Risk Read online

  Risk: A Samantha Reece Mystery

  Book 2

  Jaime Johnesee

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  The Shifters Series

  About the Author

  Also From DevilDog Press

  Untitled

  Copyright © 2016 by Jaime Johnesee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor: Rob M. Miller

  Cover [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  I'd like to take a moment to thank Rob M. Miller for his work in editing this edition to Sam’s story. So very grateful to have his red pen in my corner.

  A huge thanks to Tracy Tufo for reminding me that we can do anything we put our minds to. Very proud to be published through Devil Dog Press.

  I'd also very much like to thank my beta readers; Vix Kirkpatrick, AJ Wilcox, Chris Johnesee, and Miko Reece. Without you lot she wouldn't be the polished gem she is, thank you.

  I'd like to dedicate this book to my boys and to all the people who have helped me walk the path I walk today. I love you all. Thank you

  Chapter 1

  “JESUS, AL, HE’S fucking running.” I hate it when they run.

  I stopped beside a bush to change. As I was busy pulling off my clothes—and folding them, quick and neat—my coworker/friend/something more, Alex Baltazar, ran past me, chasing our delightful militant.

  Before you start giving me shit about taking time to fold my clothes, you should know there are few things that suck worse in the FBI than getting ribbed back at the office for having dirt-stained knees.

  “Take your sweet time there, Reece, I’ve got this.” Al was panting and I was a little amused.

  We weren’t going to lose our quarry now. No way would I let that happen. I pulled my melanistic jaguar—some prefer the term black panther—self forward and shifted. Alex, and the asshole who made us run, were out of sight. I took one quick whiff to confirm the scent trail I wanted to follow and sped off to capture my prize.

  Within moments I was passing Alex.

  “Show off!” He yelled after me.

  Seconds later I was tackling Jonathan McNamara, AKA the Vice President of the Birmingham Militia of Free Will Baptists, AKA a board member of the hate group AWFA (Americans for a Were-Free America). It so happened that this good (false) Christian was busy killing supers, instead of spreading the message of love and peace.

  I am getting awful tired of these AWFA assholes coming in and calling all supernatural beings evil simply because we have another side to us. It’s not evil; it’s like having a spirit animal you can become. Basically, I have a tiny Jiminy Cricket style jaguar that lives inside my head. No, I’m not insane. Well, not completely.

  As a Federal Agent I have had to wrassle more than my fair share of dirtbags that decided to run or fight. My jaguar enjoyed the hunt and I gave her the freedom to make some decisions. Sometimes she makes great ones that help me feel a little freer and better as a whole, and then sometimes I wake up with my tongue—and face—coated in bunny gore.

  “Don’t bite me! I don’t want to be a freak like you!” Genuine horror was etched on his portly features as he gaped up at me and it made my cat growl in delight. She loved scaring these assholes as much as I did.

  “I wouldn’t waste the beauty of theriomorphy on a lowlife like you. However, you do win the lovely parting gift of handcuffs and possibly life in prison.” I stood on him with all four of my beautiful claw-extended paws and said, “Oh, by the way, you run like a duck.” I leaned down and whispered by his ear, “A tasty, tasty duck.” I licked my maw.

  The smell of urine hit the air and I chuckled as I stepped off McNamara. Sometimes, the capture was the best part of my job. Alex made his way to me where he cuffed and dragged the pee-scented miscreant over to a waiting car.

  “I hate it when they run.” I was grumpy.

  “We all do. I’m going to check out this guy’s house with the local PD. I’ll meet you and Quinn back at the office.” Al put a hand on my furry shoulder and smiled at me.

  I nodded my agreement and he moved off to a couple of uniformed cops that didn’t look old enough to drive. I grabbed my neatly folded clothes in my mouth and moved to the nearest bush to change and then dress; easier said than done, considering I was still panting from my run.

  It sure as fuck wasn’t my druthers to have to get dressed behind a too-small bush in front of a bunch of Law Enforcement Officers. I scowled. I hate changing in front of LEOs in public almost as much as I hate runners.

  After shifting, dressing, and double-checking buttons, I reappeared from the bush. Luckily, my clothes had stayed pretty clean. There was a slight grass stain where the ground had kissed one cuff of my gray pants, but it was nothing too noticeable. Not like that one time when I wound up with a muddy handprint smack-bang over the right boob of my milk white blouse.

  “You ready to question him?” Quinn asked, pulling up alongside me in the Crown Vic.

  “Very much so. He ran.”

  “Yeesh, poor guy.”

  “Poor guy, nothing. Let’s go make him run … his mouth.” I crossed in front of the car, opened the passenger door, and slid in next to him.

  “You’ve been waiting to use that, haven’t you?” He rolled his eyes.

  “From the moment he ran.” I grinned.

  “No more cop shows for you.”

  “Fair enough, I hate those things. They never get it right. Good one-liners occasionally, though.”

  “I suppose that depends on your definition of good. Now, let’s go find out what Mr. Vice President here has to do with the murder of those shifters.”

  “I hope like hell there is a money trail between him and Grisly.”

  Grisly Adams was the name of a serial killer we’d just taken down. He’d been bent on taking out shifters like himself. He had been tearing hookers of the super variety into shreds all under the belief that he was doing God’s work. The worst part was that someone had taught Grisly to do what he had. They had trained him and filled him full of religious bullshit about shifters being demons from Hell. I was damn sure going to find out who and put a fucking stop to them. Nobody should be made to fear an entire race of beings.

  “You’re not the only badge hoping to find a connection, Sam.”

  “What do we do if there isn’t one?”

  “Oh, I’m fairly sure there will be. I have no doubt we’ll be able to connect him to someone big and rotten. McNamara is well known for holding onto evidence against his co-conspirators to cut deals. He’s done it three times now.”

  “Well, then, it looks like it’s about time for his luck to run out.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  It wasn’t much longer before we pulle
d into the parking garage back at the office. Quinn killed the car and sighed.

  “What’s wrong, Q?”

  “I just don’t like you being involved with this. It’s dangerous. They know all about you, and if you keep digging, will probably target you again.”

  “Let ’em. I’ll take them out one by one, if I have to. They can’t do this to people and get away with it, it’s not right.”

  “Sam, be smart about this. You know damn well you can’t take them all on. What if they hire another sniper?”

  “Quinn, don’t go all Bourne Identity on me. Nobody’s going to give that much of a crap about me. The sniper they hired before was to take out Grisly, not me.”

  “Just be careful, please. Hate is rarely logical. End of lecture.” The man I considered my brother massaged his temples with a wince.

  “Headache?”

  “Only since the day I met you.”

  “Aw, you’re so sweet.”

  “Ready to interrogate this festering puss-bucket?”

  “Nice turn of phrase, Q, and nope; I’m going to get a cup of coffee first. You want some?”

  “Yes, please. I’ll meet you in observation; we can watch him sweat a bit while we caffeinate.”

  I nodded and made my way to the staff kitchen where one of our fellow agents brought in the finest of beans to make us the most un-government-office-like coffee ever. I grabbed my ceramic mug featuring a little orange kitten wearing devil horns that says, Work is Hell, and Quinn’s stainless steel FBI travel mug as I headed right to the pot of delicious black gold.

  My mugs tend to catch people off-guard. Occasionally, I counted on them to provoke a reaction. In fact, I’d considered grabbing my favorite mug, but felt, under the circumstances, it was best not to. She was a beauty, though, ceramic, light blue with Good Kitty printed in large white block lettering. People mostly assumed it was a reference to a TV show or something. In truth, it was my way of quietly flaunting my pantherness.

  I grabbed the pot and poured myself a cup of the tantalizing brew. Taking a sip, I sighed happily. My tongue was tingling with joy. I topped my mug off, then set it aside and poured one for Quinn. I yoinked a couple of decent-looking jelly-filled donuts from a tray by the coffee pots and put them over the top of our coffee cups.

  Once I’d cleaned up after myself, I picked ’em up and headed over to observation. Since my hands were full, I had to perform a kick-knock on the door. Q opened it for me and I stepped in, handing him his coffee and donut.

  “Oh, sweet, thanks, Sam.”

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t tell Kelly.” His wife would kill me if she knew I was letting him eat junk food.

  At the same time, I knew Quinn couldn’t operate long without sugar.

  “I promise.” He took a huge bite and blueberry jelly dropped on a white stripe of his blue and white tie.

  “Seriously? Your frigging luck sucks, man. A quarter inch to the left and you’d never have known.”

  “Damn it. Kelly is going to kill me.”

  “Be honest and avoid mentioning my name.” I grinned, flehmening and enjoying the scent of the coffee. Since I’d become a jaguar the ability to deepen smells has been both a blessing and a curse. Right now I was grateful for it, so I took a sip and savored the caffeinated gold.

  Liquid heaven.

  “So, how are we going to crack this nut?”

  “Really? That’s the phrase you’re going with? Crack this nut? Is he no longer a festering puss-bucket?” I smirked, raising my eyebrow.

  “He’s both, and we need to get him talking.”

  “Okay, let’s look at our nutty festering puss-bucket.” I leaned in closer to the glass and watched as McNamara fidgeted in his seat. Every time he heard a noise in the hall he looked at the door.

  He was waiting for us to come in.

  “Do you want to make him wait a little longer?” Quinn gave me a devilish grin.

  “Nah, he’s ready. He’s probably got his whole speech planned out and is ready to burst. Let’s give him the audience he is craving.”

  I ate the rest of my donut (without getting any on my clothes, thank you very much), took another sip of my coffee, and walked to the door. Quinn would wait a few moments, allowing me to establish a bit of a rapport with the man. In this case, that rapport would be me either scaring or angering the fuck out of him. I entered the interrogation room and sat several file folders down in a row. When I finished I sat down, putting my cup of coffee on the table in front of me.

  Jonathan McNamara noticed my mug, and then my coffee cup, hissing, “One day you’ll find out what Hell is really like, bitch.”

  Angering it is, then.

  “Are you always so polite? That’s a rhetorical question, no need to answer.” I rifled through the files as if looking for something in particular.

  “Vile creature.”

  “Me? I’ve never killed anyone for sport. Weird as it must be for you, I’ve upheld the Christian tenets far more than you have. Boy, that must really piss you off.” I stood back and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “You are a blasphemer! An evil monster sent from Hell itself.” He was snarling and I could see him fighting with himself to remain calm. He really wanted to tear my throat out.

  I knew the feeling. It’s one I fought often. Most especially when child predators were in the seat he currently occupied.

  “No, just telling the truth. See, I’ve loved my neighbors as myself and put the Lord God above everything. Always have. Can you say the same? Is murder your only sin or have you committed others?”

  “You shut your whore mouth.” His face reddened and his brows knit so close together he looked nearly prehistoric.

  “Since you’re in the mood to be offensive, tell me everything you know about shifters.” I put my hands on the back of the chair across the table from him and leaned forward as if interested in his answer.

  “Shifters are nothing more’n demons out to destroy my world. All they want to do is ruin mankind. Evil beings that wish to break and crush our humanity so we become subservient.”

  “That’s really what you believe?”

  “Yes. It’s the truth.” He narrowed his eyes and spit in my face. “You already knew that, though, didn’t you, bitch?”

  I calmly wiped the sputum off with my sleeve and gave an exaggerated look of sadness at the camera.

  “How many shifters have you killed?” I confess to miming air quotes. It’d play back well in front of a jury.

  I love this part of the job. There’s nothing more enjoyable than making these guys look crazy by using their own words to damn them. The real fun started once they understood how screwed they were. It’ll be different once we come out from under the bed, but, until then, the world at large doesn’t believe supernatural beings exist, so anyone saying otherwise looks like a loon. I’ve used this to my advantage more times than I can count.

  “Why are you saying it like that? They really were shifters. All of them. Don’t say it like I’m the crazy one. You know I’m telling the truth.”

  “Do I?” I asked innocently before adding, “Tell me about Grisly.”

  He went completely blank and sat back in his chair. A polite smile crept up on his face. I thought the realization started to dawn on him that he was in big trouble and worried I’d lose my shot at cracking him.

  “Who?” He looked at me so sweetly I might have actually believed him if I hadn’t just heard him spew some vile shit my way.

  “The man who helped you kill all those women that you call shifters.” Again, I used air quotes.

  For a moment I thought he knew what I was doing and was going to try and pull the sweet and innocent crap, but he became so riled at the insinuation shifters weren’t real that he dropped the act and continued incriminating himself.

  Like I said, this is my favorite part. I lo-o-o-ove it when they do my job for me.

  “He didn’t only kill women, Agent Reece. Don’t limit someone you don’t know.”


  “Oh, well, pardon me for thinking your murdering freak of a friend was a closet misogynist. I apologize.”

  “You should. We hate all shifters, not just women.”

  “How very feminist of you to hate everyone equally.”

  “Not everyone, just shifters and vampires.”

  “What about zombies, ghouls, mermaids, and green men?”

  “Don’t be a stupid cunt, you know they don’t exist.”

  “But shifters and vampires do?” I again asked innocently, knowing full well every species that both of us had mentioned were truly quite real.

  “You know they do, you are one.”

  “I’m a vampire?”

  “No, you’re a shifter.”

  “How do you know I’m a shifter?”

  “You were a black panther when you caught me. You talked to me in cat form. It was neat, but you’re still evil and nothing more than the remains of a fiendish attempt at playing God.”

  “My goodness, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” Here I turned and smiled sadly at the camera.

  The jury would feel my pity for the poor, obviously deluded fellow.

  “You’re not a girl, you’re a beast.”

  “So, you would have had Grisly kill me, too?” I turned back to him.

  “Yes. Not only would I have allowed Grisly to take you, but I’m the one who gave him your address and told him to be careful. Foolish boy. I suppose you must have destroyed him.”

  “Yes, I suppose I must have.” I sat at the table across from him and took a sip from my coffee as demurely as I could.

  His eyes moved from the cup back to me.

  “I can’t say it isn’t a loss, but there are dozens like him out there waiting for a master to serve. As for why I did it, you’re a shifter. FBI or not, your kind must be eradicated so that we humans can live in peace. Humans should serve no master; they should be at the top of the food chain.”

  “What made you think sending a hitman to kill an FBI agent was a good idea?”

  “You’re no FBI agent. You’re one of them.”

  Quinn entered the room and sat next to me.