Rise of the Jaguar

by Elizabeth Kelly

  Her jaguar hissed at him, and Wilson chuckled. “Your cat certainly doesn’t care for Dax, does she?”

  She studied the room instead of replying. She’d been to Wilson Granger’s home a few times over the last two years and had sat in this office in this very chair. Of course, that was for work reasons and not because she had just witnessed her boss kill a man in cold blood.

  Wilson sat on the edge of his gleaming mahogany desk, crossing his feet at the ankles and folding his hands in his lap. She still wore her coat zipped to her throat, and she was sweating like a pig. She didn’t know if it was because the office was hot or because of her impending death.

  Besides Wilson and Dax and the bear shifter who held a gun to her head, there were a half dozen other men in the room. They were only human, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t getting out of this room alive.

  “You have no idea how terribly upset I am that you walked in on my meeting with Mr. Tridell,” Wilson said. “You weren’t meant to see that, Emerson. It’s a real shame that you did. Normally I don’t conduct certain business in the office, but I made an exception today for reasons that aren’t pertinent to the discussion. Dax warned me not to, though, didn’t you, Dax?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wilson smiled at Emerson. “I should have listened to him. Why did you come back, Emerson?”

  She swallowed, her throat so dry she could have drunk a gallon of water and still been the Sahara Desert. “You missed signing a rec. Sang-hoon needed it today but was busy. I offered to have you sign it and then bring it back.”

  “So, all this because of a missed signature? Shame,” Wilson said. “Although, I will admit to being glad it was you and not Sang-hoon. Personal assistants are a dime a dozen, but a good warehouse manager is as rare as hen’s teeth. Sang-hoon holds much more value to me than you, I’m afraid.”

  “Why did you kill Mr. Tridell?” she said.

  “He was a business associate who owed me a great deal of money,” Wilson said. “Money he couldn’t repay.”

  “He ordered office furniture he couldn’t pay for?” she said.

  Wilson laughed mockingly, and a dull flush covered her cheeks. “Oh, Emerson, you are a delight, truly.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, the arms of his suit jacket riding up to reveal his gold cufflinks. “While the office furniture shipping business is brisk, it’s only one facet of my business.”

  “Boss,” Dax said, “she doesn’t need to know this shit.”

  Wilson glanced at him before shrugging. “She won’t remember any of it.”

  He turned back to Emerson. “The shipping company is a front, Emerson.”

  She blinked at him, feeling dull and stupid as her head ached and throbbed. “A front for what?”

  “Drugs, mostly,” Wilson said. “Although I have been known to ship weapons for some of my international clients. But my main export is heroin.”

  “Heroin,” she repeated.

  “That’s right. If you think about it, there are so many places you can hide heroin in office furniture, Emerson. And with my trucks going all over the country…”

  He shrugged and held up his hands. “I am very good at what I do. I’ve built up a large client base over the years. However, I am quite picky about who I do business with. Mr. Tridell was recommended to me by another associate. This associate assured me Mr. Tridell was good for payment. He was wrong.”

  “So, you killed him,” Emerson said.

  “I did. And you, unfortunately, witnessed it. Which is a real shame because I wasn’t just blowing smoke up your ass when I said you were one of my smarter personal assistants. We work well together, do we not, Emerson?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Wilson smiled. “That’s right. This means that I hesitate to kill you for catching me in the middle of severing my business ties with Mr. Tridell.”

  “Lucky me,” she said through lips that felt like they were shot up with Novocaine.

  “Yes, indeed,” Wilson said. “You actually have no idea how lucky you are, but you’re about to find out.”

  Before she could ask him what he meant, there was a knock on the door. It opened and another human, wearing jeans and a work shirt that had “Granger Shipping” emblazoned on the front, said, “Martin Grimes is here, Mr. Granger.”

  “Excellent. Send him in.”

  “Boss, you should take care of her first,” Dax said.

  “All in good time,” Wilson said. “She can wait until after I meet with Mr. Grimes. After all, she won’t remember it either.”

  Wilson patted her knee, and her jaguar hissed again. Wilson grinned at her before standing and turning toward the door. A man had walked into the office. He was over six feet, heavily muscled, and his pale skin, blond hair, and light blue eyes screamed Swedish descent.

  “Mr. Grimes.” Wilson shook his hand. “Wilson Granger, nice to finally meet you.”

  “It’s good to meet you too. Call me Martin.” He glanced around the room, his cold gaze landing on Emerson and the gun pointed at her head. “Who’s the woman?”

  “No one of importance. Let’s discuss the product you’re asking me to ship.”

  A frown crossed Martin’s face, and he scrubbed a hand through his short beard. “I already gave your associate, Dax, the details.”

  “I realize that. I’d like to go over them again. You brought a sample of the product, as I asked?”

  Martin nodded. He stuck his hand in the pocket of his jacket, and the man standing behind him immediately drew his gun and pressed it against the back of Martin’s head.

  Martin froze in place. “What the fuck?”

  Wilson gave him an easy grin. “I’m afraid my people don’t like those types of sudden movements, Martin.”

  “You want to see the fucking product or not?” Martin said.

  Wilson nodded, and the human behind Martin lowered his gun. Martin stared sullenly at him, rubbing at the back of his head before bringing out a syringe from his pocket. It was filled with a dark green liquid, and while one end of the syringe had a plastic-capped hypodermic needle, the other end had a comically large feathery pink end. He handed it to Wilson, who scrutinized it.

  “The suppressant lasts forty-eight hours,” Martin said.

  “Has this been proven?” Wilson said.

  “Yes, in numerous tests.”

  “It suppresses a shifter’s ability to shift for a full forty-eight hours,” Wilson said. “Even the larger ones like bears and lions?”

  Horror infused Emerson’s body. She stared at the liquid in the syringe in undisguised disgust as Martin nodded. “Fuck yes, it does. We even used it on a couple of dragons, and it worked.”

  Wilson held the syringe up to the light, staring at it thoughtfully before he handed it to Dax. The tiger shifter opened a drawer in Wilson’s desk and brought out a tranquilizer gun, loading the syringe into it.

  “You’ll understand that I need to test the product first myself,” Wilson said.

  “What the fuck for?” Martin said. “I told you, HAPI has tested it on numerous shifters, even dragons. It fucking works.”

  “Oh my God,” Emerson whispered. The bear shifter holding the gun to her head poked it harder against her skull, but she barely felt it.

  Wilson turned to her. “I know, Emerson. It’s a lot to digest. The HAPI organization spends a great deal of time and money to assure the general public that they are not anti-shifter. It can be jarring to realize it’s all a lie.”

  Martin glared at him. “I’m not anti-shifter.”

  Wilson laughed. “You created an organization called ‘Humans Against Paranormal Influence’. Your bias toward paranormals is right there in the name, Martin.”

  “They’re free to live their lives just like we are,” Martin said.

  “Indeed. As long as they’re tagged like cattle and kept under the rule of humans, right?” Wilson said.

  “Paranormals are a danger to humans,” Martin said. “I’ve tried p
laying by the rules, but there are too many idiot humans who refuse to do what’s best just because they think paranormals are equal to us. They aren’t.”

  His hands clenched into fists, and he studied Dax. “They’re fucking animals who can barely control their base urges.”

  Dax growled at him, and Wilson said, “Careful, Dax, or you’ll prove Martin right in his assumptions about your kind.”

  Dax bared his fangs at Martin, but the big human didn’t cower. “Like I said, animals. And as the dominant species, it’s up to us to keep them in line.”

  “I suppose with the senator behind bars and his bill proposing all paranormals be tagged and documented shelved indefinitely, you’re looking for more… creative ways to keep them in line,” Wilson said.

  “That’s right,” Martin said.

  “I work with many paranormals,” Wilson said. “Why should I help you distribute a serum that’s harmful to them?”

  “Because you’ll make a great deal of money from it,” Martin said. “And I know how important money is to you.”

  “Indeed.” Wilson held out his hand, and Dax placed the tranquilizer gun in it. “As I mentioned before, I’ll need to test the product first.”

  “Why?” Martin said.

  “I’m not shipping defective product, Martin. Word gets around to my clients that I’m shipping useless product, it’s bad for business.”

  “Fine,” Martin said, “test it.”

  Emerson’s stomach dropped to her ankles when Wilson stepped in front of her. She stared at the tranquilizer gun like it was a poisonous snake as her boss studied her thoughtfully.

  “Please don’t,” she whispered.

  Her jaguar growled, and she leaned back in the chair when the bear shifter stepped back, and the bruising pressure of the gun disappeared.

  “Mr. Granger, please. Don’t do this to me,” she said in a low voice.

  The bear shifter made a surprised grunt when Wilson aimed the gun at him and shot him in the throat. Randy yanked the dart from his neck and glared at Wilson. “What the fuck, boss?”

  “How do you feel?” Wilson said.

  “Like I just got a dart in the fucking neck,” Randy said. “Why didn’t you shoot the bitch instead?”

  “Can you shift?” Wilson said.

  Randy glared at him before closing his eyes. Emerson watched as confusion and a flicker of fear crossed his face. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at Martin. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Martin said. “It was your boss.”

  “Randy,” Wilson prompted. “How do you feel?”

  “I can’t shift,” Randy said as real fear infused his words. “I can’t fucking shift.”

  His hands shook, and his face had gone pale. “My bear is…”

  “Your bear is what?” Wilson said.

  “He’s there, but I can’t… it’s like he’s behind a glass wall, and we can’t…” Randy’s voice trembled, and he swallowed hard. “I can’t get to him. I can’t fucking get to him.”

  “Don’t panic,” Wilson said briskly. “It only lasts forty-eight hours. Isn’t that right, Martin?”

  “Yes. But this one,” Martin reached into his pocket and produced a second dart filled with purple liquid, “lasts two weeks.”

  He handed it to Wilson with a look of pride. “I have my best men working on the formula. So far, two weeks is the longest lasting suppressant we’ve created but eventually…”

  He glanced at Dax and then Emerson before grinning. “Eventually, we’ll produce one that is permanent.”

  Dax growled again, and Emerson’s jaguar tried to surge forward. Emerson held her back grimly. If she shifted, she’d be killed or – she stared at the dart Wilson still held – be prevented from shifting for weeks. And if Randy’s shaking hands and sick look were any indications – death might be preferable.

  Wilson handed the gun and the dart to Dax before turning back to Randy and raising an eyebrow. Randy, his hand still shaking noticeably, stepped closer to Emerson and pressed the gun back against her head. She could feel it vibrating against her skull, and she sat perfectly still, almost afraid to breathe. The odds of Randy accidentally shooting her in the head because of his recent experience were dismayingly high.

  “Let’s talk price,” Wilson said. “I’ll move your product for you. Twenty-five grand a shipment and thirty percent of the money you receive from the buyers.”

  Martin burst out laughing. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  “I assure you I’m not.”

  Martin shook his head. “Listen, you old fucker. I don’t care who the fuck you are or how powerful you think you are. You are not taking thirty percent of the cut for doing fucking nothing.”

  “I’m risking a great deal by shipping this product,” Wilson said. “As you are well aware. Many of my legitimate clients are paranormal. Word gets out that I’m shipping this kind of product, and my business folds. I have a great deal to lose by doing this. I don’t think thirty percent is too much to ask.”

  “I guess we’ll agree to disagree,” Martin said. “I’ll find someone else willing to ship it for me.”

  “You could try,” Wilson said. “But we both know that I’m the best in the business. Over fifteen years in the shipping business, and not once have the local law enforcement or the FBI sniffed at my heels. Can you say that about your other prospects?”

  “I’m not giving you thirty percent,” Martin said.

  “Perhaps an associate of mine can change your mind,” Wilson said. “He’s very good at helping others see what would be most beneficial to them. Would you mind speaking to him for a moment?”

  Martin shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not changing my mind.”

  Emerson watched as Wilson stuck his finger into his right ear and then his left ear. Dax, Randy, and the other men were putting something in their ears… were those earplugs?

  Wilson nodded to the man closest to the door, and he opened it. Emerson was still too afraid to move with the shaking from Randy and the gun still vibrating against her head. She kept her body ramrod straight in the chair and didn’t turn her head to see who walked in the room.

  Still, her mouth dropped open with shock when she saw out of the corner of her vision who it was.

  “Owen,” she said. “Owen, what are you doing here?”

  He stared wide-eyed at her. “Emerson? Why… why are you here?” He studied the gun held to her head, fear etching into his face. “Why are you holding a gun to Emerson’s head?”

  “Owen,” Wilson said. “You’re here to do your job, not socialize.”

  Owen studied Wilson with a look of weary resignation. “What do you want me to say?”

  Wilson smiled at him with genuine warmth. “Owen, I want you to meet a new associate of mine, Mr. Martin Grimes. Martin, this is Owen.”

  “Hey,” Martin grunted.

  Owen studied him before turning to Wilson. “What do I say?”

  “I’d like you to convince Mr. Grimes to use my shipping services for his new product,” Wilson said.

  Owen stepped closer to Martin. He stared at him for a long moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered open, and the remorse and the guilt in his eyes made Emerson’s throat ache.

  “Mr. Grimes, you will use Granger Shipping to ship your new products.”

  A weird slack look crossed Martin’s face. “Right, yes, of course. I’m happy to use Granger Shipping to ship my new products.” His voice was low and completely toneless, and it made Emerson’s jaguar whine and retreat.

  “Good,” Wilson said. He was staring intently at Martin’s face. “Now, tell him he’d be more than happy to pay me twenty-five grand per shipment as well as forty-five percent of his profits from every client.”

  Martin stared blankly at Owen, his jaw still slack, his eyes glazed over. Owen cleared his throat. “Martin, you’ll be happy to pay Wilson Granger twenty-five grand per shipment a
s well as forty-five percent of your profits from every client.”

  “Yes, of course,” Martin said. “That sounds reasonable.”

  What the fuck? Emerson nearly turned in the chair to stare at Owen and Martin but forced herself to remain perfectly still. If she moved even an inch, old shaky Randy was liable to blow her brains out.

  “Excellent,” Wilson said. He held out his hand to Martin. Martin stared blankly at it before his entire body shook like a wet dog leaving the tub. A little of the fog in his gaze cleared away, and he shook Wilson’s hand.

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Grimes,” Wilson said. “I’ll be in touch soon to go over the details for the first shipment.”

  “Uh, yes, okay. Right.” Martin glanced at the others as Wilson made a shooing motion.

  “Goodbye, Martin.”

  “Bye.” Martin left the room, and from the corner of her vision, Emerson could see Owen staring at her with a sick look on his face.

  “What the fuck?” Emerson said.

  Wilson stood in front of her, leaning against the edge of his desk again. “Doesn’t Owen have a remarkable power, Emerson?”

  “What just happened?” Emerson said.

  “Owen is truly a gift,” Wilson said. “He’s a paranormal, although not in the same sense that you or Dax are. He is unique. He’s what we like to call a ‘pusher’.”

  “Pusher,” Emerson repeated dully. She couldn’t see Owen at all now, not with Wilson blocking her entire vision, but she was still too afraid to move her head or body, so she didn’t know if he’d left the room or not.

  “Yes. Owen has a rather remarkable ability to make people do precisely what he tells them to do. He simply commands it, and…” Wilson spread his hands, “thy will is done, Emerson.”

  “That’s not possible,” Emerson said. “A person with that kind of power is…”

  “The most powerful person in the world,” Wilson said. “Owen is so extraordinary, but I must be careful with him. Not just because of what he can do, but because his brother has a gift as well. One that is different but no less impressive. He searches for Owen, and if he were to find him and take Owen from me as I know he would…”

  Wilson shook his head. “The consequences would be severe.”