“You know it’s not.”
Finding a life partner who embodied their sin’s opposing virtue would supposedly release them from the burden of their sin, unlock special abilities, and leave them free to fight crime and make whatever decisions they wanted without consulting the tattoo. Without their mate, they would forever be prisoners to the destiny forced upon them at birth––purify half the world of sin, no matter the deadly consequences. To prevent that, Griffin would rather trust the predictability of science than some woo-woo unquantifiable fated mate theory. Just because Evan had found his mate, didn’t mean the rest of them would. They had all searched for decades and come up dry. That was all the evidence he needed to stick to his timing protocol.
“Well,” Parker continued, “while you’ve been obsessively managing your sin, the rest of us have come up with a plan to hasten the search for our mates. We just need your help to finish it.”
“I don’t need a mate when I’m handling this fine on my own.”
Parker burst out laughing. It was a deep roar that tipped his head back to display perfect white teeth, and it shook the hallway. When he finished, he wiped tears from his eyes with a forearm.
“That’s a good one. Handling it on your own.” Then his expression deadpanned. “There’s more to it than keeping your goddamned tattoo in equal parts.”
“But there’s not,” Griffin argued. “You told me all we needed was to make sure the marking stayed equal parts black and white and we’d be fine. It’s worked for years for me and I taught you all how to balance each act of sin with an equally quantifiable act of virtue. It’s not my fault none of you have listened and are in danger of falling.”
Griffin needed no reminder of the consequences of ignoring his balance. The blood on his hands visited him nightly in his dreams.
Parker narrowed his eyes. “That tattoo was only ever meant to be a Bandaid solution to the problem. Not a fix. Without your mate, you won’t get special abilities.”
“Don’t need them. I win all my battles without them.”
“Your pride is making my stomach hurt. It will be your downfall, Griffin.”
He shrugged. Didn’t care.
Parker kept at him. “You can’t have children until you find your mate. You’re shooting blanks. Or did you forget that? Or don’t you care?”
“I don’t think people like us should bring children into the world.”
“Yeah, well the rest of us do, because what’s the point if we’re not fighting to make a world where it’s safe for our children?”
“You need something, or can I get out of my gear?”
“Evan was almost captured by the police.”
A beat of silence.
Griffin lowered his gaze.
“And that’s not the only thing. Someone turned up and executed two of the perps.”
“What?” Griffin’s gaze snapped back to Parker’s.
“That’s right. While you were nursing your sin, someone––we don’t know who––turned up and put a bullet in the center of each head while Evan was checking on the guy you secured. He didn’t get a good look at the shooter, but the only reason either of them were left alive was because they heard the cop sirens as they arrived at the shop. Evan was lucky to get out, no thanks to you.”
Griffin didn’t know what to say.
“If you had stayed, Griffin, two people might be alive, and the world might not blame the Deadly Seven for murder.”
“Why would they blame us?”
“Because the survivor only saw you and Evan in uniform. Who do you think he’s going to say killed his thieving pals?”
“Evan’s okay?”
“He’s fine, but you owe us.” Parker slammed the stack of papers on Griffin’s chest. “This is the result of an algorithm Flint and I have been working on to isolate candidates for our remaining potential mates. It crawls data on the net and narrows down any candidate who might personify any of our sin’s opposing virtues. Take a look at it and give us feedback.”
Griffin met Parker’s eyes. “I’m not some sort of romantic matchmaker. I’m an analyst. You should know that since I work for your company.”
“Well, analyze the data. And... yeah, about working at Lazarus Industries. You’ve been reassigned, starting Monday week.”
“What?” Griffin stepped back, incredulous. “You can’t fire me.”
“Like I said, you owe us.” He handed Griffin another package—a folded newspaper. “And I’m not firing you. I’m transferring you to the Cardinal Copy Newsroom. A reporter has been printing defamatory articles about the Deadly Seven and we need someone on the inside to run interference and reconnaissance. Restoring our public opinion is of the utmost importance. Considering tonight you added to our bad name, you have to do this.”
“Also not a journalist,” Griffin said pointedly.
“Don’t need a journalist.”
“The answer is no.” He wouldn’t do it. He had a routine. He had work. He liked his work. He liked his office at Lazarus Industries. It faced the Quadrant’s central park. It was private and quiet. No one bothered him there.
If he did as Parker bade, everything would be messed up.
“It wasn’t a question, Griff. And it’s too late. We have a contact on the inside. Grace’s friend has put in a good word to get you an executive consultancy job. Officially, you’ll be analyzing and providing productivity and efficiency suggestions for the paper. Unofficially, you’ll be figuring out why this man is spreading false and misleading information. I want to know why, and I want it stopped.”
“Why me? Why not Sloan? She’s got tech skills. She does nothing but mooch around all day playing video games. I have a life. I was good at my job.” Am good at my job.
“Greed has been called out by this reporter on numerous occasions. For you, it’s personal.” Parker looked at the newspaper now in Griffin’s hand. “Take a look at the cover page.”
Griffin couldn’t adjust the packages without revealing the stolen item in his other hand, so didn’t. His throat closed up. Sweat prickled his scalp. This wasn’t happening.
“Whatever,” Parker said. “Look now. Look later. I don’t give a shit. Just look. You have an interview scheduled next week, and you’ll start the following Monday at eight.”
“So sure I’ll get the job?”
“You’re a Lazarus. Of course you’ll get the job.”
Parker sidestepped Griffin and made his way along the hall to the elevator, his dressing gown flapping like a royal cape as he went. Just before the doors closed, swallowing him up, he added, “I expect progress on the algorithm by family dinner Tuesday after you start work.” Then he was gone.
In a week’s time?
Griffin opened his apartment door, but it jammed a few inches in. He kicked. It didn’t move. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. Then he counted to a hundred in multiples of ten. When he opened his eyes, he nudged the door with his shoulder until it opened enough to let him through.
The lights automatically switched on, illuminating the rubbish dump he lived in. Once a pristine neat and tidy place, stacks of stolen items teetered all over the open planned living space. Each item was taken to atone for the acts of generosity he committed in the name of fighting crime. From books and newspapers, to expensive vases and jewels. Some would call it a treasure trove. He called it his nightmare, but at least no living souls were harmed from this collection. He’d never lost control, never been out of balance, never had a situation where the darkness swallowed him and greed took over. He threw the necklace into the void and heard a clatter as it landed and sifted down between the cracks of a pile.
He unzipped his jacket and tugged it off, immediately checking on the state of his tattoo. Equal parts black and white. Then why did he feel like his world was coming apart?
Chapter Three
It was six-thirty in the morning as Lilo Likeke rushed into the Cardinal Copy newsroom. Most other reporters made it by five-thirty to c
heck the competitors’ news reels before starting on their own day.
She hurried along the carpeted corridor in her sensible heels, popping a double wad of blueberry gum to take her mind off her hunger pangs. She’d forgotten to stock her pantry. It was her own fault for giving the last of her milk and bread to the stray cat who frequented her fire escape.
When she got to her desk, she ditched her threadbare satchel bag, waved a quick hello to Beverly Saks, the blue-haired sixty-five-year-old advice columnist, then rushed toward the break room.
Bev went on a new date every Tuesday, played poker on Thursdays, and went to Bikram Yoga with their friend Misha on Sundays. Bev was amazing. Lilo hoped she’d have the guts to live so vigorously at Bev’s age because, right now, at twenty-eight, she felt like a jaded old woman. Being a criminal investigative reporter could do that to you. Being the daughter of a city mob boss could also do that to you.
Shaking thoughts of her father away, Lilo snuck into the break room before her senior editor, Fred, could spot her. He’d assigned a story yesterday, and she’d done nothing on it. Admittedly, it was about a dog who rescued his owner from severe dehydration by feeding him toilet water, only to have the owner contract Hepatitis A, and in turn attempt to sue his dog—not exactly a riveting criminal case, especially since she’d been chasing vigilante leads for weeks.
The last time she’d had a break in that direction was two months ago when she’d been with her friend Grace walking home from a restaurant. Pure luck had her at the scene to witness one of the Deadly Seven helping local enforcement detain a group of white-robed terrorists. It was a momentous occasion. Not only had a vigilante come out of hiatus, but he’d demonstrated a supernatural ability—electricity came out of his hands! The story had put the crime fighting group firmly in the superhero category, which was unheard of outside of comic books. Since then, although no more superpowers had been reported, there had been numerous Deadly Seven sightings.
Who were the Deadly Seven, and where did their powers come from? Were they even real, or some trick of the eye? What were they doing in Cardinal City?
The white-robed terrorists were also a mystery she wanted to solve, but so far, had come up with nothing. Considering the Deadly Seven were so secretive, the public knew little about them. Uncovering secrets about them, or the terrorists, would be her unicorn story and she was fast becoming obsessed.
God knew the city needed heroes. Crime was at an all-time high and climbing. Lilo couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for that. Her family had a lot to answer for and she’d been trying to make up for it by being one of the good guys.
Lilo blew and popped gum while she glanced around the break room, searching for the coffee pod basket. She found it; there, shoved behind the coffee machine. It’s a miracle! One pod left.
She could almost taste blueberry flavored coffee sliding down her throat. Her hands trembled from low blood sugar as she searched the dishwasher for an empty mug. Success! She pivoted to return to the pod basket and slammed face-first into hard cashmere. Her nose squished and her bubble popped. She dropped her mug and… and a thick string of purple gum hung from her mouth to the soft-knit wall in front of her.
“I’m so sorry,” Lilo garbled, desperately trying to keep the remaining gum in her mouth. She picked at the edges of the flattened gum on the man’s sweater. Stuck. Gummy. Going everywhere. Oh no! The purple blob kept stretching. It stuck to her fingers. Stuck to him. Strung from her mouth. Strung from his sweater to her hand. Awareness prickled over her forehead and she knew he scowled at her. Forcing her eyes open, and refusing to buckle under the pounding of her heart, she slowly tilted her head up… and up… and her heart stopped. Her jaw dropped. The last of the gum fell from her mouth and dangled heavily on the cashmere, bouncing on a perfectly flat masculine stomach.
The man in front of her was so handsome, he could have been out of the latest GQ magazine. Her gaze ran over him from top to bottom. Trim, brown hair parted and styled. Full black lashes blinked behind black-framed spectacles. Perfect five-o’clock shadow that accentuated a strong jaw. Wide lickable lips. Sexy, strong neck. Her eyes traveled lower. White shirt. Silk tie. Cashmere sweater. Purple gum. Navy blazer tailor cut to fit his extraordinary musculature. Yep, he worked out. Gray slacks. Long legs…
He held a metal mug in one hand and her pod in the other.
Golly gosh, you’re magnificent. Where on earth did they find this man? Obviously, the gym. Silly question, Lilo.
Wait a minute—her pod! She blinked rapidly. He had her pod. The last one. She snapped out of her lust-filled daze.
“What?” he asked.
Even his voice was magnificent. It melted her insides with a smooth, buttery lilt that had her licking her lips.
“What, what?” she replied, realizing she hadn’t in fact pulled herself out of her daze after all.
“You said ‘Golly gosh, you’re magnificent’.”
She’d said that out loud?
“Um.” She laughed. “Don’t mind me.” Then shut her mouth, cheeks flaming. “I have a tendency to say the first thing on my mind. My mother says I’m too generous with my words, but… I guess that’s why I’m a journalist. Plus I like reporting the truth. Facts, you know. Not fiction. Not like what some so called reporters here like to call spin.” Jeez, Lilo. Shut up.
“Fact.” He raised a brow.
“Yes, like the fact I saw that pod first, so technically it should be mine.”
“I didn’t see your name on it.”
“Well, that’s because I hadn’t… you know what? Never mind. It’s yours. I owe you.” She winced and tried picking at the gum on his chest again. This was not going well. “Er. Sorry about the gum. If you take off your sweater, I can freeze it and then the gum should crack right off.”
To prove she knew what she was talking about, she began to outline the process she’d seen on a Martha Stewart episode once, but the more she spoke, the more he seemed to pale and all she could see was the purple sticky mess on his front shuddering with his stilted breath. She had the sense that gum never got stuck to his shirt. He never had a hair out of place, and if anyone dared to disrupt his fastidious life plans, they’d rue the day.
“I’ll just—” she picked some more and made an awkward face as the gum came off in big, long sticky streaks. “A little more.”
She used two hands. Gosh, he was solid. Built like a brick house. And behind the blueberry gum, she could smell a delectable hint of a deep, rich forest that wanted to climb inside her and purr like a kitten. That sudden masculine perfume had her splaying her hand on him for balance. Now the gum was on her palm and she couldn’t get it off. She’d made it worse, in fact.
But he wasn’t paying that attention. Sweat dappled his brow, and he tugged at his tie. “Why is it so hot in here?”
“Hot.” Was the only stupid word that came out of her mouth while she stared at her hand on his chest.
He covered her hand, most likely to remove it, but a jolt of heat speared through her at their contact and they both flinched. He pulled away and stared at his palm. Big hands. Good God, he had big hands.
When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “You don’t need to worry about cleaning it.”
“Yes, I do. It’s my fault.”
“Statistically speaking, there’s a high probability the gum has already ruined the sweater, so it’s fine. Please stop.”
“Do you know that statistically eighty-five percent of statistics are made up?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you mocking me?”
Heat flared up her neck. She decided to focus on the damage the gum had caused. “How about I buy you a new one?”
He glanced at his chest, wincing. “You’re still touching me.”
Lilo froze. Oh no. Her mother had warned her about this. She got handsy. People didn’t like it. Her ex, Donald Doppenger—or Donnie Darko as she now called him behind his back—used to berate her constantly if she touched him in p
ublic. Which was very hard not to do, mind you, especially when they were allowed to touch as much as they wanted behind closed doors. She liked touching. A lot. But she shouldn’t really use that relationship as a benchmark to compare other relationships. Not that this incident was a relationship. Oh for goodness sake, now she rambled in her mind.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured and stepped away, hiding her hands behind her back. This was a nightmare in need of immediate rectification. She turned away and spoke as she made two mugs of instant coffee with sticky hands. “If you send me the bill, I’ll be happy to pay for the sweater damage. You can find me in the criminal investigations section. My name is Lilo Likeke.”
Please God, don’t let it be real cashmere.
Quick. Hurry. Make the coffee and get out of there.
The silence extended for a good few minutes while she poured steaming liquid into two mugs, then added cream and sugar. His presence burned along her back. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
Something crunched behind her, like a squashed soda can.
She whirled around.
He stared at her, wide-eyed and white faced. His accusatory gaze ping-ponged between the crushed metal mug in his hand and back to her as though she had something to do with the mangled wreck.
She’d made him angry enough to crush his mug.
With another mumbled apology, she rushed out the door to the open-plan office area.
She shuffled into her cubicle and lowered into her chair until she was sure she became invisible. Only when the burning in her cheeks subsided did she look around to see if anyone noticed her flaming embarrassment. Her desk was next to an eclectic array of others. Over the partition was Bev. A depressed investigator called Quentin sat to her left, and behind Lilo was Candy the fashion journalist.
Criminal Investigations bordered with the lifestyle section. It was a hoot.
Greed: A Superhero Romance (The Deadly Seven Book 2) Page 2
