by C. D. Hersh
“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into the top of her head and then he inhaled. “You smell like wood smoke.” He laid his hands on her cheeks. “And your face is cold.”
“I took a walk.”
“At this hour?”
“It’s only eleven. I’m a night owl.”
Holding her away from him, he stared into her eyes. “I don’t like you walking around alone at night. It’s dangerous out there.”
She bit her tongue before she blurted out her paranormal huntress secret and that she was part of the night. She’d told him she’d killed paranormals, not that she made a habit of hunting them. Instead, she said, “I’m a big girl. A big, scary girl if you get me mad.”
“I forgot. You’re a killer of vampires and werewolves and other creepy things. I’ll remember that if I meet you in a dark alley.” Throwing his arm over her shoulder, he led her to the sofa.
“You know,” she said as she snuggled against him, “You didn’t tell me what you were. Your animal. If I met you in a dark alley, I wouldn’t want to accidently kill you.”
“We don’t usually tell, but seeing as you’re going to be my wife-my mate-and you tend to kill things like me in dark alleys, I’ll make an exception.”
Rotating her to face him, she watched as his eyes transformed, taking on a golden hue. The pupils narrowed to a black slit and his face darkened. “I’m a panther,” he whispered. A black panther.”
His hot breath caressed her face. Remembering the dangling man he’d held on tippy toes in the shipyard, she resisted the urge to move back, moving instead into his personal space.
“You’re not afraid?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
Reaching between the couch covers, she extracted a short dagger and held it under his chin. When the tip of the blade touched his skin, his eyes returned to electric blue.
“Big, bad, scary girl. Remember?”
Releasing her, he gently lowered the knife and laughed. “Definitely wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley.” Then he gathered her gently in his arms. “But I’m glad I did.”
“So tell me about your supernatural side.”
“Why? I thought you knew shape shifters.”
“If I’m going to marry you, I think I need to know what makes you tick. Besides, I know werewolves. You changed in to a woman. Olivia. Remember? That’s how I found you out.”
“Right. She’s my alter ego. My female side, if you will. The panther is my animal side.”
“Were you born like this? Will our children be panthers?”
“We’re having children?” His electric blue eyes danced.
“If I don’t break off the engagement because you’re such an armpit, it might happen.” Or not, when he discovered her duplicity. Telling such boldfaced lies made her feel awful.
He held out his hand, displaying a ring with a green and red stone. “The magic in this ring makes the shifting possible.”
“Was it your dad’s?”
“No. It belonged to a friend who was killed last year . . . by his brother.” Owen’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits. A flash of gold blazed in his irises.
A shocked gasp escaped her throat. She’d bet her hunting gear his vow to take care of the brother probably wasn’t meant in a positive way.
With a shake of his head, Owen’s eyes cleared to normal. “Can we discuss something else? Thinking of Roc makes me sad.”
She stood and urged him toward the bedroom. One piece of the puzzle down. She prayed it wouldn’t take many more nights with him to fit the rest of the pieces together. Each time they made love she lost more of herself. If she couldn’t find out what she needed soon, she wouldn’t be able to walk away when the time came.
Owen’s cell rang as he finished breakfast. Glancing down at it, he rose from the table and went into the living room where Kat couldn’t hear.
“Your information checked out,” Alexi said. “Rhys will help you get the photo you need to remove the RFID key. One change, though. We want the key once it’s removed.”
“Can Rhys meet me outside the penthouse tonight at eight?” Tonight was the outing to DDI he’d seen on Falhman’s calendar.
“I’ll relay the message.”
“What did you find in Public Square?”
“Empty canisters with some kind of spray delivery system. We found them buried in the flowerpots disguised as a watering system and hanging in the trees camouflaged as lights. The marked buildings had some attached to the rooftop air-conditioning units. We need to know his plans for them and the mobile lab.”
“You believe me now?”
“Let’s say I don’t completely disbelieve you. We need your RFID key, and we need to know what’s in the warehouse, or what’s going into it.”
“I’ll be in touch, cousin.”
“Who was on the phone?” Kat asked when he went back into the kitchen.
“Alexi.” Kat opened her mouth to ask another question, and he cut her off with a kiss. “I gotta go. I’m late for a meeting.”
“Dinner?” she called after him.
“No, and don’t wait up. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Right on time,” Falhman said as the butler let Owen in. “I like punctuality in my people.”
“Your text at five a.m. sounded urgent. Don’t you sleep?”
“Only when I don’t have some important project going on.” Rising, he led Owen to his office.
“A private conversation. Must be important,” he said, taking his usual seat across from the desk.
Falhman sat behind the mahogany monolithic desk and with a slender hand shoved his planner to the top of the desk blotter. “What I have to say is rather sensitive. I didn’t think you’d want the help to hear.”
The way he made the pronouncement set Owen on edge. A shiver of alarm ran along his spine and his mouth suddenly went dry. “Mind if I have some water?” he asked.
Rising, Falhman went to the door and summoned the butler. “Bring Mr. Todd a carafe of water and a glass.”
When Falhman’s back turned, Owen rose from his chair and tried to sneak a peek at the kingpin’s schedule to see if anything had changed. The eight thirty p.m. slot had a line scribbled through it and something new written underneath.
Crap. Had he cancelled plans or just changed them?
Unable to see it clearly, Owen quickly sat back down before Falhman turned around, his mind churning to figure out how to get a clearer look at the planner. A couple of minutes later the butler entered and set a tray with a water carafe and a glass on the table beside Owen’s chair. He started to pour, but Owen stopped him.
“Very well,” the butler said, looking down his long nose at him then he addressed Falhman. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
Dismissing him with a wave of his hand, Falhman said, “Close the door on the way out.”
Owen poured a glass of water and took a gulp. Holding the glass cupped between his hands, he waited on Falhman to resume the conversation.
“More of my men have turned up dead. Have you found out anymore?”
“It’s probably the new group of shifters Eli has brought into town.”
An arched eyebrow winged up Falhman’s forehead. “Eli’s increasing his fold? Interesting news. Pray tell, why?”
“To counter your increase in shifters?” He posed the statement as a question to hide the real reason he believed Eli’s crew had come in-to protect a pregnant Alexi.
Falhman didn’t seem to buy his answer.
“Or maybe it’s Roc’s influence on Rhys and he’s killing rogues because of what happened to his brother. Revenge is a powerful motive.”
“You ought to know. Revenge is why you became a shifter.” Falhman paused and stared at him
so long he became uncomfortable.
“Is there a point to this rehashing of history?”
Leaning forward in his leather chair, Falhman steepled his fingers together and tapped them on his chin. “What would you say if I told you I know who really killed Roc?”
“I know who killed him, but you’ve tied my hands and ordered me not to act.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
His heart leapt in his chest. Falhman gave him the go ahead to kill his other son? Unbelievable. The water glass shook in his hand, and he set it on the edge of the desk so Falhman wouldn’t see his nerves. “You want me to kill Rhys? No repercussions?”
New scenarios spun through his mind. The game board had changed now that Alexi and Rhys thought he was on their side. Access to Rhys was easier. He just had to figure out how to take him down without jeopardizing his mother.
“I want you to kill the person who murdered my son. Will you do it?”
For the briefest of moments, Owen had second thoughts. He could lose Kat if she found out. Then he swept the doubts away as the overwhelming rage of revenge flooded him. He kept her in the dark once, he could do it again.
“Yes. I will.”
A slow smile slithered across Falhman’s face and a chill ran over Owen. Something wasn’t right.
Reaching into his desk, Falhman removed a gun and laid it at the top of the desk blotter. “Use this to kill my son’s murderer.”
A knot of fear the size of a golf ball stuck in his throat as he recognized the initials on the barrel of the handle. His mother’s gun. “You want me to frame my mother for Rhys’ death?” The words came out choked and an octave higher than normal.
“No, my dear boy. You’ve got it all wrong.”
The golf ball melted into a shooter marble. He swallowed hard, but it wouldn’t go down. “Thank God,” he whispered.
As he reached for the gun, Falhman said, “I want you to kill your mother. She murdered Roc.”
Owen’s hand jerked at Falhman’s statement, and the glass of water flew across the desk, hitting Falhman in the chest. Bolting out of the chair, he cursed and swiped at the wet blot on his shirt. The glass fell to the ground, shattering. Falhman’s chair hit the wall and three framed documents crashed to the floor with the impact.
Everything went into slow motion. Owen grabbed the gun, and as he did Falhman’s planner was swept along to the edge of the desk. Owen scooped it to the floor and then bent to retrieve it, looking at the day’s activities. Screw L somebody was written in the eight-thirty p.m. slot. The last letter of the initial had blurred from the water spill.
Bodyguards rushed into the room, guns drawn. Owen raised the hand with his mother’s gun in the air, the weapon dangling upside down with a single finger through the trigger guard. Then he slowly placed the planner back on the desk.
“Hold your fire!” Falhman commanded as they leveled their guns at Owen. “I just spilled water on myself and my chair hit the wall.”
“The gun?” one of the goons asked.
“Given to him by me.” When the men didn’t move, Falhman barked at them again and they scattered out of the room.
“I’m sorry,” Owen said. “How clumsy of me.”
“Considering the shock you must have received upon hearing your mother killed Roc, I can forgive the transgression. This time.” Staring pointedly at the gun still dangling from his finger, he said, “Do we have an understanding?”
Owen tamped down every urge to ask the who, what, why questions he knew would irritate Falhman and cause him to question his loyalty, thus screwing up his plans to take down the kingpin. Mustering every bit of hatred he could to hide his disgust at Falhman’s request, Owen replied, “I’ll take care of it.” Then he slipped the gun in the back of his waistband and high-tailed it out of Falhman’s presence before he hurled.
His stomach heaving like a rowboat in an ocean storm, Owen made his way to Rogueman’s Bar. When he reached the alley and saw no one, he shifted into Olivia and entered. Johnny stood in his usual place behind the bar shining the glasses.
“We have to talk. Privately,” Owen said before Johnny even opened his mouth to speak.
Jerking his head toward the back office, Johnny set down his towel and glass and hurried from behind the bar. “Ya look like ya swallowed something bad,” he said when he came alongside.
“Something rotten,” Owen said.
“Why the alter ego?” Johnny asked when the office door shut. “Are ya hiding?”
“I don’t want Falhman to know I’m here.”
“What’s the matter, Owen?”
“Olivia,” he corrected. “I don’t even want you to say my name out loud.” He reached behind his back and pulled out his mother’s gun, laying it on the desk.
“Holy Mother of Mary,” Johnny said with a low whistle. “What are ya doing with the gun?”
“Killing my mother, if Falhman has his way. With her own gun no less.”
Johnny paled so much his freckles stood out like red ants on snow. “For what?”
“Not important. Because I’m not going to do it.”
“I should hope not. How’d he get her gun?”
“Crap! Why didn’t I ask?”
“Because he shocked the bejebbers outta ya by asking ya to do such a thing?”
“They’ve been in our apartment. She’s not safe there anymore.”
“Or ya.”
“I’m not worried about me. He still needs me. But Mom’s usefulness is apparently over. Has she been by yet?”
“She doesn’t usually come in until noon.” He checked his watch. “Got three hours.”
“If she gets here before I find her, I’ve got a big favor to ask. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll understand.”
“I’m not okay with mother killing any more than I agree with slaughtering humans in our war. What do ya need?”
“Get her out of here as fast as you can and hide her. If I can’t find her, I can’t kill her.”
“Will do. And ya? He’s going to come after ya as soon as he figures out what yer doing. What about yer girl?”
“I’ve got to send her away. He’ll use her against me.”
“Ya shoulda run when I first told ya to.”
“Too late. But I’m not going down without a fight. I’ll take him to hell with me.” Owen picked up the gun and started to leave, but Johnny stopped him.
“With all this mother killing stuff I forgot to tell ya what I found out. I overheard one of Falhman’s men discussing a lab. He said as soon as they got the stuff it would be on the move. Does that make any sense to ya?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Tucking the gun into his pants waistband, he left the office.
Owen had one day before all hell broke loose.
One day to protect Kat and his mother.
And probably one day left to live.
Chapter 33
Kat’s foot tapped nervously on the floor outside the door of Captain Temple’s office as she awaited her arrival. Too many questions still, but she had one answer.
The captain arrived with her film crew entourage preceding and trailing her. Briefly, it crossed Kat’s mind they walked around her more like a secret service detail than a film crew. Lockstep, with heads constantly swiveling side-to-side.
As they approached, she straightened from her wall-supported slouch and followed the captain and the director, Mary Kate, inside. After taking off her coat and hanging in on the hall tree, the captain sat on her desk chair, indicating Kat should sit.
“Any news?” the captain asked.
Grateful she initiated the question, Kat replied, “I found out he’s a panther, and the magic ring he has belonged to his friend who was killed by his brother. Not Owen’s brother, but his friend�
��s brother. A Cain and Abel thing.”
“Not true. Roc’s brother did not kill him. Roc sacrificed himself for his brother.”
“You knew Roc?” Things were getting even more complicated.
“No. But I know his brother. Intimately. He’s my husband.”
Kat gasped as the implication of Owen’s intent hit her. He planned revenge on Captain Temple’s husband. Scrubbing her forehead, she moaned. “What are you doing, Owen?”
“Excellent question, Katrina,” the captain said. “I’ve been trying to figure out the same thing.”
“Has anything he’s told us been true?” she asked.
“He gave some information on some kind of planned attack at the Cleveland Rocks event on New Year’s Eve. But it’s incomplete, so we don’t know what’s really happening.”
“The hit on his mother is probably true. They didn’t know I was hiding behind the dumpster.”
“Okay, so we believe he’s protecting his mother from a real threat. Based on what I know, I suspect her son, who hasn’t yet proven he’s fallen far from the wicked queen’s poison apple tree, would do most anything to protect her.”
Kat’s heart sunk a little lower. She so wanted to believe something he told her. “Doesn’t make him a very reliable source, does it?”
“Hardly.”
“Don’t forget the child,” she said.
“Okay. So, he protects children and his mother. Still no big whoop.”
“It is to me. He’s redeemable on some level.”
