Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (4 page)

Scott chuckled from the front seat.
She scowled. Mack was glad to see he wasn't the only one Scott
annoyed. "Were there soldiers in Atlanta?" he asked.

"Only half a dozen or so."

"Half a dozen squads?"

She looked surprised by the question.
"No, just half a dozen."

"Ah."

"And in New York?" Ingrid folded her
arms.

"We have over three thousand demon
soldiers in the area. Their primary purpose is to keep the
population in line, in whatever way they deem necessary. On rare
occasions, The Director lets them off the leash, usually during
viewer events like live executions or battle sports between
species.

"Three thousand?" He noticed her
swallow down whatever else she’d been about to say.

"You've had dealings with his
soldiers?"

"Once." Her tone told him the
experience hadn't been a happy one.

He didn't dig. "They're needed to
control the forty-two wolf packs and the even larger number of
vampire nests. We have over thirty master vampires living in the
tri state area and each of them governs at least three nests.
Sorcerers and witches come in at around 25,000 each. And those are
only the ones who've registered."

"You're not kidding, are you?" Mack
shook his head. "That's an impossible number of supernaturals for
The Director to control."

"Don't underestimate our boss. He and
his demons are connected in some way, so he has them pretty much
under his thumb at all times. I think he can even channel power to
them remotely."

They were on the Verrazano Bridge now,
its graceful lines standing out against the newer, utilitarian
structures that marked the entrance to the New York Harbor. Guard
towers seemed to sprout up like weeds along the Brooklyn and Staten
Island shorelines, defending the waterway. The Director was
obsessed with the security of his empire.

"Ever think of jumping?" she
asked.

Mack frowned, wondering how the bridge
had brought about such a depressing thought. A human family had
jumped off the Tappan Zee Bridge a few days before. Ingrid must
have heard the report and mixed up the two bridges. "Never. My
life's been good so far. Have you considered ending
yours?"

"I don't run away from my nightmares.”
She gave Mack a scrutinizing glance. “You believe your life’s been
good?” Before he could answer, Ingrid pointed out the window. “Look
at that."

They were already on the Staten Island
side. Behind a wired fence, a couple of remotely controlled
bulldozers could be seen smashing through a neighborhood, while a
group of humans stood off to the side, clutching their few bags of
belongings. Some wept. Others raged at the guards who held them
back. One male was struck down by one of the archdemon’s soldiers.
Judging by the gore on the sidewalk, he wouldn't rise
again.

The Director was making a big deal on
the news about revitalizing many of the rundown neighborhoods
peppered throughout the city, but these families would never be
able to afford an apartment in one of the newer buildings. They'd
be begging on the street by tomorrow—maybe dead in a
month.

Ingrid curled her body into the seat
and grew quiet. Perhaps his words of warning had hit home, and she
was reassessing the dangers of life in New York City. This was a
lesson she needed to learn fast if he was going to be able to
protect her.

He signaled for Scott to bring down
the privacy shield and said, "I know you're tired, but would you
tell me what happened at your last performance?"

She flattened her mouth and narrowed
her eyes. "You've seen the news reports, I'm sure."

"I have."

She turned her face toward the window.
"There's nothing else to tell." She lied smoothly, which meant
she'd had lots of practice. "Diane Stone is still in the hospital.
Alan and Staci were placed in other troupes last week, but I don't
know which ones."

Her pain at losing contact with her
friends was clear. "I'm sorry to hear that you and your former
troupe are still feeling the effects of the event, but I need the
details from your perspective. I've only heard The Director's
version."

Her eyes widened, her body growing
tense. Maybe she was afraid he'd react badly if he knew her panic
had contributed to the deaths. Or was there something else? A
secret she hadn't told?

She took a moment to smooth out her
skirt and straighten her posture, leaving her hands in her lap.
When she met his gaze, she was all business. "According to Annie,
with the exception of rehearsals, I'm off until the show on
Friday."

She’d changed the subject, but he was
a patient guy. They could revisit the Atlanta episode later.
"Annie’s correct." He'd flipped his own switch to business mode as
well, stilling his tapping fingers.

"Then I'd prefer not to discuss
Atlanta. Perhaps after my stay at the hotel, I'll feel more able
to..."

"Excuse me, Ingrid, but you've signed
the contract with our troupe. It clearly states that beginning with
your first day, which happens to be today, you will take up
residence in the troupe house. The Director would not have allowed
you to sign the contract if he believed you weren’t ready to return
to work."

"The Director can stuff it," she
snapped, surprising him with her vehemence. "You also signed the
contract."

"Which made me your boss."

"And responsible for my health. If I'm
unable to sleep, or too stressed to eat or..."

He laughed, "I've worked with several
Ingrids during my training at the institute and also in this
troupe. Some of them were on the delicate side, but there is
absolutely nothing delicate about you. You sleep and eat well, even
taking into consideration all that ice cream you devour, plus you
can focus your psycore under intensely stressful situations. You're
a powerhouse on stage and I can't wait to see you perform." Her
chin was practically in her lap. "Do you think I didn't read your
entire file before signing that contract?"

"Did it mention anger
issues?"

Mack nodded and smiled. "And a
rebellious streak that two of your last Macks reported should be
beaten out of you."

She frowned, fisting her hands in her
lap. "They tried. Will you?"

And there it was,
that
dare ya
attitude described in all the reports. Why The Director
hadn't ended her was a mystery—their boss didn’t take crap from
anyone, especially a female. But truth be told, Mack was pleased
The Director had given her this one more chance. A female theta
with such spirit, despite all the shit they had to tolerate, was
rare, compelling, and beautiful.

Whoa, where had that come
from?

Mack fisted his hand to keep it still.
He had to approach her firmly but without aggression. Win her
trust. A good way to start was by easing her mind. "I'll never
strike you—I believe those methods are barbaric—but I do expect you
to obey the rules and cooperate fully. If I give you a reasonable
order, you’ll follow it. If you play your power games at
rehearsals, you're out.”

“You understand what being tossed out
will mean for me?”

This Ingrid looked him in the eye, not
down at her lap like the last one. “I do, but I’m not the one who
worked her way through four troupes in five years. The Hudson River
Troupe is my family and I’ll do anything to keep them safe. The
actors and techs trust each other. We talk things out when there's
a problem.” She didn’t look convinced. “I can promise you that no
one will hurt you physically, although Diane has a wicked tongue,"
he teased.

"That's not the way most Macks
operate."

"It’s what works best for my actors.
We’re the top troupe in the country.” He hadn’t hidden the pride he
felt over what they’d accomplished.

Her hands had relaxed. Hopefully his
strategy was working. "And after reading my file you still wanted
me?"

"Only the best for my troupe." Her
eyes met Mack’s for several heartbeats, incredible eyes, the color
of southern seas, but she turned away without comment.

They were passing the old courthouse
on the left, the ferry building on the right. The Staten Island
Ferry still ran, free for all who wanted a stress-free ride into
Manhattan. The vampires, wolves, and demons who lurked in private
clubs, public parks, and run down neighborhoods avoided the ferry.
Magic didn’t work well over water, and few of them could swim. Most
supernaturals preferred open fields, secluded forests, or buildings
with many available exits.

She sighed, dropping her wariness and
allowing her exhaustion to show. "I need quiet, not a million
questions from a group of strangers."

"The troupe house is more peaceful
than any hotel." He’d used his calming voice, as if gentling a wild
animal. Ingrid had that kind of energy, seemingly perched on the
verge of erupting. After what she’d survived, peace and quiet might
be what she needed most. If he could’ve allowed her to stay at that
hotel, he would have, but there was no way to control what might
happen to her if she was on her own in a town known for the
strength and volatility of its supernatural creatures.

"I'm supposed to check in at the hotel
by four o'clock. I'm not changing my plans."

And whadaya know, the bitch was back.
She’d even added a pout, drawing his gaze to her lips. He wondered
if they’d taste sweet or spicy.

The sudden tightness in
his groin was a shock.
Holy crap. What was
up with his body?
It’s true he'd been a
freakin' monk for eighteen months and she was probably the most
beautiful female he’d ever been this close to, but he never lost
control. Control was everything when it came to running a
successful troupe.

Mack turned silent, avoiding her gaze
for the last ten minutes of the ride through St. George. Ingrid was
quiet, too, probably still obsessed with how to convince him that
her plan to stay at the fancy hotel was the right move. The other
PMs were right when they'd reported she was tenacious. Maybe
headstrong was a better word choice.

When they pulled onto the property on
Henderson Avenue, Mack jumped out of the shuttle as soon as it was
safe. Taking in a long deep breath of New York City’s version of
fresh air, he cleared his mind of inappropriate thoughts and his
nose of her lavender scent.

It didn't help.

He urged himself to stay professional,
pulling some paperwork out of his briefcase and handing it to
Ingrid. "I know this info was already zipped over, but please look
at the June and July schedule one more time. The daily breakdown on
rehearsal and performance days is quite specific and includes meal
times. Your thumbprint will allow you access through the gate and
the front and back door. Alan will help you set that up a little
later. Because we have a rehearsal tomorrow at noon, it’s important
that you spend some time with Gene tonight."

His phone beeped. "The pizza's here.
Scott will get your bags inside. Take a seat in the kitchen, it’s
to the right. I'll be back in a few minutes." Mack unlocked the
back door with a scan of this thumb then strode to the front of the
house to collect the meal from the delivery guy.

"Hey Mack!"

"Tony, how are you?"

"Great. Did the old Ingrid get off
okay? We're all gonna miss her at the shop."

"Yeah, I’ll miss her too. She called
me yesterday. Said everything’s fine there." The troupe's last
Ingrid had been lovely, creative, obedient and on the serious side.
She’d left to take a job as an instructor at the Colorado Institute
because performing, and what went with it, had drained her badly.
The Genes and Ingrids, the troupe ingénues, always had it the
worst, especially the female.

"And the new Ingrid?" Anthony peeked
around Mack hoping for a glance of the new girl. "I saw a picture.
Wow."

"Yeah, she's wow all
right.”
With some pain in the ass thrown
in for good measure
, he chuckled to
himself.

When he got back with the
pizza, she was checking her H-tab.
Sass.
Who names their
H-tab?

"Will Gene be here soon? I have less
than an hour."

He placed the boxes on the table then
got out plates and napkins, red pepper flakes and garlic powder.
"Water, soda or beer?"

"Water is fine."

After placing a bottle of water in
front of her plate, he sat. "Help yourself. Gene will be here in a
few."

"But the shuttle..."

This female had stubborn down to a
science. "For your safety, I've already canceled your hotel room. I
suggest you call the shuttle company, unless you want to pay a
cancellation fee."

Ingrid slammed her fork on the table
and stood, already fuming. "You had no right to do
that."

"When you signed your contract you
became an official member of this troupe, and as your PM, the
troupe's safety is my main responsibility. You'll be sleeping here
tonight and every night, unless we're on tour. This is
non-negotiable.”