Dog with a Bone (7 page)

“Office?” I dropped into a sleek wooden chair at a table affording us a view of the Richardsons’ building. “I thought she worked from home. I didn’t see any copies of lease paperwork in her file.”

“The building is in her husband’s name. He owns it outright, but it’s the address she uses on her invoices.” The arrival of our food interrupted him. The waitress beamed at him, but Shaw only had eyes for me. The poor girl left in a huff. I smiled politely at her, but she didn’t take that well either. “With the ranch in ashes and a boggart protecting her apartment, our last hope is they got sloppy at the office.”

He passed me my food and set out my coffee before serving himself and sliding the tray onto the table next to ours. While unwrapping my bagel, I felt his gaze on me. “I’m fine.” I lifted my hand. “I have some joint pain, the skin burns, but it’s fading. I’ll pop some ibuprofen and be as good as new.”

“That can’t happen again.” He punished his sandwich with a sharp bite. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Which part?” I picked off a piece of bacon and nibbled on it. “The feeding or the kissing?”

After coughing into his fist, Shaw gulped his scalding coffee rather than answer.

“Here’s the problem.” I waited for his full attention. “I like you. At the risk of sounding twelve, I think you like me too. Whatever this is between us isn’t going away just because you told it to. If it was that simple, we wouldn’t be having this chat. You would have ditched those feelings a long time ago and lost the guilt I see in your eyes when you look at me.” When he could breathe again, I forged ahead. “I get that I’m young by fae standards. I’m young by human standards too, but I’m not a little girl. I stopped being a kid the night I killed my friends. I’m not innocent. I’m not fragile. If you think for one minute I’m letting you kiss me and then walk away, you’ve been sniffing your own lure for too long.”

Shaw sat there staring at me like he had never seen me before in his life. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the crush. Maybe I should have let him off the hook. Maybe I should have smiled through OJT and then freed him. Let him have his old life back. Let him hop in his truck and pursue his own dreams. Let the only contact we had be in the office or as we passed one another in the hall.

“Okay,” he said.

The frappé I had reached for slid out of my hand. “Okay?”

“We’re both adults. We can...” he swallowed hard, “...try.”

“You date women all the time.” I had watched the parade from my dorm window. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t date.” He scratched at a dry mustard spot on the table. “I don’t—I just don’t.”

His palm was damp when I set my hand in his. “Trying sounds good.”

Shaw looked pale as he tucked into his meal. Not hungry pale, plain old queasy.

I picked up my sandwich and ate while butterflies pirouetted in my stomach.

With both of us battling to keep our breakfasts down, I had to question what exactly we had agreed to.

W
ith the world’s most awkward breakfast behind us, Shaw and I returned to our rental car. I put myself in charge of plugging the office district address into my phone’s GPS. When a man says he has a good idea of where he’s going, I suggest having directions ready for when he inevitably realizes he doesn’t.

Fifteen minutes of listening to a digitized voice chirp commands brought us to Sovereign Row.

The area was industrial, lots of tin and steel sheeting, but the Richardsons’ warehouse was brick and mortar. A lush strip of lawn in an elevated planter splashed color against an ocean of concrete.

“Any word from Odessa?” I unbuckled and swung my bag across my shoulders.

His lips compressed as he checked his phone. “None yet.”

Our eyes met, transmitting a shared sense of unease without saying a word.

We stepped out of the car and scanned the empty parking lot before approaching the side door.

While I kept watch against windblown burger wrappers, Shaw used his all-key to gain access.

“I have got to get me one of those,” I mumbled.

“Guard the door.” He crossed the threshold into the building. “I’ll clear the space then circle back for you.”

I peered into the gloom where rolled-up carpets lined the walls like Aladdin’s version of a thrift-shop paradise.

“Not happening.” I followed a step behind him. “Last time I let you he-man through a building without me, you ended up flat on your back with second-degree burns covering your entire left side.”

“That chimera came out of nowhere,” he deadpanned.

I arched one of my eyebrows in response.

With a deliberate motion, he reached behind me and shut the door on my heels, inserting himself into my personal space. He lingered there with his arm propped behind my back, leaning toward me.

Suddenly I had trouble breathing. Damn my sensitive nose. The dust in here was killer.

A slight grin touched his lips. “According to cached pages from around the time of purchase, this place was renovated before Mr. Richardson bought it two years ago. Four office suites, each with its own half bath, a full kitchen and four dock doors sum up the amenities. I doubt it’s changed since.”

I sidestepped out of his hold and locked down my hormones. I had a job to do.

“Good to know.” I filled my lungs with musty air. “Smells clear to me. Nothing fae.”

A slim dagger glinted in his hand. He must have palmed it from his bag. “Follow my lead.”

Easing through the suite, I let my gaze wander. In addition to the rolled-up carpets were bolts of fabric, drapery material was my guess, and thick coffee-table-style books crammed with wallpaper samples extending past the binding. A brass plaque screwed into the outer door read Suite D. Three more to go.

Suite C opened into a collection of antique bedroom pieces with assorted tables thrown into the mix. Suite B was even less remarkable. Lamps sat on the floor against the walls. Sofas and loveseats occupied the center of the room. A few desks huddled in a corner. On the whole it reminded me of a staging warehouse full of stock for the fancy model homes Mom had loved to visit when I was a kid.

The kitchen sat opposite of Suite B, so we cleared it next. Empty cupboards, empty fridge. The sink carried the faint smell of rot and soy sauce. I checked the cabinets beneath it. Garbage disposal. For the scent to linger, somebody was using the place. Two weeks tops and that smell would be gone.

Shaw ducked out to check the last bathroom, leaving me to reach Suite A first. “The door’s locked.”

“Huh.” He jiggled the knob upon his return. “The door is locked.”

I cupped a hand to my ear. “Is there an echo in here?”

All-key in hand, he aimed for the lock. Metal screeched against metal. Second try, same result. “That has never happened before.”

“It must be spelled.” I pursed my lips. “Do you have the supplies to break a hex?”

“Several.” He patted his messenger bag. “It all depends on who or what Richardson wanted kept out.”

“She hasn’t taken any anti-fae measures so far.” I smoothed my left palm over the door. Tingles swept up my wrist when I gripped the knob, but the frame itself felt magic-free. “Stand back for a minute.”

With him out of the way, I turned sideways and kicked the door about a foot beneath the knob.

“That’s not going to work.” Shaw rifled through his bag. “Nothing is that easy.”

Starting to think he might be right, I gave it a second kick. Frustrated, I went for a quick third.

He pulled out a plastic bag of herbs and a lighter. “I hate to say I told you so, but—”

Fourth kick was the charm. Wood splintered, and the cheap door swung inward.

“Me too.” I tossed a smile at him over my shoulder. “Luckily, my foot just said it for me.”

“By the grace of the seven mothers,” he murmured, tucking away his supplies.

My head whipped toward the room I had been too busy being smug to examine. Rookie mistake. The spelled door should have put me on guard against worse traps inside, but I had let Shaw distract me.

Rarity or not, I was starting to think the whole not-dating-coworkers rule was there for a reason.

Fumbling my cell out of my pocket, I tapped the flashlight app and cocked my head as the beam hit heavy plastic shrouding clunky shapes. Curiosity urged me into the room, guiding my hand. As I gripped the thick material, icy sensations rippled up my spine. Like to like, I sensed death here.

With a trembling hand, I ripped the sheeting from the nearest item then staggered backward with a scream lodged in my throat. Perfect glassy eyes stared at nothing. Silver hooves gleamed up at me.

“We were wrong.” Shaw braced his hands on my shoulders when my back hit his chest.

“She wasn’t belling.” I swallowed the hard knot cutting off my oxygen. “This is...”

“I know.” Rubbing circles on my back seemed to soothe him as much as it calmed me. “You don’t have to go back in there.”

Yes, I did. If I ran from this job, I was setting a precedent for cowardice the next time things got difficult.

“You handle inventory.” The whisper of my voice gained force. “I’ll catalog.”

Might as well put the phone to use. Shock had fused it to my hand. My fingers refused to let go.

Warm lips brushed my temple. Shaw pressed the side of his face against mine, and I knew then I could survive this. A hard exhale stuttered from my lungs against his neck. I breathed in him instead.

Reluctant as I was, Shaw was the first to break away, to reenter the room, and I followed.

My phone’s light beam helped me find a row of switches mounted to the wall by the door. I flipped several, and fluorescent light washed over us, illuminating the horrors of the room. I slumped against the wall, eyes drawn as if magnetized to the unicorn I had first uncovered. Its silver horn glinted. Dried blossoms twined with its sterling mane.

One by one, we uncovered them all.

Rare fae gazed numbly through painted eyes. They posed on wooden bases carpeted with grasses or peat, gruesome trophies on display. Brassy plaques identified each specimen, detailed the proud story of the beasts’ origins and the scope of their abilities, as if the engraved reverence of those words mattered to them now.

Faint traces of magic shimmered in the air. Faded essence from the great powers these creatures had possessed in life all but abandoned them in death. They were tragic statues, each one frozen in its prime.

As the initial shock ebbed, a memory surfaced. “Shaw?”

He emerged holding a spiral notebook with a pen in his hand. “Are you okay?”

No, I wasn’t. Judging by the dark shadows under his eyes, he wasn’t either.

“This case is bigger than we thought.” I dragged a hand down my face. “Should we be here? Should
I
be here? We aren’t exactly inspectors. What if we’re following the wrong leads?”

“We’re part of a team,” he assured me. “Mr. Richardson is being investigated by the team on the ground in Odessa. The ranch and this warehouse are the extent of his holdings. Between them and us, we have both Richardsons covered.”

Nodding, I let him go back to his list-making while I began snapping pictures of the inventory.

I had to think of the victims as stock. I needed the mental distance.

Distance was good. Distance meant I could do my job without breaking down. Distance kept me too busy to connect the dots between what the Richardsons had done to these creatures and what my left palm and I did to the chimera. A living, fire-breathing, natural wonder, and I had skinned it alive.

A heavy weight landed on my shoulder, and I jumped as Shaw came to stand beside me.

“Don’t.” His thumb smoothed over my collarbone.

I pushed out the word. “What?”

“Make this about you.” He led me forward into the shelter of his arms. “You’re one of the good guys. You don’t take innocent lives. You don’t hurt innocent fae or people. You’re a good marshal.”

I buried my face against his hard chest, taking solace in his familiar scent. Not the earthy citrus one, the tempting lure, but his essence, bare skin that reminded me of sunrises and wet grass, new beginnings.

His chin dug into my scalp when he rested it on top of my head. “I don’t know what’s changing with your magic. The magistrates kept you suppressed for so long while you were in school, it’s possible you have skills none of us suspect. We’ll learn them as we go, okay?” He drew back to pin me with his gaze. “Even if this thing between us goes south, I’m always here for you, got that? Promise me that much, Thierry.”

Numb as I was, his words couldn’t hurt me. “You sound certain we’re going to fail.”

“Spectacularly,” he said with a tender smile, “and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

His lips brushed over mine softly before he faded back into the dark corner of the room to work. I raised my phone’s camera, grateful for the separation the screen gave me. Each tidy row of this grim exhibit exposed a new horror. A black mother púca and her litter huddled in their sleek rabbit forms. An emerald-haired mermaid sunned on a hollow rock, waiting on a tide that would never rise to carry her back out to the sea.

We lost hours in that room, poring over what Shaw had dubbed humanity’s capacity for greed and cruelty. As fae, our hands were no less bloody. He and I were capable of committing worse acts.

Already my palm itched in anticipation of the judgments to come while the darker aspect of my nature pondered how human souls tasted. Would they be as filling as the chimera? Would the flavor be as rich? The effects last as long before my own hunger began gnawing my gut, begging to be fed?

Hesitating before a manticore, its human face twisted with rage on its lion’s body, its enormous batlike wings unfurled in flight, its scorpion stinger poised over its spine, I snapped one last picture.

We were all monsters here.

D
own the street from the warehouse, Shaw and I found a coffee shop to hole up in until we got a confirmation from the marshals on the ground in Odessa that the Richardsons were heading our way.

We picked at bear claw pastries while staring at the phone on a napkin in the center of the table.