by Jami Gray
She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “Believe what you want. I’ve answered your questions. Your turn to answer one of mine.”
He took his time stepping back. “Ask.”
“Are you telling Mulcahy?” She needed to know in order to determine her next move.
He stared at her, his thoughts hidden. “I don’t know yet.”
She buried the burst of relief as his answer. It meant she had some time to figure shit out.
He looked at his watch. “We have to leave. We’re late.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned and stalked back to the car, anger still shimmering around him.
Raine took a deep, shuddering breath. One small positive—she was still breathing. She’d count that as a positive, even as she ignored the small, hidden part of her crying silently as a hollow ache settled in her chest. Gavin would never trust her again, which meant she could never turn her back on him.
Following his lean form, she reminded herself it was better this way. If she could stop worrying about his unsettling presence in her life, she could stay in control. Besides, if he kept his distance from her, there was a good chance Talbot would target only her when it all hit the fan.
Chapter Thirteen
Suffocating silence filled the car for the remainder of the drive. Still reeling from the last go around, Raine let it Gavin stew. She had nothing left to say anyway. Just outside the small town of Sheldon, Washington, he pulled into a small parking lot half filled with worn out pickup trucks and a few older model sedans. Getting out of the car, Raine was greeted by the squeak of the chains anchoring a weathered sign advertising a lunch special for five dollars and ninety-nine cents. Below that stunning deal it proclaimed Saturday’s were Honky Tonk nights at Mackey’s.
Gavin’s anger rode the air as he stormed across the pavement and up the steps to the planked porch running the length of the bar. She followed a few cautious steps behind, giving him space. He pulled open the heavy door, a cowbell clanking with the movement. The interior was dim, a standard for bars everywhere as far as she was concerned.
Faces, mainly male, turned to watch as they moved to the back of the bar where two pool tables stood. An empty booth sat on the left wall. Gavin slid in on one side and she took the other. A blonde waitress in painted on jeans and a green T-shirt—a couple sizes too small for the overflowing manmade chest—strolled over.
“What’re you having?” Her light blue eyes devoured Gavin.
Raine was unsurprised considering the male options in the bar. Gavin was definitely a step up.
“Nothing, thanks,” Gavin answered, his smile a sexy invite, no trace of his earlier fury evident. “We’re waiting for a friend.”
The blonde preened a bit, leaning one ample hip against the edge of the table, giving Raine her back. Not the smartest move the woman could make. Her chipped red nails played lightly over Gavin’s hand. “Anyone I know?”
Irritated, Raine resisted the urge to snap a quick kick to the back of Blondie’s knee. Yeah, it was immature, but it would make her feel better. Maybe. She must have made some noise because Gavin shot her a knowing smirk.
He turned back to the waiting woman. “Bane Mayson. Know him?”
The waitress pulled her hand back as if burned, her heavily painted lips twisted into a grimace of distaste, and a small flash of fear flared in her eyes. “Oh sugar, you don’t want to be mixing with the likes of him.”
“And why is that?” Raine’s came out sharper than intended, but it forced Blondie to acknowledge her.
Blue eyes narrowed in annoyance at being addressed by someone else with breasts. “He’s strange.”
“Really?” Gavin’s tone was all conspiratorial, inviting the busty waitress to share more details.
Taking him up on his offer, she turned back to him. “Lots think he’s into that voodoo stuff, y’know?” Blondie’s voice stayed low as if she didn’t want to be overheard.
Gavin matched it. “Why?”
The bouncing ponytail perched high on her crown moved as she tilted her head. Leaning in, she adjusted his drink. “Not real social. Keeps to himself. Always wearing those black long-sleeved hooded things, hiding his face. He’ll come in every now and then, have a couple of drinks, and leave. Always sitting in the back, in the dark.” A summons from the bartender snapped her back to her duties. “I’ll be back for your orders.” She turned and worked her way through the room, gathering orders.
Gavin’s flirty smile faded, only to be replaced by hard angles and empty eyes. Raine waited until he meet her gaze, proud when her voice came out even. “So do we wait for him here, or go looking?”
He didn’t answer, just pulled out his phone. He dialed and held it up to his ear. After a few moments, he hung up, a faint expression of concern crossing his face. She waited, unwilling to play this game. If he didn’t want to talk to her, fine, but she wasn’t going to beg for his attention.
His fingers tapped the table’s surface as he considered her. She didn’t let her gaze waver knowing she was being judged, weighed, but she was who she was. If he couldn’t accept that, it wasn’t her problem.
Finally coming to some internal decision, he broke his silence. “Let’s go find out why he’s not answering.” He got out of the booth.
Sighing quietly, she followed, unable to figure him out if she had a map. It was going to be a long day.
Back in his car, they headed out. He seemed to know where he was going. Two more tries on the cell phone and fifteen minutes later, they pulled in to a graveled drive. A small, gray, manufactured house peeked through a stand of trees while the waters of Lake Cushman blinked in the near distance. Neighbors were few and far apart. Privacy obviously a necessity for Mayson.
Right now that privacy was shot to hell. Two police cruisers, an ambulance, and two unmarked cars were scattered through the front yard. The EMT’s stood near the empty ambulance, and two officers were in a heated discussion near the police cruiser.
Rocks settled in Raine’s gut as she took in the scene from the car. Next to her, Gavin muttered a quiet curse. Bet they wouldn’t be talking to Bane any time soon.
Gavin turned to her, and she didn’t miss the brief flash of speculation. Her temper slipped. “Screw you, Durand. I had nothing to do with this.” Yanking the door open, she climbed out, and slammed it shut hoping the window would shatter. No such luck. Moving toward the uniform walking her way, she heard Gavin’s door click shut behind her.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is a crime scene. You need to stay outside the barrier.” The cop’s uniform was neat as a pin, leg creases so sharp you could cut yourself on them. His eyes were equally sharp, taking in all details, processing, questioning. The uniform stood firmly in front of her bringing her forward momentum to a halt.
“Can I help you?” His voice, a pleasant baritone, matched his slightly husky form topped by straight brown hair buzzed down into a military style.
“We were supposed to meet a Bane Mayson, but he didn’t show.” Gavin came to a stop behind her, but she ignored him. “We thought we’d come out to see if he was still here.”
The officer studied them, his expression unmoved. “Your names?”
“Raine McCord and Gavin Durand.” She looked at the officer’s badge. “What’s going on, Officer Kirkwell?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Miss McCord,” his voice was still pleasant. “However could you answer a few questions for us?”
She nodded. Kirkwell led them over to the cruiser. The second uniform stood nearby, this one a bit more rumpled than the immaculately pressed Kirkwell. Leaning up against the car, the new officer looked a bit pale and shaky, but resolutely straightened as they drew near.
“Officer Lake will take your statement, Miss McCord.” Kirkwell turned to Gavin. “If you’ll come with me, Mr. Durand?”
“Of course.” Gavin followed him out of hearing range.
Lake stared at Raine, his throat working convulsively. He took a cr
umpled notebook and pen from his pocket. “Miss McCord, if you could please tell me how you know Bane Mayson?” His voice was high. Whatever scared Lake wasn’t stopping him from doing his job.
Knowing Mulcahy wouldn’t approve of having too many details of the case under human scrutiny, she kept her answers as vague as possible. Not as easy as it sounded. “Gavin, Mr. Durand, received a phone call from Mayson earlier, requesting a meeting today.”
“About what?” Lake’s voice began to level.
“I didn’t take the call, I’m just along for the ride.”
His hazel eyes narrowed at her somewhat evasive answer. “Have you met Mr. Mayson before?”
“Yes, a few years back. He was able to provide some information for me on a situation I was handling.”
“Situation? What is it you do?”
“I’m a Corporate Security Officer for Taliesin Security in Portland.”
Recognition lit and his gaze sharpened. “Security? What kind of security?”
“Corporate and personal.”
The cop let out what sounded suspiciously like a snort of disbelief. “Uh-huh. Well, what would a Portland based security business have in common with a recluse like Mr. Mayson?”
A tall man emerged from the house, saving her from answering. The tanned man took in both Gavin and Raine’s presence. Ducking under the yellow police tape, he hurried toward them.
His navy blue suit screamed federal. If that hadn’t been a clue, the way Lake’s back went poker straight, while his lips curled as if he’d stepped in something noxious, would have been a sure tip off. Local and federal agencies never seemed to get along. Both sides acted like a dog protecting its best bone.
He glanced her way first, but switched directions toward Gavin. Silence reigned as she and Lake watched the man say something to Kirkwell before leading Gavin in their direction. Kirkwell didn’t look happy. She was betting Lake was going to be feeling the same way very soon.
Gavin and his federal escort stopped in front of them. “Thank you, Officer Lake, but I’ll take over from here.”
Lake’s jerky nod didn’t hide the flare of anger in his eyes. With a sharp snap he closed his notebook and stormed toward his partner.
With him now standing in front of her, she noticed the touches of white in the Fed’s deep brown hair combed back from a high forehead. The circles under the equally brown eyes indicated sleep wasn’t his friend, but they remained razor sharp.
“Agent Victor Osborn, FBI,” his voice was gravelly, as if he smoked one too many cigarettes. “Out of the Seattle Field Office.”
He held out his blunt fingered hand, and she took it, feeling the calluses. Hmm, seemed Osborn hadn’t always worn a suit.
She gave him a polite smile. “Raine McCord.”
Osborn dropped her hand and turned to Gavin, who was currently imitating a stone. “Mayson’s dead, Durand. I want to know why you’re here.” His clear frustration and irritation proved the two men had met before.
Gavin shrugged. “Look Osborn, I got a call for a meeting with Mayson. He didn’t show, so we headed over here and found you.” His stance was relaxed as he met the agent’s questioning gaze. “I’m not sure what I can tell you that will help here.”
“Fine,” Osborn bit out, but Raine didn’t think he was buying Gavin’s nonchalance. “What information did Mayson have that has you driving all the way up here?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we were meeting.”
The agent’s eyes were skeptical. “What are you investigating?”
“Corporate espionage.”
“For which companies?”
Gavin shook his head, a small smile playing around his mouth. “You know I can’t tell you. Our clients expect a certain amount of confidentiality when they hire us.”
Frustration radiated from the older man. “Look, you and I have danced to this tune before, but I’m not up to it today. I need something, because what’s left in there isn’t giving me anything.”
Osborn ran a hand through his dark hair. “I got called in on my way up from Portland. The locals are spooked, and my superiors want this swept up quick.”
Gavin stiffened slightly, but his focus stayed on the agent. “Do you want me to look at the scene?”
Osborn stared at him a second without answering. Instead, he turned to Raine. “Do you work with Durand?” At her nod, he continued, “And your position at Taliesin?”
“Corporate Security Officer.”
With a small sigh, Osborn looked back to the house, then to Gavin, and apparently came to a decision. “Fine. Follow me, both of you. Don’t touch anything. Just tell me what the hell I’m looking for.”
He started toward the house with Gavin and Raine trailing behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
Walking into the dim house, Raine braced for the usual smell accompanying a violent death. It was one she knew well. A distinctive scent that reminded a person of raw meat and coppery blood. A scent that warned whatever you found, it would no longer be recognizable.
Coming down the short entryway, a few steps behind the two men, she realized there was no odor. No blood, no raw meat. She let out the breath she was holding, her other senses stretching out in curiosity. A trace of spine tingling magic raised bumps along her skin as she drew closer to the front room.
Two agents passed her, heading out of the house, small evidence bags in their gloved hands. Osborn stopped just to the left of the front room’s entryway. Gavin came to a halt in the middle of the opening, blocking her view. Stepping around to his right she came to an abrupt stop, puzzled.
Bane Mayson was sprawled on the faded green couch under the picture window. At first glance, the scene made no sense. There were no visible wounds, no horrific mutilations, nothing to show how he died. Just the skitter of magic down her spine, making the deceptively calm view in front of her much more ominous.
“Can you give a positive ID?” Osborn’s rough voice pulled her gaze back to him. He looked at Gavin who wasn’t answering.
Tilting her head to find out why, she realized Gavin was looking at her. “What?”
“I’ve never met him,” he said blandly. “Just spoke to him on the phone.”
“Oh.” A little disconcerted, she turned back to the waiting agent. “Yes, that’s Bane Mayson.”
Osborn gave her the universal version of cop eyes—steady and cool. “You’ve met Mr. Mayson?”
She shrugged, turning back to the weirdly peaceful scene in the front room. “We met briefly about six or seven years ago.” The agent remained silent, waiting, drawing her attention back to him. She met his gaze, no flinching required. “He had a lead for me on one of my cases.”
“Official or unofficial case, Ms. McCord?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Osborn straightened his tall form, moved closer to her and Gavin then lowered his voice. “I’m highly aware of what Taliesin is. My team was called in specifically because we’re the ones who handle strange cases.” He pointed to the body on the couch. “This definitely qualifies as strange. Based on my past experience strange generally involves Taliesin in some way.”
Uh, nice to know the human had a special group for the Kyn. “Mayson provided information, and only information, to Taliesin, Agent. He was a computer genius. If you’re familiar with our company, then you know that’s all I can tell you.” Osborn and his team might be in the know about the Kyn, but confidentiality had its place.
Osborn’s jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. “Mr. Mayson seems to be a regular font of knowledge for you two,” his voice was almost a growl. “Here’s a question for you both. How does a reputed recluse get access to such important information if he never gets out?”
Cops were a damn suspicious lot by nature, but Osborn wasn’t swallowing the whole corporate espionage story. Not that she blamed him. Unfortunately, there was no way she or Gavin could make any allegations involving Talbot unless it Mulcahy cleared it. If Osborn wan
ted, he could pull them both in for obstruction. They would do jail time if they had to, which is why Taliesin employed a staff of top-notch lawyers.
Since Gavin shared history with Osborn, she let him field the question. She was keeping her mouth shut unless she had something worthwhile to add.
Gavin picked up Osborn’s gauntlet. “As Raine said, Mayson was pretty good with computers. In this age of technology, you don’t have to leave your home to do much.” He gestured around the dusty, shabbily furnished room. A top of the line computer sat on a wooden table against one wall. “Taliesin didn’t worry about how he got his facts, as long as his information was reliable. I’m fairly certain he wasn’t comfortable out in public.”
That last observation was an obvious understatement, and Osborn faced a difficult time explaining this case to the locals. Hell, explaining Mayson alone, required some serious creativity. From her position, she studied the slumped form on the couch and a small sliver of relief it wasn’t her job flitted through her.
Long, sprawled legs ensconced in faded blue jeans ended in bare feet. A dingy white T-shirt covered the torso, but the arms dropping from the sleeves were twisted ropes of scar tissue. When she first met Mayson and saw those snaking scars, she asked point blank what made them.
His only answer, “A test gone wrong.”
Not wanting to know just which test had gone wrong, she left it at that.
Now, Mayson’s hands were clenched into loose fists, showing a fine webbing of more scars. If his hands had been unfurled and nothing had changed in the last six or seven years, his nails should be sharp, long, and slightly curved. Their resemblance to a wolf’s claws uncanny. Which had to make typing on the computer keyboard a bitch.
The agent’s voice cut across her mental observations. “Fine, Durand. Let’s see if you can tell me what killed him.” Osborn moved into the front room, motioning for the two of them to follow. “What happened?”
