by Zara Zenia
"Nah, but she's fine as he—" William cut himself off and cleared his throat, seeming to remember he was at work and talking to a stranger. "She's a nice woman.”
He pressed the button to call the elevator. When the elevator came, he stayed outside. Reason told me to leave well enough alone, but that pesky little emotional side just wouldn't shut up. Sometimes, I just got a feeling about people, and right now I had one about William. He was a little too casual and a lot too familiar— maybe even downright rude —but he was a good guy.
I slid my hand between the elevator doors, pushing them back from the halfway point. "If you like her, ask her for coffee."
William stared at me in incredulous silence for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Like I said, too classy."
"Trust me, ask her out. Every woman deserves to be asked out by a guy who looks that way when he talks about her at least once." It might not end in happily ever after. The odds were it would never get off the ground, but that little pop of brightness might come to something. I just hoped Laurie Donner was worth William's adoration.
Suite six was at the northwest corner of the building. The receptionist at the interior desk wasn't as friendly as William was, but I didn't let it bother me. I already had the information I needed. If Ms. Donner was as classy as William claimed, she wouldn't call a private investigator to her place of work except on official business. Laurie Donner wasn't my potential client. Her client was.
Sure enough, two women waited for me in Laurie Donner's small office, both of them behind a single desk. One of them, a woman with impeccable mahogany skin and thick, tight curls wrangled into a perfect bun. Her beige pantsuit was unassuming, but perfectly tailored to her curves. She slid out from behind the desk, extending her hand to me.
"Are you my four o'clock?" she asked. "I'm Laurie Donner."
I nodded, shaking the offered hand. "Kelly Grant. Which one of you called the agency?"
The other woman raised her hand. "That was me. And I apologize again, Laurie, but I'm adamant. I can't afford to take a loss on this."
"And this is my client, Nora Morse." Laurie slid back behind her desk, motioning for me to sit on the other side. Nora leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, but otherwise didn't move.
Nora Morse had impossibly smooth, pale skin and shockingly white blonde hair cut in a chin length bob that curled and ended in a razor sharp line. Either she was a wiz at bathroom beauty culture or she went to the salon the way other people went to church. She wore perfectly tailored beige pants, too. But hers were made of houndstooth fabric that stood out against her crisp white shirt. She had painted her lips with a deep berry lip stain which stood out against the rest of her. The other woman opted for a subtle nude lip. As for me, I had left the house in a clean button down and the nicest pair of pants I owned. Heels? Hah! Make-up? I only wore make-up on dates, and I hated it even then. Sure, I felt pretty and a little more confident, but it wasn't worth the risk of attracting assholes like Tony.
"Before we get started, can I get you anything, Miss Grant," Laurie asked. "Coffee? Tea, maybe?"
William was right, classy. "Thanks, but if you don't mind, I prefer to just get right to business."
Laurie made a face and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "How long have been a private investigator?"
"I got my certificate when I turned twenty-one," I said.
Laurie glanced at Nora. The pale beauty nodded, so Laurie nodded. "And that was how many years ago?"
Damn it, I had hoped she would miss that. I tightened my lips into something like a smile. "Two years ago."
Nora rolled her eyes.
Laurie blinked, but made a note on her pad without saying anything and I knew I had my first strike of the interview. No big deal, I could never avoid that strike if someone was determined to hold it against me. You would think a twenty-three-year old with her shit together enough to be a working private investigator would impress people. But I wasn't a retired cop or a Brit with a heroine habit, so in most minds I was just a little girl playing dress up.
The problem was this time I felt like I was playing dress up. Laurie Donner was the real deal, and she was expecting someone who looked the part.
"And what drew you to the work?" Laurie asked.
My gaze wandered to Nora. She hadn't said a word since I walked in, but her eyes were targets on my face like a hawk watching its dinner.
When I answered Laurie, I couldn't look away from Nora's face. "I wanted to help people."
"You could have joined the BPD for that," Nora said. "The pay has to be better. Not to mention the benefits."
"And you could just tell me what you want me to find or who you want me to follow, but apparently we both think the direct route sucks."
"So it would seem," Laurie said softly, before looking back up at me. "Have you done many surveillance cases?"
"That's pretty much all I do," I said. "Who do you need me to watch and what do you want me to catch them doing?"
At my question, Laurie put her pen down on the legal pad and leaned back in her chair. "One last question, Miss Grant, if you don't mind. How do you feel about the presence of the Trilyn Princes and the continued existence of their outreach program?"
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled to attention, but I did my best to hold my body language in check. The only reason I wanted the job was to get as far away from the aliens and their flying fortresses as I could afford to get.
"The boys aren't really my type," I said. "I never signed up for the program."
"She asked how you feel about it," Nora insisted. "If you don't buy into the royal fantasy, then what do you think about the technology? Aren't you hoping the program works for that reason alone?"
She was right. I should be hoping the matchmaking worked, even if I didn't want to be part of it. The Trilyn's' arrival had proven we weren't alone in the universe. They were offering to catapult Humanity into deep space decades ahead of schedule. And all they wanted for it was seven of our women for breeding. Seven out of billions, was that really so much to ask?
"I think a warship is a warship, no matter how fancy they make it. Everything else you just said is for people smarter and better paid than me to figure out."
"Oh, I think you're much smarter than you like to show people, Miss Grant," Laurie said.
Nora's thin lips pressed into a tight line, but her eyes sparkled. Whatever she had been looking for in my answer, she'd heard it. She finally broke eye contact with me. She turned to Laurie and gave a single short nod.
"My client is interested in hiring you for a case that might require intense background research," Laurie said. "The kind where you may be required to share close space with the target of surveillance."
I leaned back, finally relaxing a little. Now that we were getting to specifics, the job was as good as mine.
"Who's the target?"
"Prince Lortnam of Trilyn," Nora said without flinching.
My mouth fell open in shock before I could stop it. I looked from Laurie to Nora and back, waiting for one of them to burst into laughter and reveal their prank. Neither of them so much as cracked a smile.
"Okay," I said, taking a breath. "I'm going to need to hear the whole story."
Nora opened her mouth to speak, but Laurie beat her it.
"You heard about the cultural center bombing, Miss Grant," she asked. "My client is one of the victims."
"Oh... I'm sorry." Suddenly I felt bad for being so judgmental about Nora Morse and her model perfect style.
"I lost my baby," Nora said, folding her arms across her chest. "A silver Mercedes convertible. I got her as a thirtieth birthday present to myself."
"...oh." I looked at Laurie, because she struck me as a sensible woman, but she just shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Morse."
"Thank you, she really is perfect. I keep her in wonderful condition. At least, I did until someone decided to blow her up."
"A terrorist blew her u
p, Miss Morse. You need a cop, not a PI," I said, struggling to keep my composure. I had forgotten the absolute worst kind of client, the person with enough money to think they deserved special treatment. The building and Laurie didn’t fit the description, but Nora had rich bitch stamped to her forehead. "Be glad they didn’t blow the building. Somebody might have been hurt."
"Right, that's what they want us to think." Nora crossed her legs and tented her fingers, peering at me over the tips. "You heard about the incident?"
"I heard they have the leader in custody."
The icy blonde raised an eyebrow, her lips spreading into a small smile. "And you believe that?"
"I don't repeat things I don't believe, Miss Morse."
"Interesting. Is that why you didn't mention the other six men they caught?" Nora asked. "Because every news report I've seen or read mentioned them."
The intensity of her gaze made me feel like a mouse being batted around by a hungry tabby. I took a breath. "The press likes to embellish. That's why I don't believe them. But as far as the Baltimore Police Department and Prince Lortnam are concerned, it was a terrorist attack."
Nora leaned forward. "An attack that only managed to do property damage? And why not blow up the building?"
I shrugged. "That's the easiest thing to explain. They hadn't blown the building up yet because they were still inside."
"Or because they were never supposed to blow it up at all..." Nora let her words hang in the air, watching to see how they hit me.
Instinct told me to get out of my chair, go back to my car, call the dispatcher, and bitch them out for tossing me a garbage assignment. But morbid curiosity got the better of me.
"That’s an interesting story, Miss Morse, but it has some holes," I said. "I may not be a cop or a lawyer, but even I know about motive. Why would an alien Prince stage a terrorist attack at a cultural center he just spent thousands of dollars opening?"
"Hundreds of thousands," Nora said. "And probably that much again cleaning it all up. But I’ll let you in on a secret, Miss Grant. It’s a drop in the bucket for them. Money, clothes, trinkets, weapons, the Trilyn don’t give a shit about any of them. There’s only one thing they care about and it’s between our legs. Well, a few inches farther north. It’s disgusting. They’re disgusting. So no, Miss Grant, I wouldn’t put it past a thing who sees women as incubators to stage this for his own ends."
I almost nodded in agreement with her, but managed to restrain myself at the last second. In four years, the Trilyn hadn’t asked us for a damn thing. Not even food, which still confused the hell out of me. The only thing they wanted was seven of our women to breed with. Four down… three to go, and it looked like they would stay as long as it took to find them.
"The question stands, Miss Morse. If you want my help, I need you to answer it. Why stage an attack?"
Nora reached into her designer purse and pulled out a carefully folded section of newspaper. A photograph of Prince Lortnam was printed on the front page, his eye narrowed at the camera. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, but his angular features and broad body gave him a primal appearance I found unnerving. There was a depth in his dark eyes the made him look half insane, like he could reach out to hug you and end up snapping your neck because you moved the wrong way. He might have been a caveman plucked from the past, except for his modern tunic. The headline read: Real-Life Prince Charming Saves Dozens, Multiple Suspects in Custody.
"I bought this at a newsstand on my way in," Nora said. "The papers from Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York were the same. By tomorrow, European and Asian papers will be running it, too. It’s already been picked up on social media. A mountain of free publicity just fell into the Prince’s lap. How much would that be worth, Miss Grant?"
"Millions. Maybe billions." I rubbed my forehead, trying to wrap my head around the enormity of Nora Morse’s conspiracy theory and still coming up several feet short.
"Pretty cheap for a horny alien aristocrat hard up for a date," Nora spat.
It wasn’t just free publicity, it was targeted publicity. By tomorrow, every woman in the world will have seen that story and Prince Lortnam’s chiseled jaw and blazing eyes. Most of them had probably dreamed of a Prince sweeping them off their feet. Were fairytale land and an alien planet really that different once you were caught up in the fantasy? The Princes would have their brides in no time at all.
I followed Nora’s line of logic from the Prince to the police department. There were a lot of good reasons to go along with a plan like the one Nora was proposing. I didn’t think they would risk twenty-four Humans by wiring the building with real explosives, but they could have been as fake as Blondie’s six extra suspects.
That explained the unusually high fee. Nora and Laurie had probably called every agency in town. My agency had probably called everyone else on the roster. There wasn’t a PI in Baltimore crazy enough to spy on a royal because a rich fashionista said he spoiled her day. Well, there didn’t use to be.
Four years ago, I would have called Nora Morse a crackpot. I would have told her I didn’t buy into conspiracy theories, and that she should stop blowing her money on fancy designer clothes and start spending it on a therapist. But four years ago, I was a different Kelly. I wasn’t about to be priced out of my home by landlords eager to capitalize off desperate women back then. That Kelly didn’t live beneath the shadow of a fortress, wondering when the alien Prince would raise his palace ship in the air and unload his ship’s weapons onto the city below.
This Kelly needed to get out of Baltimore. Nora may have been crazy, but she was my best shot at getting out fast. And maybe, if her crazy story panned out, I could stick it to the man who’d been the cause of it all on my way out.
"This is serious, Miss Morse. Serious enough that I need to warn you. If your theory is right— and I’m not saying it is —somebody is going to try shutting you up. And they won’t play nice when they do it."
Nora’s face brightened. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap and sighing with satisfaction. "I told you somebody would believe me, Laurie."
"My client is prepared to assure her own personal safety, Miss Grant," Laurie said. "But the same warning applies to you, hence the generous fee."
My mouth was too dry to speak, but I managed to nod in agreement. This was far bigger than my usual cheating spouses. "My usual expenses will include lodgings. I’d rather not come home to any surprises."
"I have to get you a hotel room!" Nora balked. "I’m not hiring you to vet my next vacation."
"No, Miss Morse, you’re paying me to spy on a foreign diplomat in the hopes I can find proof he staged a terrorist attack," I said coolly. "An attack for which several high-ranking city officials would have to be accessories to either before or after the fact. And you want me to open this Pandora’s Box so you can take an alien Prince to small claims court. Has your lawyer told you how bad of an idea all of this is, by the way?"
If William was right about her, I already knew the answer. A woman who was never late for work and rarely late going home, and not only spoke to guards, but bought them gifts, wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of a cover up of this magnitude. She was a good girl, a classy lady, not an ambulance chaser. But one look at Laurie Donner told me she didn’t have the stomach for stakes this high. I wasn’t sure I did either.
"Every chance she’s gotten since I called her about it," Nora said. "I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself."
I wasn’t sure whether to take Nora at her word or not. She looked confident, but she was also so thin a strong breeze might blow her over. Her fragile wrists looked like they would snap under the weight of a pair of handcuffs, let alone an aggressive hold from embarrassed cops.
"When should we expect to hear from you, Miss Grant?" Laurie asked.
I climbed to my feet and tugged the hem of my button down to wipe the sweat from my palms. "When I have something."
The answe
r didn’t seem to satisfy Nora, but she stayed quiet as Laurie and I shook hands. My stomach tossed and turned on the walk back to my car. The pepperoni pizza I’d ordered from Mr. Mustache lay untouched on my kitchen counter. I had planned to eat it in celebration or consolation, depending on how the meeting went. I hadn’t figure on taking a job I didn’t want with stakes this high.
There was no point in wondering what they would charge me with if I got caught. Nobody on our side was above making something up. Or maybe they would let the Prince decide what to do with me. He hadn’t been interested in laying claim to Jacob Corbin. Would I be as lucky? The best case scenario was I didn’t find anything at all, and Nora Morse paid for a nice bed for a few nights and my ticket to Japan.
I wasn’t that lucky.
As I turned my car back onto the street, I glared up at the fortress sitting in Federal Hill Park. I was done living under its shadow. Done living with the Prince’s invisible rule and the women of the wave. Prince Lortnam was my way out. I just needed to take it.
I pulled my cell phone from my purse and sent Mei a message. She wouldn’t be up for hours, but I would still be asleep. To get anywhere near Prince Lortnam, I was going to need Mei’s help, and I couldn’t wait until our normal call for her to get started.
Chapter 5
Lortnam
My aide spent the two days following the council meeting responding to the interview requests and merging them into my already hectic schedule. By her estimation, it would take nearly two moon cycles to respond to all of them at my requested rate. The thought of spending two full moons of my life answering the same questions born of the same lie over and over sounded like an elaborate day of torture constructed by one of my brothers. My assistant insisted that it wasn't and offered an alternative solution. The interviews could be completed in a single day, if I was willing to meet with some journalists in groups.
That morning, I dressed, bathed, and groomed myself with care. When I dressed, I selected one of my finer tunics, rather than the rougher worn spun tunics I preferred for day-to-day wear. The counters and shelves in my bathroom held a multitude of fragrances I had received as gifts—some from women foolish enough to think it would help their selection chances, others from companies who strangely believed that my wearing their product would increase its desirability and therefore their sales.