by Jane Cousins
“My investigation. You still want to be part of it, don’t you?” Cullen felt liked he’d missed something, but couldn’t pin it down.
“Yes. Yes, of course I do.” The sooner Mara was caught red-handed doing what ever it was she was doing, the sooner Cullen would embrace his spy life once more. And leave Patricia to get over her embarrassing little crush in peace. She noted him continuing to eye her. “Now?”
“Well, yes. Timing might be imperative. And I do have a lot of footage and information to share. I’ll withhold my thoughts as I’d like to hear your conclusions first. See how closely they gel.”
Patricia looked down at her skating attire and then back at Cullen. “I need to change and grab something to eat.”
“Tell you what. You change. I’ll grab us a pizza and meet you downstairs in the tech room back at the Annexe.”
Sharing another meal with him, just the two of them? It was something she’d prefer to avoid. But Patricia couldn’t see a graceful way to refuse. Plus, she was always starving after training. And Cullen’s lair was the perfect place to view all the camera footage, given the set up. There was little she could do but nod and agree. Skating off the ice and heading for the change rooms.
Patricia resolved to stay focused purely upon the case. No personal chit chat. No engaging in teasing banter, no matter how badly she was provoked. She would be all business, all the time. Letting Cullen know, without having to put into words, that she had never seriously entertained anything of a physical nature happening between them.
Which she hadn’t, she’d just been caught up in the moment. High on adrenalin and the thrill of the adventure, the mission. Which just reinforced her need to make a few changes in her own life. Throttle back on work and take time for herself. And maybe if she took that long awaited holiday, she might a meet a nice, mature, intelligent man. And he didn’t need to sweep her off her feet. She was done with the fantasy.
And okay, he probably wouldn’t have Cullen’s dry sense of humour. Or jade green eyes full of challenge. And a lean, muscular body that spoke of dedication, hard work and a great gene pool.
Hmmm, maybe she would forget trying to meet a man on holiday and just take a second suitcase with her full of books. Now there was a great holiday plan. Reading. And maybe just for a while she’d take a break from the romance genre. And it went without saying no spy books. Or high-stake thrillers.
So what did that leave her? A second suitcase full of cookbooks? Well, so be it.
Chapter Fourteen
Patricia was in Cullen’s hi-tech lair, munching absently on a slice of pizza, studying the research data and the camera footage. She’d changed into a loose, black shift dress and matching flat sandals. Keeping her hair up. And following her quick shower at the Fitness Centre hadn’t bothered to re-apply any make-up.
Of course she didn’t need to. He thought she was gorgeous.
But then obviously so did Zartel.
The warrior kept turning up under foot every time Cullen turned around. He’d thought Patricia valued more than muscle. That if anything she was nothing but irritated with the warrior and his heavy handed ways. But the local grapevine could be counted on to at least get fifty percent of the story accurate.
So just what had Zartel been doing at Patricia’s place and why was he naked?
Cullen planned to casually bring up the topic in conversation. Ask a few innocuous questions. Two problems. Trix was pretty darn focused on the reports. And secondly, every time he thought of her and the blonde Adonis together he found himself clenching his teeth, unable to get any words out. His gut churning hot.
“Okay. I’ve got something.”
“You do?” Cullen was surprised. It had been twenty-minutes since Trix had sat down at the command desk. The pizza was still warm.
Patricia grabbed a napkin, wiping her mouth, hiding a pleased smile. Hah, yes, she was just that good. Cullen didn’t know what he was missing out on. Wait. What? No. She just liked the idea of one-upping him, that was all. “I know who, or rather what, Elena Carlyle is. She’s a hybrid-Jaguar. And her real name is Conchetta.”
“She’s a what now?”
“It’s complicated. But I recognise those claw marks on the victims. And the way Conchetta… Elena moves, like a predator. And here.” Patricia positioned the computer screen so Cullen could get a better view of the image frozen on it. “See the way she’s lifting her head, sniffing the air. I’ve seen Drum do that. He’s one of Maat’s warriors, who has a symbiotic relationship with a snake tattoo… which is a tangent. But he sniffs, tastes the air in the exact same manner when he is on the hunt.”
“A hybrid-Jaguar?”
“Yes. If it’s okay with you I’m going to forward this image of Elena to Elijah for confirmation?”
“Yes, do it. Does that mean Mara is one also?”
“Doubtful. I believe the only person capable of changing women into these creatures died over five hundred years ago on a beach in South America.”
“That’s rather specific.”
“I read the Enforcer’s field reports from the incident. Can you access the Cryptozoology Field Guide from here? Then I suggest you start reading. Elijah’s notes are particularly informative.”
Cullen’s fingers were already flying over the nearest keyboard calling up the creature-feature guide, as it was universally called. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Taking out of the equation the two victims who really did die as a result of the panic. Why do these five men look so familiar?” Patricia tapped another key and Elena’s image was replaced with the photos of five men. All dead. Two looked like they were sleeping peacefully. One had deep slashes across his forehead and cheek. Two others had shallower cuts and bruising.
Hmm, interesting. When Cullen had been looking at the photos of the dead, his focus had been purely on the injuries incurred, not on the victims, since a quick background check hadn’t raised any terrorist connection red flags. Shit, that was the problem when you were an Archer. You took on so much information. Filtering it. Cataloguing it. Parsing it down. It often took hours or days for all the connections to bubble to the surface.
But Trix, she had focused on the people, the victims.
And looking at them now, the answer instantly clicked into place. “Those four were standing rather close to us at one point. For at least a fifteen minute stretch.” And another piece of the puzzle suddenly locked into place. “Mara’s gaze rested on the four of them for just over two seconds longer than a casual look should have taken. She was interested in them.” He looked at the photos. “Very interested.”
“Do you recognise any of them? I mean are they famous, or infamous?”
Cullen sifted through all the data in his head. “Those two are low-level military. I recognise them from a club I used to visit trawling for information. The blonde, he’s the Honourable James Delts. No money, three older brothers. A fixture on the party circuit as a plus one. The other two I don’t recognise, but my initial quick and dirty background check suggests they have no military or overseas connections.”
“You know, it’s interesting you say Mara noticed them, because look at this.” Patricia sorted through the footage until she found what she was looking for. “Okay, watch this. Here’s Mara, looking casually around the room. Except she doesn’t, not really. Look at the angle of her head. She doesn’t look towards the bar, where most people would, searching for acquaintances. Or at the door, to check out new arrivals.”
“Yes, I see it. Something about the raised seating area we were standing in front of, it caught her attention. Her eyes zeroed in on that sector… and there, she pinpoints the group of four men chatting.”
“But then who is man number five?”
“Kevin Barnett, who honestly, is no one. No political connections. No red flags. His niece attends the school. I’m running a deeper background search on all five victims who were shredded or shot. Trying to work out their connections to each other and why they might ha
ve been a threat to Mara.”
“Good. And something else.” Damn, Patricia found her heart racing and her adrenalin spiking. There was something addictive about working a case with Cullen. Sorting through the facts. Sifting through all the clues. She sped through the footage of Mara conversing with the three other women she had spoken to exclusively at the party. Returning the footage to normal speed just as Conchetta, masquerading as Elena Carlyle, joined the group.
Cullen scooted his rolling chair over closer to Patricia. His body clenching at her sudden nearness, her scent intoxicating. His magic zinged. They made quite the team. The way she interpreted data was very different to his own, but somehow it made them compatible. She brought a human element that Archers had long been trained to exclude. Perhaps, he was thinking now, to their detriment.
“Note the dynamic of the group shift as Elena joins them.”
Cullen studied closely the body language. “The Headmistress moves forward a little, assertive, dominant meeting dominant. The timid executive assistant steps back ever so slightly, attentive yet wary. Mara and Gwynne both lift their chins instinctively. Showing strength. They either know what Elena Carlyle is, or they are afraid of her.”
He watched closely as the women spoke for several minutes and then Mara snapped open her clutch bag and pulled something out.
“This is what I wanted you to see. This. Whatever Mara just handed to Elena. It’s important. Watch what she does next.”
Cullen studied closely as Elena leaned forward, it was impossible to see what she was doing. Then suddenly her head snapped up, her nose lifted and she took a deep breath. Her attention instantly caught by something as she began to stalk away. Even though there was no sound it was easy to read her lips – follow me. And the Headmistress and executive assistant began to trail after her… like lackeys. “What do you think Mara took from her purse and showed to Elena?”
Patricia shrugged. “I only got as far as this point in the footage. The moment I saw Elena sniff the air, those claw marks on some of the victims, it all just clicked.”
“Okay, you keep at it. I’ll pull up those Enforcer reports and the field guide.” Crap. And now was definitely not the time to enquire what Patricia had been up to in the last thirty-six hours. Or ask casually if she’d had any recent six-foot-six, naked gentleman callers. The heated churning in his gut caused him to wince. Maybe… he whipped out the mini bolt gun he kept strapped to the bottom of his chair, pointing it at the stairwell. Someone was coming. Which should have been impossible. None of his perimeter alarms had sounded. The Annexe had been broken into, yet none of the motion sensors activated. And the door to his underground lair should have been impenetrable.
But still. He knew someone was coming, no sound, but there had been a slight shift in the air flow. Patricia froze as soon as Cullen produced the weapon. Playing it smart. Staying quiet, not asking a bunch of extraneous noisy questions. She waited, patiently. They both did.
“I’m unarmed.”
It was Patricia’s change in body language, the slight relaxing of her shoulders, that let Cullen know that whoever had stealthily sauntered on to his property was not a threat. Still, he only lowered the bolt gun fractionally. Based on the average size of the Southern Sanctuary male inhabitants, it would be a gut shot if the intruder turned out to be playing them false.
“Keep coming. Slowly.” Cullen instructed. Watching as Elijah, Head of the Enforcers, sauntered down the remainder of the stairs and into view. No weapons in sight. His stance confident, relaxed.
Elijah’s slate grey eyes narrowed as he noted the mini bolt gun Cullen was holding. There were ten different ways he could disarm the man without killing him. Twenty-eight more ways if he didn’t care about a body count. But he remained standing at the base of the stairs, stance deceptively casual, his gaze cataloguing the occupants and contents of the room.
Patricia sighed. Oh, the male posturing. She’d had more than her fair share of it lately. “Elijah. I’m glad you could stop by.” See, she could play things ultra casual too.
“I want Conchetta.” Elijah’s dark blonde eyebrow lifted momentarily in challenge.
Cullen smirked. “Then our agendas mesh. You can have her. But only after we understand what exactly she, my target, and who ever else is involved in this is up to.”
Elijah nodded in agreement. Cullen returned the bolt gun to its hiding place. Damn, so much for time alone with Trix. He pointed to a spare computer. “Hit enter and start reading. That will bring you up to speed. Then the… three of us can discuss our next steps forward based upon our collective insights.”
Never turn down a free asset his Uncle Cambridge always said. And this was Elijah, Head of the Southern Sanctuary Enforcers, they were talking about here. Holder of the Enforcer Apprenticeship record. Three days and eight hours. And it only took him that long because he decided to get his driving and pilot licenses the same week he joined the Enforcement Team.
An overachiever if there ever was one. Cullen decided he would just think of the man as one more arrow in his quiver.
Four hours later, the pizza was gone and copious cups of coffee had been drunk.
“I keep coming back to the missing children.” Patricia looked at their photos. Three girls. Four boys. All from different countries. The only thing they had in common was their age range, and all had been involved in a supposedly fatal accident. Except in each incident only their parents’ bodies were ever recovered. All were under the age of seven and still in their first year of school. And each had been attending Bailly Prive thanks to an all expenses paid scholarship.
“What makes them so special?” Elijah queried.
“Most were too young to have been academically tested. But the two that were, the results would have been deemed average to good. But not exceptional. Not scholarship potential. Nor do the parents seem anything but ordinary.” Cullen frowned, struggling to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
“So that leaves us with a lot of questions. Why, these children? How were they identified? And where are they now? Given only the parents’ bodies were discovered at the scene of each tragedy.” Patricia bit back a frustrated sigh.
Cullen absently drummed his fingers on the desk. “Even more telling. It’s always been about children. Look at the women Mara was talking to at the party. Gwynne Partridge was formerly the director of an international adoption agency. She stepped down from that position about four years ago when she and her husband adopted two little girls from Bangladesh. She ditched the corporate life to become a full time wife and mother. The girls were barely enrolled at Bailly Prive when she ousted the previous Head of the Parents’ Committee and took over.”
“And the Headmistress?” Elijah queried, studying a still photo of the five women taken at the party as they conversed in a tight knit circle.
“Prior to her involvement with the school, Dotty Hulme sat on the Boards of an aviation company, a merchant bank, a women’s shelter and an employment agency that specialised in finding work for immigrants.” Cullen pulled up the information, displaying Dotty Hulme’s resume on yet another screen.
“Transport. Money. Plus more avenues to find children amongst people that if something did happen, they either won’t go to the police, or are afraid to. Which I’m assuming did, happen that is?” Elijah looked to Cullen but it was Patricia who’d been busy pulling up details on Hulme’s past companies. So she answered.
“Yes. A quick search brings up thirty-eight reports of missing children associated with people who had a connection to the women’s shelter or the employment agency. And while some of the older children may have genuinely run away, there is a frightening number of children aged under ten. And when it comes to the adoption agency?” Patricia’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up more data, diving deeper as an anomaly in the taxation numbers of the adopting parents immediately caught her attention. A few minutes passing, as her fingers struck the keyboard hurriedly and hard. “There are over e
ighty children who were adopted but I can’t find any trace of the parents who supposedly adopted them. They don’t appear to exist.”
“That’s a lot of children. What the hell are they doing with them?”
“Prior to their move to the school, it’s roughly twenty a year.”
“And this Mara of yours? The traitor? What about her role?” Elijah enquired.
“She was a field agent for a long time. Moved around a lot. And she was covert. So off the grid a lot. Who knows what her contribution was. Maybe it was her job to broaden their hunting ground, to identify more kids that fit what ever profile they were working with. Or maybe trouble shoot if any one came snooping around asking too many questions.”
Patricia pulled up another report on the screen. “But then, four years ago, they sold off all the companies, and consolidated all their focus and energies on Bailly Prive. Hulme becomes Headmistress. Gwynne enrols her adopted kids there and becomes Head of the Parents’ Committee. Mara soon follows, marrying, stepping in as Treasurer.”
“That must have been about the the time Conchetta… Elena turned up. Somehow she found these women, and joined forces with them.” Elijah fought hard not to growl in irritation, this was his first lead on Conchetta in weeks and he wanted to be out there hunting. But he’d agreed to Cullen’s terms, and understanding what the hybrid Jaguar’s goals were, that could be important.
“I think they changed their criteria for the children. Or got pickier. Seven children in only the last four years? Why children, and what are they doing with them?”
Cullen didn’t want them to start speculating on that front just yet. “Elena Carlyle. What can you tell me about her? How dangerous is she?”
Elijah could have quite the poker face when needed but right at this moment he looked grim. “Personally, she’s a deadly killing machine. Razor sharp claws. Teeth. Supernaturally strong and agile. She was turned into a hybrid-Jaguar by a power hungry, human-sacrificing, asshole of a High Priest. Who she followed devotedly for a number of years.”
