by Inara Scott
“Thanks, hon,” Jenny said to the boy. “You can set that down on the table.”
She indicated a large conference table across the room under a bank of windows. The boy beamed at her, set down the plate like it was made of precious elven crystal, and backed out slowly, keeping Jenny in his sights as long as possible.
Jenny sighed. “That boy is going to drive me crazy.”
“They are sweet when they’re infatuated, aren’t they?” Kaia said.
“If by sweet, you mean a pain in the ass, then yes.”
Kaia giggled, not realizing until she did how long it had been since she’d laughed. “You don’t like him?”
“He’s a good boy, but since he started volunteering here last fall he tends to hang around the office and stare at me. It drives me nuts.”
Kaia laughed again, but she couldn’t stop glancing at the table as the scent of hot food tickled her nose.
Jenny’s gaze followed Kaia’s to the plate of food. She smiled. “Let’s take a break and have something to eat. We can fill out the paperwork later.”
Kaia gave her a grateful smile and headed straight for the table. She barely waited for Jenny to sit down before shoveling the first forkful of eggs into her mouth. They weren’t good. They were hard in parts, runny in others, and the cook had used far too much pepper. Yet somehow they were the most delicious thing she had ever eaten, and she barely chewed one mouthful before diving into the next.
“I know it’s difficult,” Jenny advised, “but you should slow down. That first meal tastes good, but it’s hard on the system when you haven’t had anything to eat for a while.”
Kaia flushed. She hadn’t realized how obvious her hunger was. She forced herself to put down her fork and pick up the cup of coffee that sat beside her plate. It was full of cream and sugar, and she sank into the chair, a wide smile curving her lips.
“Now that’s good,” she said.
Jenny laughed. “If I had to go without my coffee, I don’t know what I’d do.” She let Kaia take a few bites of toast, and said casually, “So how long have you been in the park?”
“A few days—” Kaia stopped herself. “I mean, I’ve been visiting Miami for a few days.”
“It’s okay,” Jenny said. “And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. If you want to talk, I’m here.”
Kaia nodded, feeling a fresh wave of guilt for lying to someone trying so hard to help her. She stuffed her mouth with toast so she didn’t say something stupid. Something like, “I’m really a faerie, and I can’t imagine how I’m going to survive in this horrible body long enough to make a beautiful, rich, and powerful man fall in love with me.”
“I do need to know a little about your situation, though,” Jenny continued. “Good Samaritan is a private shelter, so we don’t need to go through any sort of formal application or screening process. We take all people as long as we’ve got the room. We do run a background check because we occasionally have children at the shelter and we need to make things safe for them. Most importantly, we need to know if you have a criminal record.”
“No,” Kaia said, hoping desperately that Zafira would have taken care of whatever a background check might show. “I’ve never been a criminal.”
“Is there anyone who might follow you here? Anyone who might threaten your safety, or the safety of those around you?”
“I’m on my own. I mean, completely on my own.”
“No family? Is there anyone we can call for you?”
Kaia thought of Mina, Analise, and fierce Talia, and had to close her eyes. “No,” she finally whispered.
“What happened, hon? Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Kaia couldn’t begin to imagine a simple explanation for her presence at Good Samaritan, her lack of knowledge of basic things like birth certificates, tax records, and social security cards, and her absence of a work history.
“It’s hard,” Kaia said. “To talk about it, I mean.”
“Can I take a guess?” Jenny asked. At Kaia’s nod, she continued, “I’m guessing you traveled so much as a kid, you never really had a chance to make many friends or set down roots. And so the first place your family stayed for any length of time, you found a boy who swept you off your feet and became your whole life. You married young, and your husband was very controlling. So much so that you didn’t have to worry about money or getting a job. But that kind of control generally comes with a price. Am I close?”
Kaia felt a wave of relief wash over her. Jenny seemed to have a wealth of information, and was absolutely comfortable making assumptions about Kaia’s life. “That’s amazing. You’re exactly right.”
“You can’t imagine how many women I see, just like you,” Jenny said, patting her hand.
Kaia paused just long enough for her mind to race out in front, filling in the details of the story Jenny had provided for her. “I married when I was sixteen. My folks passed away about a year later in a car accident. Things started out fine with, er, Charlie, but after that first year things just got worse and worse. Eventually he didn’t even want me to leave the house without him.”
“Will he be coming for you?” Jenny interrupted.
“No,” Kaia said. “He’s dead. He died about a month ago.”
“And he left you with nothing,” Jenny concluded. “Nothing but bills, I expect. Did they take your house, honey?”
Kaia mustered a confused expression, which wasn’t difficult since she had no idea how someone could take an entire house. “Yes,” she agreed, because it seemed like what Jenny wanted her to say. “They took it.”
“You can get your papers,” Jenny said confidently. “They can’t keep things without any value.”
Kaia thought quickly. “I threw it all away. I didn’t want any of his things. I just wanted to be gone.”
Jenny touched her hand. “We’ll figure it all out. Don’t you worry. It might take some time, but we can get you new documents. Your license is a good start.”
“I feel like such an idiot.”
Jenny gave her a fierce look. “You aren’t an idiot. You’re a strong person. You’re a survivor. The person you’ve been before now is nothing compared to the person you’re going to be. You’re going to succeed. I know you will.”
Even though Jenny was talking about a made-up Kaia, a fictional person who had walked away from an overbearing husband and a life over which she had no control, and even though she probably said the same thing to every woman who walked through her doors, her words felt like a promise to Kaia.
Unable to speak, Kaia simply nodded. Thank you, she thought, hoping Jenny could read the message in her eyes. Thank you.
§
“Mr. Jameson?”
Garrett heard the voice dimly, in the back of his mind, but as he was engaged in furiously pounding out an email rejecting a lowball offer on a condominium project in Orlando, he didn’t stop to look up.
“Mr. Jameson?”
Garrett slammed out a period and hit send. This time, the voice fully penetrated his consciousness, but rather than respond, he took a slow sip of coffee and studied a bank of dark-bottomed clouds massing on the horizon. His behavior was childish, sure, but he was still hoping at some point his diligent assistant, Milicent Lyons, would walk all the way into his office and talk directly to him instead of lingering by his door and waiting patiently and long-sufferingly to be recognized before she would tell him what she wanted.
“Excuse me, Mr. Jameson?”
They had been playing this game for years. Truth was, Milicent would probably never accede to his wishes and simply talk to him. She would forever buzz around his head like an annoying fly with her soft voice and her “etiquette” that must date back to the 1960s.
“What?” he finally snapped, spinning around in his chair to face her.
“Mr. Jameson, your two o’clock is here.”
Milicent had certain ideas about how a secretary was supposed to function. She would not e
nter his office unless he had invited her inside. She would not raise her voice in his presence. She would not take lunch unless he was out of the office. She would not let anyone else bring him his coffee.
This all irritated Garrett to no end, but she was also incredibly efficient and had a knack for turning away any visitors he didn’t want to see with exactly the right combination of politeness and firmness. She knew grammar the way only women over the age of sixty knew grammar, and she had a passion for filing.
All of which made it exceedingly difficult to actually make the decision to replace her.
“Thank you. Send him in.”
The man who entered the room next was so nondescript he nearly blended into the woodwork. He was somewhere between tall and short, was neither thin nor heavy, and wore an entirely generic dark blue suit and tie. He refused Milicent’s offer of coffee and slid into one of Garrett’s smooth leather armchairs. Milicent closed the office door behind her, and they stared at each other for a moment before Garrett spoke.
“So? Did you find her?”
“I have found no evidence of a Kaia Verde ever residing in the state of Florida.”
Garrett spun his chair slightly to the left, where he could watch the storm clouds massing. He’d always loved afternoon thunderstorms, and right now, the storm matched his mood perfectly.
“Of course, she said she was from out of town,” he mused, “but I thought I’d find her locally.”
Not that he cared, of course. Finding her had been an afterthought, a way to protect Ted and maybe other men from her avarice. Yet for some reason she remained a constant source of frustration. No matter how many women he saw, her face was the vision that haunted him throughout the day.
“The name’s likely a fake,” the man said.
Garrett tapped his chin. “No driver’s license, birth certificate, or business licenses under that name? No property transactions? Criminal records?”
The man shook his head. “We did find a few Kaias. It isn’t an entirely uncommon name. But no Kaia Verde.” He threw some pictures on the table and Garrett glanced through them, careful not to betray the lurch of his pulse at the possibility that they might have found her. It was for naught. There were two young Latina women, three plump blonde women in their forties, a white woman with a shaved head and a tattoo on her neck, and one light-skinned African-American woman who was very striking, but definitely not Kaia.
“I did mention that she was white, didn’t I? And somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties?”
“I bring all possible matches for you to consider. People can do a lot with makeup. You’d be amazed.”
Garrett held up the picture of the African-American woman. “I guess I would.”
The man in the leather chair did not respond.
“What about the conference?” Garrett continued. “Any record of a plant conference in Miami last week?”
“Nothing of the sort in the Miami region. We did find a home show in Tampa, but I didn’t think that was what you were looking for.”
“No. The whole thing was likely a story.” Garrett turned back to the window. He saw a flash in the sky, and a strike of lightning hit the ground miles away. In a fit of pique, he hoped Kaia was underneath it. “So, I suppose that’s it.”
“Not necessarily. From your description, she was a striking woman. I could certainly ask around at the Avalon and try to find out more information that way. She may be a frequent user. I can also pull some strings at Visa. We might be able to get the address on the card. It won’t be cheap, but it can be done. And it would be easy enough to check around for that name in all fifty states. She lives somewhere. We can find her. I’m sure of it.”
Garrett raised his brows at the confidence in the man’s voice. It made him sound almost human.
“Mr. Smith—I’m sorry, remind me of your first name again?”
“David.”
“David, I had hopes of sending my friend Kaia her bill from the Avalon. Barring that, I had wanted to make sure she didn’t end up back at the Blue Hour, preying on my friend, Ted, while he’s in a weak moment. If she’s not from Florida, or at least is taking significant steps to conceal her identity from us, it is unlikely she will be back.” He stood and walked around to the front of his desk. “I appreciate your time and discretion, but I don’t think I will have further need for your services.”
David pushed back his chair. “If you say so. In my experience, these types of con artists typically have an area they target and they tend to return to that area, regardless of the potential to bump into old friends. They rely on their marks’ need for discretion to protect them from prosecution.”
“Point taken. And if I do run into her? Shall I make a citizen’s arrest?” Garrett grinned at the idea. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with Kaia, but arresting her sounded wonderfully satisfying. Anything that might exorcise her from his memory.
David’s expression did not change. “You’ve got my number. You call me. Anytime, day or night. I take it from there.”
Chapter Twelve
Kaia spent most of her first morning at Good Sam in the shower, scrubbing days of accumulated dirt off her skin, out from under her finger- and toenails, and out of her scalp. She washed her hair several times, meticulously shaved the hair that grew back every damned day on her legs and under her arms, and sat beside a fan with a comb to try to coax some of the natural waves she had once loved back into her long mane.
This was one of the many things about her body that she had enhanced with her faerie magic. When she crossed through a Gate and shifted from faerie to human form, her physical body naturally took a particular shape. She could enhance and change that shape as she wished, but doing so took some effort and a healthy dose of faerie magic.
Magic she could no longer use.
“It’s rather amazing,” the imp mused, cocking his head as he watched her drying her hair.
“What?” Kaia’s hair tangled around the comb and she pulled it out with a growl.
“How boring you are. I mean, I knew humans were plain, but I’d never expected you to be quite so—how shall I put this?—ordinary?” He grinned, exposing perfect little white teeth. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure Garrett will love a boring, ordinary human woman.”
Kaia threw the comb at him and stifled a cry of frustration. She had not even realized how much of her human body’s perfection was due to her magic. She had been seducing men for so long, she had unconsciously learned to shape her body to suit their needs. When men remarked that they loved her long, silky hair, her hair became long and silky forevermore. When men praised her tiny waist and exquisitely rounded hips, they became part of the body she always assumed for seduction.
But it was not natural, and it could not happen without magic. So the hair that had once curled in perfect waves around her shoulders and back would, she now realized, hang limp and lifeless to her hips. The fingernails that had in the past assumed the shape of perfect pink half-moons would be broken, uneven, and of indeterminate color. Her skin would have imperfections, her breasts would no longer bounce just so, and her underarms, unless corrective substances were applied, would generate a tremendously unappealing odor.
Humanity was not attractive.
Kaia had known this before, but she understood it now on a far deeper level.
Good Sam had a number of magazines that seemed designed to teach women to deal with all of these problems, so Kaia spent her evening reading and learning. She didn’t have the money to buy the myriad of products that were recommended, but she did read enough to learn that she wasn’t the first woman to be troubled by underarm hair, body odor, pimples, and bad hair days.
She found this fact tremendously reassuring.
Kaia spent day two learning basic computer literacy and how to “surf the Web.” These skills, she quickly realized, were essential to navigating life in the human world. Oh, she’d seen a computer before, and even typed in a key or two, but never actually trie
d to do anything useful with one. That all changed in the computer room in the basement of Good Sam.
Good Sam had ten computers that had been donated by some insurance company several years before. According to the teacher, they were old and slow, and couldn’t run many of the newer websites with plug-ins and graphics. Kaia didn’t know what any of those things were, and she didn’t care. All she cared about was that when she typed “Garrett Jameson Miami” into the search window she was taught to use, hundreds of websites appeared.
Garrett Jameson, it turned out, was all over the World Wide Web.
Kaia could have spent all day looking at pictures and reading articles about him, but the shelter had strict limits on the amount of time clients could spend on the computers, and there were lines at the doors and sign-up sheets to be honored. Still, in her thirty minutes of free Internet use, Kaia discovered a number of interesting facts about the man for whom she had jeopardized her wings.
First, Garrett Jameson was more than just a businessman. He was a tycoon. That was the word all the newspaper articles used to describe him. A real estate tycoon. Kaia wasn’t exactly sure what a real estate tycoon did, but it seemed to involve buying and selling large tracts of land and buildings. Kaia found numerous local news stories about Garrett brokering high-risk property ventures, everything from ritzy hotel deals to new condominium projects.
He was the oldest grandson of Portia Jameson, a longtime resident of Miami who owned an enormous private company called Jameson Enterprises, which, among other things, owned and managed a chain of luxury hotels. Portia had started out as a maid in a small luxury hotel in Coral Gables. In a classic Cinderella story, she swept the owner of the hotel off his feet and they were married shortly after they met. Garrett’s mother was born a scant eight months later.