by Maya Banks
Impatience simmered in her consciousness. Things she used to do with ease that felt natural now seemed like such a long time ago. A lifetime. She’d grown so used to not using her powers that they seemed alien to her, not an integral part of her, as they should have been.
It required every ounce of discipline her father had instilled in her to push her panic and terror down and focus only on that syringe. She began to recognize the pattern in which he danced his intricate path to avoid being stuck by the needle.
She plunged the syringe toward him but at the last moment pulled it up sharply and then thrust with speed and accuracy exactly where she anticipated he’d be.
It struck him in the throat and she gave the plunger a strong mental push so it emptied the contents of the syringe into his body.
His expression was murderous as he reached up and yanked the needle from his neck, tossing it away in fury. But already his eyes were glazed, his movements sluggish. He staggered and collapsed to his knees but in a last rush of strength, he lifted his head, looking at her with a mixture of hatred and . . . respect?
“Don’t think this is the end,” he said, his words slurring. “We’ll come after you. You aren’t safe anywhere. There is nowhere we can’t find you. I underestimated you this time. I won’t make that mistake again. And if you ever want to see your precious mommy and daddy you’ll do just what we want. Not that they’re really your parents.”
The last words slipped nearly unintelligibly from his lips as a goofy-looking smile that was completely incongruous given the situation curved one side of his mouth upward. There was a look of triumph in his glazed eyes, and then the sedative took full effect and he rocked over to the side, hitting the paved sidewalk with an indelicate thud.
“What?” she demanded. “What did you say?”
She ran over to him and kicked him in the side, trying to rouse him, though she knew he’d be out for quite a while. It was what he’d intended for her to be. Bastard.
Had she heard him correctly?
She shook her head and turned, pissed that she’d spent those extra precious few seconds worrying over something stupid her attacker had said when he was in the grip of a strong sedative. The whole thing was crazy and in a world where she couldn’t be certain about much, the one thing she did know with certainty was that her parents loved her. She was their only child. She’d seen her birth certificate and had dual nationality since she was born outside the United States.
She was not going to give in and react to his words, because that would be precisely what he wanted. He wanted to plant a seed of doubt. He wanted to scare her. Well, he’d certainly succeeded in scaring her, because it was obvious he knew where her parents were and that it was Ari they wanted.
As she fumbled through her key set looking for the telltale symbol on the key fob that told her what key went to which vehicle, she decided on taking the biggest, toughest vehicle in her father’s arsenal of vehicles.
She knew for a fact that the bulky SUV had a reinforced steel frame, was bulletproof with shatter-proof windows and would take a beating. And if another vehicle tangled with it, there was absolutely no way for her to come away the loser unless she was flattened by an eighteen-wheeler and even then it was a coin flip as to who would come out worse for the wear.
She unlocked the vehicle, slid behind the wheel and quickly revved the engine, leaving tire marks on the pavement as she began putting as much distance as was possible between her and the people she now knew couldn’t be trusted.
EIGHT
ARI pulled her oversized purse closer to her body and walked at a fast pace toward the entrance of the building that housed Devereaux Security Services. She was dressed in a manner to indicate wealth and elegance. Designer clothing, diamond earrings and designer sunglasses with an Hermès scarf covering her head as if to protect her hair from the wind when in fact the sunglasses and scarf were to hide her distinctive hair and eyes, not to mention the bruises that colorfully adorned her face.
The car she’d parked curbside where she wasn’t boxed in by cars front and back was a sleek BMW M6 convertible that comfortably fit the image she was trying to project. And it had the added benefit of being fast. Five hundred and eighty horses under the hood. She remembered every single detail her father had shared with her on every vehicle in his possession. The M6 was faster, more powerful, than a Mustang, a Camaro—even the ZL1—and the Corvette, though it would likely be a tight race with the latter.
While before she’d wanted an impenetrable moving fortress, now she wanted something easier to navigate and a vehicle capable of outrunning most others. If nothing else, her father had drummed into her the importance of advance thinking and planning.
She’d carefully considered her options when she’d gone to retrieve the contents of a safe-deposit box her father held at one of the local banks. He’d set it up so that if she were ever in trouble or need, she could access cash and alternate identity, including driver’s licenses and passports—three total in all.
It had never occurred to her to question her father as to why the thought had even crossed his mind that she’d need such things. She knew well how protective he was of her and so she’d shrugged off his actions as him being paranoid and overprotective. But perhaps he’d been all too right in preparing for the worst, because that was now what she was facing, and she was grateful for her father’s foresight. She’d lived her life in a protective bubble, and now, for the first time, she didn’t have her father to fall back on and have fix all her problems. It was up to her to get herself out of the mess she was in.
The people pursuing her would likely suspect her to do just the opposite of what she’d done. They would expect her to dress in an unassuming manner, try not to look like the daughter of a wealthy man rather than boldly going out in public with a car and clothing that would attract attention. In essence, Ari was hiding in plain sight, hoping that she was right about them looking for someone trying to hide the trappings of money and prestige. And if they’d been watching her, which she assumed had to be the case, or at the very least had done their homework, then they’d know she normally dressed casually, preferring jeans and a T-shirt to designer clothing. More at home in flip-flops than the elegant heels she wore right now. And well, she had no qualms about ditching the heels and fleeing barefoot if it came to that.
Her stride was brisk and confident, her chin slightly lifted so she had an unobscured view of her surroundings at all times. She took in everything, searching for any sign of threat. Anything that looked . . . dangerous, though she wasn’t sure how someone saw imminent danger. If everyone wore a warning sign screaming danger, then no one would ever be caught off guard, so the notion was silly that she could somehow spot a threat in the steady stream of people bustling down the sidewalk.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the building, glad to be off the busy street and out of view of anyone watching. She signed in at the security desk, using one of the aliases she’d retrieved from the safe-deposit box, making sure she didn’t appear nervous and agitated when both had their vicious claws firmly entrenched in her chest. After receiving her badge to get through the turnstile to the elevators, she hurried through, her anxiety mounting with every breath.
Her father had told her on more than one occasion that if something were to happen to him, or if Ari needed help, she was to go to Caleb or Beau Devereaux, preferably Caleb, as he was the oldest. He hadn’t explained his relationship with the Devereauxs, but he’d been adamant that she trust only them and no one else. And just as she hadn’t questioned the need for cash and aliases stashed in a safe-deposit box, neither had she queried him about his relationship with the Devereauxs, although she found it odd that she’d never met the men he’d told her to turn to if necessary.
She just hoped her father was right. Already, they’d been betrayed by men her father trusted. Who was to say the Devereauxs were any different? But what choice did she have?
She had none. Her li
ps formed a grim line as she stepped from the elevator on the floor Devereaux Security Services occupied. She had no choice but to trust the men her father evidently trusted and pray she hadn’t made a huge mistake in going to them for help.
Beau glanced up from his desk when the silent alarm triggered a flash of light to his office, notifying him that someone had just come into the lobby of their firm. His office was strategically placed with a two-way reflecting mirror so he could monitor and form an impression of a potential client. People often gave themselves away when they didn’t think they could be seen or heard.
A petite woman walked hesitantly toward their receptionist, Anita, and from his vantage point he could see her hands tremble, though she tried valiantly to hide that fact. He frowned, taking in the fact that she neither removed her sunglasses nor her scarf and instead remained hidden. Disguised, no doubt.
He pressed the intercom button that would allow him to listen in on the conversation between the woman and Anita, his interest piqued. He found himself leaning forward as though it gave him the advantage of being closer, though the glass separated them.
At one point, the woman, still silent, glanced sideways, her gaze resting on the glass wall. Since he couldn’t see her eyes, he had no idea what she was thinking or if she suspected someone was watching her. But he got the uneasy feeling she knew exactly what the glass really was.
“Miss?” Anita prompted the woman again. “Is there something I can help you with? Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” the woman said in a soft, quivering voice. “I mean yes.” She took a deep breath and visibly let her shoulders sag as though she were gathering the courage to give her reason for being here. Beau could readily picture her closing her eyes in that moment of desperation.
“I don’t have an appointment I meant,” she said quietly. “But yes, you can help me. God, I hope you can. I need to speak with Caleb or Beau Devereaux, preferably Caleb if he’s available. It’s . . . important,” she added, more desperation creeping into her voice.
Beau’s eyebrows immediately rose. He was certain he’d never met this woman and the way she’d called them out told him she at least knew of them, because it wasn’t widely publicized that either Beau or Caleb was actively involved in the actual running of Devereaux Security Services.
Dane was the front man. The face of DSS. Anytime interviews were granted, any police involved, et cetera, Dane handled it while Beau and Caleb stayed in the background. Though ever since marrying Ramie, his brother had turned more responsibility for the operation of DSS to Beau and their younger brother Quinn.
Quinn handled all the financial shit as well as the background checks, not only for potential operatives, but also on the people who wanted to hire DSS. Things Beau didn’t have the patience for. Beau conferred with Dane on which clients they took on and which were referred elsewhere. Because many of the so-called clients were actually people who wanted to get to Ramie—and her powers. And over Caleb’s dead body would that ever happen.
Beau pressed a button next to the intercom to send a signal only visible to Anita or anyone behind her desk. There were only two colors the light flashed. Red or green. Red meant for Anita to tell the prospective client that no one was available and to gently herd them away. Green meant to show the person back to one of the offices. In this case, Beau’s.
Anita never missed a beat, her gaze not betraying the fact that the light had indicated her next move.
“I’m sorry to say that Caleb is unavailable.”
Before she could finish, the woman’s hand fluttered to her mouth and then clenched into a tight ball against her lips. Beau could practically feel the panic that radiated from her in waves.
“Beau is in, however, and will see you immediately,” Anita continued quickly. She too had picked up on the woman’s reaction and now she hastened to calm the woman.
The woman’s entire body sagged. Beau feared her legs would give out. He frowned because she might not be able to make the walk to his office. She was shaking like a leaf.
He was up and on his feet in a split second and quickly opened his office door. He strode into the lobby, hoping his presence would soothe rather than freak the woman out.
She turned, obviously startled to see him there so close to her. It was then that he saw what she’d obviously tried hard to conceal, and would have if the light hadn’t hit her face just right. There was a bruise on the side of her chin and evidence of a crack in the corner of her mouth. It would appear that someone had struck her.
There could be a million other reasons why the woman wore a bruise, but one, he’d seen the worst life had to offer and the terrible things people did to other people so his first instinct was to always think the worst. And two, if the bruise was innocent in nature—an accident of sorts—then why would she go to such extremes to hide it?
She took a tentative step back and he didn’t move. He simply stood there, allowing her perusal without interruption. It was apparent she was sizing him up. Perhaps deciding if she could trust him.
“You wanted to see me?” Beau asked in a neutral tone.
Her fingers twisted together in a ball at her stomach. She sucked her bottom lip inward and then winced as though she’d forgotten the injury to her lip. She started to lift a hand to it, but then as if realizing that by doing so she’d only draw unwanted attention to the bruise, she let her hand fall back to her side.
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I need your help.”
Beau glanced in Anita’s direction and she gave him a quick dip of her head, knowing what he wanted. She would hold all calls and take care of anything that cropped up while he was with the woman so nothing disturbed them.
Beau gestured for the woman to proceed toward his office but she hesitated. Slowly, he put his hand on her forearm. Nothing alarming or sudden and he kept his touch infinitely gentle.
“Come,” he said, nudging her forward.
Her shoulders squared and she looked resolutely ahead as if shaking off her earlier trepidation. At his door, she took the initiative and walked inside, leaving him to follow. He shut the door behind them and then turned to face his mystery woman who’d asked for him by name.
Her gaze was on the two-way mirror, a frown on her lips.
“I could feel you watching me,” she said in a low, accusing tone.
“Not that it did me any good,” he said mildly.
He went to sit behind his desk in his chair so he wouldn’t appear threatening to her. He was well acquainted with the look of an abuse victim. God knows they’d seen more than a few. So he knew his size and demeanor could be intimidating and come across in a menacing manner to a woman already wary of men.
But he was also blunt, and on more than one occasion people had been put off by his straightforward manner. It was who he was, and he knew he would never change. So he couldn’t be any other way now, when perhaps a lighter touch was called for.
“Before we get to what you has you scared to death, take off the glasses and lose the scarf.”
She went rigid, staring at him behind the dark lenses. He could feel her gaze on him, studying him, the prickle of awareness at his nape.
“Is it the bruises you’re trying to hide? Or is it you who needs to be hidden?”
Her hand went automatically to her face, but she didn’t touch the bruise on the side of her chin. It went to cover one of the lenses of the glasses. It was his automatic reaction to scowl at the thought that there was more than one bruise. And as soon as she took in the look on his face, she stirred, turning toward the door.
“You’re safe here,” Beau said gently. “But I need to know everything so that I can help you and that begins by you shedding the glasses and scarf and then you telling me what kind of trouble brings you to me and my brother. By name,” he added.
She must be holding her breath because she was so utterly still that he couldn’t detect the rise and fall of her chest. Then she let the air from her lungs escape in a long
exhale. She swayed wearily and then put her hand down to find the arm of one of the chairs in front of Beau’s desk.
Slowly, she reached up and tugged at the scarf. Evidently her hair had been pinned to the scarf, because when she pulled the scarf free, a silken mass came tumbling down her shoulders and arms. The color was unique. He could understand why she’d gone to such pains to disguise it. It was various shades of blond but contained silvery highlights intertwined with warm brown strands. There were at least six different shades reflected in the light of his office.
Her hand shaking, she grasped the sunglasses and pulled them away, casting her gaze downward so he didn’t see her right away. But when she finally lifted her chin so that their eyes met, his widened in recognition. Her eyes, just like her hair, were distinctive. He was fascinated by how they seemed to change color when she moved even a little and light caught glittering specks of aqua and gold. If asked, he couldn’t actually state what color her eyes were. How did one explain a turbulent mixture of the ocean, the sun and the brightest jewels?
And as he’d suspected, there were other bruises. One eye was swollen and had turned a dark purple. Only a slit allowed him to see the eye on that side.
Even with the swelling in one eye there was something decidedly electric in her gaze. He wondered if she was indeed psychic. There were suddenly a dozen questions he wanted to ask her, but he refrained because she was wearing bruises when none of the three punks who’d gone after her had been rough with her, no doubt, but hadn’t touched her face. Someone else had hurt her and it pissed him off. And there was also the fact that she was here, in his office, having asked for him by name, and she was clearly scared to death. That kind of fear couldn’t be faked unless she was a damn good actress, and he couldn’t think of a reason why she’d lie to him.
His questions could wait. For now he focused on whatever threat had sent her running to him and Caleb. He needed to make her feel safe so that she would open up to him about whatever trouble she was in. Which meant patience on his part. Not one of his better traits to be sure. But he tamped down his impatience and desire to know everything right this minute and allowed her to settle and feel more at ease. If such a thing were possible.
