by McKenna Dean
Now that Ryker and Knight had left, I unplugged the percolator. Coffee wasn’t what I wanted or needed just now. I wanted to punch things. Ladies weren’t supposed to get angry. We were supposed to swallow our emotions like bitter medicine and smile no matter the provocation. To pretend nothing bothered us.
The hell with that.
The coffee mug shattered against the far wall with a satisfying crash. That made me smile.
I’d angered my boss. Okay, so I’d taken a weapon out of the office without authorization, and had proceeded on my merry way to hunt down Knight without updating anyone as to my progress or plans. Ryker had even provided the means to call for help and I’d forgotten to use it until it was too late. But despite that, we’d successfully fought off three attackers and a wolf pack. Not too shabby for a socialite and a scientist. And if I hadn’t taken the ray gun, I’d be dead and the attackers would have taken Knight prisoner.
Who did Knight think he was anyway, jumping to my defense like that, as if I couldn’t speak for myself? As if I were incapable of standing up to Ryker. Knight had taken the words right out of my mouth, spiking my guns and leaving me with no argument of my own. Anything I’d added at that point would have sounded like I was parroting him.
I gave one of the kitchen chairs a hard shove. The cheap wooden chair knocked up against the table, sending both scudding across the floor. Moments later, my downstairs neighbor thumped her ceiling in the age-old signal for me to keep it down. I envisioned her, cigarette hanging from her lips, rapping the ceiling with a broom handle.
I took a deep breath. Yes, by all means, keep it down. Hold it in, smile even though your stomach boils with acid at the effort.
Banging open the cabinet containing my cleaning supplies, I took out the dustpan and a small broom. Kneeling to sweep up the glass shards, my mind replayed the events of the evening. Had the wolf pack and the attackers been working together or were they in competition to kidnap Knight? And were either of them associated with the group that had tried to recruit him before—and killed his wife in retaliation? There was no way to know.
I knew one thing, however. Whoever was behind the kidnapping attempt wouldn’t stop now.
Chapter Ten
I don’t see the point in self-pity. I’ve never seen it change anyone’s circumstances. Also, crying in bed gets you nothing but tears in your ears. Exhausted, wired from the adrenaline-fueled events of the evening, and my arm throbbing, I admit, I was tempted to sit down with the carton of Borden’s ice cream tucked away in my freezer and have a good cry. I settled for the ice cream alone. Certain I’d never fall asleep before dawn, I surprised myself by dropping off as soon as my head hit the pillow.
So when the banging of the radiator woke me before dawn, I got up, fortified myself with a pot of coffee, and drafted out my report on Dr. Peter Knight on a legal pad. By the time the sun sent dull red streaks across a leaden sky, I’d written out everything that had happened over the last three days leading up to my locating—and recruiting—Knight.
Satisfied, I pulled out my most authoritative outfit from the closet: a rather severe short-sleeved black dress with a narrow waist, done up with a double row of large black buttons reminiscent of a porter’s uniform. Knight’s bandaging job was still intact. Good. Let Ryker see visible proof of the risks I’d taken while I stated my case to him this morning.
My decent wool coat was a dead loss. I doubted my tailor could weave a patch over the damage, never mind how to explain how the bullet hole got there in the first place. Fortunately, I’d indulged myself with an impulse buy the previous month when the dreary weather had been getting me down. As an everyday coat, it was impractical for wear in the grimy city, being a deep red with laces in the back that cinched the waist to a ridiculous degree, emphasizing the wide bell-shaped bottom. Trimmed with fake black fur, the buttonholes were lined with an intricate black braid that crossed the front of the coat in a pleasing pattern, much like train tracks. It also had an enormous hood, though I preferred to wear a black conductor’s cap instead. Paired with long black gloves, I looked like a Russian princess.
Practicality be damned. I felt like a million dollars.
I strode into the office with a matter-of-fact air and went straight to the coat rack, stripping off coat, hat, and gloves and arranging everything on the hook, careful of my injured arm. Then I took my seat at my desk, and with my good hand, whipped off the cover to my typewriter. I slapped the legal pad down beside it and jammed a sheet of paper in the machine. Typing proved not to be too painful, so I banged the keys with such fury they often locked, and paid no attention to the curious stares of first, Miss Climpson and Mr. J, and then, later, Russo when he dropped in with a delivery. As I finished each page, I pulled it out with a whirr of the roller and smacked it down in my outbox, to repeat the process again with the next. I was finishing the final page when the intercom buzzed.
I looked up when Miss Climpson cleared her throat. “Mr. Ryker will see you in his office now.”
“Good.” I stood and collated my typed report, tapping the papers on the edge of the desk until they lined up. “I’m ready to see him myself.”
I marched out of the reception area and down the hallway, report in one hand and my purse tucked under the other arm. Giving the door to Ryker’s office a sharp couple of raps, I waited until I heard his voice directing me to enter before doing so.
I walked straight up to his desk and placed the report in front of him.
His tone was brusque. “What’s this?”
“The summation of my activities since you tasked me with locating Dr. Knight. Which I did, by the way. Something no one else had managed. Moreover, I convinced him to come speak with you. A good thing, since there were at least one, perhaps two, groups of people determined on taking him away with them last night. I don’t think they cared whether he was alive or dead, either.”
I remained standing, holding my purse in front of me with both hands like a tiny shield.
He met my eyes then, and I saw the same hint of banked fires within, an anger fighting for release.
He could rage all he wanted. I couldn’t back down. I wouldn’t back down.
“You informed me of your intentions to offer him a job within the agency. You tasked me with finding him. You said it might be dangerous and to call for help if needed.” I lifted my chin. “I didn’t need any help.”
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
“I’m not finished. I had a very slim opportunity to get Knight on board before losing him, and I took it. You hired me because you liked my initiative. Well, I used it last night. I had every intention of calling Redclaw once we reached my apartment, but I realized I had no direct way of contacting you short of activating the signal pin. That needs to be rectified.”
Ryker placed both hands, palm down, on the surface of his desk. “May I speak now?” His voice glittered with anger. I suspected, as a rule, no one spoke to him like this.
I gave him a stiff nod.
He inhaled sharply through his nostrils, but when he spoke, his voice was calmer. “When I assigned you the task of locating Knight, it was not, as he’d suggested, a deliberate attempt to see you fail or give you busy-work. I meant it to be a desk assignment based on research, a starter case, if you will. And it never hurts to have a fresh set of eyes on a problem. Miss Climpson tells me you had a lead from the beginning. Why didn’t you inform me?”
I felt my cheeks burn, this time from embarrassment. “I wasn’t sure it would pan out. There was only a slight chance it would.”
“Nevertheless, had you done so, we could have placed other agents in the area, and perhaps avoided the fracas last night. For there to be shifters out there in the open, attacking people in the streets....”
I winced. “That wasn’t entirely my fault. It never occurred to me that anyone would send shifters after us. I’ve been thinking about that. They couldn’t have been part of the original attackers. They must hav
e been a competing group of some sort. Of course, we don’t know if their intent was to help or harm.”
“True.” He drummed the fingers of his right hand on the smooth desktop. “But we could have minimized the risks had we known your plans. You also took a lethal weapon out of the collection. We must keep a low profile. Your actions jeopardized that.”
“The wolf-shifters didn’t seem concerned about secrecy. Someone had every intention of taking Knight with them last night, even if it meant shooting me.” I touched the stark white bandage on my arm. “If I’d used the Browning instead, the police might have gotten involved. No one died last night, and the people with the greatest cause for complaint are the least likely to do so.” As my father liked to say, thieves didn’t call the cops if they stepped in a bear trap while breaking into your property.
Ryker rocked back in his chair and passed a palm over his weary face. When he looked up at me, his manner was less angry and more resigned. “Tell me everything that happened. You gave me a brief update last night, but I want to know everything that has happened since I gave you this assignment.”
I motioned to the report on his desk, but he waved me off. “I’ll read it later. Right now, I want to hear your firsthand account.”
He listened without interrupting until I got to the part where I convinced Knight to come with me.
“How did you persuade him to come?”
That was one question I hadn’t anticipated, though with hindsight, I should have. “I might have suggested by working with us, we could figure out who killed his wife.”
Ryker blew air through his lips in an annoyed little huff. “Did you think that through? We looked into Margo Knight’s death before we decided to make Knight an offer to come on board. There’s nothing to indicate that her death was anything other than an accident. What do you think will happen when Knight realizes you lied to him to get him to agree to work with Redclaw?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Knight might be delusional about his wife’s death. “He seemed adamant not only had someone run her down, but that Margo’s murder was in retaliation for his refusal to work for some shady organization which had approached him.”
“How would that have benefited said organization? I could see where the threat of harming his wife might make him compliant, but killing her? No one wins.”
I said nothing. Knight might not have wound up working for the group who’d approached him, but after Margo died, he hadn’t worked for anyone else, either.
Ryker looked as though he expected me to add something in my defense. When I didn’t, his lips tightened. “So far, we have you acting on your own without support both in approaching Knight and making him an offer we can’t deliver. Anything else you’d like to add?”
Resisting the urge to curl up in a little ball under the weight of his withering stare, I detailed the rest of the evening, pausing whenever I needed to answer Ryker’s questions about the various people who’d attacked us, finishing up with his own arrival at my apartment. My face burned at the memory of his naked state in my kitchen and said, “You know the rest, sir.”
When I finished, he sat in silence for a moment, flipping a pen through his fingers as he rocked back and forth in his chair. “Tell me, Bishop. Why did you take the gun? I told you one of Redclaw’s main functions was to get such objects off the streets.”
I hesitated. Of all the things I’d done, stealing the ray gun was the most indefensible. “Sir, I can’t explain my actions. I wish I could.” I turned both palms upward with a helpless shrug. “It’s like the gun bewitched me. I found myself thinking it would be just the thing. With the stun feature, I could defend myself without hurting anyone, and no one would be the wiser. I’d like to tell you I considered the risks of using such a weapon in public. Or that I assumed no one would believe a witness blathering about ray guns that shot paralyzing beams. I never got that far. I simply wanted the gun. I had to have it.”
“I’m afraid that argument won’t hold water with me. You sound like a jewel thief speaking of a ring so beautiful he felt compelled to take it.” Frowning, Ryker held out his hand. “I should like to have the gun back, please.”
With inexplicable reluctance, I opened the clasp and attempted to fish the gun out of my bag. Wedged in the bottom of the clutch, it resisted all efforts to extract it, like a cat bracing its feet against the walls of a carrier it didn’t want to exit. I shot Ryker a feeble smile and tugged harder, tearing the interior lining in the process of pulling out the gun. As I handed the gun over, it slipped through my fingers and flew into my lap. For some reason, I couldn’t get purchase on the slick barrel, and it flipped around like a fish on a boat dock.
I looked up, ready to apologize for my clumsiness, when I saw Ryker staring at me with both eyebrows raised.
“A moment, if you will.” He stood up and came around to my chair. “If I may?”
I rested both hands on the sides of the chair and leaned back so he had clear access to my lap.
He reached for the gun. It slithered away from him, and I clapped my knees together to keep the little gun from escaping my lap and landing on the floor.
“Fascinating.” He gave the gun a narrow-eyed glare before meeting my embarrassed gaze.
“I’m not doing this.” I tipped my head at the gun which seemed to have stopped moving for the moment.
“I didn’t think you were. I wonder—” He made a sudden grab for the weapon. A crackle of blue-green energy erupted in a tiny lightning bolt and struck his hand. He jerked it back with a yelp. I started to my feet, and the gun tumbled to the floor, sliding up under his desk.
I gaped at Ryker, who stood shaking his hand. He inspected his fingers before meeting my eye. “Apparently, it doesn’t like me. If you would corral your weapon, please?”
I dropped to my knees and peered under the desk. The gun was on the far side, and to my eyes, it seemed to be quivering. It skittered farther out of reach when I put out my hand. “Come on,” I crooned. “No one will hurt you.”
Though I’d spoken to it as though it were a frightened colt, I honestly didn’t think it would respond. Surely, all its previous actions were because of built-up energy of some sort. So my eyebrow lifted and my lips formed a little O of surprise when the gun crept toward me across the carpet. It slid into my grip, and I stood to stare at it in bemusement.
“It came to me.” I offered it out to Ryker, holding it with firmness this time.
“I suspect it’s yours now.” Ryker’s voice was as dry as the Sahara and almost as forbidding. It startled me when he continued speaking as though to an unseen party. “Should I allow Bishop to keep the ray gun?”
He pointed to the 8 Ball on his desk. “Pick it up.”
I turned the black ball over until the printed words floated up to the surface of the bottom chamber. “The stars are in alignment,” I read.
With a heavy sigh, Ryker returned to his chair, but he remained standing behind his desk. “It would seem the weapon has imprinted on you. For the time being, I’ll allow you to keep it.”
Seeing as he couldn’t take it away, this seemed like a wise decision. I gave the 8 Ball a wary glance before speaking. “I’m not fired, then?”
“No. But you’re on probation while I rethink your position here at Redclaw. You’re on desk duty again for the time being, and I want you to report for that testing we discussed last week. Dr. Botha has been delayed but he will arrive in the country soon. Your affinity for this particular weapon—and it for you—suggests my theory about recessive genes may be correct. Hopefully, the tests will confirm that. In the meantime, you’ll get your assignments from Miss Climpson, as before.”
“I should still have your phone number.”
“You won’t need it. You’ll be staying in the office until further notice.” His response was crushingly dry.
“And no one has ever needed to reach you urgently—say, in the event of a breach in office security?”
The firm press of h
is lips implied he either didn’t like my attitude or the reminder of the previous attempted break-in, but he wrote his personal number on the back of one his cards in bold, sharp strokes and held it out to me.
I committed the number to memory as I waved the card, waiting for the ink to dry before tucking into my bag.
“That will be all, Bishop.”
I took the reversion to the use of my last name as a good sign. At least, I hoped it was.
It wasn’t easy going back to my desk and meekly settling down to the kind of work I’d been doing before the promotion. I wanted to ask how Knight was faring, but wasn’t sure anyone would tell me. I saw no sign of him, which made me wonder if they had him sequestered somewhere off the premises or if he was holed up in the bowels of the building. I did the assigned work as fast as I could and wondered what Dr. Botha’s testing would reveal. Would one jolt from a radioactive substance turn me into a creature from a B-rated science fiction movie? It seemed prudent to avoid such exposure just in case, and I made a note to research the possibility of purchasing a Geiger counter for personal use.
When a case involving the disappearance of a young woman—reading between the lines, presumably because of the activation of her shifter genes—came across my desk for typing, I requested leave to go to the library and check out back issues of newspapers, looking for anything that might support the case. Miss Climpson scanned me with suspicious eyes as I stood in front of her desk with my request, but when her phone rang, she waved me off and turned her attention to the caller.
Relieved, I donned my red coat and made my escape. The bus ride took longer than I’d hoped, so I skipped lunch and headed straight for the library reading room. After exhausting what limited information I could uncover about the missing woman, I delved into the older files surrounding the death of Margo Knight. The hit-and-run had made the local papers at the time, but without any leads, the story soon died. Since I was already there, I searched for any reference to mysterious occurrences, local or otherwise. The number of stories was overwhelming, though most were published in disreputable newspapers. Still, the sheer variety of conspiracy theories, sightings, and descriptions of strange ‘man-beasts’ was enough to give one pause. There were more shifters out there than I dreamed possible, though I had to wonder how many of the ‘reports’ were fake plants to discredit the real stories.
