Round Trip Fare Read online

  Marley. Wait a minute. Marley and a shadowy figure were fighting across levels of the board. Carey frowned in concentration. The figures were engaged in a deadly dance, and somehow Carey knew if the shadow caught Marley, she would be destroyed. But despite the desperate struggle playing out in front of her, Carey’s attention was pulled to the tall stranger at the edge of her board. For the first time, she saw a grin on his handsome face.

  Carey was straining, pulling the connections with everything she could throw, when she realized she wasn’t alone.

  “Do you ever fall?” The voice was deep, masculine, amused.

  “Sure.” She opened her eyes and eyed the man who had spoken. Holy crap! Her feet hit the floor, and the chair was upright. “Just not this time.”

  The trespassing stranger from her connections board was standing in the open door. And how weird was that? Marley had gone to take the checks to the bank, but it wasn’t like her to leave the door unlocked. The stranger looked even bigger in person, and for the first time she could see he had brown eyes and hair cut brutally short. Although she was certainly no expert on any clothes that didn’t involve a hoodie or denim, his double-breasted suit, with its narrowed waist and tapering trousers, didn’t look like it came off the rack. Seeing her stare, he paused and then took a step into the room. Bain rose to his full height and froze. He didn’t bark, but every atom of his awareness was locked onto the stranger.

  “Bainbridge Solutions?”

  “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong office.” She tried to channel Marley’s professional tone. From the way his lips twitched, she guessed it wasn’t that successful. Must be the paintball splatters. She raised her chin. “We only accept clients on referral.”

  “Kurt Jeffers sent me.”

  The Accords Agency Director? What was he thinking? “If you’ll wait outside, I’ll just be a minute.”

  He nodded. “Before you call him, I just wanted to give you this.”

  He moved a hand to an inner pocket. Picking up on her sudden tension, Bain growled, while Carey palmed a throwing star. He smiled, and carefully peeled back that fancy suit jacket to pull out a large envelope. Setting it on the floor, he stepped back to the hallway, keeping both hands in sight as he closed the door. She approached the door from the side and stood listening. No sound of footsteps, so he must still be there. She locked the thick door’s inside deadbolt and retrieved the envelope from the floor. Carrying it back to her desk, she tore it open as she pushed speed dial for Accords’ headquarters.

  “Claire Danielsen.” The voice on the other end was crisp and professional. “May I help you?” Usually Carey snorted, although she’d been known to offer suggestions. In detail. But this time she didn’t say a word because she was staring at the photo in her hand. Eight years older, so his shoulders had filled out, and that mouth that used to be almost sensitive was hard as the chin below it. But those eyes looked back from her own mirror every morning. Connor. The twin who had been missing since the massacre at the St. Helens Ranch eight years ago.

  Claire’s tinny voice sounded from the desk phone. “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello? If you’re prank-calling me again, Carey Parker, I’m not kidding, the Director is going to hear about it and—” Carey softly hung up the phone and leaped for the door.

  She clawed at the deadbolt, flinging the door open to stare at the empty hallway. Racing to the top of the stairs, she almost collided with Marley. “Where is he? Did you see which way he went?”

  “Who?”

  She flew past Marley, down the stairs and into the empty little lobby. A moment later she was frantically peering up and down the sidewalk, across the parking strip and roads to the boat houses and docks lining Lake Union’s waterfront. He could be anywhere by now.

  Marley, panting, came up behind her. Turning, Carey showed her the photo and heard the gasp.

  Chapter Nine

  March 2011: Seattle

  “I can’t, Marley. I’ve really tried, and I can’t find the connections.”

  Carey heard a sharp inhale of frustration. She didn’t have to look to know Marley had clamped her lips against the words she desperately wanted to say. Hell, she wanted to say them herself. They’d tried everything they could think of to pull connections. “All I get is the same image of you fighting with that shadow.”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes. “Okay.” Marley gave her another pat and nodded. “We’re professionals. We’ll just approach this the same way as any other gig.”

  Carey raised an eyebrow. “Blind luck and blundering?”

  Marley laughed. “I was thinking more about starting from the beginning and actually doing our job—investigating. Now, walk me through everything again. Right from the beginning. I’ll be the man with the photo.”

  “He was only here for less than a minute.” Carey went to her desk, pulled out the lower drawers, balanced her chair, and closed her eyes. As she’d learned at the Academy, she pictured the event in her mind, imagining it occurring in real time. “I hear a voice asking if I ever fall. I tell him yes, sometimes, but not today.” She opened her eyes and promptly fell. Untangling herself from the chair, she grumbled about how Marley’s proper investigations always seemed to end with her covered with something—blood, bruises, paintball splotches…

  “I open my eyes, and he’s standing just at the doorway.”

  Marley moved to the door, unlocked and opened it. She stood in the doorway, frowning. “The door is open? You don’t unlock it?”

  “No, and Bain doesn’t bark. I just look up, and there he is.”

  “Description.” Marley’s voice barked.

  Carey closed her eyes again and built up the picture in her mind. “Early to mid-thirties and big, a couple inches over six feet, at least two hundred pounds, but it looks like muscle because it fills out that Eurotrash suit. Very nicely. In fact—”

  “Carey!”

  “Right. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Dark shirt and skinny dark tie, short brown hair, dark brown eyes, face of an underwear model crossed with a foreign soccer player—high cheekbones, narrow nose with a small bump like it was broken at some point, and no laugh lines. Very dark mustache, not heavy, and a dark beard that looks almost like he just didn’t shave for a few extra days, except it’s too perfect. Tan skin with a head start—I don’t know, maybe Hispanic?—that got darker with lots of sun. Deep voice with absolutely no accent as if he’s channeling one of those guys on the evening news. No rings on either hand. Something…something doesn’t fit…”

  Carey frowned and opened her eyes, snapping back to the present. “There’s a tattoo on the back of his neck. Intricate. It looks like it goes way down his back.”

  Marley sounded skeptical. “You got all that in less than a minute?”

  Carey could feel her cheeks warming. “It’s possible that I’ve been seeing him at the edge of my connections. For…um…weeks now.”

  “Carey Parker!”

  “I know, I know.” Carey groaned. “But I didn’t know what it meant, and I just thought he was really annoying.”

  She joined Marley at the open door and turned to face her desk. “He knew exactly what he was doing. He told me Director Jeffers had sent him and clearly he knew I’d call to verify that. Then he gave me the envelope. I told him to wait outside, and I locked the deadbolt. I started to call the Accords office, and that’s when I opened the envelope. But I never heard him leave.”

  Marley had been taking notes. She flipped her notebook closed and went out the door, pulling it shut behind her. A moment later she wiggled the doorknob. Locked, automatically as always. Carey unlocked the door, and they stared at each other.

  “Two things.” Marley sat at her desk and placed the notebook in the precise center of her pristine blotter. “First, you need to get over to Accords and see if they really did send him here. And second, we need a much better lock on that door.”

  »»•««

  “Oh come on, Claire. I know you can get me in to
see him. Pleeeeeaze.” Carey winced inwardly as her voice veered toward a whine. At the snicker from behind her, she turned to glare at her former prisoner Leigh Ann, the third occupant of the room. Leigh Ann pretended to be gazing out the window at the view of the George Washington Memorial Bridge, known to locals as the Aurora.

  Carey knew that other visitors were often surprised that a relatively new Assistant Director like Claire would have such a large front office with a view. At the Accords Agency, however, that view was seen as anything but a perk. When the fledgling Agency was initially looking for office space, they were amazed to hear that the former offices of a bankrupt software company below the Fremont side of Aurora Bridge offered more than enough space at a fraction of the cost of the downtown high-rises. Finding that the building came fully furnished with the aggressively modern desks and ergonomic webbed chairs purchased for a software company burning through investor capitol sealed the deal. The light-filled space with its glass windows and industrial-gray decor splashed with deep red accent walls seemed perfect.

  Until the first jumper. With so much of the bridge over pavement, and with the sides relatively unprotected, it turned out to be Seattle’s go-to place for suicides. Even the Agency’s war-hardened veterans shuddered at the prospect of witnessing the deaths that occurred almost weekly from what the papers called Suicide Bridge. Claire’s office, with its glass-wall views, was not a fringe benefit. Her desk, positioned squarely with its back to the window, faced the door.

  Claire thrust her pencil into the brown hair pulled back into what would otherwise have been a flawless twist. Her elegant profile tilted away from Carey, blue eyes narrowing on Leigh Ann. “Don’t make me come over there again. If you didn’t like all those restraints Warden Parker used on you, you really won’t want to see my gag spell. Because it’s not about what goes into your mouth but what comes out.” Leigh Ann rolled her eyes. Ignoring her, Claire turned back to Carey. “I love it when you beg, Parker, but you know my rules. Dish.”

  Carey groaned, but took a seat in Claire’s guest chair, booted feet crossed at the ankles. She angled the chair away from the window view, crossed her arms over her chest, and grumbled. “Fine.”

  Claire lifted an eyebrow.

  “There’s really nothing to…”

  Claire waited.

  “Okay. Okay! He’s tall and everything is dark—hair, eyes, and skin, dark mustache, and a little beard that might just be forgetting to shave but isn’t, of course. Face handsome enough to make your teeth hurt. One of those really nice suits that nobody in this neighborhood would be caught dead in. And the best part…” She waited.

  “Carey Parker, now you’re just being mean.”

  Carey laughed. “The best part is he has some kind of tattoo—the really elaborate swirly kind you like—that looks like it covers half his neck and goes down his shoulder. And down his back. Maybe farther.”

  Claire sucked in a breath through her teeth before pushing a button on her phone. “Director Jeffers? Warden Parker is here to see you.”

  Carey hesitated. “Do you think he remembers about…”

  “The cow incident?”

  Carey nodded and swallowed.

  “Well, he’s never brought it up. But I promise if he does, I’m telling him it was all your idea.”

  As Carey headed for the door on the opposite end of the room, she made a rude gesture.

  Claire laughed. “As always, a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Parker. Tell Marley I said hello.”

  »»•««

  Carey paused at the door just as the intercom in the office buzzed. Claire’s voice said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Director, but I’ve got the California Governor-elect’s office on the line. Should I take the call or…?”

  Director Jeffers waved Carey in and said, “I’ll be right with you.” He picked up the phone and said, “Congratulations on your election, Governor. Our agency was formed since you last held office, and I was hoping to bring you up to speed on our mission.” He paused, eyebrows snapping together in a frown that didn’t show in his voice as he pointed to the chair in front of his desk, glaring until she took a seat before turning back to the phone.

  “Yes, sir, I understand everything you have to do at this point, but this needs to be covered immediately. In brief, Haven and Gifts, two powerful forces embedded in the general population, fought for over a century in a secret confrontation we now call the Nonwars. Both sides agreed to cease hostilities in 1997 when it was revealed that their conflict was being manipulated by outside forces. With the Peace Accords of ’98, our agency was formed to administer the details of the Accords Agreement.”

  Carey sat back in one of the padded armchairs in front of his desk and looked around. Although his office occupied the corner next to Claire’s, she wondered how he’d had time to change it so much in the few months since he’d arrived back in Seattle. Unlike the edgy modern feel of the rest of the building, his dark green walls were lined with what Carey vaguely thought of as old brown furniture. She supposed they were antiques with their carved legs, glass-fronted bookshelves, and soft green-shaded lamps. As his phone call continued, she turned back to study the man behind the gigantic cherry desk.

  Kurtus Jeffers was the name on his office door. He was “Kurt” on the business card Claire had given her, and apparently to his friends, or whatever her visitor had been. But he was “Director” to every cadet who’d gone through the Academy. He still had the same comb-defying sandy brown hair she’d seen her first day as an Accords Academy cadet seven years ago. But the silver that barely frosted his temples back then now gleamed throughout his neatly trimmed beard. She knew his button-down shirt and tie hid a wiry strength that she could personally attest had bested everyone from strong young cadets to seasoned warriors. And his eyes were the same fierce gray icebergs that had frozen many an unwary cadet, herself more often than not. She winced inwardly, and tried not to think about the cow incident.

  When she was the Academy’s youngest student, he had been its first Director. She combined her unrelenting fury at the loss of her family with her previous years of grueling training to accelerate past the other cadets like she was the hot knife and they were so many pats of butter waiting for toast. Soon she was so far ahead that Director Jeffers was supervising her training personally.

  Things hadn’t gone smoothly for either of them during her three years at the new Academy. There were rumors of him facing political maneuvering and funding battles, while she was the intended victim of Academy cadets infuriated at being bested at every turn by a younger, smaller female classmate. With the exception of her roommate, Claire Danielsen, Carey didn’t make friends at the Academy. She didn’t particularly want Claire’s friendship either, but the other woman made it clear that her wishes on that topic were irrelevant.

  Director Jeffers’ low voice rumbled into the phone, and not for the first time she wondered about his Gift. Speculation had been rife at the Academy, with some insisting he was a full-human even though he fought alongside the Gifts. Others claimed he was everything from a Nephilim descended from fallen angels to a rage demon. That last theory was particularly popular during field-trial testing. She snorted softly to herself. He looked at her and glared. Oh yeah, he remembers the cow incident.

  He was wrapping up his phone conversation. “Our governor here in Washington has worked closely with us for years, and she suggested that perhaps the three of us could have a discussion of our agency’s mission and priorities… Yes, Governor… I will ask my associate, Ms. Danielsen, to facilitate the meeting… Yes, I’m looking forward to it too. Thank you, sir.”

  He hung up the phone and met her eyes. “You wanted to see me?”

  He doesn’t need to sound so incredulous. She cleared her throat. “A man came to see me today. He said you sent him.”

  Jeffers frowned. “What was his name?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He didn’t say that e
ither.”

  “Well, did he say anything or did the two of you stand there making cow eyes at each other?”

  Carey hesitated. “He gave me a picture of a missing relative, and then he disappeared.”

  Jeffers sat back and considered her. “You were in our first graduating class, right?”

  He knew damn well that was true. “Yes, sir.”

  “In fact, you were the top-ranked cadet, even though you were the youngest.”

  She had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Only on the field side, sir. Claire was the top…”

  He held up a hand. “Yes, I’m very familiar with Ms. Danielsen’s expertise. But we’re talking about you. Our top graduate and a harmonia warrior. We’ve been understaffed from the get-go, and we needed you desperately. I had people who wanted to give you a Senior Warden appointment right out the gate. Maybe put you in charge of one of the smaller offices even though you couldn’t legally drink yet.”

  He paused. So not going to be good…

  “Yes, sir.” Well, there just wasn’t really anything else to say. Another pause while he reached up and wrenched his tie loose. She tried to keep a mildly interested expression on her face, but she had a bad feeling her eyes were doing what Marley called her feral cat thing. It seemed to make everyone so nervous. “About my visitor, sir?”

  “Why didn’t you take the commission?”

  She couldn’t fault him. It was just the way she would have played it too. Wait until you’ve got something they want, or at least until they think you have it. Then make them pay for it with whatever information you’ve been looking for. Come to think of it, she probably learned that from him. Okay, then.

  “With all due respect, sir, I’ve been hunted all my life. My parents were murdered. My brother, sister, and I were attacked when I was twelve. After the Accords, we found out that neither Haven nor Gifts ordered those hits, so we knew something else was after us. My sister was…lost…in the war, but our guardian took over our training and kept us safe.”