Elizabeth shrugged. “You could call her that. She’s someone who has done work for me before. I asked her to look into Jennifer Blake’s financials.”
“What did she find?”
“Embezzlement.”
Dante blinked. “How the hell does that fit in?”
“With what?” She sounded nearly as confused as he felt.
He looked around the room, noting all the humans sitting within hearing distance. “I’ll explain in the car.” He pointed toward her plate. He had his own information to pass on, and a warning. “Finish up. We have work to do, tesoro.”
“Do I want to know what that means?”
He winked at her. “Ask me over dinner.”
They concentrated on their food after that, eager to get out of the restaurant and share their information in the privacy of his car. He paid the bill, barely remembering to wave good-bye to Tessa.
They got into Dante’s car and began the drive to Blessing campaign headquarters. “So. What did your informant tell you?”
“Jennifer Blake took seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars that Piotr Romanov had donated to the Blessing campaign and put it in a Cayman Island account.”
“Shit.” Dante hated feeling that one of his Neph brothers was going to turn on them, but Piotr kept giving him reasons to doubt his loyalty. This was just the latest in a long string of seemingly insignificant things that tied the man to the Shemyaza, such as sharing a last name with their leader, Ivan Romanov.
“She then used that money to purchase a house there and a Jeep in candy apple red.”
“Is that all she was able to find out?”
“So far. She’s still collecting data for me.” Elizabeth shrugged. “She’s only been on this since yesterday.”
“Not bad. How did she find the account?” Dante was certain he knew who the she was. Sam was good, almost as good as Damien.
“I’m not sure, but I can guarantee it wasn’t illegal.”
“I didn’t say it was.” Sam might be on the quirky side, but he doubted she’d ever cross the line.
“Good.”
Dante pulled up outside the campaign headquarters. The Shem stench was all over the building. It was even worse than it had been the last time they were here.
It was inside somewhere, or had been very recently. Dante scowled as Elizabeth got out of the car. “Wait.”
“What?” She tapped her foot impatiently.
There wasn’t enough time to fill her in on what was really going on, damn it. He should have taken care of it over breakfast, but he’d been too damn busy getting her to agree to go out with him. If he wasn’t careful he was going to get her killed. He waved her closer, pulling the lapels of her jacket up. He spoke softly, barely moving his lips. “There’s a Shem inside, or was.”
“A what?”
Her confused expression was adorable. “Another Diana.”
She froze, her face going bone white. “Shit, fuck, damn.” She ran her fingers through her hair and glared at the front door. “Are the civilians in there in danger?”
“I’m not sure. Even if they are, the Shem won’t feed around witnesses.”
She bit her lip. “Jennifer Blake?”
“Snowstorm, no one on the streets. I’m betting he saw his chance to kill two politicians with one claw.”
She took a deep breath and stepped out of his hold. “How do I kill it?”
“You don’t.” He waited until she looked back at him and allowed the fire within him to fill his eyes. “I do.”
* * *
They stepped into the campaign office, Beth on high alert. If another one of those monsters was inside she wanted to be prepared. She felt naked. Her gun was at her apartment rather than at her side, and she planned on picking it up before they went much further that day.
Right now, if a...Shem?...confronted them, the only thing she’d be able to do would be make frowny faces at it. She doubted her tae kwon do would be of much assistance against a person with claws and fangs.
The inside of the office felt like a furnace after the bitter cold outside. Beth shrugged out of the too-hot jacket and slung it over her arm.
A sudden intake of breath alerted her. Dante was staring at the bruise the asshole had left behind, his expression curiously blank. “He bruised you?”
His voice was lethal.
Uh-oh. Dante had been ready to rip that guy’s arms off just for touching her. She had to head this off at the pass before he hunted that guy down and turned him into barbecue. “Forget it, Dante. The guy isn’t worth losing your badge.”
His low growl disagreed with her.
Beth patted him on the head. “Good boy. Good boy, protecting your mistress. I’ll give you a doggy treat later. Now let’s go talk to Cranston and find that fucking Shem.”
“Mistress, huh?”
At least the lethality was gone, but the heat in his voice wasn’t much better. She had to keep her mind on their work or they could both wind up dead. “Yup. Now pay attention or I won’t skritch your belly later.”
She realized about two seconds later what she’d said as his hand landed on her lower back. “That’s a date.” He led the way toward the back of the offices, toward where Oates and Cranston worked, his hand warm and possessive.
Dante’s cell rang. “Hold up a second.” He answered, his voice once more professional as his hand left her back. “Detective Zucco.”
From his grimace this could take two seconds or two hours. She pointed toward the doorway leading to the offices, and started to walk in that direction before he could order her to stay behind.
Dante reached for her. “Elizabeth—”
“I’ve got this one. Take your call.” He scowled down at her. “Really.” She leaned in, whispering so she wouldn’t be heard by anyone but him “You said it won’t feed in front of so many people. You’re right here, and I’ll try and stay in sight.”
She was so getting her gun later.
He glared at her, his attention once more on his phone call but his gaze glued to her. “Yeah, I hear you, Jarvis. No, asshole, you don’t...”
A man waved to her, his hair thin but well groomed, his wire-frame glasses sliding down his nose. His smile was nervous but warm, his hands thin and moving rapidly as he waved her toward him.
Elizabeth headed into the room and the smiling man waiting for her. “Bryan Cranston?”
“Yes, Miss...?”
“Elizabeth Rand. I’m a private investigator working with the New Castle P.D. to solve the murder of Jennifer Blake.”
“Oh my, yes, Mrs. Blake. I’ve met her a few times, of course, but she mostly spoke to Mr. Oates when she visited this side of the building.” Bryan Cranston nervously pushed his glasses up his nose. His slight, wiry frame seemed incapable of sitting still. The brown sweater and khaki pants that he wore hung oddly on his frame, as if they were a size too big.
“Did she ever speak to you?”
“She came to me once or twice for files. She had the necessary authorization, so I saw no reason not to give them to her. Of course, I had to make sure that she returned them. We couldn’t have them floating around out there for just anyone to read, you know.” Beth watched the way Cranston’s slender hands and muddy brown eyes darted hither and yon. For some reason, Cranston was nervous about talking to her. He seemed incapable of holding a conversation without twitching or fiddling with his glasses. “The loss of the files Mrs. Blake had on her has caused us untold problems,” the nervous man continued. “We have to go back to each one of the contributors and back track all of the expenses. It’s an incredible amount of work.”
Beth had seen the never ending stream of coffee Oates and his secretary had been consuming in order to stay on top of the situation. Cranston, on the other hand, appea
red to be drinking herbal tea. She wasn’t surprised. Actually, she was quite grateful. The thought of Bryan Cranston hyped up on caffeine scared her more than the thought of her date with Dante tonight.
“Have any of the files been recovered yet? Can we retrieve them from the police?” Cranston wrung his hands, his expression hopeful.
“I doubt it, Mr. Cranston. They’re evidence. You’ll have to wait until they’ve been processed, along with the rest of it.” She was having a hard time keeping her gaze off Cranston’s constantly moving hands.
Cranston’s sigh was heartfelt. “Oh, dear.” He shook his head sadly. “We’ll be a month straightening this mess out.”
“Mr. Cranston?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you remember hearing rumors about an affair Mrs. Blake was having?”
“An affair? Mrs. Blake? Are you sure?” For the first time since meeting him, Cranston’s hands were still.
“As sure as we can be. Several people noticed Mrs. Blake in an embrace with a man who wasn’t her husband.” She watched him intently, noting the shock on his face. Apparently he was the only office worker who hadn’t suspected an affair.
“No, I’m afraid not. That’s...very disappointing to hear.” He sounded sincerely upset by the news. “Mrs. Blake always spoke so fondly of her husband and little girl, so it’s hard to believe that she’d betray them that way.” Cranston’s hands began to weave in and out of themselves again. “Although it seems to me if she was having an affair with anyone, Kensington would be the most likely suspect. He always gets whatever woman he wants.”
“Bryan, did you do the work on the Talbot file I requested?” Sylvester Oates loomed behind Cranston. The signs of fatigue were obvious in his face, the dark circles under his eyes standing out dramatically against his pale skin.
Cranston jumped nervously. “It’s right here, Mr. Oates.” He dug frantically in his pile of files, half of them winding up on the floor before he located the one he wanted. He handed the file to Oates, who grunted in thanks. “Ms. Rand.”
She nodded back. “Mr. Oates.”
Oates walked off without another word as he flipped through the file.
“He’s been a little irritable lately,” Cranston said weakly, his gaze following his boss. “I can’t blame him. I’d probably fall apart if I was in his shoes right now.”
“Can you tell me anything more about the missing files?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much more I can tell you about them, other than they were financial in nature.”
“Which files were they?” Beth asked, pen poised eagerly over her notepad. If she could corroborate Sam’s data, she’d be able to get into Romanov Enterprises and maybe interview Piotr himself.
“Well, there was the Talbot file, but we were able to recover most of that. The Branda file, the Morrison file, the Rose file and the Miller file were all missing. We’ve managed to recover most of the Morrison, Rose and Miller files, and all of the Branda files.” Cranston pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“What about the Romanov file?” Beth asked, looking up sharply.
Cranston’s hands stopped moving. “The Romanov file? What Romanov file?”
Beth leaned back slightly in her chair. “I heard a rumor that Piotr Romanov contributed funds to the Blessing campaign. If that’s so, you’d have a file on him. I wanted to know if that was one of the files that was missing.”
Confusion and alarm lit Cranston’s face. “I’m afraid I have no memory of Mr. Romanov contributing anything to the campaign.” He turned briefly to his computer and typed out a command, his fingers sure and steady. He sort of reminded her of a spastic Sam. He focused the same way Sam did. Sam was only truly easy in her skin when she was in front of her beloved computers.
A list of names began to scroll down the screen. He stopped in the R’s. “Randall, Ramone, Ringstead, Rivers, Roper... No, I’m sorry.” He shook his head, his gaze intent on the screen. “There’s no Romanov listed.”
“Could he have contributed under an assumed name?”
“If he did, I wouldn’t have access to that information. I simply don’t have the authorization to search that deeply in the database.” He typed for a few seconds, his expression intent. “As far as I can tell, though, there have been no large donations either under Anonymous or one of the umbrella corporations owned by Mr. Romanov.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded almost eagerly. “I’m sure. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” The disappointment on his face was almost comical.
“No, thank you, Mr. Cranston,” Beth murmured. Something was fishy. Sam was never wrong. She was adamant about making sure the data she passed on to her clients was one hundred percent accurate. So what the hell was going on with Cranston’s database? “You’ve been very helpful, indeed.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. If we need anything else we’ll be in contact.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Rand.” Cranston shook her hand, his palm surprisingly cold. No wonder he constantly rubbed them together. He was trying to warm up. His smile was friendly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more assistance.”
Beth nodded and waved goodbye, making her way back to where Dante was finally hanging up the phone.
“What did Cranston say?”
“There’s no record of a Romanov contribution anywhere.” Beth pushed up her glasses. “What about you? Sense any woo-woo stuff?”
His brows rose. “Woo-woo?” He took hold of her arm and led her toward the door. Keeping his voice low he answered her question, but not the way she’d expected. “It’s all over the place, like one of those lingering farts.”
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Men and their fart jokes.”
“This is no joke. It’s so thick I can’t tell where it came from. And it’s all over the place.” He tilted his head in thanks as she opened the door for him. “Speaking of farts, if Piotr made a donation and there’s no record of it, I say something definitely stinks.”
“You think we should go talk to Mr. Romanov?”
His expression turned grim. “Yeah. I think we should.”
“Do you think he has something to do with Jennifer’s death?” Beth let Dante get the car door for her. He hadn’t bitched when she’d gotten a door for him, and fair was fair.
“Not sure, but I know he’s up to something.”
Beth cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. Andi trusted Piotr, and the man had come through for both Seth and Abby. So what was Dante’s problem with the man?
Chapter Eight
Piotr Romanov. Dante shuddered. That was one brother he wouldn’t mind seeing disappear. Why couldn’t it have been him instead of Rafael? Dante still had suspicions that their Romanov was related to the Shem’s leader, Ivan Romanov, but the last name was so common in Russia it was hard to tell. And with Piotr refusing to speak of it, there was no way to know for sure.
But he had his suspicions that the relationship was a lot closer than sharing a last name. He’d seen pictures of Ivan the Terrible, and the Shem leader had the same icy gray eyes as Piotr. If Piotr was related to Ivan then he could be a spy for the Shem. Gabriel’s cell was First, as Gabriel was the leader of all the Nephilim. Piotr could easily feed information to Ivan that could wipe out the Nephilim.
All right. There were two reasons, if he was being truly honest with himself.
Piotr hadn’t Fallen...yet.
No matter how many times Seth and Gabriel tried to reassure him, Dante couldn’t bring himself to trust the man. Piotr was cold and ruthless, and because he was a Cambion he was one of the few Nephilim who actually fed off of humans and remained a Neph. Any other Nephilim would become Shem if they lost themselves to the darkness by feeding from a human.
But Cambions had to feed in order to survive. Their strength
was directly tied to how often, and how well, they fed. Their Incubus-like powers forced them to feed off the emotions of others, usually during sex, but unlike Incubi they didn’t need to kill. However, a Cambion who did kill would Fall, becoming a Shem Incubus.
As a Cambion, Piotr could read the emotions of those around him, meaning he knew exactly how Dante felt about him. To make matters worse, he could use his abilities on others, making them easier to influence. He could control their lust for violence, sex or any other emotion he desired. The stronger the emotion Piotr fed from, the stronger he became, until he was a match for a Legionnaire in strength and endurance.
Piotr wasn’t a stupid man. He was cold and vicious, but not stupid. An unfed Cambion was a weak Cambion, and Piotr, with his string of mistresses, made sure he was very well fed.
As far as Dante was concerned, there was only one hope of saving the cold son of a bitch. A Cambion who found their One—the only person in the world they could soul bond to—was incapable of Falling. But he’d have to be willing to find that One and claim her, giving up all other partners for her.
He doubted Piotr could ever be that unselfish.
“Mr. Romanov will see you now.”
He nodded his thanks to Piotr’s secretary, a young man who spoke with a confidence that surprised Dante. That had always confused him whenever he was forced to come to Piotr’s office. The Nephilim who knew Piotr were terrified of him.
The people who worked for him, however, worshipped the ground he walked on. That too made him suspicious.
Could he be using his powers to influence the humans around him?
“Thank you.” Elizabeth smiled at the young man when Dante didn’t respond.
Piotr Romanov waited for them behind his huge, antique mahogany desk—his expression unreadable. He was lean and sleek in his pearl-gray Armani suit, a silver clip holding back his long blond hair. His eyes glittered like twin shards of ice, so light in color they almost appeared colorless. His was the face of an evil sorcerer, thin and mocking and utterly beautiful, and women fell all over themselves to climb into his bed.
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