Kiss of Death (Supernatural Security Force Book 1)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Human heroes who were killed by the enemy got a flag and a twenty-one gun salute. The supes in charge of sending my dad off into the Great Beyond had given us a racist preacher with a reputation for inciting violence against anything non-human. The fact that they’d selected a priest who clearly knew about our kind and despised us despite the good we did for humans made my rage even worse.

  Maybe I’d wake up one day and find I’d become a June bug too.

  So far, though, I was still me. Gem Hawkins, daughter to the deceased, granddaughter to a mourning beetle, the only creature in this world my mother trusted—and all of us were being watched. During the processional from the church to the cemetery, I told myself the sensation of eyes on my back stemmed from the other mourners hoping to get a first-row seat to my meltdown. But by the time the priest had begun reciting the twenty-third Psalm, I knew it was more than that.

  When we all stood to sing “Amazing Grace,” I glanced over my shoulder.

  There.

  A dark suit half-hidden behind a tree several yards to my left.

  As my gaze swung back to the priest, I faltered.

  Another suit. Huddled behind a mausoleum decked out in cherub sculptures. And when I twisted to take in a full scan of the parking lot, three more.

  Agents.

  Because apparently ridding the city of demons wasn’t as much of a priority as spying at a funeral. Why the hell they felt the need to hide was a mystery.

  My mother’s sniffles called me back, and I straightened, tightening my grip around her waist. Around us, the guests murmured the lyrics, and my mother’s lip trembled as she tried to join them. From inside my mother’s purse, Gran sniffled too.

  I glared at the priest who’d ignored my song choice in favor of the hymn we all sung now. He met my eyes and smiled tightly, then finished out the song. At his direction, we all sat again, and he launched into some diatribe about the dangers of cavorting with demons on a daily basis.

  “I’ll give that assmuncher something to cavort with.”

  Gran’s voice at my ear startled me.

  “Ssh,” I told her, eyes on the priest still ranting passive-aggressively at our kind.

  Beside me, his wife, a plump human woman with a shrill voice, patted my hand as if to remind me not to end up like the deceased.

  It took every ounce of self-control I had not to shift right in front of her. I’d go with a giant worm or maybe a slug. Something with lots of slime and goo. Picturing her reaction when she saw what I could become was a small comfort.

  “Corinthians says, ‘But the sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to God, and I do not want you to participate with demons.’” The priest shot me and my mother a pointed glare. “You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of the demons too. You cannot have a part in both the Lord’s table and the table of the demons.”

  “I’m gonna pray for him,” Gran muttered.

  This time I didn’t shush her.

  This funeral was bullshit. Fake people using fake words to convey a fake sense of comfort. The only real thing amid the mountains of roses and somber-faced agents was my mother’s sniffles. Even those were muffled for propriety’s sake. Screw propriety. I was stone-faced, and not because I wasn’t crushed. My grieving just happened to contain a deep layer of rage I hadn’t yet found the bottom of. And if Gran’s mutterings were any indication, I wasn’t alone in my rage.

  While Gran mumbled about “the vengeance of the Lord,” I focused instead on the smooth walnut finish of the casket.

  It was half-covered by a cloth adorned with the seal of the Nephilim. A symbol of the strength that had failed the one man it should have stopped at nothing to save. The Supernatural Security Force had let him die on duty, and his murderer was still out there. While all of them sat here, doing not a damn thing about it. Well, unless you counted footing the bill for funeral decor one might find on the clearance aisle.

  It was a slap in the face. One I hoped my mother hadn’t caught on to.

  Finally, the priest finished his lecture and instructed everyone to bow their heads. I lowered my chin, and the back of my neck prickled. Glancing sideways, I paused at the sight of a figure along the edge of the looping driveway that bordered the burial sites.

  Even from here, I could tell he was male.

  Broad shoulders, dark hair, and fiercely intent on our little gathering. He wasn’t in a suit like the other lackeys. And he didn’t scan the area for unseen threats like the others did.

  I blinked, using my fae senses to hone in. His face was still too shadowed to make out, but his eyes—those were sharp and mysterious and, if I wasn’t mistaken, locked on me.

  What the hell? Who would come all this way just to watch from the tree line?

  Z maybe, but the mysterious stranger lurking at the fringe wasn’t Z. He had a different sort of energy about him. Less slick. More . . . dangerous.

  Besides, Z was currently not returning my texts. Jerk.

  The prayer ended.

  Fabric shuffled as the priest dismissed us and the guests began to rise.

  Gran returned to my mother’s purse to wait it out. My mom took a steadying breath, and I turned my attention back to her as we rose to meet the well-wishers coming to pay their respects.

  The next few minutes were filled with murmured reassurances and careful hugs. Some of the faces were familiar: our neighbor Carmen, who sometimes played bingo with Mom. Lila from the sandwich shop where I’d worked for the past four years. And Juice, my mechanic.

  “Hey, girl.” He pulled me into a one-armed hug then hugged my mom more gently.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  “Vic was a good guy,” he told her.

  She offered a watery smile and patted his arm.

  “Call me later,” he told me.

  I nodded, and he walked off slowly, hands stuffed into his hoodie.

  Beyond the few friends, most were strangers to me. Acquaintances and friends of my parents. My dad’s bowling buddies.

  Finally, the crowd began to thin.

  “Cora,” a male voice called out.

  The line of well-wishers had dwindled until the strange man smiling down at my mother was the only one left. Beyond him, a small army of suits stood scattered around. Every one of them watched our exchange like we might take him out at any moment. Agency guys. Which meant the suit before me was someone important.

  Good. Maybe he had answers.

  I noted the dark eyes and hard features that made up his handsome face. Attractive but dangerous. My magic crackled at his proximity, and I fought the urge to step between him and my mother.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She smiled tightly back and let him take her hand. “Thank you, Raph. It’s good to see you.”

  “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

  She didn’t offer an answer, only paled at the mention of what had brought us together.

  He brushed his lips across her hand then released it, turning to me. “You must be Gemini. Your father spoke highly of you.”

  The weight of his gaze rooted me.

  “Gem, this is Raphziel,” my mother said quietly. “He worked with your father.”

  Raphziel smiled in a way that made my stomach tighten.

  I shook his offered hand and shuddered at the zing of power that came with his touch.

  Something in his eyes flickered.

  Raw power.

  Nephilim, I realized, dazed by it.

  I’d never touched one before. Never been this close. No wonder my magic was on high alert. I could practically smell the otherworldliness of him.

  “Your father was a good man,” he said.

  The words were enough to wake me up; remind me why we were really here. Who Raphziel really was.

  “Does that mean you’re going to catch who killed him?”

  “Gem,” my mother whispered. “Now’s not exactly the time.”

  “Girl’s got a
point, Cora.”

  Raph’s forehead crinkled in confusion as he searched for the source of the voice.

  My mother’s face flushed. She gestured to the purse.

  “My mother-in-law is—”

  “Tired of the bull shrimp,” Gran said menacingly.

  Or as menacingly as a June bug could be.

  My mother looked horrified, but Raph shook his head.

  “It’s fine, Cora. Of course you all want answers. So do we.” He turned back to me, his expression bland as if placating a child. “The investigation is ongoing, which means I can’t say much, but we’re doing everything we can.”

  “Not everything,” I said, and he frowned.

  “Excuse me?”

  “There was a witness. I read about it in the report the coroner shared with us.”

  His eyes narrowed then smoothed again. “The witness information was redacted.”

  “I un-redacted it.” With magic. I left that part out.

  When he didn’t answer, I pressed on.

  “Anyway, like I said, there’s a witness, but no one has located him or her. Maybe if more resources were diverted to finding whoever this person is, we’d get a lead.”

  “Unfortunately, the witness you read about was the victim of a rata demon two nights ago.”

  “How convenient.”

  The Nephilim’s smile turned sharp.

  Behind him, a couple of the goons took a step closer, and I realized even my small push back was more than Raphziel was used to allowing.

  “Your enthusiasm for the investigation is admirable, Miss Hawkins. I can assure you we have our best agents already working around the clock to track down the demon who did this.”

  I didn’t bother putting words to the fact that there’d been zero evidence on his body of a demon being the murderer. Demons ripped or clawed or chewed. Not a trace of any of those things was visible when we’d gone to identify him. And according to the coroner’s report—also magically unredacted by yours truly—there hadn’t been a mark on him when he’d been found. But clearly, the SSF had already made up its mind about what they wanted to believe—or wanted us to believe.

  Raphziel was no exception.

  “Cora, why don’t you let my men escort you home? You look exhausted after today’s service. I hope it wasn’t too much, but we wanted to do everything we could to help lay Vic to rest.”

  “Who could rest with that priest railing on against abominations?” Gran said.

  I gave Raph a hard look. “The service was—”

  “Beautiful,” my mother said, cutting me off.

  She shot me a look.

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Raphziel said.

  I bit back another angry reply. Who the hell enjoyed a funeral? Especially one where the priest acted like I was the evil that was wrong the world?

  “It was unforgettable,” I said instead.

  Gran snorted. “A shart is unforgettable too.”

  Raphziel motioned at his goons, who started toward his black SUV like some sort of angry suit parade.

  “I’m so glad we could be there for you in this time of need,” he said. “Cora, why don’t you let me drive you home? You look absolutely destroyed and in no shape to be driving.”

  He tried leading my mother away, but I grabbed her hand.

  “That’s okay. I drove, so we’ll just take our own vehicle. Luckily, I can drive while looking like shit.”

  “Gem,” my mother scolded.

  Gran snickered.

  Raphziel’s smile turned cold, but I was over it, Nephilim or not. They’d controlled my dad’s entire life. I wasn’t going to let them control his death too.

  “You have our number if there’s any new information,” I added.

  My mother didn’t protest as I dragged her away from the Nephilim.

  I could feel Raph’s eyes on our backs as we went, and I knew better than to say a word until we were out of the cemetery and safely in the car. Thankfully, Gran had gone quiet too. Or mostly. The occasional grumble about “untrustworthy angels of darkness” broke through but otherwise, she let it go.

  “I can’t believe he just blew us off about the investigation and told us we look like shit,” I said after slamming my door closed.

  “You challenged a Nephilim, Gem, what did you expect?”

  “A step above assholery, maybe?” I gripped the steering wheel and jammed the key into the ignition. “I mean, today of all days, they could grow some manners, right? They didn’t even stick to our wishes for the service arrangements.”

  My mother sighed. “You’re talking about Nephilim. And Raph, at that. He’s not exactly known for his kindness and tact.”

  “He’s an ass.”

  “He’s an assmonkey,” Gran put in.

  My mother winced. “He was your father’s boss,” she said pointedly.

  I glanced over and saw something in her expression. “Wait. In the report, it said his superior was the one who sent him out solo that night. That was Raph’s call?”

  “Raph made a lot of calls your father didn’t like,” my mother said in a strained voice.

  Of course he did.

  “Fucking Nephilim,” Gran muttered. “Always acting like they know better.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I had a feeling Raph’s promises about answers were bullshit, just like their attempts to comfort us had been so far. Hiring a human priest who hated supes? Rage boiled in my veins, threatening to unleash my inner beast, but I forced it down.

  Losing my shit on such a terrible day wouldn’t do anyone any good. I had to be smart.

  “I know that look,” Mom said. I glanced over to see her watching me warily. “What are you thinking?”

  “That we need to go home,” I told her, turning the key and starting the engine.

  She sighed. “Good. I’m sure the neighbors will want to stop by to pay their respects—”

  “Fuck those lintlickers,” Gran said.

  “Please don’t say that to Luca Diablo,” my mother said, swiping a hand over her face.

  “I ain’t scared of him,” Gran muttered.

  My mom shot me a pleading look, probably hoping I’d help tone Gran down. But my mind was elsewhere as I pulled out of the cemetery. In the rearview, I tracked Raph and his cavalcade of agency minions as they drove off in the opposite direction.

  “Let the Diablo pack come,” I said. “I want to talk to them anyway.”

  “Why?” Mom sounded legit worried now.

  “You heard Raph today,” I told her. “And the other agents at headquarters this past week. They’re acting like Dad was dirty or something, and they’re not doing shit to find out what really happened to him. I for one am not going to sit around while the real killer gets away.”

  “What are you going to do, hire the Diablo pack to investigate?” Mom asked. We all knew the Diablos weren’t exactly ethical.

  “Yeah. We need to bust a cap,” Gran said.

  “No, I’m going to ask Luca for advice.” I glanced down at the purse where Gran was still hanging out. “We need to make a plan,” I told her. “Dad would have insisted on strategy above all else.”

  “Gem’s right, Cora,” Gran said. She flew up and landed on the dashboard so she could look my mother in the eye. “Vic deserves justice.”

  Silence followed.

  “All right,” my mother finally said, and Gran flew in circles, chattering about “those twatwaffle Neph going down.”

  My mother made the sign of the cross—which was weird considering we weren’t religious. Gran was clearly driving her to desperation.

  While I drove, I let my thoughts wander toward a plan of some kind. My usual tactic was to rush in and bulldoze over whoever got in my way. I’d grown up in a neighborhood of gangster werewolves where brawns, not brains, ruled. Luca Diablo was the closest thing to the Godfather I’d ever met. Playtime with him and his cousins had consisted of a never-ending game of “cops and robbers,” only no one had the guts to be the co
p once Luca got done with them.

  Between that and my penchant for speed, I’d gotten myself into more than one sticky situation thanks to my lack of patience and planning. But this time, Gran was right. I’d honor Dad by being smart about this, by forming a plan that would stand up against whatever conspiracy was covering up the truth about his death. And then I’d avenge him by carrying it out.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of revving engines hit me long before I saw the cars. Rounding the corner, the warehouses gave way to an open lot and a convergence of rice rockets and muscle cars that could only mean one thing. Tonight was race night. Normally, I arrived as part of the turbo-charged processional. Tonight, however, I’d already parked and glamoured my baby for safekeeping. I couldn’t afford to be spotted at an illegal race. Not even by the human police. There was too much at stake for that kind of risk.

  For this plan to work, I had to keep my nose clean.

  Approaching on foot, my worn jacket didn’t do much to keep me warm against the night breeze coming off the water. Rather than dwell on what I was about to do to my team, I fantasized about the leather jacket I’d seen at Shepherd’s last week. It would have been a hell of a lot warmer than this one, but I couldn’t spare the extra cash. Not when my last shift was tomorrow.

  Up ahead, people milled around in the darkness. The streetlights had been knocked out to preserve anonymity, but I recognized the ratty tee and squared shoulders as he bent over an open hood.

  “Juice.”

  My mechanic looked up, his mustache nearly blending with his dark coloring.

  “Gem.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and a one-armed hug. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s good. Home with Gran.”

  He nodded. “Tell them both I send my regards.”

  Juice wasn’t the only human who knew about supes. But he was the only one who’d managed to earn the trust of my entire family—and therefore knew the secret of what Gran really was.

  Dad had liked Juice. He’d appreciated the lack of questions. Questions had always made it hard to live among humans, but not with Juice. He just accepted us. Said who you were mattered more than what you were.

  “We got some new equipment tonight?” I asked, gesturing to the Japanese import he was checking out.