“No screaming.”
That made me look at him before I could stop myself. “No. I’m not a complete coward, you know.”
“I never said you were, Hope. You have courage.”
I frowned and only shook my head in mute reply. He was wrong there too. Or he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security again. As we drew closer to my car, I was torn between relief and almost disappointment when he left my side in favor of walking toward his own car. Then he said, “Have a pleasant weekend, Hope.”
Something about that made me clench my jaw. I stopped in my tracks and swung around to face him or rather his retreating back. “I have a name, you know, and it’s not Hope. My name is Lauren.”
He stopped and twisted at the waist to look back at me, a warm grin appearing. It knocked me back a step as he said with clear amusement ringing through his too pleasant tenor, drawing out every nuance of his accent, “I am aware, Miss Hope.”
If I were a different kind of paranormal like a mermaid, I could almost believe the old legends that claimed they would feel a soul connection with their fated love. However, those stories tended to lead to foolish mermaid girls accidentally drowning their so called fated love or perishing of the always fashionable broken heart. Mermaids were a very . . . dramatic species.
Spotters were decidedly less so. Frowning at my own foolishness, I turned my back on him. If I fell into distraction every time the man spoke, I would never stay ahead of whatever game he was playing with me. I muttered under my breath, “Of course you are, Mr. . . . Brit.”
I jumped up and forward when a chuckling laugh filled the air. Landing unsteadily, I swung around again. Mr. 10 had resumed striding to his car. For a moment, I wondered if I had imagined him chuckling. Did Weard’s hunters actually chuckle? Then, his voice floated over his shoulder as he said, “You may call me Mathias, Lauren. Enjoy your weekend.”
I gaped at his back like an idiot. He had heard me. Thank God, I hadn’t called him ‘Mr. 10.’ But now? Mathias. It was a little odd, but suited him.
* * *
Chapter Three
Mathias
The woman sitting in the reception area was the picture of calm. Her creamy tan combined with eyes of such dark brown that they looked nearly black, timeless and deep like ebony, and wavy equally dark hair that brushed just above her shoulders gave her a pretty and somewhat exotic look. Add it all to her five-foot-two stature with slender curves and Lauren Hope did not remotely look like a potential threat.
Folding my arms over my chest, I studied Lauren from my unobtrusive place next to the statue of Hermes. She was taking notes as she answered the phone and seemed . . . confident. Far more confident than I had expected from the woman given how spooked she acted around me, especially when I tried to find out a little more about this Spotter. If anything, I had fully expected to learn that Hope had joined the other two workers in quitting. Instead, she had come in that Friday and made it through the day without causing security to come running because she was spooked into screaming.
And, demanded I use her familiar name . . . That had been unexpected. Especially given the terror I occasionally glimpsed in those dark eyes whenever they shifted to staring at the space above my head. What number did she see?
I couldn’t begin to answer such a question myself since Lauren was the only Spotter I had ever come into direct contact with despite all my travels. But, she was different than I expected. Since I first came to Halliman’s and began digging into the employees’ backgrounds, Lauren Hope had only stood out as not standing out. Quiet but efficient, kind but shy, got the job done but didn’t seek out promotion. All of these things had been used to describe her, and I had never seen anything to indicate she was actively using her talent either, well, until the incident with Smalls. That was the only time she had been involved in anything disruptive or out of the norm for her routine.
I watched Lauren working for a few more minutes before heading for the stairs. I had a security brief to give to the firm’s security and ERTs on handling unanticipated threats. Yet, my mind lingered on the puzzling situation with Lauren Hope. Spotters had always had a reputation of being among the relatively gentle set of paranormals, not built for combat or conflict. If not for their ability to see threats before their presence was known, they would have been little different from norms or Sprites, which were infamously weak members of the Fae’s Seelie Court. Yet Lauren . . . I still didn’t have a read on her and that was a puzzle in itself. I was sent in because I could ascertain threats and handle them quickly, efficiently, and with no mess left behind for the norms to find. Yet, this woman was proving much more difficult to rule in or out. And, I didn’t know why.
There was also something else. Something about the tip that led me here was off. I hadn’t quite put my finger on what it was that bothered me.
By the time the work day had ended, I was back in my office and watching Lauren go down the stairs. She paused on the sixth floor landing and pulled off her heels. Practical woman. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I clasped my hands together, still watching as she darted a glance at the door. Was she so afraid of me?
The notion of her fear bothered me more than expected. It also snuffed the idea of beating her to the parking garage. I needed more information about this unusual woman and I couldn’t push too far or risk her running. I had come to Halliman’s for an express purpose and allowing anyone else to slip away would prevent me from completing this mission.
As I continued watching the cameras, following Lauren’s progress down the stairs, I couldn’t help recalling how she had acted in our last encounter. In the ten days since I had only somewhat recovered from the shock of her words. Perhaps, I wasn’t giving the Spotter enough credit. After all, it was a rare day indeed when someone snapped at me for addressing him or her by his or her familial names. Most people didn’t have the courage to do so. Yet, the woman who wasn’t even close to being able to match me in a confrontation had the courage.
The corner of my mouth tilted up in a slight smile as I recalled the intensity of her gaze when I had looked back at her. It had made her eyes shine even as it laced her voice with hot steel. Yes, there was a strength to the Spotter. My smile faded as the memory of her wry laugh and scathing response to my suggestion that she work at Weard Enterprises. The way she reacted bother me more than I cared to admit, if only because it appeared that she knew something about my employers that I didn’t.
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest, as I continued tracking her progress. A willowy dark skinned woman, I recognized as Beth Walters, caught her in the ground floor lobby as she headed for the lifts. An Undine who worked as one of the secretaries attached to the fifth floor logistics and relocation departments. She was also usually the one at the heart of the after work socializing among Halliman’s assortment of secretaries.
Watching the women, my mind wandered back to the questions Lauren’s reaction had prompted. It was true that there had been changes to the management of Weard during the last two years and such a change naturally lent itself to further shifts in operations. Yet, there shouldn’t have been anything in those changes to provoke such disdain out of a gentle paranormal like a Spotter. Weard Enterprises had built its reputation on offering protection to those paranormal species whose abilities tended to paint targets on their backs among the paranormal community as a whole. Certainly those of us who belonged to species not counted among the ambassadorial kinds or that tended to incite violence, like the Valkyries, found a place among Weard’s employ. But, we had rules and regulations to follow to ensure we didn’t bring unnecessary attention to the paranormal community.
My frown deepened as I realized it was possible there was something happening among management that I didn’t know about. I hadn’t returned to our headquarters in Chicago in over four years due to my assignments leading me to go from one hot zone to another without stop. However, I was a soldier, a hunter, who went in and fi
xed crises before they drew unwanted attention from the norms. It was not my job to question management. My task was to follow orders . . . I made that decision when I gave up command of my unit after the disaster in Georgia. If I never went back to Eastern Europe, it would be too soon.
I watched as Lauren finally parted ways with Beth, and then grabbed the lift down to the parking garage. She kept looking around as she walked through the garage toward her car. For me perhaps? The idea would have been amusing if not for the doubt still nipping at my thoughts. What if I had missed something?
The notion only grew more troubling by the time I made my way out of Halliman’s and drove to my flat. Troubling enough that I decided to drive to the shoreline along the inlet’s west side. Standing on a narrow strand of beach, I watched the waves lap against the shore. The breeze was cool and laden with salt. Shoving my hands in my blazer’s pockets, I mulled over the puzzle again. It was possible I had missed something, a deep change in Weard Enterprises, since this was the first time in over three years that I hadn’t been deployed into a hot zone with an imminent deadly threat to be found and subdued. It was the first time I had the luxury of assessing the reported threat and drawing my own conclusions. And, I didn’t like what I was seeing. Everything seemed a little too tidy for my tastes.
Even a run along the shoreline didn’t chase away the feeling that I had missed something. Not at Weard. At Halliman’s. Something deeper than the suspected threat posed to the firm. Of course, if anyone were able to leak Halliman’s true purpose to the norms or somehow crippled operations in general and the relocation taskforce in particular, then the entire paranormal community could be in danger. Of exposure, expulsion, and renewed persecution throughout the world. There were still places such as Greece and the rest of its former empire where paranormals walked far more openly among the norms and in numbers beyond the ambassadorial species. But the rest of the world . . . There were too many of us to risk total exposure.
That was why this report of a potential threat at Halliman’s had warranted my presence. The fact that Halliman himself had approached Weard requesting a security consult had proven beneficial and allowed me to insert myself in the firm. The only one who even noticed I was more than just a consultant was the Spotter.
In hindsight, the timing of the incident with Smalls suddenly seemed too convenient. I had fixed Halliman’s glaring security issues and had ultimately reached the point where I decided to call the report a false alarm when Smalls attacked. The image of Lauren struggling to get free of Smalls’ grasp on her hair as he raised the hand axe to strike flashed through my mind, followed by the same feeling of cold fury that had filled me when I ran from the closed door meeting with Halliman. The soundproofing in the exec level offices had kept us from hearing the confrontation until my phone chimed with the silent alarm. I had almost been too late.
Realizing my fists were clenched, I forced my fingers to uncurl. Blinking, I shook my head to banish the cold ire. Now was not the time. Yet, the thought of Smalls wouldn’t leave me alone. Harry Smalls had never been under consideration as a potential threat. Everything about the man had seemed too calm and too normal to consider him a threat. If I hadn’t seen him standing there about to strike with the axe, it was possible I would have dismissed the notion that he was the responsible party. I hadn’t attempted to talk to Smalls after subduing him. I was more concerned about Lauren . . . and what I might do to the man for threatening harm against innocent women. Maybe I needed to change that fact.
Smalls was in the holding facility for paranormals and still under observation. Paranormals on a rampage were either put down or held until the medical exams were finished. Smalls had the benefit of a clean, almost boring track record before he attacked. And, the benefit of attacking in the norm-free area of Halliman’s. If he had done the same in the lower levels were norms could have been witnesses or even victims, he would have forced a lethal response. Smalls was half hobgoblin and half Sprite. Fortunately, he didn’t inherit the Sprites’ wings or the hobgoblins’ tail. If anything, the unusual combination only made the man more bland and unassuming. The lesser Seelie Fae were not the usual suspects for such acts and with most of the Seelie court focusing on arts and sciences, the Unseelie would be a more reasonable source for potential threats.
I mulled the idea the rest of the evening. Whilst preparing myself another cup of earl grey, I made my decision. I would pay a visit to the holding facility. Something wasn’t right about what happened with Smalls, and I wanted to know the reason. I glanced at my watch. Half past eleven. Too late to convince the wardens to allow a friendly visit. First thing in the morning I would have a meeting with Harry Smalls, and I would find answers.
Confident in my plan, I drove to the holding facility at five. Driving slowly up the faint dirt road, I stopped in front of the unassuming brick house nestled deep within Capitol State Forest that was located just over an hour from Olympia. The simple architecture would never give away that there were six levels of high security containment under the ground or that Unseelie craftsmen had reinforced every door and window so anyone inside the facility would have great difficulty leaving without permission. The windows had also been fitted with a glamour and any norms passing by would only see humans inside the building.
As I approached the front door, I pulled out my Weard Enterprise credentials and held the card up with the picture facing forward. I could smell the hint of salt mingling with cooler scents of the forest as I crossed the protective boundary. I kept my credentials in front of me as I knocked on the door. “I’m here about one of your prisoners,” I called. “It is an urgent matter that must be attended to at once.”
The front door clicked and I heard automatic locks sliding back. Confident I wouldn’t face any more difficulties now they knew I was with Weard, I stepped inside and nodded to the solemn looking Unseelie Fae. The man’s amber eyes had a hard glint to them that instantly put me on guard. I didn’t shift my stance but relaxed my breathing, ready to react. The man’s nostrils flared slightly and I wondered if he had some shifter blood before he asked, “Your business here, hunter?”
“I need to see a man by the name of Harry Smalls. I helped take him down at Halliman’s and I have a few more questions for him.”
The man’s gaze hardened perceptibly as he growled, “You need to speak with the chief warden on site. This way.”
I remained on alert as I followed him through the wood paneled halls. We went up one flight of stairs and down another hall before he stopped in front of a door. Opening it, he silently motioned for me to enter.
It took all of my control to keep from dragging him in front of me and forcing him through the door first. Instead, I gave him a long look before I strolled through the doorway and into an office. There were files and boxes of papers everywhere. Notes and pictures stuck to a rolling whiteboard caught my attention. I frowned as I realized how many of the pictures featured Lauren.
A throat cleared, and I turned to meet the granite grey gaze of the chief warden. A shaved head prevented any grey hairs, but there was some silvering in his beard and mustache. Looking around the room, I noted the décor had a Norse air and glanced back at him. “Dragon shifter or are you descended from the Valkyries?”
“I have no wings of my own if that is your question.”
Male descendants of the Valkyries never had wings, much unlike the women. There was a chance he was a berserker, but it would be difficult to determine without provoking him.
The warden cleared his throat. “Why are you seeking Smalls?”
I met his gaze steadily as I said, “I need to ask him some questions. The incident at Halliman’s was out of character for him. I want to know why it happened and if he was coerced.” I nodded to the whiteboard and added, “It seems you are also still interested in this case. Would it not work in both our favors if I am able to get information out of him?”
“It would, indeed, and under any other circumstance I would allow you to pok
e your nose into my business.” His expression hardened as he continued, “However, unless someone has gained the ability to speak with those on the other side of the veil, I am afraid neither of us will get any answers.”
I frowned. “Do you mean to tell me that Harry Smalls is dead?”
“Yes.”
“How?” Who else was in danger? I barely resisted the urge to glance at the photos of Lauren at that unsettling thought. Instead I stayed focused on the warden. “How did Harry Smalls die?”
The warden rested his hands on the desk, holding my gaze, as he responded, “Harry Smalls took his own life at about one-thirty this morning. We didn’t discover him until an hour ago.” He paused, studying me, before he added, “He also left a suicide note.”
“May I see it?”
“No. Or at least not yet.” The warden looked down at one of his papers and then looked back up at me. “I would like to ask you a few questions first.”
This was not how I had intended to spend my morning. However, if Smalls was dead, it could mean someone was tying up loose ends. I didn’t share that particular theory with the warden, though, as he continued watching me with a less than friendly expression. I shrugged and took a seat across from his desk. Leaning back, I resisted looking too interested in his work. Instead, I kept my gaze focused on the warden. “Do you have a particular question in mind, warden?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Hunter.”
I smiled slightly. “I am not hunting here. I’m at Halliman’s as a security consultant.”
“Yes, I remember the report you gave to the responding wardens and officers two weeks ago.” The warden continued studying me closely as he leaned forward, hands on the desk, as he lowered his voice and stated, “Harry Smalls provided a name in that note as well as a confession. How much do you know about the relationship between Lauren Hope and Harry Smalls?”
Rogue Spotter Collection Page 4