The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1)

by Jessica Meigs

  “Riley…we are here to do their bidding,” Scott pointed out. He nodded as he made his decision on what his first move should be and started toward the armory cage that Ashton showed them the day before, adding, “We might as well get over it and get some more guns.”

  “Does this mean I’m going to get to shoot something?” Riley asked, a touch of enthusiasm leeching into her voice.

  Scott paused in mid-step and shook his head. “On second as he sc, we should probably stick with Tasers.”

  “Take all the damned fun out of everything, would you?” Riley said, rolling her eyes. She stopped at the cage and banged her hand against it. The dark-haired man sitting at the desk inside the cage looked up from the book he was thumbing through—The Art of War by Sun Tzu—and raised an eyebrow at them.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asked, and Scott saw his eyes flicker up and down, blatantly checking Riley out through the bars. Scott ground his teeth together at the look the man gave her—like he wanted to drag her off to somewhere quiet and devour her. Scott narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, trying to draw the man’s attention away from Riley and onto him. He didn’t know why it bothered him that the man was looking at his partner like she was a slab of meat, but the look made him want to tear the man’s throat out.

  Scott cleared his throat and forced himself to speak, pushing his irrational anger and annoyance aside to puzzle over later. “We need weapons,” he said. “Tasers, preferably.”

  “Your partner here doesn’t look like she wants a Taser,” the man said.

  “I don’t care,” Scott replied. “I said Tasers. Get them.”

  The man sighed and went to a shelf near the back of the cage, rummaging around before coming back to them with two boxes in hand. “Tasers,” he said. “The X2. Two shots each before you have to reload cartridges. Good accuracy on aim, though not quite the best.” He passed the boxes through a slot on the cage’s door. “We’ve been trying to get some X3’s on hand but haven’t been successful yet. What are you planning to hunt with these?”

  Scott gave him a droll look. “Humans,” he said. Riley snorted and took the box he offered her, tucking it into her backpack. Then he motioned to her and started toward the exit at the front of the building, where their rental car waited. “Come on, Riley. We’ve got a lot to do. There are a few more supplies we need, and I know just where to get them.”

  “What kind of supplies?” Riley asked. “Because I’m totally ready to go the minute the museum closes up shop tonight.”

  “Clothing,” Scott said. “Stuff to disguise or otherwise cover up identifying features. Gloves to keep from leaving fingerprints. Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t relish the idea of getting caught on a security camera and ending up in jail as Bubba Joe’s new girlfriend.”

  “Oh, come on, Scott. You’re not pretty enough to be a convict’s girlfriend,” Riley teased. Scott raised an eyebrow and slid his sunglasses on as they stepped out into the bright summer sunshine, and she stammered out, “I mean, I’m not saying you’re not good looking. Just that, you know, you’re not pretty.”

  “Yeah, keep digging your hole, Riley,” Scott joked, hitting the button on the key remote to unlock the car’s doors. “Maybe eventually you’ll come out on the other side.” He grinned at her, and she gave him a scowl in return. “Want to drive?” he offered, waving the keys at her.

  “Depends,” Riley answered. “Where are we going first?”

  Scott grinned, knowing exactly how to get her attention and get the plan he was formulating in his head moving along. “I was thinking maybe we could grab some lunch first,” he said, watching how her eyes brightened at the idea. “Your choice on location.”

  “Anywhere I want?” Riley asked.

  “Anywhere you want.”

  Riley held her hand up for the keys, and Scott tossed them over the roof of the car to her. “I know just the place,” she said before slipping into the driver’s seat and pulling the door shut. She set her backpack in the back seat with the care usually reserved for breakable objects, and Scott raised an eyebrow, wondering not for the first time just what she had in that bag—besides food—that would make her want to treat it that way. She seemed to never let it out of her sight; he knew that the moment he was alone with that bag, though, he was going to get his hands on it and his eyes on whatever was inside it, just to eliminate the possibility that she was hiding something that could be important to his Internal Affairs investigation.

  As the woman drove to whatever destination she had in mind, Scott reclined back in the passenger seat, mulling over all of the problems stirring around in his head, not the least of which was the problem of Riley herself and the jealousy and irritation that had flamed through him when he’d noticed the man in The Unnaturals armory checking her out. He hadn’t liked it, not in the slightest. And his distaste of it bothered him. He shouldn’t have cared if some guy was checking Riley out. Hell, he shouldn’t have cared if the guy wanted to scoop Riley up and throw her over his shoulder like a caveman.

  But he did care. He cared too much. And that was dangerous to the integrity of his investigation.

  “Something on your mind?” Riley asked as she turned off onto a small road that ran into an area that looked to be a residential neighborhood.

  “Right now? I’m worried that you’re taking me into some random, secluded place to put a bullet in my skull,” Scott said, half joking.

  “Oh, come on,” Riley retorted. “I wouldn’t do that unless you refused to pay for the food.”

  “Tell you what,” Scott said. “You take care of lunch, and I’ll pay for dinner. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Riley agreed, offering him her hand to shake. “So what’s really on your mind?”

  Scott sighed and shook his head. “I’m just thinking about shit, that’s all.”

  “Like?” Riley prompted.

  “Like, I don’t know, the shit we’re going to do tonight and all the different ways it could land us in jail and all the different ways I can try to keep us out of it,” Scott said. He glanced at her and added, “Are you seriously not mad at Ashton? Because you’re suddenly acting like you don’t give a shit anymore.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m still mad,” Riley admitted. She turned the rental into a tiny parking lot in front of a small concrete building that was badly in need of a paint job. “It’s just hard to be mad in the face of what I’m about to eat.”

  “Which is?”

  “The absolute best barbecue in Washington, D.C.” She eased the car into a parking space and turned the engine off, climbing out of the car and retrieving her backpack before Scott could say anything else. He watched her circle around the front of the car and stop, looking at him through the windshield with a look that said, “Well, are you coming or not?” With a sigh, he climbed out of the car and joined her in front of the vehicle, where she was practically bouncing with the enthusiasm of a child at the prospect of barbecue. “About time you rolled out of the car,” Riley said. “I’m starving.” Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the building.

  The interior of the building was poorly lit, the only sources of light from low-wattage bulbs hanging over the booths that lined the walls. There were no tables, just an open space with a jukebox at one end that played “Cat Green Eyes” by the Wolfmen. A bar stood on the far left, several stools lined up before it. Scott took a few seconds to scan the inhabitants of the building: an apparently drunk man slouched at the bar, the bartender behind the bar, the cashier behind the small counter near the door, and a waitress leaning against the counter talking to her. He was sure there was at least one cook in the kitchen. A young man and woman sat in one of the booths, talking and not paying attention to their surroundings. They didn’t look up as Scott and Riley entered the building.

  “It’ll do,” he breathed.

  Riley gave him a quizzical look. “What?”

  “Nothing. Lead on.”

  Riley gave him another funny l
ook and led him further into the building to a booth in the corner, where it was darkest and furthest from anyone else in the building. She slid into the booth, dumping her backpack on the seat beside her, and Scott joined her, settling back onto the cracked vinyl held together by liberal amounts of duct tape. Neither of them spoke until after the waitress wandered over, dropped two menus onto the table, and moved away again without a word.

  “Is the service always so friendly here?” Scott asked. He glanced down at the ratty menu that had been deposited in front of him.

  “Yep, and that’s why I like it here,” Riley said. She picked up her menu and began an intense study of the items listed on it. “Nobody bothers me past dropping the menus and my food off, and it’s quiet enough that I can get whatever I need done without a lot of risk of someone overhearing anything.”

  “That’s always a plus,” Scott agreed. He looked around and wondered if the kitchen was clean enough to make the food safe to eat. The place was the epitome of a dive, and he wondered how Riley had ever found the restaurant to begin with.

  After they’d placed their orders and gotten their drinks, Riley finally asked, “So what’s the plan? I’m assuming you either have one or are hashing one out right now.”

  “Aren’t I always?” Scott replied. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table, and dropped his voice. “How much observation did you do on the museum this morning?”

  “About as much as you did, I would think,” Riley replied, taking a swallow from her drink and settling back in her side of the booth. “Why?”

  “Did you see any way to get into the building outside of the front door?” Scott asked, though he knew that she’d been so focused on her yogurt that she likely hadn’t noticed much past it. Riley opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated and closed it again, folding her arms over her chest as she pressed her lips together into a thin line. That’s what I thought. “There’s an employee—” He stopped as the waitress returned with their food in small red plastic baskets lined with wax paper. She set the baskets of pulled pork sandwiches and fries in front of them and turned away, walking back to the pay counter to continue her conversation with the cashier. “There’s an employee entrance on the far side of the building from the parking garage,” he continued once the woman was out of earshot. “I saw several museum employees heading that way this morning before the museum opened to the public. We should try to get in through there.”

  “Think we’ll run into any trouble?” Riley asked, snagging the ketchup bottle and squirting liberal amounts of it onto her fries. Scott raised an eyebrow but kept his opinions to himself; everyone had odd eating quirks, so who was he to comment about it? He’d once known a woman who cut up chunks of cheddar cheese and put them into her cereal in the mornings. There were certainly odder things than Riley dumping an entire bottle of ketchup onto her french fries.

  “Think there won’t be?” Scott asked once he’d torn his gaze away from her basket and back onto his own. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Just the right amount of barbecue sauce with the perfect amount of tangy spice to it. Despite the restaurant’s appearances, it was a relief to discover that the food was as good as Riley had assured him it would be. He chewed and swallowed, then added, “I think we should go in expecting trouble. It doesn’t hurt to be overly prepared, and in the current circumstances, that would probably be the ideal.”

  Riley shoved a ketchup-drenched fry into her mouth and talked around it. “We should make a list or something, do a little shopping.”

  “Shopping is definitely part of the game plan as soon as we get out of here,” he assured her.

  “We’ve already got weapons, as much as I hate them,” Riley said. “I can’t stand Tasers. They’re such wussy weapons.”

  Scott raised an eyebrow. “Wussy weapons? How so?”

  “There’s a joke in the Agency that I leave a path of death and destruction in my wake on at least every other assignment,” Riley said.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the joke a time or two,” Scott admitted, picking his sandwich up again for another bite.

  “It’s not exactly a joke.”

  Scott raised an eyebrow and set his sandwich back down. “Pardon?”

  Riley leaned forward, her dark eyes serious as she said, slowly and emphatically, “I don’t like leaving witnesses, and a Taser makes it impossible to keep from doing so.” There must have been a horrified look on Scott’s face, because she added, “Don’t worry, I don’t kill the innocent. No children, and no pets. I don’t touch anyone who doesn’t make an attempt to interfere with whatever I’m there for. But if they do get in my way…” She trailed off meaningfully.

  “What if some children were to get in your way?”

  “I’d tie them up and stuff them in a closet,” Riley said with a slight laugh, as if she found the notion humorous. “You going to eat your fries?”

  Scott pushed them towards her and sat back in his side of the booth and swallowed hard as Riley pulled a plastic bag from inside her backpack and started transferring his fries into the bag. This woman was unhinged; that much was obvious. It was no wonder Henry had told him that Internal Affairs wanted him to watch her; she was a loose cannon just waiting to blow.

  For not the first time during the past two days, Scott couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

  ~*~

  Zachariah’s head felt like it was about to split open when he regained consciousness for the second time. A bright light shone through his closed eyelids, making him reluctant to open his eyes. The scent of something floral—gardenias, maybe—filled his nose, strong and almost cloying. He wrinkled his nose, huffing out a breath as if he could get the scent out of it, and tried to focus past the ache in his skull to figure out where he was. After a few moments of assessing his personal physical condition, he turned his head away from the glaring light source and blinked his eyes opened.

  He was still in the same room he’d been in the last time he’d regained consciousness in a strange location. Except this time, everything seemed subtly different. For one, he could see far better than he’d first been able to when he’d originally woken up. He could see cobwebs hanging in the corners of the room that he couldn’t see before, their shadows flickering on the walls behind them in the candlelight. He couldn’t locate where the flower smell came from. Rather than focus on it, he forced himself to sit up.

  Zachariah regretted the move when the room spun woozily around him. Despite how badly he wanted to lie back down, he opted instead to put a hand to his forehead and close his eyes again. “God, I feel like I’m going to puke,” he muttered. His words were slurred, like something was in the way of his tongue.

  “Don’t do that. You’ll ruin the carpet,” a woman’s voice said from across the room. He turned his head in that direction before thinking about it, and the light from the candle that burned on the nightstand seared into his eyes. He hissed and threw up a hand to protect them. “I’m sorry. I forgot to put that out.” She moved toward him, and smoke scented the air as she blew out the candle. “I’d ask how you’re feeling,” she continued, “but I think you’ve already made that obvious.” The bed dipped beside him as she sat, and her cool hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging his hand gently away from his eyes.

  It was Elise, and she looked concerned. But the sight of her brought back a rush of memory as the prior night raced through his mind. “Oh hell,” he muttered as he realized what was making him talk oddly. He had fangs. Just like a vampire. “Oh hell,” he said again.

  Elise caught his face in her cool hands, holding it there as she made him look at her. “Don’t break down,” she said, her voice strong and commanding, as if she were trying to pre-empt him doing anything ridiculous or emotional. “Now isn’t the time to break down. You can do that later, when we have more than ample time for it. Right now, you have to help me.”

  “Help you with what?” Zachariah asked. “Haven’t you done enough? Ash
ton…”

  “Will be just fine right where he is,” Elise said. “And if you think for a minute that you’re going to run from me to go back to him, you’re going to have to reconsider that. He’d kill you where you stand.”

  Zachariah clenched his fists. He wouldn’t hit her. He couldn’t. Instead, he dug his nails into his palms, ignoring how they cut into his skin with the ease of a razor blade, and asked, “Why did you do this to me?”

  “Because I need your help,” Elise said. “And because I wanted you to be in a condition where you could fight with little worry of dying of something as mundane as a gunshot wound.” She sighed and ran a hand through the thick, blond curls that tumbled down past her shoulders. “I showed you the picture of my sister, right?”

  “Yeah, right before you bit me without even a by-your-leave,” Zachariah muttered.

  Elise ignored his sarcasm. “So you know she was taken from me then. What you don’t know is she was taken by someone who works with you.” She jabbed her finger emphatically at him.

  Zachariah frowned. “What are you talking about? Someone in The Unnaturals, or someone in the Agency?”

  “Yes, someone in the Agency,” Elise confirmed. “I don’t know his name. I just know that he took my Chloe from me, and he’s using her as leverage to get me to do dirty work for him.”

  “Dirty work like what?”

  “Like killing your agents,” Elise said. Zachariah felt his heart sink at her words. “He tells me where to go and who to kill, and he says he’ll kill Chloe if I don’t do it. I have no choice. To save my sister, I have to do what he says.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Zachariah asked, putting pieces together in his mind as rapidly as he could.

  “About six months, give or take,” Elise answered. “The first kill happened in Paris. Since then, he’s sent me all over the place, killing one agent after the other. I don’t know why he wanted them dead or what the connection between them was, if there even was one.”