by C. D. Gorri
The tip that came in earlier was odd. Sergio had been next up, so he’d gotten the gig. The anonymous tipster had reported suspicious activity in an abandoned warehouse and alluded to more substantial evidence on-site. He also made a vague statement about not following the money.
Nothing special about that, but the caller had used the special PRIC tipster hotline, only known in shifter circles. It guaranteed the crime was related to the supernatural world.
Once the human authorities were circumvented, Sergio headed out to investigate and came upon the raging multi-building fire. He called into the proper authorities, and despite the firefighters’ warnings to stay out until they had the blaze under control, he investigated the building. And was glad he had; otherwise, he might not have found Tony’s sister.
But what does that have to do with stolen identities and bank accounts?
Julietta DiCarlo had been kidnapped. Her identity had not been hacked. A look into her finances showed no unusual activity. He was at a dead end.
He wasn’t sure how the two tied together or why they did, but there was definitely some overlapping. It could not be mere coincidence. He felt it in his gut.
“Gotta find the tie-in, Sergio,” he grumbled to himself.
Talking to himself was part of his process. Kept him honest, or at least that was how he figured it. Same as his Grandpa Sal had taught him.
After all, an honest man had to start telling the truth somewhere, and that was best often kept to himself. Grandpa Sal had lots of useful information like that. Came from his rather colorful past.
The Gravinos had an unusual history. His family tree thrived under a heavy amount of shade in its early days in the good ol’ USA. A little more than he’d have liked to admit. In all honesty, they had questionable associations and, in some cases, relationships with known criminals, but the end result was all that counted.
The Gravinos had made good on their business goals. Going completely legit long before Sergio was born. The rest simply was whatever it was.
What it all added up to now was Sergio Gravino never told a lie. He was proud of his heritage, despite the illegal undertones that colored parts of it. If being honest proved too difficult, well, he learned to simply stay quiet.
Some thought the Gravino organization was still a major player in the underground shifter world, but as far as he knew, they had been out of that business for years.
Beets, carrots, and cabbages were the Gravino family’s stock in trade these days. The farm his grandfather ran was large and state-of-the-art. A real tribute to non-GMO, organic growers in the Garden State.
Sure, they had some visitors from the old days, but they were just friends. Grandpa Sal assured him their holdings were strictly on the up and up these days. It would not do well for the older bull to be involved in anything criminal. Not with a grandson who was a detective.
At any rate, Sergio had been vetted thoroughly before coming to work for PRIC. And now, he was hot on the trail of one of the most heinous organizations out there. Stealing identities was despicable. Ruining someone else’s hard-earned life for the sake of a few baubles was indefensible.
But experimenting on shifters, as the organization known as SCARAB was known to do, was about the evilest thing he had ever heard. Immoral, unethical, vile, and truly heinous.
Were the two cases intertwined? Sergio could not prove it yet, but he sure as hell thought so.
The task force assigned to locating and ending SCARAB’s nefarious deeds was a far cry from his little identity theft ring. Still, something about what the tipster had said when he called in the location where Ms. DiCarlo was being kept bugged him.
Something about warning the detectives to not follow the money. What money? Why mention money? Why set the fire if not to cover something up? All good questions. All begging answers he did not have. Yet. The key word was yet.
He needed to go over that recording again. One quick email to Joe Canary had Sergio growling in his seat. Seemed the little birdy couldn’t locate the message.
In fact, all traces were gone, except for the phone number. Interestingly enough, the phone, a burner that was now dead, had a Canadian area code.
“Very interesting,” he mumbled to himself.
So what did he know? Well, Julietta DiCarlo was safe. Thank goodness.
But Bernadine Spirito’s granddaughter’s credit was not. In fact, new activity was very troubling. The thief had somehow been approved for a $117,632 loan.
An oddly specific amount if Sergio ever saw one. Even worse, the thief received it in a wire transfer that went straight into an offshore account and was immediately converted to untraceable cryptocurrency.
Shit. It would be impossible to find.
“Another dead end,” he growled to himself.
Another couple of hours zoomed by with Sergio hunkered down at his desk. His stomach growled and his back ached.
Just a few more minutes, he told himself. At least he still had snacks. Sighing, he reached for another delectable cannoli-cream-filled bear claw, but Sergio’s searching hand encountered none. Only the empty bottom of the cardboard pastry box Tony Leeds had brought him.
Mournful moo.
“Are you still here, Mr. Gravino?”
He looked up swiftly from the empty box and cleared his throat at the untimely interruption.
Crap. His eyes landed on the formidable stare of one Margot Leeds. Sergio stood up too quickly, knocking down some of the files he’d borrowed from storage.
“Mrs. Leeds,” he yelped, blushing furiously at the sound. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry. Uh, I was just—”
“No need to stumble over yourself, dear boy.” His boss smiled, her white teeth gleaming sharply in the dim office light.
He had to wonder if the rumors were true about Jersey Devils. Predators were common in his world, but Jersey Devils were not.
They were a cryptozoid unknown to many. Rumored to be the result of an experimentation gone awry by the very same group PRICs like Tony Leeds were hunting to this day. Still, cannibalism was not an easy reputation to either earn or overcome.
Should the shifter in question want to do so, that is. Some preferred to keep others on their toes, wondering where the truth and fiction began.
Sergio had heard plenty about shifter families with infamous recipes used in celebration after defeating their enemies. Not that he was judging. With his family tree, how could he? Blood thirst was not reserved for carnivores alone. Take it from a vegetarian.
Why, his own great-grandfather, Salvatore Gravino, was said to possess a recipe for fertilizer that incorporated the siphoned marrow from his enemies’ bones along with a hearty blend of entrails and organs.
Perfect for his various vegetable fields, in particular the beets, which always seemed sweeter afterward. Even better for Gravino Farms’ blueberries.
8
The proof was in the pie. At least that was what Aunt Edith said. And her pies were the best. Baked daily during the season with the freshest Jersey blueberries, peaches, and apples. She even made a damn fine strawberry-rhubarb.
Yum.
Grandpa Sal had won the Garden State Best Growers’ Award twenty years in a row. Coincidentally, his neighbor, a sheep shifter named Ted Logan, had not been seen since 1987.
The unfortunate man had lodged a complaint about noise pollution, blaming Grandpa Sal’s tractor just a month before his disappearance.
He was a mean old fucker if memory served. Never returned any of Sergio’s soccer balls when he’d accidentally kicked them over the fence dividing the two properties.
Asshat.
On the plus side, Grandpa Sal grew one hell of a crop. His tomatoes were the best. Oh, Sergio had absolutely loved the summers he spent on that farm. His grandfather grew the biggest, best veggies in the whole Garden state. So much so, Gravino Farms was one of the top produce exporters in all New Jersey.
The Garden State was, of course, renowned as a top produce exporter in the USA. O
ne of the leading producers of cranberries, blueberries, eggplant, asparagus, and of course, tomatoes.
“Mr. Gravino?”
“What? Oh, sorry,” he said, snapping back to reality. “Ma’am? Can I help you?”
“No, son.” She grinned again. “I am here to help you. I understand the criminal responsible for stealing the Spirito granddaughter’s identity is somehow linked to SCARAB?”
“It is a possibility, ma’am. Investigators have found the image of a beetle carved into the cornerstone of the warehouse where Ms. DiCarlo was being held. But the tip came into our hotline, not FUCs.”
“Yes, I know. However, they also recovered this from the debris.” She handed him a file folder, and he immediately opened it. “I had them scan the remnants of documents found on the site. These are copies. As you can see, the fire started in this room here. They were using it as an office. Those papers appear to be forgeries of official documents. The last one bears a name...”
“Spirito,” he murmured, holding the paper that connected the dots.
His identity thief was in fact working for SCARAB. The evidence was right in front of him.
Grrr.
“Yes, it seems even criminal conspiracies like SCARAB need funding.”
“I want in on this case, Mrs. Leeds,” he grunted.
“I thought you would.” She handed him an envelope. “I take it you noticed the seal on the Spirito forged document?”
“It’s from Service BC. That’s where you get important documents like birth certificates and drivers’ licenses in British Columbia—one of the provinces in Canada, right?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s in the envelope, ma’am?”
“Your tickets, Mr. Gravino. I am making you the Detective in Charge of this case as far as PRIC is concerned.” She smiled and added, “I believe my grandson offered you a place to stay. The plane leaves in a few hours. I suggest you take a shower and pack a bag.”
Sergio nodded. Excitement thrummed through his veins at the very idea.
Holy shit.
His years of good, old-fashioned, honest, hard work were finally paying off. Every PRIC dreamed of heading his own case, and he was no different. His bull grunted in anticipation of the upcoming hunt, and Sergio pushed the pedal to the metal, practically flying home in his SUV.
Packing his travel case took precious minutes, but he finished and headed for the door. His stomach growled, but he pushed his hunger aside. This was no time to get his chow on.
Sergio was a DIC now. And he had a thief to catch.
9
Sergio exited the taxi and took in the surrounding area.
Whoa. Canada sure is pretty, he thought as his big brown eyes focused in on the tidy little main street of the small town just outside of the Academy’s campus grounds.
Playing the tourist wasn’t too bad. Hell, at least it disguised his need to survey the area for any tails or signs of wrongdoing. Tony was late picking him up, but that was okay, too. Gave him more time for a little reconnaissance.
Stopping at the diner, he got himself a large garden salad with a light lemon vinaigrette. Next, he grabbed a tall iced coffee and waited on a park bench for his ride.
He didn’t have to wait long. Tony pulled up in a shiny, sleek devil red Pontiac Trans Am with the t-tops off and Bon Jovi blasting. Sergio was a Boss man himself.
“Bruthah!” yelled the man with the devilish grin.
“Nice ride.” Sergio smirked, shaking his head.
The guy never could do anything small or indiscreet. And he was supposed to be Sergio’s cover. SMH. He snorted, but grinned all the same.
His bull was in a very good mood. Must be the mountain air, he mused. After he’d finished his coffee, he did some breathing exercises to settle his chakra. Officially, Sergio was on vacation, visiting his buddy and new wife in the Rockies.
Unofficially, he was on assignment. Looking to prove the connection between Tony’s sister’s kidnapping and the identity thief who’d been plaguing one shifter child and at least five college-aged students in the United States—including Samantha Andrews, the gopher shifter who’d last been thought to be heading to FUCN’A.
Something tied them together, but the other agents and detectives on the SCARAB task force were not keen on his take of the whole operation. His boss had cleared the way for him to travel to Canada to follow his hunch.
Naming him the Detective in Charge of his own assignment. He was humbled by her steady belief in his investigative skills, even if she was only doing it for the sake of her grandson. After all, Julietta, the girl who’d been kidnapped, was Tony’s adoptive sister.
Sergio had spent the entire airplane ride going through the files of the six victims of the identity thief he’d discovered thus far, but nothing linked them. At least not yet.
“So, Grandmother Leeds tells me she made you head DIC of this operation. Congrats, man! You have a line on one of your identity theft victims?”
Sergio was a little cramped in the sports car, but he managed to get his seatbelt on, having stored his travel bags behind him. He listened to the inquiry, considering it before he answered.
“Thanks, and yes. A gopher shifter named Samantha Andrews filed a report after strange accounts began to appear on her credit history. Clever girl was taking accounting classes before heading up here to FUCN’A for classes. According to her grandmother’s bingo friends, she’d always dreamed of being an agent. But she headed to BC with her grandmother and then they both went incommunicado—no one has heard from either of them in the past eighteen months.”
“I see.” Tony nodded. “Lots of hopefuls come here to find out they can’t hack it. My little pasticcino helped plenty of young shifters adjust to the Academy. You know she was a conflict resolution counselor.”
“Yes, I heard. But what do you mean was?”
“Didn’t I tell you? We’re expecting our first.” He grinned from ear to ear as he hooked a turn that had Sergio scrambling to hold on to his files.
“Yes, I figured that out the other day. Congratulations to you both,” the bull said while he straightened his papers and shoved them back into his briefcase where it was safe.
“Come on, you can tell her yourself.” Tony winked and pulled off the road into a complex of little townhouses.
“I figured you’d need your own space, so I went ahead and grabbed you the vacant unit across from ours for a few weeks.” Tony pointed to a decent-sized townhouse directly across the paved walkway from where the Jersey Devil and his mate resided.
“The people who live there are on a tour of Europe and were going to list it on some vacation swap site, but I told them I’d do them one better. Fridge is stocked, and there’s a cleaning lady that comes over on Wednesdays.”
“Thank you,” Sergio said.
Sure, I’m a Jersey boy, er, bull, but I could graze around here for hours.
His bull snorted happily as Sergio’s eyes wandered across the neat little complex that sat snuggly against a stand of pines that broke away into a protected forest area.
He took in a cleansing breath of fresh mountain air. Yes, indeed, his beast was right. He was a Jersey boy at heart, but Canada was sweet. Lots of open spaces, forests to explore, and plenty of fresh, clean air to breathe.
He tried not to notice as Sofia came outside and embraced her husband lovingly. Imagine coming home to someone like that. Someone waiting just for you.
Silly romantic idea for sure, but dammit, his bull yearned for a mate. And he’d been ignoring that yearning for too long, it seemed.
Sad moo.
He bypassed the still clinging couple and dropped off his things at his rented townhouse, the key to which was under the mat, before heading back over.
So trusting, he mused, slipping the metal fob into his pocket. Back in Jersey, he sure as shit would never leave a key under the mat. He counted to ten, wanting to give the couple ample time to say their hellos.
10
> His bull was anxious enough without having a reminder that others were happily mated while he was still very single thrust in his face.
Hell, I’m practically a confirmed bachelor.
Sad moo.
Tony was surprisingly thoughtful, renting a fully furnished townhouse for him. He wouldn’t have to worry about fixing the place up or have to deal with scratchy hotel sheets. The inferior thread counts did terrible things to his skin.
Happy snort.
After dropping off his luggage and briefcase, he walked back over to Tony’s to come up with a game plan. The two lovebirds were still snug, sitting close on the couch, cuddling. His bull pushed against his skin, but he wrestled the beast down. That kind of life just wasn’t in the cards for him.
Angry grunt.
“I thought you were gonna nap, baby doll? Traveling back and forth wore you out,” Tony said to Sofia, nuzzling her neck, and wrapping her up in a tight hug. “You promised.”
“I was, but I had a lunch date with Sammi.”
“That was today?”
“Uh-huh.” She kissed her mate’s chin, and Sergio felt very much like a peeping bull.
“Uh, excuse me,” he interrupted.
He felt odd standing in the doorway, unintentionally eavesdropping. Tony growled, skin reddening with his inner beast. Ducking his head, Sergio waited for Tony’s devil to recede. The man’s semi-shift was lightning fast and impressive as all hell. Once his skin became flesh-colored again, Sergio walked inside.
“Sorry about that, Sergio. Tony’s got a hair-trigger temper ever since we found out about junior,” Sofia explained, leaving a possessive hand on her husband’s arm.
Sergio’s interrupting them caused the mated male to get a little bit grumpy. It was a shifter thing. “I understand.” He nodded, even though he didn’t.
Sadness filled him. He supposed he never would feel that way. Protective and possessive over both mate and young. Tony was blessed.