by A. C. Arthur
Rome shook his head, his fingers tapping on the door handle. “I’m not going on what I think right now. I know that Baines and his daughter had their skulls crushed then were ripped to pieces by something the medical examiner could only describe as a vicious, sharp weapon. That’s not a normal murder technique. Jace picked up the Rogue scent on Kensington last summer. When I saw Kensington a few weeks ago, I picked it up as well.”
Nick slammed a fist on the seat. “You should have said something then. We could have defused the situation sooner.”
“I’m not killing Kensington. I want answers.”
“If he’s in cahoots with Rogues he’s not likely to give you answers, Rome.”
Rome’s head snapped toward Nick, sharp canines pricking his lower lip. “He won’t have a choice.”
The Faction Leaders were scheduled to meet next weekend, the senator’s murder bringing all of them here. The need to rein in whatever evil was brewing among the shifters was imperative. Their goal was to live quietly among the purebred humans, to not be discovered for fear of being considered natural-born killers. But every time Rome thought of the grueling way in which the senator and his innocent daughter were killed, he cringed. There was a small element of truth in calling them natural-born killers. He felt it rippling up his spine even now as he thought about it. If faced with the Rogue who did the killings, Rome wasn’t 100 percent positive that he wouldn’t snap the shifter’s neck himself. But that was his animal half, the part of himself he tried to suppress as much as possible while living in this world. He was beginning to think the suppression approach wasn’t going to last for long.
The Linden Hotel was midway to opulent. Pulling up in front, Eli—one of Rome’s shifter guards—was out of the car first. His twin brother, Ezra, also a guard working under Rome’s leadership, had parked the Tahoe he drove to the party and was already standing curbside waiting for them. As the Faction Leader and commanding officer, both Rome and Nick warranted guards whenever they traveled. Eli and Ezra were shifters who grew up in the Gungi but had come to the States as teenagers. Their large builds, death stares, and simple lethal aura cast them in the positions of bodyguards almost immediately. They’d been with Rome for almost ten years now. Besides Nick, Baxter, and his other shifter friend, Xavier, he didn’t trust anyone with his life but the jaguar brothers.
Stepping out of the car, Rome immediately began scanning the area. People seemed to be everywhere, stepping out of limos, walking up the stone stairs to the front entry, coming out of the doors heading down the steps. It looked like a star-studded Hollywood event. The air was still, almost sticky, but not quite. Night air should have been cooler, but this was DC in the summertime. The fact that he wasn’t sweating through his suit said it was probably as cool as it was going to get.
He’d lived in the city long enough to know that with the heat came trouble. Violence always seemed to escalate in the summer months, bringing the most notorious criminal element into an already volatile place infested with drugs and other unsavory addictions. Simply put, this was a breeding ground for the Rogues, a virtual cesspool of situations to exploit in their quest for dominance.
How they, the Shadow Shifters—as they were called by the human tribes living outside the Gungi—had gotten to this place, Rome still wondered. Even tribesmen did not know for sure that the shifters existed, which was why they called them shadows. All they knew was the report of glimpses of humans shifting into animals deep within the rain forest. But most of the tribesmen were afraid to venture into the rain forest, scared of unknown animals and eventual death. About half the humans believed the so-called myth; the other half strongly objected to the theory, and without any real proof the believers just looked more like weirdos to their people. So the secret was still safe. For now.
The Rogues would see that changed. They believed they were the superior species and were out to prove their point in any way necessary. That made them the public enemy number one to Rome and the stateside shifters.
Tonight, however, Rome thought he might have another enemy closing in.
As he moved into the large marble-floored foyer, his entire body tensed. Thick muscles bunched beneath the material of his clothes, causing the fabric to itch against his skin. High ceilings with large shimmering gold chandeliers opened to a huge space complete with ornate gold and cream furniture that looked as if it were inspired by the eighteenth-century decor. To the left was a large marble countertop where guests could check in to one of the five hundred rooms on the premises. To the right, where Rome and Nick were now headed, was another foyer. Men dressed in tuxedos, women in evening gowns and diamonds galore headed in that direction.
They were all going to the same function, one of the biggest political rallies of the year.
It had been rumored that Kensington was going to run for the Senate seat Baines’s death left vacant, but most thought it was just rumor. Rome had been one of them. Ralph Kensington was a loudmouthed lobbyist. He’d gotten his break after heading up the IT department of Slakeman Enterprises. The story was that Kensington found Bob Slakeman a buyer for his latest military-strength rifles, even though military officials had already declared the guns unsafe. The buyer had been foreign, and few details were given about the sale. Kensington suddenly became a richer man with aspirations in the direction of politics. Nothing had been proven and as far as Rome knew there was no ongoing investigation. That was a shame because he was sure there was more to the story.
Rome’s second closest friend, Xavier “X” Santos-Markland, worked with the FBI. As a shifter himself, X kept an eye on the government’s activities, especially in the area of suspicious beings. He reported directly to the Assembly, giving reports also to the Faction Leaders anytime there was activity or special investigations in their regions. He lived here in DC, but he traveled constantly in his role as special director at the Bureau. So far, X hadn’t reported anything on the Kensington–Slakeman connection, although Rome had given him a heads-up about the situation almost a year ago. That just meant the government, as usual, would be the last to know when something went down in their own backyard.
Eli and Ezra were behind them, inconspicuously close, just as Rome suspected other bodyguards were to their employers throughout the massive ballroom they’d just entered. There would be some pretty powerful people in attendance tonight, powerful people with money. That seemed to be the name of the game lately. But Rome was here for a different reason. He was here to see Josef Bingham, his parents’ attorney.
“How long do you figure this’ll take?” Nick asked, flicking his wrist to look at his watch.
“Got another hot date?” Rome asked, looking around the room. He didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to. The sooner he found Bingham and got what he needed from him, the sooner they could leave.
“Nah, not tonight. I just don’t like the company we’re in.” Nick frowned as he looked around. “Too many bullshitters in one room for me.”
Rome nodded. “I’m with you on that one. But it’s a means to an end. Kensington wanted us here, sent a special invite, remember.” One that Rome would have respectfully ignored had it not been for Bingham’s follow-up message asking for this meeting.
“I remember. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now. Doesn’t feel right.” Nick was rubbing his chin, his fingers moving over the thin goatee he’d let grow in. Tension radiated from his body as his cat strained at the surface, ready for battle.
Rome had felt that, too, the edgy need to fight, to protect. Stateside shifters didn’t fight often. They weren’t in the jungle and strived to act more humane than their counterparts in the Gungi. But tonight, something was setting them off, irritating the beasts within until they were on edge.
“I know how it feels. Keep your eyes open. There’s someone I have to see.” Rome started to move away when Nick took his arm.
“Take Eli with you.”
Rome nodded, turned to give a barely there signal to Eli, and w
alked away. Nick knew Rome was searching for his parents’ killers. He knew that Rome wanted to search alone, so that if he found any information that might be sensitive to his parents’ memory, he could keep it quiet. So both he and X tried to give Rome the space to deal with this situation. But by no means was Rome in this alone. He and X had Rome’s back just as they knew he would have theirs if the tables were turned.
Nick knew there was a battle brewing, just as he knew that they would be right in the middle of it through no fault of their own. Reasons didn’t matter to Nick; that sort of understanding-and-cooperation bull was for Rome. For him, it was what it was. If their parents had botched up something in their lifetime and it was now time for their children to deal with the repercussions, so be it. It was past time they dealt with this situation anyway.
As for Rome and his crusade, Nick supported him and would do whatever he could to protect Rome when the time came. Sometimes blood didn’t have to be thicker than water.
* * *
Josef Bingham’s law firm had been started forty years ago by old money and today was still thriving, making even more money. By normal standards Bingham should have retired about ten years back, but Rome had to admit that at seventy-six years old the man was still as feisty as ever.
Next to Baxter and Henrique Delgado, Nick’s father, Bingham was the closest thing his father had to a friend. At least, that’s what Baxter had told him. Trust didn’t come easy for shifters, and came even harder when a shifter gave his trust to a human, but Bingham must have won his father over for the man to have some personal effect of Vance Reynolds’s.
Rome found Bingham near the bar, exactly where he suspected he’d find him, drink already in hand.
“Mr. Bingham?” he said, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder before giving the bartender a nod to bring him a drink.
“Ah, Roman, my boy. Wasn’t sure you’d show up tonight,” he said, giving way to a cough that seemed to rattle the extra skin at his neck and probably most of his insides.
“I was invited,” Rome replied. “And I rarely turn down invitations like this.”
“Yes, I believe tonight promises to be a special night.”
Over Bingham’s shoulder Rome saw a young blonde with breasts that seemed hard-pressed to stay inside the bodice of her dress rubbing long-nailed fingers over the old man’s shoulder. She could easily be Bingham’s daughter, but Rome wasn’t naive enough to believe that for a minute. “Really? Why is that?”
“Ralph’s making his announcement, you know. People on the Hill might not like it. Gonna stir things up on the political scene, that one is.”
Rome couldn’t deny the truth of those words. But the kind of stirring-up he suspected Kensington was going to do wasn’t what Bingham was referring to.
“I agree.” Rome took a sip of his drink, let the warmth of the alcohol slide down his throat. What was Kensington up to really, and how did it involve the Rogues? Numerous questions mingled in his mind but it wasn’t a problem. Rome knew how to multitask. “Did you bring it?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Bingham chuckled then gulped down the remaining contents of his glass. Lifting a blue-veined hand, he wiggled his fingers to signal for another drink.
Rome caught the bartender’s eye just in time to mouth the word no. With a shrug the bartender moved on, and Rome looked at Bingham.
“You said you had something for me, something I needed to see.”
Bingham nodded. “Right. I do.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a disk. “Your father had a safe-deposit box.”
“I thought all the safe-deposit boxes had been cleaned out after their deaths,” Rome said looking at the disk, not yet willing to take it into his hands. Baxter, his parents’ butler and the man who’d taken care of Rome after their deaths, had gone through all his parents’ things. He’d told Rome he’d given him all their possessions. Now thoughts of what could possibly be stored on this disk ran through his mind, causing his heart to pound with both anticipation and dread. This might put him one step closer, one clue nearer to finding their killers.
“This one was in my name. I’d forgotten all about it until my assistant retired and the new girl they hired brought this invoice to me. I went there myself and cleaned it out.”
“And that was the only thing in there?”
Bingham nodded. “And a note that I should make sure this got to you should anything happen to Vance.”
And something had definitely happened to him. He’d been brutally murdered by one of his own kind. Rome only hoped this disk would tell him why.
* * *
This was insane, she thought for the billionth time tonight. Attending this function was dangerous for too many reasons. For one, Kalina deduced as she pulled her car to a stop, thumping her fingers on the steering wheel, she could blow her cover. Greer Culverson, the chief of police, would surely be here. His connections in the political arena were no secret; there were already whispers of him putting in a bid for mayor next term. Not to mention any number of suspects she may have come across, because despite what most thought, drugs and drug dealers existed even in the tallest office buildings and highest-priced houses in DC. The epidemic wasn’t limited to the streets or what was called the lower class. Over the years she’d investigated and even arrested her share of businessmen and political wannabes for their roles in the drug game.
In addition, what if Roman saw her? What would she say? What would be her reason for attending this function? The decision to come here had been made quickly, just as the one to slip the tracking device onto the collar of his tuxedo had been, and the one to follow him to his house last night. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity, she’d decided that when Mel invited her to lunch. The secretary had casually mentioned she’d have to pick Roman’s tuxedo up from the dry cleaners and this plan was hatched. Hurrying back to her desk Kalina had called Ferrell, telling him what she wanted to do. Within the hour she was going down to the parking lot to meet Ferrell, who handed her the equipment.
“We’ll work on getting you tickets to the event tomorrow. I want you to watch everybody he talks to and make note. He might be going to this thing for more than political reasons. It could be a transaction going down, and I don’t want to miss it.”
And yet he’d known nothing about Rome even attending tonight’s ball until she told him. He’d been talking fast, his dark lips chapped from smoking too much. He wore a wool hat over his balding head but his eyes were astute, watching her like she was the one under investigation.
“Don’t mess this up, Harper.”
She snatched the plastic bag with the receiver in it from his hand. “I know how to do my job.”
“Yeah, well, you’re taking your own sweet time doing it.”
She had wanted to punch him. Never before had there been a co-worker or commanding officer whom Kalina disliked as much as Ferrell. There was just something about his personality that made her want to puke, then wipe her mouth and kick his ass for making her go to all the trouble.
“I’ll get the information. Just get me into that party.”
“Right,” he said, turning away from her as if she were the one who disgusted him.
Over chicken quesadillas and diet Cokes she and Mel had talked about Mel’s family, her time at the firm, and how the woman enjoyed working for Rome. Kalina had been careful not to ask too many questions about the man. She didn’t want to give Mel the wrong idea, even though she thought it was probably too late for that. While she didn’t want Mel to think she was trying to snag the boss, she certainly didn’t want her to know she was investigating him.
As soon as the device was activated, she’d switched on the transmitter and hidden it behind the monitor on her desk until the workday was over. When he’d been there as she’d packed up to leave at five, she’d almost been afraid he’d found out. Being busted by Rome again was going to wreak holy hell on her confidence as a cop.
But as he’d stood there star
ing at her as if he could literally eat her up on the spot, she suspected he’d stopped by for another reason entirely. Walking her to her car had been a shock. She hadn’t pegged Reynolds for the chivalrous type, and yet the kind gesture seemed to suit him. The dominant aura that pushed his hard body against hers had also seemed like second nature to him. Roman Reynolds was definitely a man who got what he wanted. Kalina just had to make sure that what he really wanted wasn’t her.
Even though she’d pulled out of the garage before him, she’d waited until his car had come out, then followed him to what she assumed was his home. It was a large estate in one of the district’s high-end neighborhoods near the Virginia state line. She only knew the neighborhood from glimpses in the society pages but now figured the newspapers didn’t do the palatial estates in this area justice. The house itself was huge, the grounds seeming to go on forever, with the plushest, greenest grass she’d ever seen. He’d stopped at a black iron gate, punched in a code, and waited while the gates opened for him. Of course they’d closed and she wasn’t able to drive up the winding driveway behind him. But that was just as well. She didn’t want to get too close.
Her body reacted strangely when in close proximity to this man. Well, not exactly strangely … Kalina knew sexual attraction when she felt it. She just didn’t want to feel it for Roman Reynolds. Still, as she’d watched him walk to his car, briefcase and suit jacket in one hand while the material of his dress shirt molded his absolutely kick-ass upper body, her mouth had watered. Even now, just sitting in her car thinking about him had her nipples hardening, her center pulsating with need. A need that hadn’t plagued her in years.
She tensed at the thought, heat moving in slow rivulets throughout her veins. Heat she hadn’t felt in … heat she had never felt before in her life. That’s what this attraction to him was, it was new and unwanted and she detested it. He was a criminal and deserved to be treated as such. How dare she want on her body the same hands that exchanged money with the cartels, which in turn shipped drugs to the streets that were killing kids? How could she sit here and wonder how it would feel to walk into that big house with him, to spend the night in his bed, beneath his muscled body, letting him do whatever he wanted to bring her pleasure? It was deplorable and ridiculously inappropriate to think of him that way.