by Riley Storm
“Do you know them?” Khove asked gently, leaning forward, his voice low.
She looked up, meeting his eyes, watching as the cold steel circles darted over to where the other officer was sitting, and then back to her.
“It’s a small department, everyone knows everyone,” she admitted. “Why?”
The big man shrugged. “It’s just that he keeps looking over here at you. Do you want to invite him to join?”
“No!” she hissed just a little too forcefully. “No, please don’t.”
Khove frowned. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said. “That’s Marc Gomez. And he’s not looking at me.”
“What is he doing then? Cause it looks like it to me.”
Rachel sank down lower into her side of the booth. “He’s checking me out,” she said tiredly. Grumpily.
The table suddenly cracked.
Khove’s face had gone tight, and she watched as he carefully set the corner of the table he’d accidentally broken off down on the booth next to him, forcing his grip to relax.
“Are you with him?” he asked tightly.
“What?” she asked, needing to hear the question again, too preoccupied with the sudden showing of anger. “No, of course not. I’d never date someone from the office. That’s just asking for trouble.”
Although he was done breaking the table, she could see the black long-sleeved shirt he wore struggling to contain muscles as he worked to contain himself. What the hell had gotten into Khove all of a sudden?
“Don’t mind him,” she said, jerking her head in Gomez’s direction. “If that’s what’s got you all irate, I’m used to it.”
“Used to what?” he bit off.
Were they having the same conversation? Rachel wasn’t entirely sure, but maybe he was just a bit dense. It wouldn’t be the first odd thing about Khove.
“Being treated with a lack of respect, just because I was born with tits that sit high and long legs. Not to mention, the blonde hair doesn’t help.” Her own anger flared brightly for a moment. “I work damn hard for the rest though. But just because I try to stay athletic, and have these oddly blue eyes, it doesn’t mean I’m not a damn good cop.” She finished with a snarl, her fist slamming down on top of the table.
Khove sat back, his face opening in surprise. “Why do your looks have anything to do with your job?”
Rachel wasn’t sure if he was feigning politeness, or generally confused. It was hard to tell, but she was leaning toward the latter, which was…well, confusing to her. How could he not understand, or have heard of such things before?
“It doesn’t,” she agreed forcefully. “I just wish others would understand that too,” she said with a tilt of her head in Gomez’s direction.
Khove leaned forward, both angry and not understanding all at once. “They don’t?”
He was serious about this. How could he have never come across this sort of situation before? It was far from new. Did he not have much experience with women, perhaps? That would explain…a lot.
“Of course not,” she said, answering his question. “All Gomez does is look me up and down, or make comments about how well my pants fit. Because he likes my ass,” she clarified with a raised eyebrow.
Khove was rising to his feet, nostrils flaring.
“Hey,” she said, arm flashing out to grab his surprisingly solid forearm. Was there anywhere on him that wasn’t a slab of corded muscle?
“Yes?” he growled in a deep voice.
“Sit down.”
He didn’t move.
“Now, Khove.”
The huge man reluctantly sat back down, red fabric hissing as the air was squished from it yet again.
“It’s fine,” she reassured him when his attention returned to her. “I can handle it. I’ve gotten it all my life,” she said bitterly. “Everyone only ever sees the blonde hair, large-ish tits and skinny waist. I get it, it’s a standard definition blonde bimbo that men with a tiny IQ and even tinier dicks fantasize about. That’s all they see, not the cop behind it.”
Khove’s eyes burned with something she could only term as a righteous fire, to the point he seemed to be shaking in his seat.
“I appreciate your anger,” she said gently, keeping a hand on his forearm, making sure he didn’t jump up again. “I really do. But beating the piss out of a dick like Gomez won’t help. As fun as it would be to watch.”
Khove nodded stiffly. “What?”
“Huh?” She didn’t understand.
“What will help then?”
She smiled. “Solving the case, Khove. Proving I’m a good, capable cop. That will help. Which you can assist with, since you have information you haven’t shared with me yet. Forget them. Tell me what you know.”
12
Khove bit his lip.
He couldn’t tell her everything. That just wasn’t possible for obvious reasons. What harm could telling her the man’s name bring, however? After all, he had to give her something.
“Khove?” she prompted.
“The man we believe to be responsible. His name is Korred.”
Rachel was busy writing it down in her notebook, asking him for correct spelling. “Last name?”
He hesitated. They rarely went by last names among his House, since they were all the same. Ursa. If he told the detective though, she would think he was a relative.
“Unknown,” he admitted. “He just goes by Korred.”
“Okay. How do you know it’s him? What’s his story? How does he fit into the picture here? Why is he targeting your businesses?” Rachel stared at him eagerly, pen poised over paper, ready to scribble information down.
“Uh, I guess you could say he’s a disgruntled employee.” Khove stumbled over the words, forcing himself to explain things in terms that would sound normal to a human. “You know the type. Thought he should be promoted. In charge, really. He wanted to make the decisions. When that was denied to him, he attacked the, um, the CEO and the Board, and then fled.”
The pen flew across the paper. “He attacked? Was a police report filed?”
“No.”
“How come?”
Khove shrugged. “Not my call to make. I guess they figured it wouldn’t be worth the attention to the company.”
“A company that seems to own a large portion of real estate in Plymouth Falls, that nobody has ever heard of? Right.”
He declined to say that they owned companies, properties and more across the globe, and were worth more than all but the biggest multinationals. That was information they worked extremely hard to keep off public radar, though it was growing increasingly more difficult in the information age.
“Something like that. All we know is he has a lot of money, and apparently contacts with whatever sort of organized underworld exists in Plymouth Falls. He’s come back and seems intent on destroying what he can’t have.”
Khove sat back, crossing his arms, upset at airing his House’s dirty laundry to the human public. These were the sorts of things that should be solved by shifters without involving humans. But Korred was throwing a temper tantrum that he couldn’t have what wasn’t his, and he’d dragged the neighbors into his fight now.
“He sounds like a real gem,” Rachel said, putting the pen down and reading over what she’d written.
“You have no idea,” he muttered. What he’d just told her was a very watered down version of what the true Korred was like.
After all, how did you explain that he was actually a maniacal, traitorous magic-wielding man who could shift into a giant bear and was intent on taking down one of the most powerful institutions in the paranormal world, High House Ursa?
The answer was: you didn’t. Khove needed the detective at her best and brightest, so she could focus on tracking him down. Then Khove would kill Korred. That wasn’t going to happen if she was too busy trying to put her shattered world back together if he showed her the truth.
He brought himself back to reality, only to be pinn
ed into his chair by Rachel’s stare. The sun was shining in from outside the diner and reflecting off her eyes, turning them a brighter shade of blue. The intensity in them never wavered, and he felt like shifting in the chair as she continued to bore into him.
She knew. That was the only explanation. She knew he wasn’t telling her the complete truth, and now she was trying to decide how hard to push him about it. It only made sense, of course. This was a trained police detective, who by all accounts was pretty darn good at her job. Khove shouldn’t expect her to take him at face value, and she wasn’t doing.
“Why didn’t you share this from the start?” she asked calmly, letting him off the hook. For now.
They would revisit this topic, he was certain, but for now she let it slide.
“Because,” he growled, picking at a fingernail. “We’re much more akin to a family.”
“I don’t follow.”
Khove looked everywhere but at her. “We don’t like airing our dirty laundry in public, okay? We try to handle it ourselves, so that it doesn’t get out. Staying off the radar, out of the news. That’s our specialty.”
He desperately wanted to avoid lying to Rachel, but he wasn’t about to bring her into his world either. It was a fine balancing act he was attempting here, but he had to make it. Khove had seen deep in her face the night before, noticing just how badly she’d been rattled by his disappearance. Much more so than she had let on.
Khove had, in a way, hurt her, though he wasn’t sure how, and he didn’t intend to do it again. Something was calling to him, telling him to stay near her. Whether it was her feisty attitude, desire to protect those around her, or simply her searing good looks, he wasn’t sure. But he was going to find out.
“Dirty laundry,” she repeated. “Right. So instead of the police, they send you. A private…assassin, to do the job?”
“Excuse me?”
“Seriously Khove? Think about all the training and expertise you told me you had. Look at your size, your muscles and athleticism. You’re clearly ex-military, and this company keeps you on for skills that are perfectly suited to preventing dirty laundry from being aired.” She leaned in close, eyes blazing. “Tell me the truth. Am I working with the mafia?”
He had to choke back his laughter. That was where she was going with this? Rachel thought he was part of some sort of organized crime syndicate? He sagged with relief.
“I am not the mafia or associated with them,” he said, somehow keeping a straight face.
It helped that Rachel wasn’t laughing. She didn’t even look the slightest bit amused. Surprisingly, it hurt him a little that she didn’t immediately accept he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. Perhaps it was his earlier comment about justice, but she would eventually understand.
Korred wasn’t innocent. He was guilty, and Khove feared that before this was all over, the Traitor would have the blood of more innocents on his hands. Death was treated differently in the shifter world, but losing one’s friends hurt all the same. Korred would be made to pay for what he’d done, and if it was at Khove’s hands, then so be it.
But strangely, as okay with that outcome as he was, Khove found himself wishing that the detective, Rachel, didn’t think of him like that. He didn’t want her to see him as a monster. The sudden importance attached to what she thought of him was confusing, and left Khove silent and retrospective.
I need to show her that’s not me. That a killer is not who I am.
Khove wasn’t sure how he was going to go about that, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.
She’s going to see the real me.
13
They were headed back to where it all started.
“According to our internal security, this was the first scene where an alarm went off,” Khove said as they pulled into the parking lot out front of the charred building.
“This is the second call that we got,” Rachel protested, re-hashing the same point again.
“I know,” he said calmly. “But an electronic system response was registered inside, well before someone would necessarily have seen the fire.”
“What are you expecting to find here?” she asked, dropping it. Her goal had been to go from one scene to the next in chronological order, trying to recreate the arsonist’s steps.
“Absolutely nothing.”
She paused halfway out of the SUV, looking back inside. “What do you mean, nothing?”
Khove stared back at her from behind the grate. “Nothing? As in zip. Zilch. Nada. Shall I go on?”
Rolling her eyes, she got out, taking in the burnt standalone building. A solid third of it was destroyed beyond repair. It was a complete rebuild. “Why are you so confident we’ll find nothing?” she asked through the still open driver’s door.
“Korred is too good for that. Now, can you let me out?” He tapped on the grate, making the metal rattle.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But Khove, everyone makes mistakes. This was his first crime scene, right?”
“I think. Here at least.”
“Criminals are always sloppiest at their first,” she said. “That’s a fact. If we’re going to find anything, it’s here.”
“I found something!”
Her head whipped around from staring at the building. “What is it?”
Khove looked up, shaking his head. “Sorry, Detective. I thought I was onto something. Turns out it’s just dried gum under the seat.”
Rachel bit back a few choice words. “Really?”
“Are you going to let me out?” he repeated. “Or do I have to break this vehicle too?”
“Don’t break anything,” she said, snapping her fingers and pointing a finger at him before pulling on the handle. “Just because you can’t appreciate the humor in it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Trust me,” he grumbled, exiting the vehicle. “There is no humor in it. Why can’t I ride in the front seat like a normal person?”
“I have a lot of stuff in it,” she said quickly, turning to survey the building yet again.
“There are two file folders. I could have held those on my lap,” Khove told her.
Rachel sighed. “Look, nobody has ridden up front with me…in a long time. Okay? I just…” She trailed off, not wanting to say more.
Khove slowly came to stand next to her, facing the building as well. “You aren’t from Plymouth Falls, you said.”
“Right.” Where was he going with this?
“How long ago did you move here?”
“Close to two years,” she admitted after a moment.
Khove didn’t react. “How are you liking it so far?”
“It’s nice,” she admitted, fighting the instinctual urge to look up at him while they talked. She kept facing forward, justifying it by telling herself she didn’t want to strain her neck, always craning it back to look eye to eye with the titan.
“Nice?”
Was he trying to distract her by having a normal conversation? It certainly seemed that way, but it was a distinctly tactful approach that seemed out of place with Khove’s normal actions. Still, who was she to ignore a gift horse when it was shoved in her face?
“Yes. The land prices here are far more reasonable. I can actually afford a house for less than I was paying for my tiny apartment back in the city. It’s nice to have more than two rooms.”
Khove chuckled. “I can believe that. Well, Detective, would you like to investigate?” He waved a hand at the wreckage in front of them while they talked.
“Yes. Let’s.”
They walked forward, Khove plucking the yellow police tape and lifting it so she only had to dip her head to get under. Then he followed, staying at her side as she surveyed the scene, trying to figure out what she was looking for, what sort of clue might have been left.
“Why Plymouth Falls, of all places?” Khove asked suddenly.
Rachel was crouching down, pushing aside charred wood and other debris with one gloved hand. “What?”
> “When you left the city. Why did you decide to come here, of all places?”
She contemplated both his question and the debris. At least she could answer him. The blackened remnants of the building weren’t answering any of her own questions.
“Slower pace,” she said cautiously. “Less…stuff, happens here.” Then she snorted. “Or it did, until last night. Still, this is bad, but it’s not bad stuff. You know?”
“Bad stuff?” he echoed.
He didn’t know.
“Yeah. Bad stuff. Corruption. Death. Rape. Those sorts of things. I needed a fresh start. Got it?” She stood up abruptly and walked into the building. The last things she wanted to talk about with Khove were her reasons for leaving the city. She didn’t even want to think about them, and the more he probed with his questions, the more memories returned to her.
“Got it,” Khove said, following her slowly.
She wanted to snap, to lose her temper at the way he so easily dropped the subject, but she couldn’t. Whatever Khove may be, however blind to certain social cues, she never got a feeling of negativity from him. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
Khove made her feel strangely at ease. Even the night before, his presence, not his words, was what had somehow convinced her to believe that he wasn’t behind the bulldozer embedded in the side of the building.
Despite the oddly peaceful and almost pleasant sensation of having him around, Rachel still wasn’t willing to share something so personal. She had defenses, and while he may have casually waltzed through the first layer, she wasn’t about to surrender.
“Just look around, will you?” she asked, pushing deeper into the building. “See if you can find anything related to Korred. That would be helpful right now.”
Unlike digging into my past, which has no bearing on anything.
A creak was the only warning she had.
Rachel looked up as a burnt timber gave way and the roof came crashing down toward her. Screaming as instant death plummeted in her direction, she threw up an arm to shield her face and cursed her own stupidity all at once.
