Roman's Gold (Underground Heat, Book 1)

by Ann Gimpel

  By the time he turned down his street, his feet were killing him and his side burned. The ratty robe was soaked with blood; he felt lightheaded. He crawled over his back fence and dug the spare key out of a flowerpot. Devon fell face down on his kitchen floor. Consciousness flirted with him, then slipped away.

  He didn’t know how long he was passed out, only that he lay in a pool of congealed blood. His blood. Moonlight filtered through the kitchen windows. “Goddamn it.” His voice sounded rusty to him. “After all that, I am not going to die here.”

  He grasped the edge of the counter and hauled himself upright. He dropped the robe on the floor, turned the water on, and washed his wound. It seemed clean enough except for whatever vermin had been in the robe. About eight inches long, blood seeped the minute he took pressure off it. In the old days before lasers, razor wounds used to look like that.

  Devon grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the ledge, uncapped it with his teeth, and poured it down his side to sterilize things. He spit out the cap and took a couple swallows from the bottle, welcoming the burn as the liquor hit his stomach. That done, he clumped heavily to the bathroom, and piled gauze squares over his open flesh. He wound a large elasticized bandage around his torso, securing it with metal butterfly strips.

  He rustled through his medicine cabinet and found a nearly full bottle of antibiotics from when he’d had an abscessed tooth. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed them dry. He set the bottle on the ledge, planning to take it with him. Maybe it wasn’t the right antibiotic, but at least it was better than nothing—he hoped.

  Because he was on the move, his head felt clearer. He rinsed the stink of the robe off himself and got dressed, amazed Captain Aaron hadn’t shown up on his doorstep. Devon debated taking his personal car. He’d be safer on foot, but he didn’t feel all that steady. He scooped up his pills, his black market cash, and some food, took a healthy swig from the whiskey bottle and clattered down his back steps. He backtracked for water. He had to be dehydrated from losing blood. He drank a quart standing at the sink, filled two poly bottles, and took them with him.

  He told the car’s nav system to take him to the electronics shop he’d visited after he’d seen Dr. Adams. It was four in the morning, but their sign had advertised they never closed. The proprietor, a different clerk than last time, whistled when Devon pushed the swinging door inward and strode inside. “Looks like you ran up against a gorilla and lost, dude.” The clerk’s long black hair pulled into a ponytail made his high cheekbones and a beak of a nose stand out; he looked Native American.

  “Not funny.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be. What can I help you with?”

  “I want that one.” Devon pointed to a wrist computer in a locked glass case. The clerk got it out and launched into a sales pitch. Devon cut him off. “How much?”

  “Four hundred credits. Black market only.”

  Devon checked to see the computer was complete with case, charger and plug-ins. He counted out bills and walked out of the store. Apparently price was a fluctuating commodity in places like that. Next time, I’ll barter with the guy.

  He drove a few blocks to one of the public library branches and parked. Libraries always had parking, especially in the middle of the night. No one read anymore.

  He tapped Kate’s number into the display. A tinny recording, This number is offline, jolted him. He tried her home and got the same recording. Her office still had her voice cheerfully telling him to leave a message. He hit the disconnect key. If her home and wrist computers were defunct, no way she’d be checking her office voice mail, but the cops might.

  He sucked air, trying to think. If he had Max’s number, he would have called him. He castigated himself for not getting it from Kate. He thought about calling the Governor’s office, but knew how stupid that would be. No one would be there at this hour. Even if they were, Max wouldn’t talk with him—not from his day job.

  Because he had to do something—stewing in his own angst was killing him—he programmed Kate’s address into the car’s computer. Maybe there’d be some clues at her house. If they’d apprehended her there—or worse—he was pretty certain he’d find a trail.

  He forced himself to drink water and eat processed cheese, crackers, and cookies while his car picked the best route to get across town. He took the car off autopilot as it climbed higher into the Berkeley Hills. When he was still three or four blocks away, he hunted for a place to stash his car far enough off the roadway it couldn’t be seen. A dirt road wound off to his right. He pulled as far as he could into what had once been an apple orchard and killed his motor.

  Devon tucked his hair under a cap. He bent to smear dirt on his face. Nothing he could do about his height and broad shoulders; they were a dead giveaway. He started toward the road when his cat kicked up a fuss. It wanted out. Now. Devon thought about the logistics of removing his bandage and suggested a compromise. The cat’s senses flooded him.

  He hadn’t spent enough time in his cat form to be truly conversant with either it or the ways he could tap into its abilities while still human. He made a commitment to remedy that as soon as he found Kate and things settled a bit.

  Devon inhaled sharply. Kate. No wonder his cat had pitched a fit. Kate had been here. Well, maybe not here exactly, but close by. And not so long ago. He walked carefully down the dirt road, feline vision glued to the ground, nostrils flaring. He found motorcycle tracks and footprints. He knelt and sniffed. Yes, they were her footprints. She’d stood here.

  He straightened. Joy swooped through him. He wanted to screech thank you to whichever god had let her see his warning, but silence served his purposes better. They hadn’t caught her. She’d gotten at least this far, which meant she’d probably given the bastards the slip.

  He glanced toward her house. Was it still worth visiting? As long as he was there, he might as well. Maybe he could find Max’s contact information.

  Devon circled uphill carefully, keeping to the woods behind the deserted houses across the street from Kate’s. No point walking into a trap. He kept the cat’s senses front and center, using them to ferret out danger. He wished he understood the shifter magic Kate told him about, but right now anything more difficult than sneaking uphill was beyond him. He still felt weak and disoriented. Sleep would help.

  No. No sleep until I find Kate.

  He stayed hidden in trees across from her house for long minutes. Nothing moved. He sucked in a steadying breath, scenting the air. Smells bombarded him, none of them human. Devon crept forward. He headed for Kate’s back door using clumps of trees and large rocks for cover. Another thirty feet and he’d have it. Then he could pick the lock and—

  “I knew you’d show up here. Freeze or I’ll blast you to hell after the mess you made of my station house.”

  Devon straightened from his crouch, hands over his head. His cat screamed imprecations. It wanted to kill the bastard. “Kill it now, goddamn it.”

  Devon gauged the distance between him and Captain Aaron; his mind raced as he tried to map out a defense. He cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. That oversight might be his undoing. And Kate’s.

  After today’s escape, they’d chuck him in solitary and throw away the key. Or maybe just kill him outright. He eyed a pile of decorative boulders. He could dive behind them and chuck smaller rocks at his boss.

  “How’d you mask your scent, Captain?” Devon made the question casual and edged closer to the rocks which might save his life.

  “That information’s classified. You’re not on the force anymore.” Lance Aaron stepped from the shadows behind Kate’s house, assault rifle leveled at Devon’s chest. “It’s a damned shame, son. You were a good cop. I liked you, but I won’t tolerate insubordination.”

  “I wasn’t insubordinate. I took your fucking drug. If you wouldn’t have forced me, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “No comment.”

  A faint rustle pricked Devon’s enhanced senses. Crap. Did Captain Aaron have
reinforcements stashed somewhere? Made sense. He probably wasn’t working alone. Devon’s heart sped up; his throat tightened. Maybe his boulder strategy wouldn’t work after all. Not if he had to ward off multiple assailants.

  From out of nowhere, a bear, a mountain lion, and a coyote converged on the captain, bellies low to the earth. He spun, rifle firing wildly, but his aim was high and he was a shade too late. The animals leaped on him from three sides and drove him to the ground. The weapon skittered out of his hands. Devon dove on top of it and rolled. His side screeched in protest. He jumped to his feet, rifle in hand, and aimed it at Aaron’s head.

  “Call off your shifter buddies,” Captain Aaron shouted. “That’s an order, Heartshorn.”

  “Oh, really.” Devon strode closer and stood over his former boss. “You just told me I was off the force. That means I don’t have to follow your orders anymore. Too bad, Aaron.”

  “I’ll reinstate you. We’ll forget any of this happened. I’ll, ah, even take Roman off the shifter list.”

  “Don’t grovel. There was a time I respected you.” Devon glanced at the three shifters and made a chopping motion with one hand. “Go for it, buddies.”

  Devon let himself into Kate’s house. A long drawn-out scream followed him. It ended in a gurgling retch. Probably someone had driven a claw through the captain’s larynx to shut him up.

  Devon’s eyes widened when he saw the wreckage of Kate’s living room. Christ! Her house had been ransacked. He heard claws on the back stairs and turned. “Thank you, whoever you are. You saved my life.”

  The bear ambled close. “We’re friends of Kate’s. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Yes.” The coyote padded up. “We were nearby, on our way to visit her, when she took off out of here like a bat fleeing hell. Soon after the cops came and tore things up. I wanted to kill them, but these two held me back.”

  Hope surged. Devon asked, “Do you know where Kate is?”

  The mountain cat joined the other two. “No, we were hoping you did.”

  Devon’s cat purred. It wanted out to play.

  The others must have sensed it. “Shift and run with us,” the bear invited.

  “I can’t. I’m hurt. If I take the bandage off, I’ll bleed more. And I have to find Kate.” An idea formed. “Do any of you know how I can contact Max?”

  Devon whistled as he trotted back to his car, rifle in hand. Ammo rattled in his pockets. He’d taken everything useful he could from the captain. The three shifters had regained their human forms and dragged Lance Aaron’s body away. They’d assured him it would disappear without a trace. The bear had been a chemical engineer before he was imprisoned. He’d do something to obliterate the captain’s blood. Devon had told him to either do it fast or not at all. It wouldn’t be long before squad cars showed up.

  Dawn lightened the sky in the east. He got behind the wheel and tapped Max’s number into his wrist computer, then eased his car down the rutted lane. Best to put some distance between himself and the Berkeley Hills and lose himself in the city’s traffic. Captain Aaron would have left his plans with the desk commander. When his life force indicator blinked out on the motherboard, reinforcements would converge on Kate’s house.

  Place your thumb on the screen and wait, flared across the display. Max’s brusque voice followed. “Devon. I see where you are. Did you have anything to do with the cop who was just murdered up there?”

  “Do you have time for me to start at the beginning?”

  “If you can do it in less than five minutes. I need a chance to tell you where to go and fill you in on what will happen next. That's more important right now than why Lance Aaron is dead.”

  “Yes, sir. Just cut me off when you've heard enough.” Devon cleared his throat and started talking.

  Chapter 13

  Kate didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. She’d taken her cat form, paced worriedly, then reverted to human and huddled on her bed, eyes dry and burning. The cycle repeated endlessly, so it surprised her when her wrist computer buzzed, dragging her from an exhausted sleep. She grappled for it and peered at the display. Just past six.

  “Max?” She forced her fuzzy brain into motion.

  “I’m not slated to get much sleep tonight. Misery loves company.”

  Her fingers tightened on the computer. “Devon. I know he’s alive, but—”

  “You forget yourself, Roman. I ask the questions.” His voice softened. “Yeah, he’s fine. Wouldn’t be if he hadn’t run into your last three housemates, though. They saved his bacon.”

  She wanted to ask if Max could bring Devon in, but bit back the words. He’d called her for a reason. If she waited, he’d tell her what it was.

  “Did you look at the list of names on that task force when Heartshorn gave it to you?” His voice was brusque.

  “Yes. I didn’t study it or anything, but—”

  “Don’t take this wrong, Roman, but how many of those men were your clients?”

  She resurrected the list in her mind. “Maybe ten or twelve. Possibly a few more. I didn’t look at it for all that long, but some of the names were familiar. For the more common ones, it might not be the same guy, though.”

  “Hmph. They’re holed up in Oakland. The ones who weren’t killed in yesterday’s shootout, that is. Heartshorn’s headed their way now. We need to get them to safety. But first someone has to assess which ones won’t turn double and fuck us. Since you already had a relationship with some of them where they trusted you with their, ahem,” he cleared his throat, “secrets, you’re a logical choice. Plus, I figure you’ll nag me to death until you’re reunited with Devon. I know how relentless you mated pairs can be.”

  She waved a hand over the bedside lamp. It illuminated, casting shadows on bland cream-colored walls. “Tell me where.”

  Her heart sang. Happiness thrummed from her belly to her nerve endings. Devon. She’d be with him again soon. Deep inside, her cat yowled its joy and urged her to hurry.

  “…be careful until you clear Berkeley. City’ll be crawling with cops. They don’t like to lose one of their own, especially their commanding officers. You’re on their hit list, Roman. Don’t forget it.”

  “On my way.” A sharp rap sounded on her door.

  Max must have heard it, too. “That would be Ryan. I called him just before you. He’ll see you have a clean vehicle to drive. Also, he’ll be your contact through this operation. Be sure to get his computer code.” The screen grayed out.

  She dropped her wrist computer on the bed and sprinted for the door. It opened before she got to it. “You decent?” Ryan grinned at her, gaze taking in her thin robe. “Think I liked the view better when you were naked.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Give me a couple seconds, I’ll get dressed.”

  He handed her a stack of folded clothes. “Put these on. They’ll blend in better than what you were wearing last night. Not so form-fitting. You do not want to draw attention.”

  “Are you going to stand there and watch?”

  He turned around. “Better?”

  She shinnied into her underwear, dark sweats, and a dark watch cap. Socks and boots followed. “Okay. Ready.”

  “Not quite.” He walked toward her. “Sit in one of those chairs. I need to work on your face.”

  He wrapped her hair close around her head, pinned it, and put the cap back in place. Next, he started on her face with makeup, brushes, and sponges. “Once you get back here, we need to dye your hair. It stands out like a sore thumb.” He fussed for a bit, and then stood back. “Step into the bathroom and tell me what you think.”

  Kate gasped. Her mouth hung open. She shut it with a clack. The face staring at her in the mirror looked older, haggard. Lines spiraled out from her nose and mouth. He’d managed to nearly obliterate the sharp angles of her cheekbones and jaw. Between that and her own illusory magic, even a close friend might not recognize her.

  “Christ, you must have been a makeup artist.”


  “Good guess, Sherlock. I worked in Hollywood before we had to go into hiding.” He placed the makeup kit on a table and crooked a finger. “Up and at ’em. Max likes it when we’re punctual.” Ryan shut the door behind them, bent, and picked up a paper sack. He thrust it at her.

  “What’s that?”

  “Breakfast. I put a cup of coffee in the car.”

  She laughed. “Wow! You’re better than a butler.”

  He laughed right along with her. “I aim to please, ma’am.”

  Her boot heels clicked on the hard floor. Next time she came down this hall, Devon would be by her side. She’d drag him into her room and—”

  “This way. Garage is underground just like everything else.”

  With her destination programmed into the onboard computer, and transcribed into her wrist computer just in case, Kate let the car decide how to get to Oakland. Nav systems had gotten better. They employed a complicated metric which looked at traffic, road construction, type of vehicle, percent grade on hills, and a few other things to pick a route.

  The dashboard display lit with police vehicle approaching. Kate disengaged the nav system and pulled to the curb. She averted her head and strengthened the illusion she was an older woman. A police vehicle screamed past, followed by another.

  Sweat beaded her brow. Were they hunting her? Or was it some other poor, hapless shifter who’d drawn their attention. She made a rude sound, merged into the flow of cars, and reset the autopilot. Maybe they were after a real criminal for a change. What a refreshing change of pace that would be.

  Even with the hundred-mile-an-hour speed limit on the expressway, it still took her over an hour to get to Oakland. Cars were backed up for long stretches where no one moved. All vehicles except law and emergency had to be electric to preserve what was left of the air quality. Some of their batteries died while they waited, clogging the lanes even further.

  Kate chafed. She could have gotten to her destination faster on foot. Not really, but almost. She’d asked Max for Devon’s contact code, but he’d turned her down. “He’ll be busy,” Max had snapped. “You’ll see him soon enough.”