The Epilogues: Part I: Badge of Honor (The Potentate of Atlanta Book 6)

by Hailey Edwards

  A man like that didn’t strike me as the sort to invite chaos into his carefully ordered workplace.

  “Is Dean here tonight?”

  “He called in sick.” Her smile drooped. “First time he’s missed a day. Last night must have shaken him.”

  That, or he got what he came for.

  “Thanks for your time.” I gave her one of my human-friendly cards. “Call if you think of anything else.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  After exiting the restaurant, I was again drawn to the spot where Cruz had been attacked.

  An echo of his pain and fear stained the air, or maybe it was my imagination.

  A man taken, a man beaten, just to send me a message.

  A call, text, or email would have snared my attention just as fast.

  “Richards has worked here for six weeks.” I dragged my attention from the sidewalk to what we learned. “We need to ask how far out Cruz booked his reservation.”

  “You think Richards took the job to make the grab?”

  “You believe it’s coincidence he didn’t show up for work tonight?”

  “What do I always say about coincidences?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I shoved him. “Before I forget, you gave me a look after she mentioned Lockdown.”

  “Lockdown is a para-owned bar, and a seedy one at that. The staff is all para, so is the clientele.”

  “I assume we’re going there next?”

  “Might as well.” He cut me a wicked grin. “How about a race?”

  “Race?” I gawked at him. “You run?”

  “No.”

  “Then how…?” I clamped my mouth shut when a golden gwyllgi trotted around the corner. “No.”

  Pack magic allowed gwyllgi to walk down the street on four legs without people running, screaming, or shooting at them, but Midas preferred two legs, which made this all kinds of suspicious.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I glowered at them. “This is dirty pool, gentlemen.”

  The gwyllgi wagged his tail, all sweetness and innocence. I didn’t buy it for a hot minute.

  “What’s the prize?” I jutted out my hip. “How do you plan to motivate me?”

  I was grateful beyond measure that Midas was every bit as devoted to my goals as me. He wasn’t happy to let me limp across the finish line. He wanted me to smash it. He wanted me to crush it. He wanted me to shed the last vestige of Amelie Pritchard and rise like the phoenix on the city seal as Hadley Whitaker, the Potentate of Atlanta.

  But frak it all, I had already done my laps tonight. This must be punishment for skipping yesterday.

  Midas walked a circle around me, bumped my hand with his nose, then lowered into a sprinter’s crouch.

  Bishop raised his hand in the shape of a gun and said dryly, “Bang.”

  The blond gwyllgi took off like a shot, but I stood my ground, stubborn to the last.

  Rocking back and forth, I watched Midas until he disappeared, and then I growled out loud.

  “You’re handing him the victory.” Bishop clucked his tongue. “I might as well—”

  “Oh, shut it.” I couldn’t resist the challenge, and they both knew it. “I’ll remember this.”

  Grateful sneakers were my go-to footwear, I broke into a jog to warm my muscles before I put on speed. I used those precious seconds to set my GPS, since I wasn’t certain of Lockdown’s location.

  Midas must have given up on me following. I caught him way too quickly otherwise. He was barely trotting when I breezed past. Glancing back, I saw him perk his ears. He allowed me to keep the lead then loped after me. The worst part was, I was giving it my all. He was just chilling at the pace I had set. I was dying a slow, painful death. He was probably daydreaming about chasing rabbits.

  The GPS announced when we arrived at Lockdown, a full twenty-two minutes after we left Bishop.

  I wanted a chair, a tall glass of ice water, and new feet. I was too hot and tired to care who won.

  Frak that.

  I had come this far.

  Drawing on Ambrose, I fed magic into my aching muscles and pulled ahead of Midas. With sweat igniting my eyes, I slapped my palm on the door or maybe the window. I couldn’t see a thing through the burning. “I win.”

  I bent over, braced my hands on my thighs, and focused on not expiring on the spot.

  Who cared if Midas pretty much let me win?

  Who cared if Midas hadn’t even been running?

  Who cared if Midas could have beaten me with two paws tied behind his back?

  I won, dang it, and it felt good.

  Crimson magic splashed in my periphery, droplets flying onto my arms. “You won.”

  “Yeah…I said…that…already.” Lungs burning, I gulped down air. “You…are…evil.”

  He proved me right by ducking into the bar and leaving me to die alone on the street.

  An ice-cold touch at my nape shocked me upright, and I whirled to find him standing with three bottles of water in his hands.

  “Sorry.” He jerked out of swinging range, as if I had that kind of energy. “I thought it would help.”

  “I just…didn’t hear…you.” I was panting so hard the drum of my heart in my ears took center stage. “Please?”

  “Here.” He cracked the cap on one and passed it over. “Take it easy.”

  Ladylike sips of water helped, but I finished with an unladylike smack of my lips. “Much better.”

  “You’re getting faster.” Midas took the empty and handed me the second bottle. “I was impressed.”

  “I was motivated.” I chugged this bottle. “I couldn’t let you win.”

  He didn’t say he could have won at any time, and I didn’t beat him to death with a water bottle.

  Win/win.

  We had this mate gig in the bag.

  “Ready to go in?” He sniffed the air. “Smells like we’re due for more rain.”

  “It can’t hurt me.” I pulled at my shirt, which clung like a second skin. “I’m already drenched.”

  “Maybe not,” he allowed, “but I heard our guy’s on a smoke break out back.”

  “What?” I shoved him aside. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Most people who smoke are religious about their breaks. I didn’t see him cutting it short.”

  “Most people haven’t just participated in a kidnapping and assault combo.”

  We didn’t have much evidence, but we had the recording, and that was proof enough for me.

  Once inside the dark bar, I noticed the bright-red exit sign and headed straight for it. I shoved through into an alley and spotted a man with a cigarette clenched between his teeth. A familiar shiver coasted down my spine, confirming he was a vampire, and the guy puffed up like a wet cat stuck under a blow-dryer.

  “What do you want?” He put out his smoke on the side of the building. “I’m not breaking any laws.”

  “You worked at Marx’s last night.”

  “Yeah?” He pocketed the remaining cigarette. “So?”

  Either this wasn’t our guy, or he was seriously not bright.

  “Who did you text when you saw Cruz and Neely Torres arrive at the restaurant?”

  “Shit,” he cursed, then pivoted on his heel and ran.

  Definitely low wattage. This guy should have taken his cues from Richards and called in sick.

  “See,” I said philosophically, “if you hadn’t raced me, I could probably catch him.”

  With a put-upon sigh, Midas shifted in a crash of crimson magic then charged after him.

  Barely able to string words together again, I leaned against the wall until I heard a meaty smack.

  Shoving off the bricks, which required a ridiculous amount of effort, I walked to the end of the alley.

  “You didn’t think you were going to outrun a gwyllgi, did you?”

  The gwyllgi in question had knocked the vampire onto his stomach and stood with his jaws clamped on the vampire’s nape.

  “I didn’t do anything
,” Wesley snarled. “I demand to speak with my master.”

  More often than not, a master knew exactly where his or her people were and what they were doing. And they wanted a cut of the action. “Who is your master?”

  In a flash of self-preservation, he had a change of heart and clamped his mouth shut.

  “Okay, how about we start off easy?” I waited until he hit me with his glare. “Who did you text?”

  “I don’t know his name.” He grunted as Midas bit down. “I swear.”

  His. That told us something. Not much, but a little. “How did he contact you?”

  “I take odd jobs from customers at Lockdown. There’s a system. People write a phrase on a napkin and leave it under their plate or drink when they’re done. Whatever server finds it puts it on the board behind the bar. Anyone who wants the job can have it.”

  “What phrase was written on this particular napkin?”

  “Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white as snow.”

  “And that means…?”

  “Two marks. Both ignorants. One target.”

  “You’re going to have to expand on that.” I tapped my foot an inch from his nose. “Details, please.”

  “It means the target would be in the company of another person. Ignorant means they’re both human.”

  Ambrose, intrigued by the vampire’s panic, slithered across the pavement to sniff at his favorite food.

  “That’s mighty vague.” I wasn’t buying it. “How did you get the names, date, time, location?”

  “You accept the job by writing your number on it. You get a call the next day.”

  The OPA could trace the number, but I expected it to ring a burner phone.

  “Where does Dean Richards fit in?”

  The vampire went still then began thrashing until Midas issued a rumbling growl.

  “Dean Richards is my clanmate.” He rested his forehead on the pavement. “He helps out sometimes.”

  “You got him a job at Marx’s, or he got you a job at Marx’s?”

  “I got him on. I work four of the bars down this way. I have friends who owe favors.”

  Yet another potential reason why his behavior hadn’t gotten him sacked. Though Amber might be wrong about him hating women. Just as easily, he might hate humans. But I wasn’t here to psychoanalyze him.

  “You got him on weekends, let him develop a feel for the place and the flow of the area prior to the job.” I waited for him to add more, but he kept quiet. “Who drove the SUV? Who else helped?”

  “Three members of my clan,” he told the pavement. “The job paid big, so I could afford extra hands.”

  I doubted he knew why they wanted Neely, since he pled ignorance on who issued the contract, but I had contacts who could ensure he told us what he did know.

  “Who is your clan?” I circled back to the big questions. “Who is your master?”

  The vampire clamped his jaw shut again, but no amount of fang-to-neck action on Midas’s part unstuck it this time.

  Walking away from them, I dialed Lizzy and smiled when she answered with a growl.

  “I’ve got a vampire who helped orchestrate Neely Torres’s abduction. He can give you the names of his accomplices. They’re clanmates. It shouldn’t be too hard to locate them once you get his master’s identity out of him. I would appreciate it if you could round them up, question them, then forward the information to my office.”

  With vampires involved, this was firmly a Society issue. Sentinels were my go-to in such cases, but I wanted to play this hand close to my chest, and that meant trusting the pack and its enforcers.

  “I see how it is.” She clucked her tongue. “Using me to do your dirty work now that you’re big-time.”

  “I’m not big-time yet.” I might never be if we didn’t crack this case. “But if you’re not up to it…”

  “Twist my arm, why don’t you.” She covered the receiver with her palm and yelled to someone. “I’m sending Burke. He’ll pick up your guy and grab the others while he’s at it.”

  “Thanks.” I noticed Bishop arriving late to the party. “Bishop will be here waiting on him.”

  The call ended, and Bishop licked his fingers then wiped them with a napkin.

  “You stopped for a snack?” I searched him for his tumbler, but it was gone. “Seriously?”

  “I was hungry.” He scrunched down the top of a bag and tossed it to me. “I got you some too.”

  Given how he started his night, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was in the bag. “Thanks.”

  His smile told me he knew what I was thinking and was amused to have spooked me.

  There was a lot I didn’t know about Bishop. There was more I didn’t want to know about him. But, at the end of the day, he was my friend. My best friend. And I understood how hard it was to let someone in, to let them see the ugly parts as well as the pretty ones. He had shown me glimpses of his true self, and I was humbled and terrified in equal measure.

  That was why I reached into the bag, to reward that trust, and found three donuts with a pinkish glaze, each sprinkled with fruity cereal.

  “Where did you get these?” I bit into one and moaned around it. “They’re insanely good.”

  “You’re just saying that because you burned your daily caloric allowance trying to beat Midas here.”

  “You might be right.” I tossed half the treat into the shadow at my feet. “Midas?”

  The gwyllgi released his hold on the vampire’s neck, but he kept him pinned under his paw long enough to catch the donut I threw him. He swallowed it in one gulp, licked his chops, then resumed his position.

  How a shadow managed to be whiney, I couldn’t say, but Ambrose was pouting his heart out that he only rated half a donut while Midas got a whole one. Not that it hurt my feelings any, but I ate half the remaining donut then tossed the rest into the void.

  “That’s it.” The three of us were even. “No more donuts.”

  Ambrose slinked over to Bishop, ready to beg, but Bishop held up his hands.

  “I got nothing.” He patted his pockets to prove his point. “Sorry, man.”

  Ambrose cast himself against the far wall, head down, shoulders drooped, and mimed sobbing.

  “I get it.” I sympathized with him. “We’re all sad when the donuts are gone.”

  “Who else is back there?” Wesley demanded, as if he had the right to ask. “Who are you talking to?”

  Few people could see Ambrose. Most of the ones who could were High Society necromancers or other species with healthy amounts of magic at their disposal. This guy, even had he been looking right at us, wasn’t one of them. I could tell, thanks to Ambrose’s feedback as he salivated over the vampire.

  As chocolate was my ambrosia, vampires were the pinnacle of noms as far as Ambrose was concerned.

  “This is our guy?” Bishop crossed to Midas. “Wesley the Woman Hater?”

  “This is him.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Do you mind waiting with him for the enforcers?”

  “You’ve got that dinner thing,” he recalled, moving into position. “I can handle this.”

  Releasing Wesley into Bishop’s care, Midas embraced his change then joined me. “Ready?”

  Until we got a fresh lead, I had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs.

  “Hang on.” I couldn’t ignore what the vampire told me. “I want to see this board of his.”

  “Okay.” Midas fell in step with me. “Let’s go look.”

  I waved to Bishop then pushed back into the bar through the emergency exit door.

  The bulletin board slumped on the wall behind the bartender. It was small, missing chunks of cork, and filthy. It also held a note pinned to its surface with my name scrolled across the front in a blocky hand.

  “I’m Hadley,” I told the bartender, pointing at the paper. “Mind handing that to me?”

  “You’re not a regular.” He spat on the floor at his feet. “What business you got here?”

&n
bsp; “Make you a deal.” I wrinkled my nose. “Cooperate, or I report this dive to the health department.”

  “That’s not a deal.” He bared yellowed teeth. “That’s a threat.”

  “Oh, really?” I pretended confusion. “My bad.” I shrugged. “I get those two confused all the time.”

  Done wasting time, Midas planted his palm on the bar top and leapt it. He landed beside the squawking bartender, shoved him back, and claimed the note. He handed it to me before jumping back to my side.

  “I didn’t know you were into barhopping.”

  A short laugh escaped him as he guided me out of the bar onto the sidewalk. “Funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  Midas tapped the paper I had yet to open. “Want me to read it for you?”

  “I got it.” I mentally pulled up my big girl panties. “Here we go.”

  The single line fit with what Cruz had told us, but it didn’t get any more specific.

  “Neely Torres or your position as potentate,” I read out loud. “Choose.”

  The kidnappers’ vagueness was driving me insane, and it was a short trip.

  I didn’t want to be strung along.

  I didn’t want to play games.

  I wanted to be told the cost of getting my friend back and how or when to pay it.

  Maybe that was their plan, to keep me so off balance they could tip me over the edge with a nudge.

  “How do they expect you to answer?” He took the paper, turned it over. “Maybe it works like Wesley said.” He handed it back to me. “Write your number on it.”

  The OPA had several lines dedicated to the various services we provided. One number got circulated on our cards, so that one was out. This guy would expect me to answer, and he would know that number would land him in the general mailbox. The next best thing was giving him the number of a burner cell.

  And I just happened to know someone who carried one for various reasons and could loan theirs to me.

  Once we got back to the Faraday, we made a quick trip to the infirmary to check on Cruz.

  Faulk had positioned himself at the elevators, the only entrance or exit, and he nodded to us.

  “Hadley.” Abbott embraced me like he hadn’t seen me in months instead of days. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” I eased back. “Why are you acting so weird?”