Son of the Moonless Night (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 3)

by C. D. Hersh

  Using a cotton swab, Falhman swiped iodine on the fleshy underside of Owen’s forearm where the tattoo wrapped around. Then he carefully gathered the skin into a tent of flesh and slid the syringe into the subcutaneous layer, just below the surface.

  As Falhman inserted the RFID key, Owen felt a short pinch, followed by the weird feeling of a foreign body sliding into his arm.

  “Take your natural persona,” Falhman commanded as he withdrew the needle.

  Owen shifted back to himself and the injection site and the iodine disappeared into his flesh. Holding his arm out, he fingered his forearm searching for any sign of the key. He felt none. “Pretty cool. Where’d it go?”

  “Inside you.”

  “How do I get it out? Turn back into him?” He reached for the picture of the man, but Falhman moved it away.

  “You won’t be needing this. Not until I say so.” Falhman dropped the photo into his desk and locked the drawer.

  “I don’t feel it. How is it going to work if I don’t feel it?”

  “The key is part of you on the cellular level, my boy, but will work just fine. Here’s the trick to this. When you get what I want, I will give you the photo and you can mimic shift back into him and remove the key.”

  Owen studied Falhman. “You didn’t embed the key in your lieutenant like this. He was in his natural form. I cut it out of his arm. Why the change now?”

  “He wasn’t as smart as you, and he was as loyal as a dog. He would have never considered surgically removing the key.”

  The thought Falhman’s words conveyed suddenly made Owen think his intelligence and his mock loyalty might be working against him now.

  “If you try to mimic, and get any little thing wrong, you will not be the same person, and you will not be able to remove the key.”

  He wished he’d taken a better look at the picture because he couldn’t remember every detail of the man he mimic shifted to. “I thought you valued me for my brains.”

  “I do. But sometimes smart people require more control measures.”

  “If I choose not to cooperate?”

  “Now that’s exactly what I mean, Owen. My lieutenant would have never asked that question. Smart people always want to know why and how and what if.” He leaned forward in the chair and steepled his long fingers together. “Your mother asks the same questions, you know. At first I found it invigorating, since few women oppose me. It’s why I gave her the job of general manager at Rogueman’s Bar. And why I turned a blind eye when she started skimming. I don’t find it as amusing anymore.”

  “Are you threatening her? Or me?”

  “Threaten is such a harsh word, don’t you think? I prefer to call it regulating the attitude of the help. Make no mistake, my dear boy, while I think very highly of you, more highly than anyone else on my staff, you are still the help.”

  Several minutes passed, and Owen let his full rage boil so Falhman could clearly see, aurically and in his expression, Owen was not frightened by his threats. Then he reigned in his anger. He still needed Falhman. But Falhman apparently still needed him more, otherwise he would not have gone to these lengths to dupe him into cooperation. They would work together, and Owen would cooperate as long as the relationship benefited him. The man would not take down his mother. He would draw the line there.

  As Owen’s emotions became more controlled, a smile slithered across Falhman’s face. “I’m pleased to see you’ve come to terms with my demands. I have cargo coming into WK Shipping in a couple of days. Use the RFID key to access the dock warehouse.” He slid a folder across the desk. “Here’s the warehouse and shipping crate numbers and the papers you need to get into the docks. Once you have the items I’ll tell you where to take them.”

  “How do I get them past security?”

  “Most of security is in my pocket, but on the night you retrieve the shipment, I want you to have the dock workers create a disturbance. While they’re protesting, or rioting, or whatever method you decide works best, you will slip away, access the warehouse, and get my goods.”

  “What’s in the crates?”

  “That’s need to know.”

  “Since I’m getting it, I think I need to know.” Owen held his breath, knowing he just asked a bothersome why, how, what if question.

  Falhman steepled his fingers again, drumming them together as he considered him. “Because you still intrigue me, I’ll tell you this much: stash some protective gloves and a gas mask near the warehouse entrance. In case the shipment has any leaks.”

  Leaks? Falhman studied him, and Owen struggled to keep a straight face and calm demeanor. “Thanks for letting me know. Anything else?”

  “No. We’re done, for now.”

  Spinning around on his heel, he strode to the door, keeping a tight grip on his emotions. When he’d cleared the penthouse entrance the questions exploded in his brain.

  What was Falhman shipping that required protective gear?

  Outside the penthouse, Owen flipped through the folder Falhman had given him then dialed Kat’s number.

  “I’ve been worried about you,” Kat said when he identified himself. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “So no one’s following you? You aren’t in trouble?”

  “False alarm. I guess I’m just jumpy considering what happened in the alley.”

  “Are you coming back to the apartment? We could pick up where we left off.” Her voice sounded husky and needy.

  An ache shuddered across him as her want flooded through the phone. He shut the desire down. Now that he had the papers to get into the shipping yard, he needed to do some reconnaissance. “I’m going to have to take a rain check. I’ve got something to do for the client who called. Tomorrow?”

  “Let’s skip dinner and start the night at the apartment. We can go to Papa Perro’s for pizza afterward, or have it delivered if we don’t want to get out of bed.”

  The thought of lying naked with her made him groan. “Don’t do that, Kat, or you’ll force me to come over right now, and I really can’t afford it.”

  “That was the idea.”

  “I can’t, hon. Really.”

  A deep sigh floated into his ear. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Say around seven.”

  “It’s a date.” This time he’d turn the phone off so Falhman couldn’t reach him.

  As he headed away from Falhman’s, Owen ran possible scenarios for the cargo. Chemical agents, nuclear agents, and biological agents all required hazmat suits. A toxic agent, contained properly, might only need gloves to handle the case. But respiration equipment indicated a powder or a gas. Why would Falhman need a toxic powder or gas? What was he going to do with it?

  Owen knew the shifter world was at war, but according to his mother, they dealt with their enemies on a one-to-one basis. The same way he picked off his victims. Or on a small scale massacre, like Rhys and his cohorts had done to Roc and his bodyguard entourage. Selective culling was the rule. Toxic gases or other chemical agents weren’t selective. They hurt shifters and non-shifters. Something Owen didn’t, no couldn’t, condone.

  As he neared Rogueman’s, shifter sensations ran over him, and he looked around to find the source. One of the men on his list, who’d been assigned to protect Roc, approached him. Owen felt in his pocket for the double needle syringe and paused as the man passed. He turned and started to follow him, then changed his mind.

  Figuring out Falhman’s plan took precedent over taking down Roc’s killers. This shifter could wait another day for payback. Whirling on his heel, Owen headed toward Rogueman’s and some bartender gossip.

  Johnny stood behind the long, shiny bar polishing beer mugs. When he spotted Owen, he waved him to a seat at the end of the bar. “Been thinking about ya, mate. How’d the poww
ow with Mom go the other day?”

  “Better than I expected, all things considered.” He ordered a draft.

  “So what do ya need tonight?” Johnny set his drink in front of him.

  “I’m starting a job at the docks for Falhman in a couple of days, and I wondered if you knew any helpful scuttlebutt.”

  “Depends on what ya need to know.”

  “Anything.”

  “They say he’s planning a takeover of the shipping companies.”

  “Companies? I thought it was only WK Shipping.”

  “That’s just the beginning. I’ve heard the word smuggling bandied around a time or two.”

  “Do you know what?

  “Most likely drugs. But that’s a guess on my part.”

  “Any of his high ranking men in here?”

  Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to and how much trouble will it cause me?”

  Owen spun his beer mug around on the bar. “You’re a fairly decent guy, Johnny, as shifters go.”

  “Hey! Don’t go maligning my kind.”

  “Our kind,” he reminded him. “And I wasn’t maligning. Just pointing out most of the men in this bar aren’t as upstanding as you. From what I’ve seen, you’ve got scruples.”

  “That’s the way my momma raised me. Even a bad guy’s got to have a code of honor she used to say. So I got me one.”

  “Does it include killing non-shifters?”

  “Only if they’re trying to kill me or mine. I don’t hold with killing them over our war.” He leaned in close and whispered, “But I don’t want ya spreading that around in here. There’s those that don’t hold with my views.”

  “They’re my views, too.”

  Johnny studied him a few seconds. “Where’s all this high-faluting talk going, Owen? Have ya killed someone? A non-shifter? Do ya need to confess?”

  “No. Something happened that got me thinking of the war between the shifter factions. I’m wondering what would happen if it spilled over into the non-shifter world.”

  “Because of her?”

  “Who?”

  “The non-shifter girl you hinted at earlier. Have you two . . . you know? Ya trying to figure out what to do?”

  “I’m close.”

  “Can I give ya a bit of advice I told to someone else who loved a non-shifter?”

  “Sure. It can’t hurt.”

  “Get away from this world. Ya don’t want her mixed up with the likes of these.” He motioned around the bar. “Take off the ring and throw it in the river.”

  “Interesting advice from someone who’s supposed to be mentoring me.”

  “Mentoring isn’t only teaching shifting abilities. Yer new to the shifter life, and there’s a lot of complications and problems ya need to learn. Shifter non-shifter relations is one of them. If ya love yer lady, start over somewhere far away and live a normal life.”

  “I don’t think I can. But I need to protect her because I think something bad might happen. Something a shifter is going to do which will harm everyone.”

  “Who and what?”

  “Who do you think? I don’t know what. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open, Johnny, and tell me everything you hear. I’m not going to lie. This could be dangerous. If he finds out it could put you and your family in jeopardy. I know you said you feared him—”

  “I fear Momma waiting on the other side with a big club, because I didn’t do the right thing, a whole lot more than I do him. If it’s as dangerous as you say, I’ll send the family away. It will make it easier to help you. I don’t need to know any more. It’ll help keep him from reading me if I ever meet him. Thinking he’s a treacherous man won’t give him any insight into what I’m doing. He’ll like seeing fear. It’s what men like him thrive on.”

  “How’d you get so smart, Johnny?”

  “I listened to my momma.”

  Nodding, Owen downed the last of his drink and set the mug on the bar with a thump. He should have listened to his mother when she said he was getting too cocky. What he had to do wasn’t simple, but knowing he had at least one person who might have his back made him breathe easier.

  Chapter 21

  Looking for anything that seemed amiss, Hugh and Rhys roamed the docks of WK Shipping. The sound of buoy bells filled the air as the damp, cold fog rolled in off the lake. Besides a small group of men Rhys identified as rogue shifters, tonight’s crew seemed to have nothing but work on their minds.

  As they made another pass around the shipyard, Rhys pointed to a solitary figure coming in the gate. “Another shifter reporting. This one’s not a mimic, nor is he shifted.”

  “What’s he doing roaming around in his natural persona?” Hugh asked.

  “He’s either up to no good and doesn’t want to risk his looks, or he’s absolutely innocent.”

  “Too bad we can’t tell the difference.” As the man drew closer, Hugh recognized him. “I saw him having dinner with Katrina Romanovski the night after I reported the murder of the shifter I found in the alley. Seems Ms. Romanovski isn’t as innocent as she’d like us to think.”

  “Because she had dinner with a shifter? We don’t usually broadcast our hidden lives. More than likely, she has no clue. Especially since she, as a human, has no auric reading powers as high level shifters do, nor, can she sense shifters like low level shifters can.”

  Grunting his dissent, Hugh dug his cell out of his pocket and thumbed through the camera files until he found the picture he’d taken. Holding the phone out to Rhys, he asked, “Do you recognize him?”

  “Yeah. His name is Owen Todd. I’ve seen her with him. Since he’s a shifter, I think we’d better follow him. Do you have the hawk transmitter?”

  “You mean I’m going to follow him, don’t you?”

  “I’ll be watching from above. He can’t sense me from the air, and you can get a lot closer to see what he’s doing.”

  “You going to swoop down and ruin Eli’s transmitter when you shift to a human to save me?”

  “If I have to.” Rhys jerked his thumb toward an alley between two warehouses. “Quick. Before we lose him.”

  In the blink of an eye, he shifted into a hawk, and Hugh attached the transmitter. With a powerful flap of wings, Rhys rose into the air and circled above the security lights, then soared out of Hugh’s sight. As he inserted the earpiece, Rhys squawked a direction, and Hugh exited the alley moving toward their suspect.

  From the circuitous route he took, Hugh could tell Owen was searching. After five minutes, he stopped in front of a warehouse door, pushed back his jacket sleeve, laid his arm against something on the building wall, and then opened the door. As soon as he entered, Hugh headed toward the building and tried the door handle, but it had locked.

  Pulling a small flashlight from his pocket, he switched it on and inspected the area where the man laid his wrist. A sophisticated computer lock, with no keypad or keyhole, had been installed in the building wall. He decided some kind of key must be attached to Owen. Moving back into the shadows Hugh waited for him to exit.

  In a few minutes Owen came out, hands empty with no visible bulges on his person indicating he’d removed anything. Hugh followed him to the gate. After a brief conversation with the guards, Owen left.

  “Follow him,” Hugh ordered Rhys. “I’ll tail him from the ground.” An affirmative squawk came over the transmitter as Hugh exited the shipping yard. He’d only gone a few feet when his cell rang. Thumbing it on, he heard LJ’s voice.

  “I’ve got some news. You coming by soon?”

  “I’m on a job now. How late do you work?”

  “Until closing. But get here sooner, rather than later. One of the dock workers is entertaining a few unsavory guests. A lot of whispering and under-the-table deals. I think
payoffs are occurring.”

  “Get me some photos with your cell,” he instructed.

  “Okay. When they leave, I’ll say I’m feeling sick and follow them.”

  “No!”

  “Well, if you’re not here, I’m not going to let them get away.”

  “LJ, do not follow them.” He put a hard edge on his voice in an attempt to keep her in line.

  “Oh. Gotta go. Something new is happening.”

  The line went dead and he cursed. He’d have to physically sit on the woman to control her. “I’ve got a situation,” he said to Rhys. “Can you follow this one alone and meet me at the Dew Drop Inn?”

  Rhys squawked an affirmative answer.

  “When you get there, squawk four times and I’ll come out and get the transmitter. Okay?”

  Another affirmative reply. Whirling on his heel, Hugh got in his car and drove toward the Dew Drop, praying LJ would be there when he arrived.

  A noise in the alley, next to the Dew Drop Inn, caused Hugh to pause, his hand hovering over the bar door. Wondering if one of LJ’s suspects might be slipping away, he decided to investigate. Flattening himself against the building wall, he crept into the alley. A piece of cardboard flew out from behind the dented, green dumpster. The blond head of Katrina Romanovski peeked around the corner of the trash bin.

  Startled, he ducked into a dark doorway. What was the deputy coroner doing rummaging behind a dumpster at night? Had she returned to the scene of the crime to retrieve something? Quietly, he removed his cell from his pocket and aimed the camera lens at her. The click of the shutter echoed in the concrete doorway, and he held his breath. Had she noticed the sound?