by A. L. Tyler
Admittedly, the kid was getting good at perspective. His phalluses were in perfect proportion, even going all the way up a fourteen-foot wall. He must have started using a ladder.
“Marge!”
We both jumped. I shut every window on my screen out of instinct. Charlene poked her head in the door. She was wearing oversized triangle-shaped hot pink earrings and her long nails were painted acid green. It still baffled me that she somehow managed to time travel to the eighties to do her shopping, because even the internet no longer carried the trends she wore.
“Did you want an orange one or a black one?”
Marge paused, gazing into the ether for guidance. “I have dark carpet and light furniture. Which one matters more?”
Charlene moved into the doorway. “Oh, hon, it won’t matter. There will be hair everywhere if they take after their mother.”
I looked back and forth between them. “What are we talking about?”
Charlene gave me a disinterested glance. She knew I didn’t like to talk. “I adopted a street a few months ago. She was pregnant, and we decided to let her have the kittens before spaying. I have to find homes for six kittens. Black or orange, Marge?”
“Black,” I said. It’s an old wives’ tale that black cats are lucky. All cats are lucky, but I knew Marge would get a kick out of a witch with a black cat. “I’ll take one. Two, even.”
Charlene’s well-penciled eyebrows shot straight up. She crossed her arms. “You like cats?”
I’d never owned a cat in my life. “I love cats.”
She looked uncertain. Marge flashed her a reassuring smile.
“I only have one left after Marge picks, but sure.” She looked like she still wasn’t sure.
“Janet wants the black one, so I’ll take orange,” Marge said happily.
I reached for my bag. “How much do I owe you?”
“Excuse me.” Our boss, Sergeant Beech, moved past Charlene and into the room.
“Nothing, Janet, he’s my gift to you. Just take good care of him. My husband will drop them off later today if you’re ready.”
She gave Beech a polite nod and then returned to the front desk.
“He?” Beech asked, looking from me to Marge.
“We’re adopting some of the kittens,” Marge said.
“Good for you,” Beech said dismissively. He was all business, and by the speed of his speech, he was overworked today. He gestured toward the door. “This is FBI special agent Nicolas Warren. He’s here from the local field office with some questions about the murder we recently processed and...” Beech took a breath, a disgusted look on his face. “Bailey Gosling.”
My eyes scanned the room in shock. Nick swung into the door frame, a smile on his face and a paper coffee cup in hand. His tall, strong frame filled most of the door, but he still managed to look casual. His eyes glimmered with mischief as they landed on me, and I couldn’t help myself. My eyes slid down to the gun he kept in his shoulder holster, and then to the clip I knew was on his belt and the knife on his ankle.
When our eyes met again, he smirked. My eyes narrowed.
“Nick, this is Marge Jones and Janet Drifter. They’ll help you out with whatever you need.” He gave us a stern look. “Nick and I go way back.”
So don’t screw this up. He never said it when we had company, but it was implied.
Beech gave me one more funny look before making his exit. As my worlds collided, I was still trying to figure out what to do with my hands to act natural.
Marge grabbed a folder from her desk to smack Nick a little harder than playful. “Damn it! Give a girl a little notice! You’re FBI now?”
“The Bleak approved this?” I said in shock.
Nick closed the office door behind him. It was always open during regular hours, but I was guessing he had some super-secret FBI reason to close it without Beech blowing his top.
“These people are already under the influence of a memory spell, and now you and Beech go way back? Too many memory alterations can cause—”
“It’s fine, evidence technician Drifter.”
“Oh, that’s hot,” Marge said with a crooked smile. “Role playing.”
I glared at her, and then turned my burning stare back on Nick. “Hallucinations. Amnesia. Insanity. Death.”
Nick crossed his arms, bringing himself to his full height. “Those studies were based on garden gnomes, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Really?” Marge asked.
Nick’s eyes were amused as he looked at her. “No.”
“Bailey. Gosling,” I said. Nick’s half-smile immediately sank. “The memory spell I put on him led to his death. Do not make this out to be a joke.”
His frown lines deepened. “Bailey Gosling had some unusual circumstances. That wasn’t your fault.”
I gave him a curt nod, but I didn’t say anything. Of course it was my fault.
Nick looked down, clearing his throat, and then back at Marge.
“I just wanted to view the video from the robbery one more time.”
I shook my head, furrowing my brow. “I could have brought you a copy.”
“You risk your job every time you sneak evidence out. This is easier.”
I crossed my arms. “So you made a fake identity and risked scrambling people’s brains for one case?”
“Marge said she has more.”
“Marge...” I sighed.
She held up both index fingers to stop me. “He’s a professional.”
“I’m a professional!”
Marge rifled through one of her filling drawers before producing a thick, dog-eared folder with sticky notes, paper clips, and odd newspaper clippings sticking out at every angle. “Welcome to Marge’s World of Weird. I’ve made some friends in this business over the years, and they know what I like. All the freaky and unexplained ends up in my inbox.”
“Thank you, Marge.” He winked at her.
“We aim to please, sweetie,” she smirked, leaning back in her chair.
“Seriously. This is how you’re getting cases now? Raiding Marge’s old stacks of conspiracy theories?”
“The Bleak doesn’t know everything. If they did, none of it would be happening in the first place. I get my cases wherever I find them. I’ve found them in stranger places.”
If nothing else, it was nice to hear the Bleak wasn’t nearly as all-knowing as I’d always feared. I looked back and forth between Nick and Marge. “Wait—you two talked? When?”
“You mean, do we talk about you?” Marge said, leaning forward.
I sighed. “Never mind. I don’t care.”
“Because we do talk about you,” Marge said, dropping her voice. “And the sleepovers. And the burritos.”
Nick glanced at me uneasily, and then back at Marge. “It wasn’t like that. It was work-related.”
“Hmm.” Marge raised her eyebrows, sitting back. She picked up her pen and twirled it in her fingers. “So. Have you figured out how Samson Grift is connected to this yet?”
My heart sank.
Nick’s eyes flashed to me. “Grift isn’t connected to this. You’re still researching Grift?”
“Oh...” Marge looked from Nick to me. She stood up. “I’m going to go get coffee, unless that’s not far enough... And I see we’re not joking here. I’ll be back. Maybe.”
He waited until she left, shutting the door behind her. He positioned himself between me and the door, setting down his coffee cup before hooking his thumbs in his belt.
He had me cornered, and he knew it. He loved this part of the game.
“I told you, Robert was confused. You’re still wasting your time on this?”
I stood up to face him properly. He didn’t know the full extent of my research, and I wasn’t ready for him to know, either. “I was just following up in my spare time. I found an old record that might implicate Grift for framing my father.”
Nick’s hands fell to his sides. His mouth fell open a little. “An old record?”
>
I nodded. I hoped to the gods he didn’t know there were no records on Grift. “Yeah, it’s weird. It was just this one thing in the system, but now I can’t find it.” After all the time I’d spent with Alex, I was good at a classic CYA maneuver. I sighed, furrowing my brow and fighting the urge to glance away. “I probably just dreamed it, I’ve been so shaken up. I know it’s ridiculous that I’m still looking.”
Nick relaxed some. He flashed me a small smile. “It’s not ridiculous. I know it was traumatic when your father was taken away, and you want to know what happened. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you haven’t asked me about Grift yet. You know I knew him. Why not ask me?”
The spark in his eye made me think that he was on to me, but if he was, he wasn’t going to push it any further. He just smirked, leaning against the desk, less than an arm’s length away from me.
And the question hung in the air.
I didn’t admit anything. “Did he frame my father?”
He exhaled slowly. “You think if I knew, I wouldn’t have already told you?”
“You cut deals with criminals,” I said calmly. I wasn’t sure where this was going, or how Nick had the upper hand when I was supposed to be interrogating him. He was too good at this. “You cut a deal with me. And you used to work with a notoriously dirty cop.”
He raised his chin. “One imaginary source makes him notorious?”
Fuck. He was way too good at this. “Notorious enough. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No.” He drew the word out. “I know you don’t like the unsavory details regarding certain aspects of my life. But I will tell you, if there’s something you want to know.”
Nick was as still as only a vampire could be. It’s a hard thing to describe unless a person has ever witnessed it directly, but when they want to—when they’re hiding, or hunting—they can become as still as the furniture. As immovable as a wall. It’s an incredibly unnerving reminder that they’re technically no longer living.
“Was Grift dirty?”
Nick didn’t blink. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Chapter 13
“AND YOU WERE WORKING with him?”
“I’ve worked with a lot of criminals,” he said, as though it should be obvious. “It’s kind of my thing.”
I couldn’t believe he was being so casual about it. All the rage I had bottled over the years—the anger toward the Bleak, and society, and whoever had framed my father—suddenly flooded through me. If Nick had allowed this man to hurt me—to hurt so many others—then he truly was the Bleak incarnate.
A hot flash went straight from my chest to my palms, the magic pounding in my ears like a hammer on an anvil. I clenched my fists, trying to keep it in.
I thought it was going to happen, right then and there.
Then it struck me. “The Bleak used you as an infiltrator. They knew about Grift, so they picked a guy with the right reputation to work with him.”
“Very good, Driftwood.” He leaned back a little. His eyes wandered my face, as if trying to determine what I thought of this information. “He was one of the worst I’ve ever known. But when he went down, we took out so many others, too. Murderers. Traffickers.”
“Why isn’t he in the database?”
His eyebrows raised. His voice lowered. “You said he was in the database.”
“He’s not now. Why?”
Nick raised a hand, splaying his palm up. “He was a dirty handler. His information’s been removed to a level above your pay grade.”
“Did he frame my father?”
He looked me directly in the eyes. “I know you. I know what this means to you. If I knew the man responsible for what happened, your father wouldn’t be where he is now. Your father’s record was superb. They would not put away a productive breaker like him on the meddling of a man like Grift. I don’t know if they ever crossed paths, but if they did, it would have been before I knew him. Grift did not frame your father.”
His words cut deep, because I absolutely believed him. He opened his flask and gave me a long look before drinking.
“But, Robert—”
“Robert was confused,” Nick said. He tucked his flask away, seeming a little more relaxed for his vice.
I shook my head. I had to see him. I had to look him in the eye. “Where is Grift now?”
Nick breathed a slow sigh as he looked away, and my heart sank. I wasn’t going to like his answer.
“He’s dead. I was there.”
My voice went high. My hands prickled, and the hammering in my ears changed to a buzzing. “You killed him?”
He was reaching for his flask again. “Again, do you really want the details?”
I leaned back against my desk as the buzzing became more of a fizzing. “No.”
Nick took another drink. I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling foolish.
I wanted to feel relieved. Nick swore that Grift hadn’t framed my father. I’d been barking up the wrong tree.
But he was dead, and somehow, it felt like I had been robbed of the release. Like the magic inside me was coiling tight, wanting to spring, and strike—and now there was nothing to strike at.
Maybe Grift had framed my father. Maybe Nick just didn’t know, or maybe he wanted to spare me.
Robert had used his dying words to try to tell me something. Maybe I just hadn’t found the connection yet. Maybe Robert was just crazy.
Maybe I was crazy.
“Jette.” I hated the pity in his eyes. “I have connections who can access those records. Let me help you.”
Nick’s hazel eyes studied my face, and I didn’t see a hint of malice or deception.
I didn’t know if I could stop or not. “Okay.”
He nodded without smiling. “I remember that case vividly. I am not exaggerating when I say that you’re researching something very dangerous, and you shouldn’t try to question any acquaintances of Grift alone. They will make you disappear, and they will do so in ways that even I won’t be able to find or help you. Promise me you won’t go after this alone.”
He reached out to touch my shoulder. His hand trailed down my arm. For just a moment, his fingers touched mine, and I could swear they lingered too long... But then they were gone. Nick withdrew his hand. The muscle in his jaw gave a nervous twitch.
“Please,” he said. “Do not put yourself in that situation.”
I could still feel his fingers on mine, sending an electric warmth up my arm. And just like that, my trust in him was gone.
We were working together on the same side now. Or, at least, we were supposed to be. We weren’t supposed to have secrets.
Why did I feel that wasn’t the case?
Honesty. Angel was right. Unless he came out and said it, I couldn’t trust it. I didn’t trust it, because Nick was the kind of crazy hot and charming that only a daywalker could pull off. He used his charm against everyone, and now I wondered if he was using it against me.
And even knowing it was a trick, I wanted him to touch me again.
I watched him closely. The way his hand rested on the desk. The slight slouch of his shoulders.
The way he was refusing to look at me. Two could play this game.
The silence hung between us.
“I didn’t know you were a cat person.”
“You don’t like cats?” I looked sharply up at him.
I caught a hint of a smile. “I like cats.”
I returned his smile. “I promise. I won’t go after Grift, or any of his associates, by myself.”
“HI, I’M LOOKING FOR Louis Irvine.” I glanced down at the address on my phone and then at the numbers on the house. “I’m not sure if I have the right address. It says 677 B.”
The house was a nice single-family Tudor-style in the suburbs. It was about two hours away from my day job at the evidence room, though. After picking up my new cat, getting sold on cat toys I didn’t need while getting a litter box and food, and dropping off my new companion at my place,
my arrival here had been well after midnight.
I spent the night sleeping in my car. Nick hadn’t called to check on me, so I was reasonably sure I wasn’t being followed. He was probably too busy keeping an eye on Millie.
I was lucky the people in 677 had a baby and got up at the crack of dawn. I needed to start driving back before he found something Roost-related to assign me to.
“Oh.” The young woman opened the screen door. She had a toddler on her hip and hoisted him a little higher. “Right address, but I’m afraid you’ve missed him. We bought the house six months ago, and the B address was for the apartment that was in the basement.”
“Any chance you bought it from Louis Irvine?” I asked. When the young woman glanced around nervously, I relaxed my shoulders and smiled. “I’m sorry. I was adopted, and I’m trying to find my birth parents, and this was one of the only leads I had. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, but anything you can tell me, I would be truly grateful.”
A kind smile lit on her face. “I don’t actually remember the seller’s name, but if you want to leave your number I’ll check for you. I’m pretty sure we bought it from an older gentleman.”
Not fast enough. I smiled anyway. “Thank you so much. I can’t even tell you what this means to me.”
I left my cell number with her. I had my phone out before I even shut my car door.
“Marge in charge, what’s up?”
I swiped my finger across my laptop’s trackpad to wake it. “You’re not supposed to answer the phone that way.”
“And you’re not supposed use taxpayer time to hunt down supernatural bad guys, but here we are,” she sighed. “Marigold Jones, Fallvale PD evidence room. How can I help you today?”
“I need you to run an address history for me,” I said.
“So now you want me to use taxpayer time to hunt down supernatural bad guys.” She shuffled some papers. “You know, I’m kind of busy over here.”
I rolled my eyes. “With what? What drama are you reading now?”
“I happen to be checking in evidence.” Her voice went up an octave. “A new indecent exposure case came in.”
