Creatus Series Boxed Set

by Carmen DeSousa

  Obviously, they were discussing Reece. Michael clearly didn’t trust him and was hell-bent on finding anything he could to get Derrick to pull his support of him also.

  A sudden protectiveness welled up in her chest, but she was also curious. Trust fund for whom, she wondered. A wife? Was Reece married? Made sense. Most forty-nine-year-old humans were married. Maybe he was divorced. Hmm…she didn’t know how she felt about that either. Creatus didn’t get divorced. Of course, they rarely got married either.

  Falling meant you’d stay together always. ‘Till death do you part’ was a given, and usually a creatus would die within weeks of their partner’s death; they simply didn’t go on living after losing the love of their life, their true soul mate. If they were young, like her father, they moped through life only because they had a responsibility to do so.

  She still felt protective of Reece, though, so she marched inside the restaurant as if she’d just been walking in to get food. No way was she buying Michael’s lunch now.

  “Michael, Rebecca,” Vic said, cringing at the fake lilt in her voice. It was so unlike her. Actually, it was more like Rebecca. She stared down at the pixie-looking creatus, so dainty, so cute. Ugh, she thought. Just looking at her irritated her.

  “Hi…umm…Vic,” Rebecca stuttered.

  So…Rebecca felt threatened. That meant she was making moves on Michael, she surmised, since everyone clearly thought they were a couple now.

  “Hey, Vic.” Michael smiled and patted the seat next to his chair, closing up the folder in front of him and stuffing it into a Nike Gym Sack. Leave it to Mike…top-secret info, right into a flimsy nylon bag most teenagers would use.

  She pretended not to notice the file and accepted his invitation, enjoying the forced smile on Rebecca’s face. Vic didn’t know why she didn’t like Rebecca, but it was okay because Rebecca didn’t like her either.

  “Did you already order?” Vic asked.

  “Nope. Just sat down.” Michael was a good liar, too, Vic noted.

  “So, what are you discussing?” She lowered her words to a whisper that no human more than a foot away could hear. “Anything new on the rogue?”

  Michael’s chipper demeanor dropped with a suddenness that left deep lines etched in his face, giving him the appearance of being years older than he was. He nodded, closing his eyes. “Not here.”

  “Oh…okay,” she agreed.

  Normally they could talk low enough that they weren’t afraid of prying ears, so there had to be another reason Mike didn’t want to discuss it. Something she wasn’t going to like. Mike may be irritated with her, but he still wanted to protect her, as he always had, ever since they were kids.

  Even when she’d gotten into trouble at school, he’d come rushing to her defense. Whether it was a forgotten assignment or another creatus child.

  Creatus came from all over the world to attend school. It didn’t matter that they were a small race; they still fought amongst each other, as all kids did. For that matter, creatus didn’t have to be strangers to disagree, since obviously she and Rebecca couldn’t stand each other. It didn’t matter that they shared a common origin.

  Michael tapped his thumb on the table and then looked around the room nervously, finally catching the eye of a waiter. The man waved that he’d be with them in a moment. They were all regulars, so he probably assumed they wouldn’t mind. Of course they didn’t. Creatus’ favorite meal in public was sushi, and this place was the best around.

  “So, did Reece hang around a while?” Michael asked without making eye contact.

  “A few minutes…” she offered.

  “Hmm…” was all he said, and then the waiter approached the table, halting their stilted conversation. The man scribbled down their order and hustled off.

  “So, Rebecca, any word on that Washington promotion?” Vic asked, attempting to change the subject. She didn’t want to think about the kiss Reece and she had shared, what it could possibly mean.

  Rebecca glanced up from her iPhone. “Not sure. We’re still working on it.”

  “We’re?” Vic pressed, even though she knew who the ‘we’re’ was in her declaration, the reason Rebecca hated her. Michael was the other half of ‘we’re’. Although Rebecca was thirty-seven, it just seemed strange. After all, she was in kindergarten when Michael and Vic were in junior high.

  Rebecca twirled a lock of her short hair and gazed across the table at Michael. “Besides, Michael thinks I’m too valuable here right now.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Vic said, standing. “You know…I really should be getting back to the hospital. Could you bring my food, Mike?”

  “What…Why? What happened?” Mike stammered.

  Vic lifted her purse from the back of the chair, pulled out two twenties, and threw them on the table. “Get Derrick a couple orders too.” She raced out of the restaurant before Michael had a chance to follow. He knew where she’d be; it wasn’t as though she’d disappear. Besides, he had business to discuss with Rebecca; though, she doubted there’d be any more discussions about Reece over lunch, knowing Vic could be right outside listening.

  She’d wait until Michael returned from lunch, and then she’d get the answers she needed. She’d find out what Reece was hiding and why Michael felt compelled to dig up his past, and somehow, she’d try to ignore this feeling of emptiness that had taken residence inside of her. The tightness in her chest was so real that if she weren’t a doctor, she’d probably think she was having a heart attack, when in actuality it was heartache.

  She steeled herself as she climbed inside her car, immediately turning off the radio. No. She wouldn’t be the heartsick damsel in distress; she was and would always be the femme fatale. Her family was counting on her, since she was the best lead they had with Jonas’ new family and the Feds, it seemed.

  She’d put an end to all this nonsense that had suddenly interfered with and taken over their family’s peaceful life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Reece leaned back in the flimsy chair, but then quickly sat upright again when he heard the soft metal start to creak as though it were nothing more than an aluminum can beneath his two-twenty frame.

  Knowing only he could hear the metal begin to disintegrate, he ignored the visual of his body splayed out on the floor for others’ amusement and kept his face impassive as he stared across the long, stripped table at Special Agent Frank Cooper.

  At the moment, the table’s only purpose was to separate them, to make a suspect feel protected somehow, as though he had his own space. Later in the interview process, however, it’d give the interrogator a place to lean on when he bowed up against a suspect or a surface to slam down a piece of evidence. Or in Frank’s case, a place to set down his ever-present cup of black coffee. Strange that he didn’t have a cup clutched in his hand. Must be waiting to use that break as a time of reflection for Reece. An interval when Reece was supposed to come clean, wondering what Cooper had on him, what he had inside that folder.

  Cooper hadn’t made eye contact for several minutes; he just stared at the information inside the manila folder. He wasn’t actually reading anything. His gaze had become vacant but focused; his eyes hadn’t darted back and forth across the page as though he were reading. Instead, he looked like a college professor hiding behind a book that actually held a dirty magazine while students toiled at their studies, believing he was superior.

  The man emanated self-importance. Pride practically oozed from his pores. Why? Because he was a hotshot agent, because his family was wealthy, because he held a JSD from Stanford Law and a Ph.D. in psychology. That just proved how anti-social the man was.

  Reece had worked for him for more than six months, and other than his degrees and his previous life as a detective in missing persons in Phoenix, he knew nothing about the man.

  Cooper evidently had pull, though. He’d been able to hire Reece, even though Reece had surpassed the age limit by twelve years. Mostly, his veteran status and spotless record as a fi
rst-rate detective had sealed the deal, he was certain.

  “Hungry?” Cooper asked, the first words he’d uttered since he stepped into the room.

  “No,” Reece said. He was, but he’d wait until the interrogation was over, so he could pick apart his meal.

  Cooper slid the chair back from the table, allowing the corroded aluminum legs to scrape across the floor, causing a screech of metal against tile to fill the room. “Well, I’m getting some coffee. You want some?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Water, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Cooper dropped the thin file on the table and strolled out of the room.

  Reece smiled. Should he bite? Why not? Cooper obviously left the file for him. Reece glanced up at the mirrored window. No one was watching their exchange. Cooper wouldn’t want anyone watching him interrogate a witness—especially one of his own men. And since more than likely no other person had an interest in Reece other than Frank Cooper, he assumed that Cooper had secured the use of the interview room via his agent status.

  Reece shook his head and reached across the table, sliding the file in front of him. What could Cooper possibly have that would make for such entertaining reading? Maybe Reece shouldn’t look, just slide it back to Cooper’s side of the table as soon as he opened the door, though, so he would assume that he’d looked.

  Reece glanced up again. This time, Frank Cooper stood on the other side of the mirrored glass, his arms crossed, waiting…for him to do something, he suspected. His vision had always been superior, of course. Another benefit his father had no explanation of. From the time he was a teenager, he’d had to pretend that he could barely read the last line when he took vision tests. He let his eyes wander, not making eye contact. How would Frank react if he found out that his ‘missing link’ had been right under his nose for the last six months?

  Since Cooper probably wouldn’t return until he opened the file, and Reece wanted this interview over as quickly as possible, he reached down and flipped open the file.

  Viselike tightness gripped his heart and his cheeks burned. Only his training kept him in his seat, kept him from smashing through the mirror and dragging Cooper’s body over the shards of glass and beating him to a pulp.

  Was this a threat?

  Reece swallowed the bile in his throat and summoned every ounce of strength he possessed to keep from blowing the identity that he’d worked so hard to protect his entire life. The animal inside that he knew he could be, the monster that could tear limbs from a human if he wanted. And right now, for the third time in his life, he felt the power he denied himself surge through his veins. The strength that he’d controlled his entire life ached for a release. When he’d torn the steel door from the hinges to get to Victoria this morning, it was the first time he’d released a fraction of his strength.

  Even so, he hadn’t felt this much murderous rage toward Jonas, as he knew he wouldn’t really hurt her; he wanted her alive, not dead.

  But now, after seeing the one photo inside the folder, knowing that Frank had meant it as a threat, he crushed the frame of his seat in his fists, struggled to maintain control.

  The door opened, and Reece gripped tighter, clenching his teeth and locking his body rigid so he wouldn’t launch at Frank Cooper’s throat. Even though his superior held his head high, the smell of fear permeated the room, offering Reece a modicum of dominion. He could kill Cooper and be out of the building before anyone knew. But then, he’d be on the run the rest of his life.

  Cooper scraped the chair across the tile again and sat down across from Reece. “I see I have your attention, Special Agent Buckley. Or should I call you Buck?”

  Reece licked his lips, tasting blood. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to know where you’ve been the last few weeks.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cooper slammed down his hand on the table, filling the room with a shrill peal, causing Reece to wince at the high-pitched clangor. “You think I’m stupid, Buckley?” Cooper shouted, bolting to his feet. Clearly, he’d mistaken Reece’s cringe as fear. “I found her, didn’t I?” he continued.

  With one hand, Reece forcibly removed the barrier between them, shoving the table against the brick wall, smashing bits of mortar and brick to the floor. His other hand had Cooper pinned against the mirror faster than the agent could blink. “You touch her, and you die.”

  He dropped his hand and turned his back on his supervisor. So much for staying cool.

  Frank didn’t say a word, but Reece heard the door open and slam shut.

  Nope. No one was watching their exchange on a camera either, or they would have barged through the door.

  Reece sat down again and scooped up the folder. How did he find you?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Vic decided that she’d better clean up and change clothes before heading to the hospital, since she’d probably return to her fifteen-hour days.

  Without having to guard Reece and unable to perform even the simplest of procedures, she wasn’t sure what she’d do all day, but she’d stay busy. Maybe she could assist Michael in tracking down their group of rogue creatus. Jonas had mentioned he had several families already join him, so there were others Michael needed to track down. If Jonas wasn’t working, he’d run out of money soon, so he had to have someone powerful backing him. Creatus had always worked and lived together in groups. Rarely did they venture out on their own without the support of other creatus. It was too lonely and too dangerous.

  As always, she had no problem parallel parking her tiny car directly outside her apartment building. Her abode was a small one-bedroom flat, but she loved it. Located just off Phillips Street in Beacon Hill, it was in a historical four-story brownstone. The updated kitchen with chrome appliances and granite countertops meant nothing to her other than they looked good. The bright rooms and hardwood floors were nice too. But without a doubt, the clincher for her shelling out the three thousand dollars a month rent for the barely six-hundred-square-foot apartment was that it was a penthouse with a huge private rooftop deck. A place that she could grow all the fresh vegetables she wanted without fear of pesticides or any other human interference and a sanctuary where she could escape after working all day.

  Within an hour of seeing the place, she’d stroked a check for nine thousand dollars—first, last, and security—knowing that as her realtor suggested, it wouldn’t last.

  Vic dropped her keys on the credenza by the door, but then eased her way back out of the entry. Eyes forward, scanning her apartment, she felt her way through her purse and found the syringe that she’d hoped she wouldn’t need again.

  She gulped and then spoke in a calm voice, “I can hear your heartbeat, Jonas.” He never was good at controlling his bodily functions, something most full-blooded creatus didn’t have trouble with. Being half-human—or maybe just hyper, in Jonas’ case—must make it more difficult.

  And smell him, she thought. As always, he smelled good, a woodsy and slightly sweet scent. Neither aroma dominating the other, but instead, complementing each other. If she hadn’t been so relaxed at the farm, he never would have been able to sneak up on her.

  Jonas stepped around the short wall of the hallway that led to her bedroom and bathroom, and Vic immediately shifted to a fighter’s stance, the syringe concealed inside the sleeve of her sweatshirt, held secure by her thumb.

  Jonas lifted his hands in surrender. “I just want to talk, Vic.” He searched her eyes as he slowly dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m not here for a fight, and I swear I’d never hurt you. I didn’t hurt you today; I just wanted you to come with me.”

  He took a step forward.

  “Stop!” Vic shouted, halting his forward motion. “Upstairs.” She opened the door opposite her small foyer that led to the rooftop, then backed her way up the stairs. “Follow me.” At least if she was outside, on the roof, she had a chance to escape if he was lying to her. Though, she couldn’t see why he w
ould. He had no reason to hurt her.

  Jonas followed behind her, taking each step slowly. He smiled as he reached the top. “Ahhh…memories,” he crooned. “It seems like only a few weeks ago we were wrapped up in each other’s arms up here—oh wait…it was only a few weeks ago.”

  Vic shook her head, remembering the night, remembering how he’d gotten angry with her and ran out of her apartment the next morning. How he’d gone out that same day and kidnapped Kristina, trying to kill her and Derrick at the same time. He knew that if Kristina died, Derrick would have died too.

  “What do you want, Jonas?”

  “I already told you what I want. I want you. But…even if I can’t have you, I still want us to be friends.”

  Vic backed away from him and sat on the edge of the wall bordering her rooftop hideaway. “We were friends, Jonas. But then you had to go and take on some ridiculous battle against the human race,” she lowered her voice, “murdering innocent humans—”

  “I haven’t murdered anyone!” he cut into her words, his voice hard.

  She laughed without humor. “Humans are ‘anyone’. Just because they’re human doesn’t mean they deserve to die. Not all of them are like your father.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t murder any humans.”

  “Jonas, I saw the reports—”

  “They were already murdered,” he snapped, “by other humans, I might add. I just used their corpses.”

  Vic stared at Jonas as she thought about all the deaths and then jerked her eyes to his when she remembered one specifically. “The police detective in Kristina’s apartment. Derrick said when he heard Kristina scream, he went in through the fire escape, and the officer was on the floor, neck snapped.”

  Jonas shook his head. “Not me. Did you ask Derrick? He and Michael had more motive than I did. He had information on Derrick, not me. Also, from what I understand, your new agent friend was there too.”