The Brimstone Deception (11 page)

“That is not the only explanation left.”

I perched on the edge of my desk. “It's not? But Ms. Sagadraco said—”

“We need to reconsider your family background. The contact with either Viktor Kain or the diamonds or the nexus—or even a combination—could have awakened a previously dormant ability.”

“No one in my family can see portals. If they can, I never heard about it. Not to mention, I'd kind of hoped to be able to avoid calling home and asking.”

“Why?”

“They worry about me enough as is, moving up here and all. Calling home and going, ‘Uh, Mom . . . yeah, I'm doing great. I've got a question. Has anyone in our family ever been able to see portals? No, no. No problems here. Just asking out of curiosity.'”

“I can see how that might be awkward.”

“And impossible to hide why I want to know. Mom's
relentless. And don't even get me started on Grandma Fraser. Trust me; you don't want my family coming up here. Nobody wants that. Least of all, me. Has Kenji taken a shot at it yet?”

Kenji Hayashi was SPI's CTA—Chief Technology Agent. Each SPI office worldwide had their own CTA, but Kenji was the best, which was why he was here at agency headquarters. If it existed in cyberspace, the Japanese elf could find it, and decipher it six ways from Sunday.

“I give him
full
permission to dig into my family background,” I said. “Just as long as he promises not to laugh at my more colorful relatives.”

“I'll ask Agent Hayashi to look into it as soon as possible.” Moreau paused. “I have been unable to contact Rake Danescu to ask of any effects he may have experienced. I've left two messages, but he has yet to return my calls. He may be more willing to answer the question if it came from you in person.”

“What makes you think I'll be seeing him?”

“Your lunch date was interrupted.”

“He wanted to reschedule for lunch today or dinner last night. But that got nixed by a squid demon and a possible concussion.” I decided not to mention the flowers I found on my bedside table this morning. Moreau probably knew, but if he didn't, I really didn't want to bring it up. “Are you visiting my desk because of Rake? Because if—”

My manager held up an elegant hand. “It is not about Monsieur Danescu. I will admit to having concerns, but after speaking with Madame Sagadraco, she and I are in agreement.”

I gave him a small smile. “That I'm a big girl and can take care of myself.”

“That and while Rake Danescu may be many things, he has never been foolish.” He narrowed his eyes very faintly. “Do I need to explain that statement?”

My smile broadened into a grin. “Oh no, sir. I got it loud and clear. And I think Rake probably has, too. He behaves or there'll be a line to kick his ass, and you and Ms. Sagadraco
will be near the front. Though Agent Byrne might want to argue for the right of first in line.”

“No doubt. I wanted to speak with you concerning your satisfaction with your employment here.”

I tensed. “Are you or Ms. Sagadraco not satisfied with my employment here?”

“I assure you we are most satisfied with your job performance. The question is how you feel about your job. I imagine it has turned out differently than you envisioned.”

“Yes, it has.” I thought back to the events of the past week. “I try my best to stay out of trouble. Problem is trouble keeps finding me.”

“That is part of our concern. I encourage those who report to me not to hesitate to tell me if parts of their job are distressing to them. You haven't requested a meeting.”

“Anything that's happened has pretty much fallen under my job description. More or less.”

“On New Year's Eve, you chased down a fully grown grendel in a crowd of nearly a million people.”

“I was the only one who could see her.”

“A human without defensive magical powers taking on a monster out of legend bare-handed.”

“I was the only agent there. I couldn't just let her start eating people.”

“But it was not your job. It was far beyond what anyone would have expected or demanded of you.”

“I had to do it.”

“And last week with Agent Byrne, Yasha Kazikov, and Rake Danescu. You didn't have to go to that island to take on Bastian du Beckett and prevent those diamonds from being activated.”

“Ben Sadler was being held prisoner. I felt responsible for him. Then there was Yasha, you, Ms. Sagadraco, and every supernatural in SPI. None of you are just coworkers; you've become like family.” I said it without one bit of embarrassment. “If there was some way I could help, I was going to do it.”

“And you have not sought me out to lodge a complaint about your life being in danger beyond what you were hired to do.”

“I don't mean any disrespect, sir, nor am I trying to be rude, but you're getting at something. What is it?”

“Have you at any point during your employment with us considered turning in your resignation?”

“Not seriously.”

“And why is that? Through no fault of your own, you've nearly lost your life on numerous occasions. Other times you have purposefully placed yourself in harm's way.”

“I don't think I'm a danger junkie, sir, if that's what you're getting at.”

“I don't think that you are.” His gaze searched my face. “Why do you do it, Makenna?”

I suddenly knew the answer without having to think about it. I pressed my lips together not only against a tiny smile, but against the sudden sting of tears in my eyes.

“I feel needed. Sometimes I screw up, but I know what I'm doing is worthwhile. I can't imagine not doing it. I love my job.”

Moreau stood. “That's all I needed to know. If that ever changes, I trust you will inform me.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Then I'll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Moreau headed for the elevators, and I realized my teeth were clenched in a smile that'd probably scare small children.

The silence of the agents in the bull pen behind me was absolute.

I turned slowly and was met with dozens of pairs of curious eyes: human, elf, goblin, troll, gnome . . .

“I'm still here,” I said loudly. When that didn't make them stop staring, I gave a double thumbs-up for emphasis.

At that, everyone returned to what they'd been doing, and the noise levels returned to normal.

I sat down with a sigh. Nothing about this place was normal.

I'D
barely gotten started digging for an answer to a question that'd been nagging me, when I heard the click of Kylie O'Hara's stiletto heels coming toward my desk. I'd never seen her in heels lower than four inches. She was pretty much five foot nothing, and while human women of her height would have worn heels for added height regardless of the excruciating pain, Kylie wore them because they were fun.

It had to be a dryad thing. They must have tiny arches of steel.

She nodded toward the elevators. “Well, how did
that
go?”

“Good. He just wanted to be sure I was happy in my work.”

“Are you?”

“Sure. Until something kills me, but then it'd be too late to lodge a complaint. Well, unless y'all get Bert involved, but I'd really rather you didn't.”

“Noted. So you're definitely staying?”

“I don't think I'd be allowed to leave if I wanted to. And I don't want to,” I hurried to add.

“Good.” She shot a withering look at the bull pen. “Because there's way too much testosterone around here.”

“And eavesdropping.”

Kylie shrugged. “Agents. They can't help it.”

She perched on the edge of my desk. In her stiletto heels and short pencil skirt, she did a better job of it than I had. The boys in the bull pen agreed. They eavesdropped on me; they ogled Kylie.

“I found out from Baxter the Bastard about those
Sex in the City
segments,” she said.

Both monikers were her creation. The first was the God's truth. Baxter Clayton, news anchor, was most definitely a bastard. The other was a cute and clever name for the series the aforementioned bastard was doing on New York's high-class sex industry.

“And?”

The dryad leaned in closer. “His producer shut down the project last month. The sex industry in this town must have a lot of pull.”

“Pun intended?”

She thought a moment. “No, lucky coincidence. And it wasn't the station that pulled the plug. The
network
brass axed it.”

“Oooh. Wanna bet some of those bad boys are clients?”

“I'd put money on it, though it sounds like they already have.”

“So would anyone who was going to have their business featured have known that the series had been scuttled?” I asked.

“Definitely.” Kylie gave me a fess-up look. “Why do you need to know?”

“Yesterday in the coffee shop, Rake needed to leave. Fast. He claimed it was because Baxter had been stalking him for his segment.”

The dryad sighed. “Honey, think about the goblin mind for a minute.”

“I'd rather not.”

“Too bad. Besides, if you decide to make this thing work with Rake, you'll need the practice. Technically, he didn't lie. I have no doubt that Baxter would have been stalking him for that segment. The total truth was that Bax wasn't stalking him
anymore
. So, the question then becomes, why the sudden need to leave?”

I sat back and wished I had a wall behind me to thunk my head against. “It was obvious he didn't want to get away from me. So we can toss out fear of commitment.
Aversion
to commitment maybe, but not fear. I think he saw someone he either needed to get away from . . .”

“Or chase after,” Kylie finished for me.

She hopped off of my desk. There were a couple of sighs from the bull pen. Kylie ignored them.

“Sorry hon, you're on your own to pry that out of Rake.” She flashed a dazzling smile to a few more sighs from the boys. “But if you play your cards right, you could at least have fun doing it. And yes,
that
pun was intended.”

“Thanks, Kylie.”

“Anytime.”

*   *   *

Damnation.

About an hour later, I didn't want a wall to thunk my head into, but I'd sure take one to use on Rake.

Kenji had gotten me into the databases I'd needed, but I'd done the digging myself.

I'd hit pay dirt all right. The operative word there being “dirt.”

The Murwood
and
the office building where the second murder had taken place earlier this afternoon were both owned by none other than Rake Danescu, under the name of Northern Reach Holdings. That made Jesin Nadisu—with his kilo of Brimstone and Nightshade bullet—Rake's employee. An employee who had looked ready to faint at
the mention of his boss. On a hunch, I ran a search on the office building where Alastor Malvolia's supersized pocket dimension contained his law firm.

Yep, Northern Reach Holdings, aka Rake Danescu's personal property.

Jesin Nadisu's reaction could have been his morphine getting low or any number of sudden pains after having a sniper's bullet blast through his insides, but eyes don't lie. That wasn't pain; that was fear. As a result, I had several urges bubbling to the surface, but the front-runner was an overwhelming need to kick Rake Danescu's ass.

The goblin was capable of a lot, maybe even murder. Who was I kidding? Definitely murder. But what had been done to Sar Gedeon and Kela Dupari wasn't Rake's style. If he wanted someone dead, he'd just kill them, not make a B horror-movie production out of it. And then there was all that blood and the brimstone stink. I couldn't see Rake getting within smelling distance of a demon, let alone partnering with one. No dry cleaner could get demon stink out of a silk suit. Plus, my gut told me that his hand would never go fishing around in a chest cavity for a heart treat to toss to his demon accomplice. “Innocent” was the last word I'd use to describe Rake Danescu, but he wasn't the murderer.

I knew in my gut the man whose silhouette I'd seen on the other side of that open portal had been the one to paralyze Sar Gedeon and the others while his demon used his claws to go grocery shopping. That silhouette didn't belong to Rake.

My desk phone rang.

It was the receptionist at Saga Partners Investments, our cover office on the surface. Rake Danescu was there to see me.

Speak of the devil. Pun and cliché intended.

“Shall I tell Mr. Danescu that you're in a meeting?” she asked.

I smiled, though to the guys in the bull pen it'd look more like a baring of teeth.

“No, no. Not necessary. I would love to see Rake Danescu,” I said. “I'll be right up.”

*   *   *

Rake stood in the reception area of Saga Partners Investments, impeccably dressed, and looking uncharacteristically grim.

Good. We were in the same mood. It'd save a lot of time getting past pleasantries if neither one of us had any.

When he saw me, grim turned to guarded. He knew I was mad. At him. Yes, the last time we'd seen each other was across a table in a coffee shop when he'd been kissing the palm of my hand. Now he knew that if he went for my hand, I'd give him my fist.

But he didn't know why, hence, the guardedness.

I was about to enlighten him.

But not here, not now.

What I'd just discovered wasn't personal; it was business. Rake was now a suspect, if not of murder, then of drug running, or at the very least, collusion—but most of all of being an asshole of a boss who terrified his employees. Until all of those had been thoroughly addressed, the one thing he was not was a potential boyfriend.

“Karen,” I asked the receptionist, “is the conference room available?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Would you put me down for half an hour?”

*   *   *

I closed the door. The main Saga conference room was essentially an interrogation room with fancy seating. I fully intended to bring Rake downstairs for Ian and possibly Ms. Sagadraco to question, but first I had to confirm that there was justification to take that next step.

“Before we get started, I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful, and they were the first pleasant
surprise I've had in days. Now your turn. You're here, asking for me, and you're not happy. Why?”

“You have my employee Jesin Nadisu here. Has he been arrested?”

Interesting. Rake didn't know he'd been shot.

“No, we're merely asking him a few questions.”

“With an attorney present?”

“There's no need for—”

Rake reached for his phone. “I want him to have one. Anything he might have said to this point is inadmissible without an attorney present.”

“I don't see why he would need one.”

The goblin's dark eyes narrowed. “Oh, you don't, do you?”

I wasn't taking the bait. But with that attitude, I didn't feel guilty tossing him a curve.

“Because we don't think
he
is the one who's guilty—at least not of murder.”

“Murder?”

“Murder. As to having a kilo of Brimstone on him . . .” I shrugged. “For all we know, he could have been holding it for a friend.”

Rake paused, his long index finger poised above a key. Jeez, the guy had his lawyer on speed dial. I really hoped it wasn't Alastor Malvolia, though with Rake being his landlord, I wouldn't have been surprised.

“Unless
you
think he's guilty,” I continued, “in which case, you need to seriously reevaluate your hiring practices, hiring psychotic serial killers. I'd have thought you would've been more careful about things like that, being a savvy and successful big-city businessman and all.”

“Not guilty?”

“That's what we think.”

“Then why do you have Jesin Nadisu in custody?”

“We don't have Jesin Nadisu in custody. We had him in surgery.”

The goblin went dangerously still. “What?”

“He was shot outside a building that was the scene of the second murder in as many days. He had a kilo of Brimstone on him. We're analyzing it in the lab now. But it would help greatly if you'd care to tell us why the demons peddling the stuff are thinning out the competition by killing drug lords in your buildings?”

“My buildings?”

“Your buildings. You own—and Jesin Nadisu manages—the Murwood, scene of the first murder. Two hours ago, he was shot outside an office building on West Seventy-Ninth Street, aka murder scene number two, also owned by you. And the lawyer who represented both victims—as well as probable future victims—has his cozy pocket-dimension office in yet another of your buildings.”

“Alastor.”

“That's him. A real sweetheart. Met him this morning. You know, if you'd give us a list of all of your real estate holdings, maybe we could get ahead of the killers and keep Al from losing any more clients.”

“You've been busy.”

“I'm not the one hosting a demonic murder convention—and terrorizing your employees.”

“Terrorizing my . . . What the hell are you talking about?”

“We were telling Jesin that he didn't have anything to be afraid of, that he was safe here. We tried to determine who he was afraid of. When we mentioned ‘your employer' the poor kid damned near fainted. Imagine my surprise when I found out just now that he works for you.”

“I can't imagine why he would be afraid of me.”

“Can't you?”

“No, I can't. Though at least I know why you're upset.”

“I'm not upset, Rake. I'm about to become violent.”

He exhaled heavily. “How is Jesin and who shot him?”

“He'll live. He's in recovery. Apparently the Nightshade sniper who shot him just wanted to clip him enough to justify using the fake ambulance waiting around the corner to come
pick him up. Trust me, the poor kid will be a lot happier waking up here rather than wherever those elf ninjas would've taken him.”

Rake swore and dropped into one of the chairs. Then he was silent, but there was a lot going on behind those dark eyes, mostly disbelief, confusion, and concern. “Thank you,” he finally said.

Okay, that was unexpected.

Rake could have been pretending to care more about Jesin than defending himself, but I didn't think so. When I'd said “Nightshade,” he'd gone a shade or two paler than usual. You can't fake that; at least I didn't think so. I wasn't going to back down, but for now I decided to back off.

“Could you tell me what happened without compromising your investigation?” he asked.

Pale
and
polite. There wasn't any part of what had happened that Rake wouldn't be able to find out himself with a few questions in the right places, so I wouldn't get in trouble for telling what we knew, which wasn't really all that much.

“The NYPD arrived at the second murder scene before we could,” I said. “We got there and were staking out the location when we spotted Jesin leaving the building. He looked nervous.”

Rake gave a halfhearted smile and shook his head. “Contrary to what you may believe, goblins aren't born knowing how to conceal their emotions.”

“So it's an acquired annoyance?”

“Touché.”

“Jesin saw us and ran, there was a shot and he went down. Ian ran after the shooter, I stayed with Jesin until Yasha got back with the Suburban. We got him back here and into our ER as fast as we could.”

“Thank you, again.”

“You're welcome, but we were just doing our jobs. We would have done that for anyone.”

“Even me?”

“Including you. Though Ian might not have run so fast after the shooter. And Yasha wouldn't have been as gentle putting you into the Suburban. It probably would've been more like a quasi-aimed toss.”

That got a slight smile out of Rake.

“Why would Jesin be afraid of you?”

“He's not. At least he wasn't as of yesterday when he told me about you and Agent Byrne coming to the Murwood and about Sar Gedeon's murder.” He spread his hands in exasperation. “I have no idea why he would react like that. I'm his favorite uncle.”

“Uncl . . . he's your
nephew
?”

“Yes. He's extraordinarily bright, a hard worker, with an uncanny knack for business. He's also one of the few in my family whom I actually like. When he came here, he wanted to work, so I put him in charge of the Murwood. The boy has a head for management.”