She stiffened at first, but then relaxed like the good operative she was. She wouldn’t want the innkeeper to suspect anything. “Yep,” she said, placing her hand over his and squeezing.
“Can’t wait, darling,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear.
Her nails dug into the back of his hand, and he had to fight the urge to laugh. Until she rubbed her ass against his groin, and he had to fight another urge altogether.
Fortunately, the innkeeper returned at that moment, and held out a key.
“Room 108’s already been cleaned, so you can have that one. Just the one night?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The innkeeper nodded. “Here you go, then.” He looked up and gave Damian a knowing wink. “There’s take-out menus in the room, in case you need ’em,” he said.
Damian grinned back at him. “Good to know.”
The man chuckled and turned back to his desk, already dismissing them.
Cassandra turned to leave, dislodging his arm, but Damian placed a possessive hand at the small of her back, urging her out the door. She went along with it until they were back in the truck.
“Very funny,” she muttered, starting the engine and backing away from the office. Their room was at the far end of the long, two-story building.
“The innkeeper seemed to enjoy it,” he said, not bothering to conceal his amusement. “Why are we here?” he asked again.
She sighed, but seemed to have forgotten her earlier insistence on playing him along. “The building where the sniper hid will have security. We’ll need their cooperation in order to find out anything, so I need to be someone else.”
“You’re donning a disguise?”
“Sort of,” she said, parking in front of room 108. “Come on.”
He followed her around to the back of the SUV. She opened the cargo door and leaned inside, but instead of grabbing the expected duffel bag, she went for a suitcase, which she immediately shoved in his direction, and a slim hanging bag, which she kept for herself. She reached to close the door, but Damian was already there.
“You need to be more mindful of your arm,” he murmured.
“I’m fine.”
“Yes, but you won’t be if you’re not mindful.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a smug asshole?” she asked, smiling up at him as if they were about to spend the day doing exactly what the innkeeper had assumed.
Maybe not the day, he thought to himself. But when he got her alone tonight . . .
“Many times,” he said, answering her question. “But I’m still right about this. Your arm needs to heal.”
“Just take the damn suitcase and shut up, okay?”
He laughed. “Yes, darling.” He grabbed his own laptop case and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up the suitcase by the handle and followed her the short distance to their room.
Once inside, he looked around. There wasn’t much to see. It was nothing like the hotels they’d been in the last two nights, but it was clean enough. Cassandra followed him, shutting the door as he placed the suitcase on the lone bed, and then took the garment bag from her and hung it on the bathroom door. He turned to face her. “Okay, we’re here. Now tell me why. If we’re to function as a team, I need to know what we’re doing.”
She opened her mouth as if to disagree, then snapped it shut and nodded grimly instead. “You’re right. Okay, so I told you that Nick saved my sanity, that he was the first person who ever understood what was happening with me. I always thought I was wired wrong or something, like my body chemistry was different from everyone else. But then Nick came along and showed me a whole new world inside this one. A world that most people didn’t know existed. Suddenly, I wasn’t twisted, I was unique.”
“Nico sees the best in people and draws it out. It’s what makes him a good leader.”
She nodded. “That’s true, but his instinctive way with people also lets him use them for what he wants. And what he wants is all those magical artifacts that have been left lying around in caves and museum basements because no one knows what they are anymore. But he can’t just wander around the world searching for them, buying or stealing whatever he finds. He’s only one man, and the world is a big place. He has money and connections, which got him a meeting with the powers that be at the FBI, and he persuaded them that these devices were dangerous, that they could be used against the interests of the United States. And, for the most part, he’s right.
“Of course, I know now that he was also looking for you guys, and some of the things we found ended up in his private collection instead of being destroyed. But that’s not my point. My point is this.” She popped open the suitcase, reached into a side compartment, then pulled out a small leather folio and handed it to him. It contained a card with Cassandra’s photo on it, along with a golden badge that had writing and an official-looking image on it.
“That’s my FBI identification,” she explained when he didn’t react.
He looked up from the badge. “I don’t know what this means, Cassandra. What is the FBI?”
She stared at him for a moment, then made an exasperated noise. But she was obviously irritated at herself, not him. “Of course, you don’t,” she muttered. “Okay, I don’t suppose they had anything like this where, I mean when you come from, but the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, is like a national police department. That’s a bad description, because they’re totally different, but it gets to the heart of what they do. They have federal powers, which means they can investigate crimes or whatever anywhere in the country, and they’re taken very seriously, especially now with everyone worried about terrorism.”
“And Nico works for them?” he asked, somewhat puzzled. The Nicodemus he’d known didn’t work for anybody. Others worked for him and considered themselves privileged to do so.
“Hmmm, it’s more like he works with them. Nick’s kind of a free spirit. But his team of hunters, me and a few others—that’s what he calls us—we’re all duly sworn FBI agents. We went through the academy and everything.”
Damian nodded. That sounded more like Nico. He’d always been one to use whatever officials he needed and to make them feel special in doing so.
“So, you’ll speak to these building security managers, and they will give you what you want because you are FBI. I assume you won’t tell them the real reason for your hunt.”
“I’ll tell them it’s a matter of national security, that lives are at stake. Which is true enough.”
He nodded. “But why are we in this room?”
“I need to look the part.” She turned and unzipped the garment bag to reveal some rather dull women’s clothing—a dark-colored jacket and matching pants. “This is what they expect to see.”
“I understand. Shall I help you disrobe?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in a leer that was only half-teasing.
She snorted. “With your help, we’ll never get out of here.”
“I am irresistible,” he agreed. “I shall try to contain myself so that you can prepare.”
She tried for a glare, but ended up laughing. “You do that,” she said.
With nothing else to do, Damian took his laptop from its case and stretched out on the bed to continue his research on this world’s weapons. He already had a mental list of which ones he’d like to acquire for himself, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t add more. He smiled happily and started reading.
CASEY EYED DAMIAN suspiciously. He’d taken all of that a little too well. She’d expected him to argue against Nick’s affiliation with “the man,” but almost as soon as she had the thought, she knew it didn’t make sense. He wasn’t some kind of social rebel from the 90s. Probably where he came from, where Nick came from, they were the men. Or at least Nick was. It sounded as if he’d had a lot of power, so why would Damian be s
urprised that he was hooked into the power structure of this world, too? Her scowl deepened. But now he was trolling through those weapons websites of his with a much too happy smile on his face. Like a kid in a candy store, picking out sweets.
She shook her head. That was a problem for another day. Right now, she needed to don her own powers-that-be mask. Bending over her suitcase, she dug out the sensible blue pumps that went with the pantsuit, and the plain white bra that she would wear under a crisp white blouse. The outfit was almost a stereotype uniform. Most female agents in the field wouldn’t be this buttoned up, but it helped her play the part, and, as she’d told Damian, it was what the building’s security people would expect to see.
Sighing deeply—she really despised wearing this stuff—she took her things into the bathroom to change. Not because Damian hadn’t already seen her naked. Hell, between last night, and then this morning in the shower, he’d licked almost every inch of her naked skin. Which was the problem. Not that anything about sex with Damian was a problem. The very opposite, in fact. But if she stripped naked in front of him in that tiny little motel room, she’d end up beneath him on the bed, and then they’d never get out of there this afternoon. Not exactly a hardship, she reminded herself as she eyed him speculatively. He did look awfully enticing lying there, almost chirping with glee as he learned all the elegant, new ways to kill people in this century.
He glanced up as she stood in the bathroom doorway studying him, and from the smug smile he gave her, she probably had a stupid dreamy look on her face.
Fuck.
She backed up and slammed the door, then turned her energy to looking like she belonged with the Effing BI.
DAMIAN HELD THE door open for Casey when she walked into the Lorenzo office building—Lorenzo being the architectural firm which had designed the building where the sniper had set up his nest, and which now occupied the top four floors. She’d wanted Damian to remain with the vehicle, but he’d refused, reminding her that their shooter had fired from the seventh floor, which was one of the floors occupied by the Lorenzo people. She’d granted the possibility that someone from that firm had helped the shooter get into place, and then get away. But when he’d taken it a step further, and suggested that some bad guys might be waiting to ambush her when she came to investigate, she’d insisted that such a scenario wasn’t at all likely. He’d agreed, but then he’d snottily pointed out that one didn’t stay alive planning only for likely threats.
And that was why he was with her, posing as her sniper specialist. They’d stopped long enough to buy him a plain, blue windbreaker of the sort FBI agents used, but it really wasn’t necessary for him to pass as FBI. He could be local SWAT, or even a civilian specialist, the latter of which wasn’t far from the truth. He was a civilian, and oddly enough, he was a specialist. So, as long as she played her role well enough, the part of an uptight, by-the-book FBI agent, no one would question his presence. It was all about the bluff. She hoped she was up to it.
There were two security guards in the lobby. One stood near a short hallway to the elevators, arms crossed, eyeing everyone who walked past, while the other sat behind a marble façade desk. His main job, it seemed, was to answer visitors’ questions. Casey couldn’t help but notice that there was no security checkpoint—no building ID, no metal detectors, none of the usual security precautions. It was disturbingly light security for this day and age, and it made her wonder if she’d been too optimistic when she’d assumed that the building would have security cameras.
The guard was on the phone when she walked up to the desk, so she opened her ID and held it where he couldn’t miss seeing it. His eyes widened perceptibly, and he immediately hustled the caller off the phone. He reached for Casey’s ID, but she pulled it out of his reach—close enough to read, but not touch.
“Agent Lewis, and Stephens,” she said, intentionally mispronouncing Damian’s name and introducing him in such a way that the guard would logically assume he was also an agent. She crossed her fingers, hoping he didn’t ask to see Damian’s ID. It’s what he should have done, but if he did it, the game was over.
The guard studied her ID then looked over her shoulder to where Damian waited with impressive patience. She’d had real doubts about bringing him this far, afraid that he wouldn’t pass inspection, and they’d be out of luck. But when she glanced back at him, he was standing there looking all formidable and vaguely pissed off, as if he was ready to send someone’s head rolling if the guard didn’t get his ass in gear and give them access to the entire building ten minutes ago.
“How can I help you, Agent Lewis?” the guard asked finally.
“Your building was the base of an active shooter earlier today, and—”
“Dear God.” The guard came half out of this chair. “Was anyone—?”
“You had no reports of gunfire from any of the building’s tenants?”
“Absolutely not, and I’ve been on shift all day except for my lunch break. But there couldn’t have been anyone injured, the police would have been. . . . Oh.”
She smiled to take the sting out of it. “You may not have been aware”—she had to peer at his name badge—“Mr. McBride, because while the shooter used your building, his target was across the parking lot just east of here.”
McBride drew a relieved breath. “Well, that’s good at least. I mean . . . no one was injured over there, were they?”
“No, but it was only good luck or bad shooting that kept it that way. In any event, your building is part of the crime scene, and we have two requirements. First, my colleague”—she gestured Damian’s way—“needs access to your seventh floor, so that he can investigate the shooter’s location.”
The guard glanced over her shoulder at Damian again, and then back at her. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. The seventh floor is occupied by Lorenzo Associates. I’ll need to advise them of the situation, and have one of their reps come down to—”
“Stephens will go on up,” she interrupted, referring to Damian by his fake name. “They can meet him there.”
“Well, I guess . . . ,” he started to say, but Damian was already on his way to the elevator.
“Does this building have security cameras?” Casey asked, drawing the guard’s attention back her way. “I’m especially interested in exterior coverage, but if you have any here . . .” She looked around the lobby and spotted at least one camera, making a point of noting its placement before turning back to the guard. “I can get a warrant, if necessary.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a new voice announced, and Casey looked up to see someone who was clearly the man in charge bearing down on her from a door that had opened behind the desk. “David Espinoza,” he said holding out a hand. “I’m Director of Security for the Lorenzo. How can I help you, Agent Lewis?”
That he knew her name told her two things. One, he’d been not just watching, but also listening the whole time. Which meant, two, there were definitely more cameras in the lobby than the obvious one near the elevator hallway.
Casey shook his hand. “Someone was taking potshots at the parking lot behind your building this afternoon. We have a fairly narrow time frame, and I’d like to take a look at any video footage you might have. I can’t be sure of when he arrived, but he had to have exited the building shortly after the incident, at the most within the last two hours.”
Her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and said, “Excuse me a moment,” then stepped away. “What do you have?” she asked Damian when she answered the call. That was the other item they’d picked up when they’d stopped for the windbreaker. Damian had required no more than a ten-minute tutorial, and he was swiping right and thumb typing like a fifteen-year-old girl. It was downright frightening.
“The room he used is obvious,” Damian told her. “Our friends here were dismayed to discover the broken window, but the offic
e was vacant, and no one seems to have noticed any strangers. On the other hand, they’re not exactly observant. They barely noticed me, and, let’s face it, I’m remarkable.”
Casey ignored that part and got to the point. “Did he leave anything?” She actually hoped the sniper had taken all of his gear with him. It was unlikely to yield anything useful if he’d left it, while, on the other hand, if he was carrying a gun case, it would make him easier to spot on the security tapes.
“Nothing worth noting,” Damian said.
“Any food wrappers? Soda cans? Anything we might get a fingerprint from?” She heard Damian’s hesitation and wondered if he knew about fingerprints. It was so easy to forget that he was still new to this reality. “Does it look like he touched anything?” she asked instead.
“He rearranged some furniture for his setup, and there’s the broken window, of course.”
Casey frowned. It was just possible that the shooter had left a print on the furniture or the broken glass, and she had a kit in her truck. But there was likely to be a huge number of prints in that office, and no way to get elimination prints from everyone who’d ever used or visited the room. Not to mention that doing so might expose her rather precarious authority in this situation.
“Okay,” she told Damian. “Come back down for now. They’ve got security footage. We can try to spot him there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he snapped out solemnly, and she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. He was loving this role-play shit a little too much, though she should have expected it. Now that he was free, he was all about the adventure, the challenge. Well, that and connecting with Nick to find and free his brother warriors, which was the biggest challenge of all.
Casey disconnected and turned to David Espinoza, who’d been politely pretending not to listen to her call. “My colleague is on his way down. The more eyes, the better on the video footage.”
The Stone Warriors: Damian Page 14
