Skin Trade

by Hamilton, Laurell K.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re going in with us, right?”

  “You know I’m not.”

  “Marshal Blake is going in with us. Please don’t distract her.”

  “You’re defending her, Hooper?” He glared at me. “I thought you didn’t do cops, Blake.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you visit SWAT for a couple of hours, and suddenly they’re willing to trust you at their backs, and talk back to their superiors. You must be as good as they say.”

  You don’t get to see men like this—shocked—often, but I saw it now. That open-mouthed moment when you can’t believe that slipped from someone’s mouth. They moved around us, and there was that sense of the pack tightening around someone they didn’t like.

  Hooper spoke low, but clear, not yelling, but the emotion was there. “This woman is about to put her shoulder next to ours and go into that house, while you stay outside where it’s nice and safe.”

  “I don’t have the training anymore,” Shaw said. His face couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be pale or red, so it tried for both.

  “But you did once, and you know better than to mess with our heads this close to go time.”

  It was Cannibal who sidled up through the green uniforms and spoke low, near Shaw. “Getting up in Anita’s face isn’t going to make your wife come home.”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “You made it our business when you accused us of fucking a federal officer rather than doing our jobs.”

  Lieutenant Grimes was suddenly working his way through the group, but he wasn’t going to get there in time to stop the next few moments.

  “You stay away from me, Rocco,” Shaw said.

  “Yeah, that’s right, you’re afraid of psychics, too, but you don’t hate us like you do shapeshifters, because your wife didn’t run off with one of us.”

  And just like that, the clue to why Shaw hated my ass was there. Cannibal shouldn’t have said it to his boss’s boss, but . . . I appreciated him defending my honor, or maybe he was defending his; either way, it was nice not to be alone.

  38

  GREGORY MINNS’S PROFESSION was listed as bouncer, but Victor had just flat-out told us that he was an enforcer for their clan and, by hint, maybe some not-so-legal activities for Victor’s dad. Most of the wererats that guarded Jean-Claude’s businesses had police records, or just hadn’t been caught, so I really couldn’t bitch. Lately, when I didn’t have room to bitch, I didn’t. Maturity, at last.

  We had the guy on the metal shield with its little window leading the way. We even had one guy with the little battering ram, and the rest of the team in full gear, weapons at the ready. Each of us—Edward, Olaf, Bernardo, and I—were assigned to one of the team members. We would follow their lead and go where they went. The suburbs are not great for finding spots to put a sniper, but we had them in place, some in evacuated houses near Minns’s house. He had to know we were out here, but with this many people and this much procedure, it was the best we could do. Good thing about this many people, though, was we had eyes on the back of the house the whole time, and he didn’t run. They’d seen him in there, and no one had seen him leave, so he was still in there. Getting everyone in place took more time. That was the thing we had the least of, and I was having trouble staying calm about it. I wasn’t bitching, but I wanted to start pacing and knew I couldn’t. It was one of those moments when smoking seemed like an interesting idea, or just anything to do while we waited to do this. I watched the sun get lower in the sky and had to fight my pulse from speeding up. I did not want to tackle Vittorio and his people in full darkness. I admitted to myself, if to no one else, that the feeling in the pit of my stomach was fear. One serial killer sends me a human head in a box, and I get all spooked; go figure.

  I tried one more time to explain how precious our time was, as we waited for yet another team member to get into some distant place. I was actually assigned to Hooper, which meant that I’d be in the front of the line. I don’t know how they decided who went where.

  “Hooper, they killed your men in daylight; once darkness falls, the vampires will be able to help them, and it will be worse, much worse.”

  “How much worse?” he asked.

  “If we keep dicking around, we’re going to find out.”

  “I can’t go against orders, Blake.”

  I nodded. “I know it’s not your fault, but it will be you and your men who are going to be at risk.”

  “My men and yours,” he said.

  I nodded. “I’m not sure they’re exactly my men, but yeah. Your men and us.”

  “I’d heard that the preternatural marshals didn’t have a strict command structure.”

  I laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  That earned me a smile. “Then how do you decide who does what?”

  “Ted has the most experience, and I let him take the lead a lot. Sometimes he gives it to me. I’ve worked with Otto and Bernardo before, so we sort of know what our strengths and weaknesses are.” I shrugged. “Mostly, we work by ourselves, and we end up being shoved into the command structure of whatever police force we’re working with, but mostly it’s just us, alone.”

  “Like the Lone Ranger,” he said, and he held up his hand. “I remember what you told Spider, that the Lone Ranger was a Texas Ranger.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, but the whole lone-gunman mentality is pretty high in the preternatural branch. We worked alone for so many years that we just don’t play well with others.”

  A boy who looked too young to be doing this, even to me, with huge blue eyes and his hair hidden completely under his helmet, as if he’d hoped a shorter haircut would make him look legal, said, “Rumor says you play real well with others.”

  “Georgie,” Hooper said.

  He looked embarrassed.

  I said, “It’s not just Shaw’s personal issues, is it?”

  Hooper managed to shrug under all the equipment. Maybe it was the tension of waiting, knowing that once this tension was over there was a whole new set of it coming down the road. “And what did you hear, exactly, Georgie?” I asked.

  He looked uncomfortable then; apparently, it was one thing to hint, but another to tell me to my face in detail.

  “Come on, Georgie Porgie, you have something to say to me, then say it. If you don’t have anything to say to me, then shut the fuck up.”

  The other men were listening, watching us, waiting to see what happened. Cannibal was with the perimeter team, so he wasn’t here to defend my honor, and apparently Hooper would only defend me against outsiders. Edward was quiet nearby, letting me fight my own battles. He knew I was a big girl.

  Georgie’s face hardened, and I realized he was going to tell me. I probably shouldn’t have made fun of his name. Oh well. “I heard you’re shacking up with your Master of the City.”

  “And,” I said.

  His angry face tried to frown and still be angry. “And what?” he asked.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  It was Bernardo who said, “She means, Georgie, that, yeah, she’s shacking up with her Master of the City, so what?”

  “I heard she was doing you, too,” he said.

  Bernardo laughed. “Man, I’ve been trying to get into her pants since the first time I worked with her.”

  All I could do was shake my head. Olaf was scowling at him. Edward was trying for a neutral face and making it. Bernardo had the attention of all the guys, though.

  It was Sanchez who said, “And?”

  “Ask her, she’s right there,” Bernardo said.

  They all looked at me. I smiled, not exactly amused. “No.”

  “No,” Bernardo said, in a dramatic voice. “She said no, and she’s been saying no. I’ve tried for over two years, and it’s been no.” He did a voilà gesture, as if to say, Look at all of this. “Guys, if I can’t get a piece of the action, how many of the bastards that said
they hit the mark do you really think hit it?”

  “I’m not an it,” I said.

  Bernardo gestured at me. “See, Anita is not easy, not in any sense of the word.”

  That made them laugh. In that moment, Bernardo came closer to getting a kiss from me than he ever had before. But, weirdly, for his defense of my honor to work, I couldn’t even say thank you. I just had to shake my head in disgust and call him a horndog.

  The radios crackled to life, and Hooper said, “We’re up.” Everyone gathered the equipment they’d put down and settled it in place. Hooper looked at me. “Anita, you’re with me.” You could taste the tension level rise hotter than the heat.

  Sanchez said, “Try not to shoot any of us by accident, Anita.” He said my first name with only the syllables it’s supposed to have.

  “If I shoot you, Sanchez, it won’t be by accident.”

  The other men made noises of either encouragement or disparagement. Then the second order came down, and there was no more time for teasing. I’d been told how Hooper wanted me to enter behind him, because I was the only one of the four marshals who didn’t have official tactical training. I did what I was told. I put my left hand on the back of Hooper’s vest so that as he moved, I’d move. I kept my other hand on the MP5 on its tactical sling so that it wouldn’t accidentally point at anyone, and away we went.

  39

  THE LAST TIME I’d been with SWAT, we’d come through the door with flash-bang grenades and a green light to shoot everything inside the condo but the victim we were trying to save. This time, we knocked.

  Sergeant Hooper called out from behind the shield guy, who turned out to be Hitch, who was almost as broad through the shoulders as I was tall. “Vegas Police, search warramt. Open the door!” He had a nice loud voice, a drill sergeant voice. Even being prepared, it made me jump a little. He repeated it twice more.

  Victor’s energy poured across the heat from behind us, well behind us. Since he wasn’t close enough to yell, he’d compromised by sending his energy ahead of him. In some ways it was better than his voice. People might imitate a voice, but no one could imitate that roll of power. In some ways it was not better than his voice. His voice wouldn’t have pressed against my throat, like a hand that wanted inside. I had to up my metaphysical shields to get the energy to back off enough for me not to almost taste it. It was like pushing against some huge weight, to move his power away from me. I’d never felt any lycanthrope with this kind of power.

  Gregory Minns would feel all that energy coming from his clan’s “king,” and if he was a good guy, he’d open the door. If he was a bad guy, he’d run, or he’d fight.

  I tightened my grip on Hooper’s vest and fought to keep my pulse even. I could feel the adrenaline coming off the other men, and my own tension; so much could go wrong. Victor’s power just made it worse for me. If I hadn’t fought it off, maybe it would have been soothing, but I couldn’t afford to embrace it. The tigers inside me liked it too much. I got a glimpse behind my eyes of them putting their heads up and roaring in that coughing, harsh sound that tigers do. My body vibrated with it, and all I could do was fight to keep my pulse even and my breathing slow, because until I lost control of my body, my beasts could not hurt me. Much.

  I really wished that Victor had been allowed to talk through the door.

  Sanchez said, “What the hell is that? Is it the tiger inside?”

  “Quiet,” Hooper said.

  Sanchez could feel Victor’s energy and maybe my tigers. I’d have to remember that he could feel the energy. It might change what I did when we got inside.

  Hooper yelled again, “Minns, open up!”

  I felt energy moving in the house, almost like one of those infrared pictures, except it was a feeling, not a visual. I almost said, He’s at the door, but all I knew for certain was that it was a weretiger. It didn’t have to be Minns. I was debating on whether I should say that I could “feel” a tiger on the other side of the door when the weretiger called out.

  A man’s voice called from behind the door. “I’m opening the door now. Don’t shoot me, okay?” The door started to open, but the SWAT never gave him a chance to finish the gesture. They poured in, and I poured with them, dragged along by my hand on Hooper.

  There was a lot of yelling. “Hands on your head! Get on your knees!” Minns did what he was told and was in a circle of weapons and officers. He looked calm enough. Calmer, frankly, than he should have been at the center of that circle. The calm bothered me.

  His hair was actually pale blond, not white. I caught glimpses of his eyes through the legs and bodies of the officers. The eyes were that pale, perfect tiger blue, and he seemed to have no other goal than to look at me. I didn’t like that either.

  The white tigress did, though. She paced closer to my surface. I kept controlling my breathing, counting my pulse down, but I could feel Minns’s power. Again, like Victor it was more, different, somehow. Something about the dominants of this clan gave them more . . . crunchy goodness, as if I should have been able to eat the power, and it would have been something with texture and caramel in the middle. Something you had to chew and swallow hard to get down, but it would be sweet, and you’d want another bite.

  He stared at me while they cuffed him and put ankle cuffs on, too. They were taking no chances. He let them do whatever they wanted and just kept staring at me, and I seemed unable to move from the weight of that stare.

  “I would have opened the door for you, little queen, all you had to do was ask,” he said, in a voice that held weight and had too much intensity to it.

  Hooper glanced up at me. “Is he talking to you, Anita?”

  I just nodded.

  Edward touched my arm, and it helped, but I kept staring into those pale eyes. Bernardo actually stepped between me and Minns. He broke the gaze line, and I could suddenly step back. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I stepped away from Minns and the other SWAT and went to stand near the door. Edward asked, low, “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”

  “You acted like he had vampire gaze and had rolled you.”

  “I know.” I tried to shove the tigers deeper into me, but Victor’s energy just rolled over and around me. It was like the air was alive with it. The energy was keeping the tigers closer to the surface of me. Damn it.

  Hooper joined us. “What just happened between you and Minns over there?”

  I hate explaining metaphysics to the nonpsychic. It’s like explaining daylight to someone who’s been raised in a cave. You know that fire is light, but how do you explain that the fire that cooks your food can be so bright that it takes up the whole sky? You can’t, but you still try.

  “I think he likes me.”

  Hooper gave me a hard look, and it was a good one. His gray eyes were as cold as Edward’s could get; almost. “No one makes friends that quick, Blake. You know him, and he knows you.”

  “I swear to you that I have never met this man before.”

  “He has a pet name for you, Blake. Little queen; cute. You don’t give pet names to people you don’t know.”

  I was debating on how much to try to explain to Hooper when I felt Victor getting closer. I knew he was walking toward the house. Shit.

  I shook my head. “I need Victor to tone down his energy or I’m going to drown.”

  “What?”

  Sanchez said, “The weretiger outside is pushing his power like some freaking river at the house. I know it calmed the weretiger on the floor, but my skin is crawling with it, Sonny.”

  Hooper looked from one to the other of us. He toned down his anger with a visible effort. “So you and Sanchez are picking up on Victor’s power?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Fine, that explains why you’re pale. It doesn’t explain how Minns, who you say you’ve never met, has a pet name for you, and said he’d have opened his door for you if you’d just asked. I’m sorry, that kind of talk says serious g
irlfriend.”

  “Or good lay.” This from Bernardo.

  We all frowned at him. He raised his hands as if to say sorry. “I’m just saying that some women have that effect on you.”

  “Don’t help me,” I said.

  He grinned at me and wandered back toward the center of the room and our waiting “suspect.” Hooper gave me that cold look again. “He’s right, though.”

  “Look, little queen is what the tigers call me, apparently.”

  “Why, and how would Minns know that, since you just got to town today?”

  Sanchez and I both looked toward the door because we could feel all that power about to walk in. Sanchez actually raised his M4 up but didn’t point it; I fought to just caress mine. Victor came through the door, like we’d known he would.

  Sanchez said, “Sarge, can you tell the leading citizen over there to tone the power down? I’m going to get a power headache.”

  “You tell him, Sanchez, the marshal and I aren’t through talking yet.”

  Sanchez gave me a look, almost of sympathy, then went for the door and Victor with his police escort. Hooper turned back to me. Edward had stepped up beside me, sort of protective, maybe. Olaf had drifted over, but was keeping his eye mostly on the weretiger. Nice to know he didn’t let his interest in me interfere with business. I couldn’t tell if Edward was supporting my cause with Hooper, or if he was closer to me for Olaf’s benefit.

  “Shaw said you knew more than you were saying, but I was willing to believe that he was letting personal issues cloud his judgment.” Hooper shook his head. “But now your little friend over there has outed you, Blake. When did you meet him?”

  The air seemed less heavy suddenly, as if I’d been struggling to breathe but hadn’t realized it until the moment there was more air. I looked over at the door and found Victor inside the room and Sanchez giving me a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. It was actually kind of nice not to be the only one bothered by the psychic shit. Freakiness likes company.