by Tina Gower
Conditional Probability of Attraction
Outlier Prophecies ~ Book Two
Tina Gower
Smashed Picket Press
Contents
Also by Tina Gower
Newsletter Information
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
20. The Werewolf Coefficient~Sneak Peek
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Christina Smith
1st Digital & Trade Paperback Edition, 2016, cover design by Christian Bentulan.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or person, living or dead is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks, is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
For more books by Tina Gower, please visit:
http://www.tinagower.com
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Also by Tina Gower
Books in the Outlier Prophecies Series
Romancing the Null (book one)
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Conditional Probability of Attraction (book two)
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The Werewolf Coefficient (book three)
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Standard Deviation of Death (book four)
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Big Bad Becker~A Outlier Series Novella~Coming mid-August 2016
Shifter Variance (book five)~Coming Fall 2016
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Chapter 1
Gretchen calls me into her office halfway through the day. Inside, I’m cheering that I’ve made it this far without incident. Outward, I’m a wreck. Slightly disheveled…okay, my shirt has come a little untucked and my glasses got a little bent inspecting the shark tank at the last client site, but this is too far gone even for me.
She must notice my unraveling and that’s the reason she’s calling this little boss-employee trust circle powwow, or whatever this is. Damn her office for being the first one right after we walk in from the elevators and through the front secretarial desks. Her big corner office has windows facing out to the mini cubicle farm in the center filled with interns and entry level actuaries, so there’s no possible way to sneak by to get to the investigative offices, of which there are two. Mine and Miles, across from each other, banished to the back corner alcove.
No way in or out except by the walk of shame in front of Gretchen’s all too knowing gaze. It’s so management can inspect who comes and goes and when. I attempt to hide behind a cool gaze and pop my head in, like I’m only here to update her and no need to call me in for a full sit-down.
I grip the door, praying that she let’s me off the hook I’m dangling from. “Got it all under control with the Haust case. He agreed that, given his risk for a shark attack death increased after installing the tank, he should seriously consider giving up collecting deadly exotic aquatic animals. So you can call off the insurance guys.”
My boss flashes me a smile as she looks up from some paperwork and motions for me to take a seat.
Okay, damn it, so much for the easy run-by-the-office-update.
I slowly walk to her fabric mesh overstuffed chair. The one that envelops its victims like a Venus flytrap. There’s a light flute music recording in the background. I’m treated to Gretchen’s side-profile as she tap-taps an email. I relax into the chair like I’m in no hurry to get this over with, taking the opportunity to discreetly tuck my shirt in, run a hand to catch any flyaways from my bun, and straighten my glasses. They tilt back on my face, remaining a fraction askew. I want to rip them from my face, except I need them as a security blanket, not so much to see. My prescription isn’t that major. And my contacts have been itching my eyes. I wonder if I’m allergic to werewolves.
“Have you spoken with Officer Ian Becker recently?” Gretchen asks in a casual tone.
My stomach does a flip, and I get a little shock of a twinge in an unmentionable place at the mention of just his name. It’s as though my little errant werewolf thought summoned my boss to mention the one wolf I didn’t want to discuss.
“No.” I smooth out my gunmetal grey pencil skirt and clear my throat. I tip my glasses straight, they flop back to tilt. “We haven't spoken.”
And it’s absolutely true. We’ve not spoken one word while he sleeps next to me every couple nights in bed. During the day we’ve taken careful steps to avoid one another. Well, at least I have. Becker is probably just busy being his usual workaholic cop self. It might explain why I’ve not seen him the past four nights, but instead of breathing a sigh of relief, I’m unable to sleep wondering if Becker is okay. Did I do something wrong? Did he find a pack and no longer needs me to regulate his body?
Gretchen sets her work aside, lacing her fingers into a prayer position. The background flute works itself into a climatic crescendo, then tapers off, stopping all at once. Now it’s just the relaxing sounds of wind.
Her expression melts into concern. “How’s Jack Roberts doing?”
My stomach cramps although it shouldn’t—this is an easier topic. Much happier. At least I have the black-and-white answer and it’s not as messy as how I continue to allow the police department’s liaison into my bed for nightly snuggle sessions. Or how I dream of his naked body.
I put a finger on the frame of my glasses near my temple to keep them straight. “Jack is progressing. The doctors say he’ll be ready for some physical thera
py sessions. MRI is showing he has some damage and is expected to have a long recovery, but he’ll walk again. To what extent, will depend on how his PT goes.”
Talking about Jack digs at my compulsion that there is still something about that case that didn’t add up, but it’s just my ego gasping one last breath. I don’t like being wrong.
I pull out my phone and show her a recent picture of Jack sitting up in retraction, goofy grin and what little hair he has sticking out in multiple directions.
Gretchen reaches across her desk to cover my hand with hers. “Wonderful.” Her hands are warm, but the kind of heat that reminds me how cold I am.
I resist the urge to pull away. She shouldn’t be so nice to me, considering Jack was my last case. The one I’d assumed to succeed only to utterly fail due to a rookie mistake. Short story version: he had a high probability of a homicide death and Becker talked me into keeping the case between us, so we could go rogue and impress our respective bosses. Plus Jack insisted for me to serve as his actuary. We kept him from the murder plot, only to have him get hit by a car the next day. We were so focused on removing all the risk factors we forgot to put a watch on his name in our own department. And did I mention he’s an oracle?
Yep, pretty much the most high-profile client you can protect. The main ingredient to our forecast net and the whole reason my job even exists. Without oracle predictions we have nothing to run numbers on. No probability of fate occurrence. It would be like a coach accidentally killing the star pitcher.
Okay, a little over the top. Jack is a weather oracle in a city that has a fairly mild climate, but I didn’t want to be the reason anyone died on my watch. Certainly not due to my negligence. And he didn’t die; I just maimed him.
Gretchen eyes me like she’s trying to determine something. Eventually she lets a short breath out of her nostrils. “All right. I’m sure you know I didn’t call you in here to rehash the Roberts case, but I can tell you’re still hanging on to it.” She scoots her office chair closer to me, although the desk inhibits her from getting too near, and I get a waft of her ginger and cloves perfume. “This job isn’t like anything in traffic.”
Right. Thank gods. But…
She holds up a finger after my mouth automatically opens in protest. “Sure, they have the occasional death, but that’s all we deal in. Death. Accidental death is even harder because we get cases that are unavoidable and all we can do is watch the probability increase with no course of risk aversion.”
I shift in my chair. “With all due respect—”
“Michelle Kitman was the exception. We won’t see another like her in our lifetime.”
Cue the pause where my boss looks off into the distance remembering our profession’s greatest member. Fuck Kitman for being so perfect. I equally want to hate Kitman and find a way to become her best friend. Seeing the look of admiration in Gretchen’s eyes makes me, in this moment, grip the armrest. My fingernails dig into the cloud-like mesh. I don’t want to hear that Kitman is an anomaly and nobody else can rise to that level of greatness in our lifetime.
I want to be the next Kitman. And I could totally do it if I could just catch a break.
Gretchen blinks to awareness and passes me a file. “I think given the last few weeks have been incredibly stressful for you, I wanted to assign you something to take your mind off all the death cases for a bit.”
I flatten my back against the chair and glare at the file like it’s poison. “What do you mean? I’m still an Accidental Death Actuary, right? I’m not being reassigned.” My heart bangs against my ribs as though they’re prison bars. The mesh chair reflects my heat a little too well and suffocates my pores, causing me to sweat.
Who would have bet I could screw up so soon after starting? The last time I was demoted it took at least six months and an affair with a married man in my department. He reported our relationship to HR after the breakup and got promoted for his honesty. I got demoted to the hell that is Traffic and forced to sign paperwork admitting my relationship and absolving the department of fault for any wrongdoing that might have resulted of said relationship. In return I got to keep my barely-anything-to-brag-about salary.
Gretchen’s eyes go wide at my reaction. “Oh no. That’s not what this is. It’s just someone from Ever After Predictions has requested one of our actuaries to consult on a project. They’ve been having problems with their system.”
I ease a little but remain on guard. What would a private company that’s pretty much a dating service want with death actuaries? Their commercial pops into my head unexpectedly.
Hands clasping. The words Predictable Love materialize in the center of the screen.
The silhouette of lips kissing. Scientifically Proven Attraction. As the words fade, the silhouette becomes more defined until we see the couple. Then quick flashes of a dozen happy couples holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes, kissing, hugging.
Then bam. Blinding white screen and a sexy male voice whispers, Your Soul Mate is a click away.
I very nearly mouth the words, which shows how powerful, or annoying, the ad is.
Gretchen slides the file closer to me. “You’re expected at Ever After’s main offices at 2:00 p.m. Why don’t you leave for lunch now and use the extra time to go over the case notes?”
I glance at the clock. It’s 11:45 a.m. Technically, I’ve lost long lunch privileges for the next thirty days, because I refused to respond to a summons. Another residual of Jack’s case, but I don’t regret the decision. We were close to zeroing in on the culprit and if I’d reported to the summons, we’d have put several oracles’ lives in danger.
I take the file with hesitation, pressing my lips together with a look that’s more of a question to my boss.
She leans back in her chair. “Just take the case, Kate. You’ll likely work through lunch anyway, so we’re not breaking any rules here. If this comes back to hurt you, I’ll explain to the higher ups you were working under my orders.”
I tuck the file under my arm and nod. “Thank you.”
“Wait until you see the case. It’s a doozy. Ever After is having some sort of problem. People are getting matched to dead people.” She lets out a giggle that she covers with a cough. “I can’t make this stuff up.”
So much for keeping me away from cases that involve death. I walk as fast as I can without breaking into a jog away from her office and collect my things like a convict released on parole.
Chapter 2
Not going to look this gift horse in the mouth, although I probably should have checked for hidden Trojan soldiers.
I sense trouble when Yin Fong’s office is decorated in shades of pink. Wisps of hot pink tulle fall from the corners and loop over the windows. The blinds are white to contrast the ballerina-pink walls. Thin silver metal hearts are bent like butterfly wings and flow across one blank wall like a river. It should clash horribly, but somehow it works. It’s cool she wants to get into the part of being a love actuary, but nobody will see me decorate my office in black curtains and grave stones.
“Hey, take a seat. Make yourself at home, or office.” She laughs at her own joke and circles her index finger around the room. “I have something else I have to attend to. I’ll be quick.” She’s a blur of white suit and pink scarf as she rushes out the door.
She closes me into her office and I gravitate to the only non-pink area: the bookshelf. Not really focusing on the titles until one catches my attention.
Shapeshifters in the Modern World.
I slide that one off the shelf and scan the table of contents. It runs through the usual list of shifters. Selkies, serpents, various birds, cats all make the list, and of course werewolves. I skip to that section of the book and read the first couple paragraphs, but it doesn’t tell me much more than I already know.
Werewolves were the dominant shifter species up until the recent decade where their bloodlines have thinned to the point that the last few generations can no longer take wolf form and hav
e become latent.
Leaving selkies as the only known shifters still able to take animal form, although they’re in trouble as well. But due to being secluded and avoiding most human contact, they’ve managed to tough it out.
I flip to the entry on werewolf behavior and characteristics. I can almost hear my cousin Ali’s voice as I read over the parts she explained to me a few weeks ago when Becker strong-armed me into the Jack Roberts case. Werewolves are loyal, stubborn, determined, and have higher than normal sensory ability in smell, taste, and hearing, with the added bonus of night vision. All these qualities shine through, even in their latent form. Yeah, yeah, I already know all this. What I needed was a book that would tell me what I’ve gotten myself into by agreeing to be Becker’s stand-in pack mate.
“That book is a little dry,” Yin says over my shoulder.
I startle, shoving the book back into its spot on the mahogany bookcase.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in.” She tosses a manila envelope onto her desk. “I’ve a sort of obsession with shifters. I come from a long line of huli jing. Chinese fox spirit shifters,” she clarifies.
“I’m familiar with the legend. Beautiful women, usually dangerous. Or so the stereotype goes. My mother was Filipina and my cousin’s mother was Japanese.”
Yin brightens. “Ah, yes. The kitsune is similar if not the same fox species that migrated to Japan. They also had a badger, raccoon, and cat. You must have an interesting supernatural history.”
Not really. I’ve only got human blood running through my veins, but I don’t clarify that to Yin. Instead I shift my gaze to the couches in the corner and try not to be jealous that her office is large enough for couches. “We should get started. I don’t want to waste your time.”
