by Tina Moss
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your hang-ups.” He spat the last word. “Get your goddamn acts in line, now! Or I’ll can all your asses.”
Bull crossed the small room in two strides. “Easy, boss. Easy.” Carefully, he took the broken TV part from Talon’s grip. “Don’t wanna go shifting like some newbie, right?” Baring his fangs, he rounded on Drake and Jame. They stood frozen in place, their mouths locked in circles. “Close them traps before ya catch flies and simmer down.”
Talon eased back from the edge. His nails retracted and the half circle wounds began to heal. Holy hell, I’m like a damn rookie. He hadn’t been this bad in years. Not since that day in court when the jury passed the sentence on his father’s crime.
Agent Steven Bram, his new legal guardian, stood beside him that day in court. The man’s cold hard eyes bore into Talon’s face. “Remember this, Talon. Remember this day. And understand what can happen to a man who loses his honor.” Bram patted him on the back, a firm but gentle tap. “Duty before everything. The academy will teach you that. One day you’ll be a great agent for the PCD. I know it.”
“I won’t forget,” Talon said, holding back the tears that threatened to surface. He’d stuff down every last shred of emotion. Never again would he let fear rule him. He would stay on the right path. Sever his feelings. Cut ties from anyone he could hurt. He wouldn’t love anyone, ever. All it caused was pain. When he looked in the mirror, he would not see his father’s reflection. “Duty first and only. Always.”
“Always,” he mumbled to himself. When he felt the buzz electrifying his body dull to a low hum, he spoke again. “Sorry, but this is getting old fast, guys.” He used the wall for support and crossed his arms over his chest. “The case just blew up in our faces with this idiot reporter revealing the identity of our witness. Not to mention the bullshit political nightmare.”
“Looks like time for some damage control,” Jame said, shoving an elbow into Drake’s stomach as she walked to the bulletin board. “Let’s start with Ms. Redhead.”
“Glad to see you’re on the ball again.” Talon nodded, a half smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “First, you and Bull can go see about this reporter’s source. If the local cops are running their traps, I want a lid put on it. I’m sure they’re not happy with us trampling in their turf. Make certain the press coverage is kept to a minimum.”
“Sure boss. We’ll cover ya.” Bull’s slap on the back sent vibrations through Talon’s chest cavity.
“Thanks Bull. Know I can count on you to handle it.” He rubbed the spot above his heart, trying not to wince. “Drake and I will go to the hospital and keep an eye on Ser...the witness.”
Drake cocked his hip to the side, using the desk like a leaning post. “Which do you want to do, chief? Keep an eye on the girl or go to the hospital?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, I know you’re revved up on the sweet blonde.” He thumbed a finger at Bull. “But having a vampire and a shifter in her hospital bed might be pushing it, no?”
The urge to shift into something, anything—an arctic wolf, perhaps—ran through Talon. The need caused his muscles to spasm. With his throat raw from the desire, he barely managed his next words. “No vampire is going near her.” Not that he had any problems with vamps, that was Slick’s issue, but this particular asshat knew how to get under his skin. “We’re going to the hospital to guard the witness and talk with her again.”
“If you want to get it on with the girl, the hospital is the wrong place.” Drake scrunched his nose like he’d smelt something foul. “Too many sick people. And the medical fumes. Ack.”
“Cut the shit and spell it out.”
“Oh, sorry. Forgot I needed to simplify. The girl—your witness—is not at the hospital.” He flipped a hand over his short hair, the yellow spikes snapping back into place. “She signed her discharge papers about an hour ago, stopped at her apartment for ten minutes, then headed downtown.”
“What? How do you know this?” His pulse began to beat faster.
“You sent me to find information. I found information. I’ll expect my fee wired to my account by midnight.”
A dangerous buzz lit the air. On the wall, the bulletin board shook as Jame’s teeth elongated into points. Her eyes glowed yellow. Black hair sprang from her arms. “You wait all this time to tell us? All. This. Time?”
The ever stoic Bull rushed over to Jame, clearing his path of both the desk and Drake with one shove. “Slow big breaths for me. Changin’ ain’t gonna help.”
“Bull’s right. Get it under control.” Talon lanced her with a hard stare, waiting for her to pull back the energy. Second by crucial second, time they no longer had, Jame’s appearance returned to normal.
“Jame, Jame, what a name.” Drake’s gaze ate her up. “So damn sexy.”
“Don’t start.” Nose-to-nose in an instant, Talon peered into Drake’s black eyes. The vampire’s stare morphed from heated to pissed.
“Get out of my face or you’ll regret it.”
“Bull, Jame, go and handle the press issue. Find out what the reporter knows and where it came from.” He waved a hand at them without taking his eyes from the vamp. “Drake and I are going to find Sera.” He paused for a heartbeat, realizing he used her first name, but at the moment, he didn’t care. “I have a suspicion our friend here knows exactly where she is.”
Pulling back, Drake offered a wicked smile. “I might for the right price.”
No one moved or even breathed.
“Bull, Jame, now!”
They headed toward the door. Jame lingered at the exit, but Bull ushered her into the hall. “Let ‘em handle it.”
Left alone in the room, Talon unleashed the shifter vibe, letting the vamp feel the energy.
“You waste time with empty threats. I’m your link to the underground scene and you’re my cash cow, so let’s leave egos outside, shall we?”
Talon cut the buzzing tide, shocked by Drake’s sudden change. “Ah.” It dawned on him. “No Jame. No reason to play games. Gotcha.”
“And now I remember why I put up with you—besides the money.” Drake smiled, walked to the door, and grabbed the knob. Pulling it practically from its hinges, he swiped a hand to the hall. “After you.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“You want to find the girl, don’t you? Let’s make it the normal rate, plus a hundred extra if we find her intact. No bonus for dead. Sound fair?”
“Dead?” Acid rose from his stomach, clogging his windpipe.
“I can’t make promises as to her condition. I know she took off from her apartment and her picture’s been splashed across the evening news.” Drake’s grip on the door tightened. “Needless to say, she’ll be a hot commodity.”
The vile blockage refused to dissipate, but Talon managed to speak past it. “Who besides the killers would be after her?”
A frown formed on Drake’s lips. His words slipped into a tone and air not heard in over a hundred years. “I amuse myself with your operation here, your PCD. I do it for the money. I do it to pass the infinite dullness of time.” He patted Talon’s shoulder.
“You don’t do it for either of those reasons, and we both know it.” Talon narrowed his eyes, daring Drake to reveal a past the vamp kept so well hidden, secrets that lay in shadow.
“Yes, well despite appearances, I respect the PCD and you.” His frown faded into a smirk, cheek hollowing. Laughing, he fell back into modern speech. “Please don’t make me lose that by acting like such a naive dumbass.”
“Your honesty’s touching.” He pushed Drake’s hand away. “Now, you want to clue me in.”
Drake shrugged. “Where would be the fun in that?” Bolting down the hall, he threw over his shoulder, “Come and see for yourself.”
Talon gritted his teeth. His leather-soled boots clomped after the vamp and into a mess he knew he’d find waiting out there somewhere. He just prayed Sera wasn’t at
the center of it.
Chapter Five
St. James Hospital, Phoenix, Arizona
Sera leapt from the bed like a rabbit sprung from a trap. If she didn’t get cracking on this story soon, she’d burst. Already too many hours spent in the hospital could turn her lead cold. She had to act fast to get an exclusive. “Finally,” she cried, signing her discharge papers. “I thought you’d never let me out of here.”
Laughing, Dr. Cordone handed her a plastic bag filled with her belongings. “I told you we’d let you go soon.”
“Yeah, well, never trust doctors and lawyers, right?” She plucked the bag from his arms and dug through it for her clothes. She frowned at the dirty suit she’d worn in Buckhorn. The tan jacket and skirt reminded her too much of the creatures that attacked her—the ones Agent Rede said killed twenty-two people.
“Talon,” she murmured, remembering how she’d finally met the special agent. He’d haunted her thoughts, yet he was so much more than she’d fantasized. His dark hair framed a warrior’s face. Small lines creased around his bright blue eyes, yet they added to his magnetic appeal. She shuddered at the memory of his firm body apparent under T-shirt and jeans. Her blood transformed to lava. Squirming, her gaze flitted to the side table where his business card rested...against an envelope?
“Do you want me to call anyone, Ms. Benenati?” Dr. Cordone patted her arm and ran a sympathetic eye over her clothes. “Or maybe find you something else to wear?”
The envelope drew all her thoughts so she barely heard what the doctor said. A rich black ink sprawled across the white surface and bore her full first name. Serafina. It hadn’t been there before.
When the doctor’s questions went too long unanswered, he coughed. “Ms. Benenati?”
“Oh. I’m fine, doc. Thanks.” She waved at him. “I’ll put this on. Anything’s better than the itchy hospital gown.”
“You sure?” He flicked his head toward the door. “I could get you some scrubs.”
“Well...” She ran her hands over the dirt patches on her suit. “Maybe that’s a better idea.”
He smiled and said, “I think so. Be right back.”
Waiting until he closed the door behind him, she reached for the envelope and ripped open the seal. A single sheet of paper rested inside. She unfolded it and took a breath.
We know who you are. We know what you are. You have until sunset to get out of town, or we are coming for you.
She skimmed to the bottom. No signature. She checked the top corner. No name. Over and over, she read the lines looking for something to clue her in to the sender. Nothing. Her breath came out long and ragged.
Easy, pet. Calm down before you catch a heart attack and kill us both. Guy’s chiding provided relief for once.
“I’m fine,” she said steadier than she felt.
Yeah. If you think I’ll buy that, why not sell me some crap in a bag? His grim laughter rolled over her nerves like spikes.
“Do you ever stop?” She set her internal radio up to megawatts and ignored him.
When Dr. Cordone re-entered with a pair of scrubs, she jumped and stuffed the note back in the envelope. “Thanks,” she said dropping it on the table and taking the clothes from him.
“Of course.” He straightened and left. The door clicked closed behind him.
Aquamarine is so your color, pet. Guy snickered through her music wall.
“For the love of Pete, give it a rest.” She adjusted the volume another two levels and sighed. Angling toward the desk, she spotted Talon’s business card next to the envelope. Her bag lay at her feet. After dressing in the colorful scrubs, she rummaged through the bag and found her cell phone. A message waited for her, but her attention split between the simple white business card that read, Talon Rede, and the intricate handwritten envelope that bore her name.
Pet, don’t mess with this. Tell the good agent about the letter. The rock song grew quiet as her mind raced.
“If I do that I’ll never be able to get the story.” She put her palms to her temples and squeezed. “They’ll put me in protective custody and I won’t be able to investigate.”
Stop playing reporter and be smart.
“I am being smart. I’m not letting this slip from my fingers.” She pocketed the business card and crushed the envelope in her fist. “And I can’t have them looking at me too closely. I can figure this out myself.”
You’re playing with fire and not our kind of fire, pet. Get it?
“Stuff it. No one’s scaring me off this lead, secrets or not.” Not even Agent Rede. The thought of his ocean blue eyes piercing into her, breaching her defenses, sent a shiver over her skin. Whether from apprehension or anticipation, she didn’t know. And she couldn’t risk finding out.
The letter crumpled in her hand. She stuffed it into the bottom of her bag. “Besides, I’m not helpless, right?”
Oh, are you talking to me?
“Nope. Not at all.” Bongo drumbeats filled her head drowning out the pest’s side and allowing her freedom to think. She hefted her bag under her arm and headed to the discharge area. Her toes tapped along the tiled floor and nervous energy ran through her veins while she waited. Her pocket buzzed, reminding her of the new message on her phone. A quick dial into her voicemail revealed a message from her father. Considering how many times they spoke over the eight years she’d been away from home... Yeah, it spelled headache.
“Sera, I know I’m not your favorite person. I know you blame me for staying quiet about your...abilities.” Her father’s voice droned over the line.
“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” she said aloud.
The message rattled on. “Look, I need to talk to you. I don’t want to say too much in a recording. Call me.”
Her eyes narrowed at the phone. “Useless son of a—” She squeezed the cell, trying not to snap it in half. “You only call when it’s convenient for you. Typical. Well, sorry, not going to happen.” Hitting the delete button, she firmly pushed the issues with her father from her thoughts and headed out the door.
She groaned as she realized her SUV remained locked in police impound. “Not gonna stop me.”
Once aboard the metal deathtrap—her nickname for city buses—she had no idea where to start. Although she’d be damned if she’d let some note scare her out of this story, or worse, another reporter snatching it away. She was the freakin’ eyewitness for crying out loud. The jack hammering stop-and-go routine on the ride from hell didn’t help settle her anxiety. When the stress got too high, she knew of one place to go and no, it wasn’t where everyone knew her name, but close enough. After a quick stop at her apartment for a much needed clothing change, she headed for her favorite place.
The Jukebox, a Phoenix staple in the downtown scene, was half-modern coffee shop, half 1950s style diner. It appealed to urbanites, nuclear families and aging hipsters alike, and was Sera’s home away from home since college. Heck, the one thing that got her through school was this place. Not to mention the fact Coco—the affectionately nicknamed coffee aficionado and owner—kept the lattes flowing practically twenty-four, seven back in those days.
She hummed, sipping her iced caramel latte with abandon. The late afternoon sun beat down on the pavement and cast a horrible glare through the diner’s front window, but she didn’t mind as the friendly barista pulled down the shade and kicked up the air conditioning.
“Man it’s been a hot one today,” Coco said from behind the black and white checkered counter. “Musta hit a hundred and ten.”
“As long as you keep the ice machine working, the lattes flowing, and the air conditioner cranking, I’m cool.” Sera planted her lips back on the straw, sucking down the sugary goodness at breakneck speeds. She leaned into the high stool’s soft teal leather. Melting into the familiar fabric, she let her head fall back to soak in the moment. It’d been so long since she could relax, especially as the clock clicked down to nightfall. No. I’m not thinking about it.
“For you doll, no
problem,” Coco said, spraying the countertop with liquid soap.
She smiled at him, then closed her eyes. Her thoughts veered from the damn threat to a certain dark haired, blue-eyed special agent again. “Talon,” she murmured. “Name fits him.” Heat crawled up her neck as she recalled the way he’d stared at her at the hospital, as if he would devour her right there.
Coco’s voice woke her from the heated dreams. “How’s the new article coming along?”
Her eyes snapped open and she looked around as if dazed. “Sorry, I think I had a momentary brain freeze.” She put her fingers to her temple to buy herself a minute. Her body burned with unfulfilled desire and she feared it had all too much to do with the special agent. “Too much ice and caffeine. What was that?”
“Just asking ‘bout work.” He flashed a large toothy grin.
She chugged a mouthful of latte. It coated her throat like battery acid. What the hell could she tell Coco without freaking him out?
How about we took out a gang of murderous psychos? That’d be fun. Guy hadn’t piped in for hours and she foolishly thought she’d get a reprieve. No such luck. Or what about your stint in the hospital? Bet he’d get all-emotional over that one. He laughed, bouncing around her brain. Ew. I got it. Tell him about the note. How you’re supposed to leave town in t-minus...now. His voice sounded like it came from every direction. No? What about lusting over that government lackey, the shifter?
She turned her attention back to Coco. In a nonchalant voice, she said, “Oh you know, same old same old.” She propped a fist under her chin. “My newest headline should read ‘Freelance Journalism: The Ticket to Poverty’ with the way my career is going.”
Coco cocked his head to the side. “What about all this activity with people turnin’ up dead?” He pointed at the TV. “They said something earlier about a bunch of people down in Buckhorn.”
“What did they report exactly?” Her palms began to sweat despite the icy drink in her hands.