The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1) Page 9

  For a woman who was supposed to be working with him, she seemed to be trying to do anything but work with him.

  “Fancy finding you out here,” a familiar voice said behind him. Scott didn’t bother to turn around as Henry Cage appeared at his elbow. “What are you doing?”

  “Following Riley,” Scott admitted. “She slipped out. I wanted to see where she was going.”

  “Why didn’t you just call her?”

  “She hasn’t given me her phone number yet, and I forgot to ask for it,” Scott replied. He leaned against the tree and folded his arms over his chest. “What brings you out here?”

  “I was about to walk out to my car and, it so happens, spotted someone hanging out in the trees,” Henry said. “So I thought I would come and check it out. Figured I was either going to end up killing someone or someone would end up killing me. Imagine my surprise to find it was just you.”

  “Oh, come on, Henry. Don’t give me that line of bullshit,” Scott said, scanning the façade of the Agency building again for any changes.

  “Fine. I had Vanessa track you by your cell phone’s GPS.” He gave Scott a small smile and propped against the tree beside him. “I have to talk to you about something important. Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.”

  Scott raised an eyebrow at that and shifted his weight to his other leg. “A good time for what?” he asked. “Cut the cryptic crap, Henry. I’ve had a long, hard, ridiculous day, and I’d like you to do me the favor of not adding to it.”

  Henry sighed again. “They want you back in Internal Affairs.”

  Scott’s shoulders tensed at the very mention of those two words, and a scowl crossed his face before he could stop it. He managed to hold back the curses that tried to burble to the surface and instead said, “You know better than to even think about asking me something like that.”

  “Yes, and believe me, I don’t want to ask you,” Henry said. “But I’m not being given a choice. There’s something going on, and they want you back in it, just for a very particular task.”

  “I don’t want to know what task, because I’m not going to do it,” Scott said. “No way, no how.”

  Henry shook his head. “Scott…the orders came straight from Director Hartley. You have to do it. You know how this kind of thing goes.”

  Scott squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head back against the tree trunk. “I know. I just…I can’t, Henry. Not after Amy. I can’t.”

  “At least let me tell you what you’ll be doing,” Henry started.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Yes, you do,” Henry argued. “Because you’re required to care.”

  “No, I’m not,” Scott said. His eyes flew open, and he glared at Henry through the darkness. “I’m not required to care, and I don’t care. I’m tired of caring.”

  Henry seemed to not hear him. “Your new assignment as a reinstated member of Internal Affairs is to watch Riley Walker,” he said. At that, Scott straightened and looked at him, naked curiosity burning through him at Henry’s words. “I don’t know what’s going on, so don’t bother asking. I just know that it’s been asked that you in particular be put on her to watch her. I don’t know if she’s in danger or if she is the danger. But regardless…watch your back.”

  “Is that why I’ve been brought over into The Unnaturals?” Scott asked. “To watch her?”

  “Basically,” Henry said. “If I had had the choice, I wouldn’t have given you up, but Zachariah Lawrence pushed, and he pushed hard, and I couldn’t figure out a legitimate reason to tell him no. I tried pointing out that you were on bereavement leave, but he wouldn’t take that as an answer and, apparently, got Hartley involved. I think he has some sort of ulterior motive, but Lord knows he isn’t bothering to tell anyone else what’s going on or why he’s making the moves he’s been making.”

  Scott shook his head again, more slowly than before, as he thought over what Henry had just told him. “No idea what he’s got planned?”

  “None whatsoever,” Henry confessed. “He didn’t feel the need to let me in on it. I assume the only person he’s told anything about it is his partner.”

  “Partner?” Scott asked.

  “The man that was, I’m assuming, in the meeting with you, Riley, and Brandon earlier,” Henry clarified. “Stuff this big, Zachariah rarely goes anywhere without him. Tall guy, dark hair, lots of scars, looks like he hates the world?”

  “Yeah, he was there,” Scott confirmed. “Henry, what is this about? You’ve got to know something. I mean, they’re parading around a bunch of bullshit about vampires. If that’s not a ridiculous cover-up for some sort of high-level secret op, then I don’t know what is.”

  “It isn’t,” Henry said. “But I suspect you’ll learn that soon enough.” He nodded toward the building. “Your mark’s coming out.”

  Scott turned to look toward the Agency’s front doors. Sure enough, he spotted the silhouette of a familiar, slender figure emerging from the brighter building and slipping into the darkness of their surroundings. She looked like she was on a mission, and Scott wanted to follow her, if only to sate his curiosity about what she was doing. He turned to tell Henry that he would see him later, only to discover that the man was no longer there.

  Grimacing in annoyance, Scott turned his attention back in the direction Riley had gone, but he couldn’t see her anymore either. He swore under his breath and started in the direction she’d gone, but then he stopped. What was the point? He could be asleep back in the hotel, asleep in the chair and not out in the early morning darkness creeping after a woman he wasn’t even sure he liked. She was annoying, flighty, arrogant, and absolutely reckless. She was everything he hated in an agent. By all logic, as a former member—reinstated member, he reminded himself, though he hated the fact—of the Internal Affairs department, he should have been game for keeping an eye on her.

  So why was he contemplating going back to the hotel room and disregarding his orders?

  He didn’t give himself time to answer the question and instead stepped out of the shadows beneath the tree, jogging in the direction Riley had gone. He was going to have to hurry if he expected to catch up with her substantial lead on him.

  Ten minutes later, he found her. Riley was sitting on a bench in a small park, staring into the distance, her legs crossed and one arm draped along the back of the bench, her head propped against the other, that damned backpack she always carried around with her on the bench beside her. She looked like she was in some sort of thoughtful meditation, but all the same, something was bothering her: her shoulders were stiff, squared, like she was expecting a blow from behind at any moment. He eased behind a tree so she wouldn’t see him and watched as she swiped a hand over her eyes. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of witnessing the woman’s tears, Scott looked away, giving her what little privacy he could.

  That was how he caught sight of the man creeping up on her from the shadows of the trees fifty feet to his right. Mugger, he recognized, and he took a step toward the man, intending on taking him down before he did Riley any harm. But something told him to hold back, to stand still and watch instead. It wasn’t like Riley couldn’t take care of herself, anyway.

  Riley had shifted position as he’d eyed the mugger. It was subtle—a tilt of the head a few inches to the left, an easing of the tightness in her shoulders—but it was there. The hand draped across the back of the bench had moved, and she looked as if she were clutching something in her hand, though he couldn’t make out what it was.

  That was when it occurred to him that she’d come to the park looking for a fight. She was mugger-baiting.

  The thought brought a slight smile to his face. And, instead of rushing to her aid or pulling back to return to the hotel, he lurked behind the trees, watching to see what would happen next.

  Riley leaned forward as if she was about to get up, and that was when the mugger made his move. He rushed forward, grabbing the woman by her right bicep and hauling her
off of the bench, bringing up a knife to press it to her throat. Scott heard the man bark a command at her, but he couldn’t make out the words. He could see the grin on the mugger’s face, though; clearly, he thought he’d found himself an easy mark.

  Riley said something to him, and the mugger laughed and shook his head, pushing her a little as he waved his knife in her face. A scowl marred Riley’s face, and then she planted her foot and rammed her elbow back into the man’s gut. Even from his position in the trees, Scott could hear the rush of the man’s breath leaving him. He doubled over, loosening his grip on Riley’s arm, and she spun around and slammed the heel of her hand into his nose. The crunch of cartilage reached Scott’s ears, and the man dropped to his knees with a squeal. Then Riley was on top of him, toppling him to the ground and sitting on his stomach with her knees on either side of him to pin him down. A knife of her own appeared, concealed in her left hand, and she pressed it to his throat.

  Scott almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.

  Riley was saying something to the man, and he looked at her with an angry, hateful glare. He brought his hand up, striking out toward Riley’s head, and she blocked the strike as easily as she would swat a fly out of her face. Then she drove her knee into his side and snarled something at him. Whatever she’d said to the man had brought genuine worry to his face. With a smirk, she struck him hard on the head with her fist, and he went limp.

  Then she stood and looked in Scott’s general direction. Her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed her backpack and started toward him. It didn’t take an idiot to realize he’d been spotted.

  “Shit,” Scott hissed. Irrationally, he ducked back further into the trees’ shadows, then hit the sidewalk and started back toward the hotel at a brisk, ground-eating pace that wasn’t quite a run, eager to avoid a confrontation in the middle of the street, even if it was early and there weren’t many people out yet. The sound of her tennis shoes hitting the sidewalk behind him reached his ears, and he turned as she jogged up to him.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” she demanded, her words breathless as she stopped him. She grabbed his arm, and he wrenched it free without hesitation.

  “I could ask the same thing of you,” Scott snapped, tossing everything about avoiding a confrontation straight out the window without a second thought. “Why the hell did you leave the hotel?”

  “Are you spying on me?” Riley asked, her voice rising into something bordering on shrillness with her indignation.

  “Of course I am!” Scott said. “It’s my fucking job.” He grabbed her wrist and started to haul her along the sidewalk, back toward the hotel. “We’re supposed to be working together, remember?” he said as she tried to free herself from his grasp. “And it’s really hard to work together when you’re running off doing your own damn thing.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Dad,” Riley said sarcastically. “I didn’t know I was answering to you now. I’ll remember that next time I decide to sneak out of the room.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time,” Scott said. He let go of her then and continued walking to the hotel. “All I ask is that you act like a responsible agent in the time we’re stuck working together. After all is said and done, I don’t care what you do.”

  “Why are you so worked up over this anyway?” Riley asked, hurrying to keep up with him. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “I’m not worked up over it,” Scott muttered, though he knew that that was a blatant lie. The woman seemed to be developing a knack for getting his hackles up in spectacular fashion. “It’s a matter of trust. I. Don’t. Trust. You. And you running off in the middle of the night certainly doesn’t make me feel inclined to start.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he nodded his head back in the direction of the city park and added, “What the hell was that all about, anyway?”

  Riley looked away from him, clearly embarrassed. “It was nothing,” she muttered.

  “That wasn’t ‘nothing,’” Scott retorted. “You were baiting that man. Why?”

  Riley fidgeted and shook her head. “I was just…blowing off steam,” she said. “It’s what I do when I’m pissed. Mostly after meetings with Brandon. He has a way with words that makes me want to punch something.”

  “I’ve noticed that.” He stared at her for a moment more, trying to read her thoughts through her expression, but her face had hardened. It was like looking at someone who wore a mask: blank, almost expressionless, and unmoving. It was fairly disturbing—he’d never met someone who could erase her emotions so completely before—and he had to force himself to continue looking at her; his eyes kept wanting to slide right off her face, like she wasn’t even there. “We should get back to the hotel,” he said. “I want to try to get at least a few more hours of sleep before we check out Buzzard Point. Something tells me we won’t be getting much of it from here on out.”

  ~*~

  Zachariah’s boots crunched with every step he took, and his breathing was shallow as he crept into the abandoned apartment building. The interior of the building was dark, and the only light came from the small flashlight he held. His right hand gripped his silver-coated machete, fingers grinding into the hilt.

  He was nervous. But it was always nerve-wracking infiltrating any building affiliated with vampires.

  He took another step, and his boot crunched again. He chanced a quick glance down; dozens of bones littered the floor. It was mostly animal bones, though there was always the possibility of human bones among them. The stench of decay hovered over the room, a smell he was shamefully used to.

  Dripping water echoed somewhere in the building, a steady pinging of liquid against metal. Zachariah tried to ignore it and made his way deeper into the building. As he reached the hallway on the other side of the room, he turned back to look at the area he’d already crossed, sweeping his flashlight’s beam over the bones littering the floor. He wasn’t sure how long the coven had been in this building—if he had to guess, he’d put it north of three weeks—but the remains littering the floor suggested a coven of average size. Fifty, maybe more, but definitely not over one hundred. Compared to what he knew of other covens, it was certainly one of the weaker ones.

  He turned back to the hallway and headed for the stairwell door, which was clearly marked. The sound of dripping grew louder as he moved closer to it, and he drew in a breath of the foul air before pulling the door open and slipping through it. As it fell shut behind him, leaving him in a tower of empty stairs and darkness, his resolve wavered. But he forced himself onward regardless, not because he wanted to but because he had to. He had to understand the extent of this coven before he could make his recommendations to Ashton about what to do.

  As Zachariah started up the stairs, the stench of decay from the ground floor began to fade, dropping away until he felt like he was able to breathe more easily. He knew the coven’s elder vampires would be staying on a higher floor to put layers of protection between themselves and any intruders. Not that Zachariah had to worry about those layers; all of the vampires had flooded out of the apartment building shortly after sunset, heading out on one of their nightly hunts. This was supposed to be a fact-finding mission. Didn’t mean he would risk letting his guard down.

  He bypassed the second floor in favor of the third, easing to the entrance door and bumping it open with his foot. After taking a second to exchange his machete for a pistol, he stepped into the hallway and swept the pistol from side to side, shining his light down the hall to make sure there wasn’t anything nasty waiting for him. When he didn’t see anything, he moved further down the hall; this time, his boots were silent, muffled by the carpeting. He spied a flicker of light underneath a door near the end of the hall and stiffened, drawing in a slow breath and easing down toward it.

  There wasn’t supposed to be any vampires in here. He’d personally watched from his perch on the roof of the building across the street as they had all left the building, swarming out in a flood. He knew better than to stay i
n the face of a possible vampire presence, but his curiosity ate at him, overriding the rules he was supposed to be following.

  Then again, if he’d been following the rules, he wouldn’t even be inside the coven. He’d still be safely on the roof across the street, monitoring for comings and goings and trying to count the vampires as they returned.

  Zachariah didn’t really see the fun in that, personally. Squaring his shoulders, he adjusted his grip on the pistol and headed for the lit room near the end of the hall, his eyes locked onto the strip of light. Nothing moved on the other side. He began to suspect that whoever—or whatever—was staying in the room had simply forgotten to put the light out. He nodded to himself and stepped up to the door, wanting to get a good look at the inside of what might have been a vampire elder’s lair.

  A hand on his shoulder stopped him. It gripped him tightly, nails digging into his shirt, and a woman’s voice asked softly, “What are you doing in my house?”

  Zachariah wasn’t sure how, but he instinctively knew that it was an elder vampire behind him. “Oh shit,” he breathed, just before the woman dug her teeth into his shoulder, tearing through his shirt. He gasped in pain and lurched forward, turning to strike out with his pistol. She caught his hand in hers and pulled the pistol free from his grip, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. With the pistol gone, he turned to his machete, sliding it from its sheath and swinging it down toward her. She put up an arm to block the blow, and the silvered blade bit into her forearm, digging into the bone with a thunk. Then her free hand grasped his shirt again, and she swung him around and slammed him into the wall, pulled the machete free from her arm, and burrowed her face against the crook of his neck, her teeth piercing his skin. He gasped as pain shot through his neck, and he felt her draw blood from him with hard pulls. Blood—her blood—ran in rivulets down the wrist and hand she grasped, and his vision swam.