“I could work with him if I needed to,” he said with a slight nod. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be asking me all this if you didn’t have something up your sleeve. What’s going on?”
Henry seemed to transition from casual and laid-back to all business in an instant. “The higher-ups want Zachariah to do a courier job, but they don’t want him to go alone. They suspect him of having done something he shouldn’t have—Director Hartley didn’t give any details—and I think you’re supposed to observe, report, and maybe try to get him to admit any wrongdoing before they decide whether to promote him or discharge him.” He smiled wryly. “He, of course, doesn’t know that. He thinks it’s something potentially dangerous and that you’re there to give him backup. Which you are, but he shouldn’t need it, and it’s not the exclusive reason you’re there.” He passed Ashton a thin envelope across the desk; Ashton took it and set it on his lap without looking in it. “That’s your reservation information for the Westin. We’ll reimburse you for the costs after the assignment is completed.”
Ashton nodded. “Sounds good. What are we delivering?”
“It’s classified,” Henry said. “Not even Zachariah will know. He’s not supposed to open the envelope.”
“Noted,” he said with a nod. “So when does this assignment start?”
“As soon as you walk out the door,” Henry replied. “Zachariah will have details on when and where the drop will be made.”
Ashton nodded again and dropped both feet to the carpet then pushed himself to a standing position. “You need anything else from me?” he asked. Henry shook his head and waved at him, gesturing that it was okay for him to leave, so he tapped the edge of Henry’s desk once with his knuckles as a way of saying his farewells and stepped into the hallway.
Ashton wasn’t wholly surprised to find Zachariah already standing in the hall, leaning against the wall directly across from the office door, his hands tucked into his pockets. A yellow envelope was stuck underneath one of his arms, pinned against his side with his elbow, and he had an almost roguish smile on his face.
“I take it they told you?” Zachariah said without bothering with greetings.
“Yeah, they told me,” he confirmed. He stood awkwardly across from Zachariah, unsure what to do with his hands. “What do you think of all this?”
Zachariah’s eyes slowly scanned him over from head to toe, taking in every inch of him, and Ashton fought to not squirm under the man’s scrutiny. “I think that, clearly, we won’t have to wait as long as I thought to go get those drinks we discussed.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” Ashton agreed. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking down at the carpet before shifting his eyes back to meet Zachariah’s. “So are you ready to get moving? Or do you need time to, ah, pack?”
“Nope, I’m already packed,” Zachariah said. “Leftovers from my trip to Prague. I barely even used anything out of my suitcase.”
Ashton nodded his understanding; he was in the same situation. “Well, then, what do you say we go ahead and get out of here? We’ve got an assignment to take care of.”
* * *
When Damon returned to headquarters later that night, his muscles sore from the fight he and Tobias had engaged in, he expected the building to be in an uproar. He didn’t know why he always felt that way after working one of his secret assignments with Tobias. It just felt like every time they went out to slaughter the latest beastie that they’d discovered in the confines of Washington, D.C., their secret would have been discovered while they were out, and the entirety of headquarters would be buzzing about it.
But headquarters wasn’t buzzing about it, because as far as everyone in the building knew, there wasn’t anything to buzz about, and the lack of gossip gave him an odd, disconcerted feeling. He shook it off and took the elevator to the fifth floor, spending the entire ride wavering between visiting with Brandon or with Henry. By the time the elevator stopped, he’d decided on Henry—he tended to be much more level-headed than his younger counterpart and would give him less flack than Brandon would—and headed straight for his office as soon as he disembarked the elevator.
Henry was sitting behind his desk, his fingers tapping away at his computer keyboard, when Damon knocked against his doorframe and stepped inside.
Henry looked up from his computer with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Director Hartley,” he said, his voice equally as surprised as his expression. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m not on your schedule,” Damon said. He dropped into the chair across from Henry’s desk uninvited, but he knew the other man wouldn’t dare kick him out. “It’s after dark and you’re still here.”
“It’s after dark, and so are you,” Henry replied. He snagged a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper then recapped the pen and added, “And you appear to have blood on your shirt cuff.”
Damon examined the dark stain on the cuff of his otherwise white shirt and scowled. “Damn it, I liked this shirt,” he commented. “Now I have to burn it.”
“Still no solution for getting blood completely out of clothing?” Henry asked. “You’ll make a mint selling it to agents here if you ever figure that one out.”
“That’ll be my second career after I retire from this one,” he joked. He crossed his legs and reclined more comfortably in his chair.
“So what brings you to my office this evening?”
“I was passing through, decided to check in and see how the meeting with Ashton went,” he said. “And hoping you’ve heard how the meet up with Brandon and Zachariah went.”
“I haven’t heard anything,” he said. “I just know that I met with Ashton, and he took it well. He had no objections.”
“And he’d have been the first to object if something had gone wrong on their assignment,” Damon mused.
“Exactly,” Henry agreed. He motioned to Damon’s sleeve again and added, “So how did your night go?”
“Tobias and I had a grand time slaughtering about a dozen vampires over in some warehouses near Buzzard Point,” he said.
“No alphas?” Henry asked, and he shook his head and relaxed further in his chair.
“Of course not,” he said. “What are the chances we’ll actually see an alpha vampire in Washington, D.C.? They seem to avoid the heavily populated areas, probably because of a higher chance of being seen doing their dirty work.”
“Besides which, it’s impossible to kill an alpha vampire,” Henry said.
“Just because something’s never been done before doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” Damon reported. “It just means we haven’t found the proper way to do it yet.”
“Well, maybe one day we’ll stumble across the way to do it,” Henry said. “Though it’ll probably end up killing all of us in the process.”
“Maybe so,” he agreed. “Maybe it’ll be the future generations of fighters who will be the ones to take down the alpha vampires once and for all.”
“We’ll see,” Henry said.
“Did Tobias go over everything with you?”
“He told me a little bit,” Henry said. “It was more of a gloss-over than anything else, but I think I’ve got enough of a handle on what’s going on that I’m aware I need to keep my mouth shut.”
“Good, because I have no idea if any of this is even going to work,” Damon confessed. “I want to see how they handle this little bit of an assignment before I invite them into the fold.” He tugged his shirt cuff up his arm slightly, enough to get a look at his watch. It had a speckle of blood on it, and he grimaced; he was going to have to clean it when he got home. “It’s about time I head out to get some sleep before the morning business starts,” he said. He pulled his sleeve back down and pushed himself to his feet, smoothing down his suit jacket and buttoning it out of habit more than anything else. “You’ll call me if anything changes before nine a.m.?”
“Of course,” Henry assured him.
“Good.” He gave Henry a tight smile and left the office, s
kirting around the chair he’d been sitting in and nodding to Henry’s secretary Vanessa in greeting as he exited the office.
Damon had every intention of going to his house, climbing into bed, and passing out for as late as he could get away with before he had to come back in and deal with whatever fallout had happened in the time since he dared to try to get some rest.
Five
On their walk to the lockers near the agent workstations where they’d each stashed their luggage before their meetings with their handlers, Zachariah kept sneaking glances at Ashton, curious what the man was thinking—really thinking—in the face of their new joint assignment. His need to know what Ashton thought was driving him absolutely mad.
“So what’s on the menu first?” Zachariah asked when he couldn’t stand the silence from his new partner any longer.
Ashton looked at him and blinked in confusion. “Menu?”
“Menu, to do list, whatever you want to call it,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand.
“Oh.” Ashton still looked puzzled as he hauled his suitcase out of his locker and shut the door, leaving the key in the lock for the next person to use. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never really worked with someone else on an assignment before. This is all new ground for me.”
“Me, too,” Zachariah said. He dragged his own suitcase out of its locker and deployed the handle so he could roll it behind him. “Well, we’re supposed to stay at the Westin. Why don’t we get to the hotel and get checked in then figure out the next step after that? Things might be easier to plan once we’re out of this building.”
Ashton nodded, his expression crossing from confused to uncertain. Neither expression looked like it belonged on his face. “Yeah, that’ll work,” he agreed, and he followed Zachariah to the elevator and down to the lobby in silence. The entire time they were moving down and out of the building and to the sidewalk to wait for the cab Ashton had summoned with his cell phone, Zachariah had an odd sensation that their roles were backward, that he should be the one following Ashton rather than the other way around. After all, he was the senior field agent between the two of them, a mind-boggling level ten, while Zachariah was a measly level four. Not even a level four, though, his brain reminded him. Only almost. The thought was enough to make him want to punch things.
The taxi ride was equally silent, with Ashton spending the majority of it staring out the window at the passing cityscape and Zachariah playing with his phone, checking his emails and replying to messages, since Ashton didn’t seem game for conversation. It was only after they’d checked in and gotten to their room—situated in prime estate on the twelfth floor—that he dared to break the silence between them.
Ashton was lurking by the windows, staring out through a two-foot gap in the curtains at the scenery, as Zachariah dumped his suitcase on one of the two queen-sized beds in the room. “How’s the view?” he asked casually, unzipping his bag to double-check that he had everything he needed in it.
“It’s a view,” Ashton muttered tonelessly. He pushed away from the window and approached the bed closest to it almost warily, attacking his suitcase’s zipper with more vigor than was strictly necessary. Zachariah watched him, eyebrows raised, for just a moment before clearing his throat and almost laughing as he looked up with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You look a bit…panicked.”
“I’m not panicked,” Ashton said. He pulled a pair of black pants from his suitcase and shook them out, as if trying to rid them of wrinkles. “I’m just…” He trailed off, scowling at the pants, and then said, “I’m a little lost, okay? I’m out of my depth here.”
“You’re not the only one,” Zachariah said. “I think this is new for both of us. Just don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out, and then we’ll be some of the only agents in the business who have experience working with each other. Maybe that’ll help us get some really good job offers later on.”
“You always look at things from the bright side?” Ashton asked with a raised eyebrow. Zachariah gave him a one-shouldered shrug and a smile.
“It’s a habit,” he admitted. “So I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. What do you say we get some decent, clean clothes on and head down to the hotel restaurant for a bite to eat? Maybe we can start to figure out all this crap and what we’re going to do.”
Ashton studied him for a moment, as if he were trying to read his mind, and Zachariah did his best to keep his motives off his face. He wasn’t going to admit to him—out loud, at least—that he did in fact have an ulterior motive for wanting to spend time with him in a somewhat non-assignment-related setting. The man was attractive, with an equally enticing mind along with the gorgeous exterior package, and Zachariah wanted to dig into it as much as he could, discover what made him tick. He wasn’t sure why he felt the compulsion to find out whatever he could about the man. Maybe it was the physical attraction. Whatever it was, he had to figure it out fast and maybe do whatever he could to eradicate it before it interfered with his work. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t risk any distractions, not with a promotion riding on this.
The thought that the Agency didn’t allow agents to fraternize with other agents barely even crossed his mind.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Ashton finally said, and Zachariah fought to suppress the satisfied grin that wanted to cross his face. “I’ll even be nice and pay for it.”
“Hey, I am most assuredly not one to turn down the offer of free food,” Zachariah said agreeably. He dug into his suitcase and found a clean pair of jeans and a black button-up shirt to change into, but Ashton’s scoffing noise made him look back up again.
“You can’t seriously think blue jeans are appropriate to wear to dinner at a hotel like this,” he said.
“What’s wrong with jeans?”
“You’ll look like a tourist,” Ashton said. “Just trust me, okay? Do you have anything except blue jeans in that suitcase of yours?”
Zachariah looked. “Nope, just jeans and work pants.”
“Geez, you’re hopeless,” Ashton remarked. He dug into his own suitcase and pulled free a pair of black pants, shaking them out and offering them to Zachariah. “Wear these,” he ordered. “The shirt you picked out is fine.”
Zachariah raised an eyebrow and took the pants from him. “I wasn’t aware I was working with someone who was so concerned with fashion,” he joked as he took the clothes to the bathroom to change.
“I’m not,” Ashton replied, raising his voice so he could be heard. “I just like to look professional, that’s all.”
“Yeah, if you say so,” he said. He kicked off his shoes and jeans and then stepped into the pants, sliding them up to his hips and buttoning them. They fit surprisingly well considering they weren’t his pants, though they were a little snug in the thighs. His t-shirt joined his jeans on the floor, and he shrugged on the button-up shirt, working the buttons as he headed back into the bedroom area to find that Ashton had already changed.
The man had a sense of style; Zachariah had to give him that much. He’d donned a pair of pants similar to the ones he’d given Zachariah, though instead of a black shirt, he wore a white one, and he looked more put together than Zachariah felt. “You ready to get some food?”
“I was ready an hour ago,” Zachariah admitted, sitting on the edge of his bed to slip his shoes back on.
“Bring your paperwork,” Ashton suggested. “We can at least turn this into a working meal so I don’t feel like I’m leeching time off of the Agency.”
Zachariah grabbed the envelope that Brandon had given him, tucking it under his arm and adding the smaller package that he was supposed to deliver to his pants pocket. Then he grabbed his room key and cell phone and nodded to Ashton. “Lead the way?” he offered.
Ashton barely acknowledged his offer as he went to the door and opened it. Once again, the silence between them was oppressive as the older man led Zachariah to the elevators
, stepped inside the first one to arrive, and punched the button for the lobby. The ride down twelve floors was equally silent, and not a word was exchanged until they reached the restaurant on the bottom floor.
Within moments of their arrival, they were seated, and Zachariah found himself sitting across from Ashton with no idea what to talk about. He set the envelope Brandon had given him on the edge of the table and picked up his menu, thumbing through it as he waited for Ashton to say something. Finally, after they’d ordered their meals—brisket for Zachariah and a steak for Ashton, no appetizers—Zachariah cleared his throat and asked, “So, what now?”
“What do you mean, what now?” Ashton asked. He sat back in his chair and picked up his tea glass, taking a careful sip before setting it back on the small napkin the waitress had put it on. Zachariah had a glass of red wine in front of him; he didn’t touch it as he raised an eyebrow at Ashton.
“I mean, what do we do now?” Zachariah clarified. “Neither of us has actually, you know, worked with an agent before. I thought maybe you’d have some ideas.”
“Well, first, I’d like to know what’s in that envelope,” Ashton said, nodding toward the yellow envelope beside Zachariah’s wine glass. “Then we can figure out our first step in relation to our assignment.”
Zachariah took a sip of his wine then grabbed the envelope and carefully pried the flap up, pulling out several typewritten sheets from inside. He thumbed through them then started to read over one silently, his eyes widening as he processed the information the envelope had contained. “Holy shit,” he said quietly. “No wonder Brandon said they wanted to send backup with me. Look who our contact is.”
Ashton took the paper and read over it carefully. The only reaction he showed was a single raised eyebrow. “What’s the package?” he asked, and though he’d been warned to not open it, Zachariah took the smaller envelope out of his pocket and tore it open, shaking out the object inside. A thumb drive fell into his palm, its plastic case scratched and scuffed but otherwise undamaged. Ashton leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting against the edge of the table, so he could get a better look at what Zachariah held. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured, his cheeks flushing red with ill-concealed anger. Zachariah was pretty sure that was the first time he’d ever heard the man swear; it sounded weird coming from his mouth.
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