Phoenix Aflame (Alpha Phoenix Book 2)

by Isadora Montrose

  “More like a smoking gun than the gun itself,” Harrison mused. “Where do you think he got his nest egg?”

  “You know how I feel about mystery money, Harry. Fifty thousand dollars is not in and of itself a huge amount. But it’s an awful lot to be accumulating without a known source. It’s the red flag that tells us that Sutcliffe is not lily white.” Linc paused.

  “Spit it out, Lincoln.”

  “This also ties in with some other cases I’m working on. I may be connecting dots that I shouldn’t but...I was going over a routine insurance claim that one of my people flagged for my attention. It ties into a long-running case that the FAs have been chewing over for years.”

  Lincoln was part of a group of ex-military shifters who had organized themselves into the shifter police. They pursued rogues that the authorities could do fuck all about. Hence the name. Sure the FAs took the law into their own hands. But playing judge and jury was necessary when you had shifters exercising their paranormal talents against regular folks. You couldn’t leave rogues free to murder and rape at will.

  It wasn’t even as though the cops went looking for shifters. Shifters didn’t exist. And even if the police had caught one by accident, how did you keep a rogue who could turn into an animal from just busting out of jail? Harrison had never worked for the Fuck Alls himself, but he knew that both Lincoln and Pierce had taken on assignments and cleared up some nasty cold cases that otherwise would never have solved.

  “How do you mean?” Harrison asked.

  “Gwen Tyrone found something off during a routine audit for one of our clients. Gwen’s ex-Navy. Sharp as a tack. The insurance company pays us to do random checks on claims. So many per month. Just to keep fraud down to a dull roar. Gwen’s radar went off on this one. We’ve got a deep database and she used it.”

  Harrison sat back down. This was bigger than Tasha and Becky.

  “Gwen put in the policyholder’s name and bingo,” Linc said cheerfully. “Up popped a whole flock of those small life insurance claims that are sold to the elderly. Seems there was some old guy who lived by himself, only had one nephew – who would be the named beneficiary on all seven policies. The old man didn’t have much to leave. But he compensated for it by having seven different life insurance policies. All less than six months old.”

  “Are you talking about those life insurance policies you see advertised to old folks on television?” Harrison asked.

  “Yes,” Lincoln confirmed. “They promise to pay your beneficiaries up to twenty-five thousand dollars. No medical. You just apply and they give you the policy. No questions asked. The promise is that you won’t stick your loved ones with the cost of your funeral. Or you will have a little something to leave your grandchildren.”

  “What they don’t mention is that the premiums are so high that you’d be better off sticking that money in a savings account, in case you don’t die within five years. Those the ones?” Harrison asked.

  “Those are the ones. Insurance companies love them. The premiums are extremely high for what you get. And the old folks just put them on direct withdrawal and pay them for ten or fifteen years. Either they stop paying the premiums before they die, or they take decades longer to die than they assumed they would.

  “It’s not unusual to wind up paying seventy-five grand for a twenty-five grand policy. But usually they only buy one. What caught Gwen’s attention was the fact that the beneficiary had already submitted six other claims, in five other states, on six other policies.”

  “Is that illegal?” Harrison asked.

  “Not really. Not if the policies were purchased by the person insured. But Gwen thought it was weird that someone old was buying a bunch of policies in different places, as well as paying for them out of different bank accounts. Bank accounts that didn’t seem to be used for anything else.”

  Harrison thought. “So you think the beneficiary bought these policies in his uncle’s name?”

  “That’s it. We think the nephew bought without the knowledge or consent of his uncle – which is illegal. Paid the premiums for a couple of months, and arranged for his uncle to have a car accident. The coroner in this case said it was an unfortunate accident. The poor old gentleman had a heart attack coming home from the grocery store and ran his vehicle into a pole. DOA. Because they couldn’t say that the driver was dead before the crash, the payout to the beneficiary doubled due to accidental death.”

  “Jesus.” Harrison’s breath was taken away by the sheer audacity of the scheme.

  “Ice cold, bro,” Lincoln agreed. “And it’s not the only case. The FAs think shifters are involved in arranging the accidents. Only we were stumped because the insurance money involved was too small to justify murder for hire. Hardly seemed like we had a case at all. And yet everyone who read the files had that same tingle at the base of the spine. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Harrison agreed. “And you think Blaine Sutcliffe has hired himself the same people to kill Tasha?”

  “Nope. The one he wants taken out is Rebecca. I think that’s why the fire was set in her room. He has bought insurance on Becky. Five million dollars’ worth. And the beauty part is that, as her father, he has a right to buy as much insurance as he wants.”

  “What would any father need with five mill on a little girl?”

  “Nothing. Which is why he split it into five separate policies. Each time it looks like he’s setting up a whole life policy that matures when she is twenty-one. As if he’s saving for the future – her future,” Linc said.

  “Right. He pays stiff premiums but the money vests as soon as she passes her twenty-first birthday – but if she dies before that he wins the fricking lottery. Have I got that correct, Linc?”

  “You have indeed, big brother. I plan to quietly alert the relevant companies in the morning. Let them cancel the hell out of those policies.”

  Harrison began to laugh. “Neat solution,” he said admiringly. “Think that will sort Sutcliffe out completely?”

  “With that kind of psychopath? Who the fuck knows, Harry? But at least he will not profit from murder twice.” Linc’s voice was grim.

  “Hmm. What would you think if I told you that the person who set the fire bomb in Tasha’s place left a stink in the hall, in her condo and in the stairwell – which he used coming and going?” Harrison asked.

  “I’d ask you to be more precise, Harry. What kind of a stink?”

  “Like skunk – only worse. But human too. Like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. It was strongest in Becky’s room – which is where the fire was set – and even the smell of burning didn’t completely cover it up.”

  “I’ll ask around. But it rings no bells. You ask the old man?”

  “I didn’t mention it to Dad, because the girls were sitting there with their ears flapping and we were talking about other stuff. Which reminds me, Quincy smelled it too. But Tasha and Becky did not. Not at all.”

  “You got fire bombed and you were talking about other crap?” Linc sounded bemused.

  “Tasha agreed to marry me,” Harrison bragged.

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “Congratulations. When’s the wedding?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days – no shit?” Linc had gone past bemused straight to my-brother-has-lost-his-mind.

  “I want to take all three of them back to base with me, Lincoln. Keep them safe. And after what you just said, I think I’ll be keeping guard outside the house until we leave.”

  “No kidding.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Shawn waved a hand at his squabbling family. “Hello? I’m on the phone here.” The voice in his ear made his head ache worse. Mom had thumped him a good one when she found out about the screw-up in Texas. She was pissed. Sure. When the fuck wasn’t she fucking pissed?

  He covered the receiver with his injured hand. The marks from Malik’s fucking bite were swollen and crusty with black scabs. He was h
ealing, but the damned thing still hurt like a motherfucker. Malik’s mouth was so fucking filthy he was probably going to die of sepsis.

  “Shut up,” he bellowed. “The client’s on the fucking line. Take it outside or shut up.”

  Mom’s face promised vengeance, but she stared his brothers down. Everyone shut up. Shawn uncovered the phone.

  The client was still squawking. “Three tries and you’re out, Fixer. I want my deposit back.” Stress made him shrill.

  “No names. No refunds,” Shawn said. He pushed cool into his voice. “We’ve had a few problems. But give it a few weeks. We’ll fulfill our end.”

  “I p-p-paid for an ac-c-c-cident,” the client was sputtering. Shawn could almost feel the spittle landing on his face. “N-n-not arson.”

  “Not on this line.” Shawn reminded the client. He read him a new number. “Get a new phone and call that number at eleven. You got that?”

  There was more grumbling and another demand for his money back. Shawn hung up and turned his head to glare at his family. “He wants to cut and run,” he announced.

  Malik and Dustin thrust their heavy jaws out at him. The stink of a week on the road rolled off them in powerful gusts. Mom was almost as rank. Four wolverines in one trailer was three too many. His fucking family was the reason that wolverines were called skunk bears. The three of them began to snarl at once. They accused one another and him. Mom clouted Dustin and strode across to Shawn. He pivoted in his desk chair and held her off with his feet.

  “The client isn’t the only one who wants to bail.” He held up his wounded hand. “If you had fucking followed the fucking plan we would have had a fucking accidental fire that was the subject’s own fucking fault. Tears and public service announcements about keeping fucking space heaters in good fucking repair. What the fuck did you want to rig a fucking bomb for?”

  “Trouble she’s been, the fucking bitch deserved to die hard.” Dustin defended himself.

  Mom appeared to find this an excellent fucking reason. She gave a whoop of joy and hugged Dustin and pounded Malik between his shoulder blades.

  “I just hope you fucking assholes didn’t leave no fucking fingerprints at the fucking scene.” Shawn provided a reality check.

  His plan had been simple. Go to a yard sale. There were lots to choose from. All crowded as fucking hell for the long fucking Independence Fucking Day weekend. Buy an old space heater cheap in a box with a bunch of other crap. At a fucking table where the fucking vendor didn’t have time to scratch his balls let alone look at his dumb shit customers. Melt into the fucking crowd.

  The heater had taken about five minutes to damage so it would short out the first time it was turned on. All they had to do was get into the bitch’s condo and set it up. Put it under the kid’s fucking bed. Set a timer to the outlet. And make sure the fire started when the kid was in bed.

  And what had Malik done? He had fucking turned. Taken fucking wolverine in fucking Texas. Chased down a herd of feral fucking pigs. And ramped up from the chase and the kill, gorged on raw meat, he had turned his fucking teeth on Shawn. Payback for that fucking bite outside the trailer.

  But there was a big difference between biting in fucking human and biting when you were eighty pounds of ferocious muscle behind a jawful of teeth designed to shear through bone. Wolverines were the Arctic’s answer to hyenas. They could hunt, but they usually stuck to carrion. And they had the fucking teeth for it.

  Shawn was going to be fucking lucky not to lose his fucking hand. He had sent Dustin to set up the fire instead. And what had that brainless, fucking jackass done? He had rigged a fucking fireball. Gasoline in a jar. Trigger for the spark was turning on the overhead light. And prefuckingdictably the wrong person had turned on the light.

  Instead of the fucking brat and her cunt of a mother going up in flames from an appliance gone wrong, they had some fucking Special fucking Forces hero extinguish the fire. So now the cops were looking hard at who had a fucking hard-on for Natasha Fucking Sutcliffe.

  He assumed the cops had already interrogated the client. Which was why said asshole was pissing himself and canceling the hit. They had his deposit, but online reputation was fucking everything. The fucking business was going up in fucking smoke. All because his family was a bunch of loose cannons.

  Dustin’s mouth hung open. His teeth were almost as yellow in human as in wolverine. Almost as sharp. His breath was fetid. Probably hadn’t had a toothbrush in there since Christmas. “Fire would destroy any fucking fingerprints, dumbass,” he whined.

  Translation: I didn’t fucking wear gloves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Frankie’s Harley puttered up the drive as slowly and quietly as if it was a scooter instead of a powerful souped-up hog. Frankie and Grant slipped into the house by the back door, taking their shoes off, and not bothering to turn on the light.

  “Hey,” Harrison said. “You missed the excitement. Where have you been?”

  “We went into Coal Lake to see Megan and Percy,” Frankie leaned against the kitchen counter. “What excitement? And why are you dressed to go running?”

  Harrison reported. His brother and sister listened with their mouths at half-cock.

  “Can’t even leave you alone for twenty minutes, Harry, without you getting into trouble,” complained Grant.

  Frankie looked less amused. “Have you talked to Linc about this?”

  “I have indeed, Capt. D’Angelo. He thinks Becky’s father is trying to kill her. Tasha may just be collateral damage.”

  That wiped all the amusement off their faces. Grant and Frankie exchanged a single glance. “I’ll relieve you at four,” Grant offered.

  “I’ll relieve Grant at seven,” Frankie said.

  “Be better if you stood first watch, Grant. In all the excitement, I forgot to tell you my other news.”

  “Sure, I’ll stand first watch. But you’re dressed to go running.” Grant’s voice made it a question.

  “To tell you the truth, kids, I clean forgot you existed. I thought you’d both gone home. Tasha agreed to marry me tonight. I’d rather go celebrate our engagement, than keep an eye out for that douchebag ex of hers.”

  Grant began to laugh – softly so as not to wake the house. “About time,” he said.

  Frankie leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Freshly shaven, I see. My offer still stands,” she said.

  “I’ll relieve you at four, Grant. And if you’ll relieve me at seven, Frankie, we’ll all get a little shut-eye.”

  His baby brother and sister were still laughing at him when he trotted down the hall to Tasha’s room.

  * * *

  Even after she had put Becky and Quincy to bed. Even after she’d had the warm shower that Caroline had recommended. Even after she had put on Caroline’s heaviest winter nightgown. Tasha could not stop shivering. She huddled under the blankets. She had found a heavy quilt in the wooden chest at the end of her bed and added that. But the cold was in her bones. Her teeth chattered until she clenched them. Where was Harrison?

  She had agreed to this marriage of his convenience. Surely that ought to mean she had some rights? Why was she still alone? She wanted his body around her. In her. But first she wanted to rip him a new one. Why did she feel like this? As muddled and confused and furious as a fourteen-year-old girl having her first episode of PMS?

  There was a light rap at her door. It opened. Harrison put his head around the edge. He smiled when he saw that she was still awake. He slipped into the room and turned off the overhead light. He was wearing his navy running shorts. And socks and shoes. Where the heck was he going? She sat up to ask him. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see that he had pushed aside the curtains to check her windows.

  “They’re all latched,” she said through her teeth. “The girls’ too.”

  “I know. I just did a walk-through.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and began to take off his shoes.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped.r />
  “Getting ready to have a few hours’ sleep before my watch.” He stripped off his shorts. He was commando, which was a good thing since his junk would otherwise have certainly come to grief. He was already fully erect and when he took his shorts off his cock bounced and clung to his abs.

  “You can’t sleep here,” she hissed. Even though she had been wanting him to join her just a second ago, now that he was here she wanted to clobber him. Preferably with something hard and heavy.

  “Sure I can.” He lifted the covers and rolled into bed and put his arms around her.

  “Aren’t you taking quite a lot for granted?”

  He kissed her. “You want to fight or make love?” His amusement ramped up her anger.

  “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing just getting into my bed?” She wrenched yourself out of his arms and sat up, prepared to get things settled tonight.

  “Hmmm.” Harrison did a sit up. He tucked his pillows behind his back and leaned against the headboard. He was chuckling. “First time you’ve had an adrenaline jag?”

  “What are you talking about? I just expect to be asked and not taken for granted.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him as hard as she could in the almost complete darkness.

  He patted her leg under her pile of blankets. “Am I supposed to be asking you if you want to make love? Or if you want to marry me?”

  “Don’t you laugh at me.” She punched him in the upper arm.

  “Ouch,” he whispered. He picked up her fist and opened it and brought it to his lips. “I want to marry you, Tasha. And I want to make love to you. Will you be my wife?” He kissed her hand again.

  “You’re only saying that because I made you.”

  “And you’re only picking a fight because you’re jittery.”

  “Not all of us are used to people trying to kill us.” Her angry squawk was louder than she intended. The words seemed to echo.

  “I don’t know that anyone ever gets used to it,” he said thoughtfully. He didn’t let go of her hand. Not that she believed for one moment that her punch had hurt him in the least. Her knuckles ached where they had slammed into his hard flesh. His warm clasp was comforting so she didn’t pull away. But she held on to her anger.