She took the folded dress and stood to shake it out. It was a knee-length summer dress in blue cotton. Very light weight, and very sexy with a low square-cut neckline and thin shoulder straps. She shook her head. Trust a man to choose something like this.
“Danyelle’s?”
Lawrence shook his head. “Marie keeps a few things here. You’re closer to her size… she won’t mind if that’s what is worrying you.”
“It’s not that.” She shrugged feeling defensive. “I just like to know who I have to thank.”
Lawrence quirked an eyebrow. “I see,” he said, but by his tone he obviously didn’t. “Put it on, and I’ll drive you home.”
She flushed when she realised he wasn’t going to leave. She forced herself not to turn her back, and dropped the blanket. Her face heated at his appreciative look and she quickly stepped into the dress. It fit her to perfection. She pulled the thin straps over her shoulders and tried to reach the zipper.
“Let me,” Lawrence said and stepped behind her. Chris shivered at his touch on the bare skin of her back as he worked the zipper to close the dress. “There. It looks good on you.”
Blue was her colour. Whether he had guessed, or whether he had simply grabbed whatever came to hand, she didn’t know. She felt more self-conscious wearing the dress he had chosen, than she had wearing the blanket.
“Come on,” Lawrence said, and ushered her toward the door. “I’ll drive you home. I’ll have someone bring your car over tomorrow.”
“Can I wash up a little first?”
“Sorry, I didn’t think. It’s through there.” He pointed to a door set in the office wall.
Chris investigated the door and found a small washroom beyond. She stared into the mirror, not liking what she saw in her reflection’s eyes. She looked shell-shocked, just like some of the victims she had interviewed in her time. She scrubbed her hands and arms free of blood, and splashed water on her face. There wasn’t much she could do about her hair. It was all tangles and dried blood. By the time she was finished, the washbasin had changed colour from white to pink. She tried to wash it away, but only succeeded in making things worse.
Lawrence came in to see what was keeping her, and found her trying to obliterate the bloodstains. No matter how hard she tried, she could still see it and smell it.
“Leave it,” he said and gently turned her toward the office.
“But…” she looked back at the bloodstains, “I made a mess.”
“Leave it, Chris. Vampires run this place; you don’t think a little blood will worry them do you?” He closed the washroom door firmly. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
“My keys… I left all my stuff at the base.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m sure Jonas will take good care of anything valuable.”
She bit her lip, just then remembering the disk in her coat pocket. She had to get that disk back! It was encrypted under her personal seal, but nothing was one hundred percent secure. All her contacts and research was on that disk. Names, dates, contact numbers of her weasels… everything!
“How can I get in touch with Jonas?” she asked as they left the club. “I want to… I need to talk to him about the woman I killed.”
Lawrence looked at her sharply. “I told you he would take care of all that. Forget about her.”
“What was her name?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Shouldn’t it? I should at least know the name of people I kill. Wouldn’t you want to know?”
Lawrence frowned, but then he nodded. “Her name was Janine… Janine Duvitski. I’ll give you a number where Jonas can be reached.”
When Lawrence slowed the car and turned onto her street, Chris had to decide how to deal with the newsies. It was too early for her flesh and blood stalkers to be active, but their electronic henchmen didn’t need sleep.
“Pull into the drive of number nine. I’ll go over the back fence.”
The muscles at Lawrence’s jaw bunched. “You shouldn’t have to do this to get into your own house.”
“They’ll give up eventually.”
Lawrence parked. Clutching the piece of paper with Jonas’ number on it, Chris opened the door and stepped out. She watched Lawrence back out onto the street and leave before heading for her neighbour’s back yard. It was a matter of moments for her to leap over the garden gate. There were some advantages to being a shifter. She had lost a lot of weight over the last few weeks; she was very strong and agile now. A five-foot gate was nothing to her these days.
She landed on the other side and crouched among the shadows. If anyone saw her now, they would think she had turned thief. Her dress might raise a few eyebrows though. She followed the fence, and then hopped into the next yard. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, before heading for her target. Her objective was the base unit for the automated hover cams and lights arrayed along her back fence. She found the thing easily, and yanked the power feed free. The status lights on it dimmed and flickered out. Without lights and the base unit to record what the cameras saw, it didn’t matter if they detected her, but she was feeling vindictive. Lawrence was right; she shouldn’t have to do this to enter her own home. She found each of the cameras sitting on their charging stations waiting to pounce, and smashed them with her fists. The pain was a welcome distraction from her thoughts, and smashing them was worth a little blood. Besides, she healed very fast these days.
She threw her broken trophies into her own yard, and followed them over the fence. As expected, no lights came on to spot her. She retrieved the evidence of her vandalism, and headed for the back of her house. Without her keys, she had no choice but to break a window, which she did with her fist and some cursing. She would need to have it fixed. She opened the door and dropped her prizes onto the growing pile.
“Welcome home,” Agent Barrows said. He was sitting before her computer at the kitchen table as if he owned the room. “Close the door, we have a few things to talk over.”
She hissed angrily and slammed it hard enough to crack the other pane in the door. “You had better have a warrant.” She stalked around the table but halted when she found her computer switched on and displaying a password request. “In about five seconds, I’m going to rip your head off!”
Barrows smiled. “My friend might have something to say about that.”
She spun as she detected movement behind her. She tensed as a figure came through the door from the living room with eyes that glowed green in the darkness.
“Hello, Chris,” Flint said sadly.
Chris stared at Flint’s eyes—the slit-pupiled eyes of a cat. “You can’t be.”
* * *
14 ~ Blackmail
Chris backed away as Flint slinked into the kitchen. Her anger fled as she tried to fit this turn of events into her world. Flint was a shifter. With eyes like that, she was some kind of cat, but it didn’t make sense! Shifters were never accepted into government agencies like the FBI. She tried to shake off her confusion, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring at Flint’s glowing eyes.
She remembered an encounter Flint had with a shifter at Area 51, and groaned. “Pussycat… he called you pussycat.”
Flint smiled. “I thought you might guess my secret right there, but lucky for me, Ryder distracted you. Sharon nearly blew it for me outside the club, and during Sandy’s interview you put the air conditioning on full blast. I thought I was going to freeze.”
Chris backed, shaking her head. “I knew there was something not right about you. Ben Kirkwood knew what you are.”
“Of course he did. He knew I was alpha from the moment I walked into his store. We can always tell, Chris, you should know that by now.”
“Ben Kirkwood, the Tolliday girl… who else knows?”
“A few of the local shifters I’ve talked to about finding Ryder. I’m sorry he got you. If I’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “I shouldn
’t have pissed you off.”
Flint smiled sadly. “I shouldn’t have let you.”
“Does Ken know?”
“About me?”
Chris nodded.
“No. No one in your… in the police department knows.”
Chris turned to Barrows. “Who are you people really? You’re not feebies.”
Barrows switched off the computer. “In case you were wondering, your password is intact. Agent Flint left your coat and other things in the living room.”
She tried not to react, but her eyes darted to the drive slot of her computer. There was a disk inserted. She didn’t need to guess which disk it was. She knew.
“Who are you people?”
“You already know. Do you want to see my identification?” Barrows dug out his wallet and threw it to her. She flipped it open to reveal an FBI badge. “It’s real; certainly more official than the one you’re using these days, Chris.”
She flinched at the reminder. Using John’s badge to back up her false claim of being a police officer had seemed like a good idea, but now it felt stupid. She cringed when she realised just how stupid she must have looked. Tansey had known; he must have. Addressing her as Miss Humber all the time instead of lieutenant… Goddess, how he must have wanted to laugh. Anyone that could sense what she was would have known she had no right to call herself a police officer.
She closed the wallet and tossed it back to Barrows. “Anyone can carry a badge these days. I’m living proof it means squat.”
“Bitterness is very unbecoming in a woman that can wear a dress like that so well.”
She hissed in outrage, and her eyes blazed. “You break into my house, you try to hack my computer, and you have the gall to insult me to my face? Get out!”
Barrows remained seated. “I intended no insult, but we did break in. For that you have my apology. As for hacking your computer, it was simply a way to pass the time. As I said, your data is intact.” He didn’t sound happy about that, which cheered Chris a little. “There are things we need to discuss. Shall we do it here, or would you be more comfortable in the other room?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“There is, of course, a third venue we could use. I’m sure Captain Stokes would be happy to lend us one of his interview rooms.”
She scowled. She wouldn’t let them humiliate her by taking her in like a criminal. “Other room.”
She stalked into the living room, switching on the lights as she entered. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. Her coat had been tossed over the back of a chair. She dug into its pockets and found John’s badge. She ignored the feel of the boomer bumping her hand. Pointing that at Barrows would set Flint off for sure, and a bullet wouldn’t stop her. While Barrows and Flint found a place to sit, Chris carefully secured the black ribbon in its accustomed place around the badge, and put it back on the shelf next to John’s picture where it belonged. Only then did she turn to face her guests.
She took a seat. “I want to know who I’m talking to, and don’t give me that bullshit about being FBI.” She waved a hand at Flint. “She’s a shifter.”
“So she is, but I am not,” Barrows said. “Will you take my word if I tell you that Agent Flint is as much entitled to the title as I am?”
Make him say it straight. We will know if he lies.
She nodded; that was what she had been thinking. “That depends on whether or not I believe you’re entitled to it, Barrows. Say it straight. Tell me who you are and don’t lie. I’ll know if you do.”
Barrows leaned forward and interlocked his fingers. “There is a department within the FBI, one of a few that were created to deal with specific threats. You don’t need to know their names; only that they exist. They’re small, employing highly specialised groups of agents. Flint and I belong to one such group.”
“Give me a name.”
“OSI, it stands for Office of Special Investigations. You won’t find us listed in the directory. There is no number you can call to verify what I say. Flint and I are Special Agents working under the aegis of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
There. He had said it straight out, and by the look on his face, he had done it that way on purpose. He was telling the truth, and knew that she knew he was. That there might be hidden departments within government agencies was hardly surprising, but that there were some employing non-humans was… at least it was a surprise to her. Maybe it shouldn’t have been, maybe she was just naïve, but she didn’t think so.
“OSI was set up to deal with shifter attacks?”
“No. OSI has been around in various forms pretty much since day one of the Bureau. There have always been cases that don’t fit into neat categories—alien abductions, outbreaks of mysterious diseases, even people claiming to be able to read minds without using magic.” Barrows smiled ruefully. “Alien abduction was a big part of our business at one time… the elves do like their little jokes.”
She snorted. The elves were aliens as far as she was concerned; no Human had a hope of understanding their motivations. Of course, they said the same kinds of things about humans. After all, they were around long before humans came on the scene. Maybe even before the dwarves, but the dwarves weren’t saying. If anyone was alien they said, it was those short-lived pests calling themselves humans.
“Employing non-humans is a recent development,” Barrows went on. “It’s a natural progression really; using the paranormal to investigate the paranormal makes excellent sense. It should have happened a long time ago, but the political situation was never ready for it.”
“But it is now?”
“We are an experiment,” Flint said, sounding a touch bitter about it.
Chris raised an eyebrow. “We? There are others?”
Flint nodded. “Some, not many.”
“Not yet, but their number will grow,” Barrows said. “You must forgive Flint. She’s under a great deal of pressure to perform. This thing with Ryder has put her and OSI in a bad light.”
Chris stood and paced; it helped her think. She stopped by the window and twitched the curtain aside to look outside. The sun was barely up, but already the newsies were assembling. She watched them chatting and yawning together. She wondered when they would notice the missing cameras. Watching them yawning and drinking their breakfast coffee brought her tiredness surging to the fore. She felt a yawn gathering.
“I need a coffee. Want some?”
Barrows nodded. “Black, no sugar.”
Flint stood. “I’ll help.”
Chris didn’t need help, but she didn’t refuse the offer. Once back in the kitchen she pointed to a cupboard and let Flint get the cups while she washed out the dregs of yesterday’s coffee from the jug.
She couldn’t help staring at Flint. “What’s with the eyes?”
“Do they upset you?”
“Surprise me rather. What gives?”
“I see better in the dark like this. You’ll notice the same thing if you try it.”
Chris shivered remembering what she had already been through. She wanted nothing to do with the Change. “No thanks.”
“We didn’t want to spook you, so we left the lights off. I can change them back if they make you uncomfortable?”
“I would prefer it. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Flint let her eyes change back. “There. Better?”
“Didn’t that hurt?”
“Of course, but you can get used to any amount of pain if it’s necessary. After a while, you get to like it.”
Chris’ mouth worked but nothing came out. Lord and Lady, all shifters really were crazy. She remembered the tearing agony of the Change, and later the exultation of slaughtering her enemy. How long would it be before she was raving? How long before she began agreeing with Flint’s crazy talk?
“Chris?”
Chris blinked and shook her head gently. “Sorry, I was thinking. How did you get infected?”
Flint placed the cups on the counter.
“I was wondering when you would ask. I told Ken a part of this a few days after your attack.”
“But you said he didn’t know.”
“He doesn’t, not the part about me. I was a cop back east, Robbery Homicide. My partner and I were called out on a job. A bad one, lots of bodies. Anyway, one thing led another and we took out the bad guy. Afterwards, we were trying to help some of the injured when Jess—my partner—stopped to help a guy. He was in a bad way, a goner for sure, or so we thought. He turned out to be a shifter. He woke up in a lot of pain and attacked her. It wasn’t his fault. He was in pain and his beast just lashed out. Jess was infected and had to leave the department. A year later she committed suicide.”
Faced with the exact same situation herself, Chris found it easy to imagine Jess’ despair. She knew how tempting such a decision was.
“I’m sorry. Did she infect you?”
“No, she would never have hurt me that way. She wouldn’t have wished her situation on her worst enemy, let alone me. No, I wasn’t attacked at all. You’ll find this hard to believe, but I chose what I am.”
Chris gaped. “You chose… why?”
“I was sick. Dying actually. All the doctors said I had a few months to live, a year at the most. We tried the usual things, magic, drugs… even that new thing. Ever heard of gene therapy?”
Chris filled the jug with water. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Biggest load of crap I’ve ever seen or heard of, but the doctors thought it might work. The treatment is still new; it might work eventually, but it was useless where I was concerned. I would have been dead by the end of the year if I had waited, but after what happened to Jess I wasn’t sure that being dead wouldn’t be better. In the end I decided to take a chance. I figured I could always do what Jess did if it didn’t work out.”
Chris shrugged. “So you let someone bite you?”
“I decided that if I was going to share my body with something, I had a right to choose what it would be. I spent a lot of time researching shifters after I resigned—the different types, what each could and couldn’t do… stuff like that. A lot of the pack leaders I contacted wouldn’t have anything to do with me, but there were a few who were curious enough to talk to a lunatic Human.” Flint grinned and then shrugged. “I spent a lot of time travelling and talking to shifters, but then a time came when I was too sick to put it off any longer. I made my choice before it was too late.”
Shifter Legacies Special Edition: Books 1-2 Page 72
