by S. J. Harper
He leaves us with another mumbled apology for the interruption and heads quickly toward another couple standing a few feet away. It startles me because I hadn’t noticed them before. They must have come out while I was busy with Barakov. But their eyes are on me. They saw it all, felt the pull of my power. They don’t even look away while being shepherded toward the door.
Zack watches them watch us. When they’ve disappeared inside, he says, “Well, that was awkward.”
I’m still breathless with the implication of what I almost let happen between Zack and me. I was as caught up in the moment as he was. I get a sudden chill—I can fool myself into thinking a fling with Zack would mean nothing, but Demeter? She who feels every emotion I try so hard to hide would know better.
The sound of applause spills into the entry. We pass through the double doors of the Crown Room just in time to hear Green Leaf’s founder, Alan Pierce, make his introductions. I refocus my thoughts, ignore the fact that Zack’s arm is around my shoulders, and watch.
Alan Pierce is younger than I expected. His tuxedo is well tailored, traditional. He thanks the guests and talks briefly about the company’s mission. He speaks with the passion of a man who believes in what he is doing, and his delivery is smooth and polished. Alan ends by publicly recognizing the members of the board of directors who are present.
First, he points out Dr. Alexander Barakov and Dr. Barbara Pierce. His parents.
Zack leans down and whispers, “There’s an interesting connection.”
“Yes, it is.”
He moves on, introducing Taylor Cummings. The former soap opera actress is lapping up the applause. In fact, I get the distinct impression that’s why she came. Cummings gave up a not so promising career a couple of years ago to marry Southern California construction magnate Jack Reynolds. I remember some talk a few years ago about her having a drinking problem. Tonight, not only is Cummings quite tipsy, she’s quite conspicuously alone.
The final introduction is of Gordon Jacobs. I recognize the name and the connection. I tug on Zack’s sleeve to get his attention. “Jacobs is a partner at the same firm as Evan. What if Polk and Wagner is involved with whatever is going on at Green Leaf and Evan stumbled upon it?”
“There’s one sure way you can find out,” Zack says. “Can you do it?”
Each use of my powers ensures Demeter’s disapproval and places me further from the possibility of forgiveness. But we’re at a dead end. Lives are at stake, one of them Evan’s.
“Yes, I can do it.”
Although an auctioneer is managing the bidding process, Alan Pierce is reading the item descriptions. The one currently up for bid is being “modeled” by an attractive young woman. It’s a colorful tote bag made from brightly colored recycled candy wrappers.
“Should I take Taylor Cummings or Barbara Pierce?” Zack asks.
I look around. Drs. Pierce and Barakov are nowhere to be seen. “I think Pierce and Barakov left.” Was he uneasy over the conversation we had? Perhaps he was afraid of running into me again.
Zack checks his watch. “Taylor Cummings it is,” he says. “Let’s meet back at the car in thirty minutes?”
I nod.
Zack grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, then heads off. I see Jacobs making a beeline for the bar and follow. The man is in his mid to late fifties, overweight, red-faced. He orders a scotch, neat. I do the same. The smell coming off him confirms this scotch is not his first.
“It’s a little warm in here.” I fan myself, then offer him my hand. “Emma Monroe.”
“Gordon Jacobs. How are you connected to Green Leaf?”
“I’m not, really.” Michael Dexter’s piece is about to be introduced and Alan has called him to the stage. I gesture toward Dexter. “I’m a guest of the artist.”
Jacobs’ eyes drift to the front of the room. The bidding has started. “Boyfriend?”
“God, no. Michael’s gay. I was just going to step out for a breath of fresh air. Care to join me?” I offer him a smile filled with promise. He predictably takes the bait.
We go out the front door, circle around the side of the hotel, past some of the quaint shops that are closed, and then onto the ocean veranda. The entire time, Jacobs talks about himself, his illustrious career, and his passion for golf and deep-sea fishing. I feign fascination. Despite the leisurely pace, by the time we get there, Jacobs is out of breath. Thankfully, the veranda is empty. This time, I make doubly sure. The large open space ensures that I won’t make the same mistake and miss another couple half-hidden by shrubbery.
The air has grown chilly. The moon is still bright enough that I can see the waves as they crash onto the shore in front of us. Since I’d rather not spend any more time with this bore than necessary, I tap into my powers and get down to business.
Jacobs succumbs to my influence even more quickly than Barakov. The alcohol in his system and my power break down any resistance he might feel to answering my questions. I spend ten, maybe fifteen minutes grilling him and get nothing of value. He thinks Evan is exceptionally talented, with the courtroom presence and breadth of knowledge rarely found in a man his age. When I ask if he’s aware that Evan’s missing, he thinks I mean from the party and says he’s probably just running a bit late—there’s a very high-profile case he’s in the midst of trying. Mention of Isabella and Amy elicits empty stares.
Essentially, Jacobs’ connection to Green Leaf is financially motivated. Scoring Green Leaf as a client helped Polk and Wagner lure in Evan and gave the firm an entrée into what’s become a very lucrative niche. As a senior member of the firm, he’s more than happy to attend a few board meetings a year in order to keep that highly visible cash cow happy. Privately, Jacobs thinks global warming is a bunch of hooey. He couldn’t care less about the mission.
There’s only one thing on Jacobs’ mind tonight and it has nothing to do with charity. Finally tiring of his feeble attempts at seduction, and with a silent apology to the other women at the party, I send him back inside.
I hope Zack is doing better than I am.
When I reach the parking lot, Zack is already in the car, waiting for me. My first thought is that he, too, struck out. Not only did he beat me back to the car, but his jacket and tie are now gone, his sleeves rolled up.
“Any luck?” I ask, steeling myself for disappointment. I’d so hoped to have news of a break for Liz.
Zack pulls a cocktail napkin from his pants pocket. “I got Taylor’s phone number.” He dangles it in front of me. “She put it in my pocket herself. You?”
“Nothing.” I climb into the passenger seat and kick off my shoes.
Zack crushes the napkin into a ball and tosses it into the backseat. “Now what? We’re no closer than before. All we’ve got is a thin connection between Green Leaf and the disappearances.”
He’s staring straight ahead, into the darkness, his brow furrowed. His profile is sharp and clean, his lips turned down at the corners.
I have to steel myself to keep from giving in to an impulse. I want to turn his face toward mine, brush my lips across his.
I look away quickly. “Then the connection to Green Leaf is where we’ll start,” I say. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll look at the case with fresh eyes.”
But not tonight. Tonight, I know what I want. I want to break this spell Zack has on me. I need to break it. I need to stop wondering, to get him out of my system.
There’s one sure way to do that. One even Demeter can’t fault.
“Take me home.”
Zack reaches for the seat belt. As he slides the latch home, I cover his hand with mine.
I take his chin and turn his face until his eyes meet mine. “Take me to your home.”
A slow smile forms.
“Don’t. Don’t read anything into this, Zack. It’s just for tonight. It’s just sex.”
He throws the car into reverse. “Right. Just tonight. Just sex.”
CHAPTER 16
“I hope red is all right. I’m out of white.” Zack leans casually in the doorway, a glass of wine in each hand.
“So this is it?” I give one of the steel bars a shake before accepting the wine. The cage is built solid.
“I hope you realize I don’t invite just any girl up to see my cage.” He smiles, but without warmth or humor. It’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“How long ago were you turned?”
His eyes become distant. “I wasn’t turned. My father was Were.” He nods toward the cage. “This was originally his. It’s mine now. But that’s a story for another day.”
“So you always knew you were Were?”
“I knew my father was. He was adept at hiding it from the world, but he didn’t hide it from me. He wanted to prepare me for the possibility that I carried the gene. The testing that’s available now wasn’t then. I didn’t know for sure until my freshman year in high school. That’s when everything changed.”
“I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”
He smiles wryly. “At first it was incredible. Everything became better, more intense. I was faster, stronger. I evolved in ways you couldn’t imagine and I never anticipated. I’d always been a good athlete. After my ascension I was unbeatable, and not just during the changeling times. I should have held back. I didn’t. I was ambitious. I wanted to go to college. Recruiters flocked to my games. Unfortunately, not just college recruiters. I came to the attention of the wrong people.”
One glance and somehow I know. “The people you worked for?”
He studies his glass, swirling the wine gently before taking a sip. “Yes.”
There’s no way I can let him leave it at that. Now that he’s opened up, I want to hear the whole story. “Tell me the rest.”
He shakes his head. “The rest of this sounds like the plot from a bad sci-fi movie. Not the average woman’s idea of foreplay.”
I have to smile at that. “Remember who you’re talking to. What do you think the story of my life sounds like? Plus, Siren. We don’t really need foreplay. I guess I could have saved you a lot of time if I’d told you that before.”
He laughs. “That’s okay. I like to be thorough. Take pride in my work.” He closes the gate to the cage. Locks it. Starts to move away.
I take his hand, make him turn back toward me. “Please? I want to know.”
He takes another pull from his glass, stares down into it. Finally he relents.
“They knew what I was. I was told they represented a special division of the U.S. military. Only it turned out they were more of a subcontracted splinter group. They said they were building a special team to carry out top secret military operations and they wanted me on board.”
“Flattering.”
“It was to a seventeen-year-old. The opportunity to join an army of supernatural creatures who would fight against tyranny and protect the American way was too compelling to pass up.” He looks up. “I completely let go of the idea of college. Why sit in a classroom when I could be part of a real-life Justice League? I volunteered. For a kid with an IQ of one sixty, I was incredibly stupid and naive.”
I reach out and touch his cheek. “Or incredibly brave and courageous.”
“I’ve never spoken of it before.”
“Why me? Why now?”
“Because you’re unrelenting and work on me like kryptonite?”
I frown, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt so that I don’t have to look him in the eye.
“I know you could find out anything you want about me at any time,” he says at last, lifting my chin. “But you let me tell the story myself. Is there anything else you want to know?”
A dozen questions flit through my mind before I settle on one.
“What is it that finally made you break away, leave that life?”
He hesitates. Seconds pass. Just when I reach the conclusion he’s not going to tell me, he takes a deep breath and begins.
“I was sent on a mission. It was supposed to be quick, simple. Everything had been carefully orchestrated. The research, as always, was thorough. The target was a threat to national security. He’d reportedly been responsible for the loss of many lives, could be responsible for the deaths of a great deal more. He was a monster who needed to be eliminated. At least that’s what I was told, what I believed.”
“You were sent to kill him.”
Zack nods. “I had a custom-made long-range rifle and a clear view. The target was supposed to be alone. No one else was visible when I lined up the shot and took aim. I’m good at what I do. What I did. The shot was clean.” He swallows. “But the target wasn’t alone. She must have entered the room right after I pulled the trigger. I watched, through my scope. It was surreal, a macabre silent horror film unfolding before me. One of my own making. One that afterward I couldn’t get out of my head. I still can’t. She threw herself on top of the target. Crying. Screaming. Soaked in his blood. She was four. He was her father. And . . . as it turned out . . . I was the monster.”
I place my hand on Zack’s shoulder and give it a squeeze. “You are not a monster. You killed one man to save hundreds.”
He smiles ruefully. “It was a lie, Emma.” He turns to look at me, his eyes shadowed with regret. “The dossier was a complete fabrication. It was about money and power. It wasn’t about saving lives. And it wasn’t just about killing one man. It wasn’t just one man. There were a lot of men over the years. Every one of them someone’s son, or husband, or father. I started to dig. The more I did, the more lies I uncovered. I wasn’t doing something noble, something to be proud of. I was nothing more than a very highly trained, highly paid assassin. No matter what I do, how many I manage to save, I’ll never be able to give back the lives I took.”
“That’s why working these cases has become so important to you. You can’t return that little girl’s father to her, not ever. But you can find and return others.”
“And I do, just like you. In so many ways, we’re coming from the same place, you and I. We’re seeking the same kind of salvation. That’s why we make such a great team.”
Zack is right. We do make a great team. We are on the same path, in search of the same thing. “The people you worked for, they just let you walk away?”
“Hardly. Suffice it to say I fixed things so that I pose more of a threat to them dead than alive. We’re at a stalemate. I’ve accepted I can’t take them down. For now. They’ve accepted my decision. For now.”
Zack holds out his hand.
I take it.
“No more talk about sad things. Not tonight.”
I let him lead me down a short hall to a door on the left. He pushes it open, giving me a clear view of the master suite.
On the far side of the room is a set of double French doors. They open onto a balcony, offering a breathtaking view of the moonlit beach and ocean beyond. Cream doupioni curtains hang over the doors, the rich silk fabric flutters in the evening breeze. There’s a fire in the fireplace to the left of the bed. It fills the room with warmth, a contrast to the cool night air drifting in from outside. On the mantel is an array of candles, which he’s also taken the time to light. There are more on the dark walnut nightstands, which flank the enormous king-sized sleigh bed. The lamps on the either side of the bed remain off. They aren’t needed. A natural glow fills the room. The flames from the fire and candles flicker and dance, casting shadows on the wall.
I hesitate. The first time we were together was all flying clothes, insistent hands, and hot openmouthed kisses. I guess after my admission and in light of his nature, I was expecting the same. For tonight, at least, he’s got that aggression thoroughly locked away.
“You’re in control here.”
“Honestly, I
think I’d be more comfortable if we were both out of control.” I take a sip of my wine. There is the aroma of sea salt and burned wood in the air, as well as a mix of vanilla and orange, cinnamon and ginger. “You always keep scented candles around?” I ask over the rim of my glass.
“I figure you’ve got to give a girl something if you’re going to hold back on the foreplay.”
I walk over to the bed and run my hand over the duvet cover. Like those downstairs, the fabrics are rich and lush. Earth tones dominate—taupe walls, cream drapes, dark brown bedding with gold accents. I move to the fireplace. There’s a large mirror above it. I can see Zack’s reflection as he crosses the room to join me.
He places his hands gently on my shoulders. “Listen, it’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. You were right this morning when you said there are a lot of reasons not to do this.”
My gaze lifts to meet his in the mirror. “And yet here we are.”
He reaches out with one hand, brushing his fingertips down the side of my neck before tracing a painstakingly slow path along the edge of my gown’s neckline—starting in front of my shoulder and ending at the zipper. “You’re sure you want this?”
I’ve had sex with plenty of men during my lifetime. A good many of those men have been quite imaginative. Some have even been memorable. With a few, it still hurts to think about. I’ve been here many times before. So what is it about this man that makes me ache so?
Do I want him? I shiver. I do. “In the worst possible way.”
Zack encircles my waist with his left arm, then dips his head, nose at the nape of my neck. He inhales deeply, breathing me in just like before, only then it was with more subtlety. This time it feels decidedly primitive, possessive.
My own breath catches.
I feel a slight tug as he pulls down my zipper. The fabric parts, exposing my back. I close my eyes and wait. Then I feel Zack’s fingers skimming down over my skin, tracing the edges of my ink. The pair of wings covers most of my back. It’s not a tattoo I chose. Like so much else, Demeter chose it for me. I was marked the day I was stripped of my real wings, the day I was sent here. Because I don’t see them every day, you might think I’d forget. I never forget.
