Body Thief, page 3
Griffin wondered if the guy knew that his waiter was one of them. “Yeah.”
The guy yelled to Lyle, “Gimme two Mic Lights.”
Then he leaned on the bar and watched the next footage of a pro-alien march. He said, “Unbelievable. Look at those bleeding hearts. I bet half of them are the aliens.”
Nope, just stupid humans that think aliens aren’t here to ruin them. “Right.”
Lyle set two beers on the counter and took the man’s money to make change. Lyle handed the guy his change and said, “Thanks.”
The guy nodded at Griffin and left.
Lyle grabbed a rag and wiped the bar. “People like him are just scared of what they don’t understand.”
“They’d be more scared if they knew the truth,” Griffin told him.
Lyle put his hands on the bar. “I never had any problem with Shifters. They’re hard workers, and most just want to stay to themselves. Live a normal life.”
Griffin shook his head. Spoken like a man who’d never been DNA fodder. “Our lives. They want to live our lives, Lyle. The ones we worked our asses off to build.”
Lyle shrugged. “You just got screwed. Probably never happen again.”
“Why? Because I already had my turn?” he said. “Nothing’s even in this world. You should know that by now.”
Lyle cleaned a glass and frowned at him. “When you start talking like that, I know you’ve had enough.”
Only Lyle could get away with cutting him off. Which was just as well, because Griffin was getting worked up about something he couldn’t change. Shifters were here, and short of blowing them into little bits, they were here to stay. Here to destroy human lives. Here to divide humanity into sides . . . Hell, Lyle was right. He had had enough. He pushed back from the bar. “I got an early morning tomorrow anyway.”
“Hot date with your female captive?”
“Hot” was one word to describe her. “Lethal” was another. “I’m giving her the night to cool off.”
Lyle’s eyebrows rose. “You think that’ll help?”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted.
“Better bring your A game,” Lyle said, grinning from ear to ear.
And a gun, Griffin thought.
Lyle reached under the bar and handed Griffin a stack of letters. “Your mail. All bills. Sorry.”
Of course. Bills that weren’t even his to begin with. He was still paying for a life that Parker had charged while living as Griffin. How do you prove to a creditor that a shapeshifter stole your DNA and ran up the bills? You don’t. Just another reason to drink.
Griffin gave Lyle a wave good night and walked through the kitchen to the back of bar. He pushed open a heavy door and climbed the stairs to the small apartment Lyle sublet him.
His cell phone rang, and he checked the incoming number before taking the call. “Hey, little brother, what’s up?”
“I got you by one inch,” Tommy Mercer replied. “When are you gonna stop calling me ‘little’ ?”
Griffin smiled. “When you can kick my ass on the basketball court.”
“Bring it on, shorty.” Tommy laughed.
“You just calling to check on me again?” Griffin asked, partly serious. Everyone in his family thought he had a drinking problem, and he swore that they were taking shifts calling him to make sure he wasn’t lying in a gutter somewhere.
“Please,” Tommy said. “If anyone deserves to get loaded every night, you do.” Then he sighed. “Listen. I screwed up, and now Jen won’t talk to me.”
Jennifer was the sweetest woman on the face of the Earth. How she’d managed to stay married to Griffin’s brother for a year was still a miracle in his mind. “Why are you calling me?”
“ ’Cause you were married once, a lot longer than me. You know how to handle these things.”
Griffin slowed his steps. “I’m not the best person to ask about married life.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to do. Listen, I told Jen I’d watch the baby so she could go out Friday night for dinner or whatever with her friends. But then I found out it’s my turn to host the poker game. So I asked her if she could, you know, move her girls’ night out? And she freaked out on me. What did I do wrong? I mean, they can do it anytime.”
Griffin shook his head. His brother was an idiot. He reached his apartment and unlocked the door. “Give her the night.”
“What? No way. I got five buddies planning on this. There’s even a game on.”
“You made a promise. Keep it.”
Tommy swore. “This sucks. I never used to have to rearrange my life for anyone.”
“And you didn’t have anyone who loved you as much as Jen does either or a baby with your name. Take your pick.” Griffin stepped inside. It was dark, and he left the lights off as he tossed the mail on the coffee table.
It took a few seconds, but Tommy finally came around. “Okay, okay. I’m a jerk.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Griffin said and turned on the TV. He muted the sound.
“Fuck you. You’re uninvited to the poker games.”
Griffin grinned. Tommy lived in Arizona. “I’m working overtime this week anyway.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” his brother said. “You don’t have to clear your schedule with anyone. I bet you don’t miss being married at all.”
Griffin stood in the middle of his empty apartment. The only sign of life came from the TV. The only sounds came from the city below and through the walls. No one made dinner for him. No one greeted him.
“Have fun babysitting.”
“Thanks for nothing.” Tommy hung up.
Griffin set his cell phone next to the blinking answering machine. He pressed the Play button and slipped off his jacket.
“Mr. Mercer, this is the Fairwell Collections Agency calling about an outstanding debt—”
He loosened his tie and hit the Skip button.
“Hello, Mr. Mercer. We have called several times about a bill you owe—”
Skip button. He tugged off the tie as he listened to two more collections calls. Damn vultures. He no sooner got one off his back than two more popped up. He threw his tie on the back of the chair, sat down, and rubbed his eyes.
He skipped through the messages until he heard his grandfather’s voice.
“Hello, Griffin. This is your grandfather, Sani, calling from the reservation.”
Griffin gave a quiet laugh. Every day, it was the same. His grandfather called and introduced himself. Like Griffin might actually get a chance to forget who he was.
“I hope this message finds you well.”
His grandfather’s voice was even, strong, and patient. His Navajo Indian accent warm and proud. Griffin had worked hard to shake the unique way his people spoke. It only made him more different from everyone else here.
“I had a vision about you last night.”
Griffin frowned at the phone. His grandfather rarely shared his visions. He preferred for Griffin to make every mistake in the book. When he did share his visions, they were so cryptic that Griffin rarely figured them out—until the bullets started flying.
“I saw a Skinwalker standing over your still body on the ground. The Skinwalker wore a woman’s face.”
Camille’s face came to mind immediately. He was tempted to stop the message right then and there, but that would disrespect his grandfather.
“Her hair was the color of the red fox. Her body was as a wolf. Her eyes were like an eagle’s. The Skinwalker was covered in blood. Her hands were bloody.”
That would be the flying bullets.
“Rain came down and turned the ground to winding rivers. Lightning set the trees on fire. Great thunder shook the ground.”
And all hell breaking loose.
“The Eagle cried.”
Griffin closed his eyes and laid his head back. As he expected. Weird, and cryptic, because there was no way in hell she would cry for him.
“Heed this, Grandson,” Grandfather said. “Hágoónee.”
Then he hung up, the answering machine gave a long beep, and silence swallowed the living room again.
CHAPTER THREE
Cam had woken from a restless sleep in a lousy mood, and it didn’t get any better after that. They wouldn’t let her talk to her father. They wouldn’t answer any of her questions. They were assholes, every one of them. By the time Mercer and his boss made their appearance in the interrogation room, she was ready to tell them all to shove it.
She sat across the table from them, glaring at Director Harding or Hard-ass or whatever his name was standing in front of a map of the tristate area on the wall monitor and rambling along as if she wasn’t even there. Three armed guards stood inside the room, and there were more outside—lots of security. XCEL was afraid of her. That was the best part of her day so far.
“These are the locations we believe the Shifters targeted and attacked.” Director Harding tapped his fingers on the map. “Your job is to visit every site and catalog each Shifter scent you find.”
“Catalog?” she asked.
He glanced at her as if she was a pesky fly. “Yes, catalog. By scent. Shifter smell.”
He emphasized “Shifter” as if it was a dirty word. And on this world, it was. She’d gotten used to it in the short time she’d been here. Still, the hatred of her kind ran deep and to human base fears.
Cam cut a glance at Mercer. He met her eyes but said nothing. His dark stare gave him away though. He hated Harding. It didn’t make her feel better that she agreed with him on that.
She frowned back at Harding. “You want me to play bloodhound for you?”
He nodded, completely blowing off her comment. “Yes. Only a Shifter can identify another Shifter by scent.”
Cam addressed Mercer. “There are plenty of other Shifters who could do this. Why me?”
Mercer shrugged. “You got caught.”
She glared at him with all her might.
Harding continued. “That’s only half the mission. After you and Agent Mercer investigate those areas, we have several suspects we want you to check out. We think they are part of a larger group bent on terrorizing this region. We need to infiltrate their ring so we can bring them down.”
She raised her hands. “Again, why me?”
“All the Shifters we have working in XCEL have been exposed already. We need someone new who can go undercover, blend in, and talk their language,” Harding replied, sounding annoyed by her questions. “Someone who can gain their trust and get Mercer inside without suspicion. Someone who won’t be seen as a threat.”
Cam felt her irritation rising. She wasn’t even sure which part of that logic to attack first. “Because I’m a woman? You think I’m no threat.”
Harding smirked. “You’re captive in a detention center. What does that tell you?”
It told her that Mercer was the one she needed to be worried about, and Harding was a dick.
The director planted his hands on the table and leaned forward menacingly. “Look, it’s just a couple of weeks, and you and your accomplice will be free of all criminal charges. We’ll take care of everything you need. And you’ll have Mercer as your handler.”
None of those things made her feel any better, especially Mercer handling her. She’d already had enough of that. In fact, she had a bad feeling she knew exactly why they wanted her. “I’m a woman.”
“As far as we know,” Harding retorted.
“And Mercer’s a man.”
Mercer raised an eyebrow. “Thank you.”
She flipped him the finger and kept her eyes on Harding. “So by ‘get Mercer inside,’ you mean . . . what?”
“Girlfriend. Wife. Whatever it takes,” Harding said, “to make sure he finds their operation so we can take it down.”
She crossed her arms. “Forget it. Mercer here can have a boyfriend just as easily.”
“Female Shifters have a more acute sense of smell,” Mercer said evenly.
She knew that, but who the hell told him? “Says who?”
“Jesus,” Harding barked, pushing back from the table. “It’s not like we’re asking you to do anything that you don’t do every day. Sniff each other.”
Harding had officially moved up ahead of Mercer on her I-hate-you scale. “Like dogs?”
Harding expelled a disgusted huff and turned his assholeness on Mercer. “We agreed that you would secure her full cooperation. I trusted you to do that much right.”
Mercer gave his boss a benevolent look, but Cam noted the subtle vibration under the suit. Mercer was pissed. If she had Harding for a boss, she’d be too. On second thought, she’d just kill him. It’d be easier.
“I will,” Mercer said simply.
Cam glared at him. She might have to kill him first, after all.
Harding snapped. “I don’t call this cooperation.”
“Hello, right here,” she said. “Sorry if I don’t jump at the opportunity to be manhandled by your agents. I’ve seen them in action. I won’t be your sacrificial Shifter.”
Harding sneered at her like she was just that. “You don’t get a lot of say-so here. It’s not my fault that you chose to ignore the laws of this great country for your own criminal gains.”
She could slit his throat in two seconds. She wouldn’t even break a sweat. Her father was the only reason she didn’t.
“The laws of your country only apply to us when it’s convenient for you,” she hissed.
Mercer finally stood up next to Harding. “Why don’t I take it from here, Director Harding? I’m sure you have more important business to deal with today.”
Cam gave Mercer an “Oh please” look that he ignored.
Harding seemed appeased by Mercer’s ass kissing and pointed a finger at her. “Just remember, you could be here forever.”
“And you could be dead,” Cam murmured.
One corner of Mercer’s mouth curled just a bit. Harding was too busy turning red to notice. “Make this work, Mercer.” And then he walked out.
Most of the tension in the small room left with him. Not all of it, because Mercer was still there. Buttoned up in a dark brown suit, crisp white shirt, and tie, he’d spent the conversation studying her. Like a lab rat. She wasn’t taking too kindly to it.
“Harding’s a douche bag,” she said. “Why hasn’t anyone killed him yet?”
Mercer cast a quick glance to the one-way mirror on the wall. So careful, she thought. So patient, controlled. And so controlling. She hated being in this position. When she gambled, she knew the odds and chose whether to accept them. This was different and not at all appealing.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said when he finally answered.
She blinked a few times and said, “You’re letting me out?”
He nodded at the guards and held the door open for her. “Unfortunately, it’s going to happen sooner or later.”
As she followed him out the door, past the guards outside, and down a nondescript white hallway, she started ticking off the security setup. Three sets of men, four card swipes, two handprint units, and a chemical sniffing unit. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Hell, if she had twenty minutes, she could get her father out of here . . .
Then it dawned on her why Mercer wasn’t afraid of her doing anything stupid. He knew the odds too. He held her “accomplice” as collateral. He knew she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his safety, and she wouldn’t. Getting to her father would be easy. Getting him out alive—almost impossible. Besides, Mercer could use his freeze ray on her if he needed to easily manage the situation. Manage her. Use her.
Crap. Were there more like him? Was XCEL now recruiting Shifter hunters with specialized skills? She didn’t want to think about that for long. One thing was clear though—she’d make damn sure she kept her distance from him.
They walked out into the warm sunshine. The building was big, gray, and low, surrounded by parking lots and a few trees. The sign at the entrance read White Enterprises, a generic and equally nondescript name.
“Jersey City?” she asked.
Mercer nodded. “Good guess.”
It was just another survival skill on this planet. Know the lay of the land. “Does XCEL know you can see Shifters?”
“Yes. That won’t work as blackmail.”
He was catching on fast. “So you work in the local field office and they use to you locate Shifters and let the troops do the dirty work of catching them.”
“Nothing new there either,” he said. “You can keep trying though.”
Fine, she would. “Your shirt was professionally laundered and pressed. You wear boxers. And you stopped at Starbucks on the way into work this morning.” She glanced at him walking next to her. “How am I doing?”
He stared straight ahead. “I make my own coffee.”
“I’ll note that in your file,” she said, enjoying her small victory. The underwear was a total guess, but it’d worked. Now he could worry if she had X-ray vision.
They walked across the building lot and into a private park that connected to the compound via a narrow bridge. The empty path meandered through cherry trees that wrapped a large pond. Ducks floated lazily on the smooth water. Cam inhaled floral fragrances, felt the warmth of the sun, and pretended she was alone.
“What will it take?”
Mercer’s question broke her small moment of peace. “For what?”
They stopped at the edge of the pond, surrounded by overhanging shrubs. “What will it take for you to buy into this? Money? A new car? Fresh DNA? What?”
Cam crossed her arms. He was negotiating. Interesting. They must really, really need her. “You’re desperate.”
Mercer’s cool gaze didn’t flinch. “I don’t want to have to worry about you killing me in my sleep.”
“I don’t know, that’s pretty tempting. Could take quite a bit,” she countered.
Mercer eyed her. “Give it your best shot, Camille.”
Was he talking about killing him or negotiating? “Call me Cam. My father—” She stopped. She was going to say that her father was the only one who called her Camille.
“Your father?”
She winced. Damn. That was stupid on her part. She licked her lips and noticed Mercer’s gaze drop to her mouth. Then he looked away, at the pond. Too late. She’d seen it, she could use it, and she would. That went into the mental file as well.
