The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1)

by Jessica Meigs

  “Maybe it is, but it’s worked for me before,” Scott replied, and his tone suggested a hint of teasing in his words. He moved behind her, letting her take the lead, and she went straight for the glass cases lining the exhibit’s side wall. She started to check inside first one and then the next, barely paying attention to the objects in the cases if they weren’t round, black, or a box. Scott followed her, glancing around them, content to keep an eye out for security guards coming their way while Riley handled the search.

  It didn’t take her long to locate the box—the exhibit wasn’t large, after all—near the corner of the room. It sat on a slender pedestal table that was bolted to the floor and covered with deep purple cloth, and a thick glass case surrounded it. Riley tapped her fingernail against the case; she would have bet her next month’s salary that it was tempered glass. The box itself looked oddly shiny, like it was polished. Riley frowned and leaned closer to the case, trying to study it through the cloudy glass.

  “What is it?” Scott murmured, taking a step closer to get a look for himself.

  “I’m not sure,” Riley admitted. “Something doesn’t look right about it, but I can’t put my finger on what.” She slid her cell phone from a small pocket on her skirt and snapped a few photos of the artifact for reference, making sure to get pictures of the table and the glass case.

  Before Riley could continue, Scott hooked his arm around her waist. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed, steering her backward. “Play along.” Her shoulders and back bumped against the wall, and she didn’t get a chance to question what Scott meant by “play along” before his body pressed flush against hers, and his mouth descended onto hers.

  Riley squeaked and waved her arms as she teetered on her heels, shocked into submission. His arm tightened around her to steady her, his hand flattening against her back, dragging her even closer to him. Riley acted on pure instinct and reflex, and she slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, returning the kiss with all the pent-up frustration and desperation that had begun to build in the months since Kevin’s death. That desperation prompted her to dig her fingers into his dark hair, trying to pull him closer, deeper into the kiss. Her lips parted in invitation, and he accepted it, drawing a barely-there groan from Riley’s throat as his tongue swept over hers. Her body moved of its own volition, arching against him as she felt the kiss all the way to her toes. Electricity buzzed under her skin as Scott traced a hand down her waist, over her hip, and to her thigh, his fingers coasting over skin left bare by her skirt before grasping her thigh and pulling her even closer. She obliged him, hooking her leg around his and rubbing against him almost like a cat, swept up in the moment. She wanted to just let go, if only for a few moments.

  Riley’s hands had just drifted, seemingly of their own accord, to the hem of Scott’s t-shirt with every intention of getting onto some bare skin when he pulled his mouth away from hers and moved it to her ear. Disappointment barely had time to well up in her before he hissed breathlessly in a voice that wouldn’t carry, “Who’s coming?”

  It took Riley a few scarce seconds to collect herself enough to reply. Her chest heaved, and her breasts were pressed against Scott’s surprisingly muscular chest. Resting her hands against his shoulders again, she felt the play of muscle underneath her palms, and once again, the thought of what lay underneath his shirt intrigued her. This is all an act, she reminded herself, even as she smoothed a palm down the side of his neck. Though it sure didn’t feel like an act.

  Scott buried his face against the side of her neck, nuzzling and nipping at her skin, as she looked over his shoulder. A man stood in the entrance to the exhibit watching them. She fisted a hand into Scott’s hair to block the man’s view of her mouth and breathed into his ear, cursing herself for the tremor in her voice. “Security guard.”

  “He armed?” Scott asked. His hand glided higher up her thigh, hitching her skirt up a few precious inches, and she raised an eyebrow. If this was supposed to be an act, Scott was really getting into it.

  “Taser,” she whispered. “Can’t make out what model.” It was hard to focus on what she was supposed to be focused on with Scott’s hands wandering over her body. She shivered and added, “Nightstick. Nothing else.” She nibbled at Scott’s earlobe in retaliation, and he shuddered against her.

  “What’s he doing?” Scott asked. He smirked against her neck, and the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with groping her thigh slid up to cup her breast. Riley grimaced and jabbed him in the ribs. Apparently, she didn’t do it hard enough, because it didn’t affect him in the slightest.

  “He’s just staring at us,” she whispered.

  Scott snorted and nipped Riley’s neck again, dropping his hand to her waist and starting to inch his fingers up her shirt. “Pervert,” he murmured, and Riley heard a grin in his voice. “We should give him something to really look at.”

  Riley giggled, and as if hearing Scott’s words, the security guard chose that moment to clear his throat. “Excuse me?” he called. Scott made a show of stiffening against her, and she raised an eyebrow as he nuzzled her jaw one more time, as if trying to get one last bit of affection in. Then he half-turned toward the security guard. “You two are supposed to be with the tour group,” the guard said. “What are you doing over here?”

  “Sorry,” Scott said, taking a step back from her. A chill came over her as the warmth of his body left hers. She smoothed her skirt down and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “It was my fault,” Riley said, falling straight into character. “We just got married and…” She trailed off and shrugged, giving the man a sheepish smile. “We’re still in the…what’s it called, Baby?”

  “The honeymoon phase,” Scott said with a laugh. He offered Riley his hand, and when she took it, he pulled her closer and looped his arm around her waist. All for show, she repeated in her head.

  “Well that’s sweet, but since you can’t follow the museum’s rules, I’m going to have to ask you to please leave and take your honeymoon phase somewhere else,” the guard said. It wasn’t anything Riley didn’t expect, but she still mimicked disappointment, letting her shoulders slump.

  Scott shot the security guard one last glance and pulled at Riley’s hand, leading her out of the exhibit and toward the stairs. To her frustration, the guard followed them down the stairs and out onto the first floor, waiting for them to exit the museum before he went back to his guard duties.

  “Shit,” Scott hissed. “I’d hoped he’d leave sooner and we could go back for a better look at the box.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Riley said. “I got a good enough look. I don’t think there’s an alarm on it.” She started in the direction of the parking garage as she added, “But even if it were wired, it still wouldn’t matter, because I don’t think it’s the real box.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Scott asked. He stopped her near the parking garage’s entrance and made her face him. “That’s got to be the box. It looks just like it.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Riley said. “Not exactly.” As they stepped onto the elevator, she pulled her cell phone out of her skirt pocket and queued up the photos to show Scott. “Look, here’s the photo that Ashton and Zachariah showed us,” she said, holding the phone for him to see. She swiped through the pictures, showing him the ones she’d taken. “And this is the box in the museum right now. It’s not the same box. To begin with, it’s too shiny.”

  “Maybe they cleaned it?” Scott suggested. He took her phone and squinted at the screen.

  “No, no, no.” Riley shook her head and plucked her phone from Scott’s hand, returning it to her pocket. “Any museum curator worth his salt who knows antiques would know that the last thing you would do to an antique is clean and polish it. It fucks up the patina and devalues the piece.”

  “It fucks up the what?”

  “The patina,” she repeated. “It’s a sheen that covers wood and metal as part of the natural aging process. The last thing you
want to do is damage the patina.”

  “How do you know about all of that?”

  Riley’s cheeks grew hot. “I…watch too much Antiques Roadshow when I’m not on an assignment,” she muttered.

  Scott gave her a slow grin. “PBS?” he asked.

  “Shut up.”

  Scott shook his head and continued as they exited the elevator and headed for the car. “So, because the box is shiny, you’re convinced it’s fake,” he said. He stopped at the car and unlocked the passenger door, opening it for her.

  “That and the lid isn’t sealed with wax,” she said. “And I specifically remember that the box was supposed to be sealed.” She slid into the passenger seat, grabbing Linus and clutching it to her chest like a teddy bear, and Scott shut the door. Moments later, he was in the driver’s seat and backing out of the parking space.

  “What do you propose we do?” Scott asked. “Should we get that box out of the Smithsonian anyway?”

  Riley frowned and shook her head, opening her bag and looking into it to make sure everything inside was still safe. She almost blew out a breath as she saw the granola bars and sandwiches and chips she’d stashed inside were still there, safe and sound. “No, we shouldn’t waste our time with bullshit,” she decided, zipping the bag closed and setting it gently in the floorboard at her feet. “I think we should go back to The Unnaturals headquarters and have a chat with Ashton. Because I’m going to make him give us the whole damned story about what the hell’s going on and then? He’s going to help us figure out where the real box is.”

  ~*~

  Ashton had been working for hours, sorting through the red folders from Zachariah’s desk as he tried to shove everything into some semblance of order. He’d emptied papers and forms from four of the folders so far, categorizing the mass of information as he went, taping notes and photographs and data sheets in organized groups to the walls. He was screwing up Zachariah’s filing system—assuming there was an actual system to begin with—but he didn’t care. He had to get everything in order so he could track down Zachariah. And he couldn’t do that until he’d destroyed the man’s filing system.

  Ashton had gone through three folders when he discovered that Zachariah had managed to obtain the names of nearly half of the existing vampire elders. Most elders kept their names shrouded in secrecy, as if they were afraid that, had someone known their names, they’d have power over them. He didn’t want to know how Zachariah had done it, but he was impressed.

  When he reached the eighth folder, he found his first inkling of what he searched for.

  When Ashton saw the first page in the folder, he raced to his desk, keying up the security footage of the fight, glancing between the screen and the paper clutched in his hand. “Blond, female, slim, appears about twenty years old,” he murmured, comparing the image on the screen with the words on the paper. He dropped into his desk chair and started tearing through the folder, writing down anything that looked pertinent.

  Ashton had just filled a page when his office door slammed open and Riley stormed inside, Scott following. She wore a short black skirt, a red blouse, a battered black backpack, and what were probably the most impractical shoes Ashton had ever seen, and she had fire in her brown eyes, and her face was flushed, as if she were angry. Ashton shifted his eye back to the file as he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be on an assignment?”

  Riley grimaced and paced across the office. She stopped in front of his desk, braced her hands against the edge, and glared at him. “What the fuck is going on around here?” she demanded.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on an assignment?” Ashton asked again.

  “An assignment?” Riley repeated. “You mean the one that involves getting that box from the Smithsonian? You know, the box that’s a fucking fake?” Ashton raised his eyebrow in surprise as she added, “How long have you known you were sending us on a wild goose chase?”

  “What are you talking about?” Ashton demanded. “The box is a fake? What makes you think that? Are you sure?”

  “The box in the museum is polished,” Riley said. “It has a glossy finish. It’s also not sealed with wax and the knob on the top is different.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and slid it across the desk to him. He studied the photograph on its screen. It was a little unfocused, as if it’d been taken in a hurry, but it was clear enough for him to make out the pertinent details. Though he was thoroughly familiar with the photo he already had, he yanked his desk drawer open and pulled it out. It took seconds of comparison for him to confirm that the boxes were not, in fact, the same.

  “What the fuck?” Ashton breathed. He passed Riley her phone, feeling as confused as the look on her face suggested she was. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “And we most certainly don’t either,” Riley added. “I just know I’ve got four slices in my side, I’ve been introduced to the existence of vampires, and now this part of my assignment’s bust, which means I’m not going to get paid!” She threw her hands into the air in frustration. “What the hell is going on?”

  Ashton pressed his knuckles against his mouth, rested his elbow on the edge of the desk, and stared at Riley for a moment before shifting his eye to Scott. He stood by the door, watching Riley and her gesticulations with visible interest. He tore his eyes away from her to look at Ashton, giving him a nod as if to indicate for him to begin an explanation that he hadn’t decided he was going to give. Ashton looked to his computer screen and the paused image of Zachariah kneeling on the sidewalk; he needed to work on that problem, but with Riley and Scott standing before him, he couldn’t deny that they deserved the utmost truth—even if he no longer felt like he knew what that truth was.

  “Zach knows more about this than I do,” Ashton started, running a hand through his hair. “I get all my mission-specific information from him, and he’s not here to answer questions or explain it better than me, so you’re going to have to take what I can give you.”

  “Where is Zachariah?” Scott asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Have you heard from him yet?”

  Ashton hesitated and then pressed a few keys on his computer, turning the screen so they could see it. “He was captured by an elder vampire on the same night you were attacked outside this building. I think the attack was designed to lure him out so they could take him.”

  “What makes you say that?” Scott asked.

  “Because none of the vampires followed you when he made you leave,” Ashton replied.

  “So what would they want him for?” Riley asked. Her dark eyes locked onto the screen, intense interest in her gaze.

  Ashton shook his head. “I don’t know. Suffice to say, we’re searching for him. He’s too valuable an asset to write off. He’s one of The Unnaturals’ official founding members, and he’s the best field agent this organization has. I have a member of the team looking for the coven he may have been taken to as we speak.”

  “So what do we do in the meantime?” Riley asked.

  Ashton raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, what do you do in the meantime?” he replied. “You do what you’re ordered to do. And right now, your orders are to find that weapon and bring it to me. And find it fast. We don’t have much time to waste.”

  “And how the hell are we supposed to do that?” Riley demanded. “The one in the museum’s a fake!”

  Ashton rolled his eye. “I don’t care how you do it. Just do it,” he snapped. “Start at the museum. Find out if they’ve got a stand-in box while the real one is in storage. If it is in storage, break into that damned storage and get it. If it’s not in storage, find out where the hell it is, break into that place, and steal it from there. It’s a simple mission, Riley. I’m not asking either of you to do something complicated.”

  As Riley seethed with anger, Ashton shifted his gaze to Scott. Scott stared back at him, and it was he who spoke first. “What was Zachariah working on before he got taken?” he asked.

  “That’s class
ified information,” Ashton replied. His eye flickered to Riley despite his attempts to not look at her; she didn’t notice—by all appearances, she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, more fascinated by the footage on the computer screen than anything else—but once Ashton returned his gaze to Scott’s face, it was clear that the man had seen everything.

  Scott didn’t comment on it, much to Ashton’s relief. Instead, he beckoned to Riley. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get moving. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Yes, you do,” Ashton agreed. “And so do I. Now if you’ll please leave my office, we can all get busy with our shit.” He paused, picking up his pen and jotting down a few words on his legal pad before adding, “Try the curator’s office.”

  Scott paused in the act of reaching for the doorknob and turned back to Ashton. “What?”

  “The curator keeps records of all the artifacts under his or her care,” Ashton replied. “Find the curator’s office and check the files. That might give you a lead on where to start looking.”

  “Oh,” Scott said. He opened the door and ushered Riley into the warehouse beyond. “Uh, thanks for the tip.”

  Ashton waved his hand in their direction, indicating for them to get out, before he returned to his intense study of Zachariah’s files on the elder vampires.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I don’t like this,” Scott admitted as he and Riley left Ashton’s office. He tugged the door shut behind them and scanned the warehouse, getting his bearings. The warehouse was the same beehive of activity that it had been the day before, when they’d been introduced to the new world they were now a part of. Several of the white-coated researchers in the R&D area paused to look at them as they emerged from the office, but it didn’t take long for them to lose interest and return to their work. Despite the normalcy of everything, he felt totally off-kilter, and he couldn’t put his finger on why.

  “And you think I do?” Riley muttered, hitching her backpack up on her shoulder. “I feel like my chain is being jerked by some assholes who think we’re marionettes here to do their bidding.”