by C. J. Barry
Dempsey turned his gaze to the night sky. “Nice way to deck Dr. Franklin.”
She bit her lip. It was very unprofessional, and MacGregor would have kicked her butt for doing it. But she’d been so furious and sickened with his psychotic babble. And then when he had the nerve to ask about his research papers . . . “I didn’t have a gun with me.”
Dempsey smiled at that. “You realize that the Shifters he was working on were criminals that XCEL had caught.”
She hadn’t forgotten that part, or the fact that she’d joined XCEL to rid her planet of Shifters. Or that if they got rid of the Shifters, that would include Dempsey. She was purposely trying not to go down that road.
“They still deserved better.” She checked her phone again. “Bart is fifteen minutes late. I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.” His voice was raw and thick. He’d shifted. “We have company.”
Seneca reached for her guns as shadows burst from the buildings all around them.
“What the hell!” she said as she fired into them.
“Follow me!” Dempsey roared. Five Shifters moved in as she ran with Dempsey, getting off shots when she could. She had both her Glocks, the tranq gun, and a protective vest, but no night vision.
Dempsey lunged at the Shifter standing between them and the closest building and knocked him out of the way. Seneca sprinted past him toward the nearest door. She kicked the warehouse door and its hinges broke. She pushed her way inside and hid behind the doorjamb. That was when she noticed that Dempsey wasn’t with her. She peered out to find him fighting off the five attackers single-handedly. Loud grunts and screams echoed between the buildings.
He tells me to take cover, and then he plays hero. She was going to kill him. She stepped outside. “Hey, dickheads. Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
For a moment, none of them paid any attention to her.
“Hello!” she hollered and waved her guns over her head. “Wanted woman here.”
Then two of them peeled off and came after her. That left Dempsey with three and a fighting chance. She turned and ran back into the building and through the littered rooms. Without night vision, she had to rely on the ambient city light filtering through grimy windows. She tripped over uneven floorboards and skirted rusted machinery. A set of stairs appeared up ahead. The stairwell was partially blocked by fallen beams, but she managed to squeeze between them.
The Shifters were right behind her, and she heard their voices when they reached the bottom and realized they couldn’t fit. They’d have to shift back to human, which would give her time. She raced up the stairs, feeling pretty good until she heard wood creak and splinter.
Or they could just use their superhuman strength to clear the beams. Damn Shifters. She moved her ass, heavy footsteps behind her. The trick was keeping them interested but not too close. When Dempsey was done outside, he’d come after these guys.
She hoped.
Moonlight illuminated the soaring second-floor space. Long conveyor belts stretched the length of the open area and catwalks crisscrossed the ceiling three stories up, linking steel storage tanks. Thick chains hung down like nooses. The Shifters were closing in behind her. She holstered one of her guns, jumped up on a conveyor belt, and ran as fast as she could over the busted track, tossing everything she got her hand on behind her to slow them down.
A catwalk ladder was dead ahead and Seneca sped up, hit the end of the track, and leaped onto the ladder. It gave a groan as she slammed into it and prayed it held together, at least until she got to the top. The catwalk was just within reach when they wrenched the ladder hard to the right and she nearly lost her grip. The Shifters shook it again, and her feet slipped off, leaving her hanging by one hand. She fired at them and scrambled to regain her footing.
With one mighty lunge, she reached for the catwalk and pulled herself up through the small opening in the grating. One of the Shifters was climbing the ladder right behind her. She crawled on her hands and knees out of reach as he poked through and made a grab for her. He grunted as he tried to push himself up farther, but his shoulders were stuck.
“Today is not your day, buddy.” She gripped his head with one hand, concentrated, and said, “Shift.”
His eyes widened, and his body fought the terrible transformation without success. He stared at her as the contortions consumed him. Seconds later, he dropped and landed headfirst on the floor. The other Shifter stood over him as he flailed in agony. Then he looked up at her.
“Surprise,” she said, pulling herself to her feet.
The Shifter growled and ascended the ladder. She waited, knowing she was out of reach. This is going to be a lot easier than I planned, she thought. Right up until he got to the top, climbed over the railing, and dropped onto the catwalk in front of her.
Shit. She pulled out the tranq gun and shot at his chest. The cartridge passed through him and hit the wall. His face split into a big grin.
“Right,” she said, tossed the gun over the railing, and ran.
The metal structure shook as the Shifter chased her. She heard bolts snap and metal whine. The maze of catwalks bounced and flexed with every step. A few of the grates were missing and she leapt over those with the Shifter close behind her.
Seneca turned a corner and realized that it dead-ended at a massive steel tank. She stopped and glanced through the grates—at least three stories down. The Shifter had her trapped.
He chuckled as she turned to face him and backed up. They moved in unison—him advancing, her retreating. She looked down again, searching for Dempsey. All quiet below. She pulled out her Glocks, knowing they were useless at this point.
Then a grate popped several screws when she stepped on it and gave under her weight. A plan formed as she lifted her foot off the bad grate and took a giant step back.
“You think you can beat us,” he hissed, enjoying his advantage. “You pathetic piece of flesh. I could slice you in half.”
She countered, “Maybe. But I have something you don’t.”
“Your little guns?” he said.
She just smiled. “Come any closer, and I’ll show you.”
He stepped on the loose grate and reached for her. She aimed and shot at the few remaining screws holding the grate up. He threw his head back and laughed. Then he was gone, crashing through the metal and hitting the concrete with a bone-crunching thud.
“I have brains.” She leaned back against the tank to calm her pounding pulse and closed her eyes for a moment. That was too close. How many lives did she have left?
Then she pushed off the tank and made her way back down. She’d just reached the bottom when Dempsey came running in, still in Shifter form. She scanned his formidable Shifter body. No injuries that she could see, and for that she was grateful. He looked powerful, and for the first time, she realized there was beauty in his Primary form. She’d been too busy hunting them to notice.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She reloaded her guns. “You know, I’m getting damned sick of being ambushed. I assume the others are dead or gone.”
“Both.” Dempsey checked the fallen Shifter. “He’s dead. Where’s the other one?”
“I shifted him and he fell three stories on his head. He’s a goner.”
Dempsey stood up and shifted back to human. “And I have a feeling Bart isn’t doing too well either. They used his cell phone to set us up.”
She’d tried to come up with another explanation, but now foreboding loomed. Bart was in serious jeopardy, she was sure of it. “Let’s check his place. Maybe his phone was lost or stolen.”
Dempsey gave her a dubious look. “Your optimism is sweet.”
She walked by him, guns at the ready. “There’s nothing sweet about me.”
Bart’s place could be described in three words: tiny, dirty, and orange. Max scanned the disaster that stretched from the corner kitchen to the living room to the bathroom. “I can’t even tell if it’s been ransacked.”
Seneca was wadin
g through piles of clothes, empty bottles, and pizza boxes toward the kitchen area. “I can’t believe anyone lives like this.”
Max headed to the bathroom, which was the only other room in the apartment. If Bart had left anything behind, it’d be here, somewhere in this sea of garbage. He stopped, catching a faint scent. “Shifters.”
Seneca had her guns out in a flash. “Here? Now?”
“It’s been a few days. One, maybe two Shifters,” Max said. “It’s a little hard to separate the scents in here.”
She holstered the weapons. “I can imagine. This is one place I wouldn’t want super olfactory powers. Picking up anything else?”
Max followed the scent to the couch. “Yes. At least one of them was female.”
Seneca stared at him. “A female Shifter? I thought you said they were wiped out.”
“All the children were lost, but a few women survived.”
“Enough of them to save your people?” she asked.
It was his turn to stare. To save his people? He wasn’t used to hearing that or even having anyone care enough to think about it. “Probably not. Our race is destined to die out here.”
Seneca pursed her lips, her expression pensive. What was she thinking? He didn’t know anymore. The way she looked at him now was so different. She’d given herself to him. She’d defended the Shifters as her own to Dr. Franklin. She’d changed.
He turned his attention back to the room. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle, although that’s debatable.”
Seneca nodded. “I’ll start at this end; you take that end. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find him passed out somewhere under this mess.”
An hour later, they’d finished working through the two- room apartment. No Bart, and no clues to where he might be. Max also realized they were back to square one again. How were they going to find Hager now?
“I’ll send the cleanup crew in to see if they can find anything we may have missed,” she said and stopped in front of him. She was noticeably exhausted.
“And we need to locate another XCEL informant.” Max wiped a smudge of dirt from her face. “Bart’s not alive, you know.”
“I know.”
She looked so vulnerable at that moment. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her to hold her tight. Her world, what she loved, was unraveling around her. He knew from personal experience that it was hell.
Then a thought struck him. “Can our techs follow the cell phone signal?”
Seneca leaned back and looked at him, renewed by a glimmer of hope. “They should at least be able pinpoint the location the last text message was sent from.”
“Then we have a shot,” he said, releasing her. “Let’s get out of here before we contract something deadly.”
Just as they stepped out of the apartment, Max noticed one of the neighbors peeking out her door. The old woman slammed the door shut when she saw him.
Seneca exchanged a look with him. “Nosy neighbors. My favorite kind.”
She walked up and knocked on the door while Max scouted the hallway. The apartment building was run-down and loud. Voices carried from floor to floor. A perfect setup for eavesdropping.
The woman opened the door, a chain stretched across the few inches. Max moved behind Seneca for a better look. She was in her sixties with white hair that stuck out in every direction. “What do you want?”
Seneca said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but we are looking for Bart. He lives next door.”
The woman glanced up at Max, and then back at Seneca. “Ain’t seen him lately.”
“When did you see him last?” Seneca asked.
The woman frowned. “Are you a cop?”
“Friends of Bart,” Max said.
She glared at him. “Not you, her.”
Seneca replied, “No, we’re friends. I haven’t heard from him in a while and I’m worried.”
She muttered, “I told him not to trust them.”
Seneca asked, “Trust who?”
The woman stared directly at Max. “The ones like him.”
Max froze. Could she see him?
Seneca gave a little laugh. “Like what?”
“Monsters,” the woman said, her eyes fixed on him. “They come and go all the time. I told Bart, one of these days, they gonna kill you. You ain’t like them.”
“Well, I’m not one of them,” Seneca said, evenly. “You can trust me.”
The woman looked at her and chewed on her lip. “He ain’t been home in two days. Don’t know where he is.”
Seneca nodded. “Thank you for your help.”
The woman flicked her gaze to Max and motioned for Seneca to move closer. Max heard her whisper, “Bart keeps all his good stuff in his mailbox.”
Seneca thanked her again. The woman gave Max a final dirty look and slammed the door shut. They walked down the stairs toward the front of the building where all the mailboxes were located.
“She could see me,” he said.
“Yes,” Seneca replied quietly. “I wonder how many more of us there are?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I diots. It took every bit of Hager’s self-restraint not to throw his BlackBerry at Louie.
“Is there no one who can catch these two?” he asked the lone Shifter from the five he’d sent out to capture Dempsey and Thomas. Louie was in human form and battered. There were odd bumps under his clothing, and he could barely walk. Too bad. He got paid plenty for his injuries.
Louie rubbed his head. “You don’t understand. Max is good . . .”
“He’s no different than you,” Hager insisted. He stood and paced the perimeter of his cell, the only safe place he could live. And every day, it felt smaller and smaller. He was beginning to hate this planet and its humans. One day, he’d rectify both.
“But she isn’t,” Louie said. “She forced me to shift.”
Hager stopped dead in his tracks. “She what ?”
“She put her hand on my head and said, ‘Shift,’ and I did. And let me tell you, it hurt like hell and I’m still not healed right.”
Hager frowned at the man. He was dead serious. “Did she use something? Technology? Drugs?”
Louie shook his head. “Nothing. Just her hand. I couldn’t stop it from happening. I couldn’t control the transformation. You can offer me all the money you want, but I’m not going after that woman again.”
Seneca Thomas could force Shifters to shift with her bare hands. Hager had never seen or heard of such a thing. It was unique and, therefore, valuable. In fact, he could use a woman and a weapon like that. All he had to do was convince her to work for him.
Or maybe it wasn’t her he had to convince.
“Go heal yourself,” Hager said. “And send Puck in on your way out.”
Louie nodded and left. Seconds later, Puck shuffled in.
“I want to talk to Max,” he said. “Make sure he gets a throw-away phone.”
Puck gave him a wary look. “You really think you can stop ’im with talking?”
Hager pulled on his jacket and stuffed the BlackBerry in the pocket. Every man had his price. Every situation could be turned to an advantage. “Yes, I do. It’s time.”
Puck screwed up his face. “Time for what?”
“Call in all the borough lords for a meeting. Set it up for tomorrow night.” He headed out of the wine cellar. “Tell them we’re arming.”
Puck asked, “Where are you goin’?”
Hager answered over his shoulder. “To see an old friend.”
In the apartment building entryway, Seneca sifted through the papers they’d retrieved from Bart’s mailbox. The building super was more than happy to hand over the keys after she offered him a month of Bart’s rent. She only hoped it was worth it. There were overdue bills, unpaid parking tickets, a bag of a white illegal drug, and an envelope with a hundred dollars in it. One man’s life, in a box.
Dempsey said, “This is his good stuff ?”
“It would appear so. I don’t see anyth
ing useful in here. No notes or contact information.” She sighed and slid the papers back into the mailbox.
“Wait a minute,” Dempsey said. “Give me the parking tickets.”
She eyed him as he studied them. “Feeling generous?”
“No,” he said, and waved the clutch of tickets. “But Bart has a car.”
It took her two phone calls and a few hours to track down Bart’s car. They located it in a NYPD impound lot. It was a quiet drive to the lot. Seneca concentrated on the fact that they had another chance to find something Bart may have left behind. Because one thing was clear: Bart hadn’t skipped town in his car.
Cars of all makes and models were lined up in the pound.
“Should we tell someone that Bart isn’t coming for his car?” Dempsey said.
Seneca shook her head. “We don’t know he’s not coming back. Maybe he got spooked and is on the run.”
They found Bart’s 1998 Buick LeSabre unlocked and full of trash. No surprise there. Seneca endured the stench from liquor flasks, food containers, urine, and vomit as she searched the interior and glove box. She stuffed a few scraps of paper she found in her pocket. Then she looked through the rearview mirror to find Dempsey staring at the trunk. “What’s wrong?”
“Pop the trunk,” he told her, and she obliged.
Over the top of the trunk, she saw him frowning. With great dread, she got out and walked around the back of the car.
Bart was wrapped in layers of plastic and stuffed in his own trunk.
Dempsey said, “I think it’s safe to tell them he won’t be picking up his car now.”
“Our crime scene unit said he’d been dead at least twenty-four hours,” Carl said. “Strangulation.”
Seneca was pacing Carl’s office at the newly relocated make-shift XCEL headquarters, her head down and face pale.
Max asked, “He had his wallet?”
“Yeah, looks like they just wanted the cell phone.”
“My informant,” she repeated for the third time as if she wasn’t even listening to them. “This is my fault.”
“Every informant takes that chance,” Carl told her, but she didn’t stop pacing. Max watched her. She was running on empty—no sleep, no food, no answers. He could do that, but then again, he wasn’t entirely human either.