by C J Matthew
MURDOCH
Sea Dragon Shifters
Book 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Thank you for reading my book!
Also bt CJ Matthew
Copyright page
Chapter 1
Murdoch
Murdoch raced along the upstairs hallway, rounding the corner at almost his full human speed, and nearly collided with his twin brother striding quickly toward him from the opposite direction.
“Where’ve you been?” Murdoch demanded as Murphy reached his side and stopped. “We’re going to be late.”
“Long distance call,” Murphy said cryptically, and pocketed the satellite phone he’d been holding.
After a quick peek at his watch, Murdoch studied his brother. He’d recognize that stressed expression anywhere. Evidence of worry was all too common on his twin’s face. Damn it. The last thing he needed was to get stuck running the quarterly meeting all by himself. Better hustle big brother downstairs. Now.
Halfway down the main staircase, he surrendered to his pang of guilt and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I have to leave, right now,” Murphy announced with a deeper frown. “Emergency summons to…um, Ireland.”
Oh, Hell no. Murdoch stopped on the bottom stair and scowled. His brother’s actual destination could be Ireland since the family corporation had been founded there centuries ago. However, all their port facilities in Ireland were thriving. What secret emergency could they be having that required the company president to drop everything and go today?
Murdoch stepped down, moved closer to his brother, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The druids?”
“That’s right,” Murphy whispered back. “For the time I’m on their island, I’ll be totally unreachable.” As they started across the foyer together, he shot Murphy a sidelong glance. As usual, his brother’s brow was creased, his lips compressed into a thin line. The man’s default expression these days was strained, harried. There but for a twist of fate, go I.
Just over a century ago, his twin had emerged from their shared egg several minutes ahead of Murdoch, which meant that decades later, when their parents had been killed, his brother had become the chieftain of the clan, president of Muirdris Shipping, and one of the shifter guardians of a secret island north of Ireland where the ancient druids were hidden and protected from hunters.
Murphy pulled out his iPhone and checked it as they drew closer to the front door. “My housekeeper is taking care of my place, I’ve alerted the staff at headquarters in Boston. The helicopter is airborne, en route here. It’ll drop me off at Logan and I’ll be taking the corporate jet.”
Halfway across his marble floored entry area, Murdoch extended his arm to stop his brother. “Thanks for smoothing the way for me to enjoy an uneventful week in your absence, but what about the quarterly directors meeting?” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “The one starting in eleven minutes.”
“You’ll have to handle it alone.”
Oh no. Damn it. The pit of Murdoch’s stomach clenched like an electric eel was fighting its way out. “Wait. You staying here a few more minutes won’t make any difference. Together we can knock out this meeting in, say, half an hour, and then—”
“You’ll have to do this one, little brother, without me.” Murphy detoured around him and reached for the front door handle. “Considering today’s agenda, you’d better plan on the whole deal running closer to three hours.”
“What? No, listen...” Murdoch pleaded, “We’ll flip for it. If I win, you stay just long enough to get through the old business.” Which should mean Murphy would deal with the worst of the contentious dragon-eat-dragon debates and the most difficult decisions.
When his brother didn’t respond, Murdoch wedged himself between his twin’s powerful body and the door and he drew an old coin from his pocket. Flicking the Celtic piece with his thumb, Murdoch sent the artifact arching into the air. “Call it,” he urged Murphy as the ancient money flipped end over end.
“Heads,” Murphy said without looking up from his phone.
The coin landed back in Murdoch’s waiting hand. “Heads,” he groaned. “Shit.” He glared at the coin, then at his brother. “Best two out of three?”
“No chance.” Murphy reached around him to open the door. “I’ve got a flight to catch. You’ve got a teleconference to run. Even I can’t be in two places at the same time.”
Murdoch followed his twin outside into the early afternoon chill and across the gravel driveway, carefully pocketing the coin until he could restore it to his hoard. Wearing or carrying small but significant pieces from his treasure usually brought him good luck. Not today. Bringing this particular item out of the secret cave beneath his house had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Taking into account the added expense he’d incurred by legally buying the coin, it was almost too valuable to risk.
As grey storm clouds rolled across the sky above the lawn, the Muirdris helicopter lowered onto the landing pad.
“Quit pouting, brother, I won fair and square,” Murphy reminded him. “However, I’m not the least concerned. I believe you can handle the quarterly conference and whatever else comes up while I’m gone. I trust you’ll keep the company prospering. Oh, don’t forget to show up for the christening ceremony of our newest container vessel.”
All through the routine meaningless reassurances, Murphy’s gaze kept wandering to Murdoch’s hand buried in his pants pocket. Finally, his older brother looked him in the eye and asked, “Where’d you get the coin?”
Murdoch’s mood brightened, and he bit back a smile. This was why he’d taken a risk, brought the precious coin out of his hoard for the day. Hell, this was why he’d bought the coin in the first place. He’d never felt equal to his brother when it came to the business or his handling of the cousins, but Murdoch knew his history and he was able to find amazing and unique additions to his already impressive personal hoard. It was the one—possibly the only—talent of his that his twin envied. Murphy’s question about the origin of the piece might sound nonchalant, but Murdoch wasn’t fooled. Tightening his grip on the treasure, he remained silent as the ancient metal warmed his hand.
“It’s from the Isle of Jersey archeological find, isn’t it?” Murphy pressed for an answer.
Murdoch shrugged. “It belongs to my hoard now,” he retorted and bit back a laugh. When digging for information, his brother was like a Terrier going after a rat, but Murdoch wasn’t about to share how he’d acquired the coin. Time to change the subject.
“Tell the truth,” he demanded. “How many nasty surprises should I expect during this teleconference?”
“You mean,” Murphy said, “besides the constant in-fighting between the cousins? As far as I know, none. There shouldn’t be any bombshells.”
They exchanged a back-slapping hug, and when he drew back, Murphy’s elusive smile appeared. “Not to worry, baby twin.”
“Don’t call me that.” Murdoch winced. He hated the childhood nickname.
Murphy’s gaze hardened again as he assumed his business face. Then he turned and strolled toward the concrete square set in the side lawn. Despite the
rotor noise, Murdoch heard his twin mutter under his breath, “If you’re serious about proving yourself, little brother, there’s no time like the present.”
He drew in a sharp breath, but before he could respond, Murphy had moved out of earshot, and Murdoch’s watch beeped. Seven minutes. Shrugging off the remark, he waved to the pilot and shouted at his brother’s back, “Have a safe journey.” Then he reentered his house to face the corporate directors alone.
He and Murphy took turns electronically hosting Muirdris Shipping’s monthly meetings and the quarterly teleconferences from their nearby clifftop estates north of Boston. The two properties were located far enough apart to satisfy their dragons territorial demands, similar enough to make their twin natures happy yet not identical like their human forms.
As befitted the clan chief, Murphy’s domain boasted more acreage, higher cliffs, the spacious mansion had more square footage and was located several miles closer to Boston. Only the secure communication facilities secreted in each basement, chock full of the latest electronics, and protected by the newest security devises, were identical.
Murdoch hurried down the circular stone staircase, an exact replica of the medieval stairs built to access the defensive towers of their clan castle in Ireland. Exiting on the first landing, he used the palm ID and retinal scanner to gain entry to his conference room. Once inside, he carefully locked the reinforced door behind him.
Especially for these quarterly conferences, absolute security was a must. Muirdris Shipping’s fourth quarter global teleconference would include discussions of ongoing as well as new security threats, followed by in-depth analyses of how Muirdris would respond. Finally, the worldwide directors, his cousins, would vote on year-end acquisitions and final annual budget issues.
During the debate on acquisitions, the directors were expecting a positive progress report from him. Last quarter, he’d been ‘offered’ the chance to broker a deal with a financially troubled Greek shipping line, Mykos. A buy-out sounded great, until his careful research revealed that Mykos wasn’t just broke, their debt ratio was fatal. To make the transaction profitable, he’d have to convince the owners of Mykos Lines to carve out one division and sell it. Hampered by the need for secrecy, so far he hadn’t made much progress.
Inside the secure room, the decor abruptly switched from medieval Celtic to ultra-futuristic. From this sleekly efficient space, he could contact each of Muirdris’ vessels, every port and corporate office and all the sea dragon shifter cousins who managed the worldwide operations.
On the far wall, a huge computer screen would project live feed of each participant, while the center portion handled PowerPoint presentations, or maps, outlines, or photos relevant to the current topic.
As he watched, their two most trusted non-dragon employees from Muirdris Shipping’s corporate Boston headquarters appeared on the screen. Victoria, a brilliant and stunningly beautiful blue-eyed blonde, the vice president of global electronic communications and an arctic fox shifter sat at her command console. Seated at his own sleek curved desk in a different secure room in Boston, Gahaji a tall, muscular, ebony skinned jaguar shifter, and vice president of Muirdris’ worldwide security, glanced up and smiled a greeting.
“Good afternoon,” Victoria and Gahaji said in unison.
“Hey Vic, Ji,” Murdoch called over his shoulder as he filled a glass with iced water while his mug of coffee brewed. Turning to face the screen, Murdoch hesitated a split second before he placed the water on a coaster and set his mug beside it. Then he pulled out Murphy’s chair front and center at the expansive glass and chrome table. Once he was settled, he took a swallow of coffee, and looked at the two shifters on the screen.
“Murphy?” Vic asked hesitantly.
Murdoch frowned. He couldn’t fool the corporate staff—not for long, anyway. “No,” he said, “Murphy’s been called away.” He took another sip of coffee. “Just me today…and for at least the next week,” he muttered the last part under his breath.
Familiar faces began to pop up along the edges of the wall screen as far-flung directors joined the conference.
“Hey,” Devlin in Japan called out, waving frantically for attention. “Hello, Murph? Sorry to disrupt the agenda. Where’s Murdoch? I need to share a serious security breach. I had—”
“Murphy isn’t here,” Vic announced. “You’re talking to Murdoch.”
He sipped coffee and listened to the surprised silence all around. Finally, Devlin gave an exaggerated shrug, and said, “Okay, no sweat. This concerns you the most. Just before this meeting, I had an unexpected visitor. The man said he was a representative from Mykos, that Greek shipping line you’re negotiating with? You know, the one we’ve secretly discussed buying? When I asked him what he wanted, he claimed to know we’re interested in acquiring them.”
What the fuck? Murdoch sat bolt upright in his chair. How could that happen? The news was met by several colorful profanities and lots of grumbling from the other directors.
“Did it ever occur to you, Devlin, that he might’ve been bluffing?” Finnian, the sea dragon in charge of the US west coast ports asked from the secure room in the Seattle offices. His mouth was set in a sneer. “I’ll bet the Greek guy was simply fishing for information and you, dumbass, gave it to him.”
“Like hell I did,” Devlin’s voice rose. “Before I had a chance to give anything away, Mr. Zor informed me he’d learned about our interest directly from a Muirdris source.”
The reactions grew so loud, Murdoch raised one hand for silence. As usual, everybody ignored him. So much for no bombshells. Damn it. He sucked in a deep breath and released a painfully shrill whistle. That got their attention.
Wordlessly, he motioned for Devlin to continue.
“The Greek man, Mr. Zor,” Devin said, “refused to name his source, but he was insistent it was a current Muirdris employee. Based on news of our interest, the asking price for Mykos has sky-rocketed. Guys, we’ve got a dangerous and expensive leak in our company.”
As all hell broke loose, Murdoch gritted his teeth.
Chapter 2
Annalisa
With thirty seconds to spare, Annalisa Bartello slid into her office chair at Muirdris Shipping’s Port of Long Beach facility. Firing up her desk computer, she clocked-in while she added one more packet of sugar to her 30oz. tumbler of strong coffee. Stirring with one hand, she opened her work email with the other. After a long swallow of sugary caffeine, Annalisa blinked at the inbox list, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep.
One email immediately caught her attention. It was addressed to ABartellino and came from an unfamiliar sender. Hesitant to open it, she ran a search through the corporate employee alphabetical listings and confirmed that Muirdris, including their port facilities in Italy, did not employ a person named Bartellino. The closest name listed was hers.
The sender had used the company server. And netiquette urged her to notify whoever was at the sending address that his or her email had been misdirected. The subject line simply read Our Deal. She opened the body of the message, searching for a name. Her cursor hovered over the reply button while she read a terse offer to sell confidential docking protocols from three of Muirdris Shipping’s most active ports.
Annalisa gasped, horrified at the implied security breach. She reread the final paragraph.
“This offer has a strict time limit. Reply with confirmation of payment by 23:55 Pacific Standard today or this offer will go to another.”
Annalisa’s stomach churned. She bent forward, her head between her knees until the dizziness subsided. Damn the nightmares. She needed a clear head to deal with this.
Six weeks ago, her boss, Finnian had offered her a terrific promotion. Because the new job description placed her on two of Muirdris’ top secret port expansion projects, she’d been required to pass a deep background check to qualify. No problem. She didn’t have any skeletons in her closets.
A few weeks later, her higher security clearance had come th
rough. She’d been awarded the promotion, had begun attending secret project meetings, and she’d celebrated the nice pay increase by taking the non-work friends, her beach volleyball team, out for drinks.
Oddly, when the background check concluded, she’d started to experience vague, unnerving dreams. She tossed and turned, feeling an urgent need to locate someone, without knowing who, exactly, or why. In her dream sequence last night, she’d searched a deserted stretch of beach and when her dream-self dove into the surf, swimming in the general direction of Catalina, she’d started awake and fought her way out of the tangled sheets.
How did her unconscious come up with this shit?
Usually her dreams offered up tidbits from her day or week which she could easily identify. Were these uncomfortable imaginings about work? No way. She loved the excitement of her job, working for family-owned, employee friendly Muirdris.
At least she had, until today. Now she was confronted with a genuine security breach. A conspirator at Muirdris was going to sell corporate protocols. Tonight.
It was her duty to tell someone. Now.
The obvious choice was Finnian, her immediate supervisor. The drawback? As the West Coast Director, the man travelled—a lot. Yesterday afternoon, for example, he’d left the office early, headed to the Seattle facilities for several days of meetings.
She had to call him.
Her computer signaled the arrival of a new email. On her screen was a second misdirected message. From the same mysterious sender. Holy hell.
This subject line read: Sample. And the email had an attachment.
She rubbed the crop of goosebumps spreading up her arms, took a deep breath, and opened the accompanying document.
It appeared to be a scanned copy of a paper original. She shivered. Originally printed on a Muirdris interoffice memo, the document was clearly stamped TOP SECRET. Several crucial columns were blacked out, but this sample was solid proof that someone at Muirdris had access to confidential data and that someone was willing to sell out the company.
Grabbing the handset for the landline, she paused. If she could get through to Finnian, would he and Muirdris want her repeating this kind of sensitive news over the phone? The damn email system had already proven fallible.
