Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two

by E. M. Whittaker

  She pursed her lips tightly as he caught the bullet in his hand, ignoring her fluttering heartbeat for the umpteenth time in as many minutes. Momentary shock passed through her eyes before they hardened again.

  “Vi, you’re adorable when you’re angry, darling. Now, cap the humans and we’ll take on Sanderson together. If you’re going to free your husband, you need strong men, not weaklings like them. That prick showed up while I was sketching, declared someone challenged you to hand-to-hand combat, and said you stood no chance at winning.”

  Aviere waggled her eyebrows and covered her mouth with the gun while Peters tried hiding his laughter. She reached behind her and retrieved another eight-round magazine, blushing at the other’s growing fury.

  “It’s not funny! I don’t need your husband chewing me a new asshole over protecting two unwanted humans! What would Gunther say if he saw you entertaining this charade?”

  “After stewing over his inadequacy at controlling me? ‘If you can’t control them, stop pretending at playing leader.’”

  “Well, you said it, not me. But you’re referring to these humans as trustworthy when this duo are nothing but danger magnets.”

  “You haven’t worked with Mye long enough, then,” Aviere caught from behind her.

  The bullet thudded to the ground and Aviere’s breath caught in her throat as Q seized her chin again. “Do I need to remind you where your loyalties lie, Belladonna?”

  “Oh, this is rich, coming from a man who turned on his donna,” she said, voice deepening the longer she stared at her challenger’s intense eyes. “That’s not loyalty, traitor.”

  “Self-sacrifice was never your gimmick, pussycat. The empty-suit pegged you—hook, line, and sinker.”

  “My empty-suits wouldn’t come rescue me over a false threat.”

  Parted lips trembled as her body acted of its own accord. Her eyes rolled back as a wave of scented apples assaulted her nostrils. Hot breath touched her lips, teasing her to lean forward.

  Before she acted, a loud whistle signaled from behind her.

  Aviere’s face reddened as loud clapping rang through the shooting range, and she glared at the magazine as she jammed it into the Walther CCP. As she spun her head and let brunette hair hit her competition’s face, her pissy eyes met Travis’s mirthful expression.

  It figures…Q had to grandstand at the wrong time—again. Just as those bozos respected me enough to care, he—

  “It took long enough to expose your front, Mye. Who knew Peters could interrogate by boosting your confidence and letting you hang yourself?”

  “Not entirely accurate,” she countered. “I tolerated you better when you stuffed your face and slurped me to death with shitty coffee.”

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t arrest both of you on account of manslaughter, drug trafficking, money laundering, and tax evasion.”

  Well, shit. They timed their hand well. I always sucked at poker under pressure.

  “We determined I wasn’t responsible for the hierarchy’s deaths, so you can’t arrest me when I helped ice the killer,” she told him. “Besides, what happened to watching me?”

  “You spoiled my favorite drink and took advantage of me. Your melodrama is getting out of hand, and I’m tired of taboo topics because people are scared to rile your dead mother’s ghost. You confessed to some of it before. It wasn’t coerced from you involuntarily.”

  Aviere bent her knees, aimed for the chest, and emptied a whole magazine into the heart of the mannequin, picturing her partners’ bleeding bodies until the floor was coated red. Once she lowered her hands, she let out a breath. “No. It wasn’t.”

  “Then explain yourself.”

  “You still haven’t learned, have you?”

  Only when the mask concealed her emotions did she pivot and push her chest forward, relieved when her lower spine cracked. She did her best to avoid the vindictive glare emanating from Q’s stormy gray eyes, but twirled a strand of hair to hide a shy smile as he reacted to her authoritative air.

  “Ask me the right questions and I might consider answering you. Otherwise, you’ll learn nothing and will never be my equal.”

  She definitely has a mother complex. One remark about Myra and Mye flips like a light switch.

  Travis leaned against the doorframe, making sure the cowboy hat hid his face as he analyzed Aviere’s words and her drastic change of demeanor. Studying Peters and Q deterred from the quivering woman cradling her hand while holding her weapon. Each time she rubbed her knuckles, her darkness flickered instead of the forest-green hue.

  Mye didn’t deny my claim, but didn’t defend Q, either. Damn, Lyssa. I hoped to disarm her with an incriminating statement, but she caught onto my ploy.

  He noticed her rosy fingertips while her mouth hovered over them. Hot breath blew on them while the Walther CCP pointed at the ceiling. Seconds later, her good hand nursed the throbbing one again, thrusting her fingers close until they turned white instead of red. The gun’s grip rested on her breasts, practically buried between her fingers and the narrow opening of cleavage.

  Travis stepped toward her but hesitated when Q grunted and shielded the flustered Poisoner.

  In her case, Mye used the Beretta to her advantage. She considered the benefits before converting the weapon. Using a handgun with harsh kickback for prolonged periods wouldn’t suit her. Those weapons she uses are designed for her fragile body and health issues.

  “Peters, the modified Beretta’s a suitable alternative. The kickback kills her hands.”

  “I noticed.” A tone of superiority came from the specialist. “I wondered why she didn’t use a real handgun before.”

  “For a firearm, I’d recommend the concealed handgun she’s using.” Travis tipped his hat partway as he examined the Poisoner’s hands again. “With the right equipment, she could improve her performance. She knows how to reload, her positioning is decent, and she’s skilled with handguns, but her movements are clumsy.”

  “Not when Mye shoots. It’s lethal… once she concentrates.”

  “Revolvers are harder than magazines,” Aviere confessed, voice sheepish nearby. “I’m not fond of those or rifles. Handguns are easier to conceal, but slamming the magazine and drawing the upper receiver hurts my fingers without gloves.”

  Why feign ignorance about firearms? Travis’s thumb brushed against day-old stubble. Testing. The bitch was testing us. This time, Peters outsmarted her because she’s off point. It’ll be interesting to see who wins this round. It could swing either way.

  “Why pretend you’re an amateur?” Travis asked, massaging his back against the doorframe. “I watched your eyes glaze with boredom inside Peters’s office.” One shoulder blade pressed harder before sating the itchy spot on his back. “Three times, you tried telling me off, but stopped halfway through. Why?”

  “I haven’t used a piece in several years. In your eyes, I’m considered a newbie. The Underground knows a specific kind of killer… the one I prefer, compared to firearms. My hands give me trouble, so I opt for efficiency over cruelty.”

  Aviere’s reminder about their first meeting made the silver collar around his neck feel suffocating as he swallowed. “Because poisoning someone with hemlock isn’t cruel.”

  “A few hours with palliative care compared to bleeding out? Less brutal and bloody, Travis.”

  “Remind me to never to let you handle my near-death decisions. God knows you’d give me potassium chloride in my saline solution.”

  “I’d let you live. Agent Neuro is another story.”

  “Speaking of me, I’m curious about something.”

  You had this, Shawn, Travis berated, glancing at the ceiling. Now you’re going overboard because of your over-inflated ego.

  “You’re all about professionalism, but the Hulk is positioning your hands. I assume he’s your firearms trainer.”

  “Peters, you won your hundred bucks,” Travis told him, slipping off his trench coat while eying his colleague positioning
Aviere’s hands. “Leave the rest alone and savor your victory.”

  “This isn’t about the money, Keith. Just watch.”

  Lyssa, I’m not intervening. If Q smashes his skull open, Peters can pay the consequences.

  ~As long as he’s not dead, dear.~

  Travis shivered while imagining her melodic response, then placed a hand on top of his handgun. Hazel eyes twinkled as he studied Aviere’s flushed face and shaky hands while Q’s held hers in place. He tilted his head slightly when her eyes zoomed on Peters and noted the playful expression and elevated breathing.

  She’s studying with a visible distraction. Impressive.

  “Can you stop zooming your freakish eyes?” Peters asked. “It’s creepy.”

  “It’s why she has specialty glasses, but you guys never swam in the Patapsco River to rescue them,” Q replied, slanting his body while hunching forward. “To answer your question, maybe I did. For her constitution, use 9mm handguns or stick with something non-gun related. Revolvers suck, rifles hurt, and the Beretta cut her hand because she held it wrong. You could go with a Beretta, but I’d suggest something similar to the mage’s handgun. It’s durable… unless someone crushes it with their bare hands.”

  Travis grinned after Aviere’s shoulders tensed and her arms spasmed.

  “I’m not paying for repairs if you destroy any more federal property, Quentin.”

  “Guy had a spare, and it’s not standard weaponry.”

  “Not the point!” she protested. “How many goddamn doors and windows did I replace because you lost your temper?”

  “The assassin had a spare. Quit bitching, already.”

  Travis stroked the rim of his leather hat, thankful the sunglasses hid the amusement in his eyes.

  “See, that’s the problem with you,” Aviere chastised, accentuating each word. “You don’t consider the consequences, yet you’re the life at parties and charitable events.”

  “I can’t help all the women love me, Vi. You’re an introvert.”

  “Just because I’m an introvert doesn’t mean my social skills suck.”

  Well, well. It looks like I found our pussycat’s Achilles Heel.

  The agent met Peters’s annoyed stare with a whimsical grin, and then gestured to the bickering figures still continuing their stand-off. “Between you two, she found some of her spark again.”

  “Not for long. No wonder she’s still single. No one asks bitchy women on a second date. He’s wasting his time by flirting with her.”

  “Single my ass,” she objected. “What part of ‘still married’ don’t you understand?”

  Well, we confirmed one thing, Lyssa. Her snarkiness came from dealing with Q. They can’t work together and she understood. Maneuvering people wasn’t a chess game. She found what worked and played it to her advantages.

  Travis cleared his throat and summoned energy as exhaustion crept through his limbs. “Enough, Peters. Snide remarks aside, what are you complaining about this time?”

  “Desert Eagles aren’t within regulation. We’re in enough trouble because Travis doesn’t follow orders.”

  “Aviere’s not law enforcement. As long as she carries a permit, there’s no issue.”

  Travis lowered Peters’s sunglasses as Q lowered his head and rested it in the crook of Aviere’s neck, whispering something in her ear. He never caught the sentence, but Travis snickered as he adjusted the glasses back in place.

  There’s the contradiction, Lyssa, he said to his invisible confidante as Aviere’s body straightened. Their stories conflict and their behavior… wait. What did Mye call him?

  “She doesn’t have a permit, Q. Concealed carry guns are controlled by the government, unless one obtains them from the black market. Same with her Ferrari, which remains registered and protected. However, I came across something interesting yesterday.”

  “Peters, drop whatever you found until later,” Travis tried again. “We’ve got two days left, so we can’t screw around. Whatever it is can wait until afterward.”

  “No, it can’t.”

  Jesus, Shawn, stop griping about regulations. We’re not—

  “Without a permit, Mye can’t own a firearm.”

  “Oh my god, Aviere. Kill the human. He’s lived too long.”

  Travis almost drew the handgun after Q’s exasperated whine but stopped when Aviere’s claws slammed into the bigger man’s thigh. “Enough. The neurotic human has his uses. Stop undermining me before I coat my claws in nightshade, Q.”

  “The kitten grew claws,” he mumbled, scooting away from her reach. “Fuck, woman. Nightshade? Stop grandstanding. I don’t see the vial of tomato juice around your neck or the spiked heels. Guess you gave those up after Jem made them a fashion statement.”

  Even with shaded glasses, Travis chuckled when Aviere’s aura darkened.

  “I’m reconsidering it with your attitude. Let me handle my men before I owe Peters more money… or rather, you, since you screwed up everything again.”

  Damn, Mye. You shouldn’t have offered extra money. I wanted to keep my bonus, and Peters will gloat all afternoon.

  “I’ve got a permit, but it’s under my married name. We got it after someone stalked me and broke into my apartment.” Aviere’s head swiveled around and met Travis’s eyes. “The same instance Angelique talked about last night, which got me upset.”

  “Right.” The agent rubbed his nose, clearing away imaginary cat dander. “Don’t leave the compound without me. I need to get my allergy shots this afternoon after last night’s stunt. I swear, I’m still sneezing out cat dander.”

  He met ruthless sky-blue eyes when she snarled.

  “Anyway,” Peters interrupted, “I cross-referenced permits against your married name, which is listed on your mother’s death certificate.”

  “Shawn, stop,” Travis warned once more before hearing Aviere’s deepened growl. “You’re going overboard. Cray already pissed her off this morning, and she’s stabbing people. She gave you a seizure last time. Back off before your over-inflated ego costs you.”

  “In a minute! Let me revel in my victory.”

  I’m a horrible person, but Shawn deserves a kick to the face. Why would he mention a death certificate? I wouldn’t stop Mye if she beat him senseless, sweetheart.

  A vicious smirk crossed the agent’s face as he braced a foot against the frame. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

  “I found two death certificates.” A piece of paper came out of Peters’s suit pocket. “The one from seventeen years ago is your mother’s, since she shares Dalara’s name. Who’s the one from fourteen—”

  Only the auras before him showed Travis which fist struck his partner first, but he blanched when Mye’s fist connected before her burly counterpart. Seconds later, her elbow landed on top of the specialist’s head, laying him out on the concrete floor before he made another sound.

  He touched a deeper nerve. Well done, Shawn.

  “Holy shit, Mye,” Travis breathed when her aura spiked with darkness. “Was that necessary?”

  “Certain files remain encrypted because the knowledge will get you two killed.” A trail of forest green followed Aviere as she leaned over to pick up the fallen paper. “I hired someone else after Peters broke through the first set of encrypted files. Tell him to stop poking his nose inside the Metamorphosis Project, Travis. My husband disappeared because he pried too far for me.”

  “Cray mentioned it earlier.” Travis studied the paper, but his bottom lip twitched after seeing the backside. “What is it, exactly?”

  “It’s a top secret project. If you live through another assignment—after this one—I might consider telling you.” A Post-it note flashed from Aviere’s pocket as she brushed past him. Before moving past, she waved it beside him. “Stake out this address tonight. It’s a pharmaceutical company Donahue’s using.”

  He folded the paper and shoved it in his back pocket. “What about you? Where are you going?”

  “I’ll call once I have
completed analyzing Cray’s toxicology results. I’m hoping he didn’t rig them.”

  Travis peeked above the sunglasses at her clipped tone. “Don’t be pissy with me, Mye. I warned Peters several times about his—”

  “I’m heading to the hospital for my weekly checkup. Until then, keep your distance, unless you want to end up like Agent Neuro, with convulsions.”

  “Remember, stay within ten miles, okay?”

  “It’s near your place, and I’ll drive you to the hospital later. Let me settle my affairs while you prepare to stalk Donahue for the evening. I’ll text you with updates as I move positions.”

  “Fine. But who is—”

  “The address links to the photographs sent here this morning. I’m on a timeline to stop Donahue, save Karyn—no matter how much she annoys me—and hope I don’t have to prepare a eulogy afterward. Two days is not enough time.”

  The agent nodded and blinked when she touched his collared shirt. “I know.”

  “I’ll save Limere. I won’t let him go like Ma.”

  Before Travis offered another comforting word, her hand dropped and clasped her jeweled necklace as she stomped out of the shooting range. Her aura wavered as her shoulders trembled, then dimmed once she disappeared down the hall.

  This sucks. I said I wouldn’t sympathize, but it’s hard watching her, Lyssa. How do you comfort a woman, knowing their loved one will die without any hope of saving them?

  An uneasy silence drifted between the conscious men while Travis fetched the chirping Blackberry from his jacket. A brief peek at the screen showed him a new email notification. When he recognized the sender, Travis muted the phone and placed it with Aviere’s Post-it note.

  One eye rested on Q when he heaved, after clutching his injured thigh.

  I’m missing something. Mye is still evasive, but her inner fire emerged. Maybe Q will offer an explanation before I have to chase her through the compound.

  “If you met Sanderson when he scheduled meetings, he wouldn’t page you so much, mage.”

  Travis tipped his hat with a finger before craning his neck to view Q’s flickering emotions. “Why return to Mye now? You didn’t have to once you cut ties.”