by C. D. Hersh
“How do you know?”
The sensation that rushed between them when he touched Roc the first time flooded his memory. The primal connection Roc said was their blood calling to one another. He knew he could sway Roc to the good side. Had to sway him, because he didn’t want to-no couldn’t-kill his own brother. Rhys stared at Alexi for a long time, wishing she could see what he knew in his heart.
After a long silence, she finally sighed. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. For now. First thing you have to do is get positive proof he’s your brother.”
“I’ve got the birth certificate from Sylvia.”
“Not good enough. We need a DNA sample.”
“And a way to keep Williams, Delaney, and Eli out of the loop.”
“I have a friend, a forensic specialist, in another city who might be able to help. You get the sample. I’ll contact her.”
“Might be a bit awkward since you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Right. I’ll give you her info. We can invent a cover story.” Rhys held out his arms, and she fell into them. “I hope we’re not making a big mistake.
“Me, too,” he replied as he kissed the top of her head. “Me, too.”
“You want me to do what?” Roc asked, his mimicked image contorting into disbelief.
Rhys set two plastic specimen vials on the table, pushing one toward him. “Spit into this. I need your DNA to prove who you really are.”
Crossing his arms, he shook his head. “Not going to happen.”
“You didn’t think I would take the birth certificates as final proof, did you?”
“Don’t you trust me, Rhys?”
“Only marginally more than I trust Sylvia, and you know how I feel about her.” He pushed the vial closer. “Don’t you want to know for sure?”
“I know.” Roc thumped his chest. “In here. I feel it in my heart and blood. We’re brothers.”
“Hocus-pocus doesn’t do it for me. I need solid, scientific proof.”
Roc eyed him, and Rhys scanned his aura while he waited for an answer. His brother was clearly debating his request, figuring out what benefit it held for him.
“Trust,” Rhys said. “Doing this will show me some trust on your part.”
Roc’s mouth quirked at the corner. “Reading my mind?”
“More like your face. People like you always work the what’s-in-it-for-me angle.”
“Like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The less than trustworthy type.”
Roc grabbed his chest in mock agony. “That hurts.”
Rhys shrugged. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and from what you’ve told me your adoptive parents aren’t convent material. Neither is Sylvia, and you’re pretty tight with her. I’d be an idiot to think otherwise about you, at least until you’ve proven different.”
Roc retrieved the vial and rotated it in his fingers. “Tell you what, I’ll spit if you’ll spit.”
“I figured as much.” Rhys grabbed the other vial and uncapped it, hesitating. Giving Roc his DNA could be potentially stupid, especially if they weren’t related. He could misuse it in some crime causing him to be unjustly accused. Like Captain Williams pinned lurking around Delaney’s apartment on him, based on a photograph.
“Trust works both ways, brother,” Roc said.
Rhys had to take the risk to find out the truth. He spit into the vial, sealed it, and set it on the table. Roc reached for it, and Rhys snatched it away. “We’ll exchange them together.”
He waited as Roc spit into his vial and handed it across the table. As they traded containers, their fingers touched, and the strange sensation he felt the first time he and Roc had made contact surged through him, causing the blood to pound in his ears.
“Brothers,” Roc whispered. His hand closed around the vial then he shoved it toward Rhys. “I don’t need this to prove it, either.”
“Then I guess you won’t be testing if you’re sure.”
“I don’t need proof. To prove my trustworthiness, I’ll promise to keep Sylvia out of it. Your DNA test will be our little secret. Make you feel better?”
“Actually, it does.” He dropped the vials in his unzipped jacket pocket and stood to leave, but Roc stopped him.
“Got a few more minutes? Since we’re both shifted it might be a good time to have some get-to-know-you conversation.”
“Does Sylvia know you’re with me?”
“She’s not my keeper, Rhys. I come and go as I please.”
“Good to know.” He glanced around at the nearly empty café. He and Roc were the only shifters. He checked his watch and sat. “I can spare about half an hour. What do you want to know?”
“I’ve been doing some reading about twins who’ve been separated at birth and how their lives have paralleled. I thought we might write some things down and see if that’s happened with us.” He took a couple of napkins out of the holder and tossed one toward Rhys. “Writing it will keep us honest. I’ll ask the first question and then you can have the next one and so on. Okay?”
Rhys laughed. “You’re kidding, right? How can you expect anything in our lives to be alike? You were raised for ruling an underworld. Environment counts more than heredity in making us who we are.”
“You’re wrong. The stuff I’ve been reading says heredity, especially with identical twins, is more important in shaping our lives.”
“Are you telling me I’m more likely to become a criminal because you are?”
“Hey! I’m not a criminal. You won’t find a single rap sheet on me.”
“I doubt you’re squeaky clean though.”
“I’m sure you aren’t either. You’re a cop. You probably killed more men than I have.”
“You admit to killing?” Panic flew over Roc so quickly Rhys would have missed it if he hadn’t been studying him closely. He’s not as clean as he wants me to believe.
“A figure of speech. Do you want to do this or not?” A trace of irritation flashed in Roc’s voice.
“Sure.” If this heredity thing was true Roc might be easier to sway to his side than he’d originally thought. “Don’t be disappointed with my answers.”
“Ditto, brother.” Roc removed a pen from his pocket. “First question. When did you lose your virginity?”
“What? No what-was-your-dog’s-name questions?”
“Dogs are external stuff. I’m more interested in our core beings and personalities.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s the real reason behind this game, Roc?”
“Another proof test of who we really are.”
He scanned Roc. He was telling the truth, or at least what he deemed to be the truth. “Okay. I’ll play.” He’d scan Roc when he read his answers to see if he was being truthful. Of course, Roc would probably do the same with him.
Rhys scribbled the number eighteen on his napkin then covered the answer with the corner of the paper.
“Now you,” Roc said.
“High school sports you did.” Rhys wrote football on the napkin.
“Favorite beer.”
Rhys wrote Budweiser. Pretty good chance on matching since it was a common choice. “A food you won’t eat.” He wrote brains. How easy would that be to match? Not very.
“Hair color of the woman you lost your virginity to,” Roc said.
Blond. He’d been partial to blondes before he met Alexi. “First full-time job,” he said. It had been the Army Rangers for him. Rhys was pretty sure Roc wouldn’t match that answer.
“Hair color of the last woman you really loved,” Roc said.
Rhys wrote black. Roc had a one in four chance of matching Alexi’s hair color.
>
“Let’s change the game,” Roc said. “I’m going to write a color and think about it. I want you to write the color I’m thinking about.”
He snapped the point of his pen shut. “I’m drawing the line here. Too similar to mind reading for me, and I’ve got no desire to let you in.”
Roc spun his napkin around so Rhys could read it.
He did the same. His breath caught. Three of the seven answers were the same. They both lost their virginity at eighteen to women who had blond hair, and they both liked Budweiser. Two of the answers were similar. Rhys wouldn’t eat brains, and Roc wouldn’t eat any kind of organ meat. Same family of meats, and the similarity on those answers was a real long shot.
Rhys’ first real job had been the Army Rangers and Roc had worked as a Park Ranger on a summer job. Then the similarity broke down. Roc had been a fencer in high school, and his last love was a blonde. Total opposites in Rhys’ opinion.
A satisfied expression crossed Roc’s face. “See, we’re more alike than we think.
“I’d say more dissimilar since only three answers are dead on.” But the similarities rocked his initial belief about this being a silly game. What were the odds over half of the answers would be related? His fear-or was it excitement?-that the DNA samples would show Roc was his brother rose. A twin would complicate things even more.
“Want to try it again with the names of those women and see where it goes?”
He checked his watch. “No more time.” Besides, no way he would let Roc think this game meant anything or that they were alike. They had nothing in common beyond their bids for Promised Ones. If he couldn’t bring Roc to his side, their relationship would not end in a happy scenario. “I’ll let you know when I get the test results.”
“Could take some time,” Roc said. “I was hoping we could get together sooner.”
“You got more twin questions you want answered?”
“Maybe, but I thought we might hang out. Get to know each other better.”
Rhys hesitated.
“We’re not going to get this figured out if we don’t work at getting to know each other. Please, bro?”
Roc’s sincere plea nearly convinced him. Then he remembered as Promised Ones they both probably had the power of persuasion, and he didn’t know how Roc’s worked. Sincerity could be his charm.
Rhys stood. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 28
As soon as Roc left the meeting with his brother, he regretted not taking Rhys’ DNA. Rhys failed his little get-to-know-you quiz, meant to ferret out information about what he knew about Lila, stating the last woman he’d loved wasn’t a blonde. He had to be lying, because he’d taken off after Lila at the funeral like a man possessed. He’d been seated in the family row at the funeral yet abandoned it to rush to Lila’s side. Those weren’t the actions of a man who didn’t care.
What was the connection, and why was Rhys lying? If he had proof Rhys had been at Lila’s house, he would have confronted him.
A few more pressing questions burned in his brain. Why had his father lied about Lila’s death? Was there a connection between dear old dad and Rhys? And was Rhys fronting for his father on behalf of Lila? If his brother wasn’t as lily white as he let on, it might be a whole lot easier to sway him to his side.
On his cell, Roc dialed his father, steeling himself for the confrontation. Time to find out what the old man had done with his fiancée.
“Son,” Cecil Decker said when he answered his phone. “It’s great to hear from you. Mom and I have been wondering why you haven’t answered our messages.” There was an accusatory edge to the last statement.
“Sorry. Been crazy here.” He paused and took a deep, calming breath. Even across the phone, his father intimidated him. Get a grip. You’re The Promised One, and this is simply your father. “I met someone here and wondered if you knew him. A cop named Rhys Temple. Ever cross paths with him, Dad?”
“Temple, Temple,” his father intoned. “Can’t say as I have. Is he giving you trouble? I could send someone to take care of him.”
“No trouble. He’s an associate of an associate. No one to worry about. Besides, you have to stop taking care of things for me. Makes me seem weak since I’m a Promised One candidate.”
“How’s that going?”
“Fine. I’ve got a new mentor, and I’ve met Falhman.”
“Watch your back with him. He’s one bad ass,” Cecil said. “Remember, you are The Promised One, not him. If he gives you any trouble let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”
Roc swallowed the bad taste rising in his throat at his father’s condescending tone. “Speaking of taking care of things, remember the thing you fixed with the girl?
“Don’t worry,” Cecil said. “It’s under control. You won’t have any trouble with her again.”
“What if I want trouble from her?”
“Wh-what?” his father sputtered into the phone. “You do know I can’t protect you from a dead woman, don’t you? Not even a Promised One is above the law if they are convicted of murder.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Are you drunk, son?”
“No. I’m stone sober.”
“On a binge because of her? If you are, you need to get control. There are plenty of other women at your beck and call. Find one of them and stop thinking about her.”
“I don’t want another woman. I want her.”
“Ah, son.” Cecil’s voice softened. “You have to forget her. It’s done, and she’s not coming back.”
“But she did. I saw her.”
“W-What?” Cecil sputtered. “Where?”
“At a funeral.”
“It’s obvious you’re losing it or someone is gas lighting you.”
Yeah, you, Dad.
“It must be another shifter trying to-”
“Trying to what? You got rid of the lowlifes who helped you. You always do. You and I are the only ones left holding the secret.”
“There’s no way you could have seen her.”
“But I did, Dad.”
“I’m going to catch the next plane, and we’ll figure out what’s going on. No one is going to play you this way and get away with it.”
“Don’t come. I can handle this on my own. Tell me why you hid her from me and lied about it.”
“Listen, Roc. I did not lie to you, nor did I hide her somewhere. She’s dead. You’re my son, and if her being alive would make you happy, why would I keep her from you?”
“Because you’ve got your own agenda. Because you’ve always had your own agenda and it’s never been my best interest at the top of the list. Because if you control her, you think you can control me.”
“Not true. Your mother and I love you and have always wanted the best for you. The best schools, the best university, the best of everything.”
“Because you wanted to be the parents of a Promised One.” His anger rose along with his voice. “Tell me where she is.”
“You know it’s best if I don’t say. You need to be out of the loop.”
“Tell me!” Roc shouted.
“She’s probably in Alaska by now. Six feet under.”
“Liar,” Roc said, between gritted teeth. “She’s alive and in Cleveland.”
“She was dead when we got there, Roc. There’s no way she could be alive. What you’re saying makes no sense at all. Calm down and listen to me. It’s unfortunate she’s gone, since you apparently had feelings for her. They can’t connect her to you. I’ve got it all set to clear your way, son.”
“Don’t call me son!” Roc let the anger he’d been holding inside explode.
It didn’t matter what Cecil Decker had done for him. What he’d taken away overshadowed everything else. The words po
ured from him, and he made no effort to temper them. “A real father wouldn’t have let his son believe he’d killed the woman he loved, spirited her away, then lied about it. A real father, my real father, would have my best interests at heart, not groom me so he could get glory and prestige and whatever else he could steal from me. A real father-”
