Hidden Powers

by Tara Lain

  “All good, but I go to this martial arts class, see? I’m thinking this would be the right place to hone your skills, woman. I mean, look at me.” He spread his hands, showing off the pinstriped elegance of his three-piece suit. “Despite my sartorial splendor, I’m not a physical masterwork, but—” He gave a Bruce Lee yell and swirled his hands, which startled some of the people crowded into the nearby tables. He ignored them. “—I’ve got karate on my side. These hands are dangerous weapons.”

  Jazz snorted. “That’s fine… as long as the bad guys don’t have tire irons.”

  “Or guns.” Carla drank the last of her fifth sample and raised the peanut butter glass for a refill.

  “That’s when you have to use brains,” BeBop said. Something about the way he said it gave Jazz a little shiver. I’ll bet he’s not kidding.

  As Carla sipped the full glass with a grin, she asked, “How’d you come to live with your uncle, BeBop?”

  His expression became neutral. “My folks died in Europe a couple years ago. They left me money, but I needed a guardian, so my mother’s brother stepped in. He’s not exactly kid-oriented, but he does okay.”

  Compassion was written all over Carla’s face. “You should come up to Connecticut and hang with us. My folks would love you.”

  He looked up and smiled, but it wasn’t really open. “That’d be great. Sometime.”

  Man, the remembered feelings of being alone and belonging to no one flooded over Jazz. He’d never had the slightest clue who his birth parents were. If Lindsey and Seth hadn’t found him and taken him home, he’d still be totally alone. How did I get so lucky? He blinked hard and licked his fingers of the last of his second cheeseburger.

  Jazz glanced around the table and watched them all finish their goodies. What were the chances that Vanessen would hire four interns, at least three of them with serious secrets? Bet he could ask BeBop for the odds on that one.

  Carla looked at her phone. “Actually, if we’re gonna catch the fast train, we better get going.”

  “How long does it take?” BeBop asked.

  “On the through train, a little over two hours.”

  “Yeah, man, we’ll walk with you. Okay, Dij?”

  “Yes, of course.” She looked up from her last sip of milkshake, and her deep, almost black eyes connected with Jazz’s. Whoa. Talk about electrical. For a second, it was like galaxies swam in her gaze. Then she blinked, and the same pretty, shy girl he always saw sat in front of him.

  Jazz was still buzzing as he tossed some money on the table for a tip and stood to go.

  Outside, the sidewalks were crowded with humans looking for food and entertainment. The sun hadn’t set, but shadows stretched across the pavement, promising night. Sounds, sights, and smells swirled around him like a circus tent of sensation. It wasn’t hard to figure why werewolves lived in the woods. Even for a wolf less sensitive than he was, the city would be overwhelming. Under the scent of oil, gas, exhaust, sweat, perfume, alcohol, cigarettes, pee, and more, his natural instincts still sought out the smells of the trees and flowers in the park many blocks away.

  They marched down the sidewalk toward Grand Central, with BeBop bouncing ahead most of the time, Jazz behind him, and Carla and Khadija walking side by side slightly behind Jazz. Every minute or so, a whiff of some smell he associated with danger would creep into his nose. He stuffed it down. Hell, New York was filled with danger. If Batman had Jazz’s senses, he either would’ve been the world’s best crime fighter, or he’d have gone nuts trying to sort the real threats from the generally frenetic background noise.

  BeBop shifted between walking forward and backward in a dance to music only he could hear. At the intersection, he stopped, and Jazz came up beside him. He grinned. “Hey buddy, don’t look, but we’re being followed.”

  Jazz frowned, and BeBop gave him teeth. “Don’t look worried. Maybe it’s just some guy who thinks you’re cute.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That we’re being followed or that you’re cute?” He laughed. “Yes to both.”

  Jazz raised an eyebrow. So much for BeBop being interested in Khadija.

  Carla was beside BeBop by then. “What’s wrong?”

  “Keep smiling, ladies.”

  “BeBop thinks we’re being followed,” Jazz said.

  “Well damn.” Carla said it with a phony smile.

  “It might be nothing.” BeBop gave her a glance, as if weighing her for something.

  She frowned. “And it might be that somebody’s trying to kidnap the heir to the frigging Vanessen fortune.”

  “Good thinking, woman. The same thought crossed my mind.”

  Interesting that the thought hadn’t crossed Jazz’s mind.

  The light changed, and they strode across, BeBop doing his frontward backward walk. He smiled again. “Yep. Still with us.”

  Still walking, Carla said, “What’s he look like?”

  “Young, wearing a baseball cap. Kind of nondescript but looks aggressive.”

  Jazz felt the heat of the setting sun beating against the back of his head. He stopped and turned, looking up as if checking the sun, then letting his gaze fall and singling out the guy in the cap from the other pedestrians. The man had stopped to stare in a store window, which might have been believable if it hadn’t been a display for Christian Science. This dude didn’t look like the type to be seeking salvation.

  Jazz whipped back around and kept walking. The guy might not be spiritual, but he sure as fuck was a werewolf.

  When they got to the station, Khadija stopped outside the doors, and they all gathered around her. She spoke in that same soft, almost self-effacing, way. “May I suggest that we split up inside.”

  BeBop crossed his arms. “The dude’s for sure gonna follow Jazz, right?”

  “Yes, I agree, and I think he should go with me.”

  BeBop stared at her wide-eyed. Jazz had to admit, he was kind of surprised as well.

  Carla nodded. “I get it. The kidnapper will think Jazz is a sitting duck with Dij. Then BeBop and I can sneak up on him and attack, right?”

  “I believe we’ll have to respond to whatever the man does, but your suggested action may come to pass, Carla,” Khadija said with a slight smile.

  Jazz shook his head. “I can’t put any of you in danger. Seriously, this guy isn’t going to try anything. He’s probably just seen one of us somewhere and he’s looking to figure out how to rob us or something.”

  “Shit, Jazz, that’s not exactly a benign scenario.” Carla scowled.

  “No, but come on. If we stay together until the train comes, he’s not going to try anything once we’re onboard.”

  Carla shook her head. “I like Dij’s plan more. Just sayin’.”

  Khadija nodded firmly. “So do I. Jazz, come with me. BeBop and Carla, watch the man and follow him.”

  Jazz sputtered, “But—”

  Carla punched his arm. “Just do it, Jazz.”

  Khadija took his arm and walked through the revolving doors of the station, half pulling Jazz beside her. Damn, she was strong. Inside, she threaded her arm through his and headed toward the trains. A minute later, she stopped to look in a store window, then started walking again. “He has followed us, as expected.”

  “I don’t like this, Dij.”

  “Nor I.” She nodded toward the wall where a Men’s Room sign was plastered. “May I suggest you go inside, and the three of us shall determine his intention. There are a number of guards around here that we can call.”

  That would be a good way to get the dude alone and take him out, if he could. “But I don’t want any of you confronting him, okay? He may have a gun or something.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  He hurried into the restroom. Inside, he stared back at the door. What’s the best way to meet him? Go into a stall and wait for him, or hang here so I see him as soon as he comes in? He opted for the out-in-the-open idea, so he ambled to the sink and started washing his ha
nds. Maybe I can throw soap in his eyes. The idea made him grin tightly. What the hell’s going on in my life? Strange lapses. People following me.

  He looked toward the door to the men’s room, and his wolf growled inside him. Not a good idea to shift here. He’d have to fight in human form.

  He glanced at his over-clean hands and quit washing. What’s going on out there? He really wanted to look.

  Suddenly, BeBop stuck his head in the door. “Hey man, did ya fall in?”

  Jazz frowned. “What’s going on? Where’s Khadija?” He rushed forward.

  “No worries.” BeBop held up a hand. “She’s right outside. Come on. You’re gonna miss your train.”

  Outside the door, Dij and Carla stood, heads together, talking. Jazz marched up to them. “What happened? Where’s the guy?”

  Carla shrugged. “Gone. Disappeared.”

  “What do you mean disappeared?”

  “BeBop and I were following him. He turned the corner to follow you, and we lost him for a few seconds. When we got here, we saw Khadija but no guy.”

  Khadija shook her head.

  “We looked all around, but he seems to be gone,” BeBop added. “So let’s get you to your train. As long as he doesn’t show up anytime soon, I think you’ll be okay.”

  Jazz wanted to scratch his head. He inhaled deeply, but there was no werewolf smell. None at all. What the hell?

  At the tracks, Carla and BeBop kept talking. Khadija said little, but Jazz glanced at her. There was definitely more to her than what met the eye.

  Carla hugged BeBop and Khadija. Jazz shook Khadija’s hand since he wasn’t sure how she felt about guys hugging her.

  “Thanks, guys. I can’t believe you were laying your life on the line for me.” Jazz laughed, but he wasn’t kidding.

  BeBop gave him a grand, sweeping bow. “Our pleasure.”

  Khadija nodded and smiled.

  When Jazz hopped on the train with Carla, he looked out through the window at their new friends.

  “Pretty amazing squad,” Carla said.

  “Yeah.”

  He watched the two of them get smaller on the platform as the train pulled away. One thing Jazz knew for sure. Saving Jazz might have been Khadija’s pleasure, but about everything else, she’d lied.

  NARDO STARED at his phone screen. Where the hell is he?

  His spy had been texting him all evening, giving him an event-by-event litany of the Vanessen boy’s movements. Apparently, he’d spent most of his time at the company today with not only the governor’s daughter, but also with two other odd teenagers no one had spoken about before—a boy in a very expensive suit and a young woman who wore her head covered like a Muslim. According to the spy, the four of them gorged themselves on ice cream and then headed for the train station. He’d followed, texting as he went, saying that when he got to the station, the Vanessen kid had gone off with the girl in the head scarf. That was interesting in itself since Nardo suspected that the boy was gay.

  Then nothing. No report since.

  He pinged him once more. Report?

  The screen indicated delivery, but no response came.

  He tossed the phone on his desk. He’d hoped to learn something from observing the Vanessen boy’s movements that would reveal if he was… special. But maybe the boy’s usual habits weren’t going to show him anything. After all, the event at the pack meeting had been different. A unique stimulus.

  So maybe I need to rock his world a bit? Put some pressure on his cushy little lifestyle and his devoted circle of friends? What if I add some heat? Will he jump out of the water like a special frog or wallow there and boil to death?

  He grabbed his phone again and dialed. “Evenride? I have a job for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  JAZZ HUDDLED over the lunchroom table the next day with his friends, BeBop and him shoving food in as fast as they could manage while the girls pushed their lunches around on their plates.

  “Did you tell your family what happened, Jazz?” Carla asked. “You never mentioned it on the ride in this morning.”

  He shook his head. “No. You know how intense my brothers can be, and I’m not convinced anything really happened. I mean, the guy just vanished, so maybe he was going the same place we were and we only thought he was following us.”

  BeBop snorted. “Come on. Whenever we slowed or stopped, so did he.”

  Khadija added in her careful way, “While it’s possible, it seems unlikely that his actions were coincidental, Jazz. At the very least, you should be cautious.”

  Those quiet words had authority, and he nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” Suddenly Jazz stopped, midbite. Evenride’s bodyguard walked into the lunchroom, then stopped and looked around. He seemed to rest his gaze on their table but didn’t meet Jazz’s eyes.

  Then he started walking toward them. When Jazz tensed, Carla looked up. Then she, too, froze. BeBop and Khadija glanced worriedly between the two of them.

  “What’s wrong?” BeBop followed their stares and said, “Oh. That’s the dude. From the meeting, right?”

  Jazz gave a slight nod.

  The big man arrived at the table. “Miss Mendes, Mr. Evenride would like to speak to you.” It sounded like youse.

  Carla wasn’t scared of anything—not even bears, or wiseguys who looked like them. “Excuse me, but I’m busy right now. I can talk to him later. But first I’d have to know where he is. If he wants to talk to me, why isn’t he here himself?” Her frown made the big guy step back.

  “Uh, I think he wanted to speak to you privately.”

  “Why? I have lunch to finish and work to do.”

  “Carla, why don’t you find out what Mr. Evenride wants?” Jazz raised his brows.

  She flashed the scowl at him, then seemed to get his drift. “Okay.” She looked at the big dude. “Where is he?”

  “Out in the hall.”

  “Seriously?” She rose, sighed dramatically, and looked at all of them with wide eyes. “I’ll be right out in the hall.” Then she stalked toward the door like some general storming the beaches.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Jazz jumped to his feet. “Excuse me. Men’s room.”

  BeBop grabbed his arm. “What’s going on, Jazz?”

  “Tell you later.”

  Jazz moved as fast as he could reasonably explain in human society toward the door, then skipped to the side into the kitchen and ran past the startled employees into the narrow service corridor. Stepping fast and lightly, he hustled to the main hall and… yes! Evenride was hanging out in the sitting area at the center of the corridor, a space that would be protected from listeners. If the listeners happened to be human. Carla was just sitting down opposite him. Jazz could see her high-tops.

  Jazz stopped at the edge of his cozy little hall, leaned against the wall, and flowed energy into his ears. Like a signal from space, sound started coalescing inside his head.

  “…delighted to see you at the picnic, and Donald was so thrilled to meet you again.”

  Carla’s voice sounded angry. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Evenride, but I have reason to believe that Donald was more of an asshole than usual, so if he was thrilled, he sure has a weird way of showing it.”

  “He told me about that, Carla. He was simply trying to find a way to tell you of his interest and longtime admiration for you. He says he was very bad at expressing himself. All these years in military school have made him pretty awkward around women. But he really wanted to warn you about”—his voice dropped even more—“the Vanessens.”

  “What the hell? What are you talking about?”

  Yeah, Jazz wanted to know too, but the hairs on his neck were standing up. Never a good sign.

  Evenride’s voice was syrupy. “I know, I know. You think they’re friends, and your father trusts them, but I think your trust is misplaced.” The words sounded rehearsed, as if he’d practiced them in front of a mirror. “These people aren’t what they seem, and they represent a threat to our communi
ty, our state, even our beloved country.”

  Her voice got snide. “And yet, here you are, hanging out at Vanessen Enterprises. Hell, your whole family doesn’t have the integrity that Casper Vanessen possesses in his eyelash. I’ll be going now.”

  Jazz’s stomach clenched. He loved her defense but also wanted to hear more.

  “Carla.” Evenride’s voice was sharp. “The reason I’m here is because there are people who agree with me. They believe that the Vanessens have more to hide than anyone suspects and”—His voice got singsongy—“they represent a clear and present danger to our society.”

  “I think you’re nuts.” That a girl, Carla! But who the fuck agrees with him?

  “I only ask you to let me show you evidence.”

  “Why didn’t you go directly to my father?”

  “Funny you should ask. Honestly, I believe that you have more up close and personal exposure to the family than your father has and, as a result, have a better chance of verifying our evidence.”

  “I don’t believe you have any evidence.”

  “Let me change your mind, then. I’ll email you some info I hope you’ll take a look at.”

  Jazz tensed. While he wanted the information, he also kind of wanted her to turn it down. Rock and hard place.

  She huffed out a breath. “I don’t believe anything you’re saying.”

  “That’s no reason not to hear me out, is it?”

  She paused, and Jazz held his breath. “Okay, send it. But I can’t promise I’ll even read it. One of those Vanessens you’re talking about is my best friend, and I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Umm, yes, well, I wonder if he didn’t do a very untrustworthy thing at the picnic?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Yes, what’s he talking about?

  “I believe you took a fall and hit your head?”

  “Yes. And I think Donald had something to do with it.”

  “Um, but perceptions can be changed, can’t they?”

  Jazz stopped breathing.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Carla’s voice rose. Then she seemed to catch herself, and she spoke more softly. “Do you mean drugs?”