When I’d scouted Ethan’s lair, they captured me. Mark, a Werehyena employed by Ethan loved to play with knives and other people’s skin, my skin. He made Angie watch while he took a scalpel knife and made multiple incisions all over my body.
As I lay naked on an operating table with the beginning injuries of a torture marathon, Ethan summoned Mark to a meeting. Got to love bureaucracy. Angie, ordered to stay in the room, but unable to help me, didn’t stop me from shifting and flying away.
I owed her.
And I hated owing a pint-sized Barbie doll with unnatural curves. She indirectly put me in the whole Clint Assassination situation in the first place, being the one to contact my rogue handler. I wish that made us even, but Ethan controlled leopards, like Lucien with his wolves, and she’d had no choice, forced to do everything Ethan commanded. Probably the only reason she still had employment with the SRD.
That’s if the SRD knew. Did Agent Booth keep Angie’s transgressions to herself, holding it as leverage so the Wereleopard would do her bidding? It fit. Probably something I’d do, too.
Taking in a deep breath, I stepped off the sterile metal elevator with its characterless gray carpet. The sight greeting me had the air sticking to my lungs. My throat dried, my chest hollowed.
Tristan stood in front of Angie’s desk, leaning over to speak to her. At my entrance, he turned to face me.
As good looking as I remembered, Tristan’s angelic face inspired sinful thoughts. Six solid feet of muscle, with rich black hair contrasting sharply with bright sapphire eyes and fair skin.
At the sight of me, his dark eyebrows shot up and a slow smile grew on his face. When his intoxicating scent reached me, honeysuckle on a warm summer’s day, along with the standard Wereleopard citrus and sunshine aroma, my knees grew weak. Maybe I should sit down.
“Andy,” Tristan purred. “You didn’t call.”
Glancing at Angie, I took in her sucked-on-a-lemon face before she shuttered it with cold indifference. Tristan followed my gaze. I was not sure what passed between the two Wereleopards, but Angie stood up briskly and straightened her stretchy dress before sashaying down the hall. Despite walking at a brisk pace, she managed to swing her hips like a wrecking ball—boom, boom, boom.
“Andy.” Tristan’s voice snapped my attention away from the receptionist’s butt.
“Tristan.”
“I’d like to take you out tonight.”
His eyes sparkled. Able to smell my own desire and panic, Tristan had to be well aware of the impact he had on me.
“I got back into town this morning. I won’t make a great date.” I shuffled my feet on the office’s short pile carpet.
“I disagree.”
“I think you’d reconsider that statement if I fell asleep on you,” I said.
Tristan’s smile grew. “I like the idea of watching you sleep.”
Flustered, I opened and closed my mouth like a fish tossed on a riverbank by a hungry bear, then words stumbled out. “I…I don’t know what to say to that.” Honesty was the best policy.
Tristan took another step closer, his movement muffled by the carpet. “You don’t need to be nervous around me, Andy.”
My heart fluttered, and although tempted to insist I wasn’t nervous, I refrained. He’d scent the lie.
“Let me take you to dinner.”
“Tomorrow night.” The words shot from my mouth before the thought went to the processing section of my brain. The part that would’ve said No, sorry, can’t. Busy, you know. Things to do. Witches to beat up.
The smile Tristan flashed melted my core into a puddle of goo. I’d have to check later to see if my panties were still on, his devilish grin better than any stiff drink.
“Andrea,” Angie interrupted, having returned from her runway strut. “Agent Booth will see you now.”
She sauntered back to her gray industrial desk displaying the same passive facial expression she wore on the way out. Her scent betrayed her, though—she was upset. What existed between her and Tristan? Lovers? Friends? Exes? Something ugly flared up inside me at the idea of her sleeping with Tristan.
Mine, my mountain lion hissed, and then encouraged me to rake my nails across her face. I took a shuddered breath and reined in the possessive fera before I turned the reception area into a girl-on-girl battle room, without the mud.
Warm fingers caressing mine snapped my head to reality. Tristan brought my hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on my knuckles. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
My hand fell limp against my body when he released it. He brushed by me on the way out, his scent clinging to the air long after he left. I wanted to vacuum the air and bottle it.
“He’ll only hurt you.” Angie tapped away at the keyboard in front of her computer’s flat screen, not bothering to look up. Probably editing her online dating profile.
I didn’t know what to say to that either, so I glared at her head. Angie must’ve felt the death stare, because she sighed and looked up. “Do you need help finding her office?”
“No,” I bit out.
Spinning on my heel, I made my way to Booth’s office. When I knocked on her door, she barked out, “Enter!”
I opened the door and let myself in. Agent Booth gestured to the chair in front of her desk and then proceeded to ignore me while she tinkered at her computer, most likely sending one irrelevant e-mail after another. I had an office job once. I got it.
With an unsupervised moment, I took the time to analyze Booth. Middle aged with graying black hair, gray eyes, and a large hooked nose. She wore trendy age-appropriate business attire, showing her personal style with purple-rimmed glasses and green eye make-up. Maybe she liked to dress as the naughty librarian with her gentlemen callers after hours.
The disturbing image of Booth in a lover’s tryst flashed in my head. But something else put me on edge. My brows pinched together to join as one. Agent Booth had no scent. She hadn’t the last time we’d met, either. I’d never encountered a scentless person, norm or supe, unless the individual dabbled in some heavy magic. Instinctively, I knew this wasn’t the case with Booth, and it made my skin ripple. My mountain lion wanted to open her up and find out what lurked inside. Did the other supes notice? I gripped the padded armrests of the chair and told my feras to shut up.
My phone vibrated, but I ignored it, not wanting to take my eyes off Booth. When I sat in her office, I was on her time.
“It’s okay,” she said without looking up. “You can get that.”
Booth kept typing away, not sparing any attention my way. Who was texting me? Not many people had my number. Curiosity got the best of me, and I fished it out of my purse to read the message.
I miss you. Wick texted.
My cheeks heated. I need space. I replied. Did Wick even mean his words, or had Lucien ordered him to pursue me? The Master Vampire needed a way to control me, and dammit, Wick was the perfect tool. I couldn’t be with someone I couldn’t trust.
I will give you space, but we’re mates. We will be together.
As if he stood right beside me, I heard his voice, rough and sensual against my skin. So sure and confident. I chucked my phone back in my purse and played with some of the objects on Booth’s desk.
“I have a job for you.” Booth swiveled her chair to stare me in the eye.
I set the weird lizardman paperweight I’d been looking at back on her wood-top desk. “Excuse me?”
“I have a job for you.” She said each word slowly and succinctly as if they were single sentences and I was a dumbass. Her deep, dry voice made me thirsty.
Frowning, I ran a finger down the statue. I thought she’d want to discuss the train incident. “Why not get O’Donnell to contact me? He’s my handler.”
A small smile appeared on Booth’s face as she leaned back in her chair. “He’s on vacation. And this is a…sensitive matter. The less people involved, the better.”
Normally, I’d be flattered, but…“I don’t like the sound of
this.”
Booth tapped her manicured fingers along her desk. “It’s a simple retrieval.”
“Then why the hush-hush?”
“Do you want it or not?” Booth folded her arms.
I mirrored her actions and sank back in the chair. “I don’t usually do retrievals. I want more information before I agree.”
“The target escaped from one of our labs.”
I blanched. “You want me to retrieve a specimen for you?”
“Yes. And we’d prefer no one else find out. It would be a PR nightmare.”
I refrained from mentioning how that seemed to be going around. No need to remind Booth of the train incident a few days ago if she didn’t plan to bring it up. “Timeline?”
“Open, but the sooner the better.”
“Rate?”
“Same as a standard hit.”
I shook my head. “A retrieval’s more difficult. Easier to kill than to collect. Double.”
“Done.”
Her quick acceptance meant I should’ve asked for triple.
“I’ll have Angie give you the file.” Agent Booth pushed her chair back and stood up. “Don’t mess this up or I’ll look into your whereabouts the last few days.”
From her tone, it sounded like she already knew. Crap. What were the implications of that? I’d try to hang around and find out, but I knew a dismissal when I heard one.
Chapter Nine
“The world is a botched job.”
~Gabriel Garcia Márquez
Of all the shitty coffee shops in all the Lower Mainland, and I kept walking into this one. The last time I’d sat in Suzy’s Gourmet Café, I used the dive as a shelter to wait for Angie to finish work so I could follow her home. Now, I waited for Herman. That this coffee shop offered the best surveillance location for not one, but two of my targets, spoke volumes about the shady downtown Vancouver neighbourhood. A realtor’s nightmare, maybe, but a criminal’s paradise, undeniable.
I studied my mark through the window. The file gave me little to go on. It had been cleaned, meaning they’d weeded out all the information they weren’t comfortable with me having. Apparently, in this case, that included everything except what the guy looked like with a vague warning to avoid skin-on-skin contact. His name was Herman—no last name. He escaped a week ago, which made me wonder why Booth delayed requesting my services until now. Did she only just learn of it? Or had they tried using other agents for the retrieval already?
Outside, the man moved with reptilian-like grace, slithering between oblivious norms as they huddled under their umbrellas and forged along the sidewalk after work like drones. A small man, with slight shoulders and thin arms and legs, I had the biggest urge to dub him Pee Wee Herman, but that would result in more attachment than I could afford. Giving targets nicknames placed in the top ten things not to do on the job.
Too far to see his face clearly, all I could discern was his cautiousness—he kept looking back and forth before stepping into shops and alleyways, probably looking for a place to sleep for the night. If he’d been in the labs for a while, he’d have no resources or friends to draw on. The file didn’t list any known associates, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any.
I’d been lucky that Randy, the pawnshop clerk down the road, recognized Herman’s photograph. Having worked in the service industry a few lifetimes ago, I knew it was more difficult to remember faces than the cop dramas on television let on. Unless something stood out, faces of the general public blurred. Herman had an average appearance—mouse brown hair and lightly tanned skin like mine that hinted at ambiguous ethnicity. If it weren’t for his awkward gangliness and slit eyes, he’d blend right in.
Randy, making sure to get an eyeful of my cleavage, was more than happy to tell me Herman pawned an old woman’s watch, probably stolen, and where he’d seen him walking to—Suzy’s Gourmet Café.
Legally speaking, if I contracted a disease or stomach ulcer after consuming coffee on the job, would I be entitled to worker’s compensation?
Staking out the coffee shop, I’d hoped it was only a matter of time before Herman showed his ugly mug again. I liked being right.
Herman walked in front of the café and glanced in the window to where I sat. My gaze drifted off his shoulders and out to the street behind him. Years ago I learned never to watch a target’s face. Eye contact risked people remembering me. I preferred not to get close enough for a mark to truly see me, because if they saw me again and again, the amount of red flags going up would send a bull into an epileptic fit.
No eye contact.
Act like I didn’t see him. I’m just another norm, caught up in my daily routine, doing my thing. He was inconsequential.
Herman ducked his head and shuffled around the corner, which led down the side of the building. I waited a couple minutes before slipping out of the coffee shop to follow him into the alley.
Only to find it empty.
The long alley lacked any nooks to hide in and the side door to the Renaissance Hotel had to be opened from the inside. I’d learned that tidbit from my brief reconnaissance for the Clint Assignment.
Sniffing the air, I tried to locate any traces of Herman’s scent. No sign of the target anywhere. There should be a fresh smell, distinct from the usual alley odours, and then I’d own it. I’d track him down wolf- style.
That can’t be right! I lifted my nose and drew in long drags of air, then short successive huffs, hoping to catch something, but nothing existed except the stale stench of urine, garbage and the regular homeless that frequented the alley. No new scents. My wolf growled.
Herman didn’t have a scent.
Aside from noting I already deeply regretted taking this assignment, something else became very clear to me—Agent Booth lied about why she wanted this quiet—the target was like her. What, exactly? No clue. But I planned to find out.
Chapter Ten
“I’m not sure what I tried to do with a paint brush and a sheet of paper could ever be described as painting.”
~Andy McNeilly
While staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realized two things: one, I should show off my cleavage more often—it was a shame to keep these girls hidden—and two, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hide the churning in my stomach, tingling in my chest, or the breathlessness I felt; my panic as evident as finding Waldo in a nudist colony.
The doorbell rang and my heart stopped.
You kill people for a living for fuck’s sake. Get a hold of yourself!
For tonight’s date, I wore a low-cut V-neck wrap dress with black bow-tie pumps. Despite the attire contrasting sharply with my normal day-to-day style and personality, I looked good. I said farewell to my reflection and stalked to the entrance of my condo. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to Tristan
His full lips curled up in a sweet smile that spread across his face, revealing even white teeth. I found myself grinning back. The dance in his eyes said he didn’t use this smile often—it belonged to me.
He wore dress pants, the expensive designer kind, a white shirt with a blue-stitched inlaid design, and a matching blue tie. The colour a perfect complement to his sapphire eyes. I wanted to trace his shirt’s pattern with my fingers, and had to snatch my hand back.
His citrus and sunshine scent swirled around me like a hot summer’s day, and I wanted to bask in the warmth. An image of us rolling around in sheets smelling of him made my face heat, and a purr erupt from my chest. When I opened my eyes, I’d taken a step closer to Tristan, my face inches from his throat.
“Why do you smell so good?” I breathed.
A deep rumbling purr harmonized with my own in answer. Tristan dipped his head and nuzzled my neck, rubbing the bridge of his nose against the soft, sensitive skin.
Heat intensified quickly throughout my body. I squeezed my thighs together to stop the throbbing between my legs. God, I wanted this man. And I didn’t know him.
I gripped his shirt and pulled him close
r, drawing in the smell of his skin. The pulsating in his chest morphed from a rumble to a chuckle. The sound vibrated through my body, melting my core into molten lava.
Tristan gently gripped my hands and pried them loose, and I released his shirt. He squeezed before letting them go. “I plan to court you properly, Andy. If we stay here much longer, my good intentions will fly out the window.”
With a nervous laugh, I stepped back. Tristan’s gaze raked over my body and rested unabashedly on my chest before his gaze made its way to my face. He held his hand out. “You look lovely. Shall we?”
****
The beginning of the date started like most, at least I assumed it did—not a lot of experience in the dating department despite my almost eighty years of existence. Spending the last fifteen years as an assassin and over thirty years prior to that as a mountain lion meant few learning opportunities. Sure, I’d interacted with the opposite sex, but not on an emotional level.
I held my breath the entire way to the restaurant. Tristan seemed amused by my nerves and did his best to put me at ease, but he couldn’t stop me from fidgeting. I hadn’t technically been on a “dinner date” in years. Not since Dylan. And that hadn’t turned out well for me in the end.
When we got to the restaurant, I was pleased to find Tristan selected a place with quality food without the pretentious atmosphere and exorbitant prices. Maybe he suspected throwing money at a meal wasn’t the way to impress me.
We ordered our food and after the wine came, Tristan leaned forward, his brilliant blue irises boring into mine. “Do you have any hobbies?” he asked.
Out of everything he could’ve asked, I hadn’t expected this one. Not sure why. “I’ve been an assassin for the last fifteen years. There’s been no time for hobbies.”
Tristan leaned back and savoured some of his wine. “You can fling that in my face all you want, Andy. It’s not going to scare me off.”
I pursed my lips. “Perceptive.”
“And I imagine your tactics were very successful in the past.” After a pause, he straightened up and placed his elbows on the table. “I don’t scare easily.”
Beast Coast (A Carus Novel Book 2) Page 7
