Savage Betrayal: Savage, Book 2

by Shelli Stevens

  “Do you love her?”

  Holy hell. Darrius nearly swerved off the road as sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

  “I know it’s none of my business.” Her words were infused with a shyness and curiosity that was appropriate for her age. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not sleeping together, because I can see it in the way you guys are with each other. I think… I think it’s really cool.”

  Ah shit, this was not the conversation he wanted to be having with a teenager. Grace’s sister especially.

  “I care about Grace. Quite a bit,” he admitted honestly, but then hedged with the, “it’s a little early too know whether it’s love.”

  “You’re probably right. Or sometimes you think you’re in love, but it’s just… I dunno, a crush? Lust?” She sighed. “And the guy turns out to be a smarmy bastard who should be living in a sewer.”

  Maybe he wasn’t supposed to laugh, but Darrius let out a soft one anyway.

  “First loves are always the hardest.”

  “So you know from experience then?” She turned in her seat to look at him, curiosity burning bright in her eyes.

  Darrius shifted, uncomfortable with this turn of conversation. He wasn’t about to divulge that he’d been mated, but the story of his first love should’ve been Jenny.

  They’d mated, for heaven’s sake. And yet…the only emotion he could remember was lust. And really the desire for his mate had only been from that night. After they were joined, he could barely bring himself to touch her. His emotions for her should’ve been love and protectiveness, and yet they’d been resignation and resentment.

  He’d failed her, and in a huge way.

  “It’s what I’ve always heard,” he finally replied. “You’re young, Aubree. You’ll find the right mate when it’s your time.”

  She gave a soft grunt. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ll do just fine raising this kid on my own. Men just complicate things.”

  His lips quirked and he didn’t reply. He’d bet his soul a guy would come along someday and make her eat her words.

  When they arrived at his parents’ house, his parents were ready for them.

  Darrius helped Aubree from the truck and carried the small bag of clothes she had—which wasn’t much since she’d had to flee the dorms at her school pretty fast.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Aubree. Grace’s little sister.”

  They’d only met Grace once over the summer, when he’d dragged a handful of fellow agents over for a Labor Day barbeque. No one could’ve predicted that a few weeks later Grace would be in thresholds of hell.

  “Well hello, aren’t you just the prettiest thing?” His mom rushed forward to give Aubree a hug. “I’m Olivia and this is my husband Rodrick.”

  Aubree flashed them a grateful smile. “Nice to meet you both. Thanks for taking me in. It really means a lot.”

  “Not a problem,” his dad replied.

  “Where’s Terrance?” Darrius asked.

  “Lifting weights in the garage.” His mother gave him a hug. “Why don’t you go grab him and I’ll show Aubree her room and around the house.”

  “Appreciate that, Mom. Hey, Dad.” He grinned and hugged the older man. “I’ll go find T, thanks again.”

  His brother didn’t even glance over when Darrius entered the garage, just kept his focus on the two-hundred-pound weights he was pressing.

  Finally, after five more minutes of grunting, he set the weights back on their holder with a clang and stood up.

  Terrance strode over, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead to remove the sweat. “So I hear you’ve got me a babysitting gig?”

  “I’ll owe you.”

  “Hell yeah, you will. But I don’t mind.” He shook Darrius’s hand. “You know there isn’t a lot I won’t do for my big brother.”

  “You should consider that offer to become an agent after college.”

  “We’ll see. Depends on if I go pro.”

  Basketball. His brother’s life revolved around the sport—hell, it was hard not to when he was locally and internationally revered by the media and courted by numerous schools. And yet he’d chosen to stay local at the University of Washington.

  But the NBA wasn’t the only one trying to recruit Terrance. The P.I.A. saw his potential as well.

  “So where is this sixteen and pregnant chick?”

  Darrius scowled and jammed a finger in his brother’s chest. “Watch your damn mouth. She’s been through a lot and is vulnerable as hell right now. And she’ll be eighteen before the baby’s born.”

  He wasn’t about to spill the details of how Aubree had gotten into her situation—hell, he only knew a handful from what he’d overheard this morning while making breakfast. But they weren’t his business, and they sure weren’t his brother’s.

  “I’m just fucking with you, D.” Terrance sobered, looking even a bit ashamed now. “The parents and I will take good care of her, you can count on me.”

  Darrius nodded, not doubting it for a minute. “I know you will.”

  He went back into the house, Terrance following behind him, and spotted Aubree and his mother out in the backyard.

  They waved and made their way back inside.

  “Aubree, this is my little brother Terrance. He’ll be keeping an eye on you for a while.”

  “Little?” She glanced at both men, eyes twinkling as she gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I guess if we’re talking chronologically. Nice to meet you, Terrance. And like I told your parents, I really do appreciate this. I promise I won’t be a bother.”

  “You’re not a bother, sweat pea.” Their mom stepped in with an admonishing look at the two brothers and grabbed Aubree’s arm. “Come on, I’ll help you unpack.”

  Darrius waited for some smartass reply from his brother, and turned to find the younger man seeming at a loss for words. His jaw hung slightly, and his eyes were round and appreciative as they followed every step Aubree made out of the room.

  “No.”

  Terrance glanced at him, guilt flashing across his face. “What?”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Thinking what, big bro? I was just—”

  “You were just nothing. Exactly.” Darrius smacked him in the back of the head.

  “It’s a natural reaction. Dammit, you didn’t tell me she was beautiful.”

  “Runs in the family.” Darrius shook his and walked to the door. “I’m going to run and pick up some stuff from Aubree’s dorm. I’ll be back later.”

  “Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll offer the same advice.” Darrius grinned and left the house.

  “The autopsy results on Thom Wilson came in this morning.”

  Grace glanced from her computer as Larson appeared next to her cubicle.

  “And?”

  “Died of asphyxiation due to carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  She nodded, disappointment gathering thick in her throat. The morning so far had basically sucked to high hell, and this news wasn’t helping.

  But she should’ve expected it, because it’s what everyone had said all along.

  “All right. So basically you guys were spot-on.”

  “Well, hold on a second. There was something else interesting we found.” Larson leaned back against the cubicle wall and shrugged. “An injection site on his body.”

  “Heroin use?”

  “Can’t be certain, we’re still running tests on what was in that vial.” Larson stroked his jaw. “But you know the injection spot was kind of bizarre.”

  She arched a brow, trying not to get too excited. “Oh?”

  “Between the toes.”

  Her breath caught and the excitement took hold. “Wow, that can’t be normal.”

  “Not really. No.”

  What came to mind when she thought of an injection between the toes was a case a while ago where a shifter woman had tried to kill her mate by injecting him between the toes with a high amount on
insulin to make it look like an accidental death.

  What possible reason could anyone have for such an absurd injection site?

  Larson’s pursed lips and narrowed gaze were a pretty clear indication he thought something was off as well.

  “What’s your gut saying, Masterson?”

  “That even though most signs point to suicide, I think we should dig a little deeper.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Permission to keep researching?”

  “Permission granted.”

  She loved that he trusted and respected her enough to put this back in her hands.

  “And, Masterson, I’ve requested that the autopsy being done on our POI check for injection marks in the same spot.”

  “You’re amazing,” she breathed. “Thank you. Hey, did we ever get his cell phone records for the weeks prior to Thom’s death?”

  “Sure did, and there’s quite a few calls to a personal cell phone registered to Jocelyn Feloray.”

  “I knew it,” she whispered. “Do you think I can get clearance to visit Thom’s widow today? Ask a few more questions?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Fantastic.” She stood up and began gathering her things. “I’ll give her a call and see if she’s available.”

  “But bring Yorioka since Hilliard called in sick. I don’t want you going out alone.”

  Yorioka. Crap. Somehow in the last couple of days she’d almost forgotten about the new agent on their team.

  Her high at being given a green light to keep investigating diminished some, but she gave a small nod. Of course she was still on orders to be protected, and going out alone would’ve been impossible.

  Once Larson had left her alone again, she made a few notes on her purse-sized notepad and then glanced at her phone. She resisted the urge to call Darrius again and check on Aubree. He’d called her about an hour ago, reassuring her that her sister was fine and settling in.

  And she trusted him—trusted his family that she barely knew. All of them had the biggest hearts.

  Her throat tightened with gratitude for the man who’d come to mean so much to her in such a short amount of time. He was selfless and sacrificed far more than he should’ve—today it happened to be his work life.

  Trying not to think about how much she missed him here, Grace pushed aside her emotions and went to find Yorioka.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The silence in the company car had been so thick, Yorioka’s sudden words had made her jump.

  Grace glanced away from the road and over at the other agent. The woman looked severe as ever with her shiny black hair pulled back and a gray suit that looked so starched it could break in half.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, after getting your ass kicked at the pub the other night.” Yorioka’s deadpan expression cracked a bit as her lips curled. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Grace gave a harsh laugh. “No you don’t. Just don’t even bother, Yorioka. You couldn’t give two shits about me.”

  Yorioka gave a small frown. “You’re a fellow agent, so regardless about what I may think about you professionally, of course I’m concerned for your well-being.”

  Resisting a snort of disbelief, Grace didn’t bother responding. Instead her mind had flittered back to the attack that had happened two days ago, but felt like a lifetime.

  Reliving the attack in the bathroom sent a cold shiver down her spine. It had been so brutal, so deliberate, and entirely about intimidation.

  She tried to remember details about the attacker. Could Larson have been right about the male attacker potentially being their now dead POI?

  She hadn’t visited him in the morgue—couldn’t bring herself to and had known there wouldn’t be a point. Their scents had been disguised

  But…oh God, how had she forgotten this bit? The female’s voice had seemed familiar. But from where?

  Grace froze, not daring to breathe for a moment, and cast another glance at Agent Yorioka.

  She struggled with the memory of the night—tried to remember if the other woman had been at the table still when Grace had gone to use the bathroom.

  Was she just being paranoid? Yorioka was a fellow agent. Maybe she didn’t like her, but animosity wasn’t a motive to threaten her. And to threaten her off the Wilson case?

  Unless the Wilson case threat was just a guise—she’d thought it awfully flimsy anyway. Maybe the attack had been a way to scare her away from the agency. Maybe the motive had been to keep her from returning to work, not just the case. Or maybe Jocelyn had another inside agent. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  When they arrived at Thom Wilson’s house, she couldn’t push aside the sense of distrust toward Yorioka, but did her best to disguise it.

  Thom’s widow was just as sweet and helpful as before, and showed Grace to his personal computer when she asked.

  “What are you looking for?” Yorioka leaned down to glance over her shoulder. “We’ve already checked emails. There’s nothing to link him to Feloray Laboratories.”

  “That’s fine. I’m not looking for that.” And she wasn’t. She clicked on the sent items in his email and scrolled through the topics.

  Nothing looked overtly suspicious, but her attention did snag on an email he sent himself with a curious subject line.

  Grandma’s Lasagna recipe.

  Premonition tingled through her as she kept the cursor hovering over the email.

  “Lasagna? Seriously?” Yorioka shook her head and walked away. “Waste of fucking time coming here today.”

  No it wasn’t. Relieved that the other woman had walked away, Grace opened the email and exhilaration raced through her.

  What was in the email wasn’t even close to a recipe. But then she’d anticipated that the moment she’d seen the subject line.

  During their time locked up in the experiments they’d talked about everything under the sun. Including Thom’s grandma’s lasagna. While delirious from hunger and bad drugs, they’d talked about food and what a real bed would feel like again. He’d talked especially long about his grandma’s lasagna recipe that was so amazing, and how someday he’d email it to her if they survived.

  Grace opened the email, knowing with one-hundred-percent certainty the body of the email wouldn’t contain a recipe.

  What she stared at was probably some kind of final journal entry Thom had sent himself. Maybe he’d sensed something might happen to him, and had known if it did Grace would be one of the people investigating.

  The email was mostly incoherent rambling, but he mentioned being depressed and trying to overcome it without medication. Her heart sank a bit, knowing that it didn’t do well as proof that he hadn’t killed himself.

  He then went on to mention an elderly uncle named Curt who had retired from the P.I.A., and how on his deathbed the man had confessed to using the memory-wiping machine for sinister purposes—both on shifter women and children. Thom had ended the email by labeling Jocelyn a murderess and said he’d make sure she paid for her crimes.

  Murderess? Grace frowned, drumming her fingers on the desk. She hadn’t outright killed any of the volunteers. None had even died from side effects to the drugs.

  But maybe he’d had something on her, maybe this Curt—whoever he was—had legitimate information that had cost Thom his life.

  Grace forwarded the email to herself, wanting to study it in more detail later.

  “So is the recipe to die for?”

  Yorioka’s sarcastic question announced her return, and Grace quickly minimized the screen.

  To die for. Interesting choice in words.

  “It’s nothing special,” she murmured succinctly. And now she’d just lied to a fellow agent. Why didn’t she tell Yorioka about what was really in the email?

  Because you don’t trust her.

  And the drive back to the agency made her realize that even more.

  She snuck another glance at the other agent an
d found the woman watching her.

  Ignoring the trickle of disquiet that slid through her blood, Grace turned her attention back to the road.

  Yes. Until she was certain she could trust Yorioka, she was going to be careful with the information she divulged.

  “So you think it means something?” Darrius set down the email Grace had handed him a moment ago and rubbed his jaw.

  He had his own thoughts about what he’d just read, but he was curious about Grace’s.

  “I think it could potentially mean everything,” she said, animation dancing in her voice as she pulled out a chair and sat down beside him at the kitchen table. “I want to find out more about Curt Lancaster.”

  “Not a bad idea. What were Yorioka’s impressions on this email?”

  Grace’s eyes became shuttered and her mouth tightened. “I didn’t show her.”

  And yet he was aware the agent had been with Grace most of today. “Really?”

  “Really. I don’t trust her, Darrius.”

  “She’s a member of your team.”

  “I’m aware of that. When I was attacked on Wednesday, do you know for certain she was at the table?”

  Darrius blinked, stunned by the not-so-subtle implication Grace was throwing out about Agent Yorioka.

  “I don’t know. I think she and Alicia might’ve all gone out to smoke. What the hell are you implying?”

  She shook her head and looked away. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  “Uh, a little hard to do.”

  “All I’m saying is that one of the people who attacked me was a woman. And Yorioka’s made it pretty damn clear she doesn’t care for me.”

  “Right. Which would make her pretty damn stupid if she did try and attack you,” he pointed out tersely. “What would her motivation even be?”

  “I don’t know.” Grace pulled her hair down from a ponytail and shook it out, threading her fingers through the strands. “Like I said, forget it.”

  Mentally dumping her asinine accusations wasn’t too hard, as she began to unbutton her shirt.

  His pulse jumped. “What are you doing?”

  “Undressing. I’d like to have sex now, if you don’t mind.”