Tempting Evil (6 page)

Jack smiled. “She’s not a prostitute at all.” He pressed another button, and the woman’s picture reappeared. “She actually goes by the name of Dia Jones, and she does psychic readings for the rich and famous.”

Surprise rippled through me. I mightn’t read newspapers or watch the news much, but even I’d heard of Dia Jones. The woman’s predictions were supposed to be deadly accurate and, last I’d heard, the waiting list to see her was over a year long. “Why in hell would a woman like that play prostitute for Deshon Starr?”

“If she is one of the clones, as Misha said, she may have no choice,” Rhoan pointed out, then glanced at Jack. “And through her, Starr has a lot of access to the rich and famous, and possibly a lot of influence.”

Jack nodded. “The house she lives in is owned by one of Starr’s companies, and every weekend she goes to Starr’s estate in Macedon. She’s there the entire week before the full moon, and apparently there’s also a lot of influential people in attendance at that time, too.”

I remembered the estate I’d seen in one of the lab-made creatures’ minds right before I’d killed him. That house had been large and surrounded by acres and acres of lush gardens. Only what roamed its grounds were not things of nature, but creatures whom evolution had little to do with—black ghosts who possessed little in the way of recognizable human features, blue things with rainbow wings and deadly claws. Demons and monsters and God knows what else. How did Deshon explain away his horrors?

“So,” Liander asked. “This woman has wolf in her?”

“We don’t know, but given all the cloning experiments at that time seemed to have involved werewolf genes, it wouldn’t be beyond reason to think so.”

“Then why Macedon? Isn’t that a bit far out of the city to be running a crime syndicate?”

“In this day and age, no. Starr never actually leaves his estate, which is why we have never been able to pin any of his cartel’s crimes on him.”

“That and the fact the minds of his people are burned away before we can fully question them,” Rhoan muttered.

“Sounds a nice type,” Liander commented dryly.

“Oh, he’s a charmer.” Rhoan gave me a dark glance. “Which is why I don’t want Riley in on this.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who’s planning to fuck the man, so stop worrying about me and start worrying about you.”

“I’m not the one walking into this situation sans experience—”

“Enough,” Jack said. “I need you both on this mission, and that’s the end of it.”

He pressed another button on the keyboard, and several more pictures came up, these taken at night and on the streets. They featured the same woman, only this time her pallid looks had given way to brown hair and soft makeup. In each picture she was talking to a different woman, and most of them were prostitutes if the clothing—or lack thereof—was anything to go by.

“A week before each full moon,” Jack continued, “Dia apparently hits the streets for three nights on a recruitment drive. Last month, she signed up thirty women, though not all of them were prostitutes. She gives them cards, tells them to show up at a legitimate job-placement business the next day, where, after a background and physical check has been done, they’re offered extremely large sums of money to provide sexual services for Starr’s men during the full-moon phase. We gather some do stay beyond that two-week period, but most are returned unharmed to the streets the day after the full moon.”

“Unharmed physically or mentally?” I asked.

Jack gave me one of his pleased-with-a-student smiles. “Physically, they’re fine. But someone has shuffled through their memories, taking away the finer details.”

“Meaning even if they were abused or hurt in the period they were there, they wouldn’t remember it,” Rhoan stated. “What about Starr? How does he pick his lovers?”

“From his security force.” Jack hesitated. “We have someone in his estate already, and he’s managed to uncover details about the firm Starr uses. That’s how you’re going in.”

Rhoan frowned. “Who have you got in there? Gautier would have passed on Directorate photos, so Starr would recognize anyone we tried to get in there.”

“But he doesn’t know Kade. Starr has a passion for horses—he apparently doesn’t ride them himself, just loves watching them run around with naked women on them.”

“I’m betting the women aren’t just riding them,” Rhoan muttered. “From what I’ve heard, Starr loves watching others get it off. And the more dangerous the situation, the more he enjoys it.”

Some people kept dogs as pets. Starr kept horses and lab-made nightmares, and, from the sound of it, combined the two interests sexually. It said an awful lot about the man. Or rather, his weirdness.

“Are the other horses shifters? Or just Kade?”

“Just Kade.”

Then poor Kade. Having naked women riding around on his back was going to be mighty frustrating for the poor fellow.

“Tonight,” Jack continued, “Director Hunter will place Rhoan’s new identity in the security company’s system and alter the memories of the three men who run the place. Tomorrow night, Kade will kill one of the current security force. Rhoan will, of course, be the recommended replacement.”

“What about me?”

Jack glanced my way. “Dia began her recruitment drive last night.”

I raised my eyebrows. “But the full moon is three weeks away, not two.”

“Yes. And two nights ago, Dia left a message for Gautier saying the timetable has been stepped up to February fifth.”

Which was one month away. “Do we know what timetable they’re talking about?”

But even as I said it, I knew, if only because of the premonition I’d had earlier. Gautier would try to kill Jack that day.

Which is exactly what Jack said. “And while we have no idea why the timetable has been stepped up,” he added, “it means we have less than a month to stop Starr.”

“Is that going to be enough time?” Christ, Rhoan might know what he was doing, but I was a novice, and it would take me longer to uncover information for that reason alone.

“It’s going to have to be.” Jack reached past the computer and gave me a folder. “Your new identity.”

I opened the folder and looked inside. “Poppy Burns?” I looked up at Jack. “Do I look like a Poppy to you?”

“You will by the time I’ve finished with you,” Liander said, voice dry.

I poked my tongue out at him and kept on reading. Poppy apparently was the result of a horny werewolf and a human groupie encounter, with neither parent being intelligent enough to realize they were fertile at the time of their brief liaison. The mother didn’t want the resulting child, didn’t know where the father was, so poor Poppy was shoved onto various relatives until she ran away at fifteen. She’d had a multitude of jobs since then, but thanks to her temper and her attitude, hadn’t been able to hold on to anything for very long. She supported herself in between with thieving and the occasional spot of prostitution. She’d gotten into Melbourne three days ago, after having ripped off the wrong house in Sydney and having the owners place a large reward for information on her whereabouts.

Charming. I’d just become a wanted criminal. “Poor Poppy’s had a bitch of a life, hasn’t she?”

Jack grinned. “Read that until you know her by heart.” He hesitated. “And make sure you start reflecting her attitude.”

I nodded. “I won’t have a problem with that part of it.”

“Which is why we put that in. Liander, you want to start in on her? Rhoan, here’s your profile.”

Liander grabbed my hand and led me into the bathroom. As he sat me down, I saw the scissors.

“How short are we going?” I said instantly.

“Very short.”

“No,” I said, my hands going to my hair. I loved it just the way it was—I could put up with it being dyed, but cut short? No way. I mean, I cut it to shoulder length every summer, but I didn’t really consider
that
short. Not in the sense Liander was talking about, anyway.

He sighed. “Darling, your hair is luscious, I admit, but it is
so
out of fashion at the moment. Hell, even your brother has more style than you, and that’s saying something.”

“That’s because my brother raids the bank account to go shopping, and I’m the one that worries about where the rent and food money is coming from.”

“Yes, but lack of money doesn’t excuse lack of style. I have been offering free haircuts for years.”

“I
like
medium to long hair. Anything wrong with that?”

“Normally, no. But long hair doesn’t suit the shoes you’re stepping into. She’s trendy. With it.” He flicked the end of my hair. “This is not.”

“I know, but—”

“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll look divine. And your hair will grow back, regardless.”

I blew out a frustrated breath, but gave in to the inevitable. I was being ridiculous and I knew it. Besides, I wanted my life back, and if doing that meant cutting my hair extremely short, then surely that was a small price to pay. “If it doesn’t look good, I’m going over to your place and destroying all your makeup.”

He grinned. “Warning heeded. Now shut up and let the master create.”

For the next three hours he had his wicked way with my looks, and I had to admit, the end result was startling. He’d dyed my skin a dark gold, covering the smattering of freckles scattered across my cheeks and shoulders, and giving me the rich glow of a sun worshipper. My hair was as short as I’d feared, the ends barely brushing the bottom of my ears, but had been layered so that it framed my face, giving me a cheeky, yet extremely sexy, look. He’d also streaked it with blond, which played amongst the natural gold highlights in my red hair and gave the overall effect of three-toned hair. Breathable, bright green contacts completed the transformation.

“Wow” was all I could manage to say. I didn’t look like me, even though he hadn’t changed all that much.

He gave me a pleased smile. “One more touch, and we’re finished.”

“And what’s that?”

“Voice modulator.”

“Ewww.”

He smacked my shoulder. “Stop being a baby.”

“Hey, it’s not the inside of your cheek that thing is being shoved into it.”

“I got hold of some of the smaller ones, just because I knew you’d whine.” He showed me the round pieces of soft plastic. They were even thinner than the last ones we’d used, their thickness being little more than that of extremely fine paper. Width-wise, they were no bigger than a small coin. Once inserted, no one would feel they were there unless they were actually looking for the things—or I decided to deep-throat someone.
Not
an option considering where I was going.

“Open wide, darling.”

“I bet you say that to all the men,” I muttered, but did as he asked.

He inserted the small plastic chips in either side of my mouth, and it still felt like he was ripping out teeth rather than shoving plastic under my skin.

“Owww, owww, owww,” I said, when I could. “You could at least use painkillers when you do that.”

“Stop being such a baby. Besides, the surface of the modulators
are
covered with an analgesic and deaden the skin as they go in.”

“Hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t work.”

“Trust me, this would be a whole lot more painful if it wasn’t. Now, say something else so I know they’re working properly.”

“I hope one day someone does this to you, just so you can see it
is
painful, painkiller or no painkiller.” My voice was several octaves lower, and rich with a huskiness that conjured long nights in smoke-filled rooms. A threat had never sounded so sexy, let me tell you.

“Very nice,” he murmured, then bent and grabbed a backpack. “You wardrobe and worldly possessions.”

“Joy.” I unzipped the bag. Inside was jeans, tank tops, a pair of sneakers, a belt that had a real-looking spider as the buckle, a couple of sweaters, and one barely-there dress. All of them looked worse for wear, worn and wrinkled looking. Except for the underclothing, all of which was top shelf and extremely sexy.

“A female thief would at least ensure decent underclothing, no matter what other state her clothes were in,” Liander commented.

“But I’m not a very successful thief if this bag is all I have to show for it.”

“Jack told me your cover had to leave Sydney in a hurry, and to pack accordingly. Why don’t you change, then I can get on with transforming Rhoan.”

“And just what are you going to do with Rhoan?”

“Brown on brown. Boringly so.”

I raised an eyebrow. “If you’re hoping boring will mean less appealing, I’m thinking it won’t work.”

He smiled. “No, but he hates boring, so it’s a chance to get back at him a little.”

I chuckled softly. After changing into the jeans and a dark-green tank top, I studied myself in the mirror. Someone remarkably younger, with a whole lot of sex appeal and attitude, stared back at me. Despite my original misgivings, I had to admit, it was a fantastic look. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You do good work.”

“I am the best at what I do,” he said loftily, then grinned. “Go tell that loser brother of yours it’s his turn.”

I headed out, and even Jack did something of a double take. “Now, that’s what I call smashing.”

“I think I should be offended about all these sudden comments. It’s only a hair and skin-color change. The rest is still me.”

“Except for the voice,” Rhoan said. “You could make a fortune on those phone-sex lines.”

“We’ll see who’s laughing at whom when he finishes with you, smart-ass.” I glanced at Jack as Rhoan headed off. “This look doesn’t really match the type of person Dia seems to pick.”

“As I said, she doesn’t pick only prostitutes. Her other choices generally have good figures and looks, are clean disease-wise, and have a background that checks out—someone who needs to make a lot of money and who doesn’t mind spreading her legs to do it.”

“And what if she doesn’t notice me, or doesn’t choose me?”

“Oh, she’ll at least notice you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And how are you going to ensure that?”

He gave me one of his pleased smiles. “Tonight you’re going to save Dia Jones’s life.”

“And of course,” I said, voice dry, “she’ll be so grateful, she’ll beg me to come along to Starr’s estate and shag the balls off his two lieutenants.”