Shifter's Claim (The Shadow Shifters) (24 page)

Rome folded one arm over his chest, using his other hand to rub along the freshly cut goatee at his chin. “Someone’s trying to tell us something,” he said, more to himself than to the others in the room.

“No shit.” Nick breathed enough tension into the room to cause Rome’s cat to sit up and take notice.

It was the norm, this was just how a shifter was genetically predisposed—fight now, answer the questions later. Rome, thank all that was holy and good in the world, was the exact opposite. He thought about everything, from the moment of conception to when the plan of attack was put into action. That was why he had been named the Stateside Assembly Leader. It was also why, of the three friends in this room, he’d always been the one with good grades and good behavior growing up.

Rome also knew that Nick had other things on his mind that were only being agitated by these cryptic e-mails that someone had taken to sending them. Shya, Nick’s three-month-old daughter, had been sick the last few days. Dr. Frank Papplin, the shifter doctor that pulled double duty at a human hospital in D.C. and at Havenway, the Stateside Headquarters in Virginia, had assured Nick and Ary that it was a simple cold, possibly brought on by the change in seasons. But Nick and Ary were still on edge, as Rome thought any good parent would be about their newborn. For what it was worth, Rome wanted Nick to be at home with his
companheiro
and child, but things were going on in their world that could adversely affect them all, even young Shya. And because their newfound pen pal had decided that Nick would be their contact, Rome had no choice but to require his friend be here with them instead.

“Someone’s trying to tell us something, again,” X added without looking up from his laptop.

Rome nodded. “Precisely.”

Nick sat back in his chair, dragging his hands down his face in one of his signature exasperated moves. He took a deep breath and even without looking at him Rome knew he was calming down. It took a moment, but Rome was patient. Usually.

“This is the third message. It’s from a different e-mail address but it’s giving us the heads-up about something,” Nick concluded.

“Something that I’m betting concerns one of our goals,” Rome added.

“Goal one was to get rid of Sabar and his crazy death drug. Partial check,” X said.

“Uh huh,” Nick added. “Goal number two was to stop the next shipment that was coming into the States. Another partial, but still a hit.”

Rome nodded again, pieces to this puzzle slowly shifting into place. “Goal three, establish the Assembly and the new Stateside democracy.”

They were all silent a moment.

“Damn!” X yelled, his fingers moving slowly on the keyboard. “It came from Sedona.”

Nick sighed. “It says that at the end of the e-mail. Duh.”

Rome knew instinctively that little bit of sarcasm was not going to go over well.

X shifted in his chair, turning his laptop around so they all could look at it. “No, jerk-off, the e-mail originated from Sedona. The Comastaz Laboratories, to be exact.”

Rome looked from one computer screen to the next. “CL, Sedona, Comastaz Laboratories. Dammit!” he swore.

“Those crates Bas pulled out of that tunnel were postmarked from Comastaz,” X stated.

“Coincidence?” Nick asked.

“No such thing,” Rome replied.

“Hell no,” X added. “Something’s definitely going down out there, something we should probably find out about before whoever ‘they’ are prove what this message says.”

Rome let his arms fall to his sides, fists clenching and unclenching. “Get Bas on the phone right now! I want someone in that lab, someone we trust without any question.”

“I’ll go,” a voice sounded from the doorway, surprising the three shifters as they turned to see its owner.

Sedona

“This came for you.”

Palermo turned around slowly. He’d been standing on the balcony of the cheap-ass hotel they’d booked in the small town just outside of Perryville. It was still early, not even noon yet. Black and Sye, the younger rogue he’d sent into Perryville, had still not returned.

Their assignment had been to sneak inside, find out where the drugs and guns were, and get his shit back. Palermo had a sinking suspicion that had not happened. In fact, he had a lump in his stomach the size of a sizzling hot lava ball. Bad mojo for goddamned sure.

“What the hell is it?” he asked looking down at the box Rube offered him.

This was another young rogue, one of the recruits he’d made to help execute this part of his assignment. The instructions he’d been given were clear. While Darel Charles sat in D.C. building his drug empire and dishing out orders under false pretenses, Palermo’s job was more serious and much more dangerous. He was dealing with a madman and a sadistic shifter, both of whom had their own agendas, prime reasons why securing the rest of this shipment was so important.

Rube shrugged, thin shoulders slapping against earlobes stretched by some round object to the point where the shifter looked almost alien with the two gigantic holes on each side of his face. He had other piercings, bars through both eyebrows, one through his lower lip and chin, and when he talked a ball and ring were visible from the center of his tongue. His nubby fingernails were painted black, with silver rings on each finger. To say he blended in with some of the humans Palermo had seen since he’d been back in the States was an understatement.

“Don’t know. Sye just came back with it.”

Palermo’s head jerked up, his gaze moving from the box to Rube in one quick motion. “Sye’s back and you didn’t tell me?”

Rube blinked, confusion clear on his thin face. “Just did.”

“Where is he and where’s Black?” Palermo asked, moving past the stupid-ass rogue and the box he still held to pull the door open.

He looked up and down the hall but didn’t see anyone. “Where the fuck are they?”

Rube shook his head. “Sye just said to give this to you. He didn’t look too good. Like he’d took a beatin’, limping and shit, bleeding from his lip.”

Palermo slammed the door, turning back to face this guy he’d willingly put in his employ. He’d have to come up with a better way of running background checks.

Moving quickly, Palermo ignored the other questions rumbling through his mind, for the first time inhaling deeply and picking up a scent. It wasn’t a good scent, not at all. He snatched the box out of Rube’s hands, dropping it onto the bed before ripping the top off.

“Fuck!” He roared at the sight. “Fuck!” Repeat, rewind, and repeat again, because once or twice just didn’t seem like enough.

Rube came over to the bed, looked down, and made a heaving sound. He covered his mouth, which might have been the smartest thing the asshole had done so far today.

“What else did Sye say when he dropped this off?” Palermo asked, taking one final look at the pile of ashes that reeked of shifter scent. On top of the ashes was a sheet of paper and the big-ass diamond ring that Black always wore on his pinky finger.

“Said those shifters told him to give you that box and that the leader guy said to come and get him yourself.”

“Pick that shit up,” he told Rube as he pointed into the box. “Now!”

“Really? Man, there’s dead-ass ashes in that box. They burned his ass good,” Rube complained, still inching his way back from the bed.

Palermo reached a hand behind his back, pulled out the .45 he kept in the band of his pants, and pointed it directly at Rube’s temple. “Pick up the piece of paper and read it or die right this fucking minute, you pussy-ass punk!”

Rube swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, the scent of fear almost overtaking the scent of dead burnt shifter. Almost.

He took another huge swallow and stepped toward the box. Reaching in with one eye closed—as if that was going to make the shit a little less gross—he picked up the paper, holding it by the tips of two pale-ass fingertips.

“Says, ‘come and get me, bitch!’” He read the slip of paper, his voice cracking with nervousness.

Palermo lowered his arm, let the weight of the gun rest in his hand against his thigh as he returned to the window once more. From there he could look to the west, upward toward the sky and see the tips of the mountains where just below a little town buzzed with activity. It buzzed with life, human and shifter. All of which would fall at his command.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, you bastard-assed Faction Leader. You don’t have to fucking ask twice,” he mumbled, lips turning up into a snarl, canines and claws extending.

Chapter 21

Jewel jumped at the sound of his voice. Her heart hammering against her chest, teeth clenching. A feeling she was all too familiar with encompassing her, all too quickly. For the years that she’d been in Perryville she’d tried valiantly to tamp down the fear that had just about smothered her before. Last night it had come back in full force. This morning she felt like she was drowning in it, struggling just to keep her head above water and give in to total defeat.

“I asked you a question,” Jacques repeated.

He was a formidable man, even if his build was on the slender side. There was strength in his long arms and piano fingers that Jewel knew instinctively could be deadly. Today he was dressed similarly to his usual style, casual but stylish in chocolate-brown khaki pants, which were perfectly creased over leather tie-up, low-cut boots, a soft, beige, knit sweater without wrinkle or lint hanging perfectly over a toned chest. The brown tones should have blended to the point of dullness over his almond-bark skin tone, instead it accentuated the deep hue. He spoke with the faintest hint of an accent that she’d never been able to place and he took a step closer, signaling she still hadn’t responded to his question.

She cleared her throat, willed her hands to remain still at her sides while squaring her shoulders.

“I saw you and some of the others chasing a man in the back gated area,” she replied, familiar with this scenario.

Jacques’s face remained a blank mask, his eyes cool as he surveyed everything about her. It was strange but Jewel figured he could probably see right through the white linen pants and matching sleeveless top she wore.

“And what else?” he prodded.

Jewel lifted a hand to tuck a few wayward curls back behind her ear. She’d used a coral-colored headband to hold the riotous mass back today. It matched the beads on top of her soft leather mules.

“Nothing. Your men grabbed me and carried me back into the building. I’ve been here in my room ever since.” Which was only a partial truth.

She had no doubt been brought up to her room and ordered to stay inside. But she’d seen plenty before and after the chase. Jewel had seen plenty in the three years she’d been at Perryville, but she knew it was imperative that she keep that knowledge to herself. Another task she was more than used to.

“Why were you and that woman down in the bunkers? You know that is a restricted area,” he continued.

Jacques always smelled good. It wasn’t a cologne, she knew, but a scent that he and some of the others carried—a musky sort of outdoors scent that Jewel had immediately begun to think was embedded in their skin.

“I caught her heading down there and I tried to bring her back.” Which was true enough, she supposed.

Priya Drake was a nice-looking woman, smooth mocha-toned skin, bright inquisitive eyes, high cheekbones, and what men would call a sumptuous mouth. She used that mouth to talk a lot, Jewel had surmised from their first meeting. Question after question, seeking information Jewel was not prepared to give—not that she didn’t possess it. If Jewel thought it was strange that Sebastian Perry had a woman locked in his private space after years of never seeing him anywhere with his dates beyond the guest floors where suites occupied the space, she was smart enough not to mention it, to Jacques or to Priya.

“That means you had to be in that space too.” Jacques stood directly in front of her now. “Do not attempt to lie to me, Jewel. I will know.”

He was a fool, just like most men. The way a person could sometimes pass a lie detector test was the same way she looked up into his eyes and repeated, “I was on my way back from a late snack and speaking with Mrs. Ramirez in the kitchen when I saw her boarding the elevators. She was heading downstairs and I attempted to stop her. When my words were not enough and she took off into the hallways of the bunker, I followed her in an attempt to steer her back up to Mr. Perry’s room. It did not work. She’s a very stubborn female.”

The story was delivered as Jewel had practiced it all night so that now it was what she firmly believed. And as long as she believed she was telling the truth …

“You are not telling the truth,” Jacques countered.

Dammit. Well, there was always a first time for something not to work and Jewel always had a plan B.

“If you know all then why bother to ask?” No matter how much she feared what might happen next, Jacques did not need to know. No man would ever have that upper hand over her again. They would not scare her into submission or manipulate her into doing their bidding, no questions asked. Never, ever again.

“I know that this is not the first time you have seen something here you should not have.”

She didn’t even blink. “If you have a problem with my services, then let me go.” It was clearly bravado speaking, but hell, it sounded good even to her. Jewel had nowhere to go if she was forced to leave Perryville, nowhere else to hide.

“No, my dear,” he said, lifting a hand to toy with strands of her hair. “That is precisely why I’ve let you stay.”

He had never touched her, not sexually or casually, even though he made a habit of standing in her personal space more often than not. He would touch her hair, or a scarf she wore or even a bracelet once, but never her skin, never her person. For that, Jewel was supremely grateful.

“Now, however, our arrangement must change,” he finished then stepped away from her heading to the door.

Jewel’s heart beat faster, panic soaring through her like a ravaging disease. She took a step toward Jacques, fists clenched at her sides and blurted out before thinking, “What are you going to do with me? Are you sending me away?”