Body Master
Page 3
Riley was gone. His wife had no husband, his kids had no father, and she was going to miss the hell out of him.
Now she was being betrayed by her own people. From the gutless suits who sat in their offices all day making up politically correct policy and didn’t have a damn clue what was happening in the real world. They had no idea how much damage five thousand plus aliens could inflict on their people.
That was what kept her from sleep, and that was what kept her coming back here every night.
Dempsey leaned back, watching her as she shuffled through the file. She sensed curiosity and slight amusement, which only made her want to shoot him more.
She read the report. Six dead, killed by Dillinger after he lost a pool game and shifted from a mild-mannered boozer to Primary-form shapeshifter murderer. How many of these had she read? Forty? Fifty? They all had the same ending. Innocent people died horribly.
She turned the page to find a description of both his forms—Shifter and human. One thing the agency had learned was that it took a good deal of time and energy for a shapeshifter to assume the genetic coding of a new form. So once they did, they used it a lot. The shifts were fast, and when the transformation was complete, the form was self-maintaining. Good for the Shifter; bad for everyone else.
After she gleaned what she could out of the written report, Seneca handed it to Dempsey without comment. She realized it was rude, but he had eyes. He could read it himself.
A stack of photos was next, apparently taken during the melee at Dave’s Bar & Grill. She blinked when she saw them, because they almost never got photos. Usually, it required lots of legwork and investigation to identify all the Shifter forms. Weeks of work. And then it occurred to her—MacGregor had given them a gimme assignment so they’d look good. Hell. Nothing was going right today.
One photo was of Dillinger as a human, wearing a tattered flannel shirt and baggy pants and swinging a pool stick just before all hell broke loose. Scruffy beard, unkempt and unholy. The rest of the photos were of him in Primary form on the attack.
She glanced at the note attached to them. It said Dillinger killed the photographer, who’d been using a camera phone, but the photos had survived. It was duly noted that “luckily,” no one had survived long enough to tell the press.
She clenched her jaw tightly. It was getting more and more difficult to hide the fact that the aliens were here. One of these days, the government was going to have to come clean to the people of this country.
Or not. Look at Roswell.
She handed the photos off to Dempsey. As she passed them over, he didn’t take them, forcing her gaze up. His eyes locked onto hers.
His voice low. “I want all this to stop as much as you do.”
“Do you?” She let the photos drop on the desk between them. “And why would that be?”
He grinned, like the devil. “World peace, what else?”
You are so full of shit, she thought as she stared back.
He scanned the photos and then read the note. Disgust altered his features briefly, which she had to admit were pretty attractive. Then she wondered whose DNA he’d stolen and how. Blood? Tissue? Skin? Her thoughts spiraled downward from there.
“Do you recognize the killer?” she asked bluntly.
Dempsey’s eyes cut to hers with irritation. “No. Do you?”
She smirked. “I know it’s not one of my boys.”
He passed the photos back. “How do you want to handle this?”
“You’re asking me?”
He shrugged. “You’re the senior.”
Right. Until you write your report, and then I’ll be tied to this desk stapling reports together for the rest of my career.
She gathered the file contents. “The normal channels are already covered. APB, informants, rewards, and all that good stuff. So since the only witnesses were murdered, I thought we’d start by flashing Dillinger’s photos around some of the bars in the neighborhood tonight.”
He gave a little nod. “That might stir things up.”
She closed the folder and stood up. “Right. I’m going home to get a few hours’ sleep. I’ll meet you tonight at Dave’s around eleven P.M. I want to check the crime scene first.”
She reached for her coat. It was right next to one of Riley’s, and her hand hesitated a fraction of a second before grabbing her own.
Dempsey was in her personal space when she turned around. He touched her wrist lightly, and she froze at the unwelcome invasion. It took every ounce of self- control she had left not to reach for her gun.
After a beat, he said, “You may not believe this, but I am sorry about your partner.”
Anger and pain rose in her belly. It’s your fault. She knew that wasn’t true and it wasn’t fair, but the last thing she wanted was pity from a Shifter. What did he care? Did he know Riley told the worst jokes in the world? That his youngest daughter would be graduating from kindergarten without her daddy? Had he spent the last year listening to Riley’s country music? No. She wasn’t going to let Riley die for nothing. And they couldn’t make her forget him by giving her another partner.
“Didn’t take you long to step into his shoes,” she said, her voice cracking.
Dempsey stepped back and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Is that the problem here?”
“Believe me, that’s the least of your problems.” She felt the tears behind her eyes and pushed past Dempsey before he noticed. “I’ll see you at eleven.”
When she reached the underground parking garage, she pulled out her cell phone and called MacGregor.
He answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”
Through tears that had started to flow uncontrollably, she said, “I want to see the departmental file on Dempsey in my mail slot first thing tomorrow, whether or not the Committee approves.” Then she hung up and let the tears come.
CHAPTER THREE
Max watched her leave. His fingers still held the warmth of her skin. Her scent lingered in his mind, logged for future reference. Her sleek black hair and dark brown eyes were etched in his memory. She was tall and lean with a fire in her soul that burned everything she touched.
And did she ever hate him.
She wasn’t afraid to let him know either. He was sure the only reason he still possessed a hand was because of her discussion with her boss. Not that Max expected anything less. He was the enemy here, always would be. His race had been responsible for countless human deaths. He was already guilty by association.
There was a knock on the door behind him.
“Come in,” Max said.
Rory MacGregor entered and shut the door behind him. The older man crossed his arms. Defensive and dominant body language for humans. No friends in the building today.
“How did your first meeting go?” MacGregor asked.
“I still have all my body parts.”
MacGregor grunted. “She’s been through a lot today. Give her some time to warm up to you.”
Max grinned. Never going to happen. “Right.”
“Got everything you need?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Max said.
MacGregor looked at his feet. “Just so you know the routine here, we start the night shift with roll call. Anyone who’s not on a stakeout or undercover is expected to attend.”
“Makes sense.”
MacGregor’s gaze rose to meet his. “We discuss the cases, administrative bullshit, and the latest technology against Shifters. What we’ve learned. How to stop them. How to kill them, if necessary. I know that’s not the official policy, but if my agents are in a life or death situation, they have the right to protect themselves.”
And Max bet that every night was a life or death situation. “I think I can handle it.”
“I hope so. I’ll introduce you at the next roll call.”
“Of course,” Max said, almost automatically. ‘Of course’ was his answer to everything. He’d kissed ass for so long, it was becoming second nature.
Max stared at him. Was he warning him, or telling him not to attend? “I’ll be there.”
MacGregor’s gaze met his for a few moments before the older man nodded. An awkward silence fell. Finally, he murmured a good-bye and left.
Max waited for his irritation to simmer down. It was an exercise in patience that was tempered only by his real reason for being here. He’d bucked every person in this damn agency just to get to this point. Taken more shit in the past few months than he ever had in his entire life. He should be getting used to it by now, but he always hoped that just once . . .
He sat down in a dead man’s chair. Different planet, same old story. His people had never been welcomed to any planet they’d tried to settle on. Being able to replicate the native species always sparked terror in the hearts of locals. But living among them in Shifter form wasn’t acceptable either. And so, planet after planet, they tried and failed. He just hoped he lived long enough to find his wife’s killer before this planet turned on them too. Or at least until XCEL turned on him.
Because Max needed XCEL to find a murderer.
It was dark again by the time Seneca got home and found a parking spot near the house she shared with her grandmother. For a moment, she sat in her car, wiping away tears, taking in the city she was trying to save. Streetlights glowed orange in a neat little row down the street. If only everything were so simple.
A cold New York chill breathed down her neck as she gathered her gear. Her mind was numb and her body shot. Sometimes her life felt like a never-ending nightmare.
It’d been a long, hard, shitty day all around so she was thankful when she opened the front door and smelled food. Noko walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She wore a long skirt and blouse that she’d sewn herself. The black, red, and turquoise geometric pattern set off flawless brown skin and soft eyes. Her grandmother was full-blood Iroquois and proud of it. Seneca was half-Iroquois, and that was all.
“There you are. I was worried,” her grandmother said in her unhurried, gentle way.
Seneca silently berated herself for not calling. She dropped her stuff at the door and shrugged off her jacket. “Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to check in. Had an emergency.”
She gave Noko a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug on her way through. The warm kitchen barely contained the smell of beef stew. She lifted the cover on the pot and inhaled. Heaven. Or close as she was going to get to it today.
Seneca felt the stress seep out of her shoulders and reveled in the warmth. The kitchen was painted a soothing blue, set off by tall oak cabinets and wood floors. The massive center island was where meals were served, crammed with pots and pans and scraps of recipes. Soft overhead lights cast a loving glow over everything. This was a safety zone that the horrors of work hadn’t penetrated.
“You are lucky it gets better the longer it cooks,” Noko said, handing her a bowl that she filled to the brim. Noko sliced her a hunk of bread, and they bellied up to the center island. Noko silently watched her eat.
“You have been crying,” Noko said after Seneca had wolfed down most of the stew.
Seneca looked up at her grandmother. The folds around Noko’s cheeks and mouth were creased from many smiles, her eyes old and wise, missing nothing. Seneca had inherited the silky black hair, brown eyes, and smooth skin from this gene pool, but she doubted she’d live long enough to accumulate the wisdom.
“When you didn’t come home last night, I thought you were with a man,” Noko said with a flicker of mischief in her eyes.
Seneca set down the spoon. The words still came hard. “Riley was killed on the job last night.”
Noko closed her eyes and nodded. That was it. As much emotion as her grandmother ever showed. But her silent understanding spoke louder than words. In her belief system, life was never over, the soul reborn in pure spirit of strength and goodness to watch over those they loved. Since Seneca was eight years old, Noko had patiently explained what she knew of the Iroquois way. But the old ways were for the old days. This was now, and Riley wasn’t coming back in this lifetime.
Seneca rubbed her forehead where the mother of all headaches was tormenting her. “A Shifter murdered him. I couldn’t get there in time.” He died. I failed. I failed again.
She felt Noko’s hand on her arm, warm and comforting. The heat of tears burned in her eyes, and she blinked a few times to push the past back to where it belonged. She couldn’t fix the past. All she could do was fight for the future. “I don’t know if we can stop them.”
Noko made a long humming sound, and Seneca eyed her. Unwelcome words of truth usually followed the long hum, so Seneca continued. “And they gave me a new partner. A Shifter.”
Noko’s dark almond-shaped eyes blinked once. “You don’t trust him.”
“Of course not,” Seneca said with more edge than she intended. She picked up her dishes and dumped the leftovers in the sink. “I spend every night fighting these guys, and now I’m forced to have one for a partner. I should quit.”
“You were not given these gifts to waste,” Noko said.
Seneca washed the bowl and put it in the strainer. “Yeah, about those gifts. It would have been nice if the Great Spirit had blessed me with laser vision or thunderbolts from my fingertips.”
Noko asked, “Can the new partner help you?”
Seneca turned around and leaned against the counter. She hadn’t even thought that one through. “I doubt it. If anything, it makes my job more difficult because I can’t trust him. Not with my abilities or my back. Inside each of them lurks a demon waiting to attack.”
Noko remained passive, nodded and hummed again. “You have a shape within you as well.” She smiled tranquilly. “A white wolf. The Protector and Guide of the night. That is your totem.”
Seneca shook her head. She was too tired for Native American lessons. “That’s great. But I need to get some sleep. I have to go back out tonight.”
“You don’t believe me?” Noko said, her words stopping Seneca on her way out of the kitchen.
She turned and looked at her grandmother with a heavy sigh. “I believe that you believe, Grandmother, but don’t ask me to accept it. Not here and now. Not with what I’ve seen.”
“You see more than you know.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
Then Noko stood and handed her a linen towel. “For your bathroom.”
Seneca took it. Another finger towel. Nearly every month, Noko embroidered one with words of wisdom for her. Along the edge were the words: One finger cannot lift a pebble.
Seneca smiled, and her heart swelled. Noko would never give up on her. She was still here, hounding her twenty years after her parents were murdered, hoping she’d embrace her heritage and her faith.
Well, faith was for fools. There were no angels, no saviors. Just guns and blood.
Seneca waved the towel. “You think this will help me save the world?”
Noko shrugged. “Maybe the world does not want to be saved.”
Seneca tossed the towel over her shoulder and gave Noko a hug. “That’s because the world doesn’t have any idea how much trouble it’s in.”
As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she heard Noko’s hum.
Max flicked on the lights in his empty apartment. Not that he needed to. His night vision was extraordinary—one of the few Shifter senses he could keep in this human form. But blending in with the indigenous population meant doing a lot of unnecessary things like turning on lights in the dark when he didn’t need them. Wearing clothes in a culture that had more naked bodies on the Internet than real live people. Eating dead animals but refusing to wear their fur. This planet was more screwed up than the last one was. The longer he was here, the more amazed he was that the population hadn’t already destroyed itself.
He slipped off his jacket and stood in front of the window. New York City bustled f
our stories down, oblivious to the number of Shifters in their midst. Although some were dangerous, most were war refugees who simply wanted to live in peace. They were the ones who lived in fear of building new lives and then having their identities discovered. The rest, well, the rest knew how to exploit a new world.
He walked into the compact kitchen to get a glass of water. Ell’s necklace hung on a hook over the sink, impossible to miss. As he drank the water, he stared at it. He’d given it to her on their wedding night on a world far from here. It was the only thing she wore the rest of the night.
Then there was the night they both had fled the persecution and genocide of the Shifter race on their last planet in a ship, only to crash here and find the same crap. He remembered how excited Ell had been when the captain announced they’d found a planet, this planet that their dying ship could land on. She believed there was hope here for them to have an actual life, a home, and peace. Then they crash- landed and he found her murdered, and it didn’t matter anymore. Every person on this planet could disappear for all he cared.
He touched the blue stone and felt only lifeless rock. It reminded him every single, crappy day why he pushed through this life. It was the only reason he put up with the likes of MacGregor and Seneca and the assholes running XCEL.
He dumped the rest of the water down the sink and set the glass back in the cupboard next to the only other one he owned. There was a quick knock on the door, and Max stilled, listening. Then he walked slowly to the door and sniffed the air. Friend.
He opened the door to let in his neighbor. Apollo entered and headed straight for the kitchen. “How did the first day go?”
Max followed. “It sucked.”
Apollo didn’t appear a bit surprised as he scoured the contents of Max’s fridge. He could eat anything. While Max had opted for a rugged, lethal body type that would serve him well in the field, Apollo had pilfered DNA from a bodybuilder with the kind of looks Earth women were sure to fall over. Blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw, and muscular physique. Today, he was wearing a tight T-shirt and worn jeans.