Risk

by Jaime Johnesee

  “Good. You need to talk to Alex about all this. And for Shabba Doo’s sake, tell him everything you said to me.”

  “I have, bro. You’re saying that a lot lately. Also, you know I’d never forsake Shabba Doo.” Breakin’ had been a favorite of both of ours growing up.

  “Well, it must be good advice. And you’d better not forsake him or Boogaloo will get ’cha.”

  “Terrifying thought. So, big brother me up some good ol’ TV sitcom advice.”

  “You’ll figure it out, kid, but you’ve got to talk to Alex. Also, don’t be a dick when you see him. He doesn’t realize what an idiot he’s being. He just knows his girl has powerful feelings for another man.”

  “Well, it won’t make Tootie forget that Mrs. Garret knew what a bong was, but it’s sound advice.”

  “Go find Alex. Forget your cooling off period bullshit.”

  “God, you’re such an awesome gal pal, Q.” I hugged him and grinned.

  “Go to Hell, Reece.”

  “Love you too, pumpkin!” I blew him a kiss and went to do as he suggested. Well, not the going to Hell part.

  Man, I needed a Fresca.

  I made it to the main hallway and saw Alex leaving with another agent. She was a woman that he had dated back while we were still friends. Don’t jump to conclusions, Sam. You know Al better than that.

  You are jealous?

  Great, because I needed to explain myself to the cat. Just call me Fred Flintstone.

  You don’t need to be rude.

  Sorry. Yes, I’m jealous.

  You really are mated to this tiger.

  Yes. I’ve told you as much.

  I am sorry.

  Her voice faded out and I realized she was again giving me time to myself.

  This craptacular day called for either a total whiskey-soaked period of oblivion, or some time on the firing range. I was waiting on case reports so the alcohol was out. I took my gun from its locked drawer, holstered it, and moved to the elevators.

  Shooting gallery, it was.

  * * *

  I INHALED DEEPLY, enjoying the smell of burnt gunpowder on my hands. It was as calming to me as sandalwood was to other folks.

  After emptying a few magazines, my hand had a dull ache and I decided it was time to go back up, clear my inbox, and check messages. I stripped and cleaned my gun at a stall just outside the gallery. It calmed my mind while keeping my hands busy.

  Before I left, I took a deep draw of air and savored the aromas of graphite and gun oil. Nothing cures a bad day like shooting the fuck out of all your troubles. I reluctantly let the breath go and moved for the elevators. My cellphone blinked to life as I turned it on. I had a bunch of notifications.

  All of my preliminary reports were in. Hallelujah!

  While riding in the elevator, I added the information that was previously lacking into the basic report I’d typed up earlier. As I got off on my floor, I submitted it via interoffice email and, after clearing my messages, I tracked down and let James Brady know I was going off the clock for some shut eye.

  “See ya at eight, Sam. There’s a mandatory meeting.” He shrugged an apology at me.

  I sighed and gave him a sad face. “Damn daywalkers. See you then, James.”

  “I’ll bring the coffee.”

  “I love you, James Brady, you’re good people. Don’t listen to what Quinn and the rest of them say.” I winked and his chuckle followed me out of the building.

  I got in my car and drove to a bar within walking distance of my house. All of the shooting hadn’t done a damn thing to help me forget the craptastic situation I was in. It was time to try the whiskey.

  Chapter 18

  THREE HOURS LATER, I was at Martin’s Bar, a super bar downtown, completely sauced. I had sung several karaoke songs, poorly. I’d also drunk-called Ben and convinced him to come down.

  Griffin Martin, green man expath extraordinaire, came in the door, hung up his coat, and walked behind the bar.

  His bright green hair, eyebrows and arm hair, too, made me smile no matter how bad things seemed. The blue light from a neon vodka sign on the wall behind him turned his greenish skin slightly turquoise. I smiled and waved at him.

  “Hey, Sam. Holy shit, you’re drunk. What’s going on, my friend?”

  “I’m having a rough time. Amonother shot of Jack, please.”

  “Since you can’t even pronounce the word another, I’m afraid the strongest drink you’re getting out of me is coffee, though I recommend tea.”

  “Got any Fresca?”

  “God, no. Nobody actually drinks that stuff do they?”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty good.” I shrugged. “I guess I’ll take a Pepsi, please.”

  “How about some nachos?”

  “I can’t say no to nachos. Steak?”

  “Good idea. Let’s get some food into you and get you sobered up.”

  “I called Ben.”

  “Aw, Sam, what’d you go and do that for? And who is Ben?” I forgotten it’d been a while since I’d last seen Griff.

  “We have a sire bond or something and it’s screwing things up with Al.”

  “You and Alex have been friends far too long for something like that to screw you up. What’s going on?” Griff set my Pepsi in front of me and posted my ticket for nachos in the order window.

  “Ben is the jag who turned me. I have this insane attraction to him, but it doesn’t feel right, more like a compulsion than anything.”

  “Sounds rough. Maybe you need to cut this guy from your life?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Do you want me to get you a ride home so that you’re not here when he shows up?”

  “No. I need to talk to him and figure this all out.”

  “Suit yourself. For what it’s worth, I think you need to stay away from this guy until you figure out how you feel without this sire bond affecting you. Hey, Jen, she’s cut off from alcohol.” The last he hollered at the new bartender coming on duty.

  “You’re probably right, Griff.”

  “I’ll be in my office going over inventory lists if you need me.”

  “Thanks, man.” He smiled, patted my hand, and walked away down a hall.

  A few minutes later my nachos came out. It was far more than I could eat on my own. I was just digging in when Ben arrived. I greeted him bluntly.

  “I can’t believe our nonexistent weird supernatural relationship ended my actual for real relationship. Want a nacho?” I ate one, berating myself internally for every single thing I had done since leaving work, except the nachos. I felt like I was on a roll with the bad decisions and yet I couldn’t seem to stop.

  Okay, so that was bullshit. The truth was that I was mad at myself for my choices and I was apparently determined to completely crash and burn. Too many wounds had been reopened and I just wanted to feel good. The problem was that when I was with Ben I felt too good.

  Drunk me was a selfish bitch tonight and I didn’t like her at all.

  “I can barely hear you over this music.” Ben smiled sweetly and I felt even guiltier.

  “What am I even doing?” I asked out loud.

  “Eating nachos at Martin’s Bar. Why, did you want to do something else?” He looked puzzled. I felt bad, but I felt good, too. Just being with him felt good.

  “I should go home. I have a meeting in the morning.” That wasn’t my only reason for wanting to leave.

  Calling him had been a huge mistake on my part. I sat across from him, thinking about Alex, but feeling an overwhelming desire to be closer to Ben.

  Just a biological urge to mate. Nothing you can’t ignore, Sam.

  The Bee Gees, canned salmon, baseball, ugh, the designated hitter rule! See, there, now that lust is changing over to anger. Don’t ask me why the Bee Gees inspire anger. I moved on to real atrocities against humankind by humankind, including those done to myself.

  I sobered and even the sire bond quelled as that old yet still searing pain rose to the surface.r />
  “Can I have one?” Ben looked at the plate of nachos in front of me.

  “Yeah.” I passed him the plate and he started digging into the opposite side from me.

  We went on eating nachos for a while and I felt better just being in his presence. I decided to follow my gut.

  “I have to go.” I stood and teetered for a moment.

  “I’ll drive you.” I should’ve protested and taken a cab, but these days even a cab isn’t safe for a drunk girl. At least I knew I could trust Ben. I began to walk out with him before I remembered I had to go back to pretending to live with Alex.

  Fuck.

  “So, back to your house?” Ben was playing with his car keys and not meeting my eyes.

  “No, I’m still undercover with Alex.” Just saying his name was like a punch to the gut. I realized too late saying undercover and Alex together was like a punch to Ben’s and I felt even worse.

  “Oh. You think it’ll be okay if I drop you off there?” his voice hitched.

  We were standing in the vestibule and it reeked terrifically of vomit and stale alcohol; I just wanted to get out. Jix wanted to run, or gag. Run and gag really. Well, gag, run, and then play with Ben.

  You know, the obvious stuff one thinks about when drunk in a vomity vestibule, really.

  “Well, I don’t think Al will kill you, mostly because he doesn’t want to blow our cover. Besides, he’s probably out elsewhere tonight.” I can’t believe you’re being like this, self. Give Al the benefit of the doubt, Drunky McDrunkerson. Especially since you’re the one who has fucked up in calling Ben.

  The guilt hit strong.

  He looked down at the car key in his hand, hit the button to unlock the doors, and then glanced back at me. He squinted as a pair of headlights nearly blinded him. The driver backed out of the space in front of Ben’s car. Once the blinding lights pulled away, we climbed into his Ford Explorer.

  I was feeling pretty warm and fuzzy, let me tell you. Drunk me had an issue buckling my seatbelt so Ben did it for me. As he bent over me I could smell his cologne and it smelled so good. The woodsy scent touched with the undercurrent of jaguar was absolutely delicious and I fought the insane urge to lick his neck.

  His scent hung, coating my palate-turned-Jacobsen’s-Organ and deepening the light desire that was always there in the background due to what I thought of as our sire bond. I may have unintentionally moaned. Stupid jaguar. This is all her fault. I won my battle to keep from licking him and turned to look out the window.

  He buckled me in, nervously chuckled, and sat back in his seat as quickly as he could once he heard the click. “Music?” He turned on the radio and Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On blared through the speakers.

  I laughed. This was too ridiculous. I was far too drunk to for this. I didn’t need to be drunk to be reading way too much into things.

  “Well, glad that wasn’t awkward.” He turned off the radio. His face still held a flush, especially the tips of his ears.

  “Just, the timing of the song and all. Too funny.”

  “Yeah. Funny.” He looked uncomfortable.

  Hell, I was feeling badly myself. I only wanted to make him happy and that was enough of a thought to sober me. That’s not me. I don’t feel bad for not giving in to feelings and urges. There’s usually a good, sane, logical reason why I don’t.

  “I just mean that what you and I have is not real. It’s preternatural and possibly a side effect of the virus,” I blurted. I’m a horrible blurter from way back.

  “I’m sure the alcohol has no effect at all.”

  “None, though maybe you do look a little bit cuter.” At his hurt expression I floundered, “Crap, that was supposed to be a compliment. Look, let’s just get me home and into bed as soon as possible. I think that is what’s best for both of us.”

  “Um….”

  “I mean you drop me off at home and I go to my bed alone, then you go home to your bed alone. Or not alone, if you want; you’re a big boy. I mean, I don’t know how big and that doesn’t matter, anyway.” I could feel my cheeks burning. This is why I don’t get drunk that often. I was as smooth as broken glass when I was inebriated. I guess it went along with the bad decision making.

  “I figured that’s what you meant; I was just going to ask where to drop you off at.” His ears were bright red and he was looking as amused at the awkwardness as I felt.

  “Oh. Uh, over on Weatherby Cove.”

  “Nice apartment complex, I have a cousin who lives there.” He reached to turn on the radio, shot a look at me, then it, and dropped his hand back to his side.

  “Not up for music?” I grinned.

  “Not especially, I guess.”

  “Aw, come on, Ben. Live a little.” I hit the button for the radio and turned the station to Stevie Ray Vaughn’s Crossfire. See, it’s okay.” I grinned and my stomach lurched as we went over a bump. Nachos may not have been a good idea on top of all that Jack.

  “Sam, I’m going to spill some honesty here. I don’t want to be used in a game between you and Alex. I think I deserve better than that.”

  “Oh, um, okay. I’m not using anyone for anything.” At least I didn’t mean to.

  I fumbled with the stereo, stumbling across Stone Temple Pilot’s Big Empty. I sat back. It felt right.

  “I just wanted my position to be clear.” He looked at me, gold bleeding into his eyes, and Jix leapt when she saw it. She was frustrated that I wouldn’t act on what she was feeling.

  “I know where you stand, Ben. While I can’t deny an attraction to you, what I can deny is its validity.”

  “You not believing in it doesn’t make it any less real.” His scent rose through the air and its tang wreaked havoc over my senses as it danced along my palate, singing of a home I’ve never known.

  I’d never asked him if his cat could feel mine as keenly as mine could feel his. It didn’t seem fair of me to ask. If I had to judge from the pheromones he was pumping out, though, I would say his cat absolutely felt that connection just as strongly as mine did.

  A thought hit me; maybe it’s not a sire bond after all. Maybe our jaguars were mates. I had been coming up so empty on anything real involving sire bonds that there had to be another explanation for it. Maybe a mate bond between our cats is what is causing the feelings between us? Can metaphysical spirit guide animals have a mate?

  “Our cats.” I didn’t know how the hell to phrase it.

  “Yes?” The woodsy scent kicked up a bit more. I don’t think he even knew he was doing it, or what it was doing to me.

  The combination of the alcohol I’d imbibed mixed with his cologne and the pheromones his jaguar was kicking out to make me feel more than a bit, shall we say, randy.

  “They’re mates.”

  “I told you we are soul mates, Sam. I knew it before you even had your cat.” He glanced from the road to look me in the eyes as he spoke.

  “I know you think that, but what if it’s just our cats that are fated to be and not actually us?” I saw hurt cloud his smile and he went back to looking out the windshield.

  “Sam, you’re forgetting that I knew before I bit you. I was utterly transfixed by you even before that night. I’ve never felt anything like it with anyone else.”

  “Maybe you were able to tell that the virus would take with me. It is the rarest of the shifter viruses; most who get infected can fight it off and don’t become carriers. What if you were able to tell it would take with me and I would get a cat of my own?”

  “You’re saying that you think I infected you because I could tell that you’d be a good host? Damn, Samantha, I don’t know what kind of people you have in your life, but I’m not that callous.” The pity on his face made my stomach clench.

  “No, what I’m saying is that maybe the virus has a way to find a perfect host for their offspring by using its current host to infect and ensure propagation.”

  “That’s a bit above my area of expertise. Know any virologists? Well, you’r
e a zoologist, right?”

  “Yes, I am, but I don’t remember off the top of my head how the shifter virus impacts its host. As for knowing any virologists, I can’t say I do, but I might know someone who does.”

  “Call them. Let science prove to you that we are meant to be.”

  “All science can prove or disprove, Ben, is whether or not we have a reaction to each other because of the virus.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I’ve been up front about my feelings on this from the beginning. Yes, I am extremely attracted to you and I can’t say why. I can say it’s not natural for me and therefore uncomfortable. Then again, you and I are not natural, period. We are the result of a man-made virus. Who’s to say that these feelings aren’t a side effect of that virus?”

  “I’m not going to push any more. You know how I feel and I will absolutely agree to get blood drawn or whatever you desire.”

  It felt like the whiskey was wearing off and the warmth that had been there was fading with it. The attraction to Ben, that stayed, it always did.

  At some point the song had changed and Al Green belted out Let’s Stay Together. I turned the station to swing as we turned onto the street where my undercover apartment was. When he parked in front of the building I unbuckled and attempted to get out of the car.

  As I stepped from the car to rise, my hair was tugged back and I instinctively threw an elbow behind me and readied for battle. It’s a necessary habit I developed early in my youth.

  “Sam, it’s okay,” Ben spoke to me calmly and softly. “Your hair is caught in the automatic seatbelt track. I’m going to come around and help you get it out.”

  He understood. A rarity. Normally my reactions get a different sort of response. The kind where they call me a freak and I don’t see the person again.

  I felt much calmer once I realized that Ben understood. He came around the car and helped free my hair. I stood up and right into him, my nose bumping on his chest. I was struck once again by just how good he smelled. His cologne mingled with the spicy scent of him and I wanted nothing more than to have that scent on me. I realized I was close to rubbing my face on his chest again and I stopped.