by Alisa Woods
“There’s a list?” This was news to Zane. Then again, he spent most of his time in the field. But there was definitely something strange going on with these overdoses if more than one body had disappeared. “How many?”
“A dozen so far.” Burrows was scowling again and tapping her finger against her chin.
“So you knew about this?” Ever was incensed. Her magick was ramping up, so much so Zane had to step back. It was like in the alley when she was fighting Arrow—he could barely keep his beast locked up with that blazing energy display. It was only made worse by her ridiculous number of Talents and the beautiful package they were wrapped up in.
“We are investigating—” Burrows started.
“No one told me this! Is it the FBI’s habit not to inform next of kin when there’s an investigation—”
“Ms. Strange.” Burrows’ voice softened. “I know it’s hard to lose a loved one. And we will endeavor to find your father’s body.”
That wasn’t mollifying Ever one bit.
“I think Pennies is involved somehow,” Zane threw in. Maybe having more leads would help calm Ever down. Which he really needed her to do, with all the magick gathering around her.
Burrows frowned. “Why? It doesn’t make any sense for him to spike his own drugs. Or steal the bodies, for that matter.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Zane agreed. “But he knows something about it. He was way too calm when the subject of tainted skitter came up, not for having someone messing with his trade. He wouldn’t put up with that.”
Burrows nodded. “Okay—”
Arrow cut her off by dashing back to the SAIC’S door. “We found one of the bodies, boss.” He lifted his chin in Ever’s direction. “Not your father, Ms. Strange.” Back to Burrows. “But we’ve got a big problem. It came back with a note.”
Zane scowled. “What kind of note?”
“The fucked-up kind.” One of the analysts came up behind Arrow in the doorway and handed him a tablet. He held it up for them to see. The note was comprised of cut out letters from magazines arranged like a demented person had assembled them. DON’T LOOK UPON THE FALSE GODS, it read. Signed, THE RESURRECTIONIST.
“What… what is that?” Ever asked, horrified.
Arrow ignored her and spoke straight to Burrows, answering her questions before she asked them. “We’re tracing all of it. Letters, fingerprints, magickal residue. And checking visual surveillance where the body was found.”
“Which was?” Burrows had taken the tablet from him and was examining the note. Zane peered over one shoulder while Ever looked over the other.
Arrow reached to swipe up an image of the body. It was female and mutilated—eye sockets empty, mouth sewn shut, clothes torn open and the note pinned directly to the chest. The body was lying on a sidewalk with grass on either side… and a very familiar-looking black wrought-iron fence nearby.
“Is that…?” Zane looked up.
Arrow nodded. “Right outside the fence. Near the truck entrance.”
“They dumped the body here?” Burrows ground out.
“Guess they were trying to get our attention.” Arrow pressed his lips together. “And there’s one more thing. We’ll have to wait on confirmation from the medical examiner but…” He glanced at Ever, then back to Burrows. “The wounds are consistent with it all happening while she was still alive.”
Burrows shoved the tablet at him. “Get everyone on this. Now.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Arrow scurried out, taking the tablet with him.
Ever had stepped back. “What is this… some kind of serial killer?” Her already pale face had lost what little color it had.
“We don’t know anything at this point.” Burrows turned to Zane. “You need to get her settled then get back in there and find out what Pennies knows. We’ll work the rest from here.” Then she waved Zane out of the way and stalked out into the bullpen where agents and analysts were in a frenzy with the new information. “Okay, people,” she barked out to them. “We’ve got a dozen more potential victims. Don’t be slow on this. I don’t want any more bodies showing up on our back doorstep. Or anywhere else.”
Zane turned to Ever, ready to escort her out, but she’d backed all the way up to the dark wood bookcase that lined the SAIC’s wall. Burrows kept original copies of the first FBI guidebook there along with a collection of ancient artifacts and spellbooks. But those weren’t what had put the horrified look on Ever’s face.
“It’s going to be okay—” Zane started.
“My father.” Ever blinked—several times. Was she going to cry? Shit. “He… he’s alive.”
He cringed. “We don’t know—”
She balled up her fists and stood straighter. “That woman—the one whose body was returned—she was one of the overdose cases. Then she disappeared. And now she’s back, having been tortured. While alive. Is there some part of that I have wrong?”
He grimaced. “Okay, it’s possible he’s alive.”
“How?” Her eyes glassed again. “Necromancy isn’t… that’s not real… is it?”
“Not as far as I know.” He’d seen enough in the world of magick to know nothing could be ruled out completely. “But we need to get you to a secure location.”
“I am not going into hiding while my father is missing… and possibly alive.” The tears were quickly burning off, and that steely confidence was back. “Don’t think you can force me, Special Agent Walker.” And by force, she definitely meant his incubus powers.
Which unexpectedly wounded him. He thought maybe he had won her trust. Which was a stupid-ass thing to want much less believe. Her anger resonated with and amped up her magick, which kept calling to him, incessantly. “Look.” He put up his hands, not that he needed them to take her or anyone else down within a twenty-foot radius. “I’m sorry for what happened. Before. I would never…” He dashed a look at the still-open door, but Burrows had moved on to further down the bullpen. He turned back to face Ever and dropped his voice. “Pennies would have killed you. That’s the only reason I did what I did. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”
“You’re not going to keep me holed up somewhere during this investigation.” But her expression was slightly less seething.
“The top mobster in the city wants you, Ms. Strange.” He gestured at the window and the towers in the distance. “He thinks I’ve got you locked up while I torment you. We have to let him keep thinking that because when I’m done with you, I’m supposed to bring you back. Do you understand what I’m saying? The only safe play here is to let the FBI handle this. If you run off to your mansion and start talking to the press about your missing father, not only will Pennies come for you, my cover will be completely blown. And I’ve got to stay undercover to help crack this case—before we have more bodies showing up.” Including your father, but he left that unspoken. She already had a spooked look on her face. “Ever, I need you to work with me on this.”
She was scanning his face again—maybe trying to assess if she could trust him? But it was all truth. She had to know that.
Ever ended her scrutiny with a grimace. “Just so you know, I’m not stupid. I didn’t plan to go after Pennies all by myself. I was just…” She dropped her gaze and shook her head, ruefully. “I thought he was just a simple and that I could handle spying on him.” She looked up again. “I underestimated him. That won’t happen again, either.”
Relief trickled through him. “Good. Let the FBI do its job. And let me find you a safe place to stay.”
She bit her lip. “I want to be kept informed, at all times. I need to know if my father’s still…” She trailed off and turned away, gazing out the window.
“I’ll be your point of contact,” he said softly. That drew her gaze back. “All the way until this is done.”
She nodded.
He held his hand out toward the door. “Do you have anything you absolutely have to have from your apartment? Medications? Something critical? We can get you any cloth
es or other items you need once we have you secure.”
She frowned at the door but didn’t move toward it. “I have a cat.”
“A cat?” His eyebrows hiked up.
“A very special cat.” She scowled and then strode toward the door.
He just stared after her a moment… then hurried to catch up.
Chapter Four
“I promise you,” Zane said, “the FBI can figure out how to take care of a cat.” He was driving a shiny black sedan they’d picked up from the FBI garage—they’d traded the other, scraped-up car for it.
Ever could hear the exasperation in his voice, but he didn’t understand. “That’s not an option.” Her head was whirling with more important things as they wound through the city streets, heading for her apartment along Lake Shore Drive. Her father was alive. Maybe. As much as she tried, she couldn’t put any odds on the likelihood of it. She spent her days running a multi-billion-dollar medical-magick empire, acquiring businesses, funding promising technologies, understanding the markets… numbers were as familiar to her as the jittery magick that danced just under her skin. But she was too desperate for her father to actually be alive to have any rational judgment about it.
Only now he might be in the hands of a vicious serial killer.
How was any of it even possible? “Does the FBI really fake people’s deaths?” she asked.
Special Agent Zane Walker’s sullen gaze was fixed on the road. “Yes.”
She gave him a dirty look. “Is it FBI standard protocol to give as little information as humanly possible?”
His lips quirked, but he kept the stone-sullen face. “Yes.”
She rolled her eyes, but her heart wasn’t in this little banter. No matter how ruggedly good-looking the deadly incubus with a badge happened to be. She just sighed and looked out the window. Something had happened in that alleyway when she was battling his partner and trying to escape—something inside her. Zane could have attacked her again to stop her. He wanted to—she could see it in the steely control it took for him to hold back. And then, in his boss’s office, he’d promised he’d never do it again—not because he had to. Almost like it mattered to him that she knew she was safe with him. But she already knew—knew it when he punched a wall to control it. When he held back even as she hurled magick around the alleyway. And that strength of his pulled at something inside her. Something she’d locked away years ago. Being attracted to someone in that way—not just a physical attraction, although there was plenty of that, but a deeper connection—that was simply dangerous. And not an option for her. She wouldn’t repay Special Agent Zane Walker for saving her life by starting something she couldn’t finish... and which might end up with him dead.
“You okay?” His voice was soft, almost gentle.
Dammit. Don’t show me your softer side, Zane Walker. “Not really.” She gave him a pinched look. “My dad’s either dead or being tortured by a serial killer.”
He frowned and faced forward for the turn into her apartment’s parking garage. She lived in the penthouse suite overlooking Lake Michigan, and normally, she’d have a driver to take her straight to her private entrance elevator. Except she had no driver, no phone, and no keys. Zane parked, and their footfalls echoed in the awkward silence as she ushered them inside the rear lobby door to the front desk. The concierge, of course, recognized her, and a flurry of activity had a new keycard made for her in no time.
It wasn’t until she’d keyed them into her private elevator, and they were whisking to the top floor that Agent Walker spoke again. “In my previous assignments, we faked the deaths of several gang members—anyone I was instructed to kill. I’d drain them of magick until their hearts stopped. Breathing ceased. They were by all counts dead for the short time until I was allowed to drag them off. I was partnered with someone whose Talent was healing magick, and they were always on standby. Once the gang members were resurrected, they’d go deep into witness protection until we needed them to testify. The cartel boss never knew they were alive until they took the stand. Usually, we could use taped testimony so they’d be safely out of harm’s way even then.”
Ever squinted at him. “Okay… glad you didn’t have to do that to me. But I don’t think an incubus is running around Chicago, faking the deaths of people like my father. Unless there are more of you than I ever knew.”
He shook his head. “Incubi and succubi are very rare.” He seemed to have more to say about that but was holding back.
“There are some drugs that mimic death,” she added. “Some reverse-healing or mental magick as well.” The elevator’s rapid rise slowed and left a familiar weightless feeling in her stomach, just before the doors opened straight into her apartment. The wide foyer was filled with light even though the rest of the apartment and its spectacular views of Lake Michigan were blocked by the entranceway wall. “But that note on the body… it was signed THE RESURRECTIONIST.”
Zane frowned as they stepped out. “Necromancy? I don’t think—” He looked sharply forward. “Someone’s here.”
“Damn right, there is.” A figure stepped quickly from behind the wall to the right.
Oh, shit. Ever threw out her arm, smacking Zane on the chest. “Zane, no!” His gun was halfway out of its holster under his jacket.
Nia Lockwood—Ever’s personal assistant, bodyguard, and an ex-special forces adept—had her gun trained on Zane’s head. “Listen to her, Zane.” Nia’s voice had that don’t fuck with me tone Ever knew so well.
Thankfully, Zane slid his gun back in its holster and held up his hands, but that was far from the only weapon he had. “Friend of yours?” he asked Ever, but his voice was hard.
“Yes.” Ever let out the breath she was holding and dropped her arm, which was still holding Zane back. As if that would work in any real sense. “Nia, for the love of magick—”
But her friend was already lowering her weapon—at least the physical one. She was no incubus, but Ever had seen her drop a man at twenty feet with only the barest flick of a finger. Rapid power conjuring—and stealth attacks—were just a few of the advanced combat-magick techniques her friend had mastered in her special forces unit.
Nia was eyeing Zane now, frankly assessing him in a way that wasn’t just for threats. “When I said you should get out, girl, I was thinking more the sexy librarian type—not the assassin model.”
“He’s not—” Ever stopped the words cold. What was her cover story here? She dashed a look to Zane, but he just arched an eyebrow. “I mean…” She turned back to Nia. “He’s not an assassin.”
“Good to know.” But now Nia was even more suspicious, all six-foot-one of her. She was physically intimidating with her height, but Nia’s long legs, perfect dark-brown skin, and ridiculously sculpted cheekbones would have won her modeling contracts if she hadn’t chosen to serve. Since she’d returned to civilian life as Ever’s personal bodyguard, she’d let her hair grow out into a soft, voluminous afro and dressed less like a commando, but she was no ordinary witch. Nia’s time in combat had left more than a few scars, and not just physical ones. The look she was giving Zane now said she was still undecided on whether he should keep breathing. But then she holstered her gun and turned an indignant scowl on Ever. “And where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. What have I told you about turning off your phone when you’re jumping off the roof or whatever crazy shit it is this time? I never know if you’re dead or doing something stupid… shit.” She gave Zane a pinched look. “Is that what you were doing? Or should I say who?”
“Not really your business, Nia.” Ever tried to say it definitively and with a touch of indignation, but that just earned her more suspicion. Because Nia wasn’t just her bodyguard—she was her best friend. Her mother worked for Ever’s father. They were as much sisters as anything. Which meant Nia knew… everything. That Ever didn’t date, not anymore. Not since college. Not since she’d killed the only man she’d ever loved.
Nia’s hands hu
ng at her sides, empty but splayed. Fighting stance. “Mr. LadyBoner here is definitely my business.”
Zane had edged closer to Ever. In a quiet voice, he said, “This is really a need to know situation…. sweetheart.” He was definitely in her personal space now, apparently fully on board with this lie she’d conjured about them being together.
Ever sighed. “I can’t just disappear,” she muttered to him.
“Hang on—what?” Nia’s voice hiked up.
Ever lifted her hand toward Nia, demonstrating the obviousness of the situation. “Nia will have the mayor and half the Chicago Police Department looking for me.”
Zane winced, then he dashed a look at the floor near the kitchen entrance. Tromping into the room like she was both entitled to it and enraged by the need to move, her small black cat, Salem, made her entrance. You miserable tart! What foul beast have you drug to our estate? The words snarled in Ever’s mind, but she was the only one who could hear them. She’d had this mental connection ever since she inadvertently enchanted her cat—or pulled the soul of a 17th-century witch into its furry noggin, as Salem liked to loudly and wretchedly complain. Endlessly. He stinks of flour and offal, Salem sneered, her nose twitching.
Ever scowled at the cat, and Salem came to a stop, sitting on her haunches and returning the scowl with a baleful gaze of demon-yellow eyes.
Nia twisted to see what caught their attention. “I see Salem doesn’t think much of your date, either.” Her friend knew about Salem’s enchantment—and the cat’s general surliness—even though she couldn’t hear the complaints herself.
The cat lifted her nose to Nia. The tall one possesses a wit. A small one, sadly wasted.
“Salem’s opinion doesn’t count,” Ever said pointedly to the cat.
“Is this the cat you mentioned?” Zane said, looking far too amazed at the entrance of her small black fur-beast.
“Yes.” Ever sighed. This was such a mess. “But now that Nia’s here, she can take care of Salem while I’m gone.”
“Gone?” Nia flicked a look at Zane. “Where are you going?”
