The Judah Black Novels: Boxed Set of books 1-3

by E. A. Copen

  “Nazis ran good PR, too, as I recall,” Istaqua said, wrinkling his nose. “And Andrew Jackson. And the KKK. People know. They just don’t want to see. Easier to have a scapegoat than to take responsibility.”

  Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I knew they were right. For all the good BSI did, division and difference were still at the core of the agency. Agents could do good, and I tried my best, but too often my hands were tied by government red tape. Doing the right thing had burned me more times than not. It was the whole reason I’d been relocated to Paint Rock. Now it was the reason Chanter died on an operating table instead of at home surrounded by his pack like he wanted.

  A loud crack resounded through the room. My head shot up and then back down as my weight shifted forward. The portion of the desk that had been holding me up had cracked and given way. Without realizing it, I’d worked my hands into fists and sent a pulse of magick down into the wood that split it in two.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  Marcus sighed. “It’s only a desk, I suppose.”

  “So if I can’t arrest them, why am I here?” I asked, straightening.

  Marcus bent over to pick up some of the papers and pens that had toppled with the desk. “To vote.”

  “Vote?” I looked to Istaqua who sneered.

  “Marcus has it in his head that this democracy thing is important, and that all injured parties should have their opinions heard, regardless or not of whether it actually matters.”

  Marcus straightened, dropped the papers on the windowsill, and adjusted his suit jacket. “Only in life and death decisions,” he said to Istaqua and then turned to me. “I’m throwing all my resources behind this to stop it before it goes further. The media is going to run with it either way, but I’m going to do my best to curtail the slander. Istaqua and the Kings would have me turn the perpetrators over once I find them.”

  “For justice,” Istaqua hissed. “Two kids are dead because of them and my V.P.”

  “My alpha,” Sal said nodding. “They don’t get to walk away.”

  “As much as I agree, violence in the street is what caused this mess.” Marcus sank back into his chair and rubbed his temples. “And if there are more bodies, more violence, it won’t shift blame to where it ought to go. A public trial will force everything out into the open, and I can direct the media to cover everything. The perpetrators absorb public ire instead of the supernaturals and the Kings.”

  “What about vengeance?” Sal growled. “One of my pack is dead, another hurt. I’m with Istaqua. They can’t walk. The pack won’t allow it.”

  “Neither will the Kings.”

  “Gentlemen,” Marcus said, raising both his voice and his hands. “I only ask for delayed vengeance. Get them behind bars. Then, let them meet justice in the shower one day, or in solitary. I can arrange for Bran to make it happen.”

  Marcus trailed on with his plan. I stood in awe of how casually they negotiated back and forth, not for justice, but for murder. It was news to me that Marcus had that much influence inside the prison. It shouldn’t have surprised me, not with what I knew about him now. Marcus had his hands in everything.

  I loved Chanter, but killing criminals wasn’t what he would have wanted to be done in his memory.

  “No,” I said and then raised my voice to repeat it over their arguing. All three men turned to me in stunned silence. “If you kill them, inside or outside, you’re no better than they are. What good is it going to do? Will it bring Chanter back? Heal Hunter’s scars?” I shook my head. “This only ends when the killing stops on both sides.”

  “Judah,” Sal said, his voice harsh. “You don’t lay down your weapons in a war zone and expect not to get shot. We defend our homes. We need to send a message.”

  I glared up at him, eyebrows drawn together. “And what message does murder send except that retaliation is fair game? They kill you, you kill them, they kill more of you. You might as well put the gun in your mouth and do it yourself!”

  Silence reigned in the room. Sal’s chest rose and fell with quick, angry breaths and his eyes glowed gold. I fought the urge to look away.

  Istaqua sighed and shook his head. “You have a very naïve understanding of the world.”

  “I admire your idealism, Judah,” Marcus said, “But these people have stirred the pot for longer than you know. The situation can only escalate from here.”

  “Which is why you should use legal channels!”

  “Is that your final vote then?” Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow. “BSI intervention?”

  “Yes. Anything else is stupid. The law is there for a reason. You don’t get to pick and choose which parts you like and disregard the rest. That’s anarchy.”

  My argument fell on deaf ears. I knew it as soon as I spoke it. Sal was too angry and lost to think it through rationally. Any other day, I might have been able to convince him to at least think it over. Istaqua would never listen to me. At least Marcus’ alternative was somewhat rational, even if it wasn’t my first choice.

  Istaqua stood and adjusted his leather vest. “Sorry to say you’re in the minority, girl. If we don’t kill these fuckers and leave their bodies for the coyotes to eat, the club is going to walk.”

  Marcus showed his fangs. “You wouldn’t. Not after everything.”

  “We would,” Sal answered. “And we will. Pack, too.”

  Before that meeting, I didn’t think it was possible to blackmail a blackmailer like Marcus. But he was no match to stare down a werewolf and a coyote shifter. Marcus shook his head, waved them toward the door, and wiped a hand over his face.

  Istaqua moved to go, but I stood in his way. “If you pull that trigger, I will arrest you.”

  He raised his chin. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, girl. Come on, Sal. We’ll go meet Bran and pick up the trail.”

  He muscled past me and Sal went with him. I followed them as far as the elevators still trying to talk sense into them. Neither so much as turned and looked at me. As soon as the elevator doors closed, I knew things were only about to get worse.

  Chapter Twenty

  I got the call that I could see Hunter just moments later and rushed back to surgery. The nurse that escorted me from surgery waiting to a room on the fourth floor tried twice to chat with me before she got the picture that I didn’t want to talk. She didn’t speak again until we were standing in front of his room.

  “He’s still very weak,” she informed me. “But you can stay with him if you like.”

  She pulled aside the curtain between his bed and the door. My hands went to my mouth when I saw him. Two blankets were pulled up to his chest; he lay limp and pale in a hospital gown. A large bandage covered the upper part of his arm and tubes went down through his nose. The side of his face that had hit the concrete when Chanter fell on him was a deep shade of reddish purple. His fingers wrapped flaccidly around a nurse call button as if someone else had placed them there. He looked at me from under half open eyelids.

  “Hunter.” I went to his side to grip his hand.

  He gave a feeble squeeze and mumbled something. I couldn’t hear so I leaned in closer. “Chanter...”

  It was all I could do to keep from falling back into tears. I swept a hand over his head, brushing back some of his hair. “You worry about everyone else when you’re back up, okay?”

  His eyelids slid open a little more but his pupils wouldn’t fix on me. He must have been on a heavy dose of painkillers. “Love you.”

  “I love you too, Hunter.”

  He drifted back to sleep. I stayed with him another hour before I resorted to pacing and wringing my hands. Another half hour after, the room felt too small. My mind drifted to the mayhem Sal and Istaqua would cause if left unchecked. I could arrest one or both, but not without destroying my fragile relationship with Sal. Then I’d have to spend every waking moment babysitting them and not hunting down the assholes who shot Chanter and Hunter. Not only that, but if I arrested Istaqua or Sa
l, the media would latch onto that. All it would do was make them look even more responsible for what happened and turn public opinion further against supernaturals.

  And then there was this ghost of Marcus’. He hadn’t said anything about it because we were all too busy deciding what to do about the shooting. Still, I had sensed he wanted to talk about it. It was only his sense of professionalism and practiced etiquette that kept him from bringing it up.

  I needed something to do, something to keep my mind busy. There was nothing I could do for Hunter but I could help Mia.

  I was just about to leave when there was a knock on the door and Father Gideon Reed poked his head in. “Afternoon, Judah.”

  “Reed,” I said in the form of a greeting.

  He took it as an invitation and stepped in, his forehead wrinkling as he looked over Hunter. “How is he?”

  “Going to make it, which is more than I can say for Chanter. The pack got the news just a little while ago.” My throat tightened with the last sentence.

  “I know,” he said nodding.

  An awkward silence hung in the air. I turned my back to him. “Mia’s taken a turn for the worse, too. Chanter was...” I trailed off and had to swallow the tightness gathering in my throat. “He was the only chance I had at saving her. I don’t know what to do now.”

  “What about Sal?”

  I shook my head.

  He sighed and I heard the door click shut. There was no lock so I had no reason to fear being alone with Reed. I still didn’t trust him.

  “You’re going to have to tell him,” he said.

  I turned halfway to regard him. “I know. I just wish there was a way to do it without hurting him.”

  He nodded slowly. “I understand, Judah, but we’re talking about Mia’s life. I made the mistake of silence when I could have helped. I should have told you what I knew as soon as I knew it. Instead, my guilt and fear, my own shame kept me silent. Things may not have gotten so bad if I had come to you first instead of hiding in my home like a coward for three days.”

  Reed gave me a strained smile that quickly faded. “I’m sorry I intervened. I only wanted what was best for her. I let my protective instincts override reason. I know how it is to grow up subjected to that kind of torture.” He came to stand closer to the bed, resting his hands on the railing.

  “You were tortured as a kid?” I suddenly felt sorry for Reed. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

  “All power comes at a price.” He turned to look at me and I saw exhaustion in his face. Every time I saw him, he looked more tired than the last. Of course, it couldn’t be easy, living with one kidney after a wendigo ripped out and ate the other.

  “Why are you here, Reed?”

  “I know you’re not religious, Judah, but in light of things, I’d hoped you’d let me pray over him. Children like Hunter are the future. Someday, they will inherit the Earth and all the damage we’ve done. It will fall to them to fix things. Hunter has seen more pain than most men twice his age. When terrible pain falls on the young, it often shapes them one of two ways: either toward inflicting pain on others or toward mending the broken.”

  I nodded. I’d seen it, too. Trauma shaped everyone it touched. Hunter had been withdrawn and angry ever since the first time he was hurt. This second time might push him into irreparable bitterness and rage. If that happened, the kind and caring little boy that was my son would be no more.

  “I suppose it can’t hurt to say a prayer,” I said with a shrug. “Even if maybe no one’s listening.”

  “He is always listening,” Reed assured me, and then placed his hand gently over Hunter’s forehead. “Heavenly Father, we come before you today in need of healing, not for ourselves, but for brave young Hunter who is, as we speak, fighting for his life. We ask that You hold his heart in Yours. Renew him, body mind and soul, and bring some measure of healing comfort to his mother’s broken heart. May she know peace and find strength in the family and friends she holds so dear. In Your glorious name we pray. Amen.”

  God and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, especially when it comes to the practice and treatment of magick. I’d always thought of prayer as an excuse for religious people to shift blame around. Never had it been a comfort to me, not until that moment. Somehow, I felt better afterward.

  I offered Reed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

  “It is my job. Is there anything I can do to help with Mia’s situation?”

  I shook my head. “I know who the ghost responsible is, but I can’t figure out the connection between Mia, Zoe, and Emiko Kelley. Even if I knew that, I wouldn’t know how to stop it, not without Sal’s help.”

  Reed frowned and tapped his chin. “I do know Patsy knew her quite well. You remember Patsy?”

  I nodded. That made sense. I only wished I had asked her the last time I’d seen her. Talking to her now, it would be difficult to field all the rumors she’d heard. Patsy was the worst busybody, the most rumor-mongering vampire I’d ever met. I still felt like she meant well. It was just her nature.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I paused. “You’re being almost uncharacteristically helpful. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but why?”

  “I don’t think we’re on opposite sides. I think we want the same thing. It’s just...”

  “We have very different ideas on how to achieve it?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.” Reed extended his hand to me. “It is written, ‘The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.’ Shall we put our old grudges behind us and move forward toward happier times working together?”

  I took his hand and he put his other hand over mine as we shook. “Forgive your enemies,” I quoted. “But never forget their names.”

  “JFK? Really?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not so good with scripture, but I watch a lot of the History Channel.” I pulled my hand away. “You help me with this, it’ll go a long way to making things right for Mia.”

  “I’ll do everything I can. You’ll let me know if you need me for anything else?”

  “Of course.”

  Reed nodded and left.

  I stayed with Hunter for another hour before I couldn’t stand the closed space any more. Sitting in there, next to him was where I should be. I knew that, but I also knew my presence would change nothing. All I could think about was that I should be out there doing something. Sitting in there with Hunter just made me feel more helpless.

  After making sure the nurses had my cell number, I took the elevator down, found the tunnel, and went over to Fitz. It was later in the day, closer to normal quitting time for CEOs like Marcus, so I assumed his work would be winding down enough that he could see me and we could talk about the case.

  Cynthia disagreed. When she saw me come through the door into the office, her normally blank face twisted into a scowl. “He’s working late,” she informed me. “The fiasco downtown has put him behind.”

  “Fiasco?” I’d wanted to punch Cynthia since the first time I met her, but never as much as I did in that moment. The air of smug superiority in her voice grated on my nerves.

  She frowned and turned back to arranging papers on her desk. “His word, not mine. I expect you’ll want to see him anyway?”

  “Yes, I do,” I answered shortly.

  Cynthia rose from her desk, smoothed her hands over the smart, blue blazer she wore over her floral print blouse and said, “I need to interrupt him anyway. Stay here.”

  I watched as she stood and went over to a wall safe, placing her body to make sure I couldn’t see her type in the code. After she typed it in, the door popped open, and a cloud of cold blasted out of it. A refrigerated safe. Who knew they even made those? She rummaged around in it for a moment before stepping back with a silver tray that matched the one I’d seen in Marcus’ house. On it, there was a blood bag and a capped syringe full of clear liquid.

  I guess having your office next to the hospital has its advantages, I thought as she walked briskly to Marcus’
office door and knocked. After a moment, she swung the door open, went inside, and shut it behind her.

  I sat in bored silence for about two seconds before I got up to scan her desk. Something about Cynthia made me distrust her. Maybe it was her elitist attitude. Maybe it was the way my hair stood on end whenever I got close to her, or maybe, it just seemed odd how much Marcus trusted a new hire. Then again, I’m paranoid. You can’t afford not to be when you’re in law enforcement.

  Her desk was organized chaos, full of papers, paperclips, pens, and a few odds and ends, but nothing unusual. I was back in my seat before she came out carrying the silver tray, but she still eyed me suspiciously.

  “Can I go in now?” I asked, offering her a Cheshire grin.

  “You may,” she said glancing at her desk.

  I went in without knocking and instantly regretted it. Even when not under the influence of his vampire powers, I didn’t find Marcus to be terribly unattractive. I mean, in the business world, looks can sometimes be just the edge a person needs, and since he worked in the health industry, he had a lot of health nuts to impress. Let’s just say it didn’t look bad on him. But there is absolutely nothing sexy about needles. Hot or not, watching a guy jab himself in the stomach with a needle made me wince.

  “Come in or go out but don’t stand at the door,” he said, his voice slightly muffled because of the way his head was tucked.

  I ducked in and looked away to the screen on the wall, shutting the door behind me. Marcus, who was standing near the center of the room, finished his injection, dropped the capped syringe into a sharps container on the wall, and went about tucking his shirt in.

  I stole a one-eyed glance back over. “How often do you have to do that?”

  “I don’t question your daily habits. Though perhaps I should. You could do with a personal assistant. Cynthia has been invaluable to me. Or maybe you just need a watch.”

  “You seem pretty close, you and Cynthia.”