Savage Betrayal: Savage, Book 2 (5 page)

But it had failed. The whole experiment and testing had been quite the clusterfuck. The drug had not only
not
worked, it had given shifters who were only half-blooded, who’d never before had the ability to shift, the ability to.

Just thinking about it sent ice through her veins and had her breath catching. It was horrific. Absolutely, without a doubt horrific, and it went against everything she fought for.

She closed her eyes as the room almost started to spin. She grounded herself again and drew in slow breaths.

The drug hadn’t worked, but there were other ways to deliver her vengeance. To make those creatures regret the day they were born. And she was well on her way to achieving it.

“Your martini.”

Her quiet afternoon was interrupted by her assistant as he entered the sitting room. He carried his tall frame with self-assurance, but his gaze never met hers.

“Thank you, Andy.” She reached to take the drink from him.

He had shifter blood in him, but not enough to make her disgusted by him. Initially he’d been hired to work with the shifters who’d undergone the experiments, but once that project had disintegrated she’d recruited him to be her personal assistant.

Andy was a recent college graduate who suited her needs perfectly.
All
her needs, as of recently. He’d been struggling to pay his student loans and she’d been on the prowl for some sensual entertainment. They had an unspoken agreement that worked well for them both.

Jocelyn allowed her gaze to trail over his body. A golden boy, literally. Blond with blue eyes. He was young—though not too young—with a hard, toned body. And he had the kind of stamina that would’ve won him a gold medal had it been an Olympic event.

She knew he waited to see if he’d be dismissed. Knew she really ought to send him off on some other chore. But she was in no hurry.

A celebration was in order after the phone call she’d just taken. Only she had no one to celebrate with. Not really. Her husband had died years ago, and the man who’d been her lover, who’d been at her side for the past three years, had been killed over the summer.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of the martini glass. Brutally murdered by those
fucking shifter savages
in an old warehouse.

Which had left her once again alone. Which was rather inconvenient. And, though she loathed to admit it, lonely. But loneliness could always be eased, at least temporarily.

Jocelyn plucked the skewer of olives free from her martini and captured one green morsel with her teeth, pulling it free before chewing slowly.

Vodka and salt burned on her tongue and she savored the taste. Savored the news of Thom’s death again.

Yes. A celebration was most definitely in order.

She leaned back against the couch, shifting to force the silk of her robes to part and reveal a hint of cleavage.

“Why don’t you sit, Andy?”

Though his cheeks hinted at color, he didn’t hesitate, but moved immediately to the couch beside her.

“I know you’re off in an hour, correct?”

“Technically, yes. But I have no plans.”

“Hmm.” She reached out to toy with a button on his black, pressed shirt. “Would you like to help me with my plans?”

“Anything you wish, ma’am.” His gaze darkened, and she could practically hear his heart quicken with anticipation and lust.

Oh, there was no doubt that he could charm himself into any girl’s panties. But there was the difference; she was not a giddy, impulsive college girl. She was a grown woman.

She wasn’t foolish. She was quite aware of her aging looks. Her skin not as supple as it once was; her beauty had faded. But she
was
still beautiful—could still bring a man to his knees.

And she would enjoy bringing this one to his.

“I thought I told you to call me Jocelyn.” She unfastened the silk belt at her waist and the robe slid from her shoulders, leaving her naked.

“Jocelyn.” Hunger flashed in his eyes and she allowed a small smile. She caught his hand and dragged it to her breast, reveling in the strangled groan he made.

“By the way, I should mention my plans include coming at least five times before dinner.”

Soon she wouldn’t be thinking about those damn shifters—she wouldn’t be thinking at all. She’d be deep in an oasis of passion where she could forget.

At least for the next two hours.

Grace cradled her tumbler of Early Grey tea between her hands and glanced out the doorway to the agency, where the members of her team were gathering to head out on their assignment.

Her nerves were still riled after the debriefing yesterday down at the Seattle agency. But they’d give her the thumbs-up to come back and so here she was. And any minute she’d be going out with her team.

It felt weird to be back. Weird, but good. She breathed in the familiar smell of coffee and disinfectant that couldn’t quite hide the mustiness of the old government building.

Her cubicle offered a bit of seclusion and comfort, but most important, a familiarity. It was where she did the paperwork, spent her downtime when she wasn’t out in the field. Sitting behind her desk used to be the worst part of her job, but now she almost looked forward to it.

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

She glanced up as Larson’s head appeared over the edge of her cubicle wall. His question was light enough, but there was concern is his dark eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

Larson stared at her, his gaze intense as he obviously tried to read her. She resisted the urge to squirm—to flinch—and met his gaze steadily.

Finally he nodded. “All right then. Good to have you back, Masterson.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.” Though that had yet to be decided. “So anything on the schedule for today?”

“I’m sending Hilliard and Yorioka, who you haven’t met yet, out to interview Thom Wilson’s family this morning. You, Donovan and I will be investigating a murder of a female human—it’s looking as if the perp might be a shifter. So we’re opening our own case quietly in addition to human law enforcement.”

A murder case? Any other time she’d be all over this, but not today. She needed to get placed on that Wilson assignment.

“Could I…” Grace tightened her hands around her tea. “With all due respect, sir, I’d rather go with Hilliard.”

“Is that so?”

His tone still held that soft drawl, but the thread of steel indicated he didn’t quite approve of her request.

Crap, and she really needed to be careful being it was her first day back at work. But she needed to be involved with that case—needed to talk to Thom’s family.

“I would prefer it, yes.”

Larson eyes narrowed on her. “You’re emotionally connected to that case, Masterson. Which is the reason I didn’t put you on it. It would be a conflict of interest.”

“I realize that.” She bit her lip. There was no turning back now. “I won’t let my emotions rule my judgment. You know I’m a better agent than that.”

The silence that ensued screamed a thousand words. Oh yes, maybe once Larson had
thought
she was a better agent than that.

“Please, sir.” Despite her intent, she heard the faint note of desperation in her voice.

He was going to say no. She could see the denial in his eyes, but then his jaw hardened and he gave a terse nod.

“I know the answer I should say.” He paused. “But the truth is, Thom’s family has been asking to speak to you.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Seriously?”

“Fuck.” He shook his head and slapped her cubicle wall. “Don’t make me regret this, Masterson. Get your shit in order and be ready to leave with Hilliard and Yorioka in a few minutes.” He turned to walk back down the hallway, calling out, “And if I even suspect you’re out of line, I’ll pull your ass off this case before you can blink.”

“Understood.” Elation soared through her as she gathered her belongings.

Had Larson really just given her the go ahead to investigate Thom’s death? Her heart quickened and she stumbled in her brisk stride as she followed her team leader outside to the government vehicles.

She’d work well with Hilliard—they complemented each other like oil and vinegar. And whoever this new agent was, this Yorioka guy, well, she was sure they’d do fine together too.

Grace followed Larson out the glass double doors of the agency and pulled her black sunglasses from her bag. Her hands were so unsteady the glasses fell from her hand as if greased and hit the pavement with a clatter.

She’d just bent to pick them up when Donovan’s voice rang out across the parking lot.

“Well hell. I heard it was true, but I didn’t believe you were actually coming back.”

Grace straightened and slid her sunglasses on, grateful for the small barrier against them being able to read eyes for emotion.

Donovan closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms for a quick, hard hug.

“Damn good to have you back, girl.”

Her heart swelled a bit and her throat tightened. These men were so much more to her than just coworkers.

She forced herself to keep her tone light as she murmured, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

She slid her gaze over to Hilliard, who leaned against one of the agency-issued vans. His arms were folded over his chest in a way that defined the muscles in his arms and shoulders. And for some stupid reason her pulse stuttered as his gaze slid over her.

Was it her imagination, or had his gaze lingered a bit longer on her breasts?

Grace resisted the urge to tug the edges of her suit jacket closer together. For some reason lately he made her ultra aware of femininity, and she felt all too soft, emotionally and physically. It was a sharp reminder that she was the only female on the team and how much she tried not to fall into the stereotypes trap.

“Good to have you back,” Hilliard finally murmured, quirking an eyebrow.

Grace dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

“I don’t believe you’ve met the agent who replaced Rafferty,” Donovan said.

“No, I haven’t.” Some of the blood left her head, and the world around her wavered.

Rafferty. She hadn’t thought about him too much. Deliberately. He’d been the double agent who’d been up to his elbows in dirt with the Shifter Elimination Project. He’d been aware what was being done to her—the hell she’d been living through. His desire for money had outweighed his loyalty to his species, and in the end it had cost him his life.

“Masterson, let me introduce you to Agent Chris Yorioka.”

The agent who stepped from the shadows was so slight she hadn’t even seen him standing there.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Grace said quietly and accepted the hand the other agent held out to shake.

The daintiness of the hand that gripped hers had Grace’s gaze darting back to the other agent’s face for a closer look.

Framed in a round, flawless and obviousl
y female
face, dark eyes watched her with polite tolerance.

Larson gave Grace a light slap on the back, and grinned. “That’s right. We’ve got another woman on the team.”

Chapter Five

Another woman.

How rash of her to assume Chris had been a man’s name. Chris was likely a nickname for Christine or Kristin. She’d missed the femininity of the agent with the way her sleek black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

Grace struggled for words—tried to get out the appropriate greeting—but just gave small grunt as she shook the woman’s hand.

Another female on the team. She’d spent so long earning her place, proving she could work as hard as a man that it had never occurred to her another female would take on those other struggles beside her.

“Well, it’s about time to head out, right?” Agent Yorioka pulled her hand away and turned her back on Grace, but not before she’d seen the flicker of disgust in her eyes.

So even though they were only just acquainted, the other agent didn’t care for her. Though it stung, Grace couldn’t blame her. Surely Yorioka had been briefed on her background, the circumstances of why she was on leave.

Really, she was surprised the other men on her team weren’t watching her with wariness or disgust too. She’d expected it and tried to prepare for it. But there wasn’t even a hint of unease from them.

Her stomach clenched. They gave her more credit than she deserved.

“We’re going to head out to the murder scene.” Larson shot her another warning glance over the top of their tinted-window car. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

She held on to that warning the entire drive to Thom’s house.

They pulled up in front of a split-level, dark brown house about fifteen minutes later. The curtains were drawn and there was a beige sedan in the driveway.

A chill raced down Grace’s spine as she glanced at it. Was it the vehicle Thom had taken his life in? Most likely not. It would’ve been taken away as evidence yesterday.

Thom’s family, being shapeshifter, would’ve called the emergency P.I.A. line to report his death. It was the number all shifters were given to call in case of an emergency, because calling 911 would invite too many questions and chaos. It upped the potential for a memory wipe of the human, should they learn too much.