by Lexi Ryan
“But you don’t buy that,” Darian said.
The lieutenant squirmed again. “It doesn’t really matter what I buy because our problem doesn’t stop there.” He tapped his pen on his desk. “There are a lot of rumors that the president’s problem doesn’t lie with the SIA alone.”
“Meaning?” Wiley asked.
“It’s rumor and speculation at this point, but there are some in the SIA who worry that it’s not the agency that really concerns him. It’s the Specials.”
Darian waved a hand. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Everyone is a little unsettled when they first learn about us. He’ll come around.”
“You’re not worried about it, but that doesn’t mean that’s the way other Specials feel. That’s not the way Collin Raines feels. Our intel that Raines was up to something began when Winston was elected to office. And all of it indicates that he—or his pawns—will take hostile action if this president makes any move against Specials.”
Darian cursed. “That kind of threat isn’t really helping the problem.”
“There’s a real fear out there. And not just from those associated with Collin Raines. There are civilian Specials who truly fear genocide. Specials have been disappearing right and left. Vanishing without a trace. A report of another one came in to me today. That’s thirteen this month, thirty since Winston was elected.”
“We don’t know anything about those disappearances,” Fernandez said. “They may not even be connected. It’s just fear working its magic through the masses.”
“That’s absurd,” Darian said. “Why would they be afraid of Winston?”
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes. “Fear isn’t logical.”
* * * *
Tara was sketching when she heard Collin’s voice.
“How’s the beauty today?” he asked, leaning against the wall.
A blush rose and burned Tara’s cheeks. She scrambled to close her sketch pad and toss it in the drawer beside her bed.
Collin chuckled. “When do I get to see some of those drawings you do, huh?”
Tara stared at her hands. How freaking embarrassing. “They’re nothing.” She studied her cuticles. It was so immature to be drawing the boy—no, man—she loved. She hoped Collin never saw.
Collin’s steps sounded softly as he moved toward her. He tilted her chin up with his thumb and index finger. “When are you going to stop being so nervous around me, Tara?”
When you stop being so sexy.
She shook her head. He was so strong and brave. Collin hated hospitals. He hadn’t ever told her details, but her sister had once told her that when Collin and his brother were teenagers, some horrible doctor had done all sorts of studies on them.
He hated hospitals, but he came to this one anyway. For her.
Collin sighed. “Are you ready to practice?”
She released her breath and straightened. Her power was probably the only non-embarrassing thing about her. And it made Collin so happy. “What will we try today?”
Collin smiled, the scar that distorted his lips making his smile all the more heart stopping. Tara didn’t think she’d ever seen a man as beautiful.
“What do you think about trying to use your power at a distance?” he asked. “Directing the energy but not touching the object?”
“I haven’t ever—” She stopped when Collin shook his head. She didn’t want to displease him.
“Last month, you had never tapped in to your powers. It’s about practice, Tara. With practice, we can be stronger.”
Tara took a breath, studying the man she loved. “Okay. Let’s try.”
Chapter Ten
The White Rose was like any other strip club—a bit garish outside, with an ambience of pseudo-class in the interior’s low lighting.
Paige and Josie trailed into the bar behind Chrissie, who enjoyed missions like these.
Paige checked out the women on stage, impressed with their bodies. Not to mention their flexibility. There were two: a blonde and a brunette, both tanned and lean. Their dancer muscles flexed and stretched as they wrapped themselves around the poles.
The blonde had her eyes on the only man seated at the front. She flipped her hair and brushed it over his bald head before turning, bending at the waist, ass out, and giving him an up-close view of just how well her red lace thong fit.
“That’s our man,” Chrissie said, nodding to the stage.
They ignored the curious stares of the buffet patrons—businessmen trying to slide in a cheap thrill on their lunch break—as they followed Chrissie to the stage.
J. L. Scott was a short, staunch man with a permanent snarl curling his lip even when he smiled—which he did when the three girls sat beside him.
“She’s purdy!” Josie said, putting her chin on her hand and smiling up at the stripper.
Chrissie, in the seat closest to Scott, wriggled her chair closer to his and batted her lashes a few times. “You come here often?”
Scott’s lips curved into a smile. “As often as I need to get the job done.”
A waitress appeared behind the girls and laughed. “Whatever, J.L. You’re here so often, we might as well set you up a bed in the back.” She turned to the girls. “He owns this rat hole.”
The girls exchanged glances and giggled. The waitress drew her brows together.
This act was harder for Paige, but she’d be damned if it didn’t work ninety percent of the time. The slutty airhead made guys—even high-power Specials—let their guard down. Why spend hours drilling the guys for information in a tiny little interrogation room when they were so willing to give it to the prettiest girl around?
Not that Scott would know he was giving them what they needed. But he would give it all the same.
“You girls want anything to drink?” the waitress asked.
“Three cosmos,” Chrissie said.
Paige resisted an eye roll. Chrissie channeled Sex and the City when they were on cases like this one.
“Oh, and can I see a menu, too?” Josie asked, scrunching her shoulders around her ears.
Chrissie turned and stared meaningfully at Josie.
“What?” Josie whispered, her mouth turning into a pout. “I’m hungry.”
“I’ve never seen you ladies in here before,” Scott said.
“We’re new to town,” Paige told him. “Just checking a few places out.”
“We’re dancers,” Chrissie explained.
“Oh? Then you sat down next to the right man.” Scott straightened and studied them more closely.
Paige felt a bit like a cow at a cattle auction.
“Hmm.” He lingered on Paige’s small chest. “All three of you?”
Paige gave Chrissie an I told you so glare.
“We actually dance...together,” Chrissie explained.
This caught his attention. He smiled. “Really?”
Chrissie looked around them, as if for privacy. Then it was Scott’s turn to be studied like cattle. “We’re desperate for work. I don’t suppose we could arrange a private audition?”
* * * *
The guys walked into the bar just in time to see the girls leading Scott out.
“Fuck,” Fernandez muttered.
Wiley gave him a look. “What?”
“They got to him before us.”
“You act like that’s a problem.” He shook his head and tapped his chest. “I got this.”
Wiley stepped into a dark corner and slowly disappeared.
Darian laughed. “It just doesn’t count to Fernandez unless he’s in on the kill.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Wiley muttered, and Darian could only assume he was following the girls to wherever they were taking Scott.
Fernandez shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why does he always get the best jobs?”
* * * *
Wiley concentrated on remaining invisible and slipped into a chair in Scott’s private office. The girls were making a big production of acting nervous. They touched each
other between giggles—fingertips at the nape of neck, a hand sliding down an arm.
“Show me what you’ve got,” Scott said, settling in his office chair.
Chrissie turned to the mp3 speaker dock on the desk and found a jazzy tune.
Josie came up behind Chrissie and slipped her hands under the hem of her shirt. Scott gave a satisfied smile as Chrissie raised her arms over her head and let Josie undress her, leaving her in jeans and a black leather bra. Josie ran her fingers from the button on Chrissie’s jeans, up between her cleavage.
Wiley’s mouth went dry.
The girls turned to Paige. Josie lifted her shirt while Chrissie danced against her, her hands Paige’s hips, and all three rocked and swayed to the music, taking turns removing each other’s clothes until they were each left in dominatrix-inspired underthings: Chrissie in a black leather bra and shorts-style leather panties, tripped out with metal studs and zippers; Josie and Paige each in a black leather bustier that zipped down the front.
Scott gave another satisfied smile and leaned back in his chair.
Wiley hoped like hell the girls knew what they were doing. Scott’s power wasn’t one to be trifled with. Like Fernandez, he was what some Specials called a Puppet Master. But where Fernandez had to touch his target to be effective, Scott could control people’s actions just by looking at them, which could mean all sorts of scary shit if the girls weren’t careful.
The Stiletto Girls were playing a dangerous game, and their little power play could turn against them in the blink of an eye.
* * * *
Completely spent, Tara settled into her pillows and frowned at Collin. “Do you have to leave so soon?”
He hesitated before donning his trench coat. “I have a lot to do in the next two days,” he said. “I’ll be back this evening.”
“Are you sure Winston will visit Eden this week?”
“He’ll be there.” He buttoned the coat.
Tara bit her lip to keep herself from begging him to stay. “Collin, maybe we should just…get some help?”
Collin gave Tara what she was coming to think of as his bitter smile. “Who would we ask, Tara? The SIA? The FBI? The Army? They’re all under his control now.”
He was right. “I don’t understand why you think this all sits on your shoulders.”
“I’m responsible,” he said simply. “I have to take care of this.”
* * * *
Chrissie bent at the waist and Paige and Josie danced behind her, shimmying up each of her legs, running their hands over her skin.
In a move that would have made her aerobic striptease instructor proud, Chrissie snapped up and stole a glance at Scott over her shoulder. Oh, yeah, they had him. The girls exchanged a look. He was ready.
Paige sauntered over to her bag and made a big production of sticking her ass out as she retrieved handcuffs and a long strip of black satin.
Josie took the other end of the satin and they walked it over to Scott.
“This is where the special part of the show begins,” Josie said, and she and Paige brushed it over his face.
Chrissie took the cuffs and walked behind Scott. “We have a special show just for you,” she whispered, picking up a wrist. “If I may?”
It was all too easy to convince Scott to let them tie him up and blindfold him. And once they did and began unbuttoning his shirt so they could get their hands on as much exposed skin as possible, the poor shmoe was so damned excited Chrissie thought he might piss his pants.
“Tell me what you’re going to do to me,” he whispered.
Paige exchanged glances with Josie and rolled her eyes. No doubt this was worse for Paige since she had to feel the man’s arousal as if it were her own. How creepy.
Josie was being too damned slow about getting the guy’s chest bare. He was tied up. They didn’t exactly need seduction city here.
“We’re going to make you behave!” Chrissie said, pushing Josie’s hands out of the way. She yanked Scott’s shirt open, sending buttons flying and clinking against the desk and floor. His soft chest and Buddha belly were exposed, she pushed the shirt down his arms.
The girls looked at each other. Ready or not. Then reached out and began stroking soft—hairy—exposed skin.
Images flashed in Chrissie’s mind.
One of his strippers giving him a blow job under his desk.
A classy middle-aged woman slamming the door in his face—his wife?—“Never again, J.L. I won’t let you hurt me again.”
A boy, ten or twelve maybe, on a football field. The ball flew through the air, and he caught it and ran like the wind, the August heat pressing in on him from every direction.
A wedding. Music and laughter and a young girl on his arm. She’s too young. Please, God, let this be the right decision.
His wife again, taking him back, letting him into her bed.
Chrissie flitted through a dozen memories—memories that were closer to the surface—before she reached the one she wanted.
The man with the scar was here again. Jesus. What did he want? He liked the guy, but he gave him the creeps, always slinking around in that black trench.
He pressed an envelope into his hand. “Consider this a warning.”
J.L. lifted his palms. “What? We’re helping the cause, man!”
“You’re getting in the way,” he growled.
“Eden? Did I hear right? That’s where he’s organizing?”
The man with the scar looked over each shoulder before looking back at him, a scowl shaping his face. “You would do well to learn that the less you say, the better.”
Chrissie searched through hundreds of other memories, but nothing else gave her any context. Nothing else showed her what she needed to know. There had to be more, if only...
“Chrissie!”
Startled, Chrissie jumped and opened her eyes to see that Scott was squirming away from her, and Paige was trying to get her attention.
“What are you doing?” Scott wanted to know. “What’s this about?”
Paige pulled her away, yanking on her arm. Josie was against the wall, her face ghostly white.
“Listen,” Scott said, “I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is, I don’t have it. I don’t keep any money on me,” he blubbered.
Paige grabbed a girl with each hand and they ran out of the building.
* * * *
“What did you see?” Paige asked Josie when they were back at their office.
Josie’s hands shook and Chrissie pressed a glass of dark whiskey into them.
Josie had it halfway to her mouth before she stopped. “It’s not even three in the afternoon.”
Chrissie snorted. “Just drink.”
Josie took a long swallow and winced. “Jesus.”
“Finish that,” Chrissie ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chrissie turned to Paige. “I need to make a quick call.”
She stepped away pulled out her cell phone. Paige heard her talking to Aaron, their administrative assistant. Poor guy was probably at home with his family. Oh, well. Weekends didn’t mean much when you worked for Stilettos, Inc.
“We need to get to Eden, ASAP,” Chrissie said.
Josie and Paige exchanged a look. Eden was the equivalent of those hedonistic Caribbean resorts, except Eden was exclusive to Specials. Specials went to Eden for one of two reasons: to meet with a Special who rarely left, or to get a serious sexcation.
Josie shrugged. “Maybe she needs to recharge?”
Chrissie shook her head and put her hand over the receiver. “Nah, I pulled a Paige.”
Paige rolled her eyes. Ever since Collin left her and she’d been reluctant to pick up random guys, they’d been referring to masturbation as “pulling a Paige.”
“Real fucking clever,” she muttered.
Chrissie spouted off a few more requests, flipped her phone shut, and turned to the girls. “Collin’s in on it, and something’s going down on Eden.” She shifted h
er focus to Josie. “So?” Anyone who didn’t know Chrissie might think she was being bitchy by pushing Josie for information, but the lines between her eyes told her friends she was worried about whatever it was that had Josie so shaken.
Josie exhaled slowly. “His wife. I saw him walking into a house. He must have interrupted something—or someone—because he walks in the door and hears someone running in the back of the house and a window breaking.”
Paige nodded and gave Chrissie a warning glare. Don’t rush her!
“His wife is dead. She’s sprawled on the floor, but she...” She swallowed. “She looks wrong. Not just dead. Wrong.”
Paige winced. “Jesus.”
Josie closed her eyes. “It gets worse.”
She was struggling to keep her composure. Damn. Where was a Projector when you needed one?
If Darian were here—
Paige smothered the thought as soon as it reared its unwelcome head. Darian wasn’t working with them, and she didn’t need any man to get her job done or to help her friends.
She took another long, slow breath, and Paige took a step forward. If she could feel what Josie was feeling, she could help her—
“Then,” Josie continued, “Scott calls someone on his cell phone and says, ‘You promised this wouldn’t happen. You promised.’” She shook her head. “That’s all he says. Again and again. ‘You promised.’” Josie’s voice grew incredibly soft. “Until he lies down on the floor next to his wife’s body and pulls it to him. Then he fingers these big punctures in her jugular and I realized why she looked so wrong. She was drained. There was no more blood.” Josie released a shaky breath and looked at each of them. “He was broken.”
Paige found her power of speech first. “I thought it was just urban legend,” she whispered, thinking of her conversation with Tara.
“Me too,” Josie stared blankly at the space in front of her as if it held the answers they needed. “Vampires. Like some cheap B-grade film.” Finally, she broke her trance and looked at Paige. “Maybe it is. Maybe it’s just someone trying to make it look like the legends are true. Maybe...”
