Awakening Kiss (Watcher's Kiss Book 4)

by Sharon Kay

  He gave her chin lift. “I got you. We take care of our own. And this is damn good.” The croissant disappeared into his mouth.

  We take care of our own. Rhys had said something like that last night. They were like heroes. Like a tightly knit, special operations military team, who did what was asked and didn’t seek attention. Gratitude mixed with relief coursed through her body. What if she had encountered the other guys first? “I need to get back to the kitchen. More pastries to bake.”

  “I won’t complain about that. I’m here as long as you are.” He took a drink of coffee.

  “See you in a bit.” She headed back into the kitchen where Meena was waiting, arms folded.

  “You need to tell me where you’re meeting these guys. And then, we need to try to get them in here on a regular basis. We’re selling more today, and sales were up the other times Rhys was here.”

  Enza shook her head. “What are we now, coffee, sweets, and man candy?”

  “Hey, whatever works.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  Meena shrugged. “It’s a business.”

  Enza pulled a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven to cool. “I’m going to make more of these and the blueberry muffins, then call it a day. I’m beat.”

  “A late night with a hot guy will do that.” Meena smirked.

  “Meena, we have a line! I need help out here.” Josie stuck her head into the kitchen. “Enza, you owe me introductions with every single friend Rhys has. Or I’ll hunt you down.”

  “Okay, bossy.” Enza rolled her eyes. “Some of them might be taken. I don’t even know.”

  “Don’t care. Just do it.” She ducked back to the register.

  Meena studied Enza for an extra second. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Perceptive dark eyes flared.

  “What?” Enza shook her head. “I just happened to meet a hot guy, who happens to have some hot friends.”

  “Who are all built like football players.” Meena leaned against the doorframe. “I just want to make sure everything’s cool. That they’re good guys. Not involved in anything illegal.”

  “Oh my gosh, of course not. They’re sweet. Honest. Yes, they’re good guys.” She smiled at her friend, and guilt twisted through her veins just like the ribbons of cinnamon winding their way through the dough she’d mixed earlier. Enza was the one who needed to make sure Meena was going to be safe. Enza was the one who might bring danger to everyone else. She crossed the room to give Meena a hug. “You’re an amazing friend.”

  Meena squeezed her tightly. “Yes, I am.”

  “Love you.” Enza laughed and released her. “Now go sell to that mom crowd. Run a flash sale on skinny lattes or something.”

  CHAPTER 27

  AT HOME AFTER DROPPING ENZA off, Rhys had all three of his computers running searches on Soren Adamson. The other dude too, if he could find his assumed name. It didn’t matter what those two chose to call themselves in the human world—they had to pick something, and that choice would create a digital trail somewhere.

  He started with gold dealers. The precious metal was Torth’s main form of currency, and when coming to Earth, it was easy to find dealers for it. Some were more reputable than others. As his fingers flew through firewalls, pieces fell into place.

  Several sales of gold bars and coins had gone through on Adamson’s name, with the money being deposited at a large nation-wide investment company. An account with a Chicago bank popped up, as well as a few credit cards.

  On a hunch, Rhys pulled up all the transactions in the same general time period with the dealers who’d traded in Adamson’s gold. He scanned for names, for another man who may have traded the stuff at the same time. After all, gold was a popular asset to purchase but not many people were selling what they’d bought.

  There. Antonio Grasso. Every day that Adamson had traded in gold, so had he. His name also linked to a large Chicago bank. Rhys delved into the Illinois Department of Motor Vehicles to pull up both men’s driver’s license photos, and in seconds was looking at the two demons he’d wanted to pound into a pulp since yesterday.

  Adamson and Grasso. Mother fuckers. Rhys started up a program he’d written, to search databases around the world for photographic matches. It was facial recognition software taken to the next level. He didn’t have to ask permission from state, federal, or foreign databases—his program just snaked around their firewalls. Wherever these two had been in the world—airports, government complexes, police mug shots, banks—he was about to find out. Running a series of commands, he linked the DMV pictures and executed his search.

  The only hitch was that the thing could take one to two days to complete, depending on other countries’ networks. But Rhys had other sites to check while he waited.

  Rhys opened city real estate records next, discovering the owner of the crappy apartment building that he and Brenin had visited. The landlord was named Jose Garza, and he also owned two other buildings in the city. Garza’s bank account showed many deposits on the first of every month. The check images Rhys pulled up were from dozens of different names, but no Soren Adamson.

  He drummed his fingers on the desktop. Dude probably paid in cash. That’s what Rhys would do.

  Rhys delved into the Chicago police department files, and Adamson’s name yielded nothing. Not that he expected it to, figuring the dude would know how to avoid drawing human attention—but it was worth a shot. He started his regular scroll through the missing person’s reports next, pausing at a face that struck him as familiar.

  Cara Sandstone. Where had he seen her? She was blond and pretty in the crap cell-phone photo in the CPD database. Rhys enlarged the picture, drawn to her ear, which he could almost see clearly. The hint of a point formed at the tip.

  Hmm. Her description read five feet tall, ninety-five pounds…Shit! A memory slammed into place. Cara. She and her friend were the nymphs who interrupted his first kiss with Enza, after the street festival.

  He sat back and ran a hand over his jaw. A nymph was missing and it ended up in a human police file. They thought she was human, of course. Things like this happened occasionally. And it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Nymphs tended to get themselves into trouble, which usually they could charm their way out of. Usually.

  He completed his search of the police files without finding anything else notable. Adamson had an electronic trail, but that didn’t tell Rhys where the asshole was right this minute. Time to call in magical help. He pulled out his cell and dialed Miranda.

  “Hey, Rhys.” Her voice was sleepy and a rustling noise carried through the phone. “Just a minute.” The sounds of feet padding and a door closing came next. “What’s up with you so early?”

  “You know we don’t always sleep.”

  “Hmm, true.” She yawned. “How’s Enza?”

  “Ready for more training.” He grinned at the thought of Enza in his bed. As quickly as he could, he summed up yesterday’s crazy chain of events.

  “Holy shit!” Miranda exclaimed. “Where is she now?”

  “At work.”

  “You let her go into work—”

  “Brenin is there. I’m tracking this dude online. Found some info, but nothing that’ll lead me to him right now. And that’s where I need your help.”

  “You found someone with lightning power, who’s apparently naturally kick-ass at it and a very cool chick.” Appreciation filtered through Miranda’s tone. “I’m all yours.”

  “Meet me at his Austin apartment. We’ll find something to help you scry. Maybe a hair, a fingernail, I don’t know.”

  Scrying was a skill that most Deserati demons had. They could use any reflective surface and their own inherent magic to see what was happening to someone, somewhere else. They could view real time events, not past or future—but they could also see across the realms. Having a personal item or DNA from the subject helped immensely.

  “Sure. Text me the address. I can be there in an hour, maybe less.”
r />   “Thanks, Miranda.”

  ”I knew that girl was special. You lucked out in finding her. You know that, right?”

  He twirled a pen between his fingers. “Yeah. I do.” More than he ever could have imagined. “See you soon.” Rhys ended the call.

  He was lucky. Enza was amazing. Sexy, sweet, passionate, talented, loved her family and friends. He vowed to find the two Deserati men if it was the last thing he did. Because keeping his little baker safe had become his first priority.

  Rhys scented Miranda before he saw her, roses mixed with the telltale Deserati fragrance of pepper and cloves. Tapping away on her phone, she lounged against the shit hole of a building that Rhys had been in last night, ignoring the stares of passing women and men.

  With her red hair, pale skin, and leather pants, she stood out like a lone star in the sky. Different and very noticeable. Miranda only indulged human attention when she wanted something. “Hey.” She glanced up when Rhys neared. “Nice place they got here.”

  He snorted. “Wait ’til you see what they’ve done with the inside.”

  They opened the worthless door and went up to Soren’s apartment. Rhys went to twist the doorknob and Miranda took a step back. “You did check for traps last night?”

  “Standard procedure.” With a shove, he opened the door and walked in.

  Miranda quickly moved from room to room, stopping to assess the bathroom counter. “There’s hairs and crap here, but there’s no way to tell if it belongs to them. I’m guessing they weren’t big on cleaning.”

  “Doubt it.” A small tan spider crawled up the cracked mirror over the sink. Rhys ran a hand over his hair as an idea formed. “Can you collect some items here, and we’ll make a couple more stops?”

  “Sure.” She pulled a Ziploc bag from her pants pocket. “Where’d you have in mind?”

  “The landlord. He owns a couple places like this. I want to see his books, check out the other addresses and his financial records. Then we see if there’s a more current place these two rent from him.”

  She carefully picked several hairs and dropped them into her bag. “Fine. Let me guess, you snoop while I distract?”

  “Bingo. You’re the best.”

  “I know,” she sighed and picked up a fingernail clipping. “Ugh. Let’s go.”

  Their next stop was the South Side neighborhood of Jose Garza. His home was one of the many brick bungalows that filled dozens of Chicago streets. A chain link fence surrounded a small yard, with a rusty “Beware of Dog” sign clipped to it.

  “I don’t see or smell a dog,” Miranda murmured.

  “Me neither.” Rhys pointed to the side of the house. “I’ll wait until you’re in then go in the back.”

  Miranda gave a thumbs-up, bounded up the cement steps, and rang the bell.

  A short dark-haired man with an enormous belly hanging over his waistband answered the door and instantly Miranda went into charm mode.

  “I need a place to stay and I hear you rent apartments? I need something quick and I’ll pay cash. Por favor?” she gushed.

  “Si, come in, come in.” He gestured and stepped back to let her in.

  Their voices became quieter as they moved into a front room. Papers shuffled and chairs squeaked across hard floors. Rhys crept to the back door, guessing it would lead to a kitchen or a back porch.

  He rounded the corner, stepping through scraggly weeds. Kitchen it is. He paused and listened, detecting no one else inside. He walked up the three steps to the door, picked the lock, and stepped in.

  The familiar scent of natural gas from the old stove greeted him. These narrow rectangular houses usually had two or three bedrooms, with the master being the farthest back. He ducked into the closest bedroom, which held a queen size bed and a small desk. Binders were lined up neatly on a shelf above it, and Rhys silently gave a high five to Garza for being organized. Maybe he rented shitty apartments, but if he kept good records, that was a plus.

  Each binder’s spine had an address written on it. Rhys opened the first one, impressed to see tabbed sections with tax bills, repair receipts, complaints and, lastly, rent receipts. Rhys had already seen images of the renters’ checks online. But he flipped impatiently through the pages of the Austin binder, searching for Soren’s unit.

  There. The unit number, Soren’s name, and “$24,000 cash, paid on May 19.”

  Well okay. He’d paid for a full year up front. Bet he made Garza’s day.

  Rhys reached for the next binder, a building in Rogers Park on the North Side. It was similarly organized and, again, there was a record of Soren paying for twelve months in one lump cash sum. Rhys made a mental note of the address and unit number, then checked the third binder, which held zilch about Soren.

  Rhys took another quick look around the desk and saw nothing special. He replaced the binders and left, sidling around to the side of the building nearest the room Miranda was in.

  Garza was telling her about the Rogers Park building, how safe and new it was, while she pretended to be thrilled. Rhys sent her a text: Done. I’m outside.

  Ten seconds later, Miranda was making up reasons to leave, promising to follow up with Garza. Her boots scraped on the cement steps. A text chimed to Rhys’s phone.

  Miranda: Wait a minute to catch up to me. He’s worried about me being in this neighborhood alone. LOL.

  Rhys snorted. Woe to the human who dared accost Miranda. But he waited until she reached the end of the block, then jogged to join her.

  “Got an address and unit number for that Rogers Park building,” he said. “They paid for a full year, in cash, for each.”

  She nodded. “Smart. North Side, here we come. You’re giving me a workout.”

  Rhys grinned. “Can’t say your day is boring.”

  “With your group, never,” she said dryly. “At least it’s not quite so hot today.”

  They headed north, forced to walk instead of run along the rooftops since it was daytime. When they reached a main thoroughfare, they caught a cab. In fifteen minutes, they were at the building.

  “Let’s hope this gives us something decent,” Miranda said as they exited the taxi.

  “There’s a chance they could be home.” Rhys pulled out his phone and activated the detection app. To an observer, it would seem that he was just taking a picture or a video. His phone completed its scan. “No supernaturals here,” he said.

  “That’ll make things easier.” Miranda folded her arms. “More breaking and entering, coming up.”

  Rhys picked the lock on the outside door while Miranda stood close, blocking passers-by from seeing what he was doing. Inside, they headed up to the third floor and again, picked the lock. Miranda stepped to the side of the unit.

  In a smooth, practiced move, Rhys twisted the knob, kicked the door, and ducked to the side of the frame. The air crackled as a blast of magic burst forth, probably set to stun.

  “I’d expect no less,” Miranda murmured, sauntering in.

  Rhys followed her, finding himself in a small, tidy living room rich with the scent of Deserati demon. “This is it.”

  “Yeah, and they’ll know we were here. If they weren’t trying to find you already, now they have another reason.” Miranda headed through the room to a hallway.

  True. Just as they could smell the Deserati, when Soren and the other dude returned, they would easily detect Rhys’s and Miranda’s scents. Rhys allowed the kitchen only a passing glance. Like Lash demons, Deserati didn’t need to eat every day. He stalked after Miranda, who had paused in the bathroom. It was a step above the other apartment, with tile made to resemble stone covering the walls and floor, and modern fixtures.

  Miranda pulled a dark hair from the tile in the shower and dropped it into her baggie. Rhys continued to a bedroom. No art or decoration of any kind graced the walls. A pile of gray sheets lay twisted and rumpled on the bed. In the closet, a collection of button down men’s shirts, pants, and jeans hung. He peered farther in. No safe. He frowned. W
here did they store their weapons or cash?

  Checking the dresser, he came up empty. Damn, he had to have missed something. Either that, or they were poorly funded and supplied. But that didn’t match Soren’s electronic breadcrumb trail. Pulling out the drawers again, he tapped each one with his fingertips, sliding them along the edges, looking for…

  There. One of the lower ones had a false bottom. He popped it open as Miranda walked in and peered over his shoulder.

  “Nice,” she said, as a set of shiny handmade blades gleamed up at them from a black velvet wrap. Several rubber banded piles of cash sat next to it, and five amulets on slender chains rolled around between them.

  “I’ll give these to Rilan.” Rhys pocketed the amulets. Who knew what magic they held? It could be basic transportation, or something much more deadly. He took the knives, as per Watcher protocol, to inspect them at home. They’d either be used or melted down back on Torth. Rhys replaced the panel, having no need of the Deseratis’ money.

  “Since we can’t come back…” Miranda opened one of the top drawers. “I’ll need something else, to keep scrying on them.”

  Rhys straightened. “Take whatever you want. It’s not like they’ll care too much, after figuring out we’ve been here.” They would be pissed, they would want blood, and Rhys welcomed it. His fists clenched, wanting to destroy them for the way they’d pursued Enza.

  “As gross as this may be, some dirty laundry would be a huge help.” She left the room and her boots click-clacked on the cheap bathroom floor.

  “Just another day in your glamorous life.” He strode to the living room, not sympathizing that she was digging in the hamper.

  “Got a sock.” She joined him, tucking it into another bag. “This way, we can cut off pieces of it and scry for a loooong time.”

  He raised a brow, happy she had what she needed. “Whatever it takes, right?”

  “Hey, it’s not the grossest thing I’ve ever had to drop into a scrying bowl.” She wrinkled her nose. “Kai once gave me a severed hand.”