There’s a lot of truth to that. “Well, there’s a lot more to it than just sleeping with them.”
“Like what?”
Be straight. “Kissing.”
“Like sex kissing?”
Sidney eyed her reflection in the mirror. “Uh, something like that.”
“Like I see on TV. I see lots of kissing on TV. Are all of those women hookers?”
“Only if they’re paid for it.” Oh geez. She stopped braiding. “What kind of shows do you watch?”
“Just what Mommy watches. I have a TV in my room, but the screen’s all fuzzy. Mommy says she’ll get me a new one now that she has a job.”
“Okay, listen to your Aunt Sid, and I’ll explain to you a little bit about hookers.” I shouldn’t be having this conversation. “Hookers sleep with men for money, but it’s against the law. They can be arrested for it. So, talking about hookers, also known as prostitutes or call girls, is a bit of a no-no.”
“Oh, I see.” Megan smiled. “Thanks, Auntie Sid. That clears that up.”
“Good.” Sid resumed braiding the girl’s hair.
“Aunt Sidney.”
“Yes?”
“What happens if people sleep with each other for free? Is that illegal?”
Morning Glory!
CHAPTER 9
After a restless night of sleep, Sidney rolled out of her sister’s bed and rubbed her eyes. It was daybreak, and a soft light illuminated the edges of the bent mauve-colored window blinds. Megan slept at her side, curled up in a ball. A gentle rise and fall was in the little girl’s chest and her face, despite some smeared makeup, was at peace.
Sidney kissed her forehead and brushed her cheek with her thumb. Such a sweet thing. She picked her way through Allison’s bedroom. Drawers were half open, stuffed with clothes spilling out. Her closet was cramped with shoeboxes and fancy dresses. Sid rubbed the satin on a pearl-colored evening dress.
This would cost me a paycheck. How does she get these things? The conversation she’d had with Megan about hookers came to mind. Sid’s neck tightened. No. She wouldn’t. Would she? It would explain plenty of things. The clothes, the shoes… she opened a white jewelry box that sat on the dresser and gaped.
Look at this stuff!
She held up a tennis bracelet loaded in bright diamonds and shook her head. And she can’t buy any damn groceries! There was more. More precious stones and fine metals of all sorts. A small hoard. Sidney slipped a ruby band flecked with diamonds over her finger. Hmmm, I might keep this for myself. A gold-leaf brooch studded with rubies caught her eye. She snatched it up. That’s Mom’s! She clutched it in her hand. Is she stealing this stuff, or was it given to her? She plucked another item out of the box. A pair of silver and onyx cufflinks she had seen their father wear. Sonuva—?
A rustle in the living room caught her ear. She scooted over to the bed and grabbed her Glock from under the pillow. On cat’s feet, she crept down the short hallway. The back of a man’s head could be seen sitting on the couch. He was leaning over the coffee table. She charged the slide of her weapon, readying a round in the chamber. “Get those hands up where I can see them.”
Slowly, the man’s big hands rose toward the ceiling.
“Clasp your fingers behind your head,” she ordered, making her way to the kitchen.
The man let out a grunt but complied. He turned his face toward hers.
“Smoke?”
The man looked amazing even in blue jeans, work boots, and a nondescript brown jacket. He swallowed. “Yeah. It’s me.”
She kept her gun on him. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He grimaced. “Just keeping an eye on things, I guess.” He eyed the barrel of her gun. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, I don’t mind putting a bullet in your head. No, not at all.”
“Maybe you should call the police.” He started rubbing his neck.
Now that she looked closer, she noticed that his arm was skinned up. And the thigh of his jeans was torn, revealing a bloody gash.
He said, “You wouldn’t happen to have a Band-Aid, would you?”
“No,” she said, lowering her weapon. “But there’s a hospital a few blocks up the road. Did you miss it on your way over here?”
“Guess so,” he said, leaning his big frame over the coffee table. He clutched his side and eyed the Black Slate file that was opened on the table. “Interesting.”
“There’s nothing in here for you to see,” she said. She stuffed everything into the file and tossed it onto the kitchen bar.
“I disagree,” he said, running his eyes up her legs.
She was wearing only a long black shirt and panties and made no effort to hide it. Instead, she took a seat on the barstool and rested her gun hand on the bar. “Out with it. Why are you here—and why do you look beat all to hell?”
“Traffic problems.”
“You didn’t escape, did you?”
“Who, me? Nah, nothing like that. Just a simple misunderstanding on the way over, is all.” He rubbed a lump on his head. “Got any ice?”
“No.” She fidgeted on her stool, foot kicking. She was still mad at him for the cold shoulder in the detention center. She wanted an explanation for it. At the same time, Smoke was hurt. Bad enough to get stitches, maybe worse. What is he up to?
Smoke sat quietly eyeing the décor and pressing his jacket against the cut in his leg. “Look, I’m sorry for the brush-off, okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, back in the detention center. But I was in a hurry. You came at a bad time.”
“Oh, were you missing out on some Bingo?”
“Something like that.” He eased himself up off of the sofa and stretched his broad shoulders back. There was some popping of tendons and sinew. He lumbered toward the front door. “I guess I better get going.” He glanced at the file. “I got all I need for now.”
What is he up to? There was a strange thing about the file: no letter from the bureau and no mention of Smoke, either. Is he still on my side? “See you around, Mr. Smoke.”
He stopped turning the doorknob. “You’re one stiff lady.”
“What did you expect, a welcome wagon?” She put the gun down and balled up her fists by her sides. “What kind of friend sneaks in while you’re sleeping? It’s creepy.”
Smoke’s face darkened a little. “I wouldn’t do anything without good reason. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was here protecting you and the kid?” He approached her, stretched his arm across the kitchen counter, and grabbed some paper towels off the roll. “We’ve been through enough together. You should trust me by now.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Guess not,” he said, pressing the paper towels against a notch on his head and opening the door. “Later, Agent Shaw.” Stooped over, he exited and closed the door behind him.
Sidney started out of her seat, then stopped. Something thumped into the door.
Wump.
She hopped out of her chair and opened the door. Smoke lay stone cold in the stairwell.
CHAPTER 10
Smoke’s pulse was strong but slow. Careful not to get any blood on the concrete stairs, Sidney dragged the man inside. “Geez, you’re heavy.” Closing the door, she left him on the floor, rushed into the bathroom, and grabbed alcohol and washcloths. In the kitchen she found a pair of scissors and cut the jeans off his leg. The sticky, matted blood was worse than it looked, and it had a rough stitch job on it. More blood still oozed out of the wound. “You need a hospital.”
She grabbed her phone and had started to call 9-1-1 when a text popped up from an unknown caller.
Don’t call the hospital. He’ll be fine.
“What?”
The text continued.
I think.
She scanned the apartment, checked outside through the blinds, and checked the front door’s spy hole. She had started to text back when another message popped up.
It’s Mal Carlson.
“I’m getting a little sick of Mal Carlson.” She kneeled alongside Smoke and applied pressure to the wound on his leg. His clammy face soured. “What kind of scrap did you get into this time?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up battered. It had happened when they were dealing with Night Bird. He had been slightly hobbled then, but this was worse. What on earth was he doing? She got up, fixed a damp washcloth, and put some ice in it. A knock sounded at the door.
Picking up her gun, she then checked the spyhole. Phat Sam and Guppy stood outside. She opened up. Guppy bustled through first and opened up a kit of some kind.
“Care to fill me in?” Sidney said to him.
Sam eased her way inside and said, “We have this covered. Just give him a moment.” The gorgeous woman’s tone was somber, and her forehead was creased with concern. “It’s been a long night.”
Sidney opened her mouth to speak but opted to close the door. “Fine.”
Guppy pushed up his sleeves, revealing his thick and hairy forearms. He plucked a syringe from his kit and filled it with a clear liquid from a vaccine bottle. He injected it into Smoke’s wounded leg.
“Care to tell me what that’s for?”
“Smoke has a thing,” Sam said, moving over to the sofa. She eyed it and sat down on the coffee table. “I think you’re going to need a new blanket, but that leather upholstery should be good to go.”
“Again, what is the shot for?” Sidney demanded. “And what kind of thing are you talking about? You make it sound like he’s a diabetic.”
Guppy tucked a penlight in his mouth and peeled Smoke’s eyelids open with his thumbs. “He’s gonna be out for a while. Better put him in the bedroom.” In a slow but fluid move, he hefted Smoke up into a fireman’s carry on his shoulder and headed down the hallway.
“Hold on a second,” Sidney said, cutting into his path. “My niece is sleeping back there.”
“She’s not sleeping in both bedrooms, is she?”
“No.”
“Then,” Guppy said, “I’ll use the one she’s not using.” He smiled. “And which one might that be?”
Sidney opened the door to Megan’s bedroom and stepped aside. “Don’t make a mess.”
“Hmmm,” he said, stepping inside. “Lots of pink and purple. I like it. It’s not manly, but it’s soothing. Good colors for healing.”
Sidney shut him in and took a peek inside the master bedroom. Megan slept easy. Sid closed the door and headed back down the hall. Fat Sam had her nose buried in the Black Slate file.
“Do you mind?” Sidney said.
Sam waved her off. “Oh, we’re all part of the same team. Get over it.” Wearing only a dark-green hoodie and blue jeans, Sam was still an impressive sight. Her words somehow carried authority.
Sidney glared at her.
“All right,” Sam said, closing the folder. “I guess we can sit here and stare at each other.”
“Or you can fill me in on what happened to Smoke.”
“Do you have any coffee in this rat hole?” Sam said toward the kitchen. “It goes great with conversation.”
“No.”
“Donuts?”
Sidney shook her head. “You don’t look like someone who eats donuts.”
“I have amazing genes.”
“Yes,” Sid said, taking a seat beside Sam, “you appear to have a lot of amazing qualities, but not pissing me off isn’t one of them. Out with it, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “Huh, I like that. A compliment with a dash of insult. Well done, Agent Shaw.”
Sidney raised her brows at Sam.
“All right,” the woman said, “Smoke got in a fight last night, but we’ve been keeping track of him and ended up here.”
“With the help of Mal Carlson?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve met him?”
“Yes,” Sam responded.
Sidney’s tone tightened. “In person?”
Sam started to nod her head and then shook it. “No. But he sends us stuff.”
The muscles knotted between Sidney’s shoulders. Again, everyone seemed to know what was going on but her. “What kind of stuff?”
“Oh, a few software programs and some other gadgets, like that kit Guppy has.” Sam checked her black-coated nails and mumbled. “A few weapons and articles of clothing.” She huffed on her nails and rubbed them on her hoodie. “Hasn’t he been sending you stuff too?”
“Not lately. Does the FBI know you’re in on this?”
“Oh no. No no no no. Honestly, my skin crawls a little, hanging out with you, but it’s fine since you’re a shadow agent.” She eyed Sid. “You are still a shadow agent?”
“Oh, I’m a shadow all right.” Sid glanced down the hall. Inside, her feelings stirred. “He is going to be okay, right?”
“Sure. Believe it or not, he’s even tougher than he looks.” She nudged Sid. “And he has us looking after him.”
“So, are you going to tell me what he got in a fight with and why he got in a fight with it? And how exactly did he get out of prison? I need some answers.”
“Well, I don’t know how he got out of prison. I was only notified after he got out, but I do know what he got in a fight with.” She peered down the hall, and her beautiful face filled with excitement. She looked into Sid’s eyes and squeezed her forearm. “It was a gargoyle.”
CHAPTER 11
“A gargoyle, huh?” Sidney said, staring at Sam’s fingernails digging into her arm. “And you saw it?”
“Well, no.” Sam let go. “But I’m pretty sure that’s what it was.”
Sid recollected the gargoyle theory from back when they were in the cemetery during the last investigation. Smoke had claimed that was what he’d seen. “And where did this happen?”
“Smoke sent us word that he was investigating something at some old cemetery. And he told me what he saw that last time. He said it was a gargoyle.” She pulled her chin up. “And I believe him. And,” she poked Sid in the shoulder. “I believe in the werewolf and the harpy and I’m not alone.”
You’re a kook. Sidney squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head a little. And I’m a hypocrite. I’ve seen these things—but I still don’t believe anyone else sees them. “I’ll make some coffee.” She headed into the kitchen and spied an espresso machine on the counter. “It’s going to be pretty stiff.”
“That’s how I like it.”
“Who are you?” said a little girl’s voice with avid curiosity. Megan had made her way out of the bedroom and waltzed into the living room. She yawned and squeezed her teddy bear. “And why is my bedroom door locked?”
“Uh, hi,” Sam said. “I’m Sam, and it’s nice to meet you. You must be Megan.” She looked at the bear and stretched out her hands. “And who do we have here?”
“This is Agent Fluff, and he doesn’t like strangers.” Megan sat down on the sofa, still staring at Sam. “But you’re kinda pretty, so I guess it’s all right.” She handed over the bear.
“Nice to meet you, Agent Fluff,” Sam said, shaking his paw.
“Aunt Sidney, I’m hungry.”
“Okay,” Sid said. She checked inside the fridge. No eggs. No milk. She closed the door and opened up one of her bags of groceries. “You still like cinnamon Pop-Tarts?”
“Yep!”
“Maybe the three of us should go out,” Sam suggested. “I know a great place nearby that makes awesome pancakes.”
“What? No.” Sid rejected.
“Yeah! Let’s go, Aunt Sidney. Pleeease!” Megan pleaded.
“What is with you people and pancakes?” Sidney said.
“Come on,” Sam said. “I think it would be best.” She eyed the hallway again. “If you know what I mean.”
Sid shut off the coffeemaker and agreed, “Okay.”
***
They spent the next couple of hours eating at the International House of Pancakes. Megan had a hundred questions for Sam. Sam had a thousand an
swers. All went well until they returned to the apartment and found out Smoke and Guppy were gone. Otherwise, everything was just as they left it, and even Megan’s bedroom was cleaned up and organized.
“I guess that’s my cue,” Sam said, making a break for the door.
Sidney blocked it. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
Megan took a seat on the couch and turned on the television. “Do you two mind taking it somewhere else? My show is coming on. Got to get me some Halley and Baby.”
Sidney pointed down the hall and said to Sam, “March.” Inside the master bedroom, they both took a seat on the bed. “So tell me something. Why did Smoke come here?”
Sam shrugged.
“All right then.” Sid rubbed her hands on her thighs. “Since we’re a team, and I’m pretty sure you pride yourself on being an honest woman, I’ll rephrase the question. Why do you think Smoke came here?”
Sam’s eyes brightened. She crossed her legs and said, “I think he was protecting you.”
“All right, and what do you think he was protecting me from?”
“Gargoyles?” Sam lifted her shoulders a little. “Maybe that Mason Crow fella.” She made a bitter face. “That’s a scary-looking guy. And then, of course, as usual, you have the Drake to contend with, which I think we know is behind all this.”
Sidney shrank back on the bed. Things began to click. “It’s the file. They want the file!”
“You think?”
Sidney retrieved the file from the kitchen counter. She had taken it with her on the trip to eat but had left it in the car. From now on she’d be more careful. Back inside the bedroom, she dropped it on the comforter and opened it up.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“Someone made sure the last file got burned up in a car accident. We still recovered pieces of it, and that was enough last time, but...” She studied the faces in the pics, looking for marks, tattoos, or distinct features. There were several notes and records too. “Everything is a clue, a puzzle piece, and each file ties them all together to complete the picture.”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 32
