She found a couch in the darkest corner of the room and stopped in front of it. “I need you to wait here for me.”
“Huh? Why?” Nick’s voice was low and gritty.
She raised her chin and gave him her most disarming smile. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw tensed. He didn’t believe her. Damn, he truly was a human lie detector. Nevertheless, he didn’t push it and lowered himself to the sofa.
“When the server comes, will you order me a fireball mule?”
He sighed. “Sure.”
Sensuously, she ran her nails over his shoulder, hoping the unspoken promise was enough to keep him in his seat. They shared undeniable chemistry, and she didn’t mind using that to keep him safe.
She sashayed toward Verinetti’s office.
Michael Verinetti always reminded Rowan of a young Al Pacino in The Godfather. His face was different: bigger nose, longer hair, and hazel eyes instead of brown, but he had the same Mediterranean complexion and could lie as if he believed every false word that crossed his lips. Although he was known for being loyal to his allies, he could also be ruthless. No one wanted to be on Verinetti’s bad side.
He was a true shifter, able to change into any animal he wished, but Michael was a film buff and since the 1980s he’d carried a minor obsession with the movie Labyrinth. Since then, his animal of choice was a snowy owl, a preference that was reinforced when Harry Potter’s Hedwig became popular. Michael was all about popularity: looks, impressions, trends. When they’d dated decades ago, he’d become annoyed with her involvement in children’s charities, not understanding her “obsession with the city’s refuse.” In the end, that was why things hadn’t worked out. Rowan befriended and cared for humans and supernatural beings from all walks of life and backgrounds. Wealth meant nothing to her, nor did the latest fashions, although she tried to dress with the times. What meant the most to her was the heart of a person. Kindness, warmth, friendship. Michael could never understand the joy of painting a picture with a child. Not unless he was planning to sell that picture for big money.
She knocked softly on his office door and found it unlocked. It swung open at the force of her knuckles.
“Looking for me?”
She pivoted to find Michael behind her, close behind her, his musky scent tingling gamey and sharp in her nostrils. “Hello, Michael,” she said. “How have you been?”
He blinked slowly. “Vince said you were here. I thought he was smoking something. I’d heard you were dead.”
“One of my identities.”
“Does your current identity need a job or to borrow money?” He flashed her a wolfish grin.
“Uh, no.”
“So this is a social visit? Lucky me.” The corner of his mouth lifted and he stepped in closer, looking at her through hooded eyes.
“I need to ask you something,” she said. “In private.”
“My luck is getting better. Come on in.”
She walked into his office, feeling like a fly crawling willingly into the spider’s web. Shifters were strong and fast. Not as strong and fast as dragons, but she was a female of her species and small for a dragon, and she hadn’t been trained as a warrior like her brothers. Although she’d never had a doubt she could overpower a human, when it came to other supernaturals, her survival over the centuries had often come down to her wit and diplomacy. It was an uneasy feeling being shut in a room with Verinetti. Between the unwanted sexual energy coming off him and her knowledge that he had once skinned a shifter alive for stealing from him, it took more than a little nerve for her to allow him to close the door.
“What is this important thing that brings you to my club after all these years?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.
Rowan reached into her purse and produced the paper with the symbol. She unfolded it carefully and held it out to him. “Do you know anything about the company with this logo?”
The smile faded from his face. “Where did you get this?”
“My lawyer. This company bought the land under my building. I need to buy it back, but I can’t find who to contact to make the offer.”
Michael cracked his neck. “Buy a new building, Rowan. That company is unreachable, and even if you could find a contact, they wouldn’t take your money.”
“Why not? What do you know about them?”
He clucked his tongue. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
She dropped her chin and placed both hands on his upper arms. “Michael, please. I do trust you, but there are children involved. Sunrise House. You know how important those kids are to me. If there’s any way, any string you could pull—”
“There isn’t.”
Rowan’s breath caught, and she allowed her surprise to show on her face. “Michael, you practically run this town. What is it about this company that has you rolling over?”
There was a long pause as Michael gritted his teeth and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. The one thing she could always count on with Michael was the strength of his ego. She’d phrased his inability to help her as a presumed weakness. If her logic paid off, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from countering that presumption.
“You always knew me so well. All these years, I’ve wondered what happened to you. After things ended, it was like you fell off the planet for a while.”
“When you live as long as we do, it’s important to change your identity now and then.”
“For you it seems like changing your shirt.”
“Fair. Is that why you won’t help me? You’re still angry with me?” She held up the symbol.
“All I can tell you is this… and this is between you and me, not for public knowledge…” He pointed a finger at her face.
“Of course. I won’t tell a soul. Who would I tell?” She shrugged one shoulder.
“Not even Harriet.”
Rowan shook her head. “Not even Harriet.” She wasn’t sure she could keep that promise, but she’d say anything to keep him talking.
“This logo represents the corporate front for a growing group of supernaturals from outside Manhattan who are taking up residence on the island for the first time in history. They are… preparing for mass occupation by acquiring property for their members. But as you might suspect, given their nature, they are very secretive about their acquisitions. Just like you and me.”
She shook her head in confusion. “What supernaturals have never been on the island?”
He didn’t say a word, just walked around her to a bar against the far wall and poured two glasses of something brown and strongly alcoholic by the smell of it. “It’s not my secret to tell, and you of all people know I am a man of discretion.” He handed her the drink.
She took a sip. Scotch. There was only one supernatural creature she knew of that had never occupied Manhattan. But it couldn’t be. It would mean Michael was going against his nature.
“It’s vampires, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Oh my God, Michael. How are you involved? Are you safe?”
He took a lock of her hair between his first two fingers, bringing his face dangerously close. “How sweet of you to think of me first.”
Actually, her first thought was for the children. They were truly in danger if vampires were coming to their neighborhood. But she was smart enough to know that Michael wanted to be thought of first. Michael came from money and power. His parents had groomed him from the cradle to run their empire. He’d never known anything but privilege. Which meant Michael thought of Michael first and expected everyone else to do the same.
“You know as well as I do that vampires and shifters have a long and violent history. I just worry…”
He wrapped his hands around her waist, and Rowan suppressed the urge to push them away. She needed him to tell her what he knew, and resisting his touch was not the way to accomplish that.
“Not anymore.” Michael’s chin lifted as if the notion made him prou
d. She licked her lips and watched his need to stroke his own ego crack his resolve to keep his secret. “NAVAK stands for New Amsterdam Vampire Kingdom, and yes, we’ve struck a deal. A huge deal.”
“You… arranged an accord.” She didn’t have to fake the look of surprise on her face.
He laughed and shook his head. His hands slid down to cup her hips. “Better.”
“It must be brilliant if you came up with it.” She was laying it on thick, but she knew she was close. He wanted to tell her. She could feel the truth on the edge of his lips.
“You know I can’t tell you everything. The New Amsterdam coven puts a high value on their privacy. I’ve promised discretion, and I am nothing if not a man of my word.” He grinned. “But suffice it to say that the New Amsterdam Shifters have more gold in their coffers than ever before, and we are enjoying the dawn of a new age for Manhattan.”
A wave of disappointment and confusion crashed into her.
It must have shown on her face, because he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t tell you, but I can’t stop you from seeing for yourself. Someone like you who has the ability to go… unnoticed.”
That got her attention. He knew she could make herself invisible. She locked eyes with him.
“If you should happen to wander downstairs and enter a code that was once familiar to you, I couldn’t stop you from drawing your own conclusions. And those conclusions are very impressive. Things have changed, Rowan. You have no idea.”
He traced her jaw with his finger and leaned in. This time she did pull away. She slid sideways before his lips could connect with hers and moved toward the door.
“Thanks, Michael. I trust you, and I think I’m going to let this one go.”
He frowned. “That would be a wise choice.”
Her hand was on the door. She needed to get out of that room.
“How can I reach you?” he said. “I’d like to show you the new Manhattan.”
“The gallery. Like always.”
“I don’t want to talk to Harriet. I want to see you again.”
Rowan inwardly cursed. The look in Michael’s eyes was one she’d seen before. He was looking at something he wanted, wanted so badly he was willing to do something violent to get it.
She should have stayed dead.
“Now is not a good time.” She cleared her throat to hide the crack in her voice.
He didn’t look happy, but he nodded his head, his eyes turning as hard and cold as ice. “Be careful, Rowan. I’d hate for your next death to be the real thing.”
Chapter Twelve
She’d lied. Nick knew Rowan had lied and he knew why. She’d gone to see this Verinetti guy, risking her pride and maybe her safety to find out what she wanted to know. And she was doing it for those kids. The moment he saw the way she looked at them, he understood she loved them. She wasn’t their mother, but they were her children. And didn’t that just hit him right in the heart? He’d been one of those kids once and she… she was an angel. He admired the hell out of her drive to help.
Although she’d asked him to wait, he couldn’t leave her to face this guy on her own. What if she needed backup? He followed at a distance and watched her slip into an office with a man he presumed was Verinetti. He took cover in the shadows, around the corner of the hallway that led to the men’s room. And now he stewed, wondering what was taking so long. Wondering if he should kick in the door and pull her out of there. He had no right to feel this level of possessiveness. She wasn’t his wife or even his girlfriend. And he wasn’t some sort of stalker who felt the need to control a woman just because he was attracted to her.
Only, every time he looked at her he had this feeling, deep in the core of who he was, that they shared a karmic connection. He wasn’t a man who believed in reincarnation, but she was beyond familiar. Something about her spoke directly to the most feral part of him. He desperately wanted to understand why, and the only way to do that was to get closer to her. Was it any wonder then that the thought of her alone in that room with her old flame was like a sliver of wood lodged under his fingernail.
The click of the door opening had him peering furtively around the corner.
Rowan appeared in the doorway. “Be careful, Rowan. I’d hate for your next death to be the real thing,” the bastard’s voice said from the office.
Next death? Nick didn’t understand what that meant, but he understood the tone. That was a threat, and it made Nick grind his teeth.
The office door closed behind Rowan. She looked both ways, then headed straight for him. He flattened himself against the wall and waited for her to pass. She did. He was sure she hadn’t seen him. But then she stopped about five feet down the hall in front of him.
“Nick, what are you doing here?” she whispered over her shoulder. She turned slowly and looked directly at him. “I thought I asked you to wait in the lounge.”
“I didn’t think you’d seen me.”
“I didn’t. I smelled you… your cologne.”
“I’m not wearing any.”
“I asked you to wait for me,” she said again, more firmly.
“I’m bad at doing what I’m told. What did you find out?”
She frowned. “This isn’t safe, Nick. You should go. We can talk later.”
He had to stop himself from laughing. “If it’s safe for you, it’s safe for me. I have training and this.” He opened his jacket and showed her his gun.
She scoffed. “You don’t have training for this.”
“What did he tell you?”
She shifted and released a deep sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
“Then be prepared, because you might see some things you don’t want to see. And stay close to me. I’ll protect you.” She turned on her heel and started down the hall.
He shrugged. She was really taking this “I’ll protect you” crap seriously. Like she was going to fend off whatever evil they were about to encounter with her bare fists and wearing stilettos. Meanwhile, he was behind her, packing heat and armed with over a decade of experience as a detective. He was also accomplished in martial arts and had grown up in a household where defending himself against near-constant beatings had taught him a thing or two about protecting himself and others. The experience hadn’t been a happy one for him. But he was tempted to tell her about it now. If anyone should be out in front, it should be him.
She led him through a set of doors and down two flights of stairs. Subterranean as it was, he encountered stale air and picked up the coppery smell of blood. What he did not hear was the click of her heels. He zeroed in on her stilettos and realized she was walking in such a way that he couldn’t hear her footsteps. After concentrating on the phenomenon for several seconds, he shook his head. Maybe he’d underestimated her. Rowan, it seemed, had some skills.
“Do you smell that?” he whispered, inhaling the coppery tang of blood again.
“I suspect it’s about to get worse.” She paused at a door with a keypad lock. “Take my hand.”
He did as she asked and felt a strange ripple flow through him. He seriously needed to control himself. The kind of chemistry going on inside him when he was with Rowan was something that belonged in a high school classroom. He was positively smitten. Smitten like a man who’d never seen a woman before. The feeling was carnal, undeniable, and embarrassing.
He watched her type in a nine-digit code she must have procured from Verinetti. The door unlocked, and they entered a posh, dimly lit hall connecting a series of small booths, each with its own round table of dark wood. Each had a red velvet privacy curtain, but only a few were drawn, blocking the view of who was inside. Most of the curtains were tied back. As they passed, Nick saw both men and women sitting at those tables, eyes turned toward a runway where a fashion model paced. Dressed in a striking ball gown, the woman paused at the end of the stage where the guests seemed to evaluate her.
Hand in hand with Rowan,
Nick passed another booth where an important-looking man with gray hair and an expensive suit turned to look at him. Gerald Stevenson. He squeezed Rowan’s hand. Hadn’t she said Gerald was the one buying up land for NAVAK? He wanted to ask the guy some questions, but Stevenson’s rheumy blue eyes passed right over him as if he weren’t even there, and then he drew his red curtain closed. Typical.
Rowan tugged him along the hall and into an empty booth, closing the curtain. She placed a finger over her lips. It would have helped a lot if she’d briefed him on what Verinetti had told her, but he could play along. She pointed at the woman on stage, then tapped her inner wrist.
He focused on the woman in the ball gown who paced away from them, turned on her heel, and paced back. There it was. He couldn’t make out the details of the tattoo from here, but it wasn’t difficult to see the placement and shape were the same.
Oh hell no. Nick looked right, then left. Lights flashed in each booth. Everything clicked at once. They were bidding on this girl. Human trafficking. He knew the signs, and they chilled him to his soul. All these people were here to buy the tattooed girls. And his dead girl? Probably bought by the wrong person, used up and thrown out. He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat.
Rowan selected a set of headphones from the wall and handed them to him, then put her own set over her ears. A sultry woman’s voice filled his head.
“Once again, the current bid is eighty. She’s type B positive, no health conditions, and has fed on only fruits and nuts for the past seven days. Going once. Eight-five to the gentleman in booth six. Once… Twice… Sold to booth six for $85,000. You can pick up your purchase at the back of the auction house.”
Manhattan Dragon (The Treasure of Paragon Book 3) Page 8