by A. C. Arthur
“So you denied everything she said?” X asked.
“You know he did,” Jace added with a smirk. “And he did it with that smooth-ass smile of his. She probably couldn’t remember what the hell he’d said because she was transfixed by his pretty-boy looks.”
Bas smoothed down his low-cut mustache, shaking his head. “You have your way of dealing with problems, and I have mine. But I didn’t give her any additional information, if that’s what you’re really asking.”
“We’re asking if your smoother-than-silk, lover-of-the-century plan is going to keep this female’s mouth closed?” Nick inquired.
Bas didn’t like the way X and Nick were looking at him, didn’t like the implications that were floating around this room, but he didn’t plan to address them either, not unless absolutely necessary. His hand moved to glide slowly down the length of his light blue Ferragamo tie. “She won’t tell a soul what she saw until she’s absolutely sure,” he said with confidence. “And if she does, I’ll fix it so that nobody believes a word she says.”
Nick, who used to have his own reputation as the handsome and unattainable attorney, until he’d found his companheiro and had a joining ceremony, followed by a beautiful little daughter, only shook his head. “Where is she now?”
“Probably still in his bed,” Jace quipped.
“You slept with her?” X asked, incredulous, because sometimes, even Bas’s closest friends believed the hype of his notorious reputation.
Besides the image of Bas that had been created solely by the press, it was common knowledge among their tribe that shifters had an insatiable sexual appetite, especially when they found their companheiros. There was nothing more important to them during the companheiro calor. What none of the shifters in this room knew was how successful Bas had been in banking that desire to save his own sanity and to keep the guilt that ate at him daily with a voracious appetite from consuming him completely. But that wasn’t for them to know, it was his business and the way he handled it was solely up to him.
“I did not sleep with her. I gave her a couple of drinks then took her home,” he told them. “She’s smart but I’m not certain she even believes what she thinks she saw.” He almost said he wasn’t sure she was pursuing this story because she wanted to, either, but he didn’t. His concerns for the reporter, the ones he knew he shouldn’t be having, were to be kept private, like so many other aspects of his life.
“Besides, nobody believes reporters half the time,” Cole added, leaning forward in his chair. Cole led the Central Zone and lived in Dallas. He was an investment broker who focused on two things only—his money and his job as the FL. Female entanglements definitely took a backseat in Cole’s world and he had no problem voicing his concerns over how the other sex could interfere with a man’s life. To say he was bitter in that regard was an understatement.
“To the contrary,” Jace, the wild card in the group of FLs added. “They believe them way too much. People are so predisposed to believe anyone with power—politicians, superstars, millionaires—are all natural-born liars and cheaters, that anything they find in print that corroborates those facts becomes the law to them.”
Jace’s words rang true, especially since he dealt with the press more than any of the other FLs in his line of work as the brash and opinionated talent agent and owner of Maybon Artist Management in Los Angeles.
“We have no connection to the bank robbery. That was all crazy-ass Sabar and his league of felines,” Nick stated. “I’m so glad that bastard’s dead.”
“We’re all glad he’s out of the equation but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still rogues he had following him out there. And, we do have a connection to Athena’s.” Cole eyed X, an action that earned him a lethal glare from the former agent.
“Caprise is keeping a low profile at Athena’s,” X reported. His mate continued to dance at the club, using that as her cover while she kept a lookout for the rogues that had occupied the place like gangsters before.
“And I stay away from the place altogether,” X continued tightly. There was no doubt how he felt about that fact.
“I think we may be seeing more in this than is necessary,” Bas spoke up. “I reported it to you as a problem just so we would know what we’re dealing with, but I don’t think she has any more information than what’s been floating around in the D.C. news for weeks.”
“Maybe you’re the one not seeing enough,” Cole directed to Bas. “Did something else happen between you and this woman, because it almost seems as if you’re defending her. Are you sure the two of you didn’t have some type of personal connection?”
At that question Bas spun around. He was in Cole’s face so fast it took a moment before Cole could stand to address him, and Nick and X could get close enough to both, one of them putting a hand on Bas’s shoulder.
“What are you accusing me of, Linden?” Bas questioned the other FL, a low rumble building in his chest.
“Sit down,” Rome ordered. “Both of you,” he added since no one had moved.
Bas backed away, mentally kicking himself for losing his cool. He never did that and wasn’t about to venture into why Cole was easily able to bait him this time. He wanted to storm out of the room, to go someplace to be alone, to try and figure out why this reporter and her inquisitive eyes and alluring scent had haunted him for the first half of the night and why during the other half he’d dreamed of her in the Gungi, her dead eyes looking up to him instead of Mariah’s.
Instead, he took a steadying breath and sat down. When he looked at Rome again it was to find the leader watching him closely.
“You’re right,” Rome admitted. “We do already have history with Ms. Drake. But so far you’re the first one of us to have personal contact with her, so tell me how you think she should be handled.”
It wasn’t out of the norm for Rome to consider their opinions, that’s just the type of leader he was. He knew that keeping the Shadows safe and protecting the humans at the same time was a team effort and he’d acquired one hell of a team to see that through. Bas only hated that Rome’s use of the word “handled” had succeeded in stroking a serious protective instinct in him that he knew the others would never understand.
Once again deciding that now was definitely not the place to let his personal feelings interfere, Bas spoke on what he knew from a strategic standpoint. “For now, I think the best plan of attack is no attack at all. Nobody’s going to believe her ramblings, she’ll discredit herself by even putting them in print. She has absolutely no evidence and I doubt the Post would be willing to take on the liability for printing anything about Rome without solid proof to back them up. They don’t want the Lethal Litigator suing their asses,” he ended, trying for a lighter mood.
Bas continued to look down the table at Rome, who readily acknowledged his reputation as a ruthless litigator in D.C., with a nod.
“The rogues should remain the priority,” Bas added with finality.
Rome was quiet for a few moments, obviously contemplating what their next move would be. His mind would no doubt be on the issues that were now permeating the very fabric of the democracy he was trying to build for the shifters. His actions from this point forward would undoubtedly set the stage for how they would proceed, how their lives would go on in this world of humans who had no clue what they were.
“We’ll keep her in our peripheral for the time being.” Rome spoke decisively. “Right now, I want all of you to head back to your zones. Nick received a report this morning about a shipment possibly coming into Arizona tonight.”
“Coming in from Mexico?” Bas asked immediately. The last shipment they’d intercepted in his zone had given them Felipe Hernandez, a former lieutenant in the Cortez Cartel. The man was still being held in the lower bunkers of Bas’s resort where they’d locked him up after X had come to Sedona to question him.
“It’s not Cortez,” X offered, shaking his head. “No way they’re going to send in another shipment after we c
aptured the last one and their lieutenant at the same time. Not this soon.”
“Whoever it is, there are two boats expected to dock at midnight mountain time,” Nick reported.
“Where’d you get this intel?” Bas asked.
All eyes fell on Nick. “It was an anonymous e-mail sent to my work e-mail address. I didn’t have a chance to give X a heads-up so he could do his computer mojo and find out where it originated from before coming into this little get-together. But we’ll get on that trace right away.”
“In the meantime, you need to head back to Sedona and get some guards down to that location,” Rome told Bas.
He nodded. Understanding immediately what his priority was. The shifters were his life, right alongside his business. That was all he had in the world and, truth be told, all Bas wanted. This mating and joining crap wasn’t for him. And having his mind messed with by a human female definitely wasn’t in his repertoire.
“On my way to the airport now,” he told Rome. “You cornballs coming with?” he asked Jace and Cole. The three often traveled together when it was time to meet with Rome and while all of the FLs kept in close contact, they seemed to have an even tighter bond since they’d always known Rome was destined for greater leadership than being a Faction Leader.
Cole hated Bas’s laid-back ways with women and everything else, most likely because of his parents’ bitter and very public divorce. Jace, on the other hand, took everything in stride as most L.A. transplants did. Life to him was lying out on the beach, tanning, and hunting—for new talent as his human job was as a high-profile Hollywood agent. Bas joked with both of them about their sense of style among other things, hence the reason he was now calling them cornballs.
“Whatever, even your pimp suit isn’t hiding the fact that the human female struck a chord somewhere in that superficial soul of yours,” Cole said, standing up and brushing imaginary lint from the jeans that were a staple of his wardrobe.
Bas decided to ignore those words because, yeah, there was a stitch of truth to them. Instead he simply nodded to Rome saying, “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 5
“You’re being followed.”
Priya screamed, turning around with her Mace already in hand. The small container that hooked to her key chain came in handy just as her self-defense instructor had told her it would. Her arm was raised, finger on the nozzle, ready to fire when the man standing behind her gave her a lopsided grin instead of a knock on the head.
“Lolo, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked with an exasperated sigh. Lowering her arm she refrained from spraying him in the face but still scowled with agitation.
“I came by your place to give you the information you requested but you were running out the door when I pulled up,” he began, looking over her shoulder every few seconds as he continued. “The minute you got into your car a black truck with tinted windows pulled up beside me, blocking me in so I couldn’t get out. You took off and that truck took off behind you. So I followed the truck.”
Priya shook her head. Lolo, short for Lowman Sheradon, stood at five feet eleven inches. He had chocolate-brown hair that he kept in shaggy disarray on top and tapered on the sides. His eyes matched his hair color, the deep dimple in his chin giving him an adorably cute look instead of boyishly handsome as he liked to claim.
“What are you doing following people? You’re not a cop,” she reminded him and tried to turn around, to head back toward the location that she was already late getting to.
“No, not a cop, but a concerned friend,” he said, pulling her by the elbow to stop her movement.
“Not now, Lolo, I have someplace to be,” she told him.
“That truck stayed parked at the corner of your mom’s house the entire time you were inside, Priya,” he told her earnestly.
Priya didn’t try to pull away, but folded her arms over her chest at his words. “How did you know that was my mother’s house?”
It was Lolo’s turn to sigh and he did so with a genuinely apologetic look. “I know it’s your mother’s address because I’ve seen you go there before and I looked at all the names on the mailboxes. There’s only one Drake listed.”
She gave a nervous little chuckle, shaking her head. “So you’re actually the one who’s following me, not some stranger in a black truck.” It was an attempt to take Lolo’s words lightly when she knew he was telling the truth. She knew because whoever was following her had probably been doing so since that very first e-mail and just last night they’d taken the following to another level and had broken into her apartment, most likely while she was in bed asleep. All that, coupled with what had happened at her mother’s house earlier, only proved she had to do what they said and she had to do it fast.
“No, I don’t follow you around,” Lolo stated but looked away instead of holding eye contact, which Priya instantly knew meant he was lying. He huffed. “Look, I’m just saying that someone is following you and those pictures you sent me, they have some pretty powerful people in them. So I’m a little worried that you may be getting yourself into some trouble here.”
She shook her head again, refusing to let the concern in his voice deter her. “Who was in the pictures?” she asked somberly.
“Reynolds, Delgado, President Reed, and a few businessmen from the private sector. Major Randall Guthrie was also in the background of one of the pictures watching as the president and Reynolds talked. He didn’t look happy.”
“Guthrie’s a natural-born killer given the permission to do his evil deeds by the commendations lined across the chest of his Marine uniform. He never looks happy,” she quipped.
“And he never misses a kill,” Lolo added. “Look, I know you don’t want to tell me why you’re looking into Reynolds or why this is so top secret, but I don’t like it, Priya. I’m getting a bad feeling about it,” he said, lifting a hand to his chest and rubbing as he looked up the street and then back down to where he’d come from.
“That’s your acid reflux, Lolo. Take a pill, e-mail me all the names, and I’ll call you later,” she said, turning once again to head toward the Reynolds Building.
She’d taken only two steps when the glass doors to the front of the building opened and a line of men—no, they actually looked more like living gods—came filing out. She noticed them immediately and stood still, watching them. The first two had also been at the table with Reynolds last night at the reception. Their names she already knew, even without Lolo’s assistance, thanks to her early-morning research on Perry. The first was Jace Maybon, a talent agent from L.A. with tall, dark, and sinfully delicious looks that would raise the brow of any breathing female. The second, not to be outdone by the first, was Cole Linden, slightly more low-key, brutal in the boardroom, and seemingly averse to females as noted by an article in Forbes that neatly outlined his portfolio and congratulated whatever lady was lucky enough to land him.
Both of them paled in comparison to who came out next. Her breath should not have hitched, her eyes widening. There should have been no surprise that he was close because her body had already begun to respond as it had only to his proximity. He was dressed in a suit, a dusky gray that she thought might actually match the color of his eyes. Sunlight caught the diamonds that circled his watch as he lifted his hands to pull his jacket together and button it.
He looked up instantly, as if he’d been expecting her to be standing there. His gaze locked on hers and she licked her now-dry lips, cursing the tingle of her nipples at the sight of him. Priya instinctively took a step back anyway. Linden and Maybon had already gotten inside a truck … a black SUV, to be exact. But Perry walked immediately toward her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Hello to you, too,” she replied, taking a deep swallow but hoping he didn’t notice. He towered over her today, his broad shoulders and chest blocking her vision, encompassing her without even touching her. “I see you still haven’t worked on your greetings.”
“Pri
ya, we should go,” she heard Lolo say from her left. He was pulling on her arm again.
Perry looked over at Lolo, a muscle ticking in the right side of his jaw. “Who is this?” he asked in a voice deeper, sterner than she’d previously heard from him.
“This is a man and he’s with me,” she said slowly as if she thought he might have trouble comprehending, especially since he’d taken on this master-of-the-universe stance demanding answers from her as if she actually owed them to him.
His gaze went to where Lolo’s hand rested on her arm, then back to her face.
“You should not be here,” he stated.
“It’s a free country and I have a job to do,” she insisted.
He shook his head. “Not here. Not now,” he told her. “It is not safe.”
“I told you,” Lolo chimed in. “Let’s go, now!”
Priya watched as Perry looked at Lolo once more. There was dislike and something else she couldn’t quite place, but she shook that off. None of it mattered, only getting into that building mattered and she didn’t have much time to do it. Burning a hole in the pocket of her jeans was a list of questions she’d been told to ask, even more prevalent in her memory was that those questions had been left taped to her mother’s door.
“Listen to your friend and go,” Sebastian told her, his voice taking on an urgent tinge. “Go or I’ll have you physically removed. I don’t think that’s what you want.”
“I want you to stop thinking you can tell me what to do, Mr. Perry,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a step forward. There was no way she was letting him or anyone else stop her, no matter how big they were.
He reached out then, grabbing her by both shoulders. “Go. Home. This is not a game.”
“We’re going,” Lolo said, pulling Priya so that Perry was no longer touching her.
She might have felt like a limp rag being tugged from one opponent to the next, but the warmth that had moved through her like a fine wine at Perry’s touch was instantly missed and she almost called out for him to touch her again. She actually considered jerking away from Lolo to run back to him, back to the man she barely knew, but had dreamed about, in full-blown touch-a-vision color.