by A. C. Arthur
“I’m, ah,” Kalina stammered and looked at Rome. “I’m fine.”
Rome cleared his throat and took a step toward the door even though the cat was still hissing and narrowing green eyes at him. “Everything is just fine, ma’am. I was just leaving.”
“You were, huh?” the woman said, still giving him the stink eye. “Well, you go on and leave. I’ll just stay a few minutes.”
Rome gave her a tight smile as she stepped into the apartment and he stepped out. On his way the cat took a swipe at him with its small paw. Rome only glared at it a second before the cat shrank back into its owner’s arms.
“Oh my,” the woman said holding her cat closer.
“Have a good day,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, Kalina.” He looked at her one last time before turning and walking down the narrow hallway.
Again Kalina gasped. Not because of Mrs. Gilbert’s cat, but because Rome’s eyes didn’t seem the same.
“You should watch who you let in here,” Mrs. Gilbert was saying as she closed Kalina’s door. That cat of hers was still making noises but didn’t dare leave Mrs. Gilbert’s arms. Kalina kept her distance, her chest filling with an unfamiliar feeling. Not quite fear, but definitely anxiety, like something was about to happen, something she wasn’t sure was good or bad.
Chapter 11
“What’s so urgent I had to drop everything and come over here?” Rome had left Kalina’s apartment when all he’d wanted to do was drag her into that bedroom and drown himself in her for the next few hours, or days.
She’d definitely be safe in his arms. He wouldn’t have to worry about the Rogues or why they were hunting her in the first place. As long as she was with him, she’d be all right. And the reason that was so important to him, well, he didn’t have to think about that. Not right now.
They were in X’s condo, which looked exactly as it had the first day he’d moved in here. The furniture was dark, contemporary, and sparse. X always said he didn’t need anything but a bed, which he rarely used for reasons Rome still didn’t understand.
High ceilings and crisp white walls made everything they said echo as if they were in a huge auditorium. The floor-to-ceiling windows were fitted with custom-made room-darkening blinds that always stayed closed. The entire place made Rome feel like he was in a hospital or a morgue, it was so still and sterile. Watching X’s large body move through the place so mechanically only made the scene more dismal.
“I had a chance to scan that disk Bingham gave you at the party,” X began in a dour tone.
He immediately had Rome’s attention. Last night after their run-in with the Rogues and their recuperation at Rome’s place, Rome had given X the disk to run through the FBI’s virus program and spyware. He had most of the same technology on his home computers, but the FBI could also crack any encryption that may have been put on the disk. Besides, X had more experience with computers and such than Rome did. Whatever was on the disk, X would make sure it was clean and ready for Rome’s perusal.
The investigation into his parents’ murders had been a long-harbored vendetta for Rome. As his two closest friends, Nick and X had joined in the search a long time ago. The Assembly knew nothing about their quest. Dragging a hand down his face, Rome sighed. “What did you find?”
“Nothing traceable. It’s old, mid-1980s I’d say. The information was encrypted with a fairly simple code.”
“Did you break it?”
“You know he did,” Nick said, coming from the kitchen with a bottled beer in one hand. “There’s not a code in this world X can’t break. Which is truly baffling considering how little attention he paid in school.”
X didn’t even spare Nick a glance. It was old banter between the two. Nick had been a straight-A student, Rome following right behind him with only a few B’s sprinkled in for good measure. X, on the other hand, had never liked going to school, hated the confinement of the classrooms and stern teachers in their private school as well. It still amazed Rome that he’d entered law enforcement, landing solidly in the FBI, and seemed to enjoy it.
“I did, but I thought you’d like to be the first to go over the information. It looks like more journal entries from your father. I didn’t feel right reading them before you.” X moved to a wall that surprisingly held three photographs, black-and-whites of the mountains and oceans. They were crisp and simple, just like everything else in the apartment. But they were the only pieces that looked like they held some personal link to the man who lived here. Rome didn’t bother to ask X why. Each of them—the three shifters who had long ago forged an unbreakable bond—had secrets and demons. The best part of their relationship was that they knew when to leave well enough alone; they didn’t push one another, asking for answers the others couldn’t or weren’t willing to give. They simply accepted who they were and lived their lives accordingly. Not many could do that, especially not with the pasts they all shared.
Behind the middle portrait, the one with the huge plume of smoke spewing from a mountaintop, was a wall safe. X’s large fingers moved nimbly over the dial until there was a clicking sound and the door popped open. Reaching inside, he retrieved the disk and handed it to Rome.
For quiet seconds Rome just held it. Then he spoke. “Baxter said my father kept lots of journals. He had them all over the house, each pertaining to a different subject. His work at the corporation, his thoughts on the forest, his childhood. Whatever was in his mind he put into words on paper.” Looking down at the disk, he felt that a piece of his father was here, right in this room with them.
“This may give us more insight into what was going on with the meetings they were having,” X said, moving to the fully stocked bar in the corner.
Nick swallowed a swig of beer. “We already know what the meetings were about. They wanted to create some type of democracy, a government for shifters here in the States.”
“A judicial system,” Rome added.
Nick frowned, looking as if the paint on the walls held more appeal. “A system that wasn’t going to work because Rogues don’t give a shit about being democratic.” It was no secret that while Nick was all about helping Rome find the killers, he didn’t agree with what his parents as well as Rome’s were fighting for. Nick knew they were a separate species; he’d grown up experiencing that separation in one way or another so he’d never forget it. And he’d never feel easy about trying to mix with the humans.
“We have to start thinking along those lines, Nick,” Rome said, already knowing where this conversation would lead. But it didn’t matter. He was Faction Leader and it was up to him and the other FLs to come up with ways the shifters could better co-exist in this land. In the jungle it was fine for the tribes to hide, to take shelter beneath the thick canopy of the rain forest. But here, in the city, it didn’t make sense. If they wanted to live here, to build families and businesses, to prosper in this place, they needed to stand together. They weren’t fully human and they weren’t fully animal. They were different so it stood to reason that they needed a different type of government to protect their secret and ensure continuance of the race.
“I believe in creating our own government here, a hierarchy that will hear the differences and hopefully work them out without us fighting on the streets like animals.”
Nick chuckled. “Look around, Rome. We’re not the only ones fighting in the streets. These so-called humans are killing one another without any help or instigation from us. They’ve been shooting and fighting and dying on these streets long before we showed up.”
“But not by our kind. I know we can’t change their world, their ways, or their government. But we can monitor our own.”
“That’s naive,” Nick countered, finishing his beer and putting the bottle on the giant slab of marble that served as a coffee table.
“You sound like the Rogues,” X said quietly, rubbing a hand down the back of his bald head. “They don’t think we can act like anything but animals, either.”
The last of Nick
’s semblance of control broke. It was a war within him. One side told him every day that they were different, tainted somehow. And the other—the one Rome and the other stateside shifters wanted him to see—insisted that even with their differences they could co-exist peacefully. It always saddened Rome to see his friend in this fight.
Nick stood quickly, glaring down at X as if he were ready to fight him. “Don’t fucking compare me to those pussies!”
X didn’t bother to stand but glared right back at Nick. “Then stop acting like a victim like them. Yeah, we’re a different species, so what? It’s time we move past that and make our mark on our own.”
Tempers were rising—well, Nick’s was. X was easily bated even though he and Nick had experienced their share of disagreements in the past. Rome, as always, was the peacekeeper.
“Nick will be fine. He knows this is the way to go, it’s just his nature to be rebellious.” Rome prayed that was the truth.
“I need another beer,” Nick murmured and stalked out.
“He’s getting edgier about this by the minute,” X said when they were alone.
Rome nodded. “I know. The appearance of the Rogues isn’t making it any better. He’s ready to kill first and ask questions later.”
X shrugged. “It’s our nature, Rome. I’m all for the government thing but we can’t deny our animalistic heritage forever.”
Rome knew that better than anyone. The slow prowling of his cat pressing against his human mind with daily persistence was proof. “I know. But there’s a way to contain it when possible. I don’t know that we’ll always be able to deal with the Rogues this way, but we have to at least start thinking along those lines.” He held the disk up. “Maybe there’s some strategies on here we can use.”
“Strategies? I thought we wanted clues to finding the killers. You still don’t remember anything else about that night?” X asked.
“We … I do,” he sighed. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, X.”
“I know. And you know we’ve got your back however you want to play this.”
“I want them dead.”
X nodded. “As soon as we find them,” he said solemnly.
And after they were dead, then what? A distant voice echoed in Rome’s mind, making him think about the answer.
Taking a seat on the couch, Rome let the disk rest on his thigh, closing then reopening his eyes. “I can hear the sounds, feel the tightness of the closet walls around me. And then I can scent them. All of them. My parents, Baxter, the killers.”
“So you’d remember if you scented them again?”
“Definitely.”
X was the one to nod this time. “Then it’s time we start lining up some suspects.”
“Yeah.” Rome glanced down at the disk again. “I believe you’re right.”
* * *
Kalina never thought she’d be happy to feel the slap of sticky humid air upon her cheeks, but as she stepped out of her car and began walking along the parking lot leading to the back entrance of the MPD, that’s exactly what she felt. She hadn’t even bothered to ask how her car had come to be parked in front of her building this afternoon when she’d come out. It hadn’t been there last night. But she was sure it had arrived in the same manner as Roman Reynolds had with his breaking-and-entering, bossy-and-controlling self.
Mrs. Gilbert had stayed in her apartment after Rome left. She’d stayed about fifteen minutes past her usual quota of five minutes standing in the hallway, with that god-awful cat glaring and growling at Kalina. Normally Kalina’s heart pounded the entire time she was in the vicinity of Ms. Kitty. Today she’d been so ticked off at Rome, she’d wanted to bare her own teeth and growl right back at the spotted cat.
As she walked across the asphalt, the low heels of her sandals clicked. She wasn’t dressed in normal work attire; if she was seen, she could just as easily be viewed as a citizen visiting the police department for some reason or other. Besides, it was too hot for a lot of clothes. The summer dress with short capped sleeves and flowing bottom that flirted with her kneecaps was as cool as she could get without walking naked through the city streets.
Her goal was simple: pull the file on the Sheehan case—the one she’d been working two years ago.
The narcotics division was on the second floor of what looked like one of the city’s plainest buildings. Stepping off the elevator, she heard the familiar buzz of interaction in what they called the bullpen. Departments were separated by glass-topped walls and double doors. On her way to the narc department she passed through homicide, nodding hellos to fellow officers but walking steadily forward. She wasn’t there to converse. There was a reason she was getting these photos—someone connected to that case years ago was after her.
The pictures from last night were tucked in her bottom drawer beneath all her socks. Thinking back now, she figured she probably should have kept the first photo. But something had told her there would be more. Whoever this was wanted something from her. Looking past the fear that assailed her upon first seeing the photos, she’d found something else—anger. Whoever had taken the photos back then was here now, attempting to intimidate her, again.
That was so not happening, she thought, using her palms to push through the double doors leading to her department. It was kind of quiet, a Saturday afternoon; most of the detectives were probably working a sting or coasting the neighborhoods talking to informants. That was the tedious part of the job, but it was necessary.
Her desk was near one of the large dust-covered windows. She hadn’t been there in weeks, so it was filled with files and mail and other paraphernalia her co-workers probably thought was funny to dump there. Sitting in her chair she pulled it close to the desk, being careful of the one wheel that usually stuck against the worn carpet on the floor.
She switched on her computer and while she waited for it to boot up pulled out her keys and opened the file cabinet beneath the desk to the left. Most files were kept on the computer now—vitals on all the suspects, details of the operation, official reports to be filed and copied to the court. But in her drawer Kalina kept her own personal file for each case she worked. The Sheehan case was a thick black folder worried from time and usage. She pulled it out, dropping it on her desk. Punching in her passwords, she pulled the computer file, browsing through the mug shots of all the suspects she’d investigated in the case.
None of them looked familiar or like the man who’d delivered the first picture. That man, she remembered, had a distinct look; he’d caused a memorable reaction she now thought was more strange than just a stirring of hormones. Something had happened when she saw that man, when he looked at her, said her name. Even now, thinking about him had her shivering, her skin itching. She sighed, sat back in the chair, and stared at the computer screen.
What am I missing?
Without any real motivation she pressed the arrow key, flipping steadily through photos. This time she wasn’t only looking for one face, she was looking for three more.
The three stooges from last night who’d also evoked some weird reaction in her. After a few minutes she sighed.
Nothing.
No pictures to identify them. No connection and … nobody was bothering her.
There were easily a dozen people in her department right now. None of them said a word to her. That could be construed as a good thing, as she really wasn’t in the mood for co-worker chitchat. Then again, it was still kind of odd.
If she took a moment to write down all the strange things going on in her life lately, she’d probably have a book by now. Things felt out of control. The goals she thought were so clear were wavering and she couldn’t figure out why. All she had to do was investigate one man.
That wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed. Everything about him on paper profiled him as guilty. But his accounts were clean, his voice was mesmerizing, his touch downright sinful. He was right, she wanted him, craved him, and despised herself for it.
She wanted to wor
k the case, find him guilty, move on. But he was a distraction. The photos she’d received were a distraction. Her mind whirled from one thing to the next and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Only for some reason the deep breath, the inhalation of familiar scents—warm paper from the printer, stale cigarettes from Kretzky’s old tweed jacket that he kept hanging in his cubicle for days he was called to court, the musty aroma of thirty-year-old carpet that badly needed to be ripped up and burned—annoyed her, making her feel nauseous instead of nostalgic.
In the pit of her stomach something was brewing. It felt like a longing, but she dismissed it as hunger. Food hadn’t been a priority by the time she’d awakened late this morning, and then her shower had been interrupted and Mrs. Gilbert arrived with that cat.
Cursing, she punched more keys on the keyboard. Something wasn’t adding up, or maybe she just couldn’t figure it out. Gingerly lifting the tattered file folder, she put it into her large purse. Shutting down her computer, she was grateful now for the lack of interest in her trip back to work. She left the narcotics division heading out of the building.
However, she was interrupted when she passed the meeting room midway between two departments. Double glass doors opened and people filed out. Detectives, plainclothes cops, and the chief of police walked by, all with sour looks on their faces. Something was up.
“Hey, Harper, what’re you doing here? Thought I heard you were UC.” Reed Sampson, a homicide detective with soft brown eyes and a killer smile, who’d asked her out too many times to remember, touched her elbow as he spoke.
“Hey, Sampson. Yeah, I was just there to see what else was going on and to follow a few leads I had on my case.” That was a lie. There were no leads. She couldn’t find anything on the guy, nothing except the feeling that he wasn’t all that he appeared. But that had really just become more pronounced in their last two encounters, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she was thinking along business or personal lines. “What’s happening?” she asked, nodding toward the line of men dispersing among the cubicles and toward the elevators.