with anyone these days because he’s gay.”
They’d find that out on their own. By volunteering the information, it would look like I was cooperating. Which I was. Just not as much as I could’ve.
Hardwicke didn’t miss a beat. “He got a boyfriend? Husband?”
Gay werewolves didn’t appear to be a big thing to the agent. Or maybe she was just that professional. Either way, it was another tic in her favor. I’d help her in the future if I could.
I shook my head. “I know nothing about his love life. We’d just met this morning.”
“Here?”
“At Gibraltar’s villa. Part of my confidential business.” I smiled. Wisniewski didn’t smile back.
“If we get Mr. Gibraltar to okay it, you’ll talk to us? Tell us everything you know?”
Hardwicke stood up as a Hispanic man came into the room. The last of the four agents. Guess he didn’t like being left on his own any more than I thought he should.
He was shorter than the women. Dressed in a similar nondescript suit. If the FBI had a height requirement, he had to be at the very low end of the threshold.
“Hey there, Ybarra.” Hardwicke tapped Janet’s screen. “Transfer this video to our server.”
The man sat down with just a cursory glance at Janet and me. I saw the wedding ring. It didn’t keep him from glancing at my breasts more than once as he settled into the chair.
I wasn’t bothered. I framed them for that purpose. Looking wasn’t offensive. And it kept people from accidentally being enthralled by my eyes. It bothered Hardwicke, however. She moved in between his eyes and my bosom.
“Miss Savage? If he consents?”
“Sure, Agent Hardwicke. If Gibraltar gives me permission in writing, I’ll tell you everything.”
“In writing.” Wisniewski soured up again. “Why in writing?”
“So that he can’t sue me or accuse me of violating his trust. People have to have faith in me in order for me to help them.” I folded my arms beneath my breasts. Ybarra had leaned back and the movement distracted him. Hardwicke didn’t notice so I kept their attention on me. “Until then, ladies, I can’t tell you anything more.”
I turned to walk into my office. Wisniewski grabbed my shoulder. She was wearing gloves, but she was sill careful to only touch the fabric of my blouse. “I’m not done with you.”
“Then follow me into my office so that I can sit down and get comfortable.” I didn’t wait for a reply and pulled out of her grip. I could feel her bristling anger at my back like a summer storm.
Once I’d settled into my chair, my ankles on the desk, legs crossed at the knees to hide my panties, I stared up at her. I knew she wouldn’t sit down. Law enforcement officers and CEOs were trained in power posturing. Standing over someone as a form of intimidation. I simply smiled.
“Tell me about the dead goats.” I blinked, my smile wilting. She saw my reaction. It was her turn to grow smug. “Didn’t think we’d notice? Satanic ritual?”
“It’s not that. I was just surprised that you’d waste time on something as irrelevant to the case as dead livestock.” I grabbed my office phone and started dialing.
“Who’re you calling?”
“My ACLU attorney. Reporting you for harassment and bigotry due to my preternatural status.” I held the receiver to my ear.
Her expression turned puzzled. Nervous. “How is asking about dead goats harassment?”
“It’s about me. Not your case. Obviously. What other reason could you have for asking? Hello, Grant?” I stared at her as I spoke into the phone. “I’d like to file a complaint against an agent of the FBI.”
“Alright! You freakin’ win!” Wisniewski’s eyes widened a little too much in panic. I was betting it wouldn’t have been the first complaint she’d received. Maybe mine would’ve been the one that got her fired. Her reaction suggested as much.
I stared at her, silent for a few seconds. “Never mind, Grant. I look forward to lunch next week.” I hung up, absently removing my beret and tossing it onto the receiver like a rack. I echoed my warning to Gibraltar. “You get one chance, Wisniewski.”
She glared at me. Sweating. Eyes wild like a crazed horse. Like I was provoking a physical reaction in her. It wasn’t the phone-call that had unnerved her. It was me. Her eyes kept going to my horns.
“What’s your problem, Wisniewski? Why do you loathe me so much? Is it preternaturals in general? Or did I do something to you personally?”
She tried to close down her expression. But I could see something in her eyes. Resentment. No. Religious fervor. I’d seen it often enough in my life. Not so much in my actual church. My congregation was much more reasonable. Part of its appeal.
Her gaze dropped to the cross nestled in my cleavage and she touched the scars on her face as if remembering something. “You’ve already
threatened to file a report for asking personal questions. I’m not going to give you reasons by telling you how I feel.”
“I’m asking. You get a pass. Whatever you tell me is because I asked. That’s different than you just jumping all over my ass for no reason. I won’t file a grievance for answering my question.” I raised my brows. “Well?”
She finally blurted out her resentment. “You make a mockery out of Christianity.”
I’d been right. I played with my cross, not looking at it. Keeping an eye on her. She seemed to realize she was touching her face. Forced her hand down with a grimace.
“You think someone like me can’t believe in God?”
Her gaze flickered to my horns. “You don’t. You wear the cross like the rest of your clothes. Hiding beneath the skin of good and decent people. While in truth? You’re a monster.”
I sighed. Returned the beret to my head. Normally I didn’t respond to or interact with people who felt like she did. Life was too short. And too many people used God as a reason to hate. They hated interracial marriages. Gays. Islam. The members of my church agreed with me. Those kind of people weren’t really Christians. That didn’t make them any less repugnant.
In Wisniewski’s case, I couldn’t just walk away. My private eye license wouldn’t allow it. I was going to be working with her on Thrace’s kidnapping whether I liked it or not. Better to get our conflict out in the open than letting it fester unsaid.
“I take my faith seriously, Wisniewski. I attend Sunday meetings. Say my prayers like a good little girl.” I smiled, sardonically, trying to reach her through humor. “Although, admittedly my pastor says I don’t go to services often enough.”
“Why, because you’re that evil?” She stared at my beret as if she could still see the horns through the heavy woolen fabric.
I laughed with outrage. “No, because I’m in his congregation. He says that to anyone who doesn’t go at least three times a week. Honestly, with a busy life, that’s a bit excessive for most people.”
She stared at me. Fingers twitching as if wanting to reach for her gun to avoid touching her scars. “You hide the horns and your tail. And God knows what else. That doesn’t hide what you are.”
“I understand that you find this hard to believe, but I’m not the spawn of the Devil. I’m not evil. Yes, I’m not quite human. And yes, I feed off the energy of living things.” I paused, trying for common ground. “You eat meat, Wisniewski?”
Her eyes narrowed as if trying to figure out why I wanted to know. “Steak and potatoes, kind of girl. Why? Does that improve the flavor of the people you drain?”
I held my breath and counted to three before I could speak without sounding angry. “Animals die to feed you. Animals die to feed me. Neither one of us can help that fact. It doesn’t make you evil. Doesn’t make me evil, either.”
“The way you look, how can you say you believe in God?”
Her question was irrational. I threw it back at her. “How can you believe that I don’t? What, am I too pretty?”
She touched her scars again. Brushed her gloved fingers along the ridges like a relief map. She didn’t answer but there was pain in her eyes. Pain behind the anger. I’d struck a nerve.
“What happened to your face?”
I asked it gently. No heat in my voice. Trying not to be cruel. I expected her to tell me to go to Hell. Instead, she just bowed her head in shame, storming out.
Hardwicke stepped into the room. She’d been leaning against the doorway. Listening. “You have a reputation for being trustworthy.”
I stared at her without responding. Waiting for her to make a point.
“So I’m going to trust you with something I shouldn’t.” She glanced over her shoulder. Took another step into my office. “Her baba was a hardcore religious zealot. Over the top fanatic. Fire-and-brimstone the-world-is-full-of-nothing-but-sin kind of witch.”
“Baba? She’s Ukrainian?”
Hardwicke nodded, impressed that I was familiar with the term. “Parents came here as political refugees. Brought her baba—as if anyone that cruel should be a grandmother.”
“What does that have to do with her scars?”
“Her baba told bedtime stories that would give adults nightmares. About horned demons that take the virtue of anyone they can. About how good girls could grow those horns if they do bad things. That evil creatures were always evil. No matter how they behaved, once God turned his back on them.”
I tried not to get impatient as I repeated my question. “The scars?”
Hardwicke looked over her shoulder again before continuing. Her voice softer. “Olivia was a pretty girl. They lived in a tightknit Eastern European community in Pennsylvania. North of Philadelphia. Overcrowded apartments. People practically sleeping on top of each other. Multiple families in the same units. Her baba caught an older boy showing too much interest one night. He’d crawled into her bed. Held her down and tried to touch her. She was eleven.”
I stiffened, swinging my legs off the desk. “He raped her?”
“Tried. The old woman woke up on the other side of the room. Saw what was happening. Beat the boy with her cane until his family rescued him. From what Olivia said, he screamed so loudly, they thought he was being tortured. Olivia’s sheets were splattered with blood from the injuries to his back.”
I shrugged. Slightly pleased by the grandmother’s brutal reaction. “That’s pretty rough. Sounds like he deserved it.”
“Maybe. Olivia would’ve probably been okay if it had ended there.” Her face grew pale with grim dismay. “It didn’t.”
“The grandmother left those scars?” I could hardly speak. My delight at the boy’s beating turned into a sickening weight in my gut. I’d been involved in several missing children cases. Discovering that someone in a position of trust had done unspeakable things to them. Too many times. That didn’t make it any less horrific.
“She poured boiling water on Olivia’s face. To, quote unquote, keep the sin away. If she wasn’t pretty, she wouldn’t tempt boys to do these things.”
“The grandmother blamed her.” I grew angry and felt my skin warm. Ice trickled inside my gut. A warning sign. I pulled my power back.
“What the fuck was that?” asked the man at Janet’s desk.
“We get drafts,” I heard Janet say, although I knew she’d felt it, too. Covering for me like a good personal assistant.
I focused on Hardwicke’s grim expression. “I’m sorry. But I understand now. She sees me as a personal affront to the evil her grandmother spoke of. She was a good girl punished simply for being pretty. And here I have horns and people respect me for my work ethic. That sort of thing?”
Hardwicke nodded, offering a smile of gratitude. “That’s the only reason I’m betraying a confidence. I’m trusting you to make this less painful for her. Your reputation says you protect women. Not just that you keep your word.”
“I earned that reputation because it’s true.” I sighed. “Fine. I can’t stop looking like I do. But I’ll try not to rub anything in.”
“Whatever you can.”
Hardwicke looked into the other room again. Then trotted out without another word as Wisniewski came back in. She’d been walking the hall from the length of her strides. Oblivious to the conversation I’d been having with her partner.
Her eyes were red. She tugged on her jacket as if it were misaligned. Recomposing herself before speaking. “I let my personal views get the better of me, Miss Savage. My apologies.”
I heard Hardwicke speak from the other room. “And?”
Wisniewski frowned, annoyed. “And I appreciate you not reporting the incident.”
I smiled, leaning forward. “It happens to the best of us. So, what else can I answer for you? Outside the limits of client-investigator confidentiality?”
She studied me suspiciously. Her voice was thick with emotion. “Why are you suddenly being cooperative?”
“I clearly upset you because of my faith. T
hat wasn’t my intention. It’s also none of my business to ask about whatever sadistic person scarred you. My apologies.”
I took a deep breath. Angry just thinking about what her grandmother had done. I wanted to hurt the old lady. That’s how pissed off it made me. I counted to three again. Something I’d been doing a lot lately. Took another deep breath.
I was able to produce a genuine smile. “I want to find out who took Anton Thrace. And Vincent Gibraltar. We should be allies. Work together. Not adversaries.”
Wisniewski wasn’t happy with my friendliness. She suspected something else had changed. But she didn’t know what. I could tell she was the sort of person who didn’t like not knowing. I could relate.
Her eyes were hostile again. “Trying to use psychology against me? Be the bigger person? Turn the other cheek? The Devil’s been known to hide behind the image of Christ.”
I laughed again. “Never met Old Nick. Not even sure I believe he’s evil incarnate. Granny used to say that she thought he was a trickster. Meant to tempt us. Not destroy the goodness inside us. Anything bad we do is already inside us. Sometimes put there by horrible experiences we encounter.” I fought a moment of sad nostalgia. I missed the loving, nearly-blind old woman who’d raised me, even after all these decades. “I tend to agree with her interpretation of things in the Bible. Regardless, I’m not a minion of evil. I’ve never killed anyone to feed.”
I kept smiling but my heart grew heavy. I had killed. More than once. Especially as a young girl. When men had tried to enslave me. To use for darker things than I was willing to share with Wisniewski. No matter that she’d been in a similar situation at least once.
It wasn’t a lie. Yes, I’d killed them. But not to feed. Self-defense.
“That’s what your file says. The government keeps pretty close tabs on its PIs and preternaturals both.”
“She’s not reporting you. Try harder,” called Hardwicke firmly, with a touch of kindness.
Wisniewski’s mouth twisted, lips pursed together as if trying to keep the words in. “Alright. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m sorry I prejudged you.”
“It isn’t the first time I’ve experienced it. Won’t be the last.” I adjusted the cross on my chest so that the chain wasn’t twisted and left it alone. “They were lunch.”
The Billionaire's Heir (Sucubus For Hire Book 1) Page 14