by C. D. Hersh
Kat looped her arm through his and started introductions. “Rhys, this is Owen Todd. Owen, this is Rhys Temple.”
The intensity with which Rhys stared set Owen back on his heels. A tingle ran over him. Shifter sensations. If he could feel it Rhys could. Rhys held out his hand and he had no choice but to accept it. The shock that ran through Owen when they touched surprised him, but the expression of confirmation on Rhys’ face didn’t. Rhys was a strong shifter.
He had been made by the very man he was after.
The look on Rhys’ face disappeared as quickly as it formed. Owen tried to make his own expression neutral. Kat gave him a bright smile, and his tension level lowered. She hadn’t noticed anything odd pass between him and Rhys.
“Join me,” Rhys said, moving his black Stetson from the table to the empty chair beside him.
Desperate to get away from the energy pulsating from Rhys, Owen replied, “Thanks, but I was hoping for a cozy corner.”
Rhys glanced around the room. “Looks like it’s here or not at all. The diner does a brisk breakfast business. Besides, I’m almost done.”
Dragging a chair out, Kat sat, and then patted the empty seat next to her. “Thanks, Rhys.” She picked up a menu from the metal stand at the end of the table and handed it to Owen. “They’ve got great omelets.”
He took the menu, opened it, and studied the selections.
“She ought to know. She eats here every day. It’s convenient because—”
“How were your pancakes?” Kat asked. The words tumbled out of her mouth so fast it caused him to raise his gaze from the menu. She focused intensely on Rhys, her mouth drawn tight, as if she were trying to send him a message.
“Fine.” The puzzlement on Rhys’ face was as clear as in his voice. His gaze cut to Owen and then back to Kat. Rhys’ countenance melted back to neutral as he focused on Owen again. “So, Mr. Todd, been in Cleveland long?”
“About a year,” he replied. “You can call me Owen.” It was easier to answer to Owen and not the last name he’d adopted since starting his shifter revenge spree. Using his real name, Owen Riley, was too recognizable. Anyone named Riley was on Rhys, Alexi, and Eli’s hit list because of his mother.
“Owen’s a forensic scientist,” Kat said.
“Like you.” Rhys leaned back in his chair and studied them.
“Not like me. I’m just a medical lab technician. He has a specialty in toxicology.”
The quick way she flung the sentences out told him something wasn’t right. Rhys’ furrowed brow added to Owen’s misgivings. Her job was definitely off limits to him. Each little barrier she put in his way only made him want to know what she was hiding.
“Where do you work?” Rhys asked.
“Nowhere at the moment. I’m taking a sabbatical. Working on a special project.”
“Really? What sort of project?” Kat asked.
“I can’t talk about it.” In fact, he could never talk about it unless he wanted to end up in jail or on death row.
Rhys cocked a questioning black eyebrow and stared intently at him.
“It’s not finished yet,” Owen added, hoping the comment would make the project seem legit and not illegal. Killing was illegal even for the good of society. “You know how corporate sponsors get about loose lips.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Rhys said. “But, speaking of corporations, I’ve got an appointment with one this morning.” Picking up his Stetson, he rose and extended his hand.
As he reached for Rhys, Owen purposely knocked over his water glass, sending it straight toward the chair where Rhys’ coat lay. Grabbing the coat, Rhys stepped back from the splattering water and tucked his hand away.
“Nice to meet you, Owen,” he said, as he shrugged into his jacket. “Tell your boss I said, ‘hello’, Katrina.”
As Rhys left, Owen mopped the water with extra napkins. “He knows your boss?”
“Yeah.” Katrina glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, Owen. I’m running late. Can I get a rain check on breakfast?” She rose and scraped her chair under the table. He started to rise, but she shoved him back onto the chair. “Stay. No need to miss breakfast.” Then she dashed off.
So much for job inquiries. He rotated in his chair and watched until she exited, then he stood and followed her and waited beside the diner door. She crossed the street and went into the police headquarters building.
A tremor of fear shimmied along his spine. Did she plan to rat on him? Stepping outside, he moved to a blank space on the building wall and faced the brick. After shifting into the form of a man he’d seen passing by, he went into the police headquarters. Once inside the building, he asked a security officer to direct him to the office where Katrina Romanovski worked.
After checking a directory, the man replied, “Ms. Romanovski works in the coroner’s office.”
The coroner’s office? Kat worked for the coroner? If she thought him a common criminal, no wonder she’d been stingy with her job details. Consorting with criminals could get her fired. But was she protecting him or herself? She said she wasn’t going to turn him in, but then again, she lied about her job. Why hide it if she wasn’t going to use it against him?
“Where’s the coroner’s office?” He’d check on her and see what she was really doing. Unfortunately, if he had any doubts about her, he’d have to take care of her. Permanently. Attraction or not. The thought saddened him because he really liked Kat.
Falhman’s butler opened the door after only one knock. Upon seeing Owen, he intoned an introduction to Falhman seated on the couch in the penthouse great room. A slender hand appeared over the couch back, waving him into Falhman’s presence.
“To what do I owe this visit, dear boy?” Falhman asked. “Are you so anxious to start your assignment you couldn’t wait for my summons?”
“Hardly. I’m here about finding a new mentor.”
Falhman straightened on the couch, his interest clearly piqued. “Do tell. I wondered how long it might take you to rebel against dear old mom.”
“It’s not that she isn’t good as a mentor,” he said, remembering Johnny said Falhman wasn’t pleased with his mother. No need to make trouble for her, or him. She was going to be hopping mad when she found out anyway. “She’s just . . . Mom. I need someone I can relate to. A man.”
“I suppose we can arrange something. I know several capable male mentors.”
“Actually, I had someone in mind. Someone I already know and trust.”
“Really?” Falhman’s right eyebrow cocked high on his forehead sending a line of curved wrinkles across the previously smooth surface. “And who might that be?”
“Johnny.”
“Johnny who?”
Suddenly, he realized he didn’t know Johnny’s last name. He refrained from slapping himself. How stupid. Falhman wouldn’t buy he trusted a man whose last name he didn’t even know. “The bartender at Rogueman’s. Tall. Redheaded. Light brogue. Scottish or Irish. I can’t tell. You know him, don’t you?”
“Irish, so he claims, but I have my doubts.”
“So you do know him?”
“I know him. He’s worked for me a long time. So what makes you think he’d be a good mentor?”
“I like him. Sure, our relationship started a little skittish, but I think that’s because of Mom and the way she and Roc threw your name at him. You evoke fear in your people, you know.”
“Apparently not in you. I’m not sure how I feel about that, Owen. I like to be feared.”
“I have a healthy respect for you.” He couldn’t afford fear. Fear paralyzed. “Anyway, since Roc’s death, Johnny’s the only other shifter I know who treats me with respect.”
“Respect has to be earned.”
“You can’t teach someone if you don’t respect t
hem.”
“Are you implying Sylvia doesn’t respect you?”
“I’m saying she’s my mother. To her I’m always the little boy she has to protect, cajole, and control. I don’t want that. Not from her. Not from anyone. I don’t want a mentor who I don’t know or like.”
“Most shifters wouldn’t come to me demanding a new mentor.”
“I’m not most shifters.”
“True. You are one of a kind. Son of two high ranking shifters, one good and one rogue. That’s a risk in itself. My now-deceased son brought you into the fold through hypnotic persuasion. Another chancy proposition.”
“His persuasion ended with his death. I’m wearing his ring. By my choice.” He held out his fisted left hand where Roc’s ring rested. “I have Baron Jordan and Sylvia Jordan Riley’s blood in my veins and Roc’s ring on my finger. I am not like the rest of your minions. I want Johnny as my mentor.” He held his breath, waiting to see if Falhman would grant his bold request or plow him under and redecorate his white living room with his blood. He had a fifty-fifty chance of either happening.
After a long pause, Falhman finally answered. “I like you, Owen. You’re not the momma’s boy I expected. So, I’m going to grant your request with a trial period. I’ll expect full reports on Johnny’s mentoring abilities as well as demonstrations of your progress. If I like what I see, I’ll keep him on as your mentor. If I don’t . . . well, let’s just say the responsibility for what happens will lie with you.”
“I’ll let Johnny know.” He rose to leave and Falhman stopped him.
“Two weeks, Owen. If I don’t like what I see by then . . .”
The not-so-veiled threat angered him, but Owen bit back the emotion rising. Answering in as flat a voice as he could muster, he said, “You will.”
He would not be responsible for Johnny’s demise. Not at the hands of Falhman. Besides, he still needed him.
Chapter 8
Behind a bouquet of roses, Owen shifted to another form as he knocked on the door to the morgue. “Delivery for Katrina Romanovski,” he called out as he opened the door. “Where’s Katrina Romanovski?”
A bald-headed man, bent over the dead body lying on the metal table, said, “She’s not here. You can put those on the desk over there.”
“I’ve got orders to deliver them directly to her. No leaving them on desks.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper which he waved in the air. Perching his hip on the desk, he said, “I’ll wait.”
The scalpel in the man’s hand clattered to the tray. “You can’t stay in here. Only authorized personnel allowed.” He shooed him away with a blood-stained, gloved hand. “She went to see Captain Temple. If you have to deliver them in person, take them to the precinct office. You’ll find her there.”
“She works there? I got orders to deliver them to her workplace and right into her hands.”
“No, she works here. Although sometimes I wonder. She’s only here half the time. Spends most of her time in the police headquarters office doing God knows what.” He retrieved the scalpel and started carving on the corpse again. “Put them on her desk or track her down. I don’t care. Just do it and get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
Hiding a smirk behind the roses, Owen exited. Kat wasn’t getting along with her boss. Was that contributing to her job conversation avoidance?
As he entered the precinct office a round of oohs sounded. A plump woman rushed toward him. “Who’s the lucky girl, sugar?” she asked as she tried to finger the bouquet.
“A Ms. Romanovski,” he replied. “Do you know where I can find her?”
The woman forcibly lowered the flower vase and buried her face in the rosebuds, inhaling deeply. Then she plucked the card from the plastic holder and opened the envelope.
“Hey, that’s not yours.” He tried to snatch the card back, but she held it out of reach, reading the card aloud.
“‘Kat, let’s do dinner since we missed breakfast.’ Ooh, sounds like Katrina did the nasty last night.”
He wished. The thought of him and Kat doing the nasty, as the woman called it, caused a few nasty reactions on his part. “Are you Ms. Romanovski?”
“Course not,” she said as she tucked the card back in the envelope. “I’m Gladys, the office secretary. Katrina is in Captain Temple’s office.”
He grabbed the envelope from her and slid it back into the slot on the plastic card holder. “Then don’t go assuming things. Where’s Captain Temple’s office?” The woman reached for the vase again but he held it away from her. Her lower lip stuck out like a petulant two-year old.
“Over there.” She pointed to a glass walled office.
He followed her gesture and spotted Kat talking to a dark-haired woman. “Thanks,” he said, as he skirted around Gladys and her sticky fingers. When he spotted the name on the door he hesitated. Captain Alexi Temple. Shifter Captain Alexi Temple. She’d make him as soon as he walked in the door.
He almost turned back, but Kat swiveled toward the glass wall, her eyes lighting when she saw the bouquet. He tapped on the glass then opened the door. Stepping inside the office he said, “Delivery for Katrina Romanovski.”
“Looks like you have an admirer, Katrina,” Alexi said, and then she frowned and stared at him.
Busted.
Moving quickly toward Kat, he extended the vase of flowers. From the corner of his vision he saw Alexi open the right hand desk drawer, her hand moving into the opening.
Did she plan to shoot him?
Gathering his wits, he handed the roses to Kat and moved into her personal space where he could use her as a shield if necessary. Alexi’s hand stilled, hovering just inside the drawer.
“I’m supposed to wait for an answer to the card.”
Kat opened the envelope and read the message. A look of horror crossed her face. For a minute he thought she’d reject both the flowers and his invitation. Then her face softened.
“Tell the gentleman, ‘Yes.’ Seven p.m. at my place.”
With a nod, he turned and beat a hasty retreat. Not only had Kat lied about her job, she consorted with shifters. Shifters on his hit list. The way things looked, he and Katrina Romanovski wouldn’t do the nasty . . . ever.
Alexi watched the retreating back of the delivery boy. Was it a coincidence a shifter delivered flowers to Katrina, or was something more happening? Hugh had warned her he thought the deputy coroner might know something about the dead terrorist shifter in her morgue. Now a shifter, obviously not in his or her natural persona, had entered the police precinct as bold as you please.
“Who sent the roses?”
Katrina frowned, and Alexi wondered what was bad about getting roses.
Stroking the rose petals with a pensive expression on her face, Katrina replied, “A guy I met a couple of days ago. We had dinner last night. He asked me to breakfast this morning. I had to cancel because we ran out of time.” She lowered her nose to the flowers and inhaled. “Gosh, these smell wonderful.” She pushed them toward Alexi and the scent wafted upward.
Backing away, she held her breath. The floral perfume seemed overwhelming. Did morning sickness affect your olfactory senses? She glanced at the clock. Morning was over. Shouldn’t she feel better?
“You look a little green, Captain Temple. Anything wrong?”
Everything was wrong. Shifters traipsing into the precinct like they owned it. Hugh suspected Katrina of involvement with the shifter terrorists. Now she might be pregnant. The rose scent wafted over her again. Shoving from her chair, she ran to the woman’s bathroom.
She made the bathroom stall with no time to spare. Not even a second to close the metal door and puke in private. As she knelt on the floor retching, Katrina came behind her, laid a soft hand on her shoulder, and pressed a wet paper towel to her forehead.
“Gingersnaps might help,” Katrina said. “Mom swore by gingersnaps during her pregnancy with me.”
“It’s the stomach flu.”
“Did you know pregnant women have a different stride?”
“Says who?”
“My dad. He could spot a pregnant woman from behind every time. He taught me what to look for.”
“Are you saying I’m walking like a pregnant woman?”
“I’m saying you should have the doctor check you out. And try the gingersnaps.”
Alexi flushed the toilet then rested her head on the metal wall of the stall. “I can’t be pregnant. There’s too much going on in my life now to deal with a baby.”
“Babies don’t come at convenient times, Captain. If you wait until life’s calm and you’re ready, you might never have children, because life never goes smooth. Life always throws curve balls. You just have to learn how to catch them or hit them.”
“Sage advice from someone who’s not facing the issue.”
Katrina leaned out and glanced around the bathroom, then she lowered her voice. “You know what I do in my spare time. There’s no way my life could handle having a child. I’d be looking over my shoulder, even more than I do now, and peering under the beds and in closets for the bump-in-the-night-things I hunt. I don’t always have to find them. They find me. But if I should find myself pregnant, I’d welcome a bundle into my heart with joy.” Katrina patted her arm. “I’m sure you will, once the newness and fear wear off. What does Rhys think?”
“I don’t know. We only suspected it this morning, and we haven’t talked yet.” She rose from her spot on the floor and wiped her mouth with the paper towel Katrina had given her. “Don’t say anything.”