Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Daddy!” Laura Itani squealed the moment he pushed open the front door. The toddler, not quite three years old, launched herself out of her nanny’s arms and into his. Her nose nuzzled against his cheek. “Story time?”

  “In just a minute. Everything all right, Brianna?” he asked the nanny.

  “Yes.” Brianna’s voice lilted with a musical Irish accent. “She’s had her dinner and a bath. She’s missed her afternoon nap, and she’s about ready to drop, but she wanted to wait for you to come home.”

  “I’ve got her now. Thank you, and good night, Brianna.”

  A dimple danced in Brianna’s cheek as she bid him good night before heading to her suite on the other side of the house.

  Danyael carried Laura upstairs to her bedroom. Her breath tickled his neck, and he turned to kiss her pale blond curls. Her room, the walls painted a soft green and decorated with eleven framed watercolors painted by Zara’s mother, was bathed in gentle white light. He settled Laura in the middle of her queen-sized bed, next to a giant Winnie the Pooh.

  “Cuddle!” she ordered, her arms outstretched to him.

  He settled down on the bed next to her. “What story would you like?” he asked, reaching for the pile of books on the bedside table.

  “Mommy’s story.”

  “You miss her too, don’t you?”

  Laura nodded, her expression solemn and her violet eyes wide. “When’s she coming back?”

  “As soon as she’s done with her work.”

  “Shooting bad guys?”

  “Shooting guys,” Danyael clarified. “The bad part is sometimes debatable.”

  Laura’s eyes opened even wider. “Mommy shoots good guys?”

  To Danyael’s dismay, she sounded awed, not shocked. “Deciding if someone is good or bad isn’t always simple.” He released his breath in a quiet sigh. Perhaps three was too young for a discussion on the shades of gray in morality. “You wanted Mommy’s story?” He reached for a gun catalog tucked between the Dr. Seuss books—Zara’s way of shopping for her tools of the trade while indulging Laura’s demands for bedtime stories. He flicked through its well-worn pages as Laura pointed out her favorite picture on each page.

  “G is for Glock!” his daughter announced proudly.

  No, not precisely his daughter, he reminded himself, even though Laura’s five pre-natal genetic screenings had identified him as her father. The beautiful girl who looked exactly like a child he and Zara might have produced together was not his, but Galahad’s.

  It didn’t matter, he supposed. Love didn’t track bloodlines, and Laura’s unconditional love had kept him going months earlier when life had seemed impossibly bleak.

  In the only way that mattered, she was his daughter.

  She fell asleep within minutes, her head cradled against his shoulder. He lingered because he enjoyed being with her. Eventually, he eased her out of his arms. Still fast asleep, Laura huffed a complaint and curled into the warmth he left behind as he drew the covers over her.

  His thoughts flashed to Zara. She had been deliberately vague when she left the country three days earlier. He knew only that she was somewhere in Iran at the behest of the U.S. government, and that she was likely up to something of questionable legality and morality. The former she told him; the latter he concluded from the absence of details. He knew his wife was equipped to do whatever it was she intended to do in Iran, but it didn’t stop him from worrying about her.

  Too restless to sleep, Danyael had just settled down in his study with his tablet computer and a mug of hot chocolate when a knock sounded on the front door. He glanced out through the peephole before swinging the door open. Tension dug claws into his shoulders, but he kept it from seeping into his voice. “Xin. Isn’t it a bit late for a visit?”

  The young Chinese woman smiled. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Sorry.” He stepped aside to let her in. “Somehow the press got my number again, so I set my phone to ring only when Zara calls.”

  “You could change your number.”

  “I’ve changed it twice in four weeks now. I don’t even know what my number is anymore.” He gestured toward his study. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  Within minutes, the cappuccino machine had brewed up another frothing mug of hot chocolate. Danyael topped it with whipped cream, the way Xin liked it, and brought it into the study.

  Xin was browsing the bookshelves and turned when he entered. “Thank you.” Her smile widened as she inhaled deeply.

  “So, what brings you here?” he asked. As far as he knew, Mu Xin—the National Security Agency analyst who stirred the heart of every international conspiracy like a witch over a cauldron—did not make social visits. Nothing about her appearance shrieked of her influential status in the shadowy back corridors of the federal government. With her long hair gathered into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and a well-worn backpack full of the newest technology gadgets, Xin could have passed as a graduate student at Georgetown University.

  She raised her mug to her lips. “Zara asked me to keep an eye on things while she’s away. How’s single parenthood working for you?”

  “I can’t wait for her to get back. She’s the only one who can answer Laura’s tough questions—like the differences between an AK and an AR.”

  Xin laughed. The faint curve of her lips transformed her face, highlighting the shrewd intelligence in her dark eyes. “One’s Russian, the other’s American, and they’re both assault rifles, but you already knew that. You must have known that Zara would never be a conventional parent.”

  “Conventional is too much to hope for, but we’re nowhere near the vicinity of normal. Laura’s learning her alphabet from gun catalogs.”

  “I didn’t even know they had guns for each letter of the alphabet.”

  “They do, at least as far as M. That’s when she fell asleep.”

  A brief silence settled upon their conversation until Xin broke it with, “I’m keeping you from work, aren’t I?” She shrugged when Danyael flicked her a questioning glance. “Your gaze keeps returning to your tablet.”

  “Just some research papers from Excelsior. They’ve developed some serums that look promising in curing Alzheimer’s and other degenerative diseases.”

  Xin sipped from her mug. “It bothers you.”

  “The study was conducted in accordance with established international guidelines. Everything seems aboveboard.”

  “Except?”

  “Except that I met Brandon Richards and his head of research, Dr. Shen, today. Richards was…fine. If there’s a problem, he’s not aware of it. But Dr. Shen…her emotions screamed with guilt.” He tapped the screen of his tablet. “Something’s wrong, but I can’t seem to find it, at least not in the research papers.”

  “Most people wouldn’t confess their misdemeanors in a peer-reviewed journal.”

  Danyael chuckled. “I looked further afield; I checked out their website as well as news coming out of Zhengzhou, where their research and manufacturing facility is located.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing. Just the typical societal ills and social media garbage that plague any large city. Apparently, a new designer drug is taking hold among the younger generations; from the effects, it sounds like a more potent variant of Ecstasy.”

  “I’m surprised it made the news at all. The Chinese government is spectacularly good at shutting down news that makes them lose face.”

  “Lose face?”

  “A colloquial Chinese term for looking bad,” Xin clarified. “Anything else?”

  “Blogs are buzzing with rumors of vampires. Is the Chinese Halloween approaching?”

  Xin tilted her head, and her gaze grew unfocused. “It’s the seventh lunar month. It’s Hungry Ghost month.”

  “An entire month of Halloween?” Was there even enough candy in the
world for that?

  Her brown eyes flashed back to Danyael’s face. “Not quite Halloween, but it’s believed to be the month when the starving spirits—those who never received a proper burial—are released from hell. The Chinese lay out food offerings to appease the spirits, and the rituals peak on the fifteenth day, the Hungry Ghost Festival. At the end of the month, the Chinese release lanterns into the sky to escort the spirits back to hell.”

  “And the Chinese still observe this festival?”

  “Traditions are hard to shake even when people stop believing in ghosts.”

  Danyael shrugged. “It looks like someone decided to take advantage of it. Bodies have been found, supposedly drained of blood. There’s nothing official, though; nothing’s confirmed by the government.”

  “So Zhengzhou has a serial killer using Hungry Ghost month to make a run on his enemies or the general public. I can’t imagine how it might have anything to do with Excelsior.”

  “I don’t either,” he confessed. “Perhaps nothing’s wrong. The guilt I sensed from Dr. Shen could have been personal—an affair or embezzlement—things that have nothing to do with research protocols. Emotions offer clues, not answers.”

  Xin set aside her empty mug and leaned forward. “What does your gut feeling tell you?”

  Danyael’s answer was immediate. “That something’s seriously wrong, and it matters.”

  “Then you’re probably right. The gut feeling of an alpha empath is a great deal more than a gut feeling.”

  “But there’s nothing to go on, at least not here.” Danyael gestured at the tablet.

  “Maybe you have to look elsewhere.” Xin pushed to her feet. “I should go. I’ve left you more confused than when you started.”

  Danyael walked Xin to the door, but before he tugged it open, he asked, “Why did you alter Laura’s genetic records?” It was a shot in the dark, but no one else would have had the knowledge and the nerve to hack into medical databases and substitute the results of Laura’s prenatal blood tests.

  A faint smile crept across Xin’s face. “Zara would have aborted her otherwise, and it would have been a mistake.”

  Danyael’s chest tightened. Laura could have died in the womb, her life unlived. The precious little girl who recited her alphabet of gun manufacturers and charmed him with her effusive hugs would never have filled his life with her boundless love if not for Xin’s unscrupulous interference.

  “Thank you,” he said simply.

  “You’re welcome.” Xin let herself out and quietly shut the door behind her.

  Danyael returned to his study and stared into the unlit fireplace as his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on the tablet screen. The only aspect about Xin more disturbing than her ruthless and manipulative streak was the fact that she was usually right. She had been right about Laura, and if Xin was also right about his gut feelings, then something was truly wrong at Excelsior.

  3

  Xin pushed to her feet and rolled her shoulders to work the tension out of her neck and back. She squeezed her eyes shut but the burning sensation of dry eyes did not pass. She glanced at the narrow, black cylinder on her desk. “Jinn, what time is it?”

  A ring of blue light circled the rim of the device before it answered in a pleasant, subtly electronic voice, “It’s 10:34 a.m.”

  No wonder her back ached. She had been working for almost twelve hours straight since leaving Danyael and Zara’s townhouse last night. International crises, unfortunately, did not have any respect for an eight-to-five workday.

  Rapid footsteps sounded outside her door. Moments later, a middle-aged man poked his head into her office. His lean face unshaven and his tie undone, he looked as disheveled as she felt, but he wore a jubilant grin and gave her a thumbs up. “It’s okay. We got the hostages. The database—did you get it?”

  Xin nodded at her NSA colleague. Jack Harris had once been deep undercover in the Middle East, but his talent for managing the massive egos involved in cross-agency operations had summoned him back to headquarters.

  Jack’s grin widened. “The worm you hacked through their firewalls was a beaut.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “The director says you’re off for the rest of the day.”

  Xin laughed. “Oh, he’s too kind.” The information she had provided to the SEAL team had averted a repeat of the Peshawar school massacre. To top off her coup, while the world had been transfixed by the standoff between the SEALs and ISIS, her little computer worm had infiltrated the Foreign Intelligence Service of Ukraine and made off with gigabytes of data on central Asian terrorist organizations.

  Her gaze drifted back to the multiple screens mounted on the walls of her office. She stifled a sigh. She had just given herself gigabytes of additional work.

  “The other analysts can handle it.” Jack winked. “Bet the director wouldn’t care too much if you took tomorrow off, too.”

  “I might do that. At the very least, I’ve earned an early lunch break.” The data she had stolen wasn’t too complicated now that she had broken the encryption. Jack was right; the other analysts would be able to handle it.

  Jack nodded, but his smile twisted into a frown. “The Tehran situation—”

  “Is under control.”

  He grimaced. “The operative isn’t even one of ours.”

  “Because we can’t afford to keep her on regular payroll, but you know she’s probably the best Middle East operative alive.”

  “Zara Itani’s a freaking natural disaster. Wherever she goes, it’s either on fire or there are dead bodies all over the floor.”

  “No one better to turn loose on America’s enemies.” Xin chuckled. Jack’s deep undercover background was at odds with Zara’s always-shoot-first style. “She’ll reel in Tehran for us, I guarantee it, and probably far more gracefully and quickly than you’d expect.”

  “Has marriage mellowed her?”

  “Not appreciably.”

  “I thought that being married to an alpha empath—a doctor, a healer, no less—might have curbed her killer instincts.”

  “Zara may be one of the most talented assassins in the world, but she’s human and only as good as her skill with blades and guns. Danyael is an alpha empath; his unchecked emotions can kill. Her body count isn’t even close to catching up with his.”

  A furrow lined Jack’s brow. “You mean what Danyael did on July 4th, when he unleashed his empathic powers and took out the Sakti terrorists—all two hundred of them? He didn’t do it willingly.”

  “Of course he did,” Xin retorted. “It was the only way to save his friends, and incidentally, the only way to save Washington, D.C. He did it willingly; it doesn’t mean he was happy about it. In fact, his latest psychological evaluation indicates that two years later, he’s still struggling with the emotional fallout—but it was his plan.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He nodded. “I’ll have to remember that the next time I look at Danyael and Zara and see the most incongruous couple in the world.”

  Xin laughed. “They are the most incongruous couple in the world, but in many ways, they’re also perfect for each other. I’ll stay on top of the situation in Tehran, Jack.”

  “Yeah, I know. You always have.” He waved. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Instead of leaving as she had intended, Xin sank into her seat. The Tehran project was dicey, but assassination was Zara’s specialty. The talented Lebanese-Venezuelan assassin was the least of Xin’s concerns; Danyael, on the other hand—

  Xin had learned never to dismiss the gut feelings of an alpha empath.

  She summoned her “pets”—self-replicating computer worms—and with a single keystroke, she turned them loose on Excelsior’s firewalls. They burrowed into encrypted networks and transmitted data back to her. The supercomputers in the vaults of the NSA building churned through each byte of data, checking and cross-referencing them against the government’s extensive databases.

  Technology could identify ma
tches, but only she could make the call on whether it was relevant. She ordered soup, sandwiches, and a fresh batch of coffee from the cafeteria and braced herself to spend hours in front of the computer. She dipped the sandwich in her tomato-basil soup as Jinn’s electronic voice summarized the findings. “Genotype match identified—Janette Stinson. Blood sample identified—Brandon Richards. Blood sample identified—Kwame Kiyamah. Protected patent formula identified—USPTO 9,062,039: Changzhou Le Sun Pharmaceuticals Limited.”

  Xin chuckled and took a bite of her sandwich. Apparently, Excelsior wasn’t above corporate espionage.

  “Blood sample identified—NSA case number 714,925—”

  Xin froze. “Danyael Sabre,” she breathed, her voice a muted echo of Jinn’s. She set her half-eaten lunch aside and leaned forward to study the data extract.

  Excelsior’s inventory included several vials of Danyael’s blood. The database entry had been created twenty months earlier. The muscles in her back tightened into knots. The blood Seth Copper stole from Danyael for live blood transfusion experiments.

  She suppressed the immediate instinct to reach for the phone to contact Danyael. The damage had been done; the remaining question was how much damage had been done.

  At her command, the computer worms abandoned their random searches and burrowed deeper into that particular file, extracting all the data. Apparently, ten vials of Danyael’s blood had been delivered to Excelsior’s research division in China through a medical freight company specializing in international organ transfers. The ten vials were now three; the rest had been used over a span of twenty months in several studies. Xin ground her teeth. “Jinn, identify all related studies and pull everything you can find on them.”

  “Request acknowledged,” Jinn said. “Data search in progress.”

  Xin called Danyael, but he did not pick up his cell phone or his office phone. Fortunately, Laura’s nanny answered the call Xin placed to the house. “No, he’s not here,” Brianna said. “When he left the house this morning, he said he would be away for a few days.”