by C. D. Hersh
“I don’t. But I’m betting ya didn’t come in here to chat me up. Are ya looking for Sylvia?”
“No. I did come in here to chat. Information, remember?”
“So ya did. Shoot. What do ya want?” A grin quirked Johnny’s mouth sideways. “See even you want something.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Do you know any of the rogue’s animal shifts?”
“Why would ya be wanting a thing like that?” Two vertical furrows appeared between Johnny’s eyebrows.
“I’ve seen some strange things around. Animals that don’t belong. I wondered if some of the rogues are following me.”
“It’s more likely the other side is tracking ya.”
“I don’t know any of them, but,” he jerked his head toward the room, “plenty of these guys know me. Some of them might be jealous I have Roc’s ring. You hear stuff as a bartender.”
Johnny scoffed. “Yeah. Sometimes they act like I don’t have ears.” He compressed himself against the back bar. “I’m like a fly on the wall. Something they don’t see, but think they can flatten with a shoe if I get annoying.”
Owen had a hard time envisioning Johnny as annoying. The man was one of the most friendly bartenders he’d ever encountered, at least to him. “So, do you know anything that might help me?”
“Yeah. Don’t go looking for a shifter’s animal ego. It’ll keep ya alive. Shifters are possessive and secret about that side of themselves. Most of them don’t even show their alter egos in here.” He waved his hand at the crowd in the bar. “Besides, the majority of the shifters in this bar are low-life mimics who don’t even know there’s that kind of power in their rings. And the ones who do have animal egos . . . you don’t want to get messed up with them. You’re not that strong yet.”
“If they’re coming after me, I need to be strong. If my mother has her way, I won’t ever grow stronger than I am now.” Owen paused and made sure he had Johnny’s attention. “I need a new mentor who’ll let me grow.”
“What exactly can you do?”
“Me? What can you do?”
Johnny wagged his index finger side-to-side at Owen. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t ask a shifter to reveal his powers.”
“You asked me.”
“Because you said you needed a new mentor.”
“You offering?”
“Considering. Believe it or not, I don’t want to bartend all my life. I’ve got ambitions. And kids going to college one day.”
“Mentors get paid?”
“No. They get power, and power gets money.”
“What about your fear of my mother and Falhman?”
Leaning forward, Johnny whispered conspiratorially, “I hear Falhman has big plans for you.”
He knew some of those plans . . . spy.
“He’s not pleased with how Sylvia’s handling your training.”
Not news either.
“He might allow a new mentor.”
“You? You’re just a bartender.”
Johnny scowled. “Don’t be disrespectful. Ya have no idea who yer talking to.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” Owen hastily amended his statement. “If you’re strong enough to mentor someone, why work here? Why not do something bigger?”
“I could ask ya the same thing. Why did it take ya so long to come to our side?”
“My original life plan did not include shifters, kidnapping, or coercion.” In fact, he’d spent most of his life trying to avoid his mother’s schemes to pull him into her world.
“But ya stayed.”
For revenge. But he couldn’t say so.
“Somewhere along the line ya had a change of heart.”
“I did,” he simply said. “Maybe it’s part of a bigger plan.”
“A destiny,” Johnny added. “We all have one. Sometimes it’s wise to wait for the right time. Our time is now.” He untied his apron. “I’ve a lunch hour coming. What do ya say to having a little testing time? Ya show me what ya got, and I’ll show ya what I can teach ya. I’m not a high level shifter like Sylvia, but I’ve got a trick or two.”
Owen studied the man in front of him. From bartender to mentor just like that? The idea probably wouldn’t fly with Falhman or his mother. “What about Falhman and Mom?”
“The request might be better coming from ya, since he’s got plans and all. Sylvia will fall in line with whatever he says, I’m sure.”
This could work. Johnny had shown more civility to him than any of the other rogues he’d met, except Roc. But Owen couldn’t completely trust Johnny. Couldn’t trust any of them. He chugged the remainder of his drink. “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The sooner he moved forward, the better. To take down one of the most powerful shifters the opposition had, Owen needed to get as much from the ring as he could. His mother wouldn’t agree with either of those plans.
Katrina juggled her bag of groceries as she fumbled with her wad of keys to open the apartment door deadlocks. A salad, a couple of grilled chicken breasts, and some fortified iced tea were in order. And some serious thinking about her conversation with Captain Temple. The captain’s revelation she knew about Katrina’s paranormal hunting startled her so much she’d neglected to tell her she’d quit the life.
Delaney had pretty much stayed out of her way when she discovered her second-shift job. On occasion she even protected her. Of course, until Delaney had taken an interest in her, their paths hadn’t crossed that often. Delaney was an FBI agent who had her own sketchy history. Certain things about her didn’t quite match up.
A head of lettuce and a grapefruit escaped from the paper grocery sack as Katrina leaned sideways on tippy toes to get the topmost lock. The vegetables rolled across the small concrete patio at the bottom of the stairway well and stopped against a leg of the wrought iron café table. Whispering an expletive, she pushed the door open and placed her purse and grocery sack on the entryway table just inside the door. Then she swiveled to get the runaway vegetables.
A very pleasant and interesting sight greeted her. A pair of dark trousers caressed a toned posterior of the man bending over to retrieve her vegetables. She fought to rein in the path her mind started down. Been too long, Katrina, she said to herself as the vision straightened and turned around.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had gone inside.”
The way he held the vegetables out in front of him made her wonder what his hands would feel like if he held her breasts in that manner.
“Hello? Are you awake?”
“Ah, ah,” Katrina sputtered as she focused on his face to get her mind out of the gutter.
“Okay. Awake, but not here yet.” The corner of his lips started to rise.
“You,” she breathed when she recognized him. “Where’s my grandmother’s afghan and my Cleveland Brown’s hoodie?”
“Nice to see you, too, and thank you, I’m feeling fine.”
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “If you hadn’t run off I’d have known you were okay.”
The smile inched up the side of his cheek, lighting his electric blue eyes. “You worried about me. How sweet.”
“Sweet, my patootie. I just . . . You could have bled . . . Oh, crap. Where’s my stuff?”
He took another step closer to her. The deep blue ring around his amazing eyes seemed to darken.
She leaned back from him.
Without taking his eyes off her, he nodded to a brightly colored gift bag on the ground beside the door. “I got blood on the afghan so I had it cleaned. It wasn’t badly stained. The blood came out. The hoodie’s a different story. I couldn’t salvage it, so I bought a replacement.” Balancing the vegetables in one hand he lifted the gift bag to her. “Forgiven? Please?”
<
br /> She peered inside. Grandma’s afghan lay neatly folded inside clear plastic. The price tags on the Cleveland Brown’s hoodie told her he paid a premium to replace the one he damaged. As she looked at him, her anger softened. “More than I expected. I figured you wouldn’t come back at all.”
“The nuns in elementary school taught me to be grateful to Good Samaritans. I might have bled to death if you hadn’t come by.” He offered her the vegetables.
“I doubt it,” she said as she took the lettuce and grapefruit from him. Their fingers touched and, for the briefest of moments, he held her hand. “Thanks for returning my things.” She drew her hand from his and started to turn away.
“Wait. I don’t even know your name.”
Should she tell him? Captain Temple told her to keep her informed if he came back.
Here he is. On my doorstep. Wanting to get to know me.
If she knew him, it would be harder to turn him in, if she had to. On the other hand, she didn’t need to name him to track him. “It’s safer if we don’t exchange names.”
“You don’t look like a girl who plays it safe.”
He tipped his black, curl-covered head and gave her the once-over. She suppressed a shudder at his assessment, wishing she’d worn something besides her black mini skirt and low-cut, black blouse to work. His gaze swept over her again, stopping at the huge silver cross dangling at the crest of her cleavage. “In fact, you look downright dangerous.” He held out his hand. “I like danger. I’m Owen Todd.”
His nostrils flared as he watched her. Something primal emanated from him. Something extremely hard to resist. Almost of its own accord, her hand raised and met his.
“Kat,” she said, her voice much breathier than she wanted. “Short for Katrina. Katrina Romanovski.”
Please, please, she prayed, don’t be a supernatural.
As he held her hand, he gently massaged the flesh between her thumb and index finger, sending ripples of delight along her arm.
“Nice to meet you, Kat. Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?”
“I had chicken,” she managed to mutter as his massage infected her brain.
“You’ve already eaten?” Disappointment showed clearly on his clean-shaven face.
“No. To grill.”
“Oh, inviting me in?” A soft, suggestive smile lit his face.
“No.” Jerking her hand from his, she shook her head to clear the sensual fingers of fog entwining around her brain. “I have to put it away. Wait here.” Then she whirled around, stepped over the threshold, and shut the door in his face.
Once inside she leaned against the carved panel and took several deep, calming breaths. What the heck had he done to her? One little touch and she fell apart. She’d hauled the man down her steps and laid him on her couch, for heaven’s sake, and hadn’t once reacted to him like this. But then, he’d been covered in blood−not the most romantic body fluid−and those gorgeous electric blue eyes had been glazed in pain.
She should stick her head out the door and call off dinner. Her stomach growled in protest at the thought, and she gave in.
It’s just dinner, and I need to find out more about him. If he’s a paranormal, I’ll cut him off ASAP. If not . . .
Grabbing the groceries from the hall table, she practically ran to the kitchen and shoved the perishables in the fridge. After a quick nose powder and lipstick refresh she opened the door.
Owen leaned casually against the wrought iron railing topping the waist-high, cinderblock wall encircling the tiny rectangle concrete patio to her front door. He gave her an approving rake with his eyes and then offered her his arm.
“What’s your favorite restaurant?” Owen asked.
“There’s Italian around the corner. You like pizza?”
“Sure. As I recall you offered me one the other night. I’ll take you up on it now.”
She took his arm, and they climbed the short set of stairs to the sidewalk. As she motioned him toward the restaurant, he circled around her, placing himself between her and the street. She gave him a quizzical look.
“Mom always told me a gentleman puts himself between a lady and the street. A courtly gesture dating back to the era when people emptied their chamber pots out the windows. The man could protect the lady from the contents of the pot by pressing her against the wall and covering her, and her finery, with his body.”
“Sounds like an excuse to body slam her, if you ask me,” she said. “You going to open doors, too?”
“That’s the plan.”
A shiver ran through her at the image of Owen pressing against her. She mentally shook it off. “I’m an independent woman. You need to know that.”
“I like independent. And dangerous.” He gave her a smoldering glance emphasizing his last word. “I think you’ll like gentlemanly once you get used to it. Trust me.”
The problem was she didn’t trust him. But she wanted to. She changed the subject to something less provocative. “So, did your friend fix you up? Everything healing okay?”
Rotating his shoulder, he replied, “It’s okay. I’m not going to play any tennis, but I think it will heal properly.”
“You play tennis?”
“No. I’m a forensic scientist, currently without a job.”
“Really? Do you have a specialty area?”
“Toxicology. What do you do?”
“I work in a medical lab.” True, kind of. The medical examiner’s office was a lab of sorts.
“Technician?”
She bobbed her head ever so slightly, not wanting to meet his gaze or admit to her half-truth. She was a criminal justice, forensic scientist, with a pathology specialty and the deputy coroner. She helped catch the bad guys and killers, and she had her arm hooked tightly in the crook of the elbow of a possible criminal.
“Oh look, here’s our restaurant,” she said as brightly as she could muster. The door to Papa Perro’s Pizzeria opened and the spicy smell of tomato sauce, oregano, and pepperoni drifted out. “Hungry?” she asked as she glanced at Owen.
The look he gave her said it wasn’t pizza he wanted. She broke contact with him and hurried inside. The sooner she got a tabletop between them, the safer she’d feel.
Hugh saw Katrina come in with a tall, wiry, black haired man. The pair sat down at a table for two kitty-corner from him. He shifted his metal ice cream soda style chair around so he could see her. A minuscule sideways movement would hide him from the couple.
Assessing her companion from the rear, he judged him to be about the height and weight of the man he’d seen in the alley. Because of the dimly lit alley and the fact the man’s face had been hidden by Katrina’s body, Hugh couldn’t determine if her escort was the same man.
She laughed at something he said, and he turned as the server approached their table. Hugh made a mental note of the man’s profile: long nose, longish face, framed with a mass of black curls. Not an afro, but loose, wavy curls. Good-looking, but not handsome, in a proper English fashion.
She laughed again, and Hugh tilted in his chair to get a better look. Her eyes shone in the same manner LJ’s had when she came on to him at the Dew Drop Inn. Katrina was definitely interested in this man. If he was the same one she’d rescued from the alley, that didn’t bode well.
Slipping his cell phone from his pocket, Hugh held it up and pretended to read the screen while turning on the camera. A quick zoom on his target and he had a snapshot of Katrina’s companion’s silhouette. The server came with the bill. Hugh paid and left the pizzeria.
As the din of the restaurant receded, Hugh dialed Alexi’s cell. She hadn’t contacted him about her talk with Katrina, and seeing her reminded him.
“Captain Temple, Hugh Allen here,” he said when Alexi answered.
“Hugh,
what can I do for you?”
“Have you talked with Ms. Romanovski?” The line fell silent. For a moment he wondered if they had been disconnected, then Alexi spoke.
“I did, and I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you right away.”
“Did she admit to anything?”
“She gave me some information, but this isn’t a good time right now. Can we meet tomorrow morning at the precinct?”
“I’d rather not come there. Lunch? Or I could come over to your place.”
“Not tonight. It’s the annual Samhain meeting. We’re getting ready to leave. Tomorrow, at the house. Six p.m., okay?”
“Fine. As long as I don’t get a lead.”
He hung up his cell trying to decide if he should go back and track Katrina or revisit LJ and the crime scene. Maybe her curiosity with the incident, and busybody chattiness, had garnered some street info. LJ won. His sense of duty poked at his decision to spend time with this attractive woman rather than trying to track a killer. He ignored it, because he’d been unable to get LJ out of his mind.
Chapter 6
“Who was that?” Rhys asked as Alexi hung up her cell and put it in her evening purse lying on her dressing table.
“Hugh Allen.” Turning back to the mirror, she pawed through her jewelry box. “He wants to know if I found out anything from Katrina about last night.”
“What are you going to tell him?” Rhys knotted his tie and retrieved his western cut leather sport coat from the bedroom closet.
“Certainly not that she’s a paranormal huntress. I promised to have her back, and I don’t think blurting her secret to Hugh does that.” She slipped on an earring and turned to Rhys. “How does this one look?”
