The Judah Black Novels: Boxed Set of books 1-3

by E. A. Copen

“What if Mia wasn’t the target?”

  I shook my head. “That makes no sense. If it wasn’t Mia, then who...” I stopped as my brain put together two seemingly unrelated facts.

  Cynthia was fae. That hadn’t seemed important a minute ago, but my brain just wouldn’t let it go.

  At the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about how someone must have engineered this attack on Mia. If Mia wasn’t the target, everything I’d assumed was wrong. It opened other possibilities, older enemies. And if I was right, this wasn’t the kind of spell just anyone could throw around. After all, it involved controlling the dead to make it happen.

  Besides, only four people had been at the tea party just before Mia got sick, and that limited my suspect pool considerably.

  I shot to my feet. “Reed, where are you?”

  “I’m sitting outside Marcus’ office, waiting to see him. After I had that realization, I thought I should warn him.”

  “And is his personal assistant right there with you?”

  There was a short pause. “She was, but it seems she’s gone in. I saw her go to the safe and get a few things out. Why? Do you know something?”

  I grabbed Sal’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Go in and check on Marcus right now, Reed.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Just do it!” Sal snarled at my raised voice and then let a breath out in a huff.

  A moment later, Reed breathed into the phone, “Lord have mercy.”

  “What do you see, Reed?”

  “Marcus. He’s...Hold on. I’ll see if I can find a pulse.”

  Sal must have heard what he said because he nodded reluctantly and said, “Go. I’ll catch up.”

  “I’m hanging up to call hospital security,” I informed Reed on my way out the door to my car. As an afterthought, I added, “Don’t let Marcus die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Marcus wasn’t dead when I got to the hospital, but that didn’t mean I could breathe a sigh of relief. Information was scarce because, like I said, unless you’re family or you flash a badge, no one tells you anything. Marcus, ever prepared as always, had even more layers of security in place. The hospital wouldn’t even confirm that he was a patient until I had a badge out, and even then, they took the time to call my badge number in and made me present two other forms of identification.

  While they were on the phone with my superiors, I managed to get in contact with a security officer who told me Eden PD had gotten involved. As soon as I got confirmation that Marcus was alive, I ran back over to Fitz and rode the elevator up to his office. The situation was delicate and the run of the mill cops wouldn’t have known they’d stepped into an ongoing political mess. To them, it was attempted murder at best. I knew better. This was about more than that. It was straight up assassination.

  I charged into the office and stopped. Reed was sitting calmly in the waiting room, speaking with a uniformed officer. Or, rather, he was doing a very good job of speaking but saying nothing, the way wise men like Reed did, and frustrating the hell out of the officer.

  “Now, tell me again what made you suspect something was wrong,” the officer said.

  Reed nodded a silent greeting to me and kept his face blank. “Officer, I’ve given you my statement. Unless you intend to place me under arrest, I think I’d better speak with my lawyer before we continue.”

  Lawyer is a magic word. Magic in the sense that it triggers a primal fear and sense of disgust in police officers. Anyone who believes in the fundamental good of the law hates lawyers because of their penchant for loopholes. The officer interviewing Reed was just young enough that he still believed in the law. He sighed, let the arm holding his little notebook and pen fall limp toward the floor, and leaned back.

  That’s when he saw me.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, you can’t be in here.” He hesitated. “Wait. I know you. You’re BSI.”

  “Special Agent Judah Black.” I offered the young officer my hand.

  “What are you doing here? Nobody called the feds yet.”

  “Marcus Kelley is a friend,” I lied. “I heard through other channels and came as soon as I could.” His eyes flitted down to the too-big, mud-stained t-shirt I wore. I cleared my throat. “You want to take me to whoever’s in charge of the scene?”

  “That’d be Sheriff Maude.”

  I bit my tongue. It was two more months until he was out and Tindall was in, but that wasn’t why I almost shouted an obscenity at the well-meaning officer. Maude had the backing of the Vanguards of Humanity. Indirectly, he was responsible for Hunter’s injuries and for Chanter’s murder.

  “Where?” I said through clenched teeth.

  The officer pointed toward Marcus’ office and I went. Maude was standing toward the center of the office, jotting something down on paper. I stopped in the doorway. “Sheriff,” I said.

  He looked up at me, his face paling. Our eyes met and he quickly looked away. “Agent Black. Who—”

  “This is my crime scene,” I said, strolling in and raising my voice with authority. “I want to know what happened, and I want to know it yesterday. Someone get an APB out on his secretary. I want it statewide. If you don’t already have guards posted on Mr. Kelley, I suggest you do it now.”

  Maude sneered at me. “We’re not even sure a crime’s been committed yet,” he said. “All I’ve got to work with is a sick vampire, a broken window, and an unreliable and uncooperative witness. I won’t mobilize that many resources to deal with that.”

  “What you’ve got is no idea what you’ve stepped into,” I snapped back. He started to speak again, but I cut him off, raising a finger. “You’ve stepped in a federal case, Maude. Back the fuck out gracefully or I’ll have you removed from the scene.”

  It wasn’t completely true. I’d made it sound like I was already working a case when the attempt happened, which I was, just not the one I wanted him to think I was working.

  Maude set his jaw and ground his teeth.

  “Get out of my crime scene,” I said.

  The sheriff was a hateful, petty man, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew I could and would force the issue if I had to. He gathered up his flunkies and they filed out. Maude stopped at the door in front of me. “This is going up the chain,” he said. “I’m filing complaints.”

  I leaned into his face until I could smell the sweat dripping down the side of his neck. “I know what you are,” I said so that only he would hear. “And I know who you’re connected to and what they did. People are dead, Maude. Unless you want that connection to be made public, you and your Vanguard friends will stay as far away from me as you can manage.”

  His face reddened. “You can’t threaten me,” he blubbered, his double chin quivering.

  I leaned back and chanced a smug smile. “I just did.”

  It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, turning my back on my enemy, but it achieved the desired effect. Maude got the message. I didn’t consider him a threat, and I was no longer concerned with his presence. He left in a huff.

  “You shouldn’t antagonize him,” Reed said from behind me once Maude had gone. “He’s almost as well connected now as Tindall.”

  “Tindall earned his stripes,” I said with a grunt and turned my head. “Give me a minute to walk it.”

  Reed stood by in silence as I walked the perimeter of the room. The wind whistled at an uneven pace through the shattered window pane. It was the loudest thing, so I went there first. Something—or I suspected someone—had broken it, which wasn’t an easy feat. Skyscraper windows are thicker than normal windows and supported by stronger frames to guard against high winds. They’re also lined with an impact resistant inner layer of clear laminate. Birds sometimes fly into them. If the glass shattered every time a robin sailed into one, it wouldn’t be very cost-effective. By the looks of the window, Marcus had taken an extra precaution. His windows were a high-grade tinted polycarbonate. Bulletproof. Whatever had gone through the glass did it with enough
force to knock the whole pane out. I went back to the place Maude had been standing. There was blood on the floor, but on closer inspection, I found there were undigested bits of food in it. The blood wasn’t from an injury, but rather, vomit. Right next to that was an empty syringe. The needle had bent when it hit the floor. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together to decide what had happened. Then again, I had information that Maude didn’t.

  “How was he when you came in?” I asked, picking up the needle after slapping on a pair of gloves.

  “Prone,” Reed answered. “Quick, rasping breaths, jerky eye movement. When the EMTs arrived, they took up that same syringe but couldn’t tell what it was he’d taken or how much.”

  “Marcus is diabetic,” I said. “His personal assistant, Cynthia, gave him an overdose of his insulin.”

  “On purpose?” Reed raised an eyebrow.

  “Very much.”

  “That’s a jump from the information I gave you,” said the priest with a frown.

  I knew it was and it was one that probably wouldn’t hold up in court. I was operating on a hunch, but so far, I had been right and it might have saved his life. Reed’s words weren’t a statement so much as a question. He wanted to know how I’d drawn the conclusion I had.

  “I’ve known something was off about Cynthia for a while, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,” I explained. “I still don’t know for sure, but sometimes I get that feeling around the fae. Marcus trusted her an uncharacteristic amount. Last time I was here, I watched her deliver his insulin.” I glanced up at the clock as I spoke and then back down, dropping the syringe to stand and pace. “Cynthia also had access to his house, which he was reluctant to give me, even to do the job he hired me to do. Yet, she had free rein to go wherever she wanted. She was also present at the house the day that Mia got sick. Separate, none of it is damning but, together—”

  “It’s enough to make her suspect,” Reed agreed. “And you are right. Marcus is paranoid. It’s unlike him to trust. Do you think he’s magicked?”

  “If he is, it’s a subtle spell, one no one’s noticed.” I stopped pacing in front of Reed. “I think the sickness that Mia is suffering from was meant for Marcus. Marcus told me that the four of them had sat down for tea, but he got called away for business sooner than expected. He never got to drink the tea.”

  Reed nodded. “You think Marcus was the original target but that Mia got it instead when she drank the wrong tea? But then why isn’t Zoe sick?”

  I scanned the wall as if it held the answer and came up with nothing. “She is. And Sal is probably next.”

  “But who would want to kill Marcus?” I almost laughed until Reed corrected himself. “I guess the better question would be who would use a fae to try and kill him.”

  Pieces were coming together. Cynthia was some sort of fae assassin. Somehow, she’d made Marcus trust her without his normal vetting process, whatever that was, and given her unprecedented access to all the important parts of his life. She tried to kill him once, failed, and got Mia instead.

  I frowned. “Also, why did she wait until today to try again if she knew she’d failed? She could have done it any time. Why wait?”

  “An assassin could have shot him point blank,” Reed pointed out. “Cut off his head or just arranged for him to meet with you on the wrong day.” He smirked at me but the smile faded quickly. “An assassin does his job and walks away clean. He doesn’t bust out windows and leave evidence. This feels personal. It’s as much about how the kill is carried out as it is about getting the job done. Someone meant to send a message.”

  The cold way that Reed spoke about assassinations reminded me that I knew he had killed. The only person I’d ever seen him kill was Andre LeDuc, but he had that air about him and he carried a big, flaming sword. You don’t carry one of those around to slice up watermelons.

  “Someone powerful,” I agreed and wished I had a full list of Marcus’ enemies. The list was likely to be long, considering his position of power. Cynthia was just the trigger-woman for someone else, meaning she was the middleman. Middle woman. Whatever. Maybe the list of enemies isn’t so long, I thought and considered the intended method. Emiko, Marcus’ dead wife, had been the vessel chosen to meet out this person’s vengeance. That alone meant two things.

  First, Reed was right. This was personal. Whoever hired Cynthia knew Marcus well enough to know how to hit him below the belt. He’d use his dead wife’s ghost to torture him to death, nice and slow. One of the most mentally anguishing ways to go, being tortured by someone you love. Emiko was Marcus’ one emotional weak spot. After all these years, he loved her with a fierceness that even I could see. He still wore the wedding ring. Not thinking, I touched the second to last finger on my left hand. I understood that connection because I still felt it for Alex. You never forget the first one you love, and you never, ever forgive the people that take them away from you.

  Second, it meant whoever was behind this was a person of great means and Marcus had wronged them. There were probably a lot of people that met the second criteria, but not many that met the first. I only knew of one off hand that met both.

  This all went back to the bad blood between the Kelleys and the Continellis. I just couldn’t prove it yet.

  Marcus was the best source for that information since I didn’t expect any of the Continellis would talk. Unfortunately, he was out. He’d be safe if he stayed in the hospital, since I’d called ahead to make sure security vetted everyone coming in and out of his room.

  In the meantime, there was something I needed to make right before anyone else got hurt. I might not have another chance to introduce Sal to his daughter, and if I was going to help her, I needed for he and I to be on the same page again.

  Reed cocked an eyebrow and frowned at me. “You have that look on your face, Judah. The one that says you’re about to do something stupid and dangerous. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Me? Do something dangerous?” I chirped in mock defense and then returned his smile. “Never.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I went back downstairs to check on Hunter. As soon as I got to his ward, I heard him shouting. The whole unit was on alert. One of the nurses was already on the phone dialing security. I waved to her, flashed my badge, and ran for the room. Two orderlies were already inside, but they were standing near the door with their hands up in a non-threatening position. It was a good thing, too. Hunter knelt on the bed, facing them with his fists pushed down into the mattress so hard that it bent under his weight. He was growling at them, gnashing his teeth. A familiar glow in his eyes told me they’d done more than just give him the green Jell-O.

  Hunter wasn’t the only werewolf in the room. Sal stood off to the side just beyond the orderlies. He wasn’t making the same non-threatening gesture. Instead, he was leaning toward Hunter, hands on his hips, and chest puffed out. He’d found a t-shirt or someone had brought him one, but he hadn’t changed out of the sweats. Hunter’s sudden fit of rage was currently directed at the orderlies, but by the way he had his body twisted, I guessed they’d only interrupted whatever Sal had done to upset him.

  “Back away,” Sal said with authority to the orderlies without looking at them. “Don’t turn your back. Don’t move too quickly.”

  “Should we get the sedative?” the one on the right asked.

  Hunter responded with a wolfish snarl.

  Turned out the orderlies were smart. They did as Sal told them. I sidestepped into the room as they backed away and Hunter didn’t even notice me. He just turned his angry werewolf gaze back on Sal and snarled again. “Stop it,” he said, his voice cracked.

  “What’s happening?” When I spoke, I made sure to keep my voice low. I didn’t know if it helped but it seemed non-threatening to me. I didn’t want Hunter to decide I was the better target. “Is he Changing?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  I looked over at Sal who was concentrating very hard on the light shining in
Hunter’s eyes. “You can stop it?”

  “Not easily.” He took a step forward.

  Hunter gave a louder roar of protest that made the sink rattle and leapt at Sal on all fours. He wasn’t a wolf but he moved like one. Sal threw up his forearm and let Hunter sink his teeth into it. Human teeth might not be as good as wolf teeth for biting and ripping into meat, but Hunter’s worked just fine. Blood dripped down from where he bit into Sal. Sal seemed even less bothered by it than he’d been by the orderlies. Hunter shook his head, growling, snarling, and grabbing at Sal. Sal had too much reach. At best, all Hunter could hope to do was brush his clothing.

  I opened my mouth to yell at Hunter and took a tentative step forward, but Sal raised his other hand in a gesture that told me to stay where I was.

  “Peace,” Sal said in a tone that strangely reminded me of Chanter. “He can’t do any damage I won’t heal.”

  “What did you do to piss him off?”

  “I came to offer him a spot in the pack.” He glanced at me, almost apologetic if that were possible with the golden werewolf glow in his eyes. “I didn’t realize he didn’t know about Chanter.”

  At the sound of Chanter’s name, Hunter dug into Sal’s arm with renewed ferocity. Sal wrinkled his nose and looked back down at Hunter. “That’s enough, pup,” he said and shook his arm a little. “Release my arm.”

  Hunter dropped like dead weight to the floor, his demeanor suddenly changed. Big tears rolled down either side of his face, and he pawed them away. “I don’t believe you! You’re a liar,” he shouted at Sal, sniffling.

  Sal squatted down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He was careful to keep his head above Hunter’s and still managed to maintain his slight lean forward. “You can smell I’m not lying, Hunter,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t lie, not to you.”

  Hunter leaned forward into him and sobbed louder. Sal blinked, looking stunned a moment before his expression warmed and he lowered his hand onto Hunter’s back. “I’ve made arrangements,” Sal said quietly. “The full moon is tomorrow and we’ll commit Chanter then. On that night, I’d like to formally induct Hunter into the pack.” Sal looked up at me.