“There’s dozens of unregistered vampires in Angbec and they’re snatching humans off the street, mostly from The Bowl.”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?”
“I suppose you have proof of this nonsense?”
“Yes. No, but I have a witness. She’s here right now. Her name’s Rayne and she used to be part of the nest. She’s been helping me since sundown—”
“Nest? You mean she’s a vampire? Oh, Lord, it’s true.”
“Wait, wait, a second—”
“You get back here right now, and bring that fanger with you. If the reports I have are true, she attacked Jackson Cobé last night. What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”
Deep breath in. And out again. “I know we’ve got some weird hate-hate relationship going on, but can you put it aside for a second and listen to what I’m saying?”
“Agent Karson—”
“Come on, Francine, you know me. You hate me, but you know me. Would I do something this insane without good reason?”
“Thirty minutes. Get back here now or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Click.
I hurl the phone at the windscreen. Only a quick snatch by Rayne saves it and the glass from damage.
She tucks the phone neatly into the gap beside the handbrake and swivels against her seat belt. “That didn’t go well.”
“That bitch can’t see far enough past her own crooked nose to listen to sense. This is insane. I can’t take you in now. She’ll make sure they kill you out of spite.” The thought ties my stomach in knots.
“Then let’s find some proof.” She lifts her borrowed T-shirt, and for one wonderful moment, I wonder if she’s about to take it off. Then she pulls the stack of files out of her waistband and waves them at me. “There must be something useful in all this.”
I remember my own files, squashed against my chest and stomach. “I doubt it.”
“What else are you going to do? Take me in?”
I face her, trace my fingers along the curve of her jaw. “Not a chance in hell.”
Rayne smiles. “Good. Then let’s sit somewhere and go through this.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later we’re in a café, me nursing a double shot cappuccino, Rayne picking the wrapping off my blueberry muffin.
“You’re not about to tell me you guys can eat too?”
She sniffs the baked treat, then pops it back on the plate. “No. But I can enjoy the smell.”
I try to imagine being unable to eat. Giving up the taste of all my favourite foods. The idea is horrific. “What do you miss most?”
“Mum’s cottage pie.” She speaks without hesitation, without guile. “Always filled with vegetables from the allotment and flavoured with different spices. It tasted different every time, but that’s what made it good.”
I reach across the table, tangle my fingers with hers. “I’m a useless cook. Mum taught me a few dishes, but I’d rather bung some veg in a bowl and throw some chicken on top.”
“Very healthy.”
“I have to be. I might be tough with a gun or a blade, but even SPEAR agents spend a lot of time running away.”
Rayne grins, squeezing on my fingers. “I can’t imagine you running from anything.”
“I have my moments.”
“I won’t let anything hurt you, Danika.” She looks briefly at my other hand, the one still bandaged tight from the cut across my palm. “Even me. With me here, you won’t need to run.”
It’s sweet. So sweet in fact, I feel guilty for laughing.
She leans back, fingers slipping from mine. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry.” When her glare intensifies, I modify my answer. “You’re so gentle and kind—I can’t imagine you in full-on protection mode. Oh, don’t make that face.”
“I could be tough if I wanted to be. I was once a terribly stern police officer.”
“I’m sure you were.” I hide another chuckle behind a sip of coffee, then look at the files spread before me.
Remembering how I got them, Vixen’s sharp voice, Marco’s knowing smiles; the thought kills off any amusement.
“How is she getting away with it? Vixen, I mean? Walking around in the day, and you heard what she said—Jack’s a financial investment. Do you think she’s funding his campaign?”
Rayne leans back in her seat, her lips pursed in the faintest of pouts. It’s adorable. “Maybe.”
“But then, why was she leaving City Hall yesterday with a bunch of Vote Mikkleson posters? Is she playing them both?”
“It would be her style. That way, no matter who wins, she wins. Remember, she already knew about Jack’s habit of donating blood. Can you imagine what the public would think if that came out? I’d imagine she has dirt on the mayor too, something good for blackmail.”
The words are barely free of her mouth before facts click into place. I gaze at Rayne and know she’s got it too.
“The kid?”
She nods.
“So she knew Mikkleson’s son was an addict and a fang junkie and used it as leverage?”
“Perhaps. But then why take the boy?” Rayne stares at the table, her brow furrowed, eyes distant. Her focus is as admirable as it is beautiful, and instead of thinking about the case, I find myself watching her.
She has freckles, tiny, near invisible ones across the bridge of her nose.
“Who is he? I know he’s mayor, but what else does he do?”
I fight the urge to stroke those freckles. “Mikkleson? He used to be a Marine.”
“High up?”
“Probably. He doesn’t much seem like the type to take orders.”
She smiles. “Sounds familiar.”
“Hey—”
“So he’s strong-willed. Probably doesn’t like being pushed around. Used to getting his way?”
“What are you getting at?”
A shrug. “Maybe he didn’t enjoy getting blackmailed. What if he started to rebel, and she took his son as a warning? Or perhaps Vixen took his son, and he decided to get rid of her?”
I slump in my seat. Anger burns in my gut. “And I’m the perfect person to do it. It’s no secret how much I hate—hated—vampires. I didn’t even ask questions. He mentioned Cipla and that was it. I took the money and ran.”
“What’s Cipla?”
“An estate on the southern edge of Angbec. I grew up there. When Dad died, we left to move closer to Mum’s job, but the house is still there. Abandoned.”
Rayne stretches across the table. Again our fingers tangle. “So you wanted a way to hold the memory of happier times.”
“Easier times.”
She smiles. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
One of the café staff wanders over to collect our empties. He offers another cup of coffee, and I agree, waiting until he’s gone before I speak again.
“There is when I let it get in the way of my job. Mikkleson played me, and now I’m stuck in this big, ugly mess with no idea how to get out.”
“Ask for help.”
“I’ve never been good at that.” I gaze at her.
“Practise.”
I shift my hand until I have all of her fingers gathered in mine. “Rayne, please, help me solve this.”
“No, I’m sure you can handle this alone.”
I blink at her. Like an idiot. “What?”
Her lips wobble, then stretch into a smile. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Her laughter rings across the table, too bright and cheerful for this dreary, back street café.
“Seriously? Now you joke?”
She drags my hand to her lips and kisses the backs of my fingers. “You’re not the only one with a comic streak.”
“No shit. Maybe you’re not so timid after all.”
A wink, then Rayne is spreading the stolen files, snagging one off the top to start reading. She skims the first page, then begins the next. And the next.
“Are you a
ctually reading those?”
She barely looks up. “Vampire.”
Of course.
As my coffee arrives, I choose my own folder, open it, and begin to read. Much slower.
* * *
Three coffees later, my head is buzzing. Two coffees after that and I’m certain I’ll never sleep again. My eyes ache from reading and my fingers have a mind of their own, leaping across pages as I follow the words.
Rayne cuts me off. She seems alarmed at the effect caffeine has on me and pauses often to listen to my heartbeat and breathing. It’s cute in a mother-hen sort of way.
Four files lie on the seat beside me, fully read from back to front. Two were useless, some reports of a new drug with a name I can’t pronounce. The other seems to be accounts linked to Clear Blood, waiting for Jack’s signature.
For the first time I realize that as well as a talented chemist and lab technician, Jack is CEO of the Foundation, only a little way down from the board of directors.
Yep. It’s clear now, why Mum decided he was such a perfect match. He’s exactly the sort of man she’d wish for me: intelligent, driven, and rich. Shame he’s an arrogant, womanizing, conceited, cowardly fang junkie. Oh, and male.
I lick my lips, conscious of the tiny cut on the edge of my mouth where Rayne’s fangs nicked me.
And why were her fangs so close to my face? Because I kissed her. We were kissing. Kissing. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
Best kiss of my life. Without doubt.
A wriggle of warmth floods my body and I scrunch up my toes within my boots.
Rayne looks up from her sixth file. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I—”
“Your breathing stuttered. I thought you’d found something.”
I inhale slowly and let it go through pursed lips. “Sorry, no.”
“You’re feeling strange about it, aren’t you? I can’t help it. I’m tuned in to you. I notice everything about you, from the hitch in your breath, to the shifts in your heart rate. Even when your scent changes, though I need to be close for that.”
“You’re tuned in?” Part of me wants to be freaked out by that, but the rest squeals with inward delight at the thought of anybody paying that much attention to me. It might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
She nods. “I can tune out if I want. If I want.” She clears her throat and returns to the file on her lap.
Chapter Sixteen
Three herbal teas later—Rayne is adamant about the coffee—I toss the last file across the table and lower my head to my forearms. “There’s nothing here. Talk about waste of time.”
Rayne touches my elbow. Though the effects of the siren have worn off by now, the contact sends a little thrill through me. Without lifting my head, I shift my hand.
Our fingers dance together, stroking, sliding, whispering over each other, until I can hardly stand it. I look up.
She’s staring at me, eyes bright and cheerful, lips slightly parted.
I think about kissing her.
“Stop it,” she murmurs.
“What?”
“You’re thinking something naughty. I can tell, it changes the rhythm of your breathing. Just like before you kissed me.” Her fingers shift to trace swirls over the back of my hand.
“You weren’t complaining then.”
She chuckles. “And I’m not complaining now, but you asked for help.” With her free hand, Rayne flips her folder and lifts a page out. “I think I found something.”
Campaign stuff. Donations. Rally locations. Allies. Notes on advertising.
“This is nothing to do with Clear Blood.”
“No,” she agrees, “but look—Jackson received four large donations in the past couple of months. This one is listed as anonymous, but here’s the other three, from Fox Light Enterprises, Den Building Ltd, and this last one from Tall Tails Ltd.”
I shrug.
“There are also signs of continual funding from one or all of these companies or businesses related to them.” She continues to trace shapes on my skin. “You don’t see it?”
Right now I can’t see anything beyond her skin against mine, the contrast of light and dark. “See what?”
“They’re all linked to foxes.”
Can’t think with my hand on fire like this. I watch her index finger and the path it takes across my knuckles, then down to my wrist. Back again. Again.
“Danika?”
“Hmm?”
“Foxes. Vixen.”
“Right.” I cross my legs beneath the table.
“Are you listening? Those businesses might be owned by Vixen.”
I sit straight, abruptly freed from the spell Rayne weaves across me. “Could be coincidence.”
“Check.”
“How? I’m more of a fighting, chasing, hunting, killing sort of agent. Fieldwork, y’know?”
She grins. “Yes, and very good at it too. How long have you been with SPEAR?”
“Eight years.”
“You don’t seem that old.”
“I joined really young. It’s all I wanted to do.”
She cocks her head. “You sound like me.”
“Meaning?”
“Don’t get upset. I joined the police force back home because it’s all I wanted too. Most of my brothers and sisters were older, and Dad always told us that if we could do something worthwhile, we should. They decided worthwhile meant protecting people, and I agreed.”
I smile. Though my youth might have been troubled and hectic, helping people had always been front and centre in my mind. Making a difference. Being a SPEAR seemed natural, and despite Mum’s fear and veto of the idea, I did it anyway, pushing myself to be the best I could.
I’d made a deal with Mum; if I couldn’t get promoted to fieldwork in four years, I’d give it up and find something less dangerous.
I did it in two.
“Give me your phone.” Rayne’s voice pulls me back to myself. “I want to check those businesses.”
After passing her the device I swig from my mug. It’s cold now, the peppermint taste giving way to slight bitterness.
A wave towards the counter brings over one of the café staff. Shifts have changed twice since we sat down, and now the figure behind the counter is a whippet slender edane with green tinged skin and hair like Christmas tree fronds. A sprig of red berries hangs in a cluster beside their left ear, which is long and pointed.
They approach, smiling and chirpy. “Good evening. What can I do for you?”
“Don’t suppose I could get another…” I glance at Rayne. She hasn’t stopped searching, but something about the set of her shoulders suggests she’s listening to every word. “Tea, please.”
“The green tea is excellent. I can make it up with a blend of fruit infusions to give you a truly unique flavour.”
“Um, sure. Can I get another muffin too? One of the big yellow ones, please.”
Rayne is still searching when my treats arrive. I start on the muffin at once, gobbling half before remembering to share. I break off a piece and leave it near her elbow. She nods thanks, again without looking up, and pauses to inhale.
“Lemon and poppy seed. We used to make those at home.”
“They’re my favourite.”
“Maybe I’ll cook for you one day,” she says.
It’s subtle, but I catch a hint of uncertainty in Rayne’s voice. Her gaze flickers off the phone, so fast I might have missed it had I not been watching her.
“I’d like that.”
She smiles and keeps tapping the screen.
Watching her is a treat I can’t describe. The delicate motions of her hands, the concentration in her eyes, the tiniest tip of her tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth. More than once she stops to rough up her hair, an unconscious gesture as sexy as it is adorable.
I want to run my fingers through it again. Hell, I want to pull it, use it to draw her head back while I lay a trail of kisses down her throat and across her breasts
.
“Danika?”
“What, what? Yes, what?” I snatch the fresh mug and hide behind a sip of flavoured tea.
“You’re distracting me.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I can smell you.” She stares, one eyebrow raised. Slow, deliberate, she lowers her gaze towards my legs, then back up again. “I smell you.”
Shit.
Can’t decide if I’m embarrassed or even more turned on at the thought.
I settle for a point between the two and slip out from my chair. “I’m going to the loo.”
“Don’t be long.”
“Funny. I’m horny, not desperate.”
* * *
In the bathroom, I splash cold water into my face and down the back of my neck. It soaks straight through my bandage, but the faint sting is a welcome distraction to the moist heat between my legs. I’d love to douse that too, but that might be inappropriate.
I stare at the cracked mirror above the sinks, shifting sideways when another woman darts in, all rushed and panicked. She whips off her blouse and drags on a T-shirt with the café’s logo embroidered on the left side.
“Sorry, love.” She shoves the blouse into her bag. “I’d usually change at home, but our bloody supervisor ain’t shown up. I had to do a mad scramble for a babysitter then peg it across town.”
I raise my hands. “No need to explain, I just drink here.”
“Yeah?” A weary smile. “Don’t suppose you want a job? With him off and the new girl vanished, we’re mega short-staffed right now.”
“I’m a SPEAR.”
She looks me up and down. I twitch my jacket to show my gun in its shoulder holster.
“Wow, awesome. You on a sting or something?”
“Or something.”
“Well, you guys are awesome. Hope you get paid better than we do in this dump. Right, laters.” After fluffing her hair and wiping her mouth, she darts out again.
I’m still staring at the mirror when the realization hits.
Then I’m scrambling, jarring my hip on the sinks in my haste to get out.
The girl is already behind the counter, trying a half apron around her waist while chatting with the sprite. I shove aside a box of gingernut biscuits and lean over the worktop.
Both Ways Page 14
