Dead to Rights (Supernatural Security Force Book 4) Page 2

  “Not if you just explain she’s really and truly gone,” I said. “The truth would go a long way with them.”

  “Truth, huh?” Rigo said, eyes narrowing. “Funny. Word on the street is a new Nephilim’s in town. A female sent from another world to clean up the mistakes of their own kind.”

  I glanced from him to Starla, understanding finally dawning. This was about my little shapeshifting stunt.

  “They want to know who she is,” Starla said pointedly.

  I could feel Milo’s eyes on me, but I didn’t dare look over.

  I had no idea what Rigo knew. Hopefully, nothing for sure.

  “Still, I think if you explained the only Nephilim left are—”

  “Our job is to shut them up, not fan the flames,” Rigo snapped.

  “Our job is to serve the people,” I countered.

  “Our job is whatever the council says it is.” Rigo’s glare was a challenge.

  I sighed.

  “There’s another reason we don’t want to quell the protests just yet,” Starla said.

  “Whatever it is, for the record, it’s not good enough,” I said, but Starla continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “We’ve received intel that these protests run a lot deeper than they look. A group of supernaturals has begun to organize, and our information suggests they’re using the protests to recruit.”

  “Organize for what?” Milo asked.

  “A coup,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I blinked. “They want to take down the council?”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or impressed.

  “Those assholes won’t get close enough,” Rigo said darkly.

  “They want to upset the system,” Starla said. “That’s all we know.”

  “What does that have to do with us?” Milo asked, but I had a feeling I already knew.

  Starla’s next words confirmed it.

  “We know they’re using the protest groups to recruit more to their cause. Your assignment is to make contact with the members and identify their leader.”

  “You’re going to silence them,” I said quietly.

  “You’re going to silence them.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You would refuse?” she asked, her raised brow daring me to challenge her. “Even if their plan puts Adrik at risk.”

  “I’m not an assassin,” I snapped.

  “For Pete’s sake,” Rigo muttered. “Just get us the damned name, cadet.”

  I glared at him, refusing to answer.

  Starla went on, “I think we both know you wouldn’t have agreed to this job if you weren’t willing to do whatever it takes.” She gave me a pointed look, and I knew she was thinking about my other assignment. The one we wouldn’t speak of in front of Rigo.

  Ugh.

  Always with the double-agent thing.

  Fine.

  “We’ll attend the protests,” I said.

  “Good,” Starla said. “Observe. Notice anything out of place.”

  “Whoa. Word is the protests are glamoured heavier than a Lady Gaga costume,” Milo pointed out.

  “To humans.” Starla gave me a shrewd look much like the one she used the night she first recruited me. The one that said she knew all of my secrets including the one about my being a shapeshifter. Not just a griffin. Something the agency still didn’t know about officially. Something they’d undoubtedly see as a threat if they found out I’d been the one to send Selaphiel packing.

  “But you can see past what they want you to see.” She pinned Milo with a similar knowing look. “And you can see through the lies.”

  “My reputation precedes me, I see,” Milo said, clearly not seeing this assignment for the distraction it was.

  But I knew there was more to this than just rounding up disgruntled protestors or even uncovering a plot against the council—which wouldn’t even be an issue if we stopped Raguel and came clean with the public. If I had to guess, this was Adrik’s doing. A way to keep me out of trouble. As if that were possible. And now, Rigo looked pleased, which meant that however you sliced it, we’d been given the grunt work.

  “And what will Rigo do?” I asked.

  “I’ll do boss shit,” he said. “Which is none of your business.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Boss shit? Really?”

  “Rigo will be your handler,” Starla explained. “You’ll report to him directly. After today, and for the time being, you won’t come into the office. Not while you’re working this case. For all intents and purposes, you are undercover.”

  I stared at her then him, trying to decide if this was the normal “new guy” treatment or something more like revenge from Rigo. But either way, I couldn’t change it. I’d accepted the job, and this was the work. If I wanted to keep the title of “Detective Hawkins,” then I had to follow orders.

  With this and with Jax. I still had to deliver a report on him. And I’d yet to begin collecting information—other than the fact that he had bedroom eyes, a charming smile, and a rebellious streak that ran deeper and darker than any I’d ever seen.

  But apparently, solving murders and serving the people would have to wait. I had a civil rights movement to attend.

  “Any questions?” Starla asked.

  “Only all my life choices,” I muttered.

  Starla pretended not to hear me.

  “Rigo will report to me all pertinent case information.” She slid a phone across the desk.

  “Ooh, a burner,” Milo whispered, grabbing for it. “We’re like spies.”

  “You’ll use this to contact Rigo for information drops.” She glanced at me. “Once you’ve wrapped up the paperwork on your father’s case, you can drop the file with Processing on the first floor and then head out. There’s a protest in front of Division Thirteen later this morning. I’d recommend starting there to get in with the supes behind the movement.”

  Division Thirteen. Of course.

  “Roger that.” I pushed to my feet, gripping the file that felt way too thin considering its significance.

  “Good luck, Hawkins,” Starla called as I filed out.

  Outside her office, I turned to Rigo. “I need a desk.”

  “Why? You’re not staying.”

  I held up the file. “For this.”

  “I’ve got a workspace for you. Come on.”

  “I need to stop off in Personnel to finish my transfer paperwork,” Milo said.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs,” I told him and then turned back to Rigo.

  He led me back through the bullpen where a sea of desks left only a narrow maze of walking space between them. Instead of selecting one of the empty desks along the far wall, he led me through an unmarked door next to the restroom.

  Inside, fluorescent lighting washed the faded counters in a sort of beige-vanilla. An old table and chairs sat in the center of the small room. A fridge and kitchenette lined one wall, and three rows of lockers lined the other.

  “You can work in here.”

  “What the hell, Rigo. This is the break room.”

  “And you’re only here for a short break.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You’re still an asshole.”

  “You’re still my subordinate. Watch your tone.”

  I glared at him, wondering if Starla would cut me a deal that would excuse me from murder charges. I’d do grunt work in exchange for strangling Rigo without serving hard time in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d be a cleaner again if it meant the first crime scene I cleaned was my own.

  Rigo pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and held it out.

  “What’s this?” I asked, grabbing it and noting the single phone number scrawled on it.

  “This is how you’ll get ahold of me when you’re ready to report. If I don’t hear from you every twenty-four hours, I’ll assume you’re DIA and file the report accordingly. But don’t worry. I’ll investigate thoroughly for at least a day or two before closing the case and filing it beside your father’s
.”

  DIA meant dead in action. And didn’t he look way too thrilled at that idea? Ugh.

  Rage rose up hot inside me, clogging my throat.

  With every inch of self-control I possessed, I remained motionless.

  One breath.

  Two.

  Then three.

  Against my primal instinct, I decided not to punch him.

  Instead, I only gave him the finger before he grinned and sauntered out.

  When he was gone, I exhaled and let out a string of curse words with it that would have made Gran proud. That asshole was a piece of work. I’d been a detective all of five minutes and already deserved Employee of the Month for not chopping his nuts off with the plastic butter knife someone had left out on the table.

  Ugh.

  Before I could figure out where to order myself the right plaque, the door opened again.

  I stilled at the sight of Raguel standing in the open doorway.

  He should have looked more normal or less intimidating underneath the cheap-ass fluorescents above him. But instead, he only looked more ethereal and deadass, capable of smiting me down where I stood with barely an effort.

  Nephilim didn’t kill. They smited. Smote? Hmm. I’d need to look that one up.

  I blinked, refocusing on the killer angel before me.

  “Gem,” he said, stepping into the room. A move that suddenly had me feeling claustrophobic. “I heard the good news. Welcome back to the agency.”

  “Thanks.”

  My throat felt hot. Or maybe just constricted.

  Ugh. I’d only barely recovered from ridding myself of one corrupt Nephilim. I hadn’t mentally prepared to face another so soon.

  “How’s your first day going?”

  His words reminded me of my chat with Starla. Of being shot down when it came to going after Raguel directly. But I smiled haughtily as if my only purpose here was to play this cat and mouse game he’d just started.

  “So far, so good. No one’s tried suffocating me yet.”

  He laughed as if my nod to his attempted murder was some inside joke between us.

  “Yes, I’m sure this visit is much more pleasant,” he agreed. His eyes sharpened. “Anything I can do to help?”

  Something about his offer made my skin crawl, but I refused to acknowledge the fear. “Nope. Just stopping off to get all my resources in a row so I can begin ferreting out the filth like I was hired to do.”

  “Hm.” He frowned.

  For a moment, it felt like a win, but then his tension became an actual scent in the air. A cloud of power that threatened to choke me despite the fact that his hands hadn’t touched my skin. My breaths shortened as the air was sucked away.

  Then, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, the air returned.

  I pretended I hadn’t just been hyperventilating.

  “Well. Sounds like you have a full plate. I won’t keep you.” He started for the door then turned back as if he’d just remembered something. “I did, however, want to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “I’ve heard a curious rumor that you were seen shapeshifting during your encounter with Selaphiel last week.” He tilted his head. “Strange because I’d thought shapeshifters no longer existed after the cleanse of ’sixty-four.”

  Cleanse.

  What a fucking asshole.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He went on like I hadn’t spoken. “And stranger still because there’s also a rumor that a foreign Nephilim was the one to send Selaphiel away.”

  “I didn’t see any foreign Nephilim that night.”

  I said the words even as I fought to keep the truth out of my voice. He’d pissed me off intentionally, hoping I’d slip. I knew it. He knew it. But knowing it didn’t make my lie any easier.

  He held my gaze. “Yes, probably just a confused bystander. A relief. I’d hate for you to become a target again so soon after clearing up your fugitive status. As I’m sure you’re aware, the agency prohibits shapeshifters on the force.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Well.” He paused long enough to make the whole thing feel even more dramatic. “It’s not an issue then since my source was mistaken.”

  He offered a tight smile, but all I saw was a monster who’d kidnapped my friends and turned them into blue beasts. One of them was still lying in Adrik’s townhouse, out of Raguel’s reach. Unfortunately, we’d yet to find a cure, but I wasn’t giving up.

  “Is there anything else, Raguel? I have a lot of work to do on this new case.”

  “Of course. I’ll let you get back to it.” His smile vanished, and his expression sharpened. “I have my own projects to attend to.”

  I watched him walk out, glaring daggers at his back.

  I didn’t move until he’d gone and taken his oppressive energy with him.

  Fuck.

  Shapeshifters were banned from the agency. It was why my father had worked so hard to hide his true nature. And why my parents had drilled into me from childhood to keep my own nature a secret too.

  And it wasn’t just the agency.

  Over fifty years ago, the supe community had been fed a bunch of bull shit conspiracies about the evil nature of shapeshifters being the same as demons. In the end, they’d turned on their own kind and helped the agency eradicate shapeshifters. Vampires had been targeted too, though not nearly as badly. Shapeshifters were driven out and then hunted down all because of fear and rumor. The fear campaign had been so successful that, even to this day, most supes saw shapeshifters as descended from demons.

  Of course, Raguel would have found out about me.

  As Gran would say, if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

  Raguel’s message was clear. He intended to save this information until it best served him. Probably right at the moment I tried to take him down.

  I needed to be very careful regarding how I went about all of this.

  Right now, Starla was the only one who knew what I was, but she’d made it clear that could change at any time.

  My phone beeped with a text.

  Milo: I’m downstairs. Where you at??

  After all of the distractions, I’d nearly forgotten about what I’d come in here to do.

  For a moment, I simply stared down at the unopened file. Nerves felt silly considering I’d already combed through everything inside it. Starla was right. I knew my dad’s case better than anyone. And after what had happened with Selaphiel last week, I also knew his killer. Writing the final report should be no problem. But the lump in my throat said otherwise.

  After a steadying breath, I reached for the file then nearly dropped it when my phone rang.

  I answered quickly.

  “Mom?”

  “Hey, Gem. Listen, sorry to bother you at work. I know it’s your first day back, but Jax didn’t answer, and Fergie—Oh shoot, sweetie, no, don’t touch that, okay?”

  Something thunked on the other end of the line.

  “Mom? Is Fergie okay?”

  “What? Oh, yes, she’s fine.” She spoke distractedly, her voice muffled as if the phone were slipping away from her face.

  “Okay, then why—”

  “Sweetie, there’s something you should see.”

  “I’m in the middle of work. Can it wait?”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  “Mom, just tell me what’s going on.”

  “The thing is, Fergie, well—she’s replicating.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Milo and I made it to my mother’s house in record time. I followed him inside, still half-convinced this was all some dramatized explanation for an extra nipple or something, but then immediately stopped short the moment I spotted the figures crowding the living room.

  “What in the actual …”

  I trailed off, unsure where to look. Eight pairs of eyes stared back at me. Only two of them belonged to my mom. The others belonged to three f
aces, all separate but the exact same.

  Carbon copies of my demon child.

  As I stared, six hands lifted into the air, reaching toward me. Three mouths opened, one grinning to reveal sharp teeth, one drooling a red, sticky liquid that might have been from the Mike & Ikes my mom liked to feed her—them—and one of them sang, “Fuckery.”

  Probably Fergie.

  I couldn’t know for sure.

  And I didn’t know where to look.

  I settled on my mother since there was only one of her.

  “There are three of them,” I blurted.

  “Congratulations, Gemini,” my mother said, beaming. “You are now the mother of triplets.”

  Chapter Two

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  “It’s a miracle,” Milo crowed. “Like the virgin mother.” He shot me a sharp look. “Well, maybe virgin’s a strong word, but you didn’t conceive her—them—directly so close enough. Aww, that means she’s a gift from the Heavens. They all are.”

  “Milo, I will throat punch you if you don’t shut up,” I warned him.

  He laughed but stepped a healthy distance away from me.

  “Mom,” I said, inching closer, still not sure which of them to look at. Which of them was the original Fergie? Were they all Fergie? Should I name the other two something else? Did we need to play pop music to figure them out?

  “Please tell me how this happened,” I said.

  One of the Fergies slid off the couch and came forward.

  I froze.

  She tugged on my pants, pointed at Milo, and said, “Fuckery.”

  Okay. This was my girl.

  I scooped her up, and she laughed, then burped, then promptly fell asleep.

  Yep, this was the OG Fergie for sure. My demon spawn. Stolen fair and square.

  “Well, I don’t know all the details myself,” my mother said as one of the two copies crawled into her lap. “I’d finished up her bath and popped into the hall for a towel, but when I returned, her webbed feet had grown.” She looked at Milo. “You remember her webbed feet. So cute.”

  “Yes, Mom, we all remember her duck feet.”

  Which, at a quick glance, were apparently no longer webbed.

  “What happened?” I was about to lose my shit.