Then he was gone.
Cait locked the door behind him and leaned on it, focusing on her breathing. In. Out. Deep breaths to still her aching heart.
She had a serious problem. Aiden had her off balance even before he kissed her. Now that he’d done that—now that they had done so much more—holy cow.
How was she going to find center?
“Stop it. Focus,” she said, flinging her coat off the couch to get her bag. She logged on and let the device drink her blood. She read the message and sank, trembling, onto the arm of the sofa.
“Holy shit,” she said, slumping down to the floor, leaning on the wall. “Hooooleeee shit.” Shock hit her in waves.
Issue: ST Business, Earth
Professional.
Related to V1.
No further. No listed requests.
Smell = Poss. Aurelian. No official contract.
Rods = Poss. clan revenge.
Proceed with original project.
“Hellfire and damnation!” Cait exclaimed, reading it again as she took a fast, pissed off turn around the room. “I did not want to hear this.” She threw the device onto the sofa and watched it bounce. “I had a nice evening. A great meal. Good company. The best sex of my life. This couldn’t have waited till morning?”
It couldn’t. She knew that, but still.
Translated, the note indicated the murders were extraterrestrial in origin, a professional hit, possibly related to Senator Hathaway—V1 for Victim One.
Her mention of the smell, along with a professional hit status, run through the larger ship-log databases had yielded a blip. The assassin was most likely an Aurelian.
And that was the piece of news she least wanted to hear. It had been her fondest desire to retire or die without ever having to deal with an Aurelian.
Kith’s Science First couldn’t or wouldn’t elaborate, which left her precisely nowhere. Their terse script indicated no Alliance termination permit was listed for the senators. They would never have issued one, but would have acquiesced if there were a breach of honor or etiquette involving the senators—highly unlikely since there was supposed to be no Earth contact.
And yet, the rods, the impaling part, indicated revenge.
But if there had been contact, the Kith should have known. If there had been a revenge contract, the Kith would never have put her anywhere near any of the senators’ homes. If she’d caught wind of a revenge killing of that sort, the Kith would have told to mind her own business.
Above all, they would have wanted her to fulfill her original orders without delay and not get in the Aurelian’s way.
And they hadn’t contradicted that. The assassin wasn’t sanctioned, but, according to The Kith, he wasn’t her problem either.
So, how weird was it that that hit was next door to Earth’s ST? Aiden’s words from earlier in the evening ran through her mind. I don’t believe in coincidences.
Everything Cait was, everything she knew, said that was too far-fetched to be one.
“Shit, shit, shit.” It was all Cait could think to say. She paced, trying to decide what to do. After wearing a path for a few minutes, she made a decision.
Cell phone in hand, she engaged the scrambler and dialed. She and Aiden had agreed to cover each other, but that was before she knew about the Aurelian. She’d get him to stay away. Tell him he couldn’t go with her in the morning. That he was off the hook.
It was her only choice. It was what she had to do.
When Aiden picked up, her throat closed and she couldn’t speak. Just for a minute, she had no idea what to say, or how to say it. Why had she called him? Was she insane? She shouldn’t be doing this.
“Cait?”
“Yeah,” she finally managed.
“What’s up?”
“The message. When I got beeped.” Her voice sounded tight and scratchy, even to her own ears. Her chest hurt.
“Bad?” The instant alertness in his voice, the concern, the unaccountable sense of readiness that came through, was a balm. The tension in her shoulders shifted a little. Eased.
“Worse,” she managed, rubbing her temple where a headache had begun to throb.
“Something can be worse than bad?”
“In this case, yes.”
“So spill it,” he said, businesslike, but with a warmth that eased her even more.
“There’s a creature,” she began, and had to stop. Pull it together, Cait. “It’s nasty. Picture a race of armor-scaled, purpose-built assassins who really, really like their jobs.” She paused, unsure of how to go on.
“Okay.” He filled the gap. “That is bad. That’s what did the deal next door?”
“My team thinks so. It’s something I never, ever wanted to deal with. Probably the worst creature I studied.”
It was his turn to pause, a long hole of sound.
“Was it meant for you?” he asked softly. He’d asked it before, and she answered the same way, and the question had the added benefit of surprising her out of her brooding.
“For me? No, I still don’t think so. They don’t think so.” The concern in his voice was deep. For her. It touched her. “But the coincidence…”
“Isn’t one,” he finished, a no-nonsense response. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
“On this? No. I wish there were,” she said, fighting off the weariness that wanted to descend. “My team doesn’t think it’s onto me, but my orders stand. They aren’t pulling me out. I still have to get the Ty-Op. They’re scouring every database to see if they missed something, but no permit was issued for Earth, and they wouldn’t have given one to an Aurelian anyway. They don’t deal with them. Aurelians operate outside Alliance…”
She stopped cold. Dammit. “Suffice to say, they’re not sanctioned. They operate outside the laws.”
“A permit? Someone can get a permit to hunt here?”
Cait damned her wayward tongue, and the fact that she had just talked out her theory with him, forgetting that he didn’t really understand. She started pacing.
“Cait?”
At the window, she rested her head on the cool glass, letting it ease the throb in her head. “For certain offenses, some cultures require blood repayment. If an Earthling breaches etiquette, the offended party can apply for a…” God, it sounded so civilized, that there was a permit to kill. “A permit to execute the offender, balance the scales of perceived justice.”
“A license to kill, like James Bond?”
“Not exactly.” She half laughed at his instant comprehension. “But it is a sanctioned action. However, it takes a hell of a lot for them to agree to something like that. And usually it would be me—the Earth ST—who takes care of what needs taking care of. And no, I’ve never had to do it.”
“Wait, wait,” he interrupted. “How could one of us offend anyone? Don’t we live in splendid isolation, unknowing, unseeing and totally unconnected to whatever and whoever is out there? That’s what you implied.”
The impact of what she’d shared sank in. Why had she called him? Why had she confided in him?
She worked alone. She had to work alone.
She was so screwed.
“Don’t clam up on me now,” he said, reading her silence as if he could read her mind through the phone.
“I’m not, it’s just…”
“More of that long story?” His tone was wry.
She laughed, but it held a tinge of hysteria. “Not so much. There are some people who’ve figured it out, acted on it. Some who’ve fallen into knowing.”
“But how could…never mind. We can talk about that later. Right now, we’ve got problems, don’t we?”
“Not we,” she insisted. “Me.”
Somehow she had to back away from him, get him out of the picture. She’d already breached her ethical responsibility to keep him in ignorance. “This is a mess. I should never have told you anything, never have gotten you involved. I’m sorry, Aiden.”
“Given my…metho
d of persuasion…you couldn’t really leave me out, now could you?” There was a pause, and his voice deepened. “Cait, with the murders, knowing you had any kind of power and were within the building’s shields? I came looking for you.” He sighed. “Sweetheart, you were suspect number one, from day one. You couldn’t have avoided me no matter how hard you tried. The whole deal reeks of power and Power.” He paused again, then continued. “The kind with a capital P. It’s my job, Cait, to protect DC from that.”
“I know. And you were right to suspect me. I’ve got that.”
“No, I was fairly certain you were human. Verified it last night. Had you not been? Not pretty.” The overtones, the layers of emotion in his words, substituted something harder, darker and far more dangerous than “not pretty.” She’d seen that. She hoped it was never directed at her again.
“And I would never have made love with you just now. I have my orders too,” he continued. “Officially, I’ll will work on it, no matter what. My oaths demand it. Unofficially, I want to work with you. If you insist on handicapping me, leaving me to work on it alone, going on the little knowledge you’ve given me, I’ll still have to do it.”
He let that unpleasant bomb hang between them then said softly, “I want us work together.”
God, now she really had a headache, both literally and figuratively. Everything was falling apart. It was supposed to be a simple stray pet pickup. Damn it all.
Instead, magical cults policed regions of the US, maybe the world. Magical creatures actually existed. And an alien was killing senators with glee and abandon.
Cait didn’t want to know what could possibly come next.
“Cait?” There was iron in his voice now, as he anticipated her refusal.
“I’m here. I’m tired, I…”
“Have a headache, yes, I know.” He sounded both tender and frustrated. It was an odd combination. And she had no idea how he knew about the headache.
“I have oaths too, Aiden,” she continued, trying to help him see her dilemma. “I have to fulfill them.”
“Work with me, not against me, Cait.” She heard the harder darker side ring in his voice, along with the plea. “That’s all I ask. Don’t force me to face some unknown Power, alien or not, alone. Not when you can help me.” He waited for her to reply, but she couldn’t form one.
“I don’t have back up either,” he added. “My colleague north of Baltimore has her hands full with a group of dangerous spirits in the battlefields north of her territory. My Richmond counterpart is eighty-six and battling cancer. I’ll be tracking it, Cait, with you or without you. We’re good together, and not just in bed. Work with me.”
He paused, and she heard the disappointment that sang through the connection. “Now would be a good time to say something.”
“Yeah. I already agreed to cut you in,” she said, and knew she sounded reluctant.
“Are you going to rescind it?”
“No.” On that she was firm. “No, I’m not,” she reiterated, more strongly. “But Aiden…” she trailed off. She had no idea what she was going to say. Where did she start?
“It’s that hard?” he asked softly.
“You have no idea.” Tears sprang to her eyes, rolled down her cheeks in a lighting change of mood that hit her out of nowhere. A sense of isolation, of brutal homesickness, blasted through her, followed by the intense need for him, for the connection she’d felt when he’d held her. How could he possibly understand? How could anyone?
He waited patiently, so she drew a long breath and managed to keep going. “There are ways that I have to operate and this—talking to you, being with you tonight, covering your back, having you cover mine—breaks all of them. Every jack one of them.”
God, she was tired. What was she worried about? Him telling someone she was dead? Him finding out how nasty these creatures were that she hunted? Him dying?
“I know about the rules,” he murmured.
“No, you really don’t,” she disagreed. He couldn’t possibly know. Not about her rules.
“Then tell me.” There was impatience in his voice now. “Don’t keep me in the dark. It will get us both killed.”
There was a beeping behind her. The PDA in her bag pinged again, the same discordant note.
“Oh, my God, I’m getting beeped again.” She tucked the phone next to her cheek so she could operate the device. She mistyped her login twice.
“Do you need to go?”
“No. I don’t know. Shit, come on.”
Finally, she got it right, and the screen popped open. She pressed her thumb, it drank her blood, and then a series of symbols in red, orange and yellow dropped down from the top of the screen in rows. She’d learned enough Kith symbology to read it without the translation program.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit, this is so FUBAR.” She slumped to the floor, leaning on the wall. “Shit.”
Shock hit her in waves.
“What? Cait, I’m going to come over there and shake you till you rattle. WHAT?”
“The Senator Mrs. Potts mentioned wasn’t hit by the Aurelian. That was maybe a fluke, a red herring. But now, there’s been another real hit. Complete with impalings.”
“Same perp?”
“Perp?” The terminology was so TV, it surprised a laugh out of her. “What are you now, Mr. Law and Order?”
“If it works,” he grated. “Damn it, Cait, don’t make me drag it out of you. Where, when?”
“Seattle. Another GOP senator, like Hathaway. Swanson. His family found him when they came home.” She pushed off the wall, headed for her office. “I’ve got to crosscheck Swanson with Hathaway and O’Reilly. Oh, and the missing New Mexico guy. I don’t care what they say, it could still be a hit. No need to get bloody if your target drops from a heart attack before you can kill him. Can you…”
Was she really asking him to help?
“Yes?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided, scrubbing her cheeks dry. Time for tears later.
“Can you do a web search on Seattle, get a pinpoint on this address?” She rattled it off.
“Yes.” The relief in his voice was palpable. He knew just how significant her question was. On the surface, an innocuous request. More deeply, she’d let him in.
“I’ll do a few other things as well,” he replied, a decisive note colored by the smile she could hear in his words. “Give me an hour, and I’ll be over. I’ll bring a bottle of something. We’ll compare notes.”
Good company, good alcohol, and help to unravel one of the most difficult and dangerous cases she’d ever faced?
“Bring it on.”
“An hour, then,” she said, and realized she was smiling. Looking forward to it. It made no sense.
It was him.
She was insane. She was screwed. And yet, he’d been there when she called. He had her back.
“I’ll be there. And Cait?”
“Yeah?”
“You won’t regret it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aiden knew this fight was going to test his abilities to their limit. It might cost him his life.
Somehow, it didn’t matter. In a mere few days, he’d found a connection so deep and so strong that he would step into the fire for Dr. Cait Brennan, whoever she was.
Whatever she was.
Sure, he knew more now about her than he had. And he cared for every bit he’d learned. He understood, intellectually and it didn’t matter a damn. The feel of that connection, the gut of who she was and what she did, was something he was just beginning to grasp.
That would have to wait, though.
Trouble was at their door, and she’d agreed to work with him.
He had to smile at the reluctance, now.
He stopped dead in the kitchen, wine bottle in hand. Gaining her trust meant everything to him.
Well, shit.
* * *
They disconnected and Cait stood, dark cell phone in one hand, souped-up alien PDA in t
he other, once again wondering what the bloody, ever-living hell had happened to her life.
She finished buttoning her shirt, then tuned her PDA to scan the apartment, then the rest of the building, checking for any alien signatures. Then she did another scan just to be sure all the frequencies were covered.
Aiden had said she wouldn’t regret working with him. But would he regret it? Would he regret making love with her, once she was gone?
“Riiiiiight. Regrets. Fuck ’em.” She realized she was rambling, mentally and verbally. “Jeez Patten, now is NOT the time to have an angsty moment. Get a grip.”
The sound of her real name in the silence, in her own voice, had an electrifying effect.
“God, I’m losing it. I have an Adept Enforcer—whatever the hell that is—who’s seducing me, wants to help me catch creatures he’s not supposed to know exist, while simultaneously telling me about creatures that shouldn’t exist that aren’t aliens, and there’s now a killer on my planet, hunting senators.”
And maybe me.
She tossed the cell back toward her bag, heard it hit the floor.
“Figures,” she muttered in disgust. “Even my aim’s off.”
In the kitchen, she grabbed two cold Cokes, left one on the edge of the desk, and took the other with her into the bedroom. She drained it as she pulled on jeans. She’d managed a shirt and underwear as they talked, but was cold enough now to finish the job. With a smile, she pulled the “you don’t know me” sweatshirt Aiden had given her.
Feeling somewhat redeemed when she managed to two-point the empty can into the recycling bin, she popped the top on the second cold drink and sat down at the keyboard. Fingers flying, she went on the hunt.
Senator Swanson of Seattle had been home alone, according to the Kith’s report. She ran it through the translator so she could be sure to get all the nuances.
The gory scene his family walked in on was anyone’s worst nightmare. Not a repeat of Hathaway’s death, nor the ripped up destruction of O’Reilly’s death, but close enough. Evidently, blood had begun at the front door and trailed all the way to the family room and out to the garage. Parts of the esteemed gentleman from Washington State had been splattered on every wall.
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