Code Black (Paranormal Crimes Division Book 1)

by Tina Moss

  “That was never part of the deal.” He stomped forward like a petulant child. He pointed to his face. The imprints of Sera’s palms showed in his cheeks, but the wound already looked healed. Almost as if the new burns faded into the old scars. “Look! Look what she did to me.”

  “I’m not unsympathetic to your plight, Mr. Simon. You’ve been given a new chance at life as few of our kind receive.” She sighed. “But you’ve squandered it and broken our deal. Your mind is too warped. Now, I’m afraid, you’ve come to the end of your usefulness.” Before Sera knew what happened, the woman pulled a gun from behind her back, aimed at Matt, and shot him between the eyes. He slumped to the floor, blood seeping from the fatal wound.

  Sera didn’t even have time to scream. The woman pointed the gun at her, and said, “I’m well aware of your abilities, Ms. Benenati, and I’d hate to have to drag you out of here bleeding.” Her head tilted to the side as if measuring Sera. “But if you don’t come with me now, I will shoot you.” Her arms tensed and her brows pulled together. “So, easy way or hard way?”

  Sera’s muscles tingled. The adrenaline and her natural fire ran in her blood. Something inside her snapped.

  You know I’m all for spunk, pet. Guy’s pestering centered her mind. And while I’d dig the name, Super Guy, for obvious reasons, I know you don’t think we’re faster than a speeding bullet.

  Sera nodded. The fear that she’d held back rolled through her. A wave of unease transfigured her fire to ice. Not even Guy’s taunts could shake the terror of staring down the barrel of a gun.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Paradise Mobile Home Park, Calgary, Alberta

  Drake knelt beside a busted and broken trailer, staring at the dilapidated window and filthy siding. He choked down laughter. If the dumb schmuck thought he could keep two PCD shifters locked up in this thing, he had a nasty surprise in store.

  Two steps more and he’d pull the door from its hinges. A firm grip on his arm deterred him. “They’re in there,” he said, hissing at the owner’s offending hand.

  “I know, vampire.” Valkyrie crouched low, causing him to bend with her movement. “But this criminal’s not stupid. He wouldn’t set up another location for the meeting without securing his hostages.” She held up her cell. “Meg’s scanning the area with the satellite system. If it’s booby trapped, we’ll disarm it first.”

  “Bloody waste of time.” Drake rocked on his heels, waiting for the signal. No point pissing off allies; if they wanted to ring up the eyes in the sky, so be it. The little techie could give it a go as long as he had first shot at the son of a bitch inside. There’ll be no where for him to hide if he’s hurt Jame. His fangs retracted, stabbing from his gums.

  “Ease up, vampire,” Shooter said low as he edged to the other side of the door. The butt of his shotgun rested against his shoulder. His fingers tapped the outside of the trigger. “We’ll catch the pendejo.”

  “Dumbass indeed,” Drake said.

  Valkyrie snapped to get their attention. “Got it, Meg. Thanks.” She stuffed the cell in her back pocket, then turned to them and whispered, “Our girl disabled the security system and shut down the electrical grid. The perimeter’s safe. But keep your eyes open when we get inside.” Pointing to Shooter, she motioned him to a spot five feet from the entrance. He nodded and took up position; his shotgun aimed at the entrance. She shifted to Drake, tapped her chest then his shoulder, and pointed at the door. “On my mark,” she mouthed.

  Drake nodded. His eyes locked on the doorway. Time slowed to a crawl. Blood roared in his veins. His palms tingled, skin itching for action. By the time the signal came, he sprang like a beast uncoiled and threw his full power into the charge.

  The door blast open, ripping from its frame and sailing across the room. Drake surveyed the space with a quick sweep. It contained nothing but ragged furniture. A saggy orange loveseat and a TV with a bent antenna sat in one corner, and a scratched up table with one chair, a single kitchen cabinet, a mini frig, and a microwave sat in the other.

  He shook his head and inhaled. A coppery tang hung in the air. His muscles froze as dread seized his senses. Jame’s sweet orange scent mingled with the aroma of blood. He swallowed the alarm threatening to choke him. Where the hell’s it coming from? His eyes swept the area again.

  Valkyrie followed a step behind, sniffing the air as well. “Sweet mother of—” A hissing noise stopped her short. It snaked along the outer wall, skirting the border like a set of dominos. They tracked the sound to the back of the trailer. “The space is too small. Something must be behind here.” She tapped the wood panels. A low ticking permeated from the other side. With wide eyes, she grabbed his wrist and screamed, “Duck!”

  They hit the floor as the wall exploded, raining fireballs in its wake. Sparks covered Drake’s jacket, altering the long trench coat into a blanket of flames. Valkyrie sprung to her feet as he struggled out of the coat and beat it on the floor. The fire licked the walls and ceiling, morphing the trailer into an oven.

  “We’ve got to find them.” He shouted over the crackling wood. His cold skin heated too fast for his comfort.

  Valkyrie held up her finger for silence. Her hands floated as graceful as an orchestra conductor. He watched, mesmerized by her strange yet fluid movements. Shooter burst onto the scene as she worked her magic, but stilled, caught in the same spell.

  A soothing wind permeated the room, extinguishing the blaze and replacing the repugnant odors with fresh air. A small cyclone stirred in the middle of the floor. It gathered the debris into its center. Chunks of wood and metal flew together as if drawn by a magnet. Valkyrie parted her hands, palms facing each other. The soaring currents followed her actions as she pushed them out of the trailer. She waved her arms, motioning to the ground, and the winds dissipated. The trash settled to the dirt.

  “Easy enough.” Valkyrie said to them smiling. “Now, let’s find the team.”

  Drake held out his arm as moonlight filtered dusty rays inside. “I’ll go first.”

  The hidden back room held an array of devices. Chains, cuffs, and straps hung from the ceiling at different lengths. Drake scented leather from the straps while the chains and cuffs revealed either silver from the material’s shine or metal from the dull luster.

  “Looks like an S&M chamber,” Valkyrie said as she slipped inside.

  “Or a torture cell.” Shooter stood a breath behind her.

  A muscle in Drake’s jaw ticked. If he didn’t find Jame soon, he’d tear this place apart.

  Scratch. Scratch. The noise barely reached his ears. “Did you hear that?”

  Both agents raised their brows. Valkyrie spoke first. “Hear what?”

  He strained to pick up the sound. Scratch. “It’s there.” Three steps to the far wall. He scanned the surface, looking for a clue. The smallest of lines ran from the floor upward, ending at Drake’s waist. If he hadn’t heard the scratching, he’d never have found it. He flicked a knife from his pocket and jammed the tip into the crack. “It’s a false wall.”

  “Lemme,” Shooter said. His nails dug into the slit as they extended into curved black claws. The pinky finger snapped and recoiled into his hand. Brown feathers covered his wrist and forearm. The talons sunk into the wall and ripped hard. A hidden three-foot high door cracked open.

  Drake smirked. “Nicely done, Bird Boy.”

  “I suppose I should take that as a compliment from a sanguijuela.” Shooter’s hand shifted. The pinky reformed, cracking with the bone growth. Bronze skin replaced the feathers.

  “And here I thought you lacked a vocabulary.” A single low laugh escaped him. “Bloodsucker. It seems you can say it in any language. Think they’ll add it to the dictionary?”

  “They already did,” Valkyrie said with a cheeky grin. “Technically, it means leech.”

  “Have they added—” A feminine moan cut off the banter. He squat low and threw his shoulder against the door. It gave enough for him to slip inside. As he rushed thro
ugh the opening, he emerged into a darkened room. A stringent odor saturated the air. The dry vapor coated his lungs like sandpaper and switched the visibility to zero. He coughed to clear away the grime, then shouted to the shifters outside. “Get away from the door. Don’t breathe this shit in.”

  “What’s up?” Shooter called from the other side.

  “The air’s foul. Probably poisoned.” He placed a hand on the left wall and reached toward the right. Two short strides and he touched the opposite wall. “It’s narrow in here and can’t be too deep.”

  “We’re coming after you.” Valkyrie’s hand appeared, wrapping around the door’s edge and pushing it wider.

  Drake grabbed her wrist and flung it off. “Use your head.” He pushed the door to a sliver and yelled into the small opening. “If this asshole caught shifters, he’d be using a poison geared for them. You two halfwits both have shifter blood. You’re susceptible.”

  Another moan drew him in.

  “Wait here.” He closed off the agents’ entrance—and protests—with a definite slam, sealing the entrance. The time arguing allowed too much of the toxins to seep into his bloodstream. He slowed his breathing. If he was wrong and the venom affected him too, well, detox would take on a whole new meaning.

  The darkness spiked his frustrations. Vampire eyesight provided near perfect night vision, but not good enough to see through toxic clouds. He muttered a curse, skimming the wall with his fingertips. The steady contact allowed him to maintain direction as he moved forward. His boot slid across a metal vent that seeped the rank air from its center. The poisonous stream hissed and howled from the grating like a malevolent spirit. “Bleeding hell.”

  “Drake?” The softest whisper called his name.

  He rushed toward the sound, caution cast aside. He’d been praying to hear that voice for too long. He fumbled in the pitch black until his knee bumped into something. Bending down, he risked a deeper breath. Her sweet orange scent cut the muck like a knife. “Jame?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice sliced him to the core. It drew ragged, bleeding raw pain. From what he could make out, she sat leaning to one side with her knees to her chest.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He ran a hand through her hair and met a sticky substance at her scalp. Placing his face close, he inhaled again. Dry blood. “I’m taking you out of here.” He ran his arms under her knees and around her back. She felt light—too light—in his hold.

  “Wait.” The simple command held him captive. “Slick.”

  He crouched again, straining his eyes and sniffing. Jame moaned in his arms, but her limbs fell useless as she tried to stir. “Shh. It’s all right,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ll find him.”

  The air thickened as he moved deeper into the room. He dared not risk inhaling anymore of it. So far, he’d been lucky to remain unaffected, but he had no idea if that good fortune would last.

  “Pup, where the hell are you?” His question remained unanswered. “Bloody half-breed.” Jame coughed and his insides twisted. He’d risk her safety no longer. As he turned to take her out of this nightmare, his boot met a fleshy surface. A low grunt and a hiss of pain confirmed the pup’s presence. “There you are.” Drake placed Jame on the floor, cradling her head and propping her against the wall. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Urgh.” Slick groaned as Drake removed his foot from the shifter’s midsection.

  “Sorry about that, mutt. But in fairness, you hardly made your presence known.”

  “Shell...on...vam...arr.” His incoherent ramblings broke between rough breaths.

  “Yeah, same to you.” Drake hauled the pup over his shoulder with a quick tug. “We’ll argue later.”

  Lacking two more free hands, he had no choice but to drag Jame over his other shoulder. “Sorry, luv.” Once he had a firm grip on both shifters, he sped about the room. Valkyrie and Shooter managed to get the door ajar, but didn’t appear in the entryway. He pushed Slick through the narrow opening, then bent low and crawled. Free from the suffocating stench, he gulped in air, and reached inside to pull Jame to safety. Her body relaxed as soon as Drake sealed the door, cutting off the poisons.

  Valkyrie called from the next room. “Are they okay?” She and Shooter appeared without sound, gliding like animals on the prowl.

  “Alert the press, looks like someone finally listened to me,” Drake said, holding Jame against him.

  “Sort of.” Valkyrie frowned and shot a remorseful look at Shooter. “We tried to get in, but when we opened the door, we didn’t react well—”

  “You were right, amigo.” Shooter interrupted. Drake wasn’t lost to the fact that the agent used the word friend instead of bloodsucker or some other clever nickname. “The air was poisoned. Apparently,” he narrowed his eyes at Valkyrie, “It causes the muscles to atrophy on the spot.”

  “Hard to shift when you can barely move.” Drake coddled Jame close to his chest and rose to his feet. “Clever bastard.”

  Shooter knelt to hoist Slick over his shoulder and grunted at his burden.

  “Why don’t you let me—” Valkyrie moved a hand to Slick’s thigh, but Shooter swatted her away.

  “Stop feeling guilty. One of us had to go in.” He adjusted for the weight by placing a supporting hand over the other shifter’s lower back. “I’d rather take the brunt of it.”

  “This is all very entertaining.” Drake clucked. “And while I wouldn’t mind holding this sweet wonder all night, I think we need to get them to a hospital.”

  “And Talon still needs our help.” Valkyrie led them to the exit, texting as she went. “I’m going to let him know our team is safe. I want you two,” she pointed to Shooter and Drake, “to get them medical support ASAP. I’m going to backup Talon.”

  “Not a chance,” Shooter said. His red-rimmed eyes strained at the corners, casting streaks along his temples. “You’re not going it alone.”

  Her spine straightened. The ridges along her slender back disappearing behind her plain black shirt. She spun in a tight circle, her mouth set in a grim line. “Hobs and Delta are in Black Diamond with thirteen’s agent, Bull. It’s over an hour away. You’ve been exposed to toxins. There’s no one else to back him up and we’re not leaving him.”

  Drake coughed. “Eh hem.” He brushed passed the agents and settled his precious cargo into the backseat of the Land Rover. She nestled into a ball and he resisted the urge to cocoon his body around her. She seemed so fragile. Not at all like herself. Switching back to the arguing shifters, he relieved Shooter of his burden and shoved Slick into the backseat with a little less care than he’d shown Jame—okay, so he may have dropped him in. So what?

  As the shifters continued to snipe at each other, he slammed the car door. “Enough.” He pointed a finger at Shooter. “You’ve been exposed and need to be checked out.” Shooter bristled and leveled Drake with a lethal stare. “I don’t like docs myself so I sympathize. But there it is. You need to drive them.” He yanked open the driver’s side door and swept a hand inside. When Shooter didn’t budge, he sighed and approached Valkyrie. “And you have no backup with half your team over a hundred miles away. You’d be a fool to go alone.” His fangs sprung free as his hunger rose. Not a great time for a snack. “You might be a beeatch,” he spat. “But you’re not a fool. So, the way I see it, I’m your only answer.”

  A biting wind cut the night sharper than a razor. It whipped around Drake, plastering his spiky hair to his scalp and tearing at his clothes. When a groan escaped Valkyrie, the current died. She ran a hand through her dark locks. “You’re right.”

  “What about the beeatch part?” He grinned.

  She growled a warning. “Don’t be cute. It doesn’t work for vamps.” Fishing in her pocket, she extracted a set of keys and tossed them to Shooter. “Take them to the hospital, then get yourself looked at.” The shifter made to speak, but Valkyrie cut him off. “No. I’m making it a direct order. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  “I don’t l
ike it,” Shooter muttered, fisting the keys.

  “Neither do I, but it is what it is.” A buzzing sound drew all their eyes to Valkyrie’s hand. Her cell vibrated. She checked the message. “Talon’s almost to the warehouse, but he doesn’t know how much of a head start Ms. Benenati has on him.”

  “Ha. That girl’s a real pain in the ass. I doubt she’ll wait for the cavalry.” Drake rubbed the nape of his neck. The sky grew darker as the night wore on. They were running out of time. “For that matter, neither will Talon.”

  “Then, we better haul ass, wouldn’t you say?” Valkyrie squeezed Shooter’s hand in a silent goodbye and walked to the street.

  Drake followed without looking back. He knew Jame would be safe, but not being by her side as she laid injured, tore at his gut. He put a stranglehold on the emotions and concentrated on their mission. He might not be a PCD agent, but he cared about Talon and Bull. Bloody hell, if he was honest, even the half-breed Slick had grown on him—not that the mutt would ever know. So if he had to backup Valkyrie to aid Talon, he’d do it. No question.

  A wry smile played on his lips. “We’ve got some ground to cover without a car.”

  Valkyrie’s smirk lit up her dark eyes like polished onyx. She waved him over to a red Corvette sitting on the side of the road. In under a minute, she had the lock popped, the alarm cut off, and the engine hotwired. The move kicked her up a few notches on Drake’s chart; not enough to like her or anything, but maybe he’d toss the beeatch label. Maybe. Slinking inside, she rammed the car into drive and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Ready?”

  Moving with supernatural speed, he sped into the passenger seat. He tapped her shoulder as she stared at the spot where he’d stood a second ago. “Made ready.”

  She rolled her eyes at his vampire pun and floored the gas. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five