by N. D. Jones
After the detective finally left, two more females came in search of the special agent, one a secretary, the other a sergeant, both gorgeous, both disappointed Assefa wasn’t in his office. Like Detective Salazar, no real message other than that they had “stopped by” and would “return later.”
Nearly fifteen minutes later, Sanura sensed Assefa. His energy reached her before his words of, “I apologize for having kept you waiting.”
Assefa breezed through the open door that Sanura had decided to leave open after the fourth woman had come and gone. Assefa’s office, a revolving door of Baltimore’s finest beauties, she thought with an unreasonable flint of annoyed jealousy.
“You know,” he said, closing the door, “Mike McKutchen may not last until his retirement.”
Sanura didn’t even want to know what her godfather had done now.
Instead of going around his desk and sitting in what looked to be a comfortable leather chair, Assefa sat in the wooden chair beside her.
“By the time I reached the men’s locker room, Mike already had Lieutenant Ramsey on the ground and in a chokehold. Mind you, Sanura, Ramsey could pass as a thirty-something Bubba Smith.” Assefa smiled, a faint dimple coming to life as he told his story. “Mike was on Ramsey’s back, a speck of snarling, cursing detective. I didn’t wait to hear how it started. I just knew I had to end it before Mike did something, he would later regret.”
Sanura closed her mouth when she realized it was hanging open. Gods, Assefa was right, Mike wouldn’t make it to retirement if he kept getting into fights with men half his age and triple his size. As much as she hated that Mike had managed to get himself into yet another altercation, Sanura had to admit how pleased she was to have this moment of alone time with Assefa.
“Anyway, I managed to get Mike to let Ramsey go.”
“You what?” No way had he talked Mike down from the ledge. The only person she’d ever known capable of pulling the dwarf back from the brink had been her father.
Smiling, Assefa wrapped a lock of her hair around two of his fingers and twirled. A naughty twinkle appeared in his eyes, and Sanura knew this was what had drawn all those women to this tiny, tackily furnished office. This man, this amazingly handsome man who, when he smiled at a woman, made her feel as if she were the only star that mattered in a world full of beauty and wonder.
“I told Mike if he didn’t let the lieutenant go that I would whisk you away to my secret lair, seduce you, and name our tenth child after him.”
Who knew a jaw could drop so far or that blood could rush so fast to a witch’s face?
He tightened his fingers in her hair. “Would you like that? To go away together and forget all this madness with the adze?”
Gods, the man’s voice was breathy sex, his fingers masterful negotiators. His lips were warm and soft when he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Maybe not ten children, though. Two or three would do nicely. By the way”—he released her hair— “you blush so prettily you make a man want to beat his chest, throw you over his shoulder, and find the nearest cave.”
She shoved against him, all hard chest and immovable body. The man was unbelievable, taking far too much delight in unsettling her.
He jumped to his feet and was behind his desk and sitting in his chair before Sanura could reel in her thoughts of being seduced by Assefa Berber.
“I asked you here today to talk to you about the magical wards I sensed around Makena’s house when I was there for dinner.”
How did he manage to switch gears so fast, flirty and fun one minute, all about business the next? Hell, Sanura would swear she still felt his fingers in her hair, gently tugging, pulling her closer. “Umm, yes, the wards. What about them?”
“With very few exceptions, all of the murders we’ve been able to link to the adze have taken place at a witch’s residence.”
Sanura sorely hoped he wasn’t about to ask her for the names and addresses of her sisters. Even for their own safety, that she absolutely could not do. The Witch Council of Elders would bind her magic for such a betrayal, no matter how well-intentioned.
She crossed her legs. “Not all witches are capable of setting magical wards, Assefa. We don’t all have the same interest in magic or the same level of spellcasting ability.”
“Exactly my point. It’s my theory that this adze hunts not only witches but magically weak witches.”
She’d had the same thought. No way should the Ferrells have been killed in their own home.
“From the coroner’s findings and my own suppositions, I think it’s safe to conclude that Mr. Ferrell was killed first. Fast and first.”
That made a lot of sense.
“From my experience, even witches who don’t practice the craft still use magical wards to keep evil from entering their home.”
“True. High caliber witches often aid their magically weak sisters in magical workings. It’s a given in our community.”
“Exactly, yet that only holds true if a weak witch is part of a network that includes strong witches. But I sensed no magical wards when I was in the Ferrell residence.”
“So, you think the adze targets weak and isolated witches because they have little to offer by way of defense? And, of course, they would be more vulnerable in their home and at night.”
“Yes, you see where I’m going with this.” His smile said he was pleased but not surprised by her quick deduction. “Any were-cat worth his fangs would’ve put up one hell of a fight. Even the clouded leopard, the smallest of the cat shifters, would’ve done some serious damage to the adze.”
But Mr. Ferrell had been found in his human form. She’d seen the photos. When were-cats died, they stayed in their last form—human or cat.
“I’ll probably never know precisely what happened that night with the Ferrells, but my gut tells me the adze went for Mr. Ferrell first, not giving him the chance to shift. He was the biggest threat, the only object standing between the adze and its prey. In human form and without a weapon, a shifter would be easy enough to kill.”
The frown that followed said that fact didn’t sit well with the special agent.
“Adzes are swift and not without stealth. By the time Mr. Ferrell heard or smelled the monster, it was probably already in the house, if not his bedroom. There was evidence that Mrs. Ferrell fled but it caught and dragged her back into her bedroom.”
Sanura had seen those photos. Streaks of blood had led from the Ferrell’s bedroom and halfway down the hall. She’d gotten no farther. Sanura knew what was at the end of the hallway. Betsy’s room. She was trying to protect her daughter.
“What I’m getting to, Sanura is that you have an in with the local witches. That’s your community, your family and friends. I don’t know how much longer it will take us to track down the adze. In the meantime, I don’t want more victims.”
“So, what exactly are you asking?”
Assefa took a sip from a mug sitting on his desk. “I would like for you to get the word out in your community. Wherever your sisters live or congregate, the buildings need to be protected by magical wards. The scent disguise charms are useless if the witch removes them in her home, thinking she’s safe behind locked doors and windows.”
“Nowhere to hide.” Betsy’s words. Betsy’s horror.
“You’re right, people become lax in their home, even good witches.”
Another sip. “I know I’m asking a lot.”
No, he wasn’t. It was a good plan; one the Witch Council of Elders should’ve thought of. Makena was the exception. She’d never taken any chances with her family’s safety. For as far back as Sanura could remember, Makena always used magical wards, even when the family went on vacation and stayed in hotels. As a child, Sanura always thought her mother a tad paranoid. Now, however, well, Makena’s inherently cautious nature just might save lives.
“I really think—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He put his mug down. “Just like that?”
She nodded.
“No sweet-talking necessary, special agent.” Although Assefa did it exceedingly well. Too well.
“So, we have a plan.” They did. “Good.” He stood, then walked around his desk and to her. “I’m starving, what about you? Have you had dinner yet?”
She shook her head, tongue and stomach suddenly tied in knots. Had he just asked her out on a dinner date or was he simply a hungry shifter who wanted to eat while discussing the case?
He looked down at her expectantly. “Unless you have other plans, Dr. Williams.”
“Well, umm, I don’t. I really thought we would just—”
“Good. Then, unless you’re opposed to my company, I’d suggest we leave now.”
He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and a manila folder from his desk.
“Why are you in such a rush?” She put her iPad back in her satchel, stood, and slung it over her shoulder.
“Do you know how long it takes a dwarf to get out of handcuffs?”
“Huh?”
“Approximately twenty minutes.” He glanced at the black-and-white clock on the wall. “It’s been exactly seventeen and I intend not to be here three minutes from now when that godfather of yours breaks free.”
“Y-you locked Mike in handcuffs?”
Assefa opened the door and quickly ushered her out, taking her hand in his.
“Of course, I locked the detective in handcuffs. How else do you think I prevented him from going for my…?” He glanced down at his pants. “Maybe not ten, Sanura, but I do intend to become a father one day.” He winked at her.
Sanura blushed. Again.
Still holding her hand, Assefa led her onto an elevator.
“Oh, there you are, special agent.”
And that was the voice of the lovely Detective Pilar Salazar, standing in the back of the elevator, lipstick still shiny, perfume still cloyingly strong.
“Is there something I can help you with, detective? I was just heading out for dinner.”
“Well, I…” She glanced down at the hand Assefa still had interlocked with Sanura’s. “Umm, well, it was nothing important, Special Agent Berber. My mistake. I didn’t understand earlier.”
“Mistake? Understand what?”
The elevator stopped at the second floor. Detective Salazar got off, but not before taking one last admiring look at Assefa.
“What in the hell was that all about? And why did my office smell like a Macy’s perfume counter?” He nearly snarled the words. “I can’t stand all those scents. They drive me crazy.”
The elevator dinged, and they got off on the first level.
Oblivious to the women in the lobby giving him sidelong glances, Assefa pulled Sanura to him. “Your scent, on the other hand, I could breathe in all day. Even if it isn’t your true scent.”
Unsure what to say to that, Sanura said the only thing she could think of, revealing none of what she truly felt. “I know of a charming Italian restaurant not far from here. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Remember, oral reports are due in two weeks. Check the Blackboard site for additional resources. It’s been updated, and I expect you all to use the discussion forums to run ideas by each other. Some of you are still trolling and need to join the discussion before I start docking points. It isn’t much of a community if all of you don’t participate and participate often.” Sanura smiled out at the sea of youthful faces, hoping she’d kept the annoyance out of her voice. Her students, while technically adults, were still young, some of them on their own for the first time, not quite ready for the responsibility of being college students. But the semester was nearly over, and she’d made the same announcement and warning far too many times. Not that she would actually deduct points, but that really wasn’t the point. With her gentle, albeit repetitive chide, she dismissed the class, only to see a smiling Assefa at the back of the lecture hall.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” was his playful reply, smile as broad and charming as ever. His walk down the steps and toward her was full of a werecat’s confidence. A confidence that was endearing and sexy without being arrogant or manipulative. No, there was nothing calculating about Assefa Berber. His aura radiated honesty and integrity in equal measure. But there was also a controlled fierceness about him that left an indelible streak of roaring energy through his aura signature.
“Long enough for what?” Sanura asked, warming to his game, squelching her initial surge of embarrassment at being caught in teacher mode.
“Long enough to see you’re a woman of many talents and that ninety percent of your students are male.” He gave her a flirtatious wink, snagged her short-sleeve suit jacket from the back of her chair, and helped her into it.
“Are you always so observant?” She began packing her leather satchel, storing a heavy Introduction to Psychology text on the bottom before sliding several of her students’ papers on Sensation and Perception on top.
Sanura knew all about sensation and perception. Assefa’s amazing eyes and voice sent way too many sensations through Sanura, feelings she wasn’t sure she was ready to explore. Yet the more she was around him, the more she wanted to…well, the more she wanted.
“You know I am, and if I were eighteen again, I would definitely enroll in your class, Dr. Williams.”
She gazed at the tall man in his dark-brown eyes, overtly glistening with humor and attraction. “And you would flunk my class, Special Agent Berber because you prefer your own rules and like to be in charge.”
Assefa relieved her of the satchel then gave Sanura one of his award-winning smiles. “On the contrary, Professor Williams, I was an excellent student and always received straight A’s. Besides, I can follow rules quite well when provided by the right person, under the right circumstances, while wearing little to no clothing. And”—he leaned in to whisper— “I don’t always have to be in charge. In fact, it’s better when the woman takes the lead. Don’t you agree?”
His question burned against her ear, heating her body, making a mockery of the lie she kept telling herself. He’s just a nice guy. I don’t want him for myself. Liar. Liar.
Sanura gently pushed Assefa aside and walked past him, hiding a flushed smile. He had a way of getting to her, taking obvious delight in embarrassing her with his blatant flirting. And Sanura had a way of bashfully diverting her eyes and nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear whenever he did so. This was their game. They’d been playing it for the last two weeks while they searched for the adze’s hideout.
But she couldn’t bring herself to move beyond the flirting stage, no matter how her body reacted to him. He seemed perfect, perhaps too perfect. Too good-looking. Too charming. Too intelligent. Too…Hell, Sanura was making excuses, and she knew it. No one was perfect, and Assefa wasn’t the problem. I am. No matter how much she enjoyed his company, Sanura used the light flirting to keep Assefa at arm’s length without closing the door of possibility. She may have been gun-shy, but her parents hadn’t raised a fool.
“Are you coming, Don Juan?” Sanura reached back to grab his hand.
Assefa happily took the offer and gave it a soft, teasing kiss. Sanura stared into his eyes again, feeling the heat between them rise, their shared energy starting to coalesce around them. He stepped nearer, closing the short distance between them. By the gods, the man was handsome, a rugged body that fit enticingly into an exquisite suit.
A hand going to her waist, he drew her even closer, and she went, too caught up in their shared energy to do anything but follow his lead. A large, gentle hand rose to a shoulder, a cheek, her nape. Sanura wet her lips, unconsciously mimicking Assefa. She stood there, frozen, mesmerized by the man. His intention was clear—Assefa’s lips just a silent wish away.
Their lips met, and magic whipped across her senses, flooding her aura with sweet, hot pulses of pleasure and power. But it was just a barely-
there taste, a flirtatious tease, like the man himself. Yet that little bit made her feel—
The doors to the lecture hall opened. Assefa pulled back, followed by an unmistakable growl, all his sweetness, and softness evaporating like an untamable mist.
Moment lost.
Sanura stepped back from Assefa and looked over her shoulder to see who had interrupted them. Perhaps one of the freshmen had left a cell phone or iPad. But when she turned, it was no freshman standing at the top of the stairs who’d let in the intrusive beam of light. No, it was the man she’d least wanted to see, especially now.
Assefa released her hand, stood tall and firm and turned into the stoic FBI agent right before her eyes. Sanura knew the look, the posture, the attitude. She’d seen it many times over the last two weeks, never directed at her, but others. Shifters were like that—proud, protective, cautious, always sniffing out danger, preparing to defend themselves or those under their care. But the visitor wasn’t dangerous, just Sanura’s ex. The man Mike disdainfully referred to as a “dickhead.” And, yeah, he’d turned out to be exactly that, though she’d sooner walk over broken glass than admit that to Mike.
Sanura watched as Richard Houghton, a light brown-skinned African American in black khakis and a red, black, and white Maryland Terrapins polo shirt, walk down the steps, his face a poor mask for the bothered look Sanura could see in his pale brown eyes. She’d avoided his phone calls for the last couple of months, failing to return his messages requesting to speak with her. Today was the first time he’d taken the initiative to make the trek across campus. Now that he had, Richard was suddenly face-to-face with a man he’d never seen his former girlfriend with before, jealousy evident in his stiff frame and quizzical eyes. Those eyes kept moving from Sanura to Assefa and back again.
I really don’t need this, not now, not when I have bigger things to deal with than a jealous ex who has no right to be jealous at all.
Seconds crawled by, and Sanura realized neither man intended to make the first move by way of introductions. Now she was the one who felt bothered, but good manners kept her from telling Richard to go the hell away. Sighing, she stepped between the men. “Special Agent Assefa Berber, this is Professor Richard Houghton. Richard works at the university in the math department. Richard, Assefa is an FBI agent temporarily assigned to the Baltimore City Police Department. He works with Mike.”