Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  “How did you find me?”

  “Ah.” He paused and looked almost sheepish when he finally said, “Well, I might have taken the liberty of snooping through your employment file to find out your flat number.”

  “That’s an abuse of authority,” I scolded. “Security shouldn’t snoop.”

  “You are absolutely correct. But, I was . . . worried about you.” His blue eyes studied my face as he added softly, “You’ve been through a lot.”

  The thought of his concern warmed me and before I could think of a reply, he offered a crooked smile that made my heart skip. His accent seemed more delicious than usual as he said, “I brought a pizza and whilst it smells absolutely wonderful, I am quite certain it is more so when not eaten on the front step.” He glanced around and then amended with just a hint of amusement in his voice, “Or in a hall as it were.”

  When I didn’t move, his smile faded, as did the humor. His voice softened as he said, “If you would prefer I leave, Lauren, I will. You need only say the word and I’ll leave. This was probably a bad idea.”

  He looked as though he were going to leave then and there. I closed the door and undid the chain. He was already three steps down the hall by the time I opened the door fully and stepped into the doorway. “Mathias, wait!”

  He paused and turned back toward me. He didn’t take a step in my direction, though, as he asked, “Are you quite certain?”

  I glanced up at the 10 glowing above his head, then my gaze dropped to his eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of hardness to them. The scent of pizza made my mouth water and my stomach growled. It was more dangerous to slam the door in the face of a 10 than to let him in. And, I was starving. “Yes. Come in.”

  I stepped back into my apartment allowing the most dangerous man I had ever met inside because he brought pizza. I was either the greatest shmuck in history or had failed to learn anything from the Trojans about foreigners bearing gifts. It was probably both.

  When he stepped inside, the room seemed a lot smaller. I sucked in a breath as he looked around. I knew what he would see. An apartment that was relatively bare of anything beyond the essentials. An old couch and TV occupied the living area with a small table barely big enough for two in the little space between the counter and the front door. No pictures, just a couple of afghans tossed on the couch for when the air got stuck on high and froze the entire building. I don’t know why I felt so nervous for him to see how bare my apartment was, other than I never invited people over to my place. At least, I had finally moved my go bag from resting on the couch to its normal place next to my bed. It wasn’t as though he would be able to see it there.

  Mathias didn’t say anything as he set the pizza box on the counter. “Where is your cutlery?”

  Suddenly, not letting him see my empty cabinets was of utmost importance. I hurried into the kitchen. “I’ll get something. I mean, I’ll get them.”

  “If you could just point me in the right direction, I’ll be happy to get them for you.”

  Before I could reach him, he had opened one of the cabinets. The wrong one. I cringed internally as he moved to the next one, and the next, and the next. The further he went, the more his frown became apparent. Unable to stand the embarrassment, I slipped around him and opened the last cabinet. Mathias murmured a polite excuse, and then reached past me to pluck the bag of paper plates and box of plastic utensils off the shelf that I usually had to climb onto the counter to reach. He made no comment about my utterly bare kitchen as he set out plates and utensils, then returned both bag and box to the appropriate shelf.

  I cleared my throat. “I, um, have some soda if you’d like. Unless you would prefer milk or orange juice . . . Or, umm, water. I have water.”

  “No alcohol?”

  I shook my head. “Can’t afford to slip.” I didn’t add ‘again’ or that my first time drinking had ended with me blurting out all about the numbers around me. Which was quickly followed by a mad run for a new state with the mother of all hangovers, after I woke up to ten messages from people asking if I really was a Spotter and if I would check out significant others or their daughter’s latest crush. Then, one terrifying message from a man who didn’t leave his name. Only said he would be coming by to speak with me that afternoon. In the two-hour window he had given me, I packed my clothes and fled like Cerberus was nipping at my heels. The only good thing was that I had been going through a rebellious stage and had told everyone my name was Veronica Lynnwood. Never had I been so grateful for the awful teasing I had endured for having the last name of Hope to the point I wanted to spend a year not being Lauren Hope. I had only lasted three months before the incident, and from that moment forward Lauren Hope was too smart to drink. Well, too desperate to drink in any case.

  Mathias only nodded. “A soda would be fine.”

  I grabbed the sodas and set them on the table. My stomach picked that moment to imitate a distressed whale. Mathias looked at me, but he didn’t laugh or even smile. If anything he looked . . . concerned. “Are your cupboards always in such a state?”

  I could feel a blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. “It happens sometimes, but this was me forgetting to go shopping this weekend. I meant to go pick up some things yesterday but . . .” I trailed off not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I had been dragged to the holding facility, and it had thrown me off enough that I was in this situation. I glanced at his number. Still a 10. If I were a smart woman, I would have gone running as soon as I realized he had tracked me to my apartment. I definitely wouldn’t be sitting here about to share a pizza with the man. My stomach let out another growl and I quietly murmured, “I’ll shop tomorrow. Don’t worry about me.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he put two slices of pizza covered in various meats on a plate and slid it in front of me. When I stared at him, he frowned. “Do you not eat meat? I didn’t think of that possibility.”

  A smile curved my lips as I shook my head. “I eat meat. I quite like it.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  My gaze slipped to his number again. But, I could hardly blurt out that I couldn’t figure out why a 10 was being so . . . so nice. Instead, I blushed some more and ducked my head. “It’s nothing. You just surprised me by serving me first.” I paused, fork hovering over my pizza, as I glanced at him. “You aren’t a shifter, are you?”

  He grinned at that and gave a little chuckle that I liked far too much. “No. I am not a shifter, and I’m not proposing to you with food. I just don’t want you to stab me with a fork because you couldn’t get to your food fast enough.”

  A giggle escaped me before I could stop it. Swallowing another laugh, I nodded to him. A wave of shyness swept over me as I murmured, “Thank you, Mathias.”

  We ate in silence and I kept glancing at his number. The whole thing was quite simply surreal. I was eating dinner with a 10, and I wasn’t next on the menu. He was so . . . normal. And, incredibly calm. If I couldn’t see his number, I would never believe he was so dangerous. My mind flickered back to the memory of him taking down Harry. Correction. If I hadn’t seen him in action, I never would have guessed he was the dangerous type.

  Lost in my thoughts, I jumped and bit my tongue when Mathias brushed against my hand. He was already apologizing in his delicious accent before I could even concentrate on him. “Again, I’m very sorry.” He paused and then abruptly asked, “Will you tell me what my number is that you are so terrified of me?”

  “I am not terrified.”

  The automatic protest fell from my lips, but Mathias only studied my face. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “You tense whenever you look at my number. Whatever it is, I guess it is not a harmless 3.”

  “You’re a 10,” I whispered, not quite believing what I was saying.

  He nodded. “I see.”

  After another few minutes of awkward silence, I stood and started clearing the table. I had just grabbed my soda can when Mathias spoke. “Lauren, do
you know of any reason that someone might claim you are a threat to Halliman’s or why they might consider you as such?”

  I dropped the can into the trash. Turning around, I could see that he was serious as he closed the box and slid it into the fridge. If not for the look on his face, I would have laughed and called him on attempting to play a very poor joke. Instead, I shook my head. “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course, I’m certain. The idea is ridiculous. Laughable. Why would anyone want to say that?”

  Mathias was still watching me closely and it made me want to twitch. Or hide. Instead, I forced myself to stand perfectly still as he took a step toward me, but still left space between us. His gaze was intense as he asked, “Are you certain there is no one you can think of? Any enemies? Maybe from your refusal to socialize with your coworkers. Someone who could be jealous of your potential?”

  A wry laugh escaped me. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t socialize all the time because it drains me, and they know that. Besides who could I threaten? I’m just a secretary. I’m not even privy to the higher up details.”

  Mathias looked at me for another long moment, and I couldn’t read his expression. Then he simply nodded. Before I could enjoy the sense of relief that brought on, however, he said, “I think you are in danger, Lauren.”

  I bit back the instinctive retort that I was only in danger from spending too much time with a 10. I couldn’t get angry with him. Nice or not, delicious accent or not, he was a 10. Getting angry with him was too great a risk. Taking a deep breath, I simply shook my head. “I think you’re wrong. I am not someone who makes enemies. I go out of my way to avoid doing so. I have kept my head down my entire life because I don’t want to be found. I don’t do things to draw attention to me. Not usually, anyway. This thing with Harry Smalls has been the only exception. There is no reason for anyone to consider me a threat.”

  “You are a Spotter, though.”

  “You’re the only one who knows that, I hope.” I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on, and finally said, “Look this isn’t something I want to talk about, especially not tonight. Will you please leave?”

  As soon as the words slipped out of my mouth, I tensed. I expected some hint of anger or even annoyance. But Mathias only nodded. “I understand.” He walked to the door, opened it, and then turned back to me. “Lauren, I am concerned about you. Be safe. And, don’t forget to stock your cupboards.”

  As I locked the door behind him, I only felt confused. Surely he had to be wrong. I had to believe that everything would die down again. I looked at the door uncertainly, almost expecting another knock but it never happened. By the time I got in bed, I decided I needed to put out some true feelers for a new job. Maybe the dragon shifters really would be the best place to start. It would get me away from Olympia, from Weard, and from . . . Mathias. I ignored the annoying twinge that whispered I didn’t really want to leave him. I had to be smart about this and smart Spotters who want to stay alive, not to mention free of Weard’s devious control, do not start pining for men who work for Weard much less one who is a 10. They also didn’t spend half the night thinking about his accent or the way he was gallant enough to bring food.

  At three minutes past one, I groaned. Why was I still thinking about him? I couldn’t be distracted by him. I just couldn’t. Not if I wanted to wriggle my way out of this mess with Harry without attracting even more attention. It was bad enough the chief warden didn’t want me to leave town . . . Another little groan escaped me as I was hit hard by the realization of what searching for a job out of state would look like to the man. I couldn’t even search for a job until I knew I had been cleared. Somehow I doubted Warden Bergman would be in a rush to inform me that I had been cleared.

  I thought again of Mathias’ question. Someone targeting me seemed insane. I had passed on two different promotions because they would have moved me into direct meetings with various paranormals. I didn’t want that sort of attention. There was no reason to target me unless they knew I was a Spotter. Mathias was the only one. And, he kept protesting that he wasn’t targeting me. He didn’t act like someone targeting a victim. Unless he meant to lull me into letting my guard down and then force me into going to Weard.

  The memory of him promising not to do such a thing surfaced unbidden, and I couldn’t push it away. As detrimental as it might have been to my continued self-preservation, I believed Mathias. I trusted him. Crazy, I know. But I still trusted him.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Mathias

  Things were not proceeding quite as I had planned. In the week since I had taken Lauren dinner, she had taken pains to avoid me. Keeping an eye on the security cameras, I frowned as I remembered how swiftly she shut down the conversation after I mentioned her being in danger. Just when I thought she was going to relax with me and allow more questions, she had closed off again. I still wasn’t certain how much was tied to her awareness that I was a 10.

  Dealing with a Spotter was proving to be more of a challenge than I had expected. In past missions where I hadn’t been deployed directly into a hot zone, I had always been able to lull the people around me into complacency. I had always been able to hide my skills and . . . my nature until it was time for such a revelation. But Lauren . . .

  She saw numbers that revealed to her how dangerous a person was and that was something I apparently couldn’t hide from her. Movement on the screen caught my attention, and I watched as Lauren entered the exec level. I hadn’t realized she had been moved back up. She had been in her former workspace until this morning. As she slipped behind the reception desk, I found myself searching for any hints that she had been eating enough. The memory of her bare cupboards had haunted me all this time, and it had taken all my self-control not to purchase groceries for her. She was a grown woman and not under my care, so there was no reason for me to be so concerned. Yet, I still worried.

  As Lauren began working, I forced my attention back to the problem at hand. Pulling my briefcase to me, I opened it and withdrew the book I had been studying for the past week. The book was a guide to the paranormal species of the world, something I was given in my youth and that I kept close. Running my hand over the embossed leather before opening the book, I flicked past the common paranormals to the rare or extinct. The entry for Spotters was lacking a great amount of detail when compared to some species, but I still found the information somewhat useful.

  Spotters saw numbers ranging on a scale from zero to ten. Common enough knowledge. With most paranormals, who were not monsters or out on a rampage, rarely rising above an 8. I skimmed the entry to the last two paragraphs where 10s were mentioned.

  The greatest potential for the Spotters’ gift of seeing threats came about when those paranormals who rated as 10s still ruled. Greatest and most fearsome among these were such names as Nimrod the first known 10, Achilles, Alexander the Great, and finally Hannibal the last great 10. Men whose conquests were only stopped by circumstance or providence. Their names still live on among both paranormals and norms, but only those of us among the paranormal community understand how devastating it would be for more in their likeness to arise.

  It was for this reason that the paranormal community banded together to eliminate those identified as 10s before they could accumulate too much power. Something that would have been impossible without the key participation of the Spotters. Unfortunately, some among the remaining powerful paranormals feared the Spotters being used in the same manner against their own kind and so the Spotters fell victim to a purge. Now, Spotters are nearly as rare as the 10s they brought down.

  I didn’t bother reading the entry on the number scale or the species most associated with 10s. Most had been wiped out over time. As for myself . . . I knew my heritage, and I knew the danger of anyone discovering I shared some of the same blood that had flowed through those 10s of the past. The greatest warriors and brilliant minded men, who had roused the whole of the para
normal community against them and their kin. Yes, I knew the danger all too well.

  Shutting the book with a snap, I leaned forward in my chair as my gaze was pulled once more to the camera fixed on the exec reception level. Lauren was taking notes while talking on the phone. If she knew half as much about 10s as I did, then it would only make sense for her to be nervous around me. Yet, there was a piece of me that wanted nothing more than to replace her wariness with trust. I tried to push down the surge of protective concern, but I couldn’t fully detach myself from the situation despite my best efforts. I still didn’t know if this protectiveness was due to her being a Spotter or . . . or perhaps it was something else specific to Lauren. That would be . . . unwise.

  Shaking the thoughts away, I forced myself to focus on work. Yet only an hour later, my mind was in danger of drifting back toward thoughts of Lauren. I frowned. I needed to make a call. Pulling out my briefcase once more, I took a fresh burner phone from the pocket and dialed a number from memory. There were very few people left in the world I trusted and only one who was currently stationed in Weard’s headquarters at Chicago. When Royal picked up, I murmured, “Can you talk?”

  There was the sound of rustling and then a door opening and closing. Against the sounds of traffic, I heard his equally quiet reply, “Make it fast.”

  “I need to know if a file has been opened for Lauren Hope.”

  There was a long pause where I could hear nothing save the traffic. Then Royal quietly replied, “Why isn’t Saul giving you information?”

  “He’s not my handler and the new guy, Management, doesn’t like to share. Can you find out about the file or not?”

  “Don’t have to find out about it. I’ve already seen it. Her name and picture landed in a meeting this morning. She’s cute.”

  “Was she listed as a possible threat?” I asked, ignoring the comment about Lauren’s looks.