She glanced down at the paper. Lord, it is! “No, just another person of interest.” She watched Ted take a seat behind his desk. “Nice to know you’ve forgotten about me. I’d like to think the Black Slate carries more interest.”
He held his hands up and waved them from side to side. “It does, it does. Please don’t go on the attack again. I just got here.”
She leaned toward his desk. “No, it doesn’t. You don’t even want to think about it, and you know it. I bet we wouldn’t even be meeting if you didn’t have an obligation to.”
His eyes drifted a moment before they found her again. “That’s not true. You know how fond I am of you, Sid.” He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. “But I am not now, nor have I ever been comfortable with this Black Slate stuff, not since day one. The fact that you are on it is the worst part.”
“You don’t think I can handle it.”
“No. Well that’s not entirely true. Five agents died last time, right? You were there. Not that I don’t feel for those agents. I do, but you’re just different.” He locked his eyes on hers. “I don’t ever want to go to your funeral.”
“I’m touched, but it comes with the job, you know.”
“Sure, all agents are at risk. We all know that. But a greater rate of mortality comes to those who deal with this Black Slate.” He wiggled his mouse while he put on a pair of rectangular glasses. His monitor came to life. He logged in. “And well,” he sighed, “I’ve lost a friend before to the peculiar circumstances that come with it.”
Interesting. Sidney settled back in her chair. Ted might be a little grizzly on the outside, but he was all heart on the inside. When agents died, he felt it. “So you were close to this person? How did they die?”
“Disappeared is more like it.” He rubbed his neck. “I was two years out of the academy. She was my supervisor. Deanne, one of the few people in this world who ever intimidated me.” He smiled and locked his fingers behind his neck. “She was magnificent. Merciless in interrogation. The tougher they were, the harder they fell. She’d have them crying for their mommies. Confessing everything. You’d watch through the one-way glass, hear that penetrating squall that turned your guts out, and watch a man’s entirety collapse.”
“Wow, she really made an impact on you.”
“She made an impact on everybody. One time, we were on a presidential detail, and I swear he saluted her. Ha. She was the Rambo of the interrogations unit.” He got up and opened the small fridge and grabbed a water. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. So, she really got you worked up, huh Chief.”
“Aw,” he shooed her with his hand. “Not like that. Well, maybe. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, but hell Sid, she scared me.”
“Do I scare you?”
“No no no, that’s not what I’m getting at. But your toughness makes me think about her sometimes. Not many have that edge like you have. It’s a gift in this profession.”
“Thanks. What did happen?”
Ted leaned his head back like he was looking for the answer on the ceiling. “Huh, good question. She called me into her office one day, sat me down, and told me she was leaving and that I would be her replacement.” He rubbed his chin. “All she had was a cardboard box. You know, the kind that hold reams of paper. Her possessions didn’t fill half of it. Of course, back then you were lucky to have an office with a window air conditioner in it.” He glanced around his office. “Look at all the shit I have. If she came back, well, I’d be embarrassed.” His eyes grew sad. “We’re just so damn soft nowadays.”
Sidney chuckled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Just funny to hear my hard-nosed boss say that. I don’t think your baubles are too much to be ashamed about.”
He stuck out his chest. “No, I guess not. Besides, Margie won’t let me put them up at home, so it might as well be here.” He eyed a fish on the wall. A bass every bit of two feet long. “Did I ever tell you—”
“Yes!” Sid widened her eyes. “So that’s it. She left, and you never heard from her again. How did you know it was the Black Slate she was involved with?”
“She left with few words, but she said, ‘You’ll do well.’ I asked about her assignment, and all she said was ‘If they wanted you to know, they’d tell you.’ And out the door she went. I never saw her again. She became a ghost.”
“So how do you know she was on the Black Slate?”
“I got a postcard in my mailbox at home years later.” His voice became low and quiet. “It was a picture of an eerie castle somewhere in Europe I guess. Like something one would see or imagine from a scene in Transylvania. It said, ‘Ted, monsters are real. Avoid the Slate.’ She didn’t sign it, but I knew it was her writing. I always thought it was a joke. A gag. It was almost two decades later that I learned it wasn’t.”
“Do you still have the postcard?”
“Yeah.” He opened up his drawer, reached down, and withdrew a small yellow envelope. He tossed it to the edge of the desk. “I’ve never shown it to anyone, aside from Margie.”
Sidney bent back the clasp and took out the postcard. The edges were still clean and crisp. The picture of the castle nestled in the hills above the fog seemed almost as real as a view from a window. She read the message. All seven words. Seven. Interesting choice. A small sketch in the bottom left corner shot a chill through her bones. It was a black sunrise.
CHAPTER 2
“So,” Sid stared at the card, “can I borrow this?”
“Uh, no.” Ted said, rubbing his lip with his finger. “Why would you want to?”
“What if there’s more to it than meets the eye, and you missed it?”
He reached across the desk with his hand out. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re pretty attached to it, aren’t you? I wonder what Deanne would think about that.” She fanned herself with the card. “I bet she’d be touched.”
Ted’s forehead crinkled. “Give it back.”
Boy, he really is attached to it. “Do you have a picture of her?”
“No.”
“What was her last name?”
“Just forget about it, Sid.” He patted his desk with his meaty fingers. “The card, please.”
She took her phone out and brought up the camera.
“Don’t you dare,” he said. “I don’t want every detail of my life to be a digital record. They have a file on me in the computers already.”
She gave it one last look, dropped it back in the envelope, and handed it over. I’ve seen all I need to see anyway. “Thanks for sharing.”
He stared at the envelope with a pained expression on his face. He sighed and handed it back to Sid. “Here. Just try not to lose it. So, how has the last month been?”
She tucked the postcard away. “Oh, let’s see. I’ve been inside archives doing research as ordered. Pretty boring. Sorting. Filing.”
“I thought you liked that kind of stuff.”
“No, I’m just better at it than anybody else. What I like is being in the field and not shackled inside a library basement that everyone but the janitor has forgotten about. Do you have another name on the Black Slate for me or not?”
Ted looked away and wrote a note on a piece of paper. “No.”
He’s not telling me something. “So then I can assume that everything is suddenly right in the nefarious underworld I’ve discovered, the one no one else wants to talk about.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I guess if no one talks about it, it’s not real. Huh, Ted? Is that why I’m not in the office? Why I’m isolated? Because I might disrupt the status quo?”
“Don’t get so heated. No one has forgotten about you. You just aren’t a priority right now. We have borders, elections, terrorist threats, endless investigations, and budget cuts, not to mention an unruly media.” He took a drink of water. “The Slate is low on the pecking order, and they haven’t so much as sent me a peep about any of it. No files. No nothi
ng.”
“Do I just wait?”
“You’re still under shadow cover. Why not enjoy it? And don’t make it sound as if you aren’t doing anything. I know you’re snooping around over something.”
True. She’d still been digging up all the dirt should could on Drake and its conglomerates. Black suns. They kept popping up in the shadows. “I’ve been practicing extraordinary caution.”
“And I couldn’t be happier,” he said, clicking through his emails. “Man, it’s going to be another long day.” Without taking his eyes off the screen, he said, “What you’re doing is better than sitting in meetings all day. It’s a wonder we get anything done around here.” He clicked through a few more emails, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
Sidney sat back in her chair and watched his eyes toggle up and down the screen. A couple of minutes had gone by when she spoke up. “Excuse me, Chief? Are we finished here?”
“Oh, sorry Sid.” He swung his shoulders around. “I believe we are.”
“You’re joking.”
“I don’t have anything else. I really don’t.”
“So you invited me to a meeting about nothing?”
“It’s routine, you know that. Most meetings are about nothing. They’re just a nugget on the schedule.”
She got up quickly and glared at him. “Well I hope you get a medal for it.” She headed for the door. “This is ridiculous!”
“You haven’t been dismissed, Agent Shaw.” He got up, crossed the room, and met her at the door. He put one hand on her shoulder and took her hand in the other.
She felt a piece of paper in it.
“Same time next month, Agent Shaw. Now, let me get that door for you.”
“See you around next month, maybe.” She nodded at Jane and made a bead straight for the elevators. Passing cubicle after cubicle, she felt eyes slide over her body and drift away when she faced them. A young woman with her head down rounded the corner and bumped into her, dropping her phone on the floor.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. She was a blonde in her late twenties, dressed in an FBI polo and slacks.
“No problem,” Sid said, picking up her phone and handing it to her. “Have a good day.”
“Say,” the woman said, “you wouldn’t be Agent Shaw by any chance?”
“Yes, why?”
“Nothing. I just heard Sadie talking about you one day to some of the newer agents. And older agents. Pretty much everybody.” The woman offered her hand. “I’m Rebecca Lang, data analyst.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty boring job, but I’m going to be a field agent, eventually.” She pushed her glasses up. “I’m just not a very good shot, but I’ve also heard you’re one of the best. Any chance you can teach me sometime?”
Sidney looked down at her. “There’s nothing I can teach you that you haven’t already been taught. Practice more, Agent Lang.” I’m going to kill Sadie. Without another word or glance, she headed for the elevator but turned left and pushed through the fire door into the stairwell. I suppose some time at the range wouldn’t hurt me either.
Heading down the stairs, she’d almost forgotten about the note. Given the peculiar nature of the delivery, she’d kept it tucked inside her palm. Head down, she averted her eyes from the cameras in the stairwell. That was one thing that didn’t bother her about being in the remotely located archives. She didn’t feel as if she was being watched all the time. But headquarters was different. Too different. If someone’s eyes weren’t on her, someone else’s were. They. Ted always mentioned them but gave her no idea who they were. She wasn’t even certain that they were agents. She still wasn’t certain about a lot of things. Too many things.
She popped the fire door, crossed through the lobby, and exited through the front doors. Her breathing eased. Keeping pace with the crowd, she made her way to her car a few blocks down. That was one thing she didn’t mind so much about shadow cover: blending in. Jeans. Sweater. She wasn’t any different than anyone else on the street. There’s something to be said for anonymity.
Checking traffic, she crossed the street and headed for her phantom-black Hellcat. The twenty-inch wheels on the boss machine made her smile. She unlocked the door, took her seat, and closed herself inside. With a push of a button the engine purred to life. She sank into the leather and closed her eyes. Ah, that’s better. She rubbed the note inside her hand and tried to guess what it said. Probably the name of a new pizza place or a microbrewery that’s just opened. Opening her eyes, she unfolded the paper and read a short list.
Alexandria Detention Center
Deanne Drukker
Extraordinary Caution
CHAPTER 3
Sidney dialed up the Alexandria Detention Center. A man picked up. She asked, “Do you have a Deanne Drukker incarcerated?”
The man replied, coughing. “Sorry. Fighting a cold. Are you wanting to schedule a visit?”
“Maybe. Right now I’m just looking for her, actually.”
“Well, the name doesn’t sound familiar. Let me check.” He started to hum an eighties rock melody that was broken up with coughing. “Nope. No Deanne or Drukker. Are you sure that’s the right name?”
“I’m sure,” she said, pulling out of her parking spot.
“You might want to call around some other places, Miss. Did you call the local police on this?”
“Not yet.” She stopped the car at the red light. Why would Ted give me her full name? Why the detention center?
“Miss, are you there? I’ve got another call if we’re finished here.”
“Smoke,” she said. “Is John Smoke housed there?”
“Oh yeah, Smoke’s here. Are you family?”
Her blood pulsed through her chest. “Really. Uh, No.”
“Ah, girlfriend. What’s your name? I’ll see if he has you scheduled.”
“Does he get many visitors?”
“Not many people do, but he does better than most. I see he’s expecting someone. What is your name?”
It better be Fat Sam or Guppy. “It’s Sidney. I’m probably not on the list, but I’d like to see him.”
“Well, Sidney, are you finally going to show up this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, protocol calls for him to schedule someone before they come. He’s had your name on here every Thursday for the last several weeks. Pfft. If you’re coming, show up sometime between now and noon. Time’s up after that. We can’t wait to see you.” The line went dead.
What game is he playing?
***
A correction officer escorted Sidney through the halls of the detention center. Their footsteps echoed off the hard white walls. He opened the door to the visitation room and stepped aside.
“He’ll be with you soon, Miss.”
Inside, there was a sofa, a small round table, and four chairs. The walls were painted a pale yellow, and a painting of an old man fishing in the sea hung on the wall. The checkered tile floors were scrubbed clean, and the smell of Clorox lingered in the air. It was one of the better detention centers she’d been inside. The chair scraped across the floor as she took a seat. She took off the jacket they’d given her to wear. The watch commander had said her sweater left little to the imagination. She’d told him she was FBI acting in official capacity. And he’d said he didn’t care. She checked the time. 11:15 am.
Two minutes later, Smoke came through the door. He wore a beige jumpsuit, and his hair was shaved down to about a quarter inch. The imposing man took a seat across from her and looked deep into her eyes.
“So, you’ve been expecting me?” she said, pushing her sleeves up on her sweater.
“For about seven weeks,” he said. “How have you been?”
“Bored.”
“Huh-huh,” Smoke laughed, tipping his head back a little. “You think you’re bored. I think you miss me.”
“You’re the one writing me in for visitations,” she said, remaining poised. “You’ve been here the entire time?”
“I have, and that’s why I thought you’d have been here sooner.” He eyed her. “You really didn’t know I was here, did you.”
“Not until today. A little bird told me.”
“A bird, huh?”
“Not that kind of bird.” She glanced at his hair. “So, are you going back in the military? You look like you’re fresh off the bus and just left the base barber.”
“We had a lice outbreak.”
As if being almost obscene wasn’t bad enough, you have to follow up with that.
He rubbed his hand over his head. “It takes some getting used to, but it will grow back.”
Let’s hope. “It doesn’t really matter.” She brushed her own hair aside. “Are you going to stay here for the duration?”
“Seventeen months to go, maybe six with good behavior, but I’m not for sure. I’m just marking the days until time is served.”
Clearly Smoke didn’t need to be imprisoned, and seeing him there hurt. She wanted him out. At least I know where he is now. “Any other visitors, Sam or Guppy?”
He shook his head. “No, they don’t swing by. It’s better that way.” He patted the table with his fingers. “So, do you have your sweet heart suit on?”
“No, just my own skin.”
He leaned forward. “Did you return it to Mal Carlson then?”
“I still don’t have any idea who he is, but he sends me texts from time to time. They don’t make a lot of sense.”
“Can I see them?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me what they say?”
“Not much of a point in it. Just weird stuff. Common courtesy and such.” She crinkled her nose. “Kinda juvenile actually.”
The chair groaned as Smoke eased back into his seat. “I see. So you don’t have anything interesting to tell me? Black suns? Odd investigations? Semi-truck trailers running you off the road?”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 29
