The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1)

by Jessica Meigs

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just snap your neck for threatening me,” Zachariah hissed.

  “There’s currently a pistol with ten silver-coated bullets in it shoved into your gut, and I have no problem with pulling the trigger,” Scott said. He met Zachariah’s eyes, unerringly. “That reason enough for you? We can see who dies first.”

  Zachariah hesitated, trying to gauge how serious Scott was. His anger was cooling from a rapid boil to a slow simmer. His fingers were cramping with the force of his grip on Scott’s shirt. He was tempted to try Scott’s patience and goad him into squeezing the trigger, but he couldn’t. Not with Elise still alive. Not with her sister still in hands other than hers. Zachariah forced his fingers to loosen up and stumbled back from him. Without speaking, he moved to the other side of the room, as if distance would be enough to rid him of his remaining anger. Scott stared at him with his head cocked to the side, his arms folded over his chest. He’d put his pistol away. A good sign if there ever was one.

  “I need to know what you know,” Zachariah started. “I need to know what you’ve found out and what Riley is up to. I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything.”

  “And I can’t plan appropriately if you don’t tell me everything about what’s going on,” Scott countered. “For the love of everything, Zachariah, you’ve got to tell me. Riley and I don’t know what we’re walking into because you people can’t be bothered to tell us everything we need to know.”

  Zachariah blew out another breath and nodded. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “Fill me in, and then I’ll fill you in. I would go first, but filling you in would require a trip to headquarters, and I’ve got to figure out how to handle that without being seen.”

  Scott sighed and started to explain. “Riley and I believe there’s the possibility Brandon Hall might be behind the murders of the twenty-seven agents. You know, the ones we were hired to investigate to begin with?” Zachariah snorted and nodded, waving a hand to indicate for him to continue. “The paperwork from the museum just reinforced the theory, at least for me, though Riley is mostly unconvinced.”

  “She would be,” Zachariah acknowledged.

  “So she’s out at Brandon’s offices looking for evidence of his involvement.”

  Zachariah shed his sunglasses to look Scott fully in the eyes. “She went where?”

  “Believe me, I wasn’t happy about it either,” Scott said. “I tried to get her to let me go with her, but she insisted that I stay here because of you.”

  “Not cool, not cool,” Zachariah said, shaking his head. He shoved his sunglasses back on and pulled his leather gloves from his jacket pocket, jamming his hands back into them. “We’ve got to go after her. That office is not safe.”

  “Is it that bad?” Scott asked.

  Zachariah ignored him and continued. “It’s dangerous. Does she really think Brandon wouldn’t be on to us by now? He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t have gotten this far in this business if he were. And I have no doubt that, if you caused a dust-up in the museum—”

  “Yeah, we kind of did,” Scott admitted. “She shot somebody. In the leg, but still.”

  Zachariah rolled his eyes. “Then I have no doubt that he’s heard about the break-in by now. And he’s not so stupid as to not know what you two were after.”

  Scott grabbed the room’s key card off of the bedside table and slipped a long-sleeve flannel shirt on over his t-shirt to cover the holstered pistol at his side, rolling the sleeves up and leaving the shirt unbuttoned. “Let’s go then. We’ve got to go rescue the damsel in distress.”

  Zachariah laughed despite himself as he followed Scott out the door. “Riley isn’t exactly the damsel type, you know. I’m sure right now, she’s probably kicking Brandon’s ass across his office like it’s nothing.”

  ~*~

  Zachariah’s Harley-Davidson Knucklehead’s engine purred between Riley’s thighs as she steered it into the Agency headquarters’ parking lot. As the back tire left the street, she cut the engine, slipping off of the bike and walking it to a dark, isolated spot away from the building. She was sure that Zachariah wouldn’t be very pleased when he woke up and found his motorcycle gone, but she’d needed something that would move her quickly through the late evening traffic, and it wasn’t like he was going to be using it right away, she reasoned. And so, parking the bike in the shadows of a tree, she crouched, taking a knee to study the building and assess her goal.

  Riley had been in the business long enough to know the Agency like it was her own home—and in a way, it was. Since Brandon had found her, a scrawny seventeen-year-old living on the streets with all of her meager possessions in a single backpack, she’d essentially lived within the auspices of the Agency. Her familiarity with the Agency allowed her to pick out Brandon’s office windows easily; they were dimly lit, and there was no movement. She wasn’t so stupid as to think the building would be empty; the only thing she could hope for was that it’d be acceptably quiet around Brandon’s offices long enough that she could go in, find what she needed, and get out without incident.

  Riley drew in a deep breath and started forward toward the front doors, walking as if she owned the place. The doors were fogged with condensation, masking the interior as effectively as camouflage. She flung the door open and stepped inside as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  As usual, the lobby was as silent and empty as a mausoleum, save for the guard behind the desk. Riley smiled as she recognized the dark-haired man. At least one thing was going right with her plan.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Sam teased, tossing his magazine down onto the desk and rising out of his chair to greet her. “How’ve you been since I saw you last?”

  Riley returned his smile, cranking up the charm as she leaned against the desk and blatantly looked him up and down. “I’ve been doing great, Sam. Working a lot. But I like it.”

  “I bet you do, or you wouldn’t keep doing it,” Sam acknowledged. He gave her his trademark winsome smile and leaned over the desk, bracing his hands against the edge. “So when are you going to take that vacation you keep bitching about needing and go out to dinner with me?”

  Riley laughed delightedly and shook her head. “You ask me that every time I come in here,” she pointed out.

  “And I’m going to keep asking until you say yes,” Sam replied. “So what’ll it be?”

  Riley shrugged and gave him another smile. “I’ll think about it, okay?” she conceded. The statement seemed to make Sam’s day; his eyes lit up and his smile spread wider at the prospect of taking her on an evening out. Hook, line, and sinker, she thought. Now it’s time to reel him in. “Maybe you can help me with something, though.”

  “Anything for you, Riley,” Sam agreed.

  “Is Brandon Hall here, or has he left for the evening?” Riley asked, trying to keep the question as casual as she could.

  Sam’s disappointment at her asking about Brandon was palpable. She could practically see the emotion drop down on him like an anvil. “No, Brandon’s out for dinner,” he said, grabbing for the clipboard on his desk and setting it on the ledge in front of her.

  “How long has he been out?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes. You need to see him?”

  “Nah, I just need to drop something off on his desk while it’s on my mind,” Riley said. She nudged the clipboard casually, trying to push it away from her without signing it. “Nothing important, but I was supposed to drop in earlier and got held up with…stuff.”

  Sam smirked. “Stuff, huh? What kind of stuff?”

  “The ultra-secret, classified kind of stuff,” Riley said. She nodded toward the elevator. “I’m going to run on up real quick and take care of what I need to do. I should be back down in a couple of minutes, and maybe we can discuss that dinner thing you suggested.” She started in the direction of the elevator, but Sam called out behind her.

  “Riley.” She sighed and half-turned to look back at him. He waved the
clipboard in her direction. “You forgot to sign.”

  “Do I have to?” she asked, cranking up the charm and giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “It’s just a quick trip upstairs and back. No big deal.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal for you to sign the clipboard, should it?” Sam pointed out. “This is the one thing I’m absolutely supposed to do in my job, and I don’t want to mess it up now, not if I want to go field.”

  Riley sighed again and went back to the desk, scribbling down something that vaguely resembled her signature on the first blank line. “Trust me, you don’t want to go field,” she told him before tossing his pen back to him and hurrying to the elevator. She could feel Sam’s eyes on her as she jabbed the up button with her thumb and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. The silver doors slid open, revealing a plush and luxurious interior that was unoccupied. She slipped inside and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the elevator ascended, she freed her pistol from its holster and made sure it was not only fully loaded but had a round chambered; she didn’t expect to have to use it, but it never hurt to be prepared.

  The elevator slid to a stop, and the doors parted onto the white-on-white lobby. She crossed to the double doors on the other side of the room with more confidence than she felt, pulled one of the doors open, and stepped into the complex beyond. She swept her eyes from left to right, her hand resting on her pistol. No one was in sight. Satisfied, Riley walked across the room and down the glass-encased hallway flanked by conference rooms.

  Riley reached Brandon’s office suite without incident and loitered outside, listening for activity inside. Once she was satisfied there was none, she tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. That was so unusual that she immediately became suspicious. Never once, in the eight years she’d worked with Brandon, had he ever left his office door unlocked. She drew her pistol and nudged the door open, slipping inside.

  The secretary’s outer office was as quiet as the hallway, but Riley was still on high alert as she eased across to Brandon’s inner sanctum. Its door was also unlocked. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she cracked the door. She let herself in and shut the door behind her; it clicked closed with barely a sound. Riley didn’t lower her pistol until she was assured that the office was empty. Then she tucked the weapon back into its holster and sank into the chair behind the desk to begin her search in Brandon’s desk drawers.

  Riley wasn’t sure what she was looking for, so she had no idea when she would find it—or where. She supposed her first task was searching for evidence to exonerate Brandon of Scott’s accusations of betrayal and murder. What Scott had told her didn’t sit well with her, and she didn’t know if she should believe it.

  But what the hell motivation does Scott have to lie about it? her brain demanded. Refocusing on the task at hand, she picked a drawer and eased it open, on alert for booby traps or alarms. Overly paranoid, she knew, but paranoia was part of the job. She stuck her hand inside and found a thick file folder, deep red and at least two inches thick, papers sticking out the edges in an unusually disheveled manner. She set it on the desktop and flipped through it, realizing it was the folder Brandon had had in the meeting when she and Scott had been transferred to The Unnaturals. She swung Linus off her shoulder and stuffed the folder inside to look at later. Then she turned her attention to the other large desk drawer. It was locked, and as she gave it another tug, she scanned the desk for something to pry it open with. You’d figure, the one time I forget my lock-picking tools, I’d need them.

  A noise beyond the door drew her away from the drawer. One hand grasping her pistol, she snagged the letter opener on the desk and slunk out of the chair, taking refuge behind the desk to give herself time to assess the potential of an oncoming threat. As she did so, she jammed the letter opener into the drawer’s lock to try to jimmy it open. She listened as she wiggled the letter opener furiously, shoving it further into the lock until something snapped. At the same moment, Brandon’s office door swung open, and someone stepped inside.

  “I know you’re in here,” a feminine voice said, calling out so her voice echoed across the office. Riley raised an eyebrow and palmed the letter opener. She had expected it to be Brandon coming into his office—something she could have played off of easily—not some random female she didn’t recognize. She ignored the unsettled feeling in her stomach and eased the drawer she’d just broken the lock on open, peering into its dark insides. Her eyes widened as she saw what was stashed inside. “Come out quietly and explain what you’re doing here, or I’ll have security come up to deal with you.”

  Riley scooped up the object in the drawer and jammed it into her bag, zipping the bag closed and slipping it back onto her shoulders before she rose from behind the desk. She managed to hide her surprise at the sight of the woman in front of her: tall, too thin, sharp, angular features, long blond hair, and nails like talons. Ashley, was it? Or Allie? Something that started with an A, anyway. She had a pistol pointed at Riley, a detail that didn’t escape Riley’s notice. Riley rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on the letter opener as she assumed a casual, nonchalant stance.

  “Oh, come on, can you get any more cliché than that?” Riley asked. “You’re like a villain out of a movie or something. Try using that brain in your head to come up with something more original, and maybe I’ll take you seriously next time.”

  The woman lowered the gun and demanded, “What are you doing in here, Riley?”

  Riley shrugged, trying to maintain her casualness. “I was hoping to find Brandon up here. I have a meeting with him.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she lifted the pistol again. “No, you don’t. You’re not on the schedule for at least another month.”

  Shit, Riley’s brain snapped. She scrambled to cover. “Well, how do you know it isn’t a personal meeting? You know, the kind that doesn’t end up on some fucking schedule because we’ve got itches that need scratching?” As the woman tried to think Riley’s words over, her eyes landed on the backpack over Riley’s shoulders.

  “What’s in the bag, Riley?” she demanded.

  “That’s not any of your business!”

  The woman strode toward her, as if she were going to circle the desk to take the bag from her. Riley couldn’t let that happen. If the secretary came around the desk, she’d see the two open, now empty, drawers, and it wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together and realize that Riley was raiding the place. Riley grabbed the desk chair, shoving it at the woman as she approached. The chair skittered across the floor and slammed into the woman’s legs, nearly upending her onto the floor. Riley darted in the opposite direction, skirting around the edge of the desk and making for the office door. The pop of a pistol firing rang out behind her, and the bullet smacked into the wall near her head. Riley scowled and swung her arm out, flinging the letter opener in the woman’s direction as a distraction while she made it out the door and slammed it behind her.

  There was a clatter in the office before the door flew open. She glanced back over her shoulder to see the secretary lifting her pistol, a dark look on her face. As Riley spun back around, she collided with something hard in the outer office’s doorway and fell to the floor. Her pistol slipped out of her hand and bounced to the carpet. She scrambled for it, grabbing it in her hand as she looked up at the figure she’d ploughed into. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met the gaze of Damon Hartley himself.

  Hartley looked down at her with thinly disguised curiosity, then slid his eyes to the secretary stumbling out of Brandon’s office. His eyebrow crooked in a perfect look of amusement, and he simply stepped aside, leaving the path clear for Riley to retreat. Riley wasted no time in doing so, scrambling to her feet and darting out of the office, racing for the elevator as quickly as her feet would take her. A quick glance back showed that, in those short seconds, Hartley had disappeared. Another shot rang out, striking one of the glass walls of a conference room and sending the sheet glass cascad
ing to the floor.

  “Is this your idea of discreet?” a familiar male voice asked from nearby. A hand grasped her right arm, the fingers like bands of iron around her bicep, and she was swung around and into Scott’s arms. She staggered and regained her balance as Scott tightened his grip on her and held her upright. She turned to see Zachariah approaching Brandon’s secretary, his eyes concealed behind his dark lenses, his back straight as he marched toward her. She looked uncertain, wavering between lowering her weapon and opening fire on Zachariah. Riley could understand the woman’s hesitance. The secretary had caught her some place she had no business being with no good reason for being there. By all the written and unwritten rules in the Agency, the woman was perfectly within her rights to deal with the situation however she saw fit.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Zachariah demanded of the blond woman. He stopped several feet away from her and folded his arms over his chest. Despite his casual stance, Riley had the suspicion that the man was far from relaxed. “This agent was here under my authority.”

  “She didn’t have an appointment, and neither do you,” the woman bit out. “By Agency rules, I have to assume that this is a breach and act accordingly.” She adjusted her pistol to aim it more fully at Zachariah.

  “Stand down, Miss Greene,” Zachariah ordered.

  “Give me a good reason why I should,” the woman snapped back.

  Zachariah snarled, baring his teeth at her, and at the same time, he ripped his sunglasses from his face. The secretary took a shocked step backward, and Riley had to fight to not mirror the woman’s movement. His face looked tight, drawn with anger and the most inhuman, animalistic expression Riley had ever seen on a person’s face. The secretary took another step back and opened fire. Three bullets impacted with Zachariah, sending him staggering backward, but otherwise they didn’t seem to affect him as he stormed toward the woman. “You want a good reason why you should stand down?” he said. “Because I fucking told you to.” His hand came up in a movement almost too fast for Riley’s eyes to see, and she barely registered that he wielded a pistol before the bang of a single shot being fired echoed through the room. The woman collapsed onto the floor in a motionless heap, her weapon skittering away from her.