by Mia Darien
“First, you’re going to tell us everything. After that depends on you,” he said.
“Me?”
He searched her expression, for what she had no idea. She stared back, giving nothing away. “Depending on what you have to say, we’ll give you options.”
Options sounded promising. Getting the hell out of here sounded better, as long as she knew the bad guys would be stopped first. Quinn stood up, her chair scraping across the stained concrete flooring in protest. All three men tensed. Not visibly, more a tightening around their eyes as they regarded her with careful interest.
“Going somewhere?” Cain asked.
“What I have to say shouldn’t be discussed in a public coffee shop.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’d leave with four strange men? On their word?”
“Easy, boss,” Sawyer murmured. Russian again.
Quinn put her hands on the table and leaned in, refusing to be intimidated. “I was provided pictures, descriptions, and names. You match up.” She stood back up. “Do you want to waste more time on lectures? Or do you want to get started?”
Shaw choked back a laugh. “Feisty one, isn’t she.” Again with the Russian. Delilah’s idea of funny could tend to the warped on occasion. Not telling these guys about Quinn’s ability to understand all languages had to be her idea of a joke. In this case, even Quinn’s funny bone was tickled. Always interesting to know what people were thinking when they thought you didn’t understand.
Cain rose to his feet. Trying to intimidate her with his greater size now? “People can disguise themselves.”
“Not from me. There’s truth in words.” Besides, she wasn’t the helpless little girl she’d once been.
Cain’s gaze sharpened as he absorbed her retort, as if he could delve into her mind. “You’re a Psy.” His words were a statement, not a question.
“No shit!” Shaw exclaimed, sitting up straight in his seat.
Sawyer elbowed him. “Shut up.”
Quinn flicked a quick glance toward them. They’d used words she hadn’t heard before. Did the twins have their own made-up language?
“Yes,” Quinn confirmed, returning her gaze to Cain. Each of these men was also a Psy, though Delilah hadn’t shared their specific psychic abilities.
Giving a grunt Quinn interpreted as satisfaction with her answers, Cain turned to the door. “Let’s go.”
Quinn grabbed her purse off the back of her chair and her laptop bag off the floor and followed him out of the shop, with Shaw and Sawyer bringing up the rear. Outside, a generic black sedan pulled up and Cain held the door for her. She ended up in the back seat with the Thor-look-a-likes on either side. Cain sat in the front, and Max was in the driver’s seat.
He turned and gave her a once-over. “I’m Max.”
“Quinn.”
He faced forward and put the car in gear. “Where to, boss?”
“Our hotel.”
CHAPTER 2
They made the trip in silence. Before she knew it, she was in a hotel suite—generic with the usual two queen beds, desk, TV, mini-fridge, and a view of the fire escape and the brick building next door. At least it smelled better than her room last night. Not much, but still. The air conditioner propped in the window made a high-pitched whine. The thing had to be on its last leg.
She turned from her quick sweep of the room to find four large men all staring her down. “How do you decide who sleeps together? Draw straws?”
Shaw sniggered, but a glance at Cain’s rock-hard jaw showed her humor was lost on him. Rather than comment, he pulled out the desk chair and placed it facing the end of one of the beds, then sat and indicated she should sit on the bed facing. “Tell us everything you know.”
She lowered herself to the mattress, her feet barely touching the floor, and tried to ignore his proximity and mouth-watering scent—evergreen and something darker. “What did Delilah tell you?”
“Not enough, apparently.” His tone was even, but she’d bet money Daniel Cain was not happy with Delilah. “I’d rather hear it directly from you, anyway.”
“Right.” She settled her purse and laptop bag on the floor. “As we established earlier, I’m a Psy. My specialty is communication.”
Cain leaned forward, elbows on his knees and gaze intense. Way too close, but she refused to back up or give an inch. Was that a flicker of awareness in his gaze? Quinn gave herself a mental shake. Of course not.
“In what way?” he asked.
“I understand every language and communication. All human languages, of course, but also animals, computers. Anything that can communicate.”
“So you understood our Russian earlier?” Sawyer asked.
She flicked him a glance. “Da. Ya ponyal.”
“And our twin-speak?” Shaw asked.
She quirked a smile.
“Damn.”
Quinn’s lips twitched at his disgruntled expression, but she returned her gaze to Cain and continued. “About five years ago, Delilah got me a job as an interpreter for the major world-wide political body which is headquartered across the street from the coffee shop where we met.”
“What languages?” Max asked. She glanced at the man who stood in the corner of the room behind her. Broader than the other three, he had dark hair cropped military-short and fathomless dark eyes. Hard to get a read on him.
“English, French, and Spanish primarily. I also interpret Russian when the other Russian interpreters aren’t available.”
“But you speak everything?” Cain’s question pulled her gaze back to him.
“Yes.”
“Then why not interpret the other languages?”
“Delilah’s suggestion—most people don’t speak everything. Limiting the list looked more normal and helped me blend.”
“Something happened at work?”
She considered the man in front of her. Daniel Cain caught more than most. Maybe because he paid such close attention. She could feel his gaze on her like a caress. “I overheard a conversation I shouldn’t have.”
“When?”
“Yesterday during the General Assembly, a delegate’s aides were discussing the trafficking of supernaturally gifted people. From what I caught, they are slavers for people like us. I don’t think the delegate knows.”
Even now, fury and terror gripped her simultaneously. Trafficking and slavery in any form was horrendous. That they targeted her kind had Quinn on edge. She couldn’t go through that again. Hence the goon squad to the rescue.
Cain raised a single eyebrow. “They discussed it openly?”
She didn’t blame Cain for his skepticism. With translators of six languages listening, you’d think they’d be more careful. But…
“They were speaking Sumerian.”
The men exchanged baffled glances. Only Cain remained focused on her, waiting.
“Is that unusual?” Max asked.
“Sumerian is an ancient language.”
“So they assumed anyone listening wouldn’t understand.” Cain caught on quickly.
“Exactly. I only know two races who still speak ancient languages. Angels…”
Terror again zinged through her and she couldn’t quite hide her shiver. “And demons.”
Silence hung over the room, thick and heavy.
“You’re telling us we’re dealing with demons?” Max rumbled from his spot in the corner.
Cain said nothing, though she could see his mind ticking over.
Unnerved by his penetrating gaze and what it did to her body—highly inappropriate given the current situation—she focused on Max. “Most likely. Angels wouldn’t do the things they were talking about. Vampires are another possibility, given how ancient some are, but these didn’t look like vampires.”
“What? No pale skin or pointy teeth?” Shaw asked.
“Not exactly.” In fact, the demons appeared as rather plain humans. Smart. Too ugly and they stood out. Too beautiful and they stood out. Better not to draw any attention. In
their true form, supposedly, demons were astonishingly beautiful. Even more so than angels. Quinn wondered if that was true.
“What delegation?” Cain asked.
“Mauritolla.”
“Damn.” Cain muttered the word under his breath, but she caught it, though the others might not have.
Quinn’s thoughts exactly. The Mauritolla archipelago, one of the world’s most beautiful island destinations in the Caribbean, visited almost exclusively by the world’s wealthiest people, also had several uninhabited islands, perfect for hiding captured supernaturals and using shipping lines to send them around the world. Also, a fair distance away from where they sat in New York City.
“Did they know you overheard?” Cain asked.
“I don’t think they realized I could understand. Both of us interpreting French that day heard. Sarah, the other girl with me, wondered what language they spoke. I said I didn’t recognize it.”
“Then why the call to Delilah?”
She raised a single eyebrow. “I wanted to check off my good deed for the day.”
Four sets of eyes stared back at her—three confused. Cain was…amused? No, that couldn’t be right.
Quinn stood and put her hands on her hips. “Do I really have to spell it out? They are hunting our kind. Not only does that put me in danger if they discover me under their noses. But people like us—” She waved at the men in the room. “—are being held captive and slaved out for their powers. I couldn’t let it go.” Before she got the hell out of Dodge.
“Okay.” Cain held up his hands. “I had to know.”
Comprehension dawned and she glared. “You were testing me?”
“Sorry.” He didn’t even have the grace to grimace.
“No you’re not.”
Sawyer, or maybe Shaw, coughed to cover a laugh, and Cain shot him a glare over her shoulder.
Quinn resumed her seat and glared at the man in front of her. “You said I have options.”
Cain leveled a calculating stare her way. Was that a spark of respect in his eyes? Why did a warm glow ignite in the region of her heart at the thought? This man was nothing to her after he got her out of here.
“Yes, options… Two.”
She waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she crossed her legs, prepared to outwait whatever test he ran on her now.
His lips quirked. Barely. “Option one: we relocate you somewhere safer.”
Sounded good, but what about the demons? “And option two?”
“You help us investigate the demons and put a stop to it.”
CHAPTER 3
To give her credit, Quinn didn’t appear nervous as they made their way through security. In fact, he’d been impressed with how calm she’d been, given the situation. A trafficking ring was bad enough, but one which would be interested in her should’ve had her terrified. While he detected nerves, he could see that she focused only on what was to be done.
Cain’s new employee badge had been overnighted, and he sailed through without a hitch.
“How did Delilah get you access so quickly?” Quinn whispered as she led the way to the elevators. “The process usually takes a while.”
Cain flicked her a glance. “I don’t ask how when it’s Delilah.”
She hummed a response he interpreted as agreement.
They rode to the third floor in silence, her soft floral scent teasing him, though he was determined to ignore the kick of attraction which had started the moment she’d looked up at him in the coffee shop yesterday. Along with a strange sense of familiarity. But he’d never met Quinn before. He didn’t think he’d forget her heart-shaped face, or those soft eyes which seemed to take in everything.
He waved her ahead when they reached their floor, and they exited the elevator into a long, generic hallway lit by fluorescents above, which buzzed quietly in the background. Fewer people in this area than downstairs.
“Hey, Quinn!”
His companion waved at the two ladies passing in the hall.
“Thanks again for bringing my favorite muffin yesterday. Made my day,” one said.
Quinn’s answering smile was pleased. “Of course, sweetie.” She didn’t stop to chat, though, pulling him along in her wake as she kept walking.
As they passed him, both women stared at Cain as though he were a chilled bottle of wine and they wanted a drink. Focused on the job he had to do and the woman at his side, for his part, Cain nodded politely but otherwise kept moving.
Hard not to focus on Quinn Ridley. The woman was a dynamo in tiny packaging. He doubted she was more than five feet on a good day and slender with it. Her hair was a thousand colors which, if pressured, he’d call brunette, but golden brown with streaks of blonde was more accurate. She wore it to her shoulders in long layers she tucked behind her ears, adding to the pixie-like impression.
Usually he preferred platinum blondes, so why he was attracted to this particular pixie was a damn mystery. Yesterday, he’d walked into the coffee shop and taken a sucker punch to the gut when she glanced up, defiant and wary, and lust had slammed through his system. A strange reaction he intended to leave an unsolved mystery. His job was dealing with the demons she’d uncovered.
“Interpreters dress better than I expected for people who are heard but rarely seen.” The comment popped out of his mouth.
She gave him a glance that clearly said she found the comment odd, but shrugged. “Sorry you had to bother wearing a suit. We’re professionals. Plus, on occasion, we are asked to perform individual interpretation, which requires being seen.”
He rumbled an unintelligible reply. The suit didn’t bug him. In his line of work, disguises were often necessary, so he wore suits with practiced ease. That wasn’t why he’d said it. He knew exactly where the thought originated. From the way her skirt hugged her curves and how her heels made her legs incredibly sexy. But saying it out loud? What on earth was wrong with him today?
“In here.” She turned the handle on one of a series of doors spaced across one wall and led the way into the French interpreter’s booth. The space was glass-fronted, impersonal, and well lit, about the size of a jail cell. In the cramped area, Quinn’s light scent, flowery and sweet, stole around him. Through the one-way glass, the desks of the delegate hall spread out in a semi-circle, sloping, stadium-style, to the podium center stage below. The delegate hall was currently about half-full, occupied mostly by men in suits.
Quinn took one of the two seats and pulled her computer out of her bag, setting it on the desk. “Sarah will be in any second, which means, unfortunately, you’ll have to stand.”
Disregarding her, he took the other seat. “No, she won’t.”
She swung her gaze away from her computer screen to stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“Sarah’s on paid vacation. I take it she won an all-expenses paid trip to Paris. I’m your partner for the foreseeable future.”
Crossed arms and narrowed eyes greeted his statement. “I assumed you were here for protection.”
“Too conspicuous. Better if I’m here in a professional capacity.”
“Fan-frickin-tastic,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
She flicked a wide-eyed glance, full of surprise, his way. Then her expression blanked and she went all professional on him. “What languages do you speak?”
Unaccustomed amusement tickled at him. He got the impression she hadn’t meant to say her first comment out loud. “English.”
She waited for him to continue. “And…?”
“That’s all.”
Quinn’s lips flattened. “So how will you be translating, exactly?”
“I’m going to borrow your power.”
She straightened in her seat. “How?”
“My ability is psychometry. Among other things, I have Ability Learning and Knowledge Replication. As long as I’m touching you, I can mimic your abilities, including anything you’ve learned through experience.”
She sat back in he
r seat, mollified. “I see. Handy trick.”
“It has its uses.” Why wasn’t she more impressed? In the Psy world, psychometry was a rare and coveted skill.
“As long as you don’t—” Quinn broke off with a barely audible gasp. If he’d been an empath, he’d bet anger would be sparking off her now.
Cain turned to follow the direction of her gaze to find a group of men entering the delegation hall. “Is that them?”
“Yes.” The word came out like an expletive.
Despite himself, Cain was impressed. Most would cower and hide in the face of that kind of danger. Not Quinn Ridley. Instead she was fuming. As fast as she’d jumped at the opportunity to help take the demons down, he got the impression this was a personal vendetta for her.
At the same time, he had to wonder if her sense of self-preservation was off. Not only was she willing to go after demons, but she showed zero trepidation around him. Most of the time, people avoided him, gave him a wide birth. Not that he deliberately pushed them away. Max said he had one of those faces. However, Quinn didn’t act intimidated or nervous of him. Annoyed—yes. Intimidated—no.
She pulled her glare away from the Mauritollan delegation and raised her hands to the keyboard. Hands which trembled uncontrollably. So Quinn was afraid. The strangest urge to protect her thrummed through Cain, and a bitter tang hit his tongue. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he tasted fear, but that couldn’t be right. Granted, his original job was to get Quinn out of the situation safely, but he never got personally involved. Never.
“Don’t worry. I’m here.” The words were out before he consciously thought them. Another odd reaction, all these thoughts coming out as words. Did she have another power he wasn’t aware of yet?
Cain almost laughed out loud at the incredulous glare she slowly turned his way, those grey-blue eyes disbelieving.
“Lucky me.”
He couldn’t miss the sarcasm. Strangely, instead of finding her sass annoying, he fought another urge to chuckle. Damn, he must finally be losing it. Psys had a higher rate of mental illness than most. Still, the fear that had her shaking needed to be addressed. She needed to know he had her back.
