The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1)

by Jessica Meigs

  If Riley hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn Scott started fidgeting. “Maybe because I wanted to.”

  “Speaking of loaded maybes…” Riley replied.

  Scott shook his head. “I know, right?” He ran both hands through his hair and huffed out a breath. “Fine. It’s what I chose to do, against all my better judgments. And because I wanted to, not because of any random, ulterior motive. I find you attractive—who wouldn’t? I’m sorry I didn’t give you any warning that I was about to do it, either. It probably would have looked more authentic if I had, but it’s too late for that now and I regret nothing.”

  His last three words had an odd tone to them, like he was trying to convince himself of the truth of them. Riley clenched her teeth and decided to not pursue the matter any further. She wouldn’t be someone’s regretted fling, especially not for someone she had to work with for an undetermined amount of time.

  Grimacing, Riley pushed away from the edge of the desk and stalked across the room where she’d left Linus when they’d come in. It lay on the carpet near the foot of the bed, and she snatched it up and started to open it. “We should get to work,” she muttered, focusing on the contents of her bag. She began to tug the folder they’d taken such pains to steal from the Smithsonian out of her bag, but then Scott was in front of her, moving with surprising speed for someone so sore. He grasped her wrists, and Linus tumbled to the floor; he promptly kicked it out of the way.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Scott asked, even as he let go of her wrists. “Why does something like a kiss bother you so much? You yourself said that Brandon used to send you on the types of assignments involving little black dresses, and you’re no stranger to using yourself as a distraction when the situation calls for it, or so I gathered when we were at the museum this morning. I have no doubt you’ve kissed plenty of men—and probably some women. In this line of work, it’s practically a requirement. And that doesn’t even take into consideration what you’ve told me about your past. So why does me kissing you bother you so much?”

  Riley refused to look at him. She was disgusted to discover that she was shaking, just enough to be noticeable. She clenched her fists at her sides to disguise the tremors in her hands and forced herself to answer Scott’s question.

  “It’s nothing, Scott,” Riley muttered.

  “Don’t tell me that,” Scott countered. “I don’t like people lying to me.”

  “I don’t see what business it is of yours anyway,” Riley shot back, digging her nails into her palms.

  “Riley…”

  Something about his tone broke something loose in her. “Because you make me think about things I haven’t thought about in months!” she snapped, raising her voice as her anger started to get the better of her. “Not since Kevin—” She broke off then, shaking her head and looking away from him.

  “You were in love with your partner, weren’t you?” Scott said, taking half a step back from her. She hesitated and then nodded slowly. “It’s okay, you know. That happens a lot more often than you’d think. Hell, I worked with this woman once in Internal Affairs that…well, you don’t want to hear about that,” he said, interrupting himself with a wry chuckle.

  “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m going to betray his memory or something if I even consider…” She shook her head again and shifted her eyes away from him.

  “I think that’s normal too,” Scott admitted. “Hell, how do you think I feel after Amy’s death? I’ve been so reluctant to even consider getting involved with someone other than her. I’m not trying to scare you away, but—”

  “Scott, shut up,” Riley interrupted. “You talk too much, and trying to rationalize this is only going to turn into a mess.”

  “Trying to rationalize what, exactly?” Scott started to ask, but Riley didn’t let him finish. She grabbed Scott around the back of the neck and hauled him in against her, stretching up to press her mouth to his in a hard, desperate kiss. The soft, startled grunt that Scott made was almost cute, but Riley didn’t take the time to dwell on it any further as he pressed his body flush against hers, backing her against the wall like he had so easily done earlier that day at the museum. Except there was no longer a security guard to stop them from taking it further.

  Riley groaned as Scott cupped his hands around her face, his fingertips brushing her hair back from her face, caressing her jawbone. His touch didn’t stop there, much to Riley’s relief. Instead, he pinned her harder against the wall, his strong chest pressed against hers, his hands wandering down her body. She let him do it, more than content to relinquish control just this once, so she didn’t have to think or feel or worry over anything. For a little while, with Scott, there didn’t have to be an assignment. There were no vampires, no agents being brutally murdered, no possible investigation into her activities. It could just be the two of them, pretending to be Mr. and Mrs. Hampstead, two newlyweds enjoying their honeymoon in Washington, D.C., without a care in the world. Everything beyond the hotel room door could have disappeared and she’d have never noticed.

  Except Scott seemed to have different ideas. He pulled away, wrenching himself free from her and stumbling backward, breathing heavily. Riley, confused, took a step toward him, but he put up a hand to stop her, shaking his head.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Scott said. “Not at all. I can’t do this.”

  “Are you okay?” Riley asked. Scott didn’t seem to hear her.

  “We shouldn’t do this. My wife…” Scott trailed off, and then he swore under his breath and said, “I have to work with you, you know.”

  “You don’t have to say that like I’m diseased or something,” Riley muttered, folding her arms over her chest. She wasn’t going to lie: Scott’s sudden rejection hurt.

  “You’re not,” Scott protested. He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked around helplessly. His breathing had begun to steady, but his mind didn’t seem to reflect the steadiness, judging by the wide-eyed, uncomfortable look in his eyes. “I just…I don’t think I’m ready for this. Not by a long shot.”

  Riley flopped her hands out before dropping them to her sides. “Fine. Whatever,” she said. “That’s all you had to say. You didn’t have to do all that.” She leaned over and retrieved the backpack she’d started to dig into only minutes before. Had it been minutes? It seemed like an eternity. “I’m going to put this up and get some sleep. You’re free to do the same, if you want. I don’t give a shit one way or the other.”

  ~*~

  Henry watched Scott and Riley move to the hotel’s entrance, frowning as he noticed the limp Scott walked with. Concern flooded him as Scott disappeared into the hotel, and he almost left the car to chase after him and make sure he really was okay.

  Henry blew out a breath and shook his head, pulling his car away from the curb. He had more important things to worry about than Scott’s ability to hold up in a rough situation. He fumbled for his cell phone, flipping it open and dialing Vanessa’s number. She answered after only one ring.

  “Henry?” Her voice was breathless and shaky. He frowned and sat up straighter in his seat.

  “Are you okay? What is it?” Henry asked. Unlike Scott, Vanessa didn’t have an equivalent means to defend herself; she’d been hired for her ability to push paperwork and keep up with schedules and file papers, not for her ability to kill a man at forty paces.

  “I was looking in the files and found something,” Vanessa said. “The files in the computer, the database? They’ve been tampered with.”

  “Tampered with?” Henry asked. “How?” He realized he was mashing his foot harder on the gas pedal, and he eased off lest he get pulled over.

  “Some names have been modified on some of the files,” Vanessa said. “I’ll explain when you get here. I don’t want to do it on the phone. How far out are you?”

  “I’m right down the block,” Henry answered. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I think someone followed me out of the building,”
Vanessa said.

  “Wait, you left the building?”

  “I’m at the coffee shop across the street. Meet me there.” She hung up before he could agree.

  Henry scowled and stuffed the phone into his pocket, easing through the remains of traffic to the all-night café Vanessa was at. As he slid into a parking spot nearby, he spotted her sitting alone at a table through the large window fronting the shop. Stepping inside, he barely stopped to breathe in the heavenly aroma of roasted coffee beans as he approached her and touched her on the shoulder.

  Vanessa whirled in her chair and swung out a hand to strike him, but she checked her swing at the last second. “Jesus, Henry, don’t sneak up on me.”

  “Sorry, Nessa.” He started to sit across from her, but she shook her head and stood.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m not talking about this in public.” As they started to the door, she added, “Is there any chance your car is bugged?”

  “I had it swept this morning and did a visual check when I picked up Riley and Scott. I didn’t find anything.” He helped her into the car and then got in the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

  “I don’t care. Just drive,” Vanessa said. She stayed alert, eyes wide and teeth digging into her full bottom lip, until they were a comfortable distance from the Agency’s headquarters.

  “Okay, so what’s going on?”

  “Someone tampered with the computer databases,” Vanessa said. “At least on some very specific assignments, anyway. They changed the name of the handler who requested Riley be put on certain assignments. The names in the database looked like they were picked at random, but when I looked in the actual files, the names were different.”

  “Whose were they?” Henry asked.

  “All of them were Brandon’s,” Vanessa said. Henry slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Oh, it gets better,” she added. “The assignments that were modified were twenty-six of Riley’s. I cross-checked and found that the dates of those assignments were on the same dates that a specific number of Agency operatives met some particularly gruesome deaths while on their assignments. So then I looked further and discovered they were in the same cities as Riley’s assignments.”

  Henry felt a headache beginning to pound at his temples. “Okay, so let me get this straight,” he began. “Our new Deputy Director or someone affiliated with him has modified the names of handlers who requested Riley Walker for missions that took place in the same cities at the same times as twenty-six other assignments in which agents were murdered?” When she nodded, he asked, “So why would Brandon feel the need to do that? And why not change the paper copies too?”

  “Probably because, outside of us, no one else is crazy enough to dig through the papers when they can pull it up on the computer,” Vanessa said. “As for why? I don’t know. You’re the secret agent man. You tell me.”

  Henry mulled over the possibilities as he drove aimlessly through the quiet streets of Washington, D.C. It was the middle of the night, and there wasn’t much traffic, which allowed him to focus more on his thoughts. As he considered his options, he recalled a rumor he’d heard several years before. It had started to spread not long after Riley and Brandon’s deception about Riley’s age had come to light. The Agency had been reeling with the news; everyone knew that not only was Brandon’s head going to be on a plate but Riley’s would be too. The handlers had scrambled to figure out damage control before Damon Hartley got word of it—which was a stupid idea anyway, as Hartley knew about everything going on in the Agency. It was when Hartley did get involved that things got ugly. But, oddly enough, it had been Brandon who’d borne the brunt of the punishment. Riley, by contrast, had gotten off with barely a slap on the wrist; sure, she’d had to go out on a rough assignment, but there had been no real doubt that she’d come back unscathed. There had been a lot of commentary about how unusual that was for Hartley; not once in his tenure as Director had any agent gotten off so lightly for such a major infraction. And it was the rumors that started as a result of those activities that now resurfaced in Henry’s mind, alongside a distinct possibility of why.

  “Maybe she’s being set up,” Henry suggested. “Maybe someone is trying to make it look like she’s responsible for not only Kevin Anderson’s murder but the murders of the other twenty-six agents that have happened since.”

  “But why would someone want to set Riley up?” Vanessa asked. “What makes her so important?”

  Henry pulled over, put the car into park, and twisted in his seat to look at her. “Do you remember about eight years ago, that rumor you brought me about Riley and her parentage?”

  “You mean the one where everybody was suggesting that Damon Hartley was her father?” Vanessa asked. “I thought that was just people talking shit.”

  “I’m not so sure it wasn’t true.” Her eyes widened, and he hastened to add, “I’m not saying it is true. Just that I’m not certain. When I asked Hartley about it, he just smiled and didn’t answer. And he’s always played favorites with her, whether she’s aware of it or not. He’s always telling handlers to give her the primo assignments with the biggest paychecks and the biggest bonuses. Not to mention letting her slide during that mess with her recruitment.”

  “If that’s true,” Vanessa said, “and I’m not sure I buy it, what’s it got to do with why someone would want to frame her?”

  “Well, one possibility is that they’re not after Riley,” Henry said. “Maybe they’re after Hartley and are trying to get Riley out of the picture. Or they’re trying to find a way to hurt him by using her.”

  “But that only holds weight if the rumor about her being his daughter is true,” Vanessa pointed out. “Or at least if whoever is trying this believes it.”

  “I never said it was a perfect theory,” he said. “It’s just a thought. You have to admit the puzzle pieces slot in decently.”

  “Maybe,” Vanessa said. She drummed her fingers against her seat’s armrest. “We should get in touch with Zachariah and see what he’s dug up on it. He’s supposed to be overseeing the investigation into the murders, right?”

  Henry nodded and pulled his cell phone out, scrolling through his address book. “I’ll give him a call and see if he’s willing to meet us somewhere. I’d love to know what he’s found out so far.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zachariah brought his Harley to a skidding halt right at the front doors of the Hilton just half an hour before sunrise. It had taken longer than he’d planned to get to the hotel; after leaving Ashton, he’d discovered that he was being followed by several youngling vampires—what for, he wasn’t sure, but he supposed they’d been sent by Elise to keep an eye on him—and he’d tried to shake them before giving up and asserting the authority Elise had claimed he had to force them to leave. They had, surprisingly, scattered, and he hadn’t seen any more since then. That close to dawn, he was sure they had all retreated back to the coven. Which was where he should have been, not outside the hotel, tossing the valet his motorcycle’s keys and rushing inside to get to Riley and Scott’s room before dawn broke.

  He wasn’t sure why he was there. He had no idea if the two agents would be willing to help him, not after everything they’d been told about vampires and their behaviors. But he needed to warn them, and he needed to plead for their assistance. He didn’t have enough time to make it back to Ashton’s offices at The Unnaturals headquarters before the sun broke over the horizon. He had to count on Riley and Scott, and he hated counting on people he didn’t know well.

  Zachariah ignored the strange looks he was getting from the early morning hotel guests as he strode through the lobby to the elevators. He was sure they were wondering why in the world he wore a leather jacket and gloves in late July; he could practically smell their curiosity. He ignored them, though. He had more pressing matters to attend to than satisfying the curiosities of a bunch of strangers.

  Disembarking the elevators on the twenty-fourth floor, Zachariah swept down th
e hall at what felt like a sedate pace to him but was just this side of too fast for anyone else. His eyes scanned the area around Riley and Scott’s hotel room door as he approached it. There was no one in sight, not even housekeeping. A do-not-disturb hangtag dangled from the doorknob, but Zachariah ignored it and knocked anyway. There was a rustle on the other side of the door and hushed voices in low conversation. A soft thump came from somewhere on the other side of the door, followed by more hushed whispering.

  “You know, if you’re trying to keep it from being known that you’re in there, you’re doing a piss poor job of it,” Zachariah called through the door.

  “Son of a bitch, that sounded like Zachariah,” he heard Scott say. Zachariah rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest as he waited on one of them to get it together enough to open the door. The rattling of the security locks unfastening met his ears, and then the door swished open.

  Riley stood before him, her dark hair tangled and disheveled around her shoulders and face, wearing a pair of wrinkled pajamas. Her dark eyes were tired but alert, and Zachariah caught a glimpse of a small pistol in her hand, partially concealed by the door. Scott hovered behind her, his appearance equally rumpled. Zachariah raised an eyebrow as he pushed past Riley and swept into the room.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” he asked, though he had no intention of leaving even if he were.

  Riley slammed the door shut and locked it again before turning to him. Scott stared at him with a suspicious look on his face. Not that Zachariah blamed him. If Scott had gone missing for over twenty-four hours and then showed up without any explanation or warning, he’d have been suspicious too.

  “No, you’re not interrupting anything,” Scott said. “Why the hell are you here? Last we heard, you were missing and presumed dead at the hands of vampires. And now you’re in our hotel room for…what, exactly?”

  Zachariah strode across the room and began to pull the curtains across the large windows lining the entire wall, covering them as best he could before the sun began to shine through them. He finished the task before he turned to answer Scott’s question. In the intervening time, Riley had moved closer to Scott, as if backing him up, the pistol grasped at her side. “I’m here to warn you,” he said. “And to ask for your help.”