Body Thief, page 2
The door behind him flung open.
“For Christ’s sake, what were you thinking?” Griffin’s boss yelled loud enough to shake the long glass. “You think tranquilizing her is going to help our cause? Did you not understand your orders?”
Griffin didn’t look at Director Roger Harding. His miserable mug was forever etched in Griffin’s mind as it was. “I understood them.”
His boss stood next to him, his cologne sucking up all the good oxygen. He wore a black suit, as always, along with a black tie and black shoes to go with his black personality.
“Those orders came from the president. Do you want to be the one who tells him that our one chance of protecting this city was blown because you couldn’t apprehend a lone shapeshifter without incident?”
Technically, the orders came from a special senate committee, but Harding liked to think he was bigger than that. Griffin responded calmly, “No, sir, I wouldn’t.”
“Then what was the problem?” Harding said, his voice getting higher by the minute.
If Griffin were at all lucky, Harding would have a heart attack right then and there. He waited, but it didn’t happen. Maybe next time. Griffin was, after all, a very patient man. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but he’d learned it very well.
“We didn’t have a choice. She shifted.”
Harding frowned. “You were supposed to prevent that from happening. You blew the operation—”
“She shifted in broad daylight,” Griffin amended.
Then Harding put his hands on his hips. “That’s crap. Shifters can’t do that.”
“She can. Ask the team. I don’t know how, but she converted completely in a millisecond. All her abilities were full strength. It didn’t slow her down at all.”
“Christ, what next with these damn things?” Harding said, running his hand through his hair. He stared at her through the glass. “Has anyone else reported that ability?”
“No,” Griffin said. “Obviously, she’s more special than we originally thought.”
Harding frowned deeply. “Well, that’s just ducky. But we can’t force her to work with us, and this was not a good takedown.”
Griffin took offense to that but didn’t say so. The fact was, the takedown had gone as well as it could have. Everyone survived. Camille Solomon had been captured unharmed and was recovering nicely. And no one outside of XCEL even knew it had happened. It couldn’t have gone better. Except the part where he tranquilized her.
Details.
Harding asked, “How do you intend to guarantee her cooperation now?”
“We have plenty of motivation for her.”
“Those motivations better be bulletproof, Mercer,” Harding muttered.
They were. Griffin hadn’t spent the last two months tracking her for nothing. He’d memorized her file, watched her on video, tailed her movements, and documented every single one of her identities. He knew more about her than she probably knew about herself.
Harding asked, “You’re positive that you can handle her? If she gets off your leash and does something stupid, it’s my head that will roll.”
Griffin could always count on Harding to cover his own ass. “I’m positive.”
“What, are you going to use your Indian voodoo to track her?”
Griffin felt the rush of anger through his bones. Harding hated him because he was special, and would use anything to attack Griffin’s self-confidence, including his half-Navajo heritage. Tough shit for Harding. Griffin had never put much faith in his heritage. “If I have to.”
For a moment, Harding just stood there staring at him, and Griffin knew he was considering putting another agent on this case. Someone who didn’t drink too much, who followed orders to the letter, and who would kiss his uptight ass. Well, screw that. Griffin wasn’t the perfect agent, but he was for this case. Besides, his assignment had come from the above Harding’s big head, and that’s really why Harding hated him.
“Let me know when she wakes up,” Harding said as he turned to leave.
Right after I talk to her. Griffin replied, “Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER TWO
Cam awoke with a start.
I’m alive. It surprised her to the core.
Then she registered white lights, white square room, two doors, and wall made of dark glass. She was lying on a bed in Shifter form. It was silent, except for her heartbeat, which was now pounding at a rapidly growing clip. Alive, yes, but in what kind of trouble?
She felt the UVC light emanating from the sealed lights in the ceiling. Shifter prison, the UVC lights intended to prevent transformations. So much for “talking.” Humans were so full of crap. It was same everywhere she went on this frickin’ planet—you couldn’t trust any of them.
She sat up and winced at the crushing headache that accompanied the move. Damn tranquilizer. Damn XCEL agent. What was his name? Mercer? Agent Mercer. He was at the top of her hit list.
Then she remembered how he had grabbed her arm and locked up all her shifting abilities. Hell, all her human abilities too. She hadn’t been able to move, and that had never happened to her before. There weren’t weapons here, or on the last planet Shifters had settled, that could do what he did. God, what if XCEL had managed to develop some kind of agent that actually affected Shifters?
“Terrific,” she murmured. Just when she thought it was safe to beat up humans.
Now to test if the immobilization was permanent or temporary. She groaned as she got to her feet and made a controlled shift to her last human form. Her mind and body seemed alright, aside from the throbbing headache that stayed with the transformation. All systems go.
Now it was time to find out just how much trouble she was in.
Cam circled the room and checked both doors—one was locked and the other led to a small bathroom where everything was built into the walls. A tiny mirror over the sink, a toilet, and a shower. None of it could be used to break out of here. She splashed cool water on her face and gazed in the mirror. Her blue eyes were still a little puffy from the tranquilizer. The red in her long auburn hair glowed in the artificial light. Her ivory skin was unharmed.
They had wanted her alive, but why? XCEL wasn’t exactly known for their compassion or mercy toward her kind. Hundreds of Shifters had simply vanished after being captured by them. Why hadn’t she?
Although, maybe she was vanished, and she just didn’t know it yet.
“Hell,” her reflection said back to her.
Cam exited the bathroom and walked over to the dark mirrored wall. The glass was thick and damn strong, no doubt. They would certainly have her under surveillance twenty-four/seven in here. She flipped them the bird and smiled. Two seconds later, a light went on on the other side of the glass.
Mercer stood right in front of her. He was still wearing the same clothes, so she hadn’t been unconscious that long. Short black hair brushed his white shirt. He was a good six feet tall, broad and solidly built. He seemed older under the fluorescent lights, but his skin was smooth and tanned, his forehead wide, nose straight, jaw angled. He had mean, rugged, almost exotic good looks. Average, really. Except for his eyes. They were dark brown, nearly black, and it felt like they could see right into her. Hard, seasoned, and cynical. She expected no less.
And his hands, of course, which housed the ability to freeze Shifters.
“That’s not very ladylike,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Well, you’re no gentleman either,” she snapped as she studied the shallow room behind him. The back wall was lined with a wide flat screen, electronic equipment, and cameras. Some pretty high-tech cell she had here. She was beginning to think she should have run.
Cam crossed her arms. “What do you want with me?”
He hesitated for a moment before saying, “We need your help. There is a national security issue that requires your . . . skills.”
She felt her mouth drop open. Unreal. Not only were humans full of crap, they were unbelievably arrogant. “You grabbed me, knocked me out, and locked me in here because you need my help?”
He shrugged casually. “I said I was sorry.”
It wouldn’t do to try to break the glass to kill him. She’d just hurt herself. “Apology accepted. No, I won’t help you. Now let me go.”
He nodded a few times, absorbing her rejection with little expression. “There is the small matter of you cheating casinos.”
She wouldn’t bite. “I’m lucky at craps, what can I say?”
“We have you on tape over the past few months. At The Venetian, Golden Nugget, the Bellagio, Harrah’s, Tropicana, Fox-woods.” He paused, knowingly. “Should I continue?”
She was stunned. That was impossible. They couldn’t have caught her at all those places. She hadn’t been Camille Solomon in all those places. She’d played those casinos in other human forms with different names. He couldn’t know she was the same person. He was lying; he had to be.
“Prove it,” she said, calling his bluff.
Without a word, Mercer walked over to the big screen and picked up a remote control. Seconds later, there she was at the Bellagio craps table, as a blond-haired woman. Then The Venetian as a brunette. Each casino and each security camera showed her standing at the tables. She shook her head. How?
“That’s you,” he said walking back to her. “In every shot.”
She eyed him, and dread filled her.
He could see shapeshifters.
She’d heard of them, feared them. They called them Scouts, the few humans who were capable of identifying Shifters while in human form. Of course, Shifters could do that, but humans who could were few and far between. Even fewer worked for XCEL.
“I can get a second opinion if you’d like,” he added, looking far too smug. “It might take a few months though.”
Bastard. “I want a lawyer.”
He shook his head. “National security trumps lawyer.”
Of course it did. “I’ll worry about national security as soon as your government recognizes Shifters as legal citizens with legal rights. No lawyer, no cooperation.”
Emotion flashed in his eyes, and his expression turned harder. “And what have you done to earn that right?”
She blinked. “Since when do sanctioned beings not have that right? Hell, all you have to do is be born here. What the hell kind of initiation fee is that?”
He didn’t answer that, but it was clear by his expression that she’d struck some kind of nerve. She was getting a really bad feeling this would not go well for her.
Then he turned and pointed the remote at the TV again. The image changed to another white room much like hers. An older man sat on a bed, resting his head in his hands, but she still recognized him. Shock turned to dismay, and then to fury. It took every ounce of self-control not to throw herself at the glass to get to Mercer.
So much for dinner reservations in SOHO. Neither she nor her father was going to make it. Cam fought to keep her voice even. “Is he here? Is he okay?”
Mercer replied, “Yes, and yes.”
Thank God. “Why?” she asked, gritting her teeth.
“He’s your accomplice. We found him in every security shot with you at the casinos. You worked as a team. You handled the dice, and he collected the winnings. That’s a solid three to five years of prison time for each of you.”
She clenched her fists as she kept her eyes glued to the only person she cared about. Dewey Solomon didn’t have three to five years. He might not even have three to five months. It was time to throw in the towel and whatever pride she had left. “It was my fault, my idea. I forced him to go along with me. I threatened to hurt him if he didn’t. Lock me up forever, I don’t care. Just let him go.”
Mercer seemed to take his time replying. “You work with us, with me, and we’ll clear all charges against both of you.”
She turned to glare at him. That explained a lot. She’d been set up; she should have figured it out sooner. They were using her, blackmailing her, and she had no choice. Her father was sick. Maybe they knew that, maybe they didn’t. She couldn’t be sure. Either way, it didn’t matter. She needed to get her father out of here as soon as possible.
It took a lot more effort to formulate a plan that didn’t include kicking someone’s ass, but she finally settled on cooperation. As much as she hated being used, she’d give them what they wanted. But she was going to make damn sure that she got something in return.
Somewhere during the plotting, it occurred to her just how big this was. The time and effort they’d put in this whole capture wasn’t normal. They’d targeted her specially, and she knew why. She could do things other Shifters couldn’t.
First off, she was female, which was highly prized. There were literally a handful of surviving female Shifters. She could hold myriad human forms, which was also unusual. Most Shifters could only handle one or two additional forms. And to top it all off, she’d shown them firsthand that she was capable of shifting in daylight, which she now regretted. All of those characteristics made her valuable to XCEL. She wasn’t afraid of much, but that scared her.
“We’ll discuss the details of the operation first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “Get some sleep.”
Cam glared into his dark eyes with every bit of animosity she felt. He didn’t ask her if she was in. He knew she was trapped, and he was the trapper. Bastard. “Whatever happened to justice for all?”
“If you’re looking for justice, you came to the wrong planet,” he replied calmly, and he shut off the lights, turning the glass to black.
That could have gone better, Griffin admitted to himself. She was willful and intelligent, and the only reason she’d stayed in control was to save her accomplice. Which was good for Griffin, because otherwise, he’d have bigger problems.
“You want a refill?” Lyle, the bartender, asked him over the Celtic music playing in the background.
It was ten P.M., and the bar was sprinkled with an odd assortment of executives and lovers and diners tucked into the corners. It was Lyle’s place, and Griffin liked it. The walls were covered with everything Irish—flags, banners, signs, you name it. It wasn’t really an Irish pub any longer. Lyle just never bothered to redecorate when he bought it.
“Sure,” Griffin told his friend, and Lyle reached for the scotch. He poured Griffin a double and put the bottle back on the shelf. Lyle was tall and rail thin, with a long face and short red hair. His eyes were a little too close together, and a scruff of a beard hugged his chin. He leaned both his boney elbows on the bar in front of Griffin.
“Rough day?” Lyle asked.
Griffin wanted to laugh. Every day was a rough day. The best parts were when he was in danger or otherwise occupied by his work. The worst parts were when he came home to a quiet, cold, dark apartment. Probably explained why he spent so much time here.
“Got my Shifter,” he told Lyle, keeping his voice low.
Lyle’s eyes widened. “No.” He checked to see if anyone was listening. “The female?”
Griffin nodded, and Lyle blew out a long breath that smelled of cigarettes. “I gotta say, I haven’t ever seen a female Shifter.”
“They look like the males, only smaller,” Griffin said. “And they smell better.”
Lyle laughed, a familiar sound. Lyle laughed at everything, even when it wasn’t that funny. It made Lyle a good bartender, and one of Griffin’s few friends. The fact that Lyle could also see Shifters, and bore that curse along with Griffin, made them even closer. They were isolated in a way that most people couldn’t understand, because being able to see shapeshifters was not a good thing.
On the other hand, Griffin’s ability to see Shifters was going to clear his reputation and his name. It wouldn’t bring his wife back though, clear up his finances, or fix the past that his bastard shapeshifter ex-partner John Parker wrecked when he’d taken over Griffin’s home and life. It wouldn’t give Griffin back the four months he’d spent in XCEL’s detention center as a prisoner, trying to clear himself of the murder Parker committed disguised as Griffin. But it would be something, and if he had to use Camille Solomon to get that, then he would.
A server motioned from the end of the bar, and Lyle headed down to handle the order, leaving Griffin alone with his scotch and his thoughts.
The accomplice was related to Camille somehow; he was sure of it now. Their Shifter shadows were very similar, and he suspected that meant relatives. Whoever the old man was, she’d laid down quickly. He meant a lot to her. That alone confirmed Griffin’s theory, because he couldn’t imagine anything else moving that woman when she didn’t want to be moved.
He flexed his fingers around the warm glass. And his Shifter grip had worked once again. He didn’t know how it worked, had never questioned why. Just one more curse to add to the list, but at least this one froze Shifters in their tracks. It would be enough to keep Camille in line. He hoped.
The TV over the bar was showing yet another demonstration on the local news station. There was no sound, but it didn’t take much to see that the protesters were anti-aliens. They were your average Americans, wearing sneakers, jeans, and baseball caps and shaking signs of big-eyed alien faces with red lines through them.
They’d come out of the woodwork after alien Shifters had been discovered in America—so-called refugees fleeing from another planet that didn’t want them there. Too bad Earth didn’t have the space technology to hurtle them back.
Griffin watched the protesters with tired amusement. They didn’t even know what Shifters actually looked like. They couldn’t see the shadows that hovered within their “borrowed” human bodies. Bodies that shapeshifters had stolen human DNA for and replicated. It was wrong. Everyone should have the right to be unique, not be clone fodder.
A patron came up and stood at the bar next to Griffin. He watched the TV for a few moments before saying, “Fucking aliens, here in America. Makes me sick.”
