Mercenary

by Jennifer Blackstream

  A month. A solid month of no contact, no phone calls, no visits. During my last case, I’d finally pushed Flint too far, and he’d decided to start acting more like a master. If I’d known then that he’d try to sever my working relationship with my FBI partner, I might have thought twice about agreeing to investigate the exorcism. And dragging him into that battle with the kelpies.

  I glared at Flint, then paused as I noticed he’d taken out his cell phone as well. A little icon caught my attention, a sexy woman holding a finger over her lips in a shushing motion. “What’s that?”

  “It’s an app that allows you to send self-deleting texts.”

  I rolled my eyes, but as his words sunk in, an idea occurred to me.

  “It’s very handy for lovers with jealous spouses,” Flint said casually. “But I wouldn’t recommend it for business relationships. In some cases, one might argue that the very presence of this app on one’s phone could be evidence of intended deception.”

  Damn his eyes. I held my phone tighter, still fighting the urge to text Andy. I needed to tell him why I couldn’t answer his calls. Why I couldn’t give him any real information about what I was doing. Why I’d been avoiding him for a month and not helping him with his cold cases the way I’d said I would.

  “Come on, it’s time to go,” Flint said finally. “We have a lot to do today.”

  I retrieved my waist pouch from the chair. Flint refused to let me have it in the training ring, claiming that I’d never find what I needed in time to make it worth having in a real battle anyway. “What else do we have to do?”

  “We have to eat, that’s what we have to do,” Peasblossom announced. “I’m hungry, and I don’t want vegetables this time.”

  “This time,” I muttered. “You haven’t had vegetables for two days.”

  “Honey is all I need,” Peasblossom agreed.

  “No, you need to eat something healthy. And it wouldn’t kill you to have a bit of steak.” I turned my attention to Flint. “What is it we need to do today? Does it have anything to do with the suitcase you asked me to pack?”

  “Yes and no.” Flint headed for the glass doors of the gym, easily passing through the hesitation spell that diverted humans from attempting to enter.

  I followed him to the sleek black midlife-crisis mobile parked in front of the building and waited for him to unlock the doors. My suitcase sat on the floor of the passenger seat because at the time I’d climbed into the car when Flint picked me up in Dresden this morning, Scath had decided to take up the pitiful excuse the car had for a backseat and there’d been no room for luggage.

  As if my thoughts of her had summoned the beast, Scath strode out of the gym behind me, thick black tail swaying as she paced to my side. I reached down and petted her head, studying her face. As usual, she seemed neither pleased nor bothered by my gesture.

  “She’s been spending more time around you.” Flint opened his door. “Have you learned anything more about her?”

  “No. I have no idea why she saved my life, or why she continues to hang around.” I scratched her behind one pointed ear. Still nothing. “Honestly, she doesn’t even seem to really like me.”

  I opened the door and waited for Scath to climb inside and settle herself in the “backseat.” Before I could tumble into the too-low bucket seat, Peasblossom made a beeline for the GPS and jabbed the power button.

  “Don’t touch that,” Flint said, though he made no move to physically stop her. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

  “I’m hungry,” Peasblossom grumbled. “I thought we decided on lunch?”

  “We’ll eat soon, but first we need to get you both settled in.”

  I froze in the middle of trying to wedge my legs around my suitcase. “Settled in? What do you mean ‘settled in?’”

  Flint didn’t answer. Instead, he let me sit there and stew as he started the car and smoothly merged with Cleveland’s rush hour traffic.

  “Settled in,” plus suitcase, equaled not going home to Dresden. I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. When I’d first signed the contract with Flint, I’d been sure he’d make me live with him. After all, most people kept their slaves close at hand twenty-four seven. Flint had surprised me by letting me stay in my own home, living for the most part the way I had before the contract. Had he changed his mind?

  “You didn’t tell me this would be an extended stay,” I said lightly. “I didn’t make arrangements for Majesty.”

  “I’m sure your mentor would be happy to take care of him.”

  I fidgeted in my seat, readjusting my seatbelt so it didn’t lay over the welts on my stomach. “I have other duties in Dresden. As happy as I am that my private investigation services have taken off, I’m still the village witch. I have responsibilities.”

  Flint’s mouth twitched at the corner. “I’m not sure I would consider your career to have ‘taken off.’ You’ve had four cases, and I believe you were only paid for two of them.”

  The petty side of me wanted to tell him how much I’d been paid for that first case, but considering how well-acquainted Flint was with the vampire Anton Winters, I could only assume he already knew. I fought not to squirm as I tried to think of something else, anything else, that would get me back to Dresden.

  “If it were up to me, I’d love to work as a PI full time. But of course, Mother Hazel is very insistent that I continue to serve my village as their witch. It is, after all, what she trained me for.”

  Mentioning my mentor by name didn’t have any outward effect on Flint, and he gave no sign of reconsidering whatever it was he had planned for me. I settled into my seat for the ride, too distracted by thoughts of what was waiting for me to bother trying to keep the conversation going. If he wasn’t in a hurry to tell me where we were going, then it was more than likely I didn’t want to know anyway.

  Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a parking lot. I sat up straighter, leaning toward the window to get a better look at the building. It was a warehouse, a huge tower of red brick broken up by four by four grids of windows. A block of beige concrete over the door read “East Supply Company.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  “I’ll carry your suitcase, you take care of the…cat.”

  I didn’t look in the backseat. Scath didn’t need taken care of, she’d get out if and when it pleased her. “You don’t have to carry my suitcase—it’s on wheels.”

  I opened my door and hauled the black suitcase onto the asphalt, extending the handle and rolling it back and forth to demonstrate. “See?”

  Flint stared at me, hazel eyes that always had that “I just woke up” slant to them eyeing me and my rolling suitcase. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start.

  “Lead the way,” I prompted. “I’ll take care of the suitcase.”

  Irritating Flint had become one of my self-defense mechanisms when he was making me nervous. It was incredibly easy to do, and I felt a little better when he shook his head as he got out of the car.

  The building’s interior did not match its aging, austere exterior. The floor was polished wood, waxed to a glossy shine that reflected the artistic lanterns glowing from marble columns and placed strategically throughout the large, open floor space. Heavy wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, and higher still, slender white fans twirled lazily to create a soft breeze. Huge windows let in a flood of natural light, bathing the entire place in a honeyed late afternoon glow.

  “This doesn’t look like a supply company,” I noted.

  Flint gestured for me to follow him up a staircase that led to a catwalk circling the perimeter of the building some sixty feet overhead. Doorways sat at large intervals, and he led me to the one directly opposite the door we’d entered through.

  An uneasy sensation rippled through my stomach, chasing away my momentary relief, and suddenly my suitcase on wheels seemed heavy and unyielding. “Flint. Where are we?”

  In answer, he unlock
ed the door and swung it open. I leaned over to look inside without stepping through the doorway. “No.”

  Flint took my arm and half-dragged me inside. I shook my head, trying not to look around at the sprawling apartment with large, sunny windows, a brand new kitchenette complete with freshly painted white cupboards and polished granite counter tops. A door off to the side gave a glimpse of a small bathroom, and another door opened into what I assumed was the bedroom. The apartment held nothing to suggest anyone lived there—yet. My gaze lingered on the desk in the middle of the dining room where a table should be. It looked identical to my desk at home.

  “No,” I said again.

  “Dresden is two hours away,” Flint said calmly. “The case I’m assigning you will take more than twenty-four hours. It makes sense for you to stay here.”

  A young millennial dressed in an outfit that had either cost five dollars at a Goodwill or two hundred dollars at a boutique walked by the door, peering inside with the curiosity of any human presented with an opportunity to see inside someone else’s house. My cheeks burned as if someone had hung a sign over my head.

  Mistress.

  Kept woman.

  I gritted my teeth.

  “Give it a chance.” Flint gestured toward the kitchen before striding to the corner beside the fridge. “I’ve tried to provide you with the necessities.”

  I glared at the Keurig, forcing myself to ignore the coveted 14 oz setting. I had to trick my mini-Keurig at home into making a proper 14 oz size coffee by holding the reservoir open while I poured the water in. As I watched, he flung open the refrigerator to reveal a shelf laden with bright red cans of Coke. My lips parted, but I shook myself.

  “I have responsibilities in Dresden,” I insisted. “Mrs. Walker’s youngest is teething. Teething. And she’s got four other kids needing attention. The woman’s nearest family is in Florida, she won’t sleep at all if I’m not there to help out.”

  “Tell her to wet a washcloth and freeze it for the little one to chew on,” Flint responded.

  I blinked. “What do you know about child care?”

  “I know that most of the women you help could get the same advice with a simple trip to the library. They can spare you for the duration of this case.”

  Spoken like someone who knew nothing about being responsible for children. Of course Mrs. Walker could find an alternative source of advice to help with teething—her pediatrician had doubtlessly already given her a list of ways to manage her little one’s pain. But the help I provided was the simple help every mother needed from time to time—someone to say “Let me watch the kids for a couple hours while you sleep. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Scath sauntered through the door, giving the apartment a cursory glance before prowling the perimeter, sniffing random objects. Flint and I both watched, curious. He’d been right, Scath had been hanging around me more and more lately. Whereas before she had only shown up when I was in danger, now she walked in and out of my life in a lazy, get to know you fashion. I couldn’t say I was happy about it. I didn’t know what she was, and it was rarely a good thing when a fey creature took an interest in you. However, she had saved my life.

  And she did bother Flint.

  Finished with her perusal, Scath padded to my side and sat down, fixing Flint with a green-eyed stare of death. Tension wove through the sidhe’s shoulders, and he stiffened as if consciously resisting the urge to step back. I patted Scath’s head, hoping it didn’t annoy her. Good kitty.

  “I’m not staying here.” I gripped the handle of my suitcase and lifted my chin.

  “Yes. You are. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

  Flint closed the fridge with more force than was necessary and leaned against it. In his tight black T-shirt and snug jeans, he looked like a model in a home improvement catalog. Tempting people to spring for the granite counter tops, subconsciously insinuating that they came with a sexy brunet.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, but the scent of Flint’s cologne tickled my senses. I wrinkled my nose. Was that smell clinging to me from my time in his car, or had the leannan sidhe spritzed it around my new apartment as some twisted way of keeping himself at the forefront of my mind?

  Might as well pee in the corner while he’s at it, I thought bitterly.

  “You can’t make her stay here!” Peasblossom stomped out from under my hair to glare at Flint from my shoulder. “She’s a village witch. Dresden’s village witch.” She jabbed a tiny finger at him. “That means she lives in Dresden.”

  “She will live where I say she lives,” Flint responded, his voice dropping dangerously low. “And if she doesn’t accept my gracious offer of a private apartment, then she can come stay with me.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. Flint’s eyes held that golden gleam, the soft glow of his power. Thus far, he’d been irritating and demanding, but he hadn’t pushed me past any of my hard limits. He flirted, but he never went too far, never crossed the line. Moments like these, when he stared at me with that alien look in his eyes, that reminder that he was not and had never been human… These moments reminded me how much worse my situation could be.

  Peasblossom flew toward him, a dash of pink light that halted an inch from his face. “If she stays with you, I stay with you,” she snapped. “Remember that.”

  Flint ignored the threat. “Get settled in.” He pushed off the counter. “I’ve stocked the shower and bathroom. Get cleaned up and dressed, we’re going to meet with your new client. I’ll be back in one hour to pick you up. Please be punctual. I’d like you to solve this case before someone dies.”

  He left before I could ask any questions, and I scowled. “This is not good.” I smoothed my hands down my hair, trying to calm my chaotic thoughts. “It’s all right, though. At least I’m not staying with him.” I nodded. “Private apartment. That’s what he said.”

  “It’s what he said, but I’m not sure it’s what he meant,” Peasblossom called out.

  I stared at the bedroom door for a long, dread-filled second, then forced myself to go see what she was talking about. I ground to a halt in front of the open closet door across from the king-sized bed.

  A row of familiar T-shirts, along with a few formal outfits for a man. A very specific man.

  “He might have insinuated he wasn’t staying here with you,” Peasblossom said grimly. She stared at the clothes. “But it seems like he’s open to the possibility.”

  Chapter 3

  “Shade, are you listening?”

  I jerked in my seat to face Flint, and for a second, the image of his clothes hanging in the closet—my closet—superimposed itself over his face. I blinked away the snug T-shirts and pressed denim and searched my recent memory for some tidbit to clue me in to what he’d been saying while I was worrying about my new living arrangements. “You’re going rafting.”

  I’d guessed wrong, if his expression was anything to go by.

  The sleek black padded leather of the car’s interior didn’t make a sound as Flint let his head fall against the headrest in defeat. “You realize that you can’t obey me—in accordance with our contract—if you aren’t even listening to me when I’m speaking to you?”

  “Are you staying at that apartment, or did you put those clothes there to irritate me?” I blurted out the question before I could stop myself.

  Some of the irritation fled from the lines around his eyes, and he gave me a sly smile. “Irritated? Are you sure that’s the right word?”

  I snorted to cover the hysterical laugh that tried to squeak past my lips. “Positive.”

  Flint’s smile didn’t waver as he adjusted one of the AC vents to send cool air ghosting over my warm cheeks, calling attention to the blush that had no doubt turned them bright red. I gritted my teeth.

  “I asked you if you’d ever heard of Whitewater?” Flint prompted.

  “It’s a private military company.” I stared out the windshield, trying to recall what I’d he
ard about it. “There was an incident in Iraq. Civilians were killed, and there was outrage when the Whitewater guards weren’t charged, despite evidence that they’d provided false statements. It’s one of the incidents most often cited to support the need for new laws governing private military companies.”

  “Exactly. At the moment, the law is unclear at best.”

  Peasblossom snorted from her spot under my hair, sending a poof of breath over the delicate hairs on my neck and a wave of gooseflesh down my arm. “Unclear. Pah! They want the law to be unclear. What better way to avoid all those pesky regulations that come with having an army than to have an army but refuse to call it an army, or admit it’s an army, even when everyone knows it’s an army?”

  “Succinctly put.” I rubbed my arms.

  Flint’s eye twitched, but he refused to acknowledge the pixie. “As much as the government takes advantage of this lack of legal clarity, they aren’t ignorant to the negative effect it has when the press covers stories like the incident with Whitewater. They don’t like the private militaries they use showing up in the papers with words like ‘dead civilians.’”

  “And rather than enacting laws that would prevent those words from showing up, they hired someone to cover up those situations if they happen,” I guessed.

  “Roger Temple, fifty-five, married to Barbara Temple. Graduated from Harvard in 1989, valedictorian of course, spent fifteen years working as a defense attorney for Wachtell, Sullivan, and Vault—one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. He left the firm to go into business for himself ten years ago.”

  “He’s a private defense attorney?” I asked.

  “No. He’s an executive consultant.”

  “A fixer.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest of my door. “So he helps politicians cover up affairs, lawsuits, that sort of thing?”

  “No. Roger works almost exclusively for the United States government. It’s his unofficial job to vet private military companies, or PMCs for short. When a government contract comes up, Roger is the one they turn to for a recommendation. Rumor has it he also comes up with small ‘test missions’ for PMCs who want to apply for a contract. It’s also his job to make sure if a company he recommends does make a mistake, he’s there to make sure it doesn’t become a public debacle.”