Body Thief (9 page)

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Authors: C.J. Barry

BOOK: Body Thief
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She quipped, “I’ll bet you say that to all the ladies.”
He got to his feet and rolled his shoulders, gritting his teeth as he stretched. She watched every movement, every flex, with reluctant admiration. He walked around the couch and paused in front of her. “Usually, if there’s a woman here, I’m sleeping in my bed.”
Cam caught the sudden light in his eyes, and then it was gone as he focused on her. Seriousness and distrust returned, hardening his features. As if he just remembered that he hated her and her kind. She knew it. This
was
personal.
“Too bad you’re stuck with a Shifter,” she said.
He didn’t answer for a long time, a little too long, and she felt the anger settle into his body. The curiosity was killing her, but whatever it was, he wasn’t going to share it with her anytime soon.
“Too bad,” he repeated, and walked past her to the bathroom.
CHAPTER FIVE
 
T
he sun was just setting over the Brooklyn Navy Yard as they stood in front of their first location of the day. Sounds of machinery and chugging air conditioners filled the air. Cars snaked around the few roads that meandered through the renovated yards. Workers and tourists wandered the historic and newer buildings. Cranes and smokestacks crisscrossed the sky.
Griffin would have preferred to work later when there were fewer distractions and less people around, but he’d decided last night that he really wanted this mission to end as soon as possible. His tiny apartment simply was not big enough for him and Camille Solomon. Between the too-small couch and the knowledge that she was in his bed, he’d gotten maybe two hours’ sleep.
Cam turned to look at him, and the red glow of the afternoon sun caught her hair. It was long, wavy, and just a little wild. Of course, it wasn’t really hers. Neither was the tight body or alabaster skin. The only things that really belonged to her were the jeans and a blue tank top that pretty much left nothing to his imagination.
“You’re sure about this location?” she asked, a quizzical look on her face.
Griffin checked his smartphone again. “PSI Distributors, LLC. Building twelve, first floor. Hit night before last. I think the blown-out windows and yellow police tape give it away, don’t you?”
She blinked at him. “You care what I think?”
Griffin eyed her. He wasn’t ready for twenty questions today. “What?”
One corner of her mouth curled. “You’re starting to like me.”
“Christ,” he muttered. He lifted the Do Not Enter tape to let her under. “Move it.”
She made a little face at him and ducked under the tape. They walked through the first-floor entryway. Marble floors and walls were smeared and dusty. Aside from that and the muddy footprints of firefighters and law enforcement, nothing appeared out of place until they reached the back of the building, where PSI used to do business.
The main door into the suite was off its hinges, singed around the edges, and ajar. The smell of smoke swept over him as he ripped through the yellow tape across it and shoved the door open. Inside, the place was blackened by fire. Scorched steel beams supported what was left of the ceiling. The concrete floor was layered with burnt wood and furniture. Skeletons of metal storage racks stood stark against the charred walls.
The Shifters made sure that these places wouldn’t be doing business anytime soon. It pissed him off to think of them pouring gasoline all over everything these people had worked for and sending it up in smoke. They didn’t have the right.
Cam walked ahead of him, stepping through the destruction. She seemed to be muttering something, but he couldn’t make it out. He’d learned not to bother her when she was concentrating, or risk dismemberment.
“Not the same Shifters,” she whispered as if in a trance. “Not the same. Different, but . . .”
“But what?” Griffin asked, not sure he really wanted to know. He was hoping that this mission would identify only a few Shifters, making his job easy. But more suspects meant more nights on the couch, and that didn’t make him happy.
Cam’s eyes were closed as she answered him. “I’m picking up the same oily scent that the other two groups carried.”
Damn. He hated that couch. “How many Shifters this time?”
“Two,” she replied, sounding lost in her concentration. Griffin had more questions, but he knew better than to push her. She was doing her best, he could tell by the depth of focus. He wondered how she felt about betraying her own. Shifters didn’t seem to stick together much. They were all out for themselves. So perhaps it wasn’t even a factor.
She lifted her face, looking almost angelic in the sunlight. Wouldn’t last.
“All males,” she continued. “I definitely smell oil. Refined.” She opened her eyes to look at him. “Where would they get petroleum oil?”
“Anywhere. This city uses a lot of oil.”
She nodded, frowning, and stepped through the wreckage. “Still, rather interesting, don’t you think? They must be around some kind of industry.”
“Or underground.”
Cam walked between the racks of supplies, moving them around and rummaging through the crispy supplies. She picked up a needle. “Syringes.”
She asked Griffin, “What do they ship?”
“Did,” he corrected. “Medical supplies.”
Her frown deepened, and he was getting that feeling again that she was not sticking to the plan. Why was she so damn curious?
“But the products are still here,” she said, peering into another box. “Disinfectant. Latex gloves. Sutures. They didn’t take any of it.”
The bad feeling that Griffin had in his gut grew. He was not biting at her challenge. “We aren’t here to find out why.”
“Maybe we should be,” she said. Then her gaze met his, direct and stubborn. “We walked by a drug supplier business. Much easier pickings than these, and better money. So why torch medical supplies? Why not target the drugs? In fact, why not just steal the stuff? Why bother destroying it?”
Griffin had noticed the drug company. He’d hoped Cam missed it. “I don’t know.”
“And you don’t care,” she added.
Frustration seeped into his bones, replacing any doubts. “No, I don’t. My job is to find whoever is doing this and identify them.”
Cam moved toward him and stopped a foot away, fearless. “Don’t you think it would help us find them if we knew
why
they were hitting these places? Like an MO?”
It would, but he was following orders this time, even if it killed him. He’d learned his lesson. Harding would take any opportunity to pull his deal. “Sometimes. In this case, no.”
“Why not?” she asked, unfazed.
She was relentless. “These Shifters have hit dozens of targets. There’s no pattern, no reasoning behind it. And why do you care?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why
don’t
you care? Afraid of what you’ll find?”
Griffin replied, “Don’t tell me you give a crap what happens to these guys. You’re no saint. You and your father aren’t robbing casinos blind for the good of Shifters everywhere.”
A flash of something dangerous passed through her features, and then fire took hold. “At least I can think for myself. I’m not some puppet on a string.”
“Aren’t you? And I think I’m the puppeteer.”
Cam glared at him for all she was worth. “And you have no qualms about using me, do you?”
“You use casinos,” he countered.
“But you can’t kill a casino. I’ve tried,” she said. “Why do you hate us? Is it just general blanket paranoia or something special?”
Her question was unexpected. “I have my reasons.” None of which he planned to share with her.
She didn’t back down. “They better be damn good.”
“They are.”
Cam’s voice lowered. “Good enough to blame an entire race?”
“Yes,” he replied. “And you’ve reached your quota for questions for today.”
A slow, smug smile stretched across her face. “Day’s early, Mercer.”
 
“Aristotle!”
Aristotle recognized the boyish voice and stopped in the middle of the underground tunnel below West Village. It was pitch-dark in the tunnels under New York City, but Shifters didn’t have to worry about that. What he did have to worry about was running from someone. His old legs weren’t as strong as they used to be.
“What is it, Red?”
The young Shifter slowed to a walk, barely breathing hard, and spread his arms out wide. “Where have you been? I’ve been all over these tunnels looking for you.”
Aristotle showed him the rolled-up map in his hand. “Working, boy. Why?”
Red put his hands on the hips of his newest human skin in the form of an Asian male, roughly twenty years old. “We got trouble.”
“We
are
trouble, Red. That’s the whole point.”
Red waved a hand at him. “No, no. XCEL has a new team hunting us down. Found out about them last night. Combing through all our hits. You know what this means?”
Aristotle turned and continued his lumbering walk. Red rushed up along his side. “This
means
,” Red said, “they are onto us.”
“They’ve been onto us for a while. They just don’t know how to catch us.”
“Well, they got help now,” Red said. “Shifter help. And she’s the daughter of a friend of yours.”
There were only a few surviving female shapeshifters, and even fewer that were daughters of his friends. “Cala.”
“She’s going by Camille Solomon now, but yeah.”
Disappointment filled his ancient bones. Aristotle slipped to a distant past for a brief moment. Long ago when life was good, or at least tolerable. Before fear of shapeshifters took everyone he loved and cared about on a planet far from here. Before this world became their new home, and these humans their reluctant hosts.
“Where is her father?” Aristotle asked.
“No idea. Only got an ID on her. She’s working with an XCEL agent named Griffin Mercer. One of Harding’s underlings.”
Harding, of course. Harding was the enemy.
So it begins,
Aristotle thought. He knew this day would come. He’d counted on it. He hadn’t counted on one of his own turning against him. That was unforgivable, but not unexpected. Every Shifter had to find their own way to survive in this world, and Cala had found hers.
Too bad she’d picked the wrong side.
Red ran up ahead and pushed open a heavy door that led to a concrete room, just like everything else down here. This was one of many such rooms his teams used for their meetings.
Twelve members of Aristotle’s team had already gathered around or stood near the large table in the center of the room. To humans, it would look rather odd to meet in total darkness. To his people, it was a matter of secrecy. Because this world was about to launch a new genocide against shapeshifters, and Aristotle and these men were the only ones who stood in their way.
Aristotle greeted the members one by one. Each held hope for the future or hatred from the past. He really didn’t care which, or why they were here, as long as they were. Then he unrolled the city map that nearly covered the entire six foot length of the table.
Red circles designated their targets. Xs marked those that had been completed. “We’ve been able to shut down the supply chain for operations at the shipyard. That should give us another few days while they search for new suppliers. Nice work, everyone.”
A smattering of kudos rippled through the group. It was short-lived because their work was never done. Or at least, it felt that way.
Aristotle tapped a red circle near Medford, Long Island. “New location, Burton Research. Test lab for skin grafting. Wilson, this one is yours. Pick your team and get there before the end of the week.” He handed his oldest and most dedicated team member, Wilson, a blueprint of the building. “You can’t just blow this one up. There’s a clean room in the basement. That’s your goal. A major shipment is scheduled out of there for Monday. We need to stop that.”

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