Temptation Rising tss-1

by A. C. Arthur

  “You haven’t heard? Probably not, since you’re on an assignment.” Reed nodded his head, directing her to his cubicle on the other side of the conference room.

  Kalina really didn’t want to follow him, didn’t want to be in the enclosed space with him, knowing he’d try to hit on her once again. But she did want to know what was so important the chief of police was sitting in on a meeting on a Saturday afternoon. So she followed.

  Dropping his folder, notepad, and pen on his desk, Reed hiked up his dress pants and sat. Kalina sat on the stool wedged into a corner across from him. “So what’s going on?”

  “Two murders last night. SBFs, about your height and weight, sexually assaulted and ripped to shreds. Chief thinks there’s a connection to the senator and his daughter, who were both torn apart a few weeks back.”

  Kalina remembered that case. Even if she hadn’t been a cop, it had been on the news for the first two weeks after the senator and his young daughter had gone missing. Their bodies had been mauled to the point where they had to make ID through the dental records. “Still no suspects on that one?” she asked.

  Reed shook his head. “I’m with the chief on this one, it’s the same guy.”

  “You think it’s a guy?” Kalina wasn’t so sure. She didn’t think it was a woman, but something about the pictures she’d seen of the senator and his daughter had made her think of something else. Something she’d sworn wasn’t true.

  “You think a chick would do something like this?”

  Reed was a nice guy, a nice dresser, a permanent fixture in the department. He was probably just the kind of guy she should be looking at to settle down with. But … not.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m narcs, remember.”

  “That’s right,” he said, leaning back in his chair, flipping his tie over his shoulder as if that had some significant meaning. Other than to show her he was possibly partaking of too many donuts, she had no clue what that was. “You’re big time now, working with the DEA.”

  The last was said with more than mild distaste. It was no secret that the local cops abhorred federal agents from any branch. Something about too much arrogance and too little street training. While federal agents—Kalina assumed—probably thought cops had too much time on their hands and didn’t know their ass from a hole in the wall. How she could play both sides she wasn’t sure, but it was a guess that made a lot of sense to her.

  “I’m just working with them on this case.”

  “You’re following that smooth criminal Roman Reynolds? Be careful of him,” Reed warned.

  This was a conversation she definitely did not want to have with Reed. “It’s a job, Reed. Like all our others. So you have a list of possible suspects for these murders?” Changing the subject was the best course of action.

  “Nah, these girls were nobodies. No family, no addresses, nothing.”

  Just like her, Kalina thought with a pang to her chest. If not for her job, these women could have been her.

  “So that means it’s not worth finding their killer?” Even to herself her tone sounded defensive. The surprised look on Reed’s face confirmed it.

  “I didn’t say that. It just makes the pool of suspects that much deeper. If we had good background information, some type of friendships or connections, we’d have a starting point. At this stage all we know is that they were killed in the same manner.”

  Kalina rubbed her palms up and down her thighs, willing herself to calm down. Suddenly she felt very edgy. “I see what you mean. Maybe I could pull some of my contacts, see if they’ve heard anything on the streets.”

  Reed’s smile was slow. “You’d do that for me, baby?” he asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reaching for her hands.

  With an easy movement she lifted her hands, putting one up to her head to smooth down the sides of her hair while the other rested on the desk. “I could ask around to help get a lead on the case.”

  “But aren’t you working on something right now with the feds?”

  Hearing about the brutal murders had turned her attention from that, even though she wasn’t a homicide detective.

  “Look, thanks for the offer,” Reed said his eyes having a hard time staying focused on her face. Obviously the small hint of cleavage that showed in her dress was more appealing. “But I think I’ve got this under control.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Sure, he had this under control, just like the other twenty-something murder cases still unsolved on his desk. Reed was definitely not the top detective in the homicide department; something about him being lazy and more than a little disheartened by the crime he’d seen in his years on the force took away any chance of that title. Still, he kept his job, and they kept giving him new cases. No wonder crime was steadily on the rise.

  “Hope you catch this guy,” she said, standing and picking up her large purse with her own files and information inside.

  Reed stood, too, this time grabbing her wrist. “We should really get together outside work. How about dinner?”

  He was taller than her, but not taller than Rome. His slim build looked athletic and capable but didn’t exude the strength and dominance that Rome’s did. And she was losing her everlasting mind for thinking about a man who drove her absolutely crazy.

  “Ah, that’s probably not a good idea,” she found herself saying. “We work together, remember?”

  “Actually we don’t,” he said rubbing his fingers up her bare arm. The motion irritated her, scraped against something raw inside. “We’re in different departments and you seem to be moving on to bigger and better things.”

  She sensed he was talking about the DEA again and wondered why he kept mentioning that. Probably jealousy. There was a lot of that in the department. But she was the last person anybody should feel jealous of.

  Pulling her arm from his grasp, she gave a light chuckle. “I’ll always be a cop at heart,” she said. “I just think we should keep our relationship casual.”

  “Oh, I’m all for casual,” he said, but his hands found their way to her hips, pulling her closer to him in the small confines of his cubicle. “No strings attached. You know what I mean?”

  What Kalina knew for certain was that he was making her sick—literally. Her stomach roiled and she thought she was going to hurl right on his Pittsburgh Steelers tie—which wouldn’t have been a crime at all since they were rivals to both the Baltimore Ravens and Washington Redskins.

  “What I mean, Reed,” she said, pushing away from him and pulling her purse onto her arm in a defensive manner, “is that we should stay co-workers. That’s all. I’m not interested in anything more.” There, that should be clear enough.

  Reed nodded, dragging his tongue over his lower lip in a move that was probably meant to arouse. Instead it sort of provoked. Kalina took a step closer to him using the point of her finger to poke into his chest.

  “Just co-workers. Got it?” Her last poke sent Reed stumbling back, and he looked at her strangely.

  “Cool. Cool,” he said, holding his hands up in the air as if she were about to arrest him. “I get it. Don’t get all huffy. Actually, why don’t you get moving to your big assignment with the feds? I’m sure they need you there,” he said snidely.

  Yeah, he was jealous and now scorned. She didn’t care, she was tired of talking to him anyway. “It’s the DEA and yes, they need me there.”

  Walking out of the precinct, she was racked by unsteady feelings both physical and emotionally. The DEA didn’t need her; she was a nobody, remember? Just like those dead girls. Her stomach roiled again almost in rebellion against the words spoken in her mind.

  In the safety of her car she cranked up the air-conditioning and set out for home, her mind tracing over the facts.

  Four people had been killed. Mutilated.

  The females sexually assaulted, then mutilated.

  Connected?

  Not to her case, Kalina thought as she drove back to her apartment. It had n
othing to do with her. While she was at the station she’d plugged in descriptions of the three goons she’d seen last night and come back with nothing. Something moved inside her, pushing past the nausea that had assailed her just moments ago. She rolled down the window, needing new air to breathe, and was greeted with a dry wind that filtered into the car’s interior.

  From the passenger seat her cell phone chirped. She activated her Bluetooth and answered, “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me, Mel. So we’re having a cookout tomorrow and I thought about you. You know, being alone and everything, I figured you’d like to come over, have a couple burgers, and hang out.”

  Her co-worker, the chipper secretary with the envious home life. The word no was on the tip of Kalina’s tongue. She did not want to be around people she didn’t know, had too much work to think about socializing.

  On the other hand, she’d never had a real friend. In all her years Kalina could count her personal acquaintanceships with males and females—outside of work—on one hand. She did not build relationships, didn’t share any part of herself with anyone else, and had never experienced a giving of the same. Maybe it was time she opened the door just a little bit. Maybe this time would be different.

  As more maybes rolled around in her head her mouth answered, “Sure. Sounds good.”

  Chapter 12

  He called this room The Point. It was where he housed his shipments and distributed them to the dealers who would go out and make him and his growing establishment money to live on.

  As rooms went it was large: twelve-foot ceilings with beams and wiring crawling overhead like veins. There were few windows, small and clouded with dirt and located high up on the wall so anyone looking in would most likely only see the old pipes and structure of the old warehouse.

  On the floor nine-foot tables were lined as if a school of kids were expected for lunch, except there were no chairs. On each table at any given time a variety of items could be found, most often cocaine, since that was the drug he harvested and manufactured for himself. All the years he felt trapped and cheated being born in the bowels of the rain forest with all those other animals had finally paid off. Almost a hundred miles from where he was born in a dingy old hut at the base of the Gungi was where his empire had begun. Two years ago he’d found the land, or actually found the useless natives tirelessly working their callused hands to manufacture cocaine. The coke was being shipped to Raul Cortez in Peru then on to the United States, where Cortez had his army of dealers pushing it to those weak enough to become addicted.

  After doing the useless minions a favor and ending their meager existence, he’d slept in the middle of what was nothing more than a huge tent. Sleeping and thinking, thinking and sleeping was what Sabar did for seven days. And in the same time that it had taken the God that humans worshiped to create this foul world, he had come up with a plan to control it.

  Except instead of resting on the seventh day, Sabar killed. He hunted and devoured whatever crossed his path, letting the thrill of the hunt, the thirst for blood run gracefully through his veins. The idea had manifested over the weeks he stayed exiled in the forest, and eventually he’d gone out to find his own workers. Only these workers weren’t filthy humans, they were shifters. Ones like him that the Shadow Shifters didn’t want, felt like they didn’t need. When, in essence, they were the better of the species, they were superior. He would show them, once and for all.

  He could simply attack the tribes in the forest: take his growing group of Rogues and pillage their camp in the deep recesses of the night. But that wouldn’t have the effect he wanted. It was too quick, too painless. What he had in mind for the Shadow Shifters was something much more drawn out and deadly. As the laws of revenge went, there were none.

  Manufacturing his own product, shipping it to the States on security-cleared US military aircrafts, and having the humans he allowed himself to deal with push the product gave a much better profit than Raul Cortez had ever seen. The Cortez Cartel had nothing on Sabar and the Rogues.

  Less frequently he worked in ammunition. One thing Sabar had learned from his military contacts was that the US government loved to fight, and they loved to have the upper hand in a fight. So they were always in the market for the latest and greatest in warfare. It just so happened that one of Sabar’s newest associates had exactly what the government wanted—and more excitingly, what America’s allies wanted.

  So for the moment life was sweet.

  But only for the moment. There were still some glitches in his plan, some issues that he needed to resolve.

  The Kalina Harper thing, for instance. A chance encounter he’d never quite forgotten, one he’d finally realized was meant to be.

  There were other issues, other legs of his plan he’d yet to reveal, but tonight was about taking the next step. Facilitating his plan was of utmost importance. If he wanted to rule he needed an army behind him. Drafting new Rogues wasn’t difficult; there was a lot of unrest among the shifters, both the shadows in the forest and the ones stateside. The Shadow Shifters prided themselves on sticking together, following their rules, and living the life outlined for them—inside ridiculous parameters. They were loyal to one another, dedicated to their Ètica and their way of life. But there was division, an act Sabar had foreseen years ago. Now a shifter himself, he coddled the philosophy of breaking with tradition like a newborn baby.

  Humans, on the other hand, loved three things: money, power, and respect.

  All Sabar wanted from the spineless creatures was their money.

  He already had the power, was blessed with it along with his inferior DNA. Being a shifter was his saving grace, being a step above the human race his reward. He loved the control and fear his cat evoked, loved the leader it had bred him to be. He’d waited a long time to step up and claim what was rightfully his, and now he was almost there.

  As for respect, that would come or they would die. It was quite simple to his way of thinking.

  “JC’s ready,” Darel said from behind.

  Sabar rubbed a hand down the back of his close-shaved head, inhaling deeply before he turned. Darel wasn’t afraid of him. Leery of what his next move might be, yes, but not afraid. This could be a good thing, Sabar noted, or it could be bad. He hadn’t decided which yet. But he liked Darel, liked the kill-or-be-killed mentality the shifter possessed. Looking at the broad-shouldered beast with its green eyes glaring back at him almost made Sabar proud. He’d trained Darel, brought him under his wing when he was just a boy, raised him to be as vicious and cutthroat as he was. Yes, he was proud. But he wanted to be prouder.

  “Did you check his receipts from the last time?”

  Darel nodded. “I did. He was even.”

  “Good,” Sabar said, taking a step so that he and Darel were now walking together toward the other side of The Point. There were four tables over there, filled with blocks of coke that JC was to pick up and distribute on the streets for quick sale. “Watch him, though. He stinks,” he said, extending his long tongue to lick over his lips.

  Beside him Darel grunted. “He’s no fool, boss. He knows if he fucks up his ass is mincemeat.”

  Sabar nodded. “Make sure he doesn’t forget that little tidbit of information.”

  “No problem.”

  Through heavy metal double doors a human walked. He was tall and built like a toothpick, his face sunken in and leathery like he’d seen too much sun and not enough sunscreen. Dark eyes darted around the room as he walked with a sure gait, his stench wreaking of fear. Sabar’s stomach churned. If there was anything he hated more than the Shadow Shifters, it was a spineless human.

  “Howdy,” the man Darel called JC said.

  Darel stepped in front of Sabar. “Here’s the shipment. You’ve got a week to turn in the money and your receipts.”

  “Shit,” JC hissed. “All this? You want me to move all this in a week?”

  “If you can’t,” Darel said menacingly, “we’ll find someone who can.”


  “Nah, that’s…,” he stuttered. “That’s … not necessary.” Rubbing a hand through his greasy hair, he made a wide step around Darel to the first table. Long fingers moved along the silver-covered package as he blew out a low whistle. “I can do it.”

  “You’d better,” Darel said with a growl that had JC jumping, almost falling over the merchandise.

  “What the fuck are you guys?” JC mumbled as he looked up to see he was surrounded by the two of them.

  “Your worst fucking nightmare!” Sabar snarled.

  * * *

  In the confines of his bedroom on Sunday Rome continued to stare at the computer screen. His back hurt, his legs were begging to be stretched, but his eyes remained fixated on the words, the letters, the feelings behind each sentence his father had written.

  The last year in Vance Reynolds’s life was a tumultuous one. Along with the Delgados he’d been trying to create a stateside alliance like the Assembly in the forest. They wanted a government in place for the Shadow Shifters who’d opted to live out in the open among the humans. In the forest there had already been whispers of an uprising, threats of rogue shifters staking a claim in the village they’d helped build. Vance figured it was only a matter of time before those rogues made their way to the States.

  The stakes were much higher here in the land of the free. Shifters were living in the open instead of remaining hidden under the canopy of the rain forest, reported only as shadows or man–animal beasts. They could walk along the streets with their heads held high, make a living for themselves and their families, and still honor their heritage. But like any group living in unknown territory, they needed boundaries, rules, protocols to maintain their most protected secret.

  In the last few months of his life, Vance had begun a preliminary outline for how they could make that happen. At that time there were no Faction Leaders in the Zones, no one to really keep tabs on what was going on all over the continent, and Vance could not do it alone. He trusted Henrique and Sofia Delgado, along with his wife, with all his plans and secrets. All but one.