Diamond In The Rough (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 2)

by Isobella Crowley

  Riley rocketed toward the ceiling and raised her arms over her head like a ballerina. “That’s great.” She soared around the building’s interior, darted from one room to the other, circled the lobby, and swooped down the halls.

  Remy quickly gave up trying to follow her and instead, sauntered into the office he’d claimed for his own. It was the second-largest—the biggest one, he assumed, would either be storage or a kind of conference room for schmoozing the clients or potential big-shot business partners.

  He settled into the chair. It was a standard office-supply-shop one, serviceable for now but could stand replacing. To the left stood a black file cabinet and atop it perched a coffee mug with “World’s Greatest Middle-Manager” printed across the front.

  With a wide grin, he took the cup and upended it on the surface of the desk, marking it as his own. I could get used to this. Mr Remington, Chief Operations Manager. Mr Davis, Lead Systems Analyst. Some important-sounding shit like that.

  As he sat, Riley fluttered in. “Which office will be mine?”

  “Hmm.” He looked around. “This one seems like a good candidate. It’s also my office, but you have the advantage of not taking up much space, so we’ll give you the corner.” His gaze dropped to the coffee mug. “And this will be your desk. I’ll see if I can find an old matchbox or something to use as a chair.”

  The fairy drifted to the surface, settled her rump on the upside-down mug, and leaned back so that her breasts pointed skyward. She’d crossed her legs, but uncrossing them would provide an unobstructed view of—

  “I get to work with you,” she purred. “In the same room, at your side. Day in, day out. In and out.”

  Remy swallowed a glob of saliva. “Indeed.” He glanced around. “Come to think of it, this office could accommodate two human-sized persons. At least for half an hour or so. Better yet, an hour. Fuck, I forgot to ask that agent if the walls were soundproofed.”

  Riley only half-comprehended him. She’d turned and now pushed the cup so it sat directly between Remy’s chair and the doorway. Her buttocks swelled nicely beneath the hem of her dress.

  In the same moment, he remembered that he’d promised Taylor he’d call her about the new office. Sucking in air, he made himself imagine the floor giving way beneath his chair to plummet him into the waters of New York Harbor. Which, at this time of year, would be damned cold.

  Focus returned. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Hey,” Riley said, “don’t you want to help me set my desk up?”

  He waved a hand. “In a minute. I have to be a good business partner.”

  No sooner had he said this than the front door to the building opened.

  Tense with alarm, Remy bolted to his feet, thankful that the collapsing-floor daydream had worked. He emerged from his chosen office and sidestepped down the hall toward the lobby and the entrance. Footsteps moved steadily closer to him.

  He rounded the corner and gaped at his partner.

  “Taylor,” he gasped and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus. I was worried we were already being robbed, or suicide-bombed, or whatever. I was about to call you.”

  The woman wore sunglasses and a black hat and scarf, he saw. In order to have arrived here this soon after dark, she would have had to leave her house well before twilight. He’d never seen her do that before.

  She nodded to him and strode past, her black clothes swishing lightly in the air. Aloof and purposeful, she barely even bothered to examine the place as she traversed it. He almost wondered if she’d been there before—she certainly acted as though she already owned it.

  “This will do,” she proclaimed over her shoulder. “I’ll see you in my office in five minutes.” She made a beeline for the largest office in the back corner, stepped into it, and closed the door.

  Remy sighed. So much for his conference room idea. He noted the time—6:26—and returned to his office, determined to play along and wait exactly five minutes.

  The fairy stared in bug-eyed surprise when he arrived. “How did she get here so fast?” she wondered.

  “Hell if I know,” he replied. “She must have set an alarm clock and put on a ton of sunscreen. At least we get to keep this office for ourselves.”

  At 6:31, he stood outside the large office, knocked on the door, and waited for a response.

  “Come in,” Taylor said after ten or twelve seconds.

  He turned the knob and entered. His partner had already ensconced herself behind the large, black desk in the rear-center of the room.

  She gestured to a simple, uncomfortable-looking wooden chair in the corner with a red-nailed hand. “Have a seat.”

  Remy grabbed the chair, carried it to the middle of the office, and sat across from her. “Well,” he began, “I didn’t have time to set us up with coffee machines yet, so I’m afraid I can’t wait for you to offer me some and then accept.”

  The vampire almost smiled. “There will be more than enough time for small luxuries. Assuming, of course, that we can actually afford this in the long run.” She folded her slender hands before her.

  “Aha,” he said and raised a finger. “You wanted to talk business, specifically finances. Little did you realize that you haven’t caught me unawares in that regard, even if I expected another hour or two before you arrived. You didn’t get sunburned, did you?”

  “Not really,” she responded, “although I do hate driving when the sun is out. Of course, I might not have had to if you’d gone with your original idea of leasing an office in Yonkers. You must have been offered an excellent deal on this office to tolerate it being all the way down in Brooklyn.”

  “As I was about to say,” he shot back and adjusted his cuff links, “I did get a good deal, and I’ve already crunched most of the numbers.” He grinned.

  Taylor nodded. “Let’s hear the crunching, then.”

  Remy obliged with alacrity. This was his time to shine, and it quickly became apparent that he was impressing her. He suspected that she wanted to find fault with his math, his logic, or his business instincts, but he refused to make it easy for her.

  Instead, he quickly recited all the figures he’d memorized and patterned the whole spiel on business pitches he’d overheard from his parents. He rattled off how much extra the agency would have to bring in to compensate for the cost of the office, how much income potential they were looking at for taking on only one mortal client per week, and the overall six-month growth projection for the business.

  Taylor interrupted him. “Didn’t you also say something about hiring a team?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “A receptionist is a necessity, really. You and I will be out on cases all the time, so someone has to hold the fort and deal with prospective clients, not to mention janitorial services and certified letters and all that crap. I’ve already included the labor cost in my estimate of how much we’ll pay for the office, based on the current competitive average for white-collar employees in the Greater New York City area.”

  She was smiling pleasantly when he came to the end of his explanation. “You’ve done your homework. You might have even taught me a thing or two.”

  He accepted the compliment with a curt nod. “I suppose that, over the years, I absorbed more than I thought.” He shrugged. “Spending one’s entire childhood seated at a dinner table with rich people who always discuss money, one naturally picks up some of the knowledge, whether one wanted it at the time or not.”

  “Of course,” agreed the vampire. “At my family’s table, the most commonly discussed subject was war. The older aristocracy differed from the present one. In some regards, at least.”

  For some reason, that made him uncomfortable. She had never revealed exactly how old she was, and he wondered which wars her family had presided over. The Catholic-Protestant conflicts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries? The Wars of the Roses? The goddamn Crusades?

  “Right,” was all he said. “The Dow Jones Industrial Average is truly mightier th
an the sword.”

  She ignored the quip. “Remington,” she asked and her demeanor grew darkly serious again, “have you noticed anything unusual in the last few days? Particularly since I put you on the Surrly case. Has anyone weird approached you? Anything?”

  The past week had been a flurry of activity, but his brain had been in overdrive and he seemed to remember almost all the details. “No weirder than usual. I’m still new enough to all this preternatural stuff that my definitions might not be identical to yours but nothing stands out as really bizarre or sinister.”

  “I see.” She closed her eyes briefly while her mind computed the information.

  When she opened them again, they fixed on him and held him in place. “I want you to take the rest of the money you get from those gems and spend some time flashing it around the city. Spend it. Behave like your old self again—a real wealthy playboy.”

  Remy leaned back. His brow pinched in confusion. “That’s rather an odd request. I’d ask if you’re telling me to take a vacation, relax, and enjoy life more but I know that’s not what you mean. This is some strategy of yours. May I ask what you hope to accomplish by having me toss hundred-dollar bills at cocktail waitresses and limo drivers?”

  Taylor’s face shifted subtly and she now looked almost concerned. “Let us say that you are half right. You have been working very hard lately and would benefit from having a little more fun.”

  “Fair enough.” He ran a finger under his collar.

  “But,” she went on, and for only a second, she hesitated. He perceived, somehow, that she’d stalled him for time and had only now thought of what to say. “There is also the matter of that obnoxious reporter, Ocren. If she’s following you and you simply act like your old self, then that’s not too suspicious. Business as usual. Again, we don’t want attention from the press.”

  He nodded slowly. “That sounds sensible, in a way. But why do I have the impression that you’re trying to avoid telling me something?”

  A ripple of tension went through her. He’d struck a nerve, perhaps—or, maybe, she merely debated whether to continue arguing with him like a human or whether she ought to put an immediate end to his insubordination using her vampiric powers.

  Remy did not relish the prospect of being compelled like a zombie. But something wasn’t right and he decided to push his luck.

  “So,” he drawled, “you want me to act like my old, trust-fundy self. It will make me less suspicious to the media. Fair enough. But it will make me more visible in general. And since I started working with you…well, there are some creatures who probably don’t like me very much. What kinds of potential threats can I expect from them?”

  Taylor was stony-faced. “Little, if any. Thanks to my governance of the New York City area being preserved after Gabriel’s little coup attempt, the rules are still very much in place. Preternaturals are not to harm or exploit humans. Then again, there is some gray area when it comes to humans who actually interact with the preternatural. So, it will behoove you to be cautious.”

  He laughed softly. “Cautious is my middle name. Wait, no, it isn’t. I could try it as a pseudonym, though. Still, what you said is awfully…vague. Do you have any information on specific parties who might be interested in me?”

  It seemed clear that he was getting to her and that she was on the verge of simply commanding him to leave, yet for some reason, she didn’t want to do this. He was narrowing down the range of her potential evasions.

  She continued the charade, though. “You don’t need to know about any specific parties, but I will say that someone might approach you with an odd set of requests or suggestions. It’s very unlikely you’d be attacked. But if anything strange happens—anything at all—inform me immediately.”

  Somewhere in Remy’s mind, a mechanism snapped into place. This was it—as close as he would get to outright confirmation of what he suspected. Now was the time to lay all the cards on the table and see how she reacted.

  “I’m bait,” he stated. “Exactly as I suspected. You’re using me to lure someone out. Someone who couldn’t resist approaching a man who has experience in both the preternatural world and New York high society. Gosh, I only hope nothing happens to me in the line of duty before you swoop in to make everything all better.”

  A subtle ripple of tension went through the woman, and her eyes sharpened. Then, she relaxed and for a moment, he even thought she might sigh with resignation.

  “David,” she said, “I don’t want any harm to come to you. It’s easier to draw someone out when you’re not aware of what you’re doing. I can see there’s no way to fool you, however, unless I use compulsion or mindwipe, and I don’t want to do either.”

  He pursed his lips. “Well, that’s nice to hear.”

  “I will brief you on the situation.” The corners of her mouth turned downward. “Don’t make me regret doing so.” She leaned back in her chair. “I have been tracking a certain figure in Israel…someone powerful and likely a fellow vampire. My kind don’t get along with one another. We’re territorial—like cats, you might say. This individual has made large, bold moves. And those with global ambitions always make their way to New York eventually.”

  Remy smirked. “So that’s why I was born here, to begin with.”

  Taylor went on without missing a beat. “This vampire already has their fingers in several money-filled pots. Specifically, those linked to wealthy families who have…‘problem children’ and very loose pockets.” She shrugged awkwardly, which was not like her at all. “That makes you the perfect lure.”

  He didn’t speak at first. Somehow, he didn’t consider it an honor to be regarded as ideal bait.

  “So,” he said finally, “how long have you tracked this mysterious Israeli vampire?”

  “Months.”

  He nodded. “And how long, exactly, have you planned to use me as your lure?”

  Something in her eyes hardened a little, although for the most part, her poker-face was intact. “The same number of months, approximately.”

  For whatever reason, that statement finally pounded like a punch in his gut. He blew the air out of his lungs and put a hand over his eyes. “Let me guess,” he began, “this time period is also the same number of months I’ve worked for the agency. For fuck’s sake.”

  Taylor actually sighed now. “Yes, Remington, you are an astute observer. And I mean that. You have the makings of a fine detective. I was already aware of our rival when I replied to your original inquiry about the company and arranged for us to meet at the Sotto Suolo. It’s true I needed help with the workload and had considered expanding the business, but…yes, that was my original motivation. I have to do what I have to do, David. The world is a dangerous place. And sometimes, I must do questionable things in order to stop other people, or entities, from doing things that are even worse.”

  “Oh,” Remy replied in a deadpan monotone. “Questionable. Yes.”

  Her eyes drooped slightly, and he realized that she truly looked…sad. Regretful, even. In the time he’d known her, it had never occurred to him that she might experience legitimate pangs of guilt or wistful sorrow.

  Somehow, that merely made him angrier. His hands clenched into fists and his teeth ground together.

  “David,” she went on, “I’m sorry. That was my thinking at first. But despite your quirks, you’ve been a boon to me—professionally and perhaps even personally. I…feel like I’ve begun to break out of my shell. Please understand that—”

  The sound of his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back cut her off. He rose to his feet.

  “Well,” he said sharply, “I’d better get back to work. I have considerable shit to do. Money to spend and all. Very nice talking to you, Taylor.”

  Remy spun and stormed toward the door. He yanked it open and slammed it shut behind him. He’d felt Taylor’s gaze on his back the whole time.

  “David!” she called. He ignored her.

  A few steps beyond the off
ice door, Riley wafted up, her tiny eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Bait duty.” He adjusted his tie. “I’d better get on it. I’ll need to get the rest of my cash stores out of the bank until Maps Cat comes through with the rest. Come along, and I’ll show you how a Remington wastes money.”

  His grating tone of voice must have indicated that he wasn’t particularly jubilant about this since Riley, to his surprise, did not cheer, nor ask him what he planned to buy her. They strode from the building together in silence.

  Chapter Six

  Tenor Extended Stay Hotel, Queens, New York

  Alexander Thomas was not a happy man.

  Something bumped against the wall to his left and the thudding impact rattled the thin walls and created a shower of fine, powdery dust and plaster. A woman giggled and a man said something in a slurred tone, possibly not in English. Alex wasn’t quite sure. With Americans, it was hard to tell.

  He ignored it, though. Since he’d arrived, all kinds of the city’s flotsam and jetsam had drifted through the rooms adjacent to his, sometimes minding their manners but more often than not leaving the place even worse than how they’d found it.

  Which was an accomplishment, since this motel was already about as seedy as it got.

  He paced constantly. “She’s practically a queen or something,” he grumbled under his breath and his hands clenched around each other behind his back while his feet maintained the steady pounding rhythm. “She’s rich. You’d think she could afford to put me up somewhere nice, for God’s sake.”

  As if in reply to his muttered complaint, the couple in the room to the left clicked a lighter and made sucking sounds, accompanied by the gurglings of dirty water at the bottom of some mysterious glass device.

  “So classy.” He drank tap water from a cheap Styrofoam cup. “At least it’s been, what? Four days since the last time the police stopped by. That’s encouraging.”