by C. J. Barry
Bart wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. “A new Shifter moved in. They call him Skinman, and he ain’t alone, if you know what I mean. He’s got friends.”
“What’s he doing?” she asked.
“He supplies DNA,” Dempsey said next to her.
Bart eyed him. “You know? Christ, man. You gonna put me out of business?”
“Don’t plan on it.” Dempsey’s eyes cut to hers for a moment. “I just know the type.”
“Yeah, well, he’s selling DNA to Shifters. So they can come up top,” Bart said. “And not just for money. He’s taking guns, drugs, whatever he can get.”
Seneca’s entire body was shaking, cold to her bones. “Where’s he getting the DNA from?”
“He’s cleaning out the people in the tunnels.”
She closed her eyes at the realization. “The homeless.”
Bart nodded a bunch of times. “Yeah.”
She glanced at Dempsey, but his expression was as unreadable as his emotions. Exactly what do you know about this? she wondered.
Bart looked around while he continued. “Everyone’s running scared. People are vanishing, and no one knows what happened to ’em. Some go missing and when they come back, they’re different.”
“What do you mean?” Seneca asked. “They look different?”
Bart shook his head. “No, they look the same, but they ain’t the same people inside. Don’t know their friends. Don’t know the tunnels.” He sniffed. “I think the Shifters are taking their place.”
That explained how Shifters were getting into polite society. Seneca asked, “Who else knows this?”
“Nobody,” Bart said. “Some people went to the cops, but no one believes ’em. They think it’s drugs or booze talking.”
That wasn’t a bad thing, Seneca realized. XCEL had used the whole urban myth thing for all it was worth. Giant alligators under the city. It was one of the reasons they’d managed to keep the aliens a secret for this long. Their PR would put any presidential candidate to shame.
Dempsey asked, “So you think our man is one of them?”
Bart shrugged. “Could be he used Skinman to get his human form. Maybe not. I’ll ask around.”
“What about Skinman? Can you get a location for us?” Seneca asked.
Bart flinched. “No way.”
She’d never heard Bart turn down a job, which made her want the info even more. Skinman sounded like a serious threat, and she wanted him. “I’ll pay you five hundred to hook us up.”
Bart’s eyes widened, and then he rolled his head. “Man, you’re killing me here.”
“A thousand,” she said.
He blew out a booze -laden breath. “I’ll see what I can do. I ain’t promising anything. And I ain’t going down there to find out. Hate the tunnels. Nothing good ever comes outta there.”
“Understood,” she said. “Thanks.”
Then Bart glanced around and bounced on his feet. “I need to be rolling. Been here too long already.”
Seneca slipped him a couple fifties. “Be careful out there.”
He tucked the money into his jacket and headed back the way he came. Seneca watched him until he blended into the night, and her stomach trembled uncontrollably. It was the perfect setup. Dark, underground, abandoned tunnels and caverns filled with their choice of homeless people to steal DNA from. Who’s going to worry about a street person? They went missing all the time. Shifters steal the DNA, kill them, replicate them, and get their ticket to the surface. Dear God.
As soon as Bart was out of earshot, Seneca turned to find Dempsey watching her.
“We need to get down there,” he said.
“I know.” She headed past him, back to her car before she froze to death. Although, at this point, that was the least of her worries. Dempsey stepped along next to her, and she asked, “What are the chances that Dillinger got a skin from this guy?”
“Possible. The city is a tough place for a Shifter to sneak into without it.”
Lovely. “You said you smelled Dillinger’s scent. Could you ID him by scent if you ran into him again?”
“Yes.”
That was a quick response. “Because he’s a Shifter?”
Dempsey shook his head. “Wouldn’t matter. I have an extremely acute sense of smell. We all do. It’s one of the few senses we can use in any form.”
“How acute?” she asked, looking at him.
Something flickered in his eyes as he focused on her. For a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. For a moment, she forgot about her toes. He finally said, “I could pick you out of a crowd from a city block away. Blindfolded.”
Her jaw dropped a little. “That’s impossible.”
One corner of his mouth curled as he looked straight ahead. “You use Ivory soap when you shower. Your shampoo has an aloe scent additive. You wear deodorant but no perfume. And you put on a clean shirt before coming out tonight.”
She frowned at the accuracy and the unsettling intimacy. Hell, he probably knew what color her underwear were. “Lucky guess.”
He grinned as he slowed at the car, and she took out her keys. He added, “Unfortunately, a city block isn’t very far. I need a decent trail to follow.”
Seneca unlocked the doors. “I’ll take care of the trail. Just don’t forget that scent.”
She was in the car when she heard him say, “I never do.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Seneca stifled a yawn as she sat at her desk with Dempsey’s file.
She hadn’t slept well today, what with the impending demise of the human race thanks to Skinman. All she could think of was thousands of variations of freshly deceased homeless people taking Manhattan. It’d be like every bad B movie come to life.
On top of that, she’d had to come in well ahead of the normal night shift, before Dempsey, in the hopes of finding something wrong with him.
Unfortunately, his file was filled with citations and certifications, and glowing performance reports. He’d scored at the top of his class in every aspect. Were all shapeshifters this good? She hoped not. Because humans would become obsolete. Or worse. She’d be reporting to Shifters.
Over my dead body.
On the personal side, he’d been granted legal status in the United States, no doubt by higher-ups who had never seen the world she lived in. He had an apartment on the Upper West Side, drove a used Toyota, and paid his bills on time, even his taxes. A model citizen. Part of her was grudgingly relieved, part of her was suspicious of anyone who was that perfect, and the last part of her was worried for her job and her country.
Seneca slapped the file shut, hid it in her top drawer, and put her head in her hands. God, she was tired. She was sick and tired of running in place. How was she going to fix this? How was she going to convince the idiots who controlled XCEL that a Shifter did not belong in an organization designed to neutralize them? It would seem obvious, but then again, this was the government she was dealing with.
And to be fair, Shifters weren’t much different than humans. And humans had managed to find plenty of reasons to turn on their own. Which led her to the more pressing question: What was Dempsey’s reason for turning on his own? She’d pondered it until her head ached and still could find no good reason. She supposed she could just ask him, but chances were very good he wouldn’t tell her the truth anyway. Which meant the free-floating anxiety she had been feeling for the past two days wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.
There was a shuffle at the door, and she braced herself for Dempsey before looking up. Instead, it was Ken Price, almost as bad. He waltzed in without asking, all starched shirt and creased pants. Only an office manager could get away with that look around here.
He put his hands on Dempsey’s desk and leaned forward until she could smell his expensive cologne, which, like his ego, rolled over her in a nauseating wave.
“I hear you’ve been working nonstop, girl. How about you and me go out tonight?” he said with the supreme confidence of a man
who didn’t know any better.
How about if the “girl ” tosses your sorry ass down the trash chute? “I’m working every night this week, Price. Sorry.”
“Okay, I can do breakfast,” he replied with a wink. “Even better. I make a hell of an omelet.”
If he didn’t handle most of her paperwork, she’d tell him exactly where to go. Usually, Riley ran interference for her, but he was gone. She clenched her fist under the desk. Playing along was worth whatever it cost. Paperwork was its own private hell. So she said, “As you probably noticed, this is not a good week for me.”
She sensed the change in him as he frowned. “It’s that new guy, isn’t it?” He pushed off the desk and stood up, his face turning crimson with resentment. “Christ, that didn’t take long.”
Okay, now she was mad. Through clenched teeth, she said very carefully, “It’s not him. It’s me. I’m busy.”
“It’s just one date. It’s not like you have so many other options,” Price said.
Now she wanted her gun. To hell with paperwork, to hell with being nice. “I said no, Price. Get a hint.”
“You think you’re so fucking hot,” he said. “One of these days, you’re number’s going to be up.”
She stood and pointed at the door. “Get out of my office before your number comes up, Price.”
“Is there a problem?”
Both of them looked over to find Dempsey dominating the doorway holding two cups of coffee. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, his leather jacket, and a visibly large Glock 39 underneath it. His gaze pinned Price, and Seneca could see the office manager stiffen. She’d seen Dempsey mad at her, but not like this. This almost scared her.
Price twitched and then squared his shoulders. “We were talking. You interrupted us.”
Dempsey’s gaze flicked to hers, and she pursed her lips. His eyes narrowed at Price. “You’re at my desk.”
Price stumbled a little as he moved away from the desk and carefully maneuvered around Dempsey at the door. Just before he walked out, he looked at her and said, “We’ll talk later.”
Dempsey kicked the door closed. “Price isn’t very bright, is he?”
She sat back down and mumbled, “No, but he is persistent.”
Dempsey handed her one of the two cups he brought in, and she said, “Thank you.” It was for more than the coffee, but she didn’t know how to say it without looking like she couldn’t handle herself with the office staff. The truth was, she sucked at the finer points of politics. Her only two methods were shutting up or shooting.
He took his seat. “Find everything you wanted in my file?”
She looked at him over the rim of her mug. “No.”
One corner of his mouth rose. “You could always just ask me.”
Hey, he offered. She set her coffee down and crossed her arms. “Okay. Let’s start with where you got your skin?”
Dempsey leaned back in his chair. “A dead man.”
His answer sent a shiver through her. “Was he dead before or after you took his skin?”
He smiled back. “Sorry to ruin your night, but I wasn’t the one who killed him. Found him dead in a ravine. Been there for a while. Gunshot to the head. Must have pissed someone off. Maybe it was you.”
She replied, “A funny partner. Just what I need. He must not have looked too healthy after being dead in the open for a week.”
“As long as the DNA is still viable, we can use it,” he replied without blinking.
Her stomach turned. “That’s disgusting.” And more than a little scary. How many people were buried in grave sites around the country? At this rate, she’d never sleep.
“It’s what we do. The only way we can survive. I didn’t ask to be a Shifter,” he said.
He sipped his coffee as if sucking the DNA from some dead guy was the most normal thing in the world. She collected her thoughts and asked the next question, “I’d hate to think there are more of you, but do you have any family I should be worried about?”
She noticed that his fingers tightened around the handle. His voice rasped. “Irrelevant. Next question.”
Ooo, she’d hit a nerve, and she tucked it away for future use. “Okay, here’s a good one. If we come face-to-face with Dillinger, will you be able to kill one of your own? No mention of doing that in your file.”
Dempsey didn’t move a muscle for a few moments, and Seneca realized she may have just crossed some strange forbidden Shifter line. Finally, he set down his cup carefully and pushed forward in his chair so their eyes met over the desks. The air around her stilled as he spoke low and slow. “Don’t worry about me, partner. I’m an agent first.”
He said it like he meant it, but that free- floating anxiety was firmly in place. “I just want to make sure you don’t change your mind about why you’re here.”
“How could I forget? Finished?” he asked.
“Not yet. Why are you here?”
Dempsey’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
That was true, but not the reason. “What do Shifters want?”
His expression softened just a little. “A home.”
Then you’re out of luck here, she thought. Just then, MacGregor opened the door and came in. Dempsey kept his gaze on her as he sat back in his chair.
“Thanks for knocking,” Seneca said, even though she was almost grateful for the interruption.
MacGregor stood with his hands on his hips. “It’s my place. Got personal business? Do it somewhere else. Now what did you want to talk about?”
Seneca cast a quick glance at Dempsey, who remained silent. Didn’t look like he was going to jump in and explain. Fine. “Bart says a guy named Skinman is selling DNA to Shifters underground. In the tunnels under the city.”
MacGregor crossed his arms over his generous belly. “Skinman? Nice name.” He looked at Dempsey. “What do you know about him?”
“It’s an occupation, not a name. For Shifters, a Skinman is a necessity when you have to blend in with the locals. It’s not as easy as you might think finding healthy DNA. So a Skinman sets up shop, collects DNA, and sells it,” he said. “But if this Skinman is killing off the homeless population to harvest their DNA, someone is going to discover his operation sooner or later.”
MacGregor let out a sigh. “I’ll notify the local authorities to let us know if they find any bodies underground.”
Seneca added, “And ask them to compile a list of missing homeless people. They rarely get reported, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”
MacGregor nodded. “How fast can they replicate, Max?”
He shrugged. “With sufficient energy, an experienced Shifter can roll over in a few days. Individual parts of the human anatomy, as quickly as a few hours.”
“We have to stop this guy,” Seneca said. “Like now. I think Dillinger might have gotten his DNA from Skinman. I want to go underground.”
She watched as MacGregor considered it and hoped he understood how urgent this request was. She had to put Skinman out of business, because if she didn’t, no one else would be able to.
“Dillinger is your first priority,” he finally said. “After you bring him in, you can go after Skinman.”
Those weren’t the orders she wanted, and she exchanged an unhappy look with Dempsey. Then MacGregor looked at his watch and opened the door. “Roll call in thirty minutes. I’ll have information by then. Don’t be late.”
Max followed Seneca for roll call and sat next to her in the back. The small room was jammed with XCEL agents throwing things at one another and telling raunchy jokes over long tables and chairs that faced a podium at the front. He noted that Seneca was the only female in the room.
Seneca watched the other agents, silently taking everything in and probably remembering every detail. Times like this he almost liked her. “You’re quiet.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she said and smiled.
He eyed her. “Expecting me to crack?”
She turned
to him, and brown eyes met his. “I don’t think you crack.”
He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or something else. Probably something else. He wouldn’t get any respect from her. Not yet. “So this is where you get the scoop on Shifters?”
“Anything we know is an advantage. None of us want to die.”
“Same here,” he said and smiled when she gave him an annoyed look.
The door at the back of the room flung open, and MacGregor stormed in. He slapped a pile of folders on the podium and swore as he tried to turn on the overhead equipment until someone came to his rescue.
“That man is going to have a heart attack someday,” Dempsey murmured.
“Hey, he’s mellowed,” Seneca replied. “You should have seen him a year ago.”
Finally, MacGregor yelled, and the dull roar settled down.
“Pay attention, people,” he barked. “This could save your ass tonight.”
He punched the remote and brought up a screen with a printout on it. “Our latest intel says that we now have over eight hundred Shifters in Manhattan. That’s a big influx of a few hundred in the past month.”
A murmur filled the room as MacGregor wrestled with the remote to bring up the next screen, a graph that showed one XCEL agent for every ten Shifters.
“Which means, we need more men,” MacGregor said. He nodded in Seneca’s direction. “Or women. Or dogs. Get your friends and relatives to come in and sign up for the best god-damn job there is.”
That got a chuckle out of the room.
“We believe the reason for the influx is a new source of DNA. Our homeless population. You’ll all get a list and photos of folks reported missing in the past three months. If you see one of them roaming the streets, call it in.”
Then the screen went black, and MacGregor swore as he tried to bring it back. Finally, he threw the remote in the corner and it broke in two. He gripped the sides of the podium. “We also got more info on their DNA structures. As you know, they can tap into any DNA source—hair, skin, blood, bones, saliva, even sperm—to build the basic structure. A good Shifter can completely convert in two days. After that, they are pretty much stuck with the structure, although with some experimentation, they may be able to play with eye color, skin color, yadda, yadda.”