Risk Read online

  “I know! They’re people, too. If they have to register, then so should people with diabetes.”

  Most of the bar was okay with it. The ignorant folks weren’t, but they are the sort that are never okay with any kind of change.

  It didn’t matter how rational most of them sounded, I was at risk and would have to be more careful. Now that people knew vampires were real they’d be looking for everything else.

  I sat down and ate lunch with Quinn. I spent the entire time absorbing all of the reactions around me.

  “This could get bad.” He dabbed mustard off the corner of his mouth with a napkin and then crushed the paper into a ball and tossed it on his plastic plate.

  “We just have to hope that the rational folks help keep the ignorant folks calm.” I shrugged as if it were that easy.

  “Right and all the people who love Coke will just switch to Pepsi.” Quinn snorted.

  “If they were wise they would.” I grinned and took an ill-fated bite of my burger.

  Chapter 7

  AFTER WE’D FINISHED eating, Quinn drove me to my house. I’d spilled some ketchup on my blouse and needed to change. I just wish my catlike reflexes would kick in some day.

  I had just stepped on my porch when I heard someone coming from the side of the house. I unsnapped my holster and grabbed the butt of my gun before my flehmening told me it was Ben Fitzpatrick, my maker. Having also seen the movement, Quinn’s piece was out and aimed at my maker.

  “Whoa, chill there, Q. It’s just Ben.”

  He holstered his gun but left it unsnapped, hand on the butt, looked Ben in the eyes, and said, “I’ll be in the car, waiting.” He turned and walked away, looking back once at Ben with a scathing glare.

  “He doesn’t like me much, I take it.”

  “He’s not your biggest fan, but it’s my boyfriend who really doesn’t like you.” I smiled, but the truth was there, no matter how uncomfortable it was for the both of us.

  “It can’t be easy dating a woman who was meant for someone else.” He smiled and my jaguar nudged me excitedly.

  “Not cool.” I stood a little taller. My jaguar hissed at me.

  Posturing means a lot in the shifter world and, though she liked Ben, I felt he had crossed a line. She stopped hissing and respected my decision.

  “Sam, can you honestly tell me this chemistry we have is nothing more than our cats? You, human uninfected you, reached out to me in that park.”

  “You were a big kitty and I followed my Tiny Toon Elmira instincts, you know: Pet him and hug him and squeeze him and cuddle him forever and ever.” I even did her little cartoon voice. I just wish I had the gerbil skull hair bow to really sell the impression.

  “Okay. If you aren’t ready, that’s cool. I won’t pressure you.”

  “Oh, yeah, ’cos you’ve been so delightful already,” I mumbled.

  I’m a champion mumbler from way back. It allowed me to say what I wanted and avoid getting beat, or worse, by whatever waste of humanity dear old Mom had around.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, I would really appreciate that.” I tried to keep my eyes from rolling and gave a genuine smile when I succeeded.

  “Oh. Well, I’m going to go, then. You’ve got my number—”

  “Yup. Bye.” I unlocked the door of my house and entered, locking it loudly behind me.

  The truth was, I couldn’t explain the feelings I had for Benjamin Fitzpatrick. They felt supernatural and manufactured—almost too right, if that makes sense—so I didn’t trust them. The bond between our jaguars was real, that I knew for sure. But this thing, this overwhelming peace and desire I had whenever I was with him, it wasn’t anything I’d ever felt before and I was uncomfortable with it.

  I walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, grabbing an ice cold Fresca (stop judging, it’s refreshing) and looking to see if Alex had left any notes for me. I spotted nothing and continued into the master bedroom heading for my closet.

  I unbuttoned the ketchup-daubed white shirt I’d been wearing and slipped it off. I laid it on the dresser with the intent of pretreating it once I had another shirt on. I grabbed a black button-up shirt off its hanger and pulled it on. I was singing Piano Man to myself as I turned around, buttoning the shirt.

  I’d just sang about how Davy was still in the Navy when I saw a man standing in the doorway and I screamed like a bean sidhe—banshee to you nonsupers. It was Alex. He also shouted and I heard Quinn’s car door slam shut followed by banging on the front door.

  “I’m okay, Q!” I hollered. “Al is here and I didn’t expect him to be.”

  “Understood!” Quinn shouted. I heard the door open and shut again as he got back into his car.

  “I’m not, call a bloody ambulance, I think you gave me a heart attack.” Though he still looked startled, there was a small smirk on Al’s face. “I didn’t know you were here. I came home to take a nap.”

  “I thought you went to the bunkie.” I chuckled now that the fear and adrenaline had faded.

  “I started to, but thought maybe you’d get the chance to come home and snuggle in.”

  “I wish. I got ketchup on my shirt.” I pointed to the besmeared mess on the dresser.

  “You look really good right now.” He grinned and I could see him start to flehmen.

  “The feeling is mutual. If I didn’t have Q in the car—”

  “I wish you didn’t.” He moved closer and trailed the back of his finger down my jaw, stopping only to let his thumb brush over my lip before moving down to my neck.

  My pulse sped up as his index finger trailed across my throat and I very nearly decided that Quinn could wait, when my phone rang.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered.

  “Oh, believe me, I will.” He ran his finger along my collarbone and I shuddered as I regretfully clicked the green button to answer the call.

  “Hello.” I’m not ashamed to say my voice cracked like Peter Brady’s during Time to Change.

  “Sam, I got some info for you and Quinn on that list of names he gave me,” Joshua Hahn’s voice rang through my phone and I was puzzled.

  “Hahn? What are you doing on this ca-ase?” More cracking to my voice as Al’s finger continued to trace my collarbone.

  “Quinn asked me to look into some names. You okay, Reece?”

  “Yeah, fine. What’s up?”

  “We thought I might get further inside the super bad parts of town. Anyway, I have some files for you that belong to two of those names you gave me. Where would you like them?”

  “Send them to Quinn’s email, please. Wait, no, send them to mine. Q forgets to check his email.”

  “Can do.”

  “Thanks, Josh. Glad you’re helping us out on this.”

  “Glad to be of help. Be careful.”

  “Thanks, talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Sam.” The officer hung up and I put my phone in my pocket, grateful Q had thought to call him in.

  Alex had not moved. His finger continued lightly brushing my collarbone. I reached up, grabbed his face, and kissed him. As much as I really wanted to stay behind with Al, my morals kept me afloat in the sea of hormones and pheromones.

  I broke the kiss with a lick, then a nibble to his bottom lip and a groan. “I have to go.”

  “I know. Tonight.”

  “Tonight,” I promised, looking forward to it.

  I gave his cheek a kiss and left my closet with an equal measure of regret and determination. I got as far as the bedroom when it hit me that Al might not know about the vamps coming out. I turned and reentered the closet to find him rubbing a pre-treater laundry stick on my ketchuped blouse.

  Yeah, he’s awesome.

  “Vamps have come out from under the bed.”

  He looked at me quizzically and then held up the stain stick in his hand. “I’m going to need something a little deadlier.”

  “No, I mean they exposed themselves to humans.”

  He chuckled. “Like, in a
perverted way?”

  “No, they told the world they existed.”

  “Stop fucking with me.” All pretense of play stopped as realization of the enormity of the situation dawned on him.

  “I’m not, babe. There was a press conference where a well-respected philanthropist came out as vamp.”

  “This is not good. Humans aren’t ready for this. Oh, man, this is going to give AWFA a leg to stand on.”

  “Not to worry, they did it brilliantly, called it a genetic disease.” I leaned against the closet doorframe and looked at him.

  “I hope so. I sure as fuck am not telling anyone about my tiger any time soon.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I wouldn’t tell your secret. They all know I’m a shifter, but nobody needs to know you are, if that’s the way you want it.” It didn’t sit well with me. I don’t like to hide who I am, but I understand there are those who do.

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go for real this time.” I grinned at him and left with my tasty, refreshing Fresca.

  I opened the door of Quinn’s car and slid in.

  “Aw, you didn’t bring me a Fresca,” he pouted.

  “Did you want a Fres—”

  “No, it’s not 1983. Besides, if it was, I’d take a Tab.” Fake pout gone, Quinn chuckled. “So, what happened in there?”

  “Alex. I didn’t know he’d come back here for his nap and I startled him as much as he startled me.”

  “So I heard. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I blushed, thinking about just how okay everything had almost been.

  I turned to look out the window to hide the blush, but I could feel the tips of my ears burning and I knew they were bright red.

  “I don’t want to know.” Quinn chuckled again and turned the car toward the city.

  “Hahn called, there were some open cases attached to the names you fed him. He sent them to my email.”

  “We need to look into those. Also, that reminds me, I need to check my email.”

  “I agree, on both. I’m pulling them up now.” I took out my phone and began doing just that.

  Chapter 8

  WE TRACKED DOWN the first name on the list Hahn sent us. Quinn and I pulled up outside of a tiny house in Cahaba Heights. The lawn was immaculate and the landscaping was right out of Better Homes and Gardens.

  “Sometimes evil lurks in the unlikeliest of places.” Quinn had a solemn look to him as we exited the car.

  “You got me on it earlier, but you’ve been watching Investigation Discovery again,” I chided.

  “Guilty.”

  “You know those shows make you maudlin.” I knocked on the front door.

  “Yeah, they do, but not any more than my job. Hey, they’ve got a gorgeous hydrangea over there.”

  I craned my neck to see around the porch. It was a huge and absolutely beautiful bush of flowers. I was still oddly contorted when the door opened and the lady of the house stood looking at me funny.

  “Hi. Sorry, that’s a beautiful hydrangea you have. I’m Special Agent Samantha Reece, this is my partner Special Agent O’Reilly, and we have a few questions about a Nathan Digs, registered at this address.”

  “Get off my property.”

  “Ma’am, we have some questions.”

  “I don’t care. Get off my land. Now.”

  “Well, should you need anything, ma’am, we will be right here until our warrant shows.” Quinn was amicable enough, but the threat was there.

  “Warrant?”

  “Oh, yes. See, we can tie a member of this household to a hate group, AWFA. This group is dangerous and is being investigated in some deaths as a result of the sale of people into slavery. The warrant we can get will allow us to tear up every inch of your property. Again, I’ll be right over there until it gets here.” Quinn turned to leave.

  I followed his example and did the same.

  “Wait!”

  Quinn turned back around with a polite smile. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Nathan Digs rented a room here. He’s my sister’s no-good kid. I ain’t got nothing against nobody and sure as heck ain’t gonna sell nobody into no slavery.” Her polite and cultured voice revealed a rougher upbringing. Like most people, including Danvers, she lapsed back into her roots when she was stressed.

  “Can we see his room?” Quinn asked, overly polite.

  “Yeah. Come on. Hurry up. I don’t need my neighbors seeing y’all here.”

  We rushed into her house. I wish we hadn’t.

  The outside was beautiful. It looked like the ideal home. The inside of the house was another story altogether; it looked like it belonged to some crack den in the city. The carpeting was stained and two decades old.

  There was a plethora of dark dots of old blood sprayed on the ceiling above two easy chairs. A rubber tourniquet and spoons were interspersed with dirty syringes and empty plastic packets on the table, leaving little doubt as to why the inside of the house looked so bad.

  Drug dens like this never looked pretty, but I was shocked to find it behind such a beautiful façade in a good neighborhood. The woman led us deeper into the house; garbage and newspapers stacked up along the halls and ringed every room. Every so often a dead rat, or a live one, could be seen amongst the detritus.

  “Here.” She opened the door and stood aside. “This’s his.”

  The room before me was as immaculate as the outside of the house. Stepping inside left little doubt as to who was responsible for the outer shell of the place. Shelves lined one wall and books of all types and age intermingled among themselves. The bed was straight out of a design magazine and the furniture was high quality. The carpet had recently been replaced, and the room itself smelled of lemon furniture polish, as if the occupant cleaned it on a daily basis.

  Given the debris in the rest of the house, I couldn’t blame him. If I were Nathan Digs I would want to clean as often as I could, too. Keep the filth from invading. I saw a leather-bound journal on his desk, picked it up, and began to read.

  “The hate spilled across these pages is terrifying in its intensity, Q. He was definitely AWFA, if he isn’t still. Seems like he believes a werewolf bit his longtime girlfriend, and after she transitioned she chose to be with the wolf, instead of him.”

  “That would definitely trigger a lot of hatred. Read on, see if there is anything about selling or kidnapping them.”

  His aunt sneered. “Always knew he were batshit. Werewolves. Idiot believes in werewolves.”

  I fought the urge to show her how idiotic her nephew was. Vamps may have come out from under the bed, but I wasn’t fully ready to.

  I read on.

  “Yeah. There’s a ledger with names.” I recognized my name. “Fuck.”

  I knew AWFA knew about me. They’d tried to take me out before, so it wasn’t a surprise. But seeing it in black and white as evidence on a case involving the deaths of shifters made it hit home a little harder.

  “What?”

  “I’m in here.”

  The aunt looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  “He’s targeting FBI?” Quinn stressed the FBI and I picked up on the cue.

  “Looks like.”

  “Oh, man. I knew he weren’t no good. Look at his room. Who lives like this? It’s wrong. It’s the Devil’s curse!” The woman made the sign of the cross and backed out of the room as she wrote her nephew off as evil.

  “Ma’am, can you wait outside? Thank you.” Quinn shut the door in her face and took out his cellphone.

  “You calling it in?”

  “Yeah. Gerry?” Quinn turned his attention to our boss on the other end and filled him in.

  It was about five minutes before the sound of engines invaded the air as back up came calling. I forwarded the list of names to Gerry and turned my attention to deconstructing Nathan Digs’ room. I helped ERT bag and tag everything. Quinn had to run out and get more evidence bags.

  Aside from the journal with names, dates, and do
llar amounts, there were videos recovered. These showed teenaged girls being raped and beaten by Digs. He called them all shifters and weres in the videos, but none of them showed any signs of changing.

  I turned off the video when I noticed Digs’ aunt was watching over my shoulder. She was licking her lips. When I shut it off and looked directly at her, she nearly jumped out of her skin and skittered across the room.

  I was willing to bet that Nathan wasn’t the only evil in this house.

  When Gerry arrived with a signed warrant and delivered it to her, along with the FBI’s thanks for letting us take a look. She didn’t stop to ask any questions, just looked really proud when they took her and her skeevy looking husband away. I don’t think she realized we were going to go through everything.

  I got all the evidence I needed of Nathan’s involvement with Danvers and AWFA. The rest of those names revealed more sick perverts with their own list of sales. The DA was going to have an easy time prosecuting as the sickos hadn’t even bothered to try and disguise what they were doing.

  All their books were labeled: Trafficking, Prostitution, Drugs, Hit List, and Gambling. Some of the names surprised the fuck out of me. One was Gerry’s boss. I didn’t believe it. Sal Guzeman was a good guy, wasn’t he? He’d helped me with the Grisly case, hadn’t he?

  “Gerry, we need to talk.” I pulled my boss aside.

  “What’s up, Reece?”

  “I don’t know if you read it in full, but, Sal was on that list.”

  “He isn’t an AWFA member, Reece. It’s not possible. They put his name on there to fuck with us. I mean, he stood up when you came into the department and told everyone they’d work with you and get to know you as a person or they were out of this office.”

  “I don’t want to believe it, either.” I couldn’t say much more.

  I didn’t know Sal had done that. I didn’t know him that well at all, really.

  “He is the furthest thing from a speciesest I have ever seen. Hell, he helped me get this job when only white Harvard boys were being promoted. Don’t buy into the bullshit. Let’s take a look at everything from a neutral standpoint and see what we get. Promise me that?”