The Debt Collector (Season Two)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  Ishtar contemplates the road in front of us. “That’s not really something I can discuss with you, Wraith.” She glances at me, like she wants to, but she’s holding back.

  “Is that a price you have to pay?” I ask. “Live forever, but no children?”

  She bites her lip, stares at the road. “Not necessarily.” She looks to me again. “You wouldn’t have to give that up, if that’s what you want.”

  She’s genuinely holding out hope that I’ll opt into Moloch’s plan. Which is good. I want her to think it’s still possible, while I’m arranging a way to get out. “I honestly can’t tell you what I want.” Which is also true, at least as far as lovers and families and children go.

  “You’re smart, Wraith,” she says, as if that finishes the discussion. “I’m sure you can figure out all the implications.”

  I frown, but she’s done discussing it. She nudges the sedan out of traffic and into the parking garage of my attorney’s office building. I’m not sure what all she was implying, but the idea of debt collectors having children is a concept I hadn’t even considered before. Given how much time I spent in bed with Zachariel last night… it’s a good thing I’m on long-term birth control.

  But it’s not like he asked.

  Which makes me wonder: is it even possible for debt collectors to have children with each other? Can we interbreed, or are we infertile cross-breeds, like mules? Or an entirely different species all together? As much time as my father and I have spent fighting against debt collection, I’ve never heard of debt collectors having families. In fact, now that I think about it, they tend not to live very long. And certainly not the kinds of lifestyles that are conducive to having a family waiting at home.

  I have to push these thoughts aside, because Ishtar is back to business and beckoning me out of the sedan. Another fleeting thought crosses my mind: I could run. Flat out bolt in my skin-tight suit and borrowed boots. I could probably escape Ishtar since she’s hobbled by her heels and formalwear. But Moloch’s warning deadens that urge: I am quite capable of making your friends pay the price. Whenever I make my move, I need to make sure I can reach Wyatt and Miral before Moloch does. And, right now, he still has Zachariel.

  My father’s attorney, who is now mine, resides on the 96th floor, well above the smog and the concerns of the city—unless it has to do with the corporate titans he has for clients. Sterling has its own legal experts—although they’re missing one Chief Legal Officer since I fired Stevens—but personal legal matters were something my father was always careful to keep separate from both the company and Lifetime. Francis Williams, Esquire, has been my father’s attorney for as long as I can remember, and I’ve even worked with him on the legal ramifications of a few bills we’ve pushed through the California legislature. I’ve only visited his office a handful of times over the length of my childhood and, more recently, as an adult. But the last time was very recent—two weeks ago, dressed in my finest corporate wear to settle my father’s estate.

  And now I’m strolling into his office dressed like a phantom with wild hair.

  Ishtar and I make a quite an entrance just by stepping through the door to the Williams Law Group. The receptionist gapes at the two of us—me in my black female-special-forces outfit, Ishtar in her red-carpet dress—then she sputters to say something.

  I wave her off. “Alexandra Morgan Sterling here to see Mr. Williams. I’ll let myself in.”

  I stride around her mahogany paneled reception desk, not waiting for an answer, and hold the frosted glass door to the main office area for Ishtar. She glides through, her long dress sweeping a field of black around her. The sea of cubicles sprouts a scattering of heads as I lead Ishtar toward the corner office in the back. We don’t have an appointment. Williams has no idea I’m showing up. This is intentional on my part, wanting him to feel like there’s something not quite right about this whole thing. I’m counting on him seeing through the deception I’m about to play for him.

  Williams must have been alerted by the receptionist—by the time we reach his office, he’s already swiping open the door for us. He has the kind of gruff face you’d expect on a man approaching retirement but too stubborn and enamored of his work to take it. But I’ve always thought his wrinkles added a bit too much humor to his face, like he had spent far more time laughing than he would ever admit. As a child, I secretly thought he might be my grandfather—a fanciful wish for a child with precious little family. As an adult, I could never decide if he was simply kind to the motherless child of Richard Sterling or if his warmth was merely for the retainer my father paid him. Either way, I hope his aging blue eyes see through my lies now.

  Williams stops cold in the threshold of his door when he sees us. He’s fighting to keep the shock off his face, but his intelligent eyes are roaming all over my suit and Ishtar right behind me. He’s searching for some clue as to why I’ve landed at his office, dressed like I am and with a movie star in tow.

  “Francis,” I greet him warmly. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in on you like this.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever called him Francis in my life. That fact doesn’t go unnoticed by the slight tightening of the lines around his eyes. In that moment, I love those wrinkles: they’re proof he hasn’t been dipping into the life energy trades. I pray Williams is as loyal to my father and his principles as he’s appeared to be all these years.

  “Of course not, Alexa,” Williams says, stepping aside and welcoming me and Ishtar into his office. “I will always have time for the Sterling family.”

  “Thank you.” I duck my head as I brush past him, avoiding eye contact. I need to give him as many non-verbal signals that something is off as possible.

  He closes the door behind us. His office has a spacious view of LA, a suitably ostentatious desk for the head of a law firm, and a holo-link-capable screen mounted between scrolling business and legal reports on the wall.

  Williams hesitates by the door, clearly still sorting out my sudden appearance. “Can I get you or your friend something to drink?” he asks, a not-exactly-sly way of asking for an introduction.

  “No, thank you. We won’t be taking up much of your time.” I wait for him to return to his desk. I need him to be facing us, his back to the city, and his palm screen not easily overseen. Once the massive desk is between us, I introduce Ishtar, using her legal name. “This is my friend, Viola Smash.” It’s such a ridiculous name, only a collector would pick it. I’m certain it’s fake, but apparently Ishtar has government records that prove Viola Smash is a legit living and breathing human—at least as far as the legal system is concerned.

  Williams doesn’t even blink. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Smash.”

  I brusquely jump straight to it, before Williams can chat up Ishtar. “I’m here because I would like to update my will to designate Viola as my heir.” I throw it out there boldly, hoping that will be another signal something is wrong. Even during my briefest visits with Williams, he was always the kind to make small talk about families and holidays and weather. Even my father, who was in a constant state of hurry, made time for this old-fashioned nicety. That I’m violating this protocol today puts more wrinkles on Williams’s face.

  “I… um… I see.” He glances at his palm.

  “I realize this must seem highly irregular.” Here’s the tricky part: convincing Ishtar that I’m genuinely trying to transact this deal while convincing Williams that I want nothing of the sort. “Just yesterday, I believe you received an update to my will with my digital authentication code.”

  The wrinkles relax, which makes my stomach tighten. “Yes, I did. And I processed that change, Alexa. Your code was validated, and I saw no reason not to.”

  “Francis, Francis, Francis,” I say, my voice patronizing and indulgent. It pinches up his eyes again. Good. “Of course you did. How could you not? It was completely legal after all.”

  “And yet you’re here to change it again?” He stands a little straighter. My attitude
is getting under his skin—another good sign.

  “I am.” I give an elaborate sigh. “I’m sorry to drag you into all the drama, Francis. And this is a bit embarrassing. Which is why I hope you’ll keep this visit and the reasons for it completely confidential.”

  “Of course, Ms. Sterling. I’m your attorney. Everything in this room is confidential.” He gives a second look to Ishtar and another piercing examination of my suit. I’m not sure what theories he’s cooking up, but the cover story I’m about to hand him is likely even more extreme. I hope it shocks him.

  “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of a falling out with my personal assistant, Mr. Wyatt Ashworth.”

  “I see.” Williams glances at Ishtar, and his eyes have that tight look again. He’s not going to divulge that Wyatt was in the will, not with her in the room. His suspicion is a very good sign, but I need to make sure it’s not too obvious, not with Ishtar smiling at him like a cobra about to strike.

  I bite my lip, like this next part is difficult to say. I smile at Ishtar, who ever-so-slightly raises an eyebrow at my soft look. Then I step closer and slip my hand around her waist. Her cobra smile fades and is replaced by one filled with delight. She drapes a delicate arm across my shoulder.

  Williams’s sharp-eyed look takes in all of it.

  I give him my best sheepish look. “You see, Wyatt was rather upset when he found out our relationship wasn’t as exclusive as he had assumed.”

  Williams waits for me to go on, but I can see the gears turning.

  “He and I had a rather nasty fight,” I say, “and in an ill-thought-out moment of passion, I agreed to his demand to deed my shares to him after my death. A show of… shall we say… loyalty?” I squeeze Ishtar’s waist and give her a loving smile. Her eyes are devouring every bit of the act. I face Williams again. “I’ve since realized I made the wrong choice.”

  “And so you would like to change the will. Again.” The suspicion is high in his voice. I’m teetering on the precipice between him thinking this is real and believing I’m a fool… or not believing any of it, but at a loss for another explanation.

  “I am sorry for dragging you into the drama of my personal life,” I say. “Which is why I knew I would have to come here in person to explain myself.”

  He gives me a slow nod. I’m not sure at all what he’s thinking, but this is the critical part. I release Ishtar and tap up the revised will on my palm screen.

  “I have everything you need here.” I hold out my palm to him.

  He hesitates, but then touches palms and transfers the data. The will is entirely in order with Ishtar’s name and my digital signature. And since I just personally handed it over to him, he can authenticate it himself. He doesn’t need my code… but I’m going to give it to him anyway.

  “If everything looks good, I can go ahead and give you my authentication code, whenever you’re ready.”

  He looks up sharply from his palm.

  I hold his gaze with a steady stare.

  A short beat passes. “I’m ready now.” His voice is still the same gravelly somberness as before, but there’s a slight edge to it. He knows something is wrong.

  I reel off the thirteen digit code… correct except for one number. He taps it in as I speak. I can tell the exact moment when he notices the incorrect digit: his left eye twitches, and he breathes out a long breath.

  He looks up, and the wrinkles around his eyes have carved slightly deeper.

  “That should be all I need,” he says. He holds my gaze a split-second too long, and I’m almost certain he’s saying, I know something is wrong here. I will figure out what it is.

  I love those wrinkles even more now.

  “Wonderful,” I say, real relief in my voice.

  Williams swipes his palm screen closed. “Is there anything else I can do for you and Ms. Smash?” He’s asking more than that, but as long as he doesn’t actually put through the change, he’ll have done everything he can.

  “No, no,” I say, slipping my arm around Ishtar once more. “You’ve been most helpful. And understanding. I very much appreciate your help in this matter.”

  “Anytime, Alexa.” His voice is soft now. Too soft.

  I need to get out before he gives us away.

  I turn to Ishtar with my most winning smile. “Shall we go?”

  Her grin shows no sign of disapproval. We leave Williams’s office, but it’s not until we’re out of the office, down the elevator, and back in Ishtar’s car, that I think I may have actually gotten away with the ruse.

  “You were quite convincing back there,” Ishtar says. She’s draped her bare arm across the back of the seat, her fingertips playing with a fly-away strand of my hair.

  “Yeah, well, you’re only my girlfriend for legal purposes.” I give her wandering fingers a mock-severe glare.

  She chuckles and pulls back, but she still has a smile for me.

  I think I’ve fooled her.

  I try to breathe naturally all the way back to Moloch’s lair.

  Ishtar and I stroll back into Moloch’s underground kingdom, but I stop three steps inside the door: Seth is back. Not only that, he’s smiling, and that freezes me in my boots. Ishtar keeps gliding across the coal-black carpet toward Moloch. He’s hunched over in his chair, legs crossed, fist pressed to his lips. He’s staring at something—or more likely, nothing—and thinking far too hard. Whatever is floating Seth’s boat, Moloch appears substantially disturbed by it.

  Moloch doesn’t notice us until Ishtar arrives at his side. He looks up, then casts a glance around for me. When his gaze falls hard on my face, it finally unlocks my knees. I stride the rest of the way into the room, trying to act as if Seth’s stare doesn’t completely unnerve me.

  Moloch rises from his chair and says to Ishtar, “Is it done?”

  “Yes.” Ishtar smiles, although it’s tight. She must notice the tension that hangs in the air like a toxic cloud. “Wraith was most impressive, once again. I think we should—”

  He cuts her off with a raised hand, but he’s not looking at her: he’s watching me drag my feet across the room. Ishtar’s beautiful face is momentarily marred by irritation, but then she finally seems to notice Seth’s laser focus on me.

  Moloch lifts his chin to Seth. “Why don’t you escort Ms. Sterling to Zachariel’s room?” To me, he says, “Don’t get comfortable, Ms. Sterling. I’ll be calling on you shortly. I have a few matters to discuss with Ishtar and Seth first.”

  Seth’s grin stretches wide, and he gestures for me to go first. Ishtar looks mildly alarmed, but she doesn’t say anything. I turn and stride toward the door to the back rooms. My heart pounds with every carpet-muffled step. Did they find my leak to Wyatt about the plot against Lifetime? Is Moloch just breaking my soon-to-be-death gently to Ishtar? Or is he giving her a chance to “bid” for my life energy? If it’s up for auction, I certainly don’t want Seth to win.

  As we stride down the hall toward Zachariel’s door, my throat closes up. Trying to stay alive is so much more difficult when you actually want to. I should have run when I had the chance. Or maybe bolted after the visit with my attorney. The ruse of changing my will doesn’t give me any protection now, but at least I’ll have the last laugh.

  From the grave.

  Strange how that’s absolutely no comfort at all.

  Seth pauses at the door. His handsome face is twisted into a cruel smirk, and he leans close enough that I can smell the rich cologne he wears. “I didn’t expect to catch two fish with only one hook.”

  I pull back, out of the nauseating closeness with him. “Well, while you were fishing, I was playing house with your girlfriend.”

  The shocked look on his face is worth the fact that now he’ll probably work twice as hard to kill me. His lips twist, like he wants to say more, but instead he pulls out a hand-held, taps in a code and swipes it past the sensor for the door. I give Seth a final smirk then turn into the room.

  I only get two steps inside before I realiz
e something is very, very wrong.

  Zachariel is kneeling at the bed… but the way he’s slumped over makes it look like he died on the way there. Air huffs out of me as I sprint across the room. I hear the door swish closed behind me, but I only glance for a flash second to confirm we’re alone. Then my hand is on Zachariel’s cheek, which is far too cold and clammy. And gray as death.

  Oh god no.

  I gush life energy into him before I even check to see if he’s still breathing. Then I reach past the contact point… there’s still life energy there. It’s far less than he had when I left. In fact, the well is so shallow, I’m not sure how much he truly has. But I’ve got all the years and years he gave me only last night. I step up the pace, and to my great relief, he draws in a shaky breath and blinks open his eyes.

  I help him up onto the bed. He kind of flops there, then rights himself, still struggling to get his limbs under control. Underneath his trenchcoat, his shirt is loose and half unbuttoned. Splotches of darkened gray skin peek out from the black silk of his shirt. Spidery black lines snake out from the dead spots. A shudder runs through me. I hold his hand and keep pumping life energy into him.

  “Oh my god, what did they do to you?” My voice is whispery. The real question is why did they hurt him, but I’m afraid to ask: I just know it’s something I did. Or didn’t do. Somehow this is my fault.

  He blinks, then shakes his head. “Wraith,” he gasps, finally focusing on me. “They know… they know everything.”