“Well, hello.”
Shay jumped. A woman was standing next to him, almost hovering. How long had she been there for? He hadn’t even heard her approach the bar.
She smiled broadly. “It’s no fun drinking by yourself, honey. How about shouting me a drink, and I can keep you company?”
Shay studied her. She was probably around his age, but she looked a little older. Her face had that hard look, like she had lived a little too freely and seen a little too much. She had long, brown hair that she tossed over her shoulder as she gazed at him. A bright blue dress, that clung in all the right places. Pretty enough, he guessed.
He grinned, taking her measure. “Sure. What’s your name?”
The woman slid up onto the bar stool next to him. “Karen. And I’ll have what you’re having.”
Shay called the bartender and ordered two more beers. Then he turned to her.
“So.” He took a swig of his fresh beer. “What are you doing in this bar at three on a Tuesday afternoon, Karen? Waiting for someone?”
The woman batted her false eyelashes at him. “Of course, honey. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Shay laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool. “Just as well I chose this place, then. I must have known, deep down inside.” He picked up his beer and raised it towards her. “Here’s to wasted weekday afternoons.”
She clinked her bottle against his. “I’ll drink to that! What’s your name?”
“Shay.” He stared at her, trying not to sway. “Want to play some pool? The table’s free.”
“Sure.” She stood up, smiling at him, clutching her beer. “But I have to warn you, I’m a bit of a shark. I don’t take any prisoners.”
He gazed down at her. “And neither do I, Karen. We must be kindred spirits.”
They walked over to the pool table together. Shay set up the balls and sharpened his cue. He sat back, letting Karen break. The pool balls scattered to all corners of the table. He leaned against his cue, heavily.
She hadn’t been lying—she was good. He watched her leaning over the table, her cleavage threatening to spill from her tight dress. He felt that old familiar stirring. But it was accompanied by a wave of sadness so strong that it almost threatened to drown out the sexual tension brewing in the air.
Another woman. Another bar. The story of his life, so far.
Tess. Her family had moved away, a year later. He had no idea where. He had never heard of her again. What had happened to her? What had she made of her life? He remembered that she had been a promising artist, thinking about design school. Had she fulfilled her potential? Or had that one awful night ruined everything for her, just like it had for him? Or perhaps she was married with a tribe of kids and living in the suburbs, that night a long distant memory.
He had left the dull suburbs behind him. He couldn’t wait to get out of them fast enough. He had bummed around for a few years after school, travelling here and there, before he had joined the Wild Keepers and moved to the city. The gritty, edgy city—where he felt right at home. He had once wanted to go to law school, but all that had changed after that night. His ambition had left him. If Eric had lost his life, how could he continue with his own? It seemed…a betrayal, somehow. And he could still hear Tess’s voice, hissing at him that his only concern was saving his pristine record.
Saving people from demons was kind of a redemption. Every time he cracked a case, and killed a demon, he would imagine that it was Eric that he was saving. And he would imagine that Tess was there, watching him. Applauding him. Telling him that she had messed up, and that she had him pegged wrong. He wasn’t a coward who deserted his friends in their time of need.
“Your turn.” Karen was looking at him, expectantly.
Shay slowly got up and circled the table, looking for his angle. There it was. It was a risky manoeuvre, but if he pulled it off, he could pocket two of his balls in one. That should impress Karen to no end.
He leaned over the table, squaring it up. Suddenly, he pulled back his cue and made the shot. It worked. The two balls landed in the pocket smoothly.
“Bravo!” crowed Karen, taking a swig of her beer.
Shay stared at her. He almost felt sorry for her. What was she doing here, alone, on a Tuesday afternoon? What was her story? Nothing good, he imagined. Why else would she be pouring back beers and playing pool with a stranger?
Just the same as him. She wanted to forget something. Or someone. Loneliness was bearable if it was shared occasionally, after all.
“Thanks.” He made a mock bow, then walked slowly over to her. “Want to go somewhere else after we’ve finished this game? Somewhere more…private?”
Karen gazed at him levelly. “Sounds great. If you’re paying, of course.”
Shay grinned. “Naturally.” He leaned over and slowly kissed her. She wound her arms around him, pressing herself against him. Two men leaning against the bar started to applaud.
Shay stepped back, still smiling at her. He took a long swig of his beer then played another shot. This afternoon was shaping up very nicely. He might just start forgetting all about it, very soon.
Perhaps Thad was right. He should leave town, go on a holiday. He was burnt out, and this time of year didn’t help. He should probably tell him to assign the art forgery case to one of the others. Zach or Noah. Perhaps even Heath, who had been with them since Evan had left and was still considered the rookie of the group, even though it had been over a year now.
He thought briefly of Evan and his new wife Maya. The ballerina. He had seen them only recently, and they seemed over-the-moon happy. Just like Caleb and Allie, who were still travelling overseas somewhere. He had lost two of his wolf brothers in as many years, and it stung. They were such a tightknit group of shifters, working for the same purpose. It was always agony to let one of them go, even when it was for a happy reason.
Evan and Maya. Caleb and Allie. His brothers had found their permanent mates. Lucky them. But Shay knew there would be no such happy ending for him.
He stared at Karen again. Just another woman in a long line of them. Thad made fun of the fact that he and Zach were always on the prowl, but Shay knew it troubled him, just a little. Thad could sense that it wasn’t making Shay happy. Zach, on the other hand, revelled in it. But he was younger and less damaged, thought Shay darkly.
No, it was just this long, impermanent line of women for him. That was his present and his future.
Because it didn’t matter how many women he saw, it was still always the same for him.
Tess. He had never stopped loving her, and he didn’t see now how he ever could.
Chapter Three
Tess bent over the canvas, meticulously applying vermillion paint to a section of the painting with a fine brush. She had been concentrating on this section of the canvas for over an hour, and her back was aching. Her art teacher back in college had been right. The devil really was in the detail.
Nearly there, at least for the moment. She had given herself time for a quick break around lunchtime, which was fast approaching. If she kept up at this rate, she would be on target to finish the piece by the deadline. But it was hard, and she had to concentrate.
She sat up, placing the brush back in the pot of water by her side. She stretched, slowly, and climbed down from her stool, stepping back to take in the canvas from a distance. That was the only way to see if it was all coming together properly. Working so close to it you could sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture.
She turned her head from side to side, frowning. Was it good enough?
She sighed. She was her own worst critic, of course. She would have to wait for him to come in and assess it. She probably wouldn’t be waiting too long. He was thorough and came almost every day to look at it. She shivered, just a little, thinking of his beady black eyes crawling over her work. Searching for mistakes. He wasn’t shy about telling her, either, but that was just par for the course. He was the boss, after all. Actually, he wasn’t, but he worked for her bo
ss.
He who pays the piper calls the tune, Tess thought distractedly. She rubbed her neck, feeling how tense the muscles were. She needed a massage, but when would she get the time? She thought longingly of the walk-in massage shop just down the street. Could she whip down, after she had scoffed a sandwich, and get her shoulders and neck done quickly? It might get rid of this headache that she could feel looming. Better than a tablet, at any rate.
She stared around the studio. It was on the top floor of an inner city high rise, with floor-to-ceiling windows all around. Enough natural light entered the space to work comfortably on her paintings; she was never squinting in the dark. She walked slowly over to one of the windows, staring down at the street below. She was so high up the people looked like ants scurrying around, and the cars had the appearance of matchbox replicas.
Tess took a deep breath. Covenester. The city that she had never wanted to come back to in a million years. Funny how life worked. Not that she had ever lived in the inner city like this, of course. No, she had lived in the outer suburbs, before her family had moved away, all those years ago. And she had never looked back. Until now.
She turned around, abruptly, catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. A poised woman stared back at her; she still barely recognised her. In her mind, she could still see thesixteen year old she had once been.
She was twenty-eight, now. Her auburn hair was slightly longer than it had been back then but still the same shade. And she still had the same hazel eyes. But that was where the similarity ended. Back then, she had dressed in all the latest fashions and gone to the hairdresser monthly. Now, she had let go of all that. She had transformed into the artist that she had always been, deep down.
A second-hand men’s shirt that she had picked up for a song at the local thrift shop, covered in paint. Worn jeans. There was a smudge of vermillion paint on her cheek. She walked over to the mirror, slowly, and stared at it. Then she took a rag out of her pocket and wiped it away carefully. He would be here, very soon, and she had to look at least a little bit presentable.
She had just finished preparing the sandwich in the small studio kitchenette when the doorbell sounded. She stared down at the plate, taking a deep breath. Then she walked towards the door, opening it.
“You took your time.” He stared at her, his eyes narrowed.
“Sorry.” She stared at him, smiling tentatively. “I was busy in the kitchen.”
He didn’t reply. He swept past her, into the studio. Tess felt like all the dark energy of the city streets had just swept in with him. She had never thought about it, before, but it was like she was isolated in a tower up here. A princess working at her easel, unaffected by everything that was happening around her.
He was dressed in a slick black business suit, as always. His only concession to colour was his tie; sometimes it was red, sometimes blue, or a pastel. Who was the man who lived beneath the persona? Who knew? They were both paid lackeys and rarely exchanged any personal information. She only knew him as Mr. Gee. An alias, she assumed. Just like her own.
He stood in front of the easel, staring at the canvas. He didn’t speak for a long time. Tess held her breath, staring at the sandwich wilting on the plate in the kitchenette. Her appetite seemed to have vanished as soon as he had walked through the door.
“You aren’t progressing fast enough,” he said, eventually. “You should be at least half done by now. You are aware of the schedule.”
Tess stared at him, her eyes wide. “I am almost halfway done. The finer brushwork takes time, that’s all.”
The man pursed his lips. “Our employer won’t be happy when I report this back. You must be aware of how time-sensitive this is, Miss Daly.”
Tess swallowed painfully. “Perhaps if I could speak to our employer myself, explain to him or her the nuances of this piece of work…?”
The man turned his black eyes on her. “That won’t be possible, Miss Daly, as you are well aware. Our mutual employer demands total anonymity, for obvious reasons.” He took a deep breath. “You may tell me, and I can tell him. But there is simply no way that you can speak to him in person.” He stared at her as if she had suddenly gone mad.
Tess nodded. “Of course. It’s just easier to explain how complicated it can be in person. I assume our employer is an art lover, after all.”
The man stared at her, not blinking. He should play poker, thought Tess drolly. He gives absolutely nothing away, ever.
“I suppose you could assume that,” he said slowly. “However, it is none of your concern. You aren’t the only artist working for him, so do not presume importance where there isn’t any. You are only one of many, Miss Daly.”
Tess smiled, digesting this information. She should have known, of course. Where were all these other artists squirrelled away? Their employer must be a very wealthy person. This was the first job she had done for them, and it wasn’t cheap. If he—or she—had more artists working at the same rate, then it would be costing the person a pretty penny.
And then there was the rent on this high-rise studio, as well. Tess wasn’t paying for it. She had simply been taken here by Mr. Gee when she had first gotten the job and told it was her exclusive work space. Although she was aware by now that she was being watched. She had noticed the small cameras dotted around it, even though they had been skilfully hidden.
If their employer was paying for a posse of artists to work around the city, holing them all up in high-rise studios, then that would be an expensive endeavour, as well.
Who was this mysterious employer? But she knew not to ask Mr. Gee anymore questions. The man didn’t like it and had obviously been told to give her only as much information as necessary. And that wasn’t much.
“Of course.” Tess’s smile broadened. “I wouldn’t have assumed that I was the only artist.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. This is your first job with us, Miss Daly, and I must stress again that this is a trial. Your work must be first-rate and done quickly. If this doesn’t happen, we will have to part company—amicably, of course.” He smiled at her, but his eyes were cold.
Tess shivered. She knew he was lying. She was taking a big risk doing this, and she had no doubt in her mind that if she made even one mistake—a rushed brush stroke, failing to deliver the painting by the due date, asking too many questions—she would not be employed again. In fact, she was fairly confident that her body would be found floating down a river.
Amicable, my ass, thought Tess darkly. She knew the score.
“Well, I will leave you to it.” The man turned to leave. “I will be back at the same time tomorrow, to measure your progress again.” He took a deep breath. “Enjoy your sandwich.”
He turned and left the studio, closing the door firmly behind him.
Tess stared after him for a moment then turned and walked back to the kitchenette. She stared at her lunch. The sandwich was already curling at the edges. She picked it up, and started to eat without really tasting anything.
***
It was dark by the time Tess rode the elevator down to the ground level. The security guard that always came up to guard her work was already up there, his feet stretched out on the three-thousand-dollar sofa in the middle of the studio. She barely spoke to him. She knew it was dangerous.
The street lights were already on, and traffic was whizzing by. Executives in dark suits rushed by on the pavement, trying to get to the subway. The studio was in the heart of the financial district of Covenester. She was surrounded by stockbrokers and sycophants. Hardly the creative muse for an artist, she thought darkly. She would have preferred to have been in the bohemian part of the city, surrounded by cutting edge music, art and culture.
She stood alongside the men in dark suits on the train home, staring out the window at nothing. Her head ached. She couldn’t wait to crawl into her little apartment and call it a day. But she should pick up something to eat before she did that.
; The Thai restaurant on the corner of her street wasn’t busy. It took her only ten minutes to get her pad thai and red curry chicken and walk the short distance to her flat. The spicy aromatics of the food wafted up to her, making her stomach grumble in anticipation. It had been a long time since that stale sandwich at lunchtime.
Tess let herself into the flat, taking off her shoes and throwing them against the wall. Then she flopped onto the sofa, picking up the remote and flicking on the television. The bright lights of a game show filled the small space. She hit mute on the remote then started eating straight from the cartons.
Half way through the meal, she paused, getting up. She needed a glass of wine. Dinner for one and drinking alone again, she thought with a smirk. Although one or two glasses a night hardly qualified her for alcoholic status. And what was that rumour that red wine prolonged your life?
She put the glass on the coffee table next to her food then turned to draw the curtains. Outside she could see autumn leaves falling, swirling around in the air like a dervish. Fall. Her heart twisted, just a little. No, she told herself fiercely. Don’t think about it.
But it had already nudged into her brain, and she couldn’t shake it. Tess picked up her glass of wine, trying to ignore the tears that were already pricking behind her eyes.
The death of Eric on that awful night at the abandoned house. Shay disappearing into the night. He had never explained to her why he had decided to suddenly run off, deserting her. Actually, they had never really spoken again. It had been too painful for them both, Tess thought, taking another sip of her wine. And they had only been teenagers, after all. Not able to communicate properly all that they were thinking and feeling.
She stared down at the last of her pad thai, congealing in the carton. Why did the noodles suddenly look like a mass of worms? She pushed it away, trying to suppress a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.
She had coped with it the only way she knew how. She had buried herself in her schoolwork, preparing for her final year. Her friends tried to coax her out of her self-imposed shell, but she had resisted all their attempts. And then, mercifully, her family had decided to move away from Covenester entirely. She had finished her final year of school in a small town over a hundred miles away, and she had tried to put it all behind her.
Wild Keepers Page 51
