Darkness Rising: The Dark Angel Series: Book Two (11 page)

He had the look of an angel and in the past—before his golden wings had been torn off—he probably would have been mistaken for one. Because even though reapers were the true soul guides, it was the Aedh who had given rise to the angels seen in so many myths.

“Risa,” he said, his deep voice reverberating with pleasure. “I was just thinking about you.”

I grinned. “I hope you’re alone. If not, your partner might be a bit miffed to hear that.”

He laughed. “I am—unfortunately—quite alone. Yourself?”

“The same.” I gave my sigh a wistful edge. “Which is unfortunate, as you said, because I happen to be horny as hell.”

Something very primal sparked in the recesses of his eyes. “And is it your intent to torture me with this news?”

I laughed. “Totally. Either you get your butt back here, or I shall have to seek release elsewhere.”

“It is lucky, then, that I’m currently waiting to board a plane, and that I’ll be back in Melbourne by six tomorrow morning.”

I made a tsking sound. “I’m not sure that’s soon enough.”

“But if you pick me up at the airport, we could both get our ease sooner rather than later.”

“If you send me the flight details, I just might.”

He smiled, and it was a hungry thing. Heat curled through my belly, and it was difficult not to hum in pleasure. “How’s the trip been otherwise?”

“Business is always boring,” he said, “but the client is an important one, so I do what I must.”

Lucian was a financial adviser—a fairly high-profile and wealthy one, from what I could see, even though he tended to play that down. “I take it this client didn’t have any pretty secretaries?”

“Not a one,” he said solemnly, though his bright eyes danced with mirth. “I had to fill my time making good on promises.”

“Hmm,” I said. “To whom?”

“To you, lovely lady.”

“Me?” I said, surprised. “What promises have you made to me?”

“Well, I did say I’d attempt to see what I could uncover about your father. While I’ve had no luck there, I managed to discover whom the Razan known as Handberry was supposed to meet the night he was killed by the soul stealer.”

I frowned. I couldn’t actually remember mentioning Handberry to Lucian, but given everything that had happened over the past weeks, it wasn’t out of the question that I’d simply forgotten I’d done it.

Either that, or he’d gleaned the knowledge from my mind during one of our many lovemaking sessions. That was always the risk with our relationship, but not one I was overly concerned with. After all, there weren’t that many questions he could ask that I
wouldn’t
answer.

Still, it made me wonder if the nanowire would work against him.

“How did you discover who Handberry was supposed to meet with?”

He smiled. “A good investigator never reveals his sources, but I will note that it cost me a crate of very expensive champagne.”

My cheeks dimpled. “I shall repay in kind, if you like.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice suddenly lower
and
a whole lot sexier, “I intend to extract their worth in another way entirely.”

That curl of heat in my belly got stronger. I grinned. “That could take more time than
either
of us has in our schedule.”

“Which only makes the thought all the more delectable.”

The man was incorrigible.
And
insatiable. Not that I was quibbling about either. “So who was he?”

“His name is Ike Forman. According to my source, he’s a thug with pretensions. He has a very upper-class attitude, but he fights dirty.”

Upper-class …

Excitement rolled through me. It sounded very much like the man the panther had described.

Meaning I more than likely had a name for the next person up the ladder—and was one step closer to discovering who the hell was sending these things after me.

“I
TAKE IT FROM YOUR EXPRESSION THAT THE
name means something to you?” Lucian said.

“The name, no. It’s just that one of the half-shifters used very similar terms to describe their new handler. I’m betting it’s not a coincidence.”

“More than likely not,” he agreed. “I gather this means the half-shifters have attacked you again?”

“Yes. Did your source say anything else about Forman?”

“Not really. I simply asked if he knew anything about Handberry, as he represents the sort of clients that Handberry would associate with. Forman was the only name he could suggest.”

“If Forman has upper-class pretensions, why would he associate with someone like Handberry?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask Forman when you find him.”

“So you couldn’t get an address for the man?”

“No, but I daresay you’re resourceful enough to get that information yourself.”

“I daresay I am.” Or, at least, Stane was.

“They’re calling my flight. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“You will.”

“And you’d better wear something you don’t value,” he warned, his eyes glowing, “because I have every intention of tearing it off you the minute we are alone.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He laughed, blew a kiss, and hung up, leaving me grinning like a fool as I fired up my bike and drove over to Stane’s.

I parked on a side street off West Street, away from Stane’s computer shop and well out of sight of any foot traffic coming from the Phoenix. Given the condition of Stane’s storefront, it was obvious that the club’s patrons didn’t mind doing a bit of damage as they stumbled home.

As I took off my helmet, the noise hit—the music a heavy beat that pounded through the air and rattled the nearby windows. Underneath it ran the sound of raucous voices—men
and
women. I could only be thankful I didn’t have to go there. I didn’t mind loud music, but I liked to be able to dance to it. This seemed little more than noise.

I set the bike’s alarm, then made my way around to Stane’s shop. Thick grates covered the front windows, but a lot of the bars were bent—the work of drunken nonhumans, most likely, since humans would never be able to budge metal that thick without assistance.

I pushed the front door open and a tiny bell rang cheerily. The camera above the doorway buzzed into action, tracking me as I entered the shop—not that I could go too far in. Stane had a containment field around the entrance, and no one was getting into the inner sanctum without his permission.

“Stane, it’s Risa, reporting in as ordered.”

“I believe you were supposed to report some ten hours ago,” he said, his voice dry even over the speakers.

“Something came up.”

“An event that occurs quite often around you, I’ve discovered.” The slight shimmer that was the containment field disappeared. “Come on up.”

I headed for the stairs at the back of the shop. This area was small and smelled of dust and mold. There were shelves everywhere, all packed with boxes, old and new computer parts, and ancient-looking monitors of varying sizes.

Of course, mold and dust weren’t exactly good for computers, but I had it on good authority—Tao’s—that this area was little more than a ruse. The expensive items were all kept upstairs.

And up there, you stepped into another world—one that was clean, shiny, and filled with the latest in computer technology. In fact, Stane’s system dominated the main living space and wouldn’t have looked out of place on a spaceship.

It was a stark contrast with Stane himself, who could only be described as a mess with his unkempt brown hair, thick ill-fitting black sweater, and wrinkled jeans. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d put up any sort of fight—until you actually gazed into his honey-colored eyes. Stane, like Tao, was smarter and tougher than he looked.

He gave me a bright, warm smile as he rose and kissed me on the cheek. “So this thing that came up … ,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to help?”

A grin teased my lips. “What, the black market not exciting enough for you these days?”

“It’s not that.” He sat down and pushed a second chair my way. “It’s more the challenge. You task me with the impossible and just presume I’ll come through. I like that.”

I laughed. “Well, I do have an information hunt, but I don’t think it’s going to tax you or your system too much.”

“I have complete faith in the fact that, now that you’re back chasing otherworld crap, my tasks will only get harder.” Anticipation mingled with humor in his eyes. “So hit me with this first one, and don’t be too long with the rest.”

I shook my head as I said, “I need any and all information you have on an Ike Forman. Apparently, he’s the man Handberry went to meet the night he was killed, and he might also be the half-shifters’ new handler.”

Stane frowned. “Forman? That name rings a bell. Hang on a sec.” He twisted around and touched one of the light screens on his circular “bridge.” “Here, listen to this.”

A harsh voice suddenly shouted, “Fuck it, Forman, I’m not going to waste more good men like this. It’s not worth it.”

The voice belonged to Handberry, and the conversation had obviously been going for a while. But given that Handberry had stormed out not long after I’d released the listening bug into his office, I guess we’d been lucky to get anything at all.

The voice on the other side was muffled, but the tone was definitely urbane.

“I don’t fucking care what Harlen said,” Handberry ranted in response. “These are my fucking men, not his. There must be a better—”

Forman obviously cut Handberry off, because he fell silent for several heartbeats. Then he swore loudly and said, “Tell the bastard to meet me at home. I’ll be there in twenty.”

With that, he hung up. Footsteps retreated and the door slammed. That’s when Tao and I had witnessed him storming out of the club like some great black thundercloud. And twenty minutes later he was dead.

Stane pressed the screen again, preventing the recording from looping and replaying. “I tried to enhance the other end of the conversation, but could only get snatches of words. I think the other guy was using some sort of scrambler to hamper recording.”

Which meant he was not only urbane, but also smart
and
careful. “What about the name Handberry mentioned? Harlen?”

“I did do a search for both Harlen and Forman, but without knowing their full names, it was pretty useless. Still, there’s no Forman or Harlen connected to either the club or the consortium that was buying up the properties around here.”

I frowned. “What happened to the third man connected to the consortium, John Nadler? The one we never found?”

Stane shrugged. “Whoever he really is, he’s got his tracks covered. I’ve tried just about every search I can think of, and I’m coming up with nothing.”

Which was undoubtedly frustrating to someone like Stane, who prided himself on being able to go
anywhere, and find anything, along the Net’s superhighway. “Meaning he’s probably using a fake ID.”

“Actually, I think it probably means he’s living two separate lives. Fake ID will only get you so far in this day and age.”

“But even if he was living two lives, wouldn’t one of those still require a fake ID?”

“Not if he simply stepped into the life of another man.”

“But that’s not possible—”

“Really?” he interrupted, eyebrow raised. “Do you think you’re the only face shifter on the planet?”

Face shifters were able to make basic structural changes to their faces—hair, eyes, and shape. Most could only hold the new form for limited amounts of time, but I’d inherited my shifting ability from my mom, and her genes had been enhanced in the laboratories of a madman. It took a lot of effort for me to change, but once I was there, I could hold it for a long time. “Well, of course not. But it would mean he’s a Helki werewolf, and that
would
impact both identities. Moon heat isn’t exactly something you can hide.”

“Why would he have to be a werewolf? I know for a fact that the military has face shifters, and they aren’t all werewolves.”

I stared at him for a moment. “Just how do you know all this stuff?”

He shrugged. “I told you, I get bored. It’s amazing what risks you’ll take when you’re bored.”

I snorted softly. “And what happened to all the land the consortium purchased?”

“It’s still all owned by the consortium, which is now run solely by Nadler. But James Trilby and Garvin Appleby’s heirs are suing the consortium and Nadler for a bigger piece of the pie.”

Trilby and Appleby were the other two men we’d linked to the consortium. They were dead, just as the witch who’d been in their employ was dead—killed by Azriel after she’d sent a soul stealer after a little girl. “Does that mean the two men didn’t leave wills, or did they simply not leave their heirs enough money?”

“The latter.” He grimaced. “See, this is where pack mentality wins out. In the event of my death, everything either goes entirely to the pack, or it’s split seventy–thirty between my heirs and the pack. Everyone understands the situation, and everyone wins.”