by M. J. Scott
“Fraud?”
I shook my head. Fraud would be easy. But McCallister Tate was nothing as ordinary as fraud. “Murder. A rogue.”
Jase frowned, looking suddenly less like a safe best friend and more like an overprotective vampire. “Why do they need an accountant?”
“Cold case. The guy vanished. They froze his assets and now someone’s finally tried to tap one of the accounts.”
Jase looked even less happy. “Cold? How cold. . .wait a minute, old flame. Cold case. Tell me it’s not Tate?”
I looked down at my computer screen.
“Fuck, Ashley. Tell me you’re not stupid enough to go after Tate. He’s not a normal vamp. He’s pure evil. I never would have let him in if I’d known it was about Tate.”
He’d gone pale—hard for a vampire. In fact, he looked so horrified I figured he really hadn’t known why Dan had wanted an appointment. That made me feel a little better. “What do you know about McCallister Tate?” It was hard to say the name without letting my mind summon the images. But I managed—just. I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky once I was lying in bed alone in the dark.
“I read the newspapers the same as everybody.” He tugged at his immaculate pale green silk tie, loosening it and pulling it off-center. Which meant he was really upset.
“Tate’s old news,” I said. I hoped. Hoped the FBI was wrong and Tate was dead.
“He might be old news but I remember. And vamps talk. There are some scary mothers who don’t like to say Tate’s name too loud.”
I shivered. I couldn’t help it. A rogue vampire was bad, bad trouble. And Tate was one of the most sadistic on record even though in vamp terms he was young—not even fifty. Supposedly he’d been a psychopath before he’d been turned. Some vamp had made a huge mistake in picking him as a good candidate to become a vampire. It was said that one of the first things he’d done after turning had been killing the vamp who’d made him. Which was pretty much unheard of in vamp society.
Tate was the real deal. The big bad. A bogeyman to all species. Or he had been until he’d disappeared twelve years ago after committing his worst atrocity. Thirty murders in one small town in one night. Including my parents, my little sister and my best friend.
I shivered again. It didn’t matter how scary Tate was, or what going after him might do to my life, I couldn’t pass up the chance to bring him down.
Chapter Two
“There’s coffee on your desk,” Jase said as I walked into the office the next day around midday. I didn’t bother to take off my sunglasses, despite the fact the UV screens made the lighting dim compared to the blaze of summer sun outside. Tate and bad memories had made sleep elusive, and I’d had about three too many glasses of red wine in an attempt to chase them away. So now I’d be dealing with Daniel and with a hangover. Not one of my finest plans.
“Thanks.” Maybe caffeine would help. “Do we have aspirin?”
Jase reached into his drawer and tossed me a bottle. I managed to catch it, just. He’d obviously slowed down his throw in deference to my condition. Though how he knew what my condition was before I walked in the door was something I didn’t want to think too hard about.
Jase was a mere baby vamp. He’d turned voluntarily three years ago when he found out he had pancreatic cancer. He’d only been twenty. Not ready to die. Most people who’ve been vaccinated and then try deliberately to turn have limited success. Which is kind of the point of the vaccines in the first place, to make being turned, voluntarily or not, difficult. Some don’t change, some die, some become vamps with lesser powers (but on the plus side they get higher tolerance of sun and reduced need for the red stuff), a few start off weaker and gradually strengthen as they age (if they survive that long).
Of course some people who get the vaccine are turned by it, which is why it’s not terribly popular yet. Even the lycanthropy one—which is somewhat more reliable—occasionally changes someone.
One day they’ll make both vaccines more effective and then the vamps will have some thinking to do. At the moment they do okay. The law-abiding ones drink the manufactured blood or have willing donors and humans generally leave them alone unless they’re thrill seeking or looking to be turned.) What will happen when the vaccinations become more effective and the pool of potential new vamps starts to shrink is anyone’s guess.
Werewolves don’t have the same problem. They don’t rely on humans for food. Plus wolves can be born as well as made.
But when it came to choosing to turn, Jase had won the lottery, at least from his perspective. He had the full suite of vamp powers. Including, as much as he tried to hide it from me, what I was starting to suspect was a pretty impressive psychic ability. It was kind of spooky to think my PA had the potential to become some sort of vamp leader if he chose. But that was something I didn’t have the headspace to think about right now.
For now, I could just about manage to focus on the fact that he made great coffee. I gulped down the mug he’d left on my desk, willing the caffeine to kick my brain into gear. I took another swallow to take the aspirin and then drained the cup. After a few minutes my headache had receded a little. Not quite enough though. I wandered back out for a refill.
“Rough night?” Jase asked.
I pushed my sunglasses up onto my forehead. “Now why would you think that?”
“Ash, if you don’t want to deal with Daniel or Tate then pull out of this. You don’t need the money.”
No, but I did need the chance at revenge. “It’s not about money.”
“I know,” Jase said. “That’s what worries me.”
“I’m human but that doesn’t mean I’m fragile,” I pointed out. “And I’ll be safe. It’s not like accountants go out in the field.”
“Just make sure you don’t.”
“I’ll be surrounded by FBI agents. Taskforce agents, if you want to get picky. I’ll be fine.”
Jase muttered something that sounded like “you’ll need more than a taskforce,” but I ignored him and returned to my office with my coffee.
***
Two and a bit hours later my head was throbbing with renewed vigor and my stomach churning. But I couldn’t blame it on the hangover or the painful hour I’d spent with Elena Anderson trying to pry info from her that would help me track down her soon-to-be ex’s money. No, this time, the pain was all about the rest of my day and what I was about to do.
Revisit the past I’d run so hard from.
The Taskforce has its headquarters in one of the nondescript, don’t-even-think-about-a-government-agency-being-here buildings that the FBI has around Seattle. It was gray and square and boring. As long as you didn’t notice the high number of cameras pointing at you as soon as you walked in the door or the higher than usual number of guards manning the lobby.
I made it through the scanners, submitted my briefcase and purse for inspection and then walked to the reception desk.
“Ashley Keenan. I’m here to see Daniel Gibson,” I said, not knowing if that was the right way to ask. Was it Agent Gibson? Or Special Agent Gibson?
“Yes, ma’am.” The guy behind the desk had a crew cut and a suit stretched uncomfortably over a body built like a bulldozer. “I’ll call you through.”
He picked up a phone and a few minutes later an icy looking blonde emerged from one of the elevator banks and made her way over to me. “Ms. Keenan?”
I nodded.
“Come with me please.” She pivoted neatly on her three-inch heels and, without looking to see if I was following, headed back to the elevators. She moved with the kind of innate grace that made me think she wasn’t human. But as I hurried after her, I didn’t quite get close enough to judge whether she was vamp or were. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.
She was beautiful whatever species she was and I was busy telling the tiny part of my mind that was all “Daniel works with her?” to shut the fuck up. And thanking the stupid side of me which had tried on about five different outfits this morning before
settling on my favorite don’t-mess-with-me-I-do-designer suit. And the heels that brought the top of my head just about up to Amazon girl’s chin. And I’m five nine in the heels.
But once we were in the elevator, heading down rather than up, it became perfectly obvious she was a were of some kind. She wasn’t still enough to be a vamp and standing next to her made my skin tingle in the way I associated with shifters. Something to do with their aura or magic or whatever it is that lets them change or perhaps their revved up metabolisms means weres tend to give off energy. Some people feel it and I’m one of them.
If I’m not careful, it can result in a kind of contact high. Dealing with Dan with a buzz on wouldn’t be the brightest thing I could do. I shifted half a step further away from her and her head turned.
“You can feel me?”
I nodded again.
She frowned. “But you’re human?”
“Lots of humans can feel weres,” I pointed out.
“Most don’t feel me.”
Probably because they were too busy gazing in lust—or envy if they were female—at the perfection of her face, all high cheekbones and large dark blue eyes. I squished down the little green monster. “Lucky me.”
She looked annoyed. I have no idea why. I hoped she wasn’t one of the weres who thought humans were inferior. It was going to be bad enough working with Daniel without adding a snippy alpha bitch to the bargain. Or maybe she was a feline. Werewolves are most common type of shifter in the US but there are a few groups of big cat weres. I’d never met one but if they were going to show up anywhere, the Taskforce seemed likely.
The elevator came to a smooth halt and the doors slid open. There was a brief flash of red that told me I’d just been subjected to a full body scan, then Ms. Blonde moved forward. “If you’ll follow me, Ms. Keenan.”
I stepped out, trying to scan my surroundings discreetly. I’d never had any actual involvement with the Taskforce before and my ideas of what a secret agency looked like relied heavily on old Bond movies and my collection of spy shows. I was disappointed when the room turned out to be a pretty normal looking reception area. White walls, the seal of the President on the reception desk, and one long low leather bench against the wall closest to the elevator doors. Smoked glass doors in the left hand wall had no signs to indicate where we were. Guess that meant that if you’d gotten this far, you were meant to know where you were.
There was a woman behind the desk. Unlike the valkyrie I’d ridden down with, she was short and dark. She looked sweet and harmless. But in this place she had to be fairly high level FBI. She could probably kill me with her pinky even if she was human.
“Ms. Keenan?” she asked. When I nodded she handed me a lanyard with an ID badge clipped to it. “Welcome to the Taskforce. Please wear this at all times.”
I looked at the badge. It had a picture of me, but not me today. My hair was longer, well past my shoulders. I hadn’t worn it that length for over a year. I frowned, trying to work out where they’d gotten the picture. Then I shrugged. The damn FBI could probably get any picture it wanted. I should be more worried about the ‘welcome to the Taskforce’ line.
I slipped the lanyard over my head as the blonde glided past me and pressed her palm to a small screen by the glass doors. They slid open with a soft hum and she turned back to me. “This way.”
I followed her into a long, low-ceilinged room bright with harsh artificial light that in no way disguised the fact we were underground. Rows of cubicles formed two orderly lines marching down the length of the floor and the place hummed with familiar office noises. What wasn’t so familiar was the fact that the cubicles were filled with vamps and weres.
I’d never been around so many non-humans in one space. My skin tingled even though I wasn’t standing close enough to anyone to feel them under normal circumstances. I guess if you put enough weres in a room, the effect gets stronger. My heart started pounding—an instinctive reaction to being surrounded by people who potentially viewed me as a snack. And the fact that I knew the vamps—and probably some of the weres—could hear my racing heartbeat didn’t make me feel any more relaxed. I spent a lot of time over the years trying to control the fear supernaturals caused me. I hadn’t wanted to let Tate win, let him turn me into someone full of hate and fear. I thought I’d mostly succeeded. But apparently this many vamps and weres in one spot was pushing my limits.
The small smirk on the face of my escort told me she was enjoying my discomfort. It was tempting to accidentally let my silver charm bracelet rub against her and see how she enjoyed a bit of discomfort herself. But that would be small minded and petty. Plus she could probably throw me across the room if I pissed her off too much. I stuck my chin out instead and worked on calming my breathing.
After a seemingly endless walk past the cubicles, with the occupants watching us pass with unnervingly quiet scrutiny, we came to a row of offices, each with a neat nameplate. We stopped at the one that said Special Agent Daniel Gibson. So now I knew what to call him. If only I didn’t have to call him anything at all.
“Come in,” Dan’s voice said in response to the blonde’s knock. I didn’t wait. I pushed open the door. Dan was on the phone but waved me in with one hand. The blonde hovered in the doorway. Dan finished his conversation and hung up. He smiled at blondie. “Thanks, Esme.”
Esme? The blonde goddess was called Esme? Call me shallow but that cheered me up.
Dan’s office was small and crowded. Files were piled on almost every flat surface. A stack of multi-colored folders teetered on the corner of his desk nearest me. I resisted the urge to push it to a safer position. If Dan wanted to lose his files, then so be it.
“Hey,” he said with a smile that was just a little too friendly for my liking. This was so not about me and Dan getting cozy. It was about catching the thing that killed my family.
“I’m here,” I said. “Let’s get on with it. Tell me about Tate.”
Daniel studied me for a moment. I thought he might be going to push his luck and try some small talk but he just passed me a folder. “This is everything we have about Tate’s finances when he disappeared. The accounts were frozen and no one’s been near them for twelve years. Two weeks ago, someone tried to tap the account on the top of the list on the first page.”
“Two weeks?” So much for wanting the best. I figured Daniel had tried just about everything in his power before coming to me. “What makes you think I can find anything when the FBI has failed?”
He shrugged. “You always said you were the best. Prove it.”
That earned him a glare but I still ran my eyes down the list of accounts. Most of them were US banks but there were a few in the usual tax havens. The total balance was well into the millions. And I doubted the list was complete. Either being a psychopath paid well or Tate had used his talents for mayhem and violence in a profitable way. I didn’t want to think about how he might have done that. “If this list isn’t complete, he’s probably been living off other funds. Or accumulating new funds. Or he’s dead and the attempt has nothing to do with him. Maybe it was a dumb hacker challenge.” It wasn’t unusual in my line of work to come across computer geeks deciding that trying to beat the Swiss banking system or something would be fun. It probably was fun. ‘Til they got caught and copped some heavy jail time.
“It wasn’t hackers. At least, no sensible hackers. It was a straight access attempt from a public terminal.”
Damn. Public terminals were designed to be anonymous and untraceable. Though they weren’t foolproof, they were a good place to start if you wanted to hide your tracks. “Surely Tate’s not going to do something that obvious.”
Dan shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he’s bored and wants to play games.”
“I assume you checked out the terminal already?”
A nod. “Yep. Rented under a fake id. Not one of Tate’s known aliases. And the proprietor doesn’t remember any faces. It was a Saturday night, big gamers’ night. The place was packe
d.”
“Surveillance?”
“Nothing. The tape got fried somehow. And before you ask, yes, we pulled the guy’s servers and the actual terminal. So far there’s nothing worthwhile on them.”
Double damn. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. The challenge was enough to raise my professional interest. I ran a finger down the list. “Well, I’ve got a few things I can try but there might not be anything to find. Give me the soft copy of this and anything else you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll have to work from here.”
I dropped the folder. Spend time here, in the bunker with Dan? No thanks. Not gonna happen. I knew lunacy when I heard it. “I have a business, remember? An office?”
“It’s not secure.”
I bristled. My security systems are state of the art. My clients depended on my discretion. I had firewalls on my firewalls and encryption systems a spook would be proud of. My office had alarms, back up alarms, body scanners and cameras. Plus pretty damn good security in the building before you could even get up to my floor. I wasn’t up to the FBI’s standard maybe but I figured I was covered. “Gee, Dan. You work for the FBI. Maybe they could secure my little ol’ computer.”
“It’s not just your computer I’m worried about.”
Tate? He was worried about Tate coming after me? Sheesh. Dan had always been the protective type but combine that with alpha wolf instincts and he’d gotten paranoid. “Tate doesn’t even know who I am.” The police in Caldwell had always told me the attacks were random. No pattern. No reason to choose the victims. “How would he know I’m working on this?”
Dan’s face stayed stony. “I’m not taking chances.”
“Why, Dan, that’s so sweet.” I laid on the sarcastic tone and his eyes narrowed. Score one for me. “But I’m not working here every day. I’m not stupid. I have security.” And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t agree to spend every day in the same building as Dan. I’d made my decision when it came to him. And it had cost me. I didn’t need a daily reminder of just how much.
