Sin's Dark Caress (13 page)

24

Trouble in Paradise

“O
beron DuPrie.” The princess held out a regal hand, which he bent and kissed. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. This is the one of the few places I feel will be safe for us to talk.”

“Chancellor Rudolf, it's good to see you again. Thanks for coming,” Oberon said, shaking the old man's hand before turning back to the princess. “Your Highness, we appreciate you coming in daylight. Can we get you some refreshments?”

“That won't be necessary, I fed before I came.” She clicked her fingers toward the large bodyguard. “But I'm sure Keith could do with a bite.”

Oberon straightened his shoulders and squared off against the other male. He couldn't help it. Ursians were a territorial breed, and this one was invading his space. Keith's dark skin shone under the lights and his muscles rippled under the tight T-shirt. Politeness won out. Keith inclined his large boulderlike head as he deferred to Oberon's territorial right.

“This way please.” Tones said, guiding the minder from the room while the princess sat at the head of the table with Chancellor Rudolf by her side.

Bianca stood by her chair, open-mouthed. McManus scowled.

“Sit,” Oberon said to them.

That seemed to snap them out of it and they took their seats.

“So,” the princess started. “There has been another murder.”

“Yes, and this time right under our noses,” Oberon said, and looked pointedly at Bianca. “Not that there was anything we could've done about it.”

“There are very powerful black thaumaturgies at work here,” Bianca said.

“What I'm about to tell you,” Akentia said, “you
did not
hear from me. In fact, I'm not even here.” She leaned forward with her fingers splayed in front to her and looked at Rudolf, who gave her a slight nod. “Reports are coming in from all over the world of more sadistic killings bearing the Dark Brethren symbol. Most have been proven copycats. The thaumaturgists are using this as proof that those here in New York are also just another hoax.”

Rudolf sat forward. “They're using this to say the Five are incompetent and trying to shift the balance of power in the council.”

“He's smart—for a human.” The princess's mask of aloofness slid for just a second as she smiled at the old man. “The thaumaturgists are blocking us at every turn. They object to Rudolf's admission to the Five, saying all members have to be parahuman and they want their representative to be appointed instead.”

McManus said, “Who's the representative?”

“Marcus Hilden,” the princess said.

“The Domina's son?” Oberon asked.

“Actually it's son-in-law,” Bianca said. “We're a matriarchal society, the gifts are passed from mother to offspring and the male takes the family name of the female he marries.”

Oberon scowled. “I'd bet a year's salary I know who the real power is behind the scenes. Marcus wouldn't have the balls to shit without his mother-in-law's permission.”

The princess inclined her head gracefully. “We have also come to the same conclusion. It was through his instigation that VCU was made the lead in the case. Apparently there was some objection to you, Detective.” She looked directly at McManus.

“Yes, I um . . . I pissed off the head witch,” he said in his usually tactful manner.

“As have I. Frequently.” Akentia's smile was forgiving.

McManus grinned. Akentia had that effect on people.

“You must continue to work on this. Don't stop. The Brethren are close; I can feel the corruption growing.” Rudolf stood up as she spoke. “We will try to block the magic users as much as we can. Now if you will all please forgive me,” the princess said as she rose to her feet. “I really must be going.”

Everyone else stood.

“Thanks for sharing this information with us,” Oberon said, taking her hand.

“Oh.” She stopped at the door and turned. “There is one more surprising player in all this. He's sticking pretty much under the radar, but has recently started making donations to the thaumaturgists' campaign.” Again she looked at McManus. “I think you've already had dealings with a certain drug lord in Sin Town.”

The detective's frown deepened. “Corey O'Shea?”

Akentia's regal smile was all the acknowledgment any of them needed.

“That slippery bastard is responsible for several murders and most of the drugs in Sin Town,” McManus said, “but I've never been able to pin anything on him. Not even so much as a parking ticket. I think it's time you took him up on his invitation, Sin.”

25

Keep on Trucking

B
ianca held up her ID. “We're here to see Mr. O'Shea.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the uniformed security guard asked.

“Yes,” McManus said.

“No,” Bianca corrected. “But he asked me to stop by and see him any time. Tell him it's Bianca Sin.”

The guard took her ID and went to the other side of the room. He talked on the phone for about a minute then looked at her ID and nodded.

“Bright one, that,” McManus whispered in her ear. “He does know they can't see him on the phone.”

“Maybe they can.” She pointed to the camera in the corner facing their way.

McManus smiled and waved. She read
Yes sir
on the guard's lips as he glanced at them.

He finally hung up the phone and returned, handing back her ID card. “Someone will be here to collect you shortly. Please come through and wait.”

“Thank you,” she said politely.

He hit a button in the desk and a glass door opened to the left of them.

“That was easy,” she whispered as they entered a waiting room with the large stylized letters
OFL
painted on the wall opposite the security counter.

“Too easy,” McManus said. “O'Shea's up to something.”

“I never knew this place was so big,” she said, looking at pictures on the wall.

“O'Shea Freight and Logistics is the biggest independent transit company in the country, perhaps the world. They have their own trucks, aircraft, even ships and dispatches worldwide,” McManus said. “Which is how we suspect he moves the drugs.”

“Shhh.”
She looked around nervously.

“Welcome to O'Shea Freight and Logistics, Dr. Sin.” A man in a suit and dark glasses stood in the doorway with another uniformed guard. “And Detective McManus as well. I'm Mr. O'Shea's head of security. He's waiting for you in his office.” The security head stopped at the desk and held out his hand to McManus. “But before we go—your weapon please.”

“I don't think so,” McManus said with a dangerous smile that never reached his glacial eyes.

The other man easily had a good six inches on him and outweighed McManus by at least one hundred pounds. “Your weapon please,” he repeated as he looked through the door and nodded.

McManus stood his ground.

The uniformed guard who had come with the suit grabbed McManus from behind and pinned his arms behind his back.

“Let them have your gun, McManus,” Bianca said.
He was going to get hurt if he fought them.

The security head stepped forward, flipped open his jacket and took the gun from the holster under McManus's arm, then handed it to the guard behind the desk and patted up McManus's legs, searching for more weapons.

“Hey. The least you could do is buy me dinner first,” McManus growled.

“You'll get your firearm back when you leave,” the suit said.

“I'd better, or I'll be taking yours,” McManus warned.

The suit smiled confidently and led them to the open Jeep waiting outside, where the uniformed guard who had been with them slipped behind the wheel. They drove through the complex, and as they passed one of the aircraft hangars, a strange sensation washed over Bianca. It wasn't like any thaumaturgic energy she'd ever experienced before. It was neither white nor black, and she had the sudden urge to get as far away from the hangar as she could.

A protection spell.

The magic was so subtle that another witch probably wouldn't have detected it, not even her mother, but her sensitivity grew daily.

She glanced at their escorts in the front seat and leaned close to McManus's ear. “There's some heavy duty spells at work here. Powerful concealment enchantments.”

“What could a drug cartel acting as a transit company have to hide?” he growled in a harsh whisper. “Hmm, let me think.
Drugs?
”

“There's no need to get snippy,” she replied.

He scrubbed a hand across his craggy features. “Fuck, I'm sorry, Sin. I guess I'm still a little pissed at the manhandling back there.”

The car stopped in the designated security spot in front of the six-story administration building. The security detail got out first and waited with feet apart, hands clasped low in front while she and McManus climbed out off the Jeep. O'Shea wanted them escorted straight to him without any chance of a detour.

Inside the building, the uniform guard moved into the elevator first and turned around to stare ahead. Bianca entered with McManus, and then the security head, who stood in front with his back to them as he pushed the sixth floor button.

McManus stared up at the changing floor numbers, his expression neutral. “Just so you know. You touch me again and I'll break your fucking nose.”

Bianca started to doubt she'd even heard him until the security head looked over his shoulder with an arrogant self-certain smile. “I'd like to see you try.”

The doors opened onto the top level, dominated entirely by Corey O'Shea's extensive office suit. Most of the open plan space had floor-to-ceiling windows, giving them an almost 360-degree view of the vast complex. The furniture was expensive yet tasteful, and she got the impression that opulence and power were what the O'Shea brothers were all about.

The man himself sat behind and immense dark wood desk, leaning forward in his large, high-backed leather chair, resting his elbows on the arms. “Well now, the delicious Dr. Sin and Detective McManus. Or should I say
Mister
McManus?”

“So you've heard about my suspension,” the detective said. “Which means you know I'm not here on official police business.”

“Nor do you have their protection.” O'Shea's smile was both charming and lethal.

Bianca no longer had any doubts this man was a killer. But looking at McManus, she was starting to get the same feeling about him.

Several men in dark suits stood around the room. O'Shea's brother, Seamus, dressed in the same ankle-length black coat he'd worn the other night, lounged in the corner, his fingertips pressed together, forming a steeple. His long dark hair fell over his face, concealing most of his features. Except those eyes—the cold gray eyes of a pure predator.

“Please take a seat,” Corey said, indicating the chairs on the other side of the desk.

Bianca moved forward but McManus's hand on her arm stopped her. “Thanks, but I think we'll stand,” he said.

“And I prefer you sit.” Corey narrowed cold eyes.

The uniformed security guard took her elbow as the security head grabbed McManus. He spun, snagging the man's wrist, twisted it behind the man's back and smashed his face into the wall beside the elevator. She heard bones crack as McManus forced the security head's arm between his shoulder blades.

“I warned you I'd break your nose if you touched me again,” McManus hissed. “Consider the arm a bonus.”

The man brought his other elbow up and smashed McManus in the mouth, then slammed his fist into the detective's kidney, dropping McManus to his hands and knees.

The detective spat blood onto the floor. He looked over his shoulder as the head of security kicked him in the gut, sending him over on his side coughing and gasping for breath. Bianca didn't know what to do. Kedrax was too far away for anything but the simplest of spells.

The head of security pulled his gun, his lips peeling back in a snarl as he pointed the weapon at McManus's head. Hair sprouted on his hands and face. Animalian, probably canian.

The detective rolled to his feet in one fluid movement, leapt forward and slammed the gun hand back into the man's face, opening a gash on the cheek. It surprised them all. Two other men in dark suits rushed in and tackled McManus to the floor, one shoving a knee in his back, the other pinning his shoulders.

Corey stood then and came around from his behind his desk. “Stop struggling, McManus, and my men will let you go.”

He nodded at his men, and when McManus finally stopped struggling, they climbed off and lifted him by his arms to his feet.

As Bianca moved toward him, one of bodyguards grabbed her upper arm and roughly pulled her back. In response, McManus struggled against the guards restraining him, his face fierce. “Don't you touch her.”

“Let her go,” O'Shea said as he moved back to his chair. “And calm down, McManus. If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

The two bodyguards released the detective. A fly landed on the side of McManus's face, buzzed off and landed, then buzzed off and landed again. She watched mesmerized as it continued, shifting with jerky little movements to drink from the blood leaking from his bleeding eyebrow. Then it landed on the top of his ear as it rubbed its front legs together.

Strange
. What was a fly doing in here?

Corey gave his brother a short sharp nod. In a blur of fluid movement Seamus stood, reached into his pocket, extended his arm, and sat back in his seat. A blade flipped through the air, skimmed past McManus's ear and embedded in the wall behind, pinning the fly. Well, what was left of it.

The detective straightened his jacket, his ice-blue eyes narrowing. “Is that supposed to impress me?” he asked as he pulled out a cigarette from inside his pocket and placed the butt between his lips.

It sure impressed the hell out her.

As McManus felt around his pockets for his lighter, a gun blast startled her. Only a tiny remainder of the cigarette butt hung on McManus's bottom lip. The ever-silent Seamus O'Shea was again slouched in the chair with steepled fingers, except now his long black coat lay open, revealing a gun holster strapped to his left thigh and an array of knives strapped to his chest. The gun was a very large and very shiny semiautomatic pistol.

“Now,” McManus said, taking the remainder of the cigarette from his mouth. “That was impressive.”

“Y
ou see,” Corey O'Shea said. “My brother may be skilled with a knife, but with a gun, he's a surgeon. As I said, if I wanted you dead, you would be and you'd never see it coming. Now, please
sit
?”

A coppery taste coated his tongue, and he reached up to touch his mouth, bringing away blood-smeared fingertips confirming the sting was a split lip. He locked eyes with Bianca. While he was pissed at his treatment, seeing her manhandled had his blood boiling. She smiled at him, letting him know she was okay. She looked more concerned about him than anything else. She took the seat to the left while he pulled up the chair on the right.

He needed a hit. He could feel the shakes starting in his fingers; physical exertion had depleted his reserves. He took another cigarette from his pocket and held it up to Seamus O'Shea just in case the sharpshooter had something against smoking.

Seamus shrugged.

McManus put the cigarette in his mouth and this time found his lighter. As he lit the tip, he watched the younger O'Shea brother out of the corner of his eye. The man might look as if he was bored, but McManus knew he was being watched right back.

After he exhaled, he turned to Corey O'Shea. “I take it you already know about your cousin.”

The older O'Shea nodded. “Madam Lo called me.” He leaned forward on his desk and clasped his fingers together. “So, Detective, what are you doing to find my cousin's killer?”

“Nothing.” The cigarette had lost its flavor. McManus stood up, put it out in the ashtray on O'Shea's desk, and remained standing. “As you already pointed out, I've been suspended.”

“Ah, but you're here.” O'Shea leaned back in his chair. “So let's drop the pretense. You're a cop through and through. You're not going to let a little thing like a suspension stop you. If you're here to talk to me, then you either think I can help or I'm a suspect.”

“Maybe a little of both,” McManus said.

“So . . .” O'Shea leaned back and spread his hands wide. “Ask away.”

“What do you know about your cousin's recent activities?”

“As I told you before, I haven't talked to Jimmy in a couple of weeks.”

“Did you know he was involved with at least two of the victims who were killed recently?” McManus asked, and glanced at Bianca.

“You're talking about the Womb Raider, aren't you?” O'Shea frowned. “Why would Jimmy be involved in that?”

“That's what we're trying to find out.”

O'Shea brought his hands together and placed the joined tips of his index fingers against his lips. “I'd say that it's a fairly big coincidence.”

“A coincidence,” McManus said, astounded.

Bianca stepped up beside McManus. “The first victim owed him money, and he got her a job in a nearby magic novelty store where she was murdered, then his girlfriend was killed in the safe house McManus had arranged after we found his body.”

“That is a fairly big coincidence, isn't it?” O'Shea said. “But I'm sorry, I can't help any further. As I said, it's been weeks since I last saw my cousin. Now if that is all, I'll have you escorted back to the front gate.”

“One more thing,” Bianca said. “What is your involvement with the Hilden group?”

O'Shea looked at her and his frown deepened. “They're clients. Why?”

“We hear your company has made significant donations to a certain bid for a CHaPR appointment,” she replied.

“There's no law against supporting a candidate, is there?” O'Shea asked.

“No,” McManus said. “No law against it. But still it's interesting that you would be interested in the politics of CHaPR.”

“My only interest is in my interests. I'll do whatever it takes to protect me and mine.” Corey O'Shea's composure grew frosty. “Now if you don't mind, I have to get back to running a company.” He nodded to the security guards. “Please escort our guests back to their car.”