The Billionaire's Heir (Sucubus For Hire Book 1)

by Michael Don Anderson

  Beverly pulled out her cell phone. I reached out a hand to make her stop. She shook her head and I pulled my hand back. Leaning back I watched her patiently. Hoping she wasn’t breaking my confidence.

  “Thompson. Link here. We get a call from the FBI about the Gibraltar kidnapping three days ago?” She listened patiently. Probably to silence. Then she started nodding. “The Director passed on that, too? No. No, I know. The Director can damned well do whatever he wants. Alright. Thanks.”

  “So it was reported.”

  Beverly nodded. “I knew Henry Gibraltar had pull. I just didn’t realize how much.”

  “He wouldn’t have mentioned the vampires to the FBI. I was thinking though, unless they’re idiots, they’d have realized the possibility from the video footage of the abduction.”

  “The FBI did suspect preternatural involvement. The Director has the latitude to pass on domestic stuff relating to preternaturals if the FBI is already investigating. I don’t get it. Normally, especially kidnappings, we’d jump on it.”

  I waited. There wasn’t much else to add on my end.

  “How much of your code-of-silence have you broken?” She watched me. Curious. No criticism. It was as if I’d let her into my inner sanctum by sharing anything at all. She knew I didn’t betray client confidences.

  “Technically, nothing. Confirming a suspicion that vampires might have been involved is probably stretching things. But I trust you. And by law, I’m required to divulge certain facts. My clients always sign contracts acknowledging that.”

  “But you didn’t tell the FBI?”

  “No. I’m not required to tell them.”

  “Tricky. So you accept my offer for drinks and get yourself off the hook at the same time.” She started to frown.

  “No! I don’t have anything concrete yet. I’m not required to tell anyone anything until I do. But we’re friends. So I told you even before confirmation. Just so it doesn’t bite you on the ass.”

  That seemed to reassure her. She smiled and waved down Jimmy. “Another round please.”

  “The shot as well?”

  “Make it two.”

  He glanced at me and I shrugged. He trotted off, placing the order with Bryce. I watched as the handsome bartender smiled and flirted with the smaller man. They were in an on-again phase. I was glad. I liked them both. Together they were sweet and almost innocent. I could use some innocence.

  Beverly and I sat in silence, then. Thinking about things until Jimmy brought the drinks. He set them down, eyeing the second shot with disapproval. When I didn’t touch it, he strolled off to another table.

  “You know I don’t drink tequila. Ever.”

  “Who said it was for you?” Beverly slammed the shot closest to her. Then she picked up the second one and downed it. Taking a deep breath of satisfaction, she put both elbows on the table to lean in. “Alright. I can’t help you with Chandler. Asking around’s not gonna be possible.” She eyed the file meaningfully. “What you have there is it. Why he’s in the States or dealing with Gibraltar could be any one of a dozen things. International threats. International terrorism. International espionage.”

  “I get it. Anything Gibraltar’s company might be doing that could affect the U.K.” I finished off my first Malibu and Coke and began working on the second. A thought popped into my head. A long shot, considering how much time had passed. “Could MI-6 be keeping tabs on an English vampire?”

  Beverly put her Midori Sour down. “The rake of the Atlantic Street Revenants?”

  I watched her reaction keenly. She knew something. “That’s the one.”

  “We keep tabs on them. We know he supplanted the previous rake.” Her eyes widened. “Who now works for Gibraltar as personal security.” She played with her glass, watching my lips. “He wasn’t involved with keeping the kid safe was he?”

  “No. Just the old man.” I felt silly referring to Henry Gibraltar as the old man when I was about ten years his elder.

  “MI-6 deals with preternaturals the way we do. Tracks their movements. But the rake—what’s his name again?”

  “Chilton.”

  “Right. Chilton’s been here a long-ass time for MI-6 to still be on him.”

  “Vampires play the long game. They live a long time.” I didn’t have a point. Only reminding Beverly that keeping an eye on Chilton this long might be relatively nothing to the vampire.

  “That actually may be reassuring.”

  “How so?”

  “Director Goldberg might not have passed on these cases for Gibraltar. He might’ve done it for MI-6. They’d have informed us of any long term operations in the States. Not for just anyone to see. Top level eyes-only kind of clearance.”

  “Which you don’t have.”

  “Not yet. One promotion away.” She raised her glass as if to toast. “Which is why I needed to know if asking about Chandler was going to bite me in the ass. Guess I can honestly say more about the anonymous call when I write up the report tomorrow.”

  “You complained that I’d only talk about work once we started. But I have a sort of personal question.”

  Beverly frowned and took a swig of Midori. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

  “That I have a question?”

  “That it’s personal.” She chuckled wryly. “Does Bianca Savage have a personal life?”

  “It is. And maybe I don’t. But—are there any new succubi registered in Los Angeles County?”

  “I’m on the to-be-notified list. Don’t you think I’d have said?”

  “Just checking.” It was my turn to frown and take a sip.

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. No sense in keeping anything from her. She’d know about it eventually. And we were friends apparently. Better ones that I’d thought before tonight. That made me happy. I wanted to keep at least one person in that category. “Someone was watching my office from across the street. We caught her on surveillance. Hoodie and sunglasses. Too warm for the hoodie. Great way to keep skin from touching or being touched.”

  Beverly sat up, alert despite the hint of glaze in her eyes. “Checking out the competition?”

  “I dunno. Thought maybe it was someone with some answers.”

  She shook her head. “You’re one of three registered succubi in the entire United States. Living ones.”

  My voice came out unexpectedly bitter. “How many have you executed again?”

  “I didn’t execute any.” She looked unhappy.

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to be an ass. Eight of us have registered since the law went into effect. And five have been killed not long after. Wasn’t sure if the numbers had changed.”

  She eyed me uncertainly. My apology hadn’t been enough. “Two weren’t killed by law enforcement.”

  “Doesn’t make it better. Okay. Maybe a little better. And yeah, I know. The three executed had all killed people.” I touched Beverly’s hand with my gloved fingers. “I understand why they were killed. Raised without mothers the way I was. I had Granny Oglethorpe to thank for being a good girl.”

  “That’s not true. Marcy Mason as she called herself was a spree killer. Raised by a mother we still haven’t caught. Marcy only registered just to learn how the system worked.”

  “I read the reports. Only no one understood why she went off the deep-end after bothering to register. She could’ve slipped away. Moved to another state. Another country. But instead she chose to kill everyone at the Georgia Preternatural Confines. Other preternaturals as well.”

  “It was a suicide-by-cop kind of deal.” She didn’t look certain.

  “No. No, she killed everyone within a quarter mile of her. I think she expected to get away. The fact that she didn’t doesn’t explain her motive.”

  I smiled and shook my head. Beverly and I both liked solving mysteries. We also liked to argue cases. As much as she’d implied that our disagreement was all my fault, I knew better.

  “Homegrown preternatural terrorist, Bee. If the boy next d
oor can turn to evil like that, why not someone already on the fringes?”

  “I don’t like it. Doesn’t make sense to me.”

  She laughed, no longer sad or hurt at my earlier snipe “That’s because you’re clever. And you don’t think like a terrorist.”

  “Why doesn’t that sound entirely like a compliment?”

  “Because you’re looking to be contrary. You have eaten recently haven’t you?”

  “Of course.” But she was right. I’d been on edge the entire time we’d been in the bar. Usually I could repress my hunger without too much effort. I’d spent more than sixty years practicing. On the other hand, I’d never fasted this long before.

  “How’s Janet?” Beverly kept her gaze focused on my sunglasses. Possible considering her reflection in their dark surface.

  She’d changed the subject so drastically that I blinked at her. “Did she call you by any chance?”

  “No. Should she have?”

  “No. Just curious.”

  We watched each other in comfortable silence. I enjoyed my drink, catching Jimmy taking a phone number from a muscular man in a button-up shirt while the man’s female companion had gone to the bathroom. He must’ve felt someone watching because he glanced at Bryce. The bartender was busy waiting on a trio of coeds. I looked away before he knew it was me.

  “Say, Bev, you have any idea what a feral game hunter is?”

  She eyed me, like she thought I was joking. Took another swig of her drink.

  I set my glass down. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You get your hands on some outdated CIA files or something?” She continued to watch me carefully. Wearing a mask. The question had triggered something. She was in law-enforcement suspicion mode.

  I shrugged. “No. The phrase came up in research.”

  “Don’t make me pull teeth, Bee. What kind of research?”

  I took a breath. Held it before speaking. “On my father.”

  She seemed surprised and chugged down the last of her drink. Sucking in air afterwards. She reminded me of some men I’d known. Occupational hazard when doing a job traditionally filled by alpha-type males.

  “Bee, a feral game hunter hunts preternaturals. Werewolves mostly. Before they had any legal protections. Specially trained operatives.”

  “Trained by who?”

  “Us.” She did a little circle of her hand, index finger pointing upward.

  “America?”

  “MI-8.”

  I frowned. “England? I’m confused.”

  “No. MI-8 was ours. U.S. military intelligence. Part of the Army established around 1917, if memory serves.”

  I leaned back, astonished. “My father was in the army? Trained to kill werewolves?”

  “If he was a feral game hunter. Which, like I said, was code for the division that went after preternaturals. Yeah.”

  “Did they hunt succubi, too?”

  Beverly frowned. “They did. Still do.”

  “So my mother could’ve raped my father and killed him to conceive me because he was hunting her.”

  “Bee! You’re only guessing.” She searched my expression. Worried. All the women in my life worried about me. That’s why they were my friends. Even if I wasn’t a good one in return. “You were born in Canada. There were werewolf troubles in the late 1930s. He was probably one of the operatives sent there to track them down. Maybe he met your mother and fell in love.”

  “Fell in love on a werewolf hunt? I know I can be a romantic at times, but I’m not a fool.” My stomach felt cold. But not from hunger. An emptiness that was pure self-loathing tried to take hold.

  Beverly’s tone grew urgent with sympathy. “Let me look into it for you. What’s his name?”

  “According to the information I have, he’s Perry Davidson. Only, it makes no sense. How could anyone have done a blood DNA comparison on him? He was dead before DNA was a thing.”

  “DNA testing wasn’t around. But blood tests were. For lycanthropy. Vampirism.”

  “What are you saying? There was a stash of his blood somewhere?”

  “Since meeting you, I’ve taken time to read into all the old stuff about preternaturals. More than the job requires. Feral game hunters had blood drawn each time they went out in the field. Retested when they came back. It’s not impossible that some blood survived.”

  I stared at her, mistrusting my emotions at the moment. “Can you find out for sure? Not having family was bad. But believing the wrong man’s my dad would be worse. That he was seduced, raped and drained by my mother is something I came to terms with a long time ago.”

  “I’ll make it a priority first thing tomorrow.”

  I smiled at her, appreciatively. “I think I need another drink.”

  “If only to make me feel better.” Beverly laughed ruefully. “I’d be happier if you could get drunk.”

  I glanced around at all the men in the bar. Many on dates or with friends. Full of energy. A wall of testosterone always held at bay by sheer discipline. Discipline that would go out the window if I was intoxicated.

  I shook my head. “No. No, you really wouldn’t.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I saw Beverly safely off in an Uber an hour and four drinks later. It wasn’t as late as I’d expected. Only because she’d been drinking especially hard. A rare night of cutting loose. Or so she kept saying. It was an excuse when she didn’t need one. Not with me. I knew she didn’t drink alone or at home. Not the way an alcoholic did.

  I was one of the few friends she had that wasn’t work-related. Which meant she hadn’t been drunk in months. I was someone safe to lose control with. And something was bothering her. Something big. But she was too professional to share. The kind of work we both did took its toll. Hers more than mine. I’d call her tomorrow when she was sober and remind her of that.

  Tonight, I still had work to do. I scrolled through my phone and called the Atlantic Street Revenants hotline.

  “Atlantic Street Revenants. How many I assist you?” The woman who answered was pleasant. Good phone voice.

  “Bianca Savage. I need to see Chilton tonight.”

  She grew cool. Aloof. Angry. “I’m not sure our rake has time for you Miss Savage. What’s the nature of your business?”

  “If I don’t see him tonight, I’ll make sure that the CIA hauls the entire coven in for failing to cooperate with law enforcement representatives.” It was an exaggeration. Beverly might be willing to stretch the law for me. But technically I was a private eye. Emphasis on ‘private.’

  “Very well. Let me check his calendar.” She was even more pissed at me for threatening the coven. Not too angry to schedule a meeting with Chilton. But apparently I’d done something wrong since I’d met them. I didn’t ask what. That would come from higher up.

  She came back, her voice clipped. “Shoreline Village in twenty. He’ll find you.” The phone went dead. I sighed. How to make friends and influence people Even sober I wasn’t very good at it.

  Twenty minutes later I stood facing the ocean in Shoreline Village. Just south of Parkers’ Lighthouse. Waiting for Chilton as instructed.

  “Miss Savage.”

  I turned. The English rake approached with a small entourage. At his right was a handsome black man in his thirties. Behind and to his left, Bonnie, the flat-chested read-head from the nightclub. Dressed more casually, she looked like she was twelve. Shorter than I realized. Freckles. Probably turned when she was barely legal. Before a final growth spurt.

  No sign of Dusty. But Rhoda was there, pushing past the redhead. And pissed as hell. “What did you do to him!”

  Chilton turned to Rhoda and she flinched, taking a step back. Her lips pressed together in silence. Against her will. Not vampire magics. Just ordinary fear.

  “Where’s Dusty?” I was disappointed the young vampire wasn’t there. We needed to have a talk. Cut off any budding infatuation before it got started.

  Chilton’s expression tightene
d. He was better at suppressing his anger than Rhoda. But not completely. Good to know in case I ever needed to see if he was telling the truth.

  “We’ll talk in a moment, Miss Savage.” He put a finger up to his lips. Motioned the black man forward.

  The dark man’s hair was covered by a cowboy hat. He wore snug fitting Wrangler jeans tucked into burgundy cowboy boots and a white button-up dress shirt. His features were model pretty, except for the masculine set of his jaw. His full lips were soft and the lower one caught on his vampire teeth.

  The intelligence in his eyes was hard. Like he would do whatever was necessary in any given situation. Not dangerous. Just practical. I’d seen the same look in my own eyes.

  I let him approach and he withdrew a small wand-like device. “Evening, Ma’am.”

  “Evening, Sir.” I matched his level of politeness word for word. Not giving away to any potential eavesdroppers that he was checking me for bugs.

  When the wand reached my beret it lighted up. No auditory signal. That made sense. Why let the listeners know they’ve been found out.

  He turned back to Chilton. The rake gave a curt nod and the man took out another device. I thought it was a garage remote-control I felt the charge of magnetic particles brush across my succubus senses.

  How had Amperdyne gotten their hands on my beret? Had they broken into my condo before arranging the sniper? How long had they been listening?

  My heart began racing as I recalled the evening. What had I said in the privacy of my office that I wouldn’t want anyone to know? Or in my conversation with Beverly? Personal stuff about my father. Public details on succubi and my suspicions about Vincent’s kidnapping. The business with the goats. That was all, right?

  I’d have to think about it. I needed to know how much leverage I’d given Amperdyne before I confronted them again.

  “It’s done.” He smiled then, his eyes still wary. “The name’s Maverick.”

  “As in James Garner?”

  He bobbed his head. “I was an extra on a couple of episodes. Ol’ Jimmy caught me doing an impersonation of him. Liked it so much he started calling me ‘Maverick’ instead of my real name. Kept it ever since.”