by June Stevens
Before I could speak or throw a rock at him, he was at the end of the block and disappeared around a corner. I leaned against the door, silently cursing Jarrett, and wondering if my jelly legs would make it upstairs to my bed.
Kissing Anya Moon had been the wrong thing to do. Saving her had been the right thing to do. She was, after all, his best friend’s sister. The fact that he’d wanted to rip to shreds the three assholes who had dared to chase her and feed them to the fish in the river had everything to do with protecting his friend, and nothing to do with the strange possessiveness gripping him the moment he’d recognized her as she’d ran across the bridge.
Yep. And his name was Princess Moonbeam.
Kissing Anya Moon had been the wrong thing to do because it had brought the memory of her taste and feel to the forefront of his mind when he thought he’d put their brief encounter behind him. She had lingered in his thoughts and dreams over the past six months like no other woman ever had, and just when she’d faded from his daily thoughts, there she was again. But mostly, kissing Anya Moon had been the wrong thing to do because now he wanted nothing more than to go back and kiss her again and again and again.
Jarrett groaned to himself and stomped up the stairs of the Nash City Black Blade Guard headquarters building to the twenty-fifth floor where he inserted a crystal into a slot next to the door to unlock it and entered the hallway where his private room was located. He strode to the last door and repeated the crystal procedure to enter the large room that served as his private office and, when he didn’t have other options, his sleeping quarters whenever he was in Nash City. He rarely used the room since he was rarely in the city, but he kept a few items of clothing and some spare weapons in the room, just in case. He mostly used it for the reason he’d come here today—to contact his commander in Atlanta with the private scry-crystal.
It was times like this that he sorely missed the cell phone age. Even with the privacy vulnerabilities of technology, with a little added magic, it had been a simple task to get a secure line to his commander from anywhere in the world. While portable scry-crystals had taken up some of the slack after the Cataclysm, they could only be used to contact other scry-crystals within a couple hundred-mile radius and they were impossible to secure. When it was time to report in to Atlanta, Jarrett had to go to the nearest allied city-state with a Black Blade Guard headquarters building. Each one had a network of large scry-crystals tuned exclusively to other headquarters. In Nash, he had a large, wall-mounted crystal in his room that was coded to connect with only one other crystal, the one in the office of the Kukri division commander in Atlanta. The crystal was protected with privacy spells and kept at full power by Blade chargers.
Sitting at the desk, he placed his hand on the blank crystal. His personal energy signature activated it, and the clear, glassy surface turned cloudy as the connection to the crystal several hundred miles away was made. After a few seconds, the fog cleared and revealed a vampire who appeared to be in his mid-thirties with close-cropped blond hair and a close-shaven jaw. Commander Hugh Westbrook was relatively new to his position as the leader of the Kukri division. A little over sixty years ago, he replaced Commander Bonassio who had founded the Kukri as a squad of spies and assassins in the early years of the Spanish Inquisition. Over the centuries, the job description had not varied much, though they did a little less assassinating and more tracking and apprehending dangerous paranorm criminals.
“Campbell, good to hear from you. It’s been a while, any progress?” Westbrook said, offering a tight smile.
Westbrook was friendly, but direct and to the point. He didn’t waste time with idle chitchat. Jarrett appreciated that because he detested these reports. It was the most tedious part of his job, and this particular report was especially loathsome.
“Nothing positive, sir. All substantiated evidence points to the death of Agent Solahan when she fell from the building in Detroit eight months ago,” he replied, choosing his words carefully.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Solahan was a fine operative. What is your case recommendation?”
“That we suspend investigation, unless and until further evidence surfaces.”
Westbrook nodded solemnly. “With current evidence, I hereby designate Agent Cora Solahan as killed in the line of duty.”
Pain and regret sliced through Jarret, but he didn’t let it show. “Yes, sir. I will file the appropriate paperwork to close the case and have it sent out with the next messenger.” Blade messengers relayed documents and packages between the headquarters of each city-state. Messengers left Nash for Atlanta every other day.
“Very good. Anything else?” Westbrook asked.
“Actually, Commander there is one last thing. I would like to formally request permission to take my mandatory leave,” Jarrett asked on impulse.
Westbrook’s eyes went wide. He was almost as shocked at the request as Jarrett. “This is the first time in sixty-three years I haven’t had to force you to take your mandatory leave. Should I be concerned?”
No, but I think I should be, Jarrett thought. Out loud, he said. “No sir. This has been a difficult assignment and I could use a little time to decompress.”
“Understandable. Always hard to lose a fellow agent. Consider yourself on leave as soon as you hand your paperwork over to the messenger. Report back in two weeks to resume duty,” the commander said. Then added, “I believe you have some extra time built up, if you need more than two weeks, file a request via scry or certified messenger if you aren’t near a Blade headquarters.”
“Two weeks will suffice, thank you Sir.”
The commander nodded and reached forward to touch his scry-crystal. “Westbrook out,” he said, and the crystal went cloudy then blank.
Jarrett let out an exasperated sigh. He’d had zero intentions of requesting leave before he’d seen Anya this morning. The plan had been to conduct his business in Nash, then be headed out of the city, either back to Atlanta or out on another assignment, by tomorrow morning. Now, he had nothing to do and nowhere to be for the next two weeks.
He shook his head and rummaged through his desk drawers to find the report forms he needed to fill out to officially end his current assignment. Two friggin’ weeks. He wondered what had possessed him to request leave, but he had a feeling he already knew.
Kissing Anya Moon had been the wrong thing to do.
***
An hour and a half later, Jarrett handed an envelope full of completed forms to the clerk behind the counter in the mailroom of the Blade headquarters. As far as his boss and the Blades were concerned, he was officially on leave the moment the packet left his fingers. But he had one more report to make before he could put this case behind him—if he ever could.
He left the mailroom, used his identity crystal to access the private lift, and rode up to the top floor. Stepping into a hallway, he was welcomed by the sounds of shuffling papers, clicking typewriters, and low voices as support staff for the commander of the Nash City Blades went about their jobs. Jarrett strode past offices of secretaries, typists, researchers, and the highest-ranking Nash City Blades agents and went directly to the large office at the end of the hall. He tapped a single, cursory knock on the door and went in. He was surprised to find the office empty, but a deep, rich laugh made him turn.
Sam Harrison, the Commander General—though he abhorred anyone using his title—of the Nash City division of the Black Blade Guards, was sitting on the edge of a desk with three women surrounding him as he told what the women seemed to think was a funny story. Jarrett chuckled softly to himself. Sam could be reciting a market shopping list, but as long as he flashed those pearly whites and flexed his massive arm and chest muscles, he could hold almost any woman’s attention. As Jarrett watched, Sam raised one eyebrow high and the women giggled in unison. Shaking his head, Jarrett turned and went into Sam’s office to wait. He knew the man would tire shortly of being fawned over and be back to his all-business self.
Less t
han five minutes later, Sam strode into the office. “Hey, Buddy, didn’t know you were back in town,” he said, his words belying the complete lack of surprise in his eyes to see Jarrett.
“Just got in a couple of hours ago,” Jarrett said, though he figured Sam already knew that. His friend liked to pretend ignorance, but he tended to know everything that went on in the Blades’ building. He might not have known when Jarrett got into town, but odds were Sam had known the moment Jarrett had stepped into the building, or at the very least, the moment he’d first used his ID crystal.
Sam extended a fist and Jarrett met it with his own, bumping his friend’s knuckles in greeting. It was a ridiculous gesture they’d mockingly started long ago when it was the “in thing” for guys to do, but somehow it had stuck. Now, centuries later, it was their standard form of greeting.
“On assignment?” Sam asked, settling into the chair behind his desk.
Jarrett shook his head. “Not as of about fifteen minutes ago. I’m officially on mandatory leave.”
“And your case?”
“Closed.”
Disappointment clouded Sam’s dark features. “So no sign of Cora at all?”
“No. There have been whispers and rumors, but I’ve ran them all down. I haven’t laid eyes on her since…”
“The night she jumped,” Sam finished for him.
A knot formed in Jarrett’s throat. “Yeah.”
During the Cataclysm, what had once been the state of Michigan was flooded with water and nuclear radiation. The parts that remained above water created an island in the middle of the Michigan Gulf called Detroit, or No Man’s Land to most. The ruins were overrun with criminals, mostly vampires. Detroit was out of bounds to most Blades, the Council of Elders deeming it unsafe for agents. But he wasn’t most Blades, he was Kukri, an assassin. Even Kukri only ventured into No Man’s Land under the direst of circumstances. To Jarrett, rescuing his former partner had qualified. But as they stood on top of that crumbling building on the edge of a rocky cliff, she hadn’t wanted to be saved. Standing on the ledge, she begged him to leave her alone, and then she jumped, disappearing into the churning, rocky waters below.
“Jarrett.” Sam’s voice pulled Jarrett back to the present.
“What?”
“Where were you man? You just kind of left for a minute,” Sam said, his voice tinged with concern.
“Sorry, I have a hard time not playing it over and over in my head. She begged me not to make her go back to the Blades, to let her start over with a new life. And when I told her she had to come back, she jumped.”
“It’s understandable that you’re having a hard time with it. Watching anyone commit suicide is hard to cope with, but when it’s a partner and friend—especially one you have a history with like you had with Cora—there is going to be real trauma,” Sam said.
Jarrett shook his head. “That’s the thing, it just doesn’t feel like that. There was just something off about Cora. Her words were sad, desperate even. Yet, in her eyes, it wasn’t sadness. It was anger, fury, hatred. She did not look like a woman bent on suicide.”
“You think she survived the fall.” It was a statement, not a question.
“It’s what I’ve been working the past eight months to prove, but so far nothing. Logic says she hit the rocks, was knocked out, pulled under by the current, and drowned. Even a vampire would die in such violent seas. It was storming, and I’m pretty sure her arm was broken before she jumped. Even if she didn’t hit rocks, swimming would have been near impossible.”
“But still possible. Even injured she would have been strong and could hold her breath for quite a while. She could have survived.”
Jarrett shrugged. “I thought so, too. There was no sign of her body, but I also never saw her swim out, and I watched and searched the shoreline for hours. If she’d been there, I should have seen her. I’ve followed rumors and possible sightings of a redheaded vampire, but to no avail. Each one was a dead-end.”
Sam let out a sigh. “The case is closed now, so you’ve given up?”
Jarrett shrugged. “I had no choice. It’s been eight months. The commander wanted to close the case immediately. It was only my gut feeling that perhaps she survived that allowed me to keep working it this long. The last time I checked in, two months ago, he told me I needed to wrap it up. It has been more than six weeks since I’ve had any kind of lead. I figured now was time. All I can do is hope that if she’s alive, she has found a peaceful, happy life.”
“I’m with you in the doubt department,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Cora is not—was not—the type of woman to just give up and kill herself. Not even if she was distraught, though it is difficult to imagine Cora hysterical. Do you think she really loved that prick, or maybe she was brainwashed?”
Jarrett thought back to the gang leader Cora had been assigned to kill, but hadn’t. He couldn’t get the look on her face, or the sound of her screams, out of his head when she’d seen the man’s dead body after Jarrett had done the job. “I don’t know. She was with him and his gang for nearly two years. Anything could have happened to her.”
Sam gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Then perhaps it’s better not to find her. Maybe she really did just need to get away from the Blades and find some peace.”
“Maybe,” Jarrett agreed, but he wasn’t so sure. “Whatever happened, the case is officially closed.”
“And the official report?” Sam asked.
“Agent Cora Solahan of the Black Blade Guard, Kukri Division, died in the line of duty after being held captive in excess of one year by a slaver gang she had been ordered to infiltrate and spy on. Her death occurred during rescue after an intense fight. She ventured too near the ledge, lost her balance, and fell,” Jarrett repeated what he’d typed into the report less than an hour before.
“You haven’t told anyone your suspicion that she hadn’t lost contact with her handler because she was being held captive, but rather because she’d switched sides?”
“Just you. I had no real proof, other than her hysterical rantings on that roof.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Other than the fact that the fight you mentioned in the report was actually her trying to kill you, not her trying to escape from Dread’s men?”
“Details,” Jarrett quipped. “You know those reports are supposed to be concise. I was just being efficient.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but then nodded. “True. If it matters, I agree with your decision not to give voice to your suspicions. I believe you’re correct, and if she truly is gone, sullying her name does nothing. Better to have her remembered as a dedicated agent. After all, whatever happened in that last year, she gave seven centuries of loyalty to the Blades.”
Jarrett had known his friend would see it that way. It was how he, Jarrett, had viewed the situation, as well. “It does matter.”
Sam let out another long sigh. “I’ll keep my ears open just in case, but I think you’re right. It’s time to put this behind us and move on. I appreciate you letting me know the truth though.”
“Hey, we may not be partners anymore, man, but we’ll always be brothers. You knew Cora even longer than I did. There’s history there. I felt like you deserved to know.”
Sam nodded, and then slammed his hand on the table. “So, on leave, huh? Headed off to parts unknown? Take that leaky tub of yours out to sea for a few weeks?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject and mood.
Six months ago, that is exactly what Jarrett would have done. But that was before his last leave, when he’d stayed in Nash to meet an informant with information on a possible sighting of Cora. He’d ended up helping his friend Fiona out on a case and meeting her sister, Anya. Now, two weeks alone on his boat didn’t look as appealing as it always had before.
“I think I’ll hang around town for a few days. It’s been a while since I’ve spent time in Nash.”
“Not so long, at least not compared to your usual comings and goings. I don’t suppose your
sudden interest in taking leave time has anything to do with a certain red-haired bartender?” Sam asked, a note of humor in his voice.
“And if it does?” Jarrett didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what Sam was talking about. Neither did he wonder why Sam was asking. Though he and Anya had been discreet, Sam hadn’t kept his job as the head of the Blades in Nash City for almost a hundred years by being unobservant.
“Need I remind you that Anya is like a niece to me?”
“Is this where I proclaim that my intentions are honorable?” Jarrett laughed.
“You could, but I’d know you were lying. Besides, I highly doubt Anya has ever had an honorable intention in her life, at least where a man is concerned, which is why I asked in the first place. I’ve never known you to dally with a norm, or to go back for seconds.”
“Don’t read more into it than there is, Sam. It’s been a hard few months. I’m ready for a couple of weeks of relaxation. I just happen to be in Nash. Anya is my best friend’s sister. I’m sure we will run into each other. If we do, we are both adults and can conduct our business accordingly.” His tone was light, but there was an edge of warning to the last sentence.
Sam raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I get it. It’s none of my business. Just a warning though, Fiona might be your best friend, but she won’t hesitate to kill you if you hurt her sister. I really don’t want to have my best agent executed for murder. It would be a hassle replacing you, too.”
Jarrett laughed. “Your concern for my welfare warms the cockles of my soul.”
Sam grinned. “That’s me, a big bundle of love and concern.”
Jarrett laughed again, truly enjoying his friend’s company for the first time since he stepped into the office. “Yeah, you’re a big bundle of something,” he said, then ducked to avoid the file folder that whizzed past his head.
