“Nine months, twelve months,” Henry said. “Not much difference between the two.”
“Do you torture me like this on purpose?” Scott asked. Henry only grinned. “Fine, I found her very attractive, okay? And if it were anyone else, I’d think about it. But not with her.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a coworker, Henry. I know you don’t have a problem with it, but I don’t date coworkers.”
“Fine, but I’ll bet money on it that, by the time you’re done with the next assignment with her, you’ll be doing more than just thinking about it.”
“Don’t bank on that,” Scott said. He forked a bite of potato into his mouth and then pushed the plate away. “So what’s next, Henry? What’s The Unnaturals going to throw at us next? More vampires? A werewolf or two? Maybe some fucking bogeymen?”
Henry’s phone chirped in his pocket, and he leaned back in his chair, starting to dig the device out as he spoke. “Really, I have no idea,” he admitted. “That’s not exactly my purview. You’d have to ask Ashton if you want to know what the next assignment is going to involve. He’s basically the equivalent of Damon Hartley when it comes to the leadership structure of The Unnaturals.”
Scott nodded and dragged the plate back to him, digging into the food once again. As he did so, Henry pulled his phone free and accessed his email, starting to scan through it, checking subject lines. The newest email he’d received was titled, “Urgent: Bounty Offered.” He frowned and clicked the email to open it as Scott said, “She’s definitely unorthodox. But honestly, it’s kind of refreshing to see things done in a different way. It’s forcing me to think outside boxes that I didn’t even realize I was stuck in.” There was a pause, and then he asked, “Henry, are you okay?”
Henry hadn’t realized he had a look of shock on his face until Scott had asked that question. “We…we have a problem, Scott,” he managed to say before sliding the phone across the table to him.
Scott didn’t look at the phone. “What is it, Henry? Just tell me.”
“There’s been an Agency-wide bounty put on Riley Walker’s head.”
Scott looked at him with all the horror that Henry felt. “A what?”
“A bounty,” Henry said. “She’s been declared rogue. One million dollars to the agent who brings her in dead, five million alive.”
“Who was stupid enough to issue that bullshit?”
“Brandon Hall, of course,” Henry said. “Acting in his capacity as Deputy Director. Who else?” He grabbed his phone and went back to the emails that were more recent than the just-received bounty tag.
“That’s a damned abuse of his position,” Scott said. “That fucking asshole. God, I could kill him.” He stood up, pushing away from the table and starting toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Henry asked, getting up from his own chair, even as he read the latest email that had just hit his inbox.
“I’ve got to go warn her, Henry.”
“Wait.” Scott stopped and looked back at him with thinly veiled impatience. Henry handed him his phone again. “This email was just sent to me—only me—from Damon Hartley.”
Scott looked down at the screen and read aloud. “‘Tell Hunter to stay put and not worry. I am taking care of it myself.’” He looked up at Henry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Henry said. “Obviously, Hartley’s got something in mind. He’ll tell us what it is when he’s good and ready, I suppose. As he always does.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The minute she’d been cleared to leave the crime scene, Riley had practically run out the door, and now she sat in the bathtub of a hotel bathroom, up to her neck in bubbles and hot water, trying to relax and decompress after the last few days. For not the first time in a while, she wished she had her own place. But she’d been so busy working so many assignments that it had always seemed pointless to pay the rent or mortgage on a house or apartment she never spent any time in. So instead, she got hotels.
Tonight, though, she was finding it next to impossible to decompress. And for that, she could blame the red markings on her palms.
Riley had been in that bathtub for three hours now, scrubbing at her palms with first a washcloth and then a loofa and then finally her fingernails, trying to remove the marks. But nothing she’d tried had worked. Soap was useless against them. So was shampoo, conditioner, lotion, and every other liquid she put her hands on. As she realized that the marks were stubbornly there to stay, she slouched back against the tub and choked back a cry—of anger or fear, she didn’t know.
When agents were recruited and signed their Agency agreements, one of the most important clauses they agreed to was the one where they swore they would neither have nor obtain any identifying marks or unusual characteristics either before or during their employment. No tattoos, no weird hair colors, no unusual body piercings, no body modifications whatsoever. Agents were chosen based on their abilities to blend in out in the field; it was why so many agents had brown hair and eyes.
And now she had not one but two.
Her gold-colored eyes would be easy to hide. She’d just buy a pair of brown contact lenses, and no one would be the wiser. But her hands…
In her line of work, there was no way to hide her hands. She couldn’t wear gloves, not even fingerless ones; she’d discovered early in her career that even the fingerless ones interfered with her ability to do her job properly.
Riley groaned and banged her head back against the wall. She was screwed. Well and truly screwed.
Giving up on trying to remove the marks, Riley instead popped the stopper in the drain and stood. After rinsing off the bubbles that still clung to her, she dried off and wrapped the towel around herself, then used another to start towel-drying her hair. She had every intention of calling down for a room service delivery. She’d never gotten the slab of chocolate cake that Scott had promised her, and it had been on her mind ever since, even through all the craziness involving blood-thirsty vampires and homicidal handlers. Maybe she’d even spring for some other food to go with it. Something heavy on the meat. The thought alone sounded like heaven.
Riley finished drying her hair and grabbed her comb from the counter by the sink, starting to work it through her tangled, damp hair as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the cooler bedroom area of the hotel room. Goose bumps sprang to attention along her bare arms, shoulders, and legs, and she tightened the towel around her for warmth. She wandered to the bed, still working on her hair, to grabbed the clothes she’d tossed onto the bed before taking her bath. Her fingertips had just brushed the rough denim of her jeans before she realized something was off. The clothes weren’t in the same spot she’d left them. Even tossed haphazardly on a bed, she’d known how and where they’d landed. They were a foot too close to the end of the bed. And the pistol and knife she’d left on the bedside table was missing.
“Fuck,” Riley breathed. She straightened, her movements slow and deliberate, and scanned the part of the room that she faced. Nothing else looked out of place. Linus was still at the head of the bed, slouched against a pillow in all of its battered glory. Her tennis shoes and socks were on the floor in a haphazard heap. Everything on that side was motionless.
Something scuffed against the thick carpet behind her.
Weaponless save for her fists, Riley spun around, intending to do as much damage with her hands as she could before the intruder took her down. Something collided with her forearm, blocking her strike, and a spark of pain darted through her arm. She ignored it, pushing it aside, and lurched forward, intending on going down fighting.
She stopped short as she saw the dark-haired man that towered over her, his dark brown eyes seeming frigid as he stared down at her with an amused expression on his face.
Damon Hartley.
Her brain let out a shriek of terror that didn’t quite make it to her lips. Riley backpedaled and bumped into the bed, nearly toppling
backward onto it in her haste to get away from him. His hand darted out and caught her by the wrist, pulling her against the force of gravity until she stood upright once more. Once she was steadied, he turned her hand over, examining the red spiral marking there, and then stooped to look into her gold eyes. He nodded as if confirming something for himself and took a step back, giving her space. She took full advantage of the extra space, too; Hartley was the only person on this planet who scared the hell out of her.
“Are you here to kill me?” Riley asked. “Because if you are, could you please allow me the dignity of putting some clothes on so I don’t have to die in just a towel?”
Damon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not here to kill you, Riley,” he said. His voice was rich and warm, deep as a calm ocean, at odds with his icy appearance.
“Then why are you here?” Riley demanded.
“I need to hire you,” Damon said.
Well, that had been the last thing Riley had expected to hear. “Hire me?” she repeated. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I still work for the Agency. Just give me an assignment and let me roll.”
“This isn’t something that needs to be done through the auspices of the Agency.”
What, did the man lose his dog or something? “You could have called,” Riley said. “Maybe knocked on the door when you showed up. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t shoot everybody who comes up to me.”
“Your phone was broken during your last assignment,” Damon said. “I couldn’t call. As for knocking, well…” He looked her over. “You probably wouldn’t have answered.” Riley folded her arms over her chest, tightening the towel around her body as discreetly as she could. It was unnerving having him look at her like that, like he was assessing every inch of her to figure out if she met up to his exacting standards. He dug into the pocket of his immaculate, pressed dress pants, and Riley tensed, relaxing only when he pulled out a cell phone. He punched a few buttons and then handed it to her. “I’m sure, considering your state of undress, that you haven’t heard the news or checked your email.”
Riley shook her head and focused her eyes on the small, glowing screen. It took long heartbeats for her to read the words and even longer for her to comprehend them. She tore her gaze from the email and up to Damon’s face. “What—?”
“Brandon Hall’s put a hit out on you,” Damon explained. “One million dead, five million alive.”
“Son of a bitch,” Riley breathed. “Can’t you cancel it?”
“I could, but…I need your help, and this is probably the best opportunity we’ll ever get. And that’s why I can’t give you this assignment through the Agency. It has to be on the down-low, where no one will know.”
“Why can’t you just do it yourself?” Riley asked, still trying to process the news.
“Because when I became Director of the Agency, I signed an agreement that I wouldn’t engage in any activity that fell under the purview of a field agent,” Damon explained. He retreated—no, he simply moved back, Riley corrected herself; Damon Hartley didn’t retreat from anything—back to the door, where a slim messenger bag sat propped against the wall. He brought it back to her and set it on the bed, opening it and pulling out a manila envelope, extending it to her.
Riley snatched the packet faster than she should have, tearing into it and looking inside. The first thing she noticed was five thousand dollars in cash and a credit card, rubber-banded together. When she pulled it out of the envelope, she saw the card had a name on it that she didn’t expect. “Riley Hartley?” she read out loud.
“It was the easiest way to get you added to my personal accounts,” Damon explained.
Riley was dubious; this couldn’t have been something he’d done on the fly. Not with the forged passport and credit card inside the envelope. The credit card in particular alerted her to the suggestion that he might have been planning this for some time; it took several days for a physical credit card to be mailed to the recipient. She chose to not say anything about it though. At least, not yet. “So what do you need me to do?” she asked, tucking the cash and card back into the envelope.
“First, I need you to get out of town,” Damon explained. “You haven’t exactly made many friends in the Agency, and you’ll probably have a lot of people gunning for you shortly.”
Riley sighed and stared into the envelope for a few moments more before forcing herself to look back up at Damon. “So what’s the objective?” she asked him. “What do you need me to do?”
Damon’s eyes turned predatory, glinting with a cold, steely anger.
“Kill Brandon Hall.”
Acknowledgments
Books take a lot of work to write, and I would be an idiot if I didn’t take the time to thank all the people who have been involved with helping me put all this together.
I would be ashamed of myself if I didn’t take a moment to thank my parents and my sisters. As always, they’ve been a huge help and inspiration. Through good times and bad times, we’ve always stuck together, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.
In that vein, a special thanks to my mother for helping me come up with the title for The Unnaturals when I was floundering around trying to come up with something.
A big thank you to my friends for putting up with my absenteeism and my general reclusiveness during the writing of this and my other books. I’d be a hermit if it weren’t for you guys forcibly dragging me out of my house periodically to reintroduce me to sunlight.
Lots of thanks to Rhiannon Frater for being such a great mentor with my writing career—even if you’re completely unaware that I consider you a mentor.
A massive thank you to Hannah Brown Gordon. You took me on at a very pivotal point in my career, and you helped me form The Unnaturals into something that wasn’t only readable but also actually pretty damn good, and I’m so grateful for all the work you’ve done for me.
And lastly, but most certainly not least, thank you to all my fans, both past, current, and future! I wouldn’t be sitting where I am today if it weren’t for all you kind folks taking the time to buy my books, read them, and recommend them to your friends and family. You are an integral part of this whole process, and I couldn’t do it without your support.
Excerpt from Hellforged
Book Two in The Unnaturals Series
Coming Spring 2017
“Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in? Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?”
—Clint Barton, The Avengers
Chapter One
Riley Walker sat in the driver’s seat of her white rental car, the air conditioner turned on as high as it would go, the force of it blowing her dark hair back from her face as it fought a desperate battle against the hot, late summer sun. It was barely August, and Washington, D.C., felt like it was sitting on the surface of the sun. It was the kind of day that begged for shorts and spaghetti-strapped tank tops, ponytails and sandals, but Riley had access to none of that. Not that she’d have worn it even if she had. Outfits like that were the definition of impractical in her line of work. And “impractical” usually ended up equating with “almost certain death” in her day-to-day activities.
Riley was a paid killer. A professional, not one of those fly-by-night ones that took any job thrown at them because they enjoyed killing, the morals behind their actions be damned. She was selective, choosing assignments that involved truly bad people doing truly heinous deeds. Most of her jobs were contracted to her via the United States government—and even though she was only twenty-five years old, she had been one of the best they’d had.
Not anymore, though.
Riley dipped her hand into the battered black backpack on the passenger seat, the bag she’d affectionately named “Linus,” and pulled free a wrinkled, creased sheet of paper. She’d read the words printed on the paper so many times over the past several hours that she could quote them from memory, but that didn’t stop her from tak
ing the time to read it all over again. She scanned the sender line and crumpled the page in her fist with a scowl.
Brandon Hall. That son of a bitch.
It had been thirty-six hours since Riley had learned for certain of his betrayal and barely twelve hours since the fight at The Unnaturals headquarters when he’d beaten her and tried to kill her while vampires swarmed the place in an effort to slaughter anything that moved. If she hadn’t stabbed him, he would have succeeded in killing her, too. And she still had no idea why he’d done it. She was at a loss trying to figure out what his end game was.
Her former handler had turned against her and against others like her, and he’d forced an elder vampire—one of the strongest, most powerful types of vampires in existence—to murder twenty-seven agents, like the vampire had been his own personal hit squad. He had been dead set to make her number twenty-eight after she’d refused to join him. At least, until she, her partner Scott Hunter, and Unnaturals agents Zachariah Lawrence and Ashton Miller had thrown a wrench in his plans.
Thoughts of Scott brought a slight smile to her face, dispelling enough of her anger to bring it down to a slow simmer. She’d really enjoyed working with him, even if they’d ended up butting heads more often than not. He’d brought something back into work that she hadn’t realized was missing since her former partner’s murder—fun and camaraderie. Though Scott had been fairly serious, almost a stick in the mud, the polar opposite of her, he’d still been fun to work with, and she hoped she’d get the chance to do so again.
Riley wondered where he was and what he was doing. She hadn’t seen him since everything had gone down at The Unnaturals headquarters, when he’d taken the Croatan Indian weapon she’d used to kill all of the vampires in the warehouse and left it somewhere safe. She hadn’t heard a word from him since.
Riley really hoped he wasn’t one of the agents now trying to track her down to put a bullet in her brainpan.
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