Dark Heir

Inside HQ, one of the guys worked a bottle opener like a bartender and passed out Cokes to the small crowd; we clicked bottles and drank. I drained mine, the caffeine and sugar hitting my system and mitigating the adrenaline breakdown, which could make anyone feel nauseous. I accepted a second bottle. Then I thanked them for their fast response and told them to never do it again. “Seriously, y’all. I appreciate the sentiment. But you do not abandon your post without specific orders or danger to the target. I was in a Clan Pellissier armored SUV, safe from anything but a rocket launcher, and even then, I’d have some protection. Never race to a gunfight without intel. For all you know, someone had a gun to my head forcing me to ask for help. Or the shooter might have been waiting to draw you out the door and take you all down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them said, sounding snarky, half laughing. “Next time we’ll leave you hunkered down by enemy fire.”

I recognized him as one of Grégoire’s new people from Atlanta, but I couldn’t recall his name. “You do that. And when I get my title back, I’ll make sure of that upon order of the Enforcer,” I said, this time letting steel and some of the leftover adrenaline into my voice. His eyes slid to the side. “I was in an armored vehicle. Afterward, I had an armored vehicle between me and the shooter’s position. You aren’t even wearing vests.” I poked his chest hard enough to leave a bruise, so he’d think about what a bullet might have felt like. “He could have mowed you all down. Dead heroes are useless to me, people. I need people who think.”

I set my Coke down with a hard thump, holding my arms out to the side. “Inspect my weapons and add them to the list of documented blades, stakes, and guns currently on the premises,” I instructed, bringing the small group back from battle to proper protocol.

Protocol Aardvark, Procedure B was still in effect, and I had weapons, which always made me feel better, even when I couldn’t use them, such as in the SUV, being fired upon. Shoving the nine back into my spine holster, I said, “Take my personal belongings out of the vehicle and make sure that Detective Sloan Rosen gets the SUV. See that a new vehicle is made ready for my use and placed out back.”

A female said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.” She was blond, and I remembered her from . . . sometime. Sometime when I wasn’t being shot at. I forgave myself for not remembering.

I looked at the snarky man and said, “There’s an empty camera mount on the outer wall at the corner. Find out why the camera isn’t installed, and see that it gets up by nightfall.”

The hard-muscled man jerked upright, his shoulders going back in the way that only time in the military can produce. “Yes, ma’am. On it.”

I let out an Eli-worthy smile. “And, people. Despite the tongue-lashing, thank you.” With no further words, I picked up the Coke and a headset that would allow me to interact with security and made my way to the elevator, the doors closing behind me, leaving me in stale, frigid air that chilled my sweat-damp body. It wasn’t really cold. I knew that. But my body didn’t, not yet. I shivered hard and finished off the Coke, leaving the empty in the elevator. Housekeeping would put it in the recyclables.

I stared into the elevator door’s reflective, polished surface. I didn’t normally stare at myself in an elevator, or anywhere for that matter, but this time I got a good look. I hadn’t rebraided my hair and it was sticking out everywhere. I had dark circles under my eyes, and frown lines pulled down on my face. I looked as peevish as I felt. Peevish was a good word, combining exhausted and sleepy and running on fumes, with a side order of irritation, anger, and annoyance. I smoothed my wild hair, my only concession to neatness.

My cell dinged with a text that said, The SoD was on fire when Brute and he fought. The text was from Edmund and it answered my question, though the data did nothing for me. Most info in an investigation actually provided nothing and ended up as loose threads of information that never went anywhere.

I stepped out on the main floor and dialed Del, Leo’s primo. She was on vamp time and I surely woke her up, though she sounded perfectly alert and composed when she answered. I interrupted her pleasantries with, “I was just shot at in front of HQ. I need Leo. Get his butt out of bed and into his office, now.” Face growing tight, jaw knotted, I ended the call and took the stairs to Leo’s office, not wondering why people were moving out of my way. I could smell my own anger.

Leo’s office was locked, a problem I remedied with a shoulder to the door, knocking the dead-latch plunger and the latch bolt free from the strike plate. Stupid finger latch. I’d been putting off changing out the cheap lock for one of the new models that scanned handprints, knowing that Leo would gripe about not being able to get into his office easily. Maybe the broken lock would change his mind.

I stood in front of Leo’s desk and slammed the pertinent papers down on top, bending forward, supporting myself on one fist as I spread them for view. A tapestry moved and Leo entered his office. He was wearing the yoga pants and knit top ensemble and he looked cool, untouchable, and every inch a king. An angry king.

He moved with that inhuman grace and took his chair, deliberately placing himself below me in a gesture that clearly said he didn’t need bogus gestures of height to be more important than me. And that he wasn’t the least bit afraid of me.

My finger stabbed the deed. “Why didn’t you tell me Joses Bar-Judas, aka Joseph Santana, aka Jesreal St. Anna, once owned this property?”

“I didn’t know, Jane Yellowrock, who is no longer my Enforcer,” Leo said softly. “Had I known, I would have so informed you.”

Which took all the furious wind out of my sails and left me tired and deflated.

“My uncle and Bethany brought the dying Son of Darkness here. They knew that the European Mithrans would hold us all responsible if they found out what had happened and that we had their leader prisoner. They would cast us into the day for the actions that resulted in his injury and imprisonment.” Leo looked down to his hands and back to me, his face so very human and pensive. It was either a very real and human moment or he was playing me. I couldn’t tell which. “But back then,” he said, holding my eyes, “so long ago, and yet only yesterday, there were ways to hide many things that are much harder to hide today with the electronic media and digital cameras and all the changes.”