Chapter 10

Rogue stood under the ice spray of her shower, raising her face to it, trying to scrub away the overnight stint she’d just spent underground. But true to their word, the pendants had not let any bugs get on her.

She’d woken up only an hour before, in that dark room, her light dead, her cheek pressed to the concrete, her right hand and arm aching, two fingernails torn past the quick, blood seeping from three of her worn and achy fingertips. The pendants had gone dark and no light filtered in from anywhere. She’d felt around in a mad scramble for the pendants, finally finding them in the flat pack around her waist, then she’d run shaky hands up and down her skin, rising to her feet and stiff-legging it out of there the way she had come, trying not to whimper. And failing.

When she’d reached the end of the tunnel, she’d pushed open the concrete door and escaped into the sunlight, checking herself again for bugs, then sprinted across the grass, across the street, away from that place, an uncharacteristic franticness marking her every move. She’d stopped for just one look back from behind the business across the street, seeing a black truck pull up in front of the post office. The two men who had gotten out, although they hadn’t been wearing guns that she could see, had obviously been cops, which had made her move even faster. She had no idea why the tunnel existed or who the pendants belonged to. All she knew was, they were hers now. Not hers, but still hers, her mind had whispered. Yeah, that made a lot of sense.

She had walked toward downtown, sucking in great lungfuls of chilly morning air, glad when her mind had finally cleared enough for her to decide on a plan of action. She still had Soren’s file. She didn’t want to imagine the consequences of losing an item of such importance to him, although it might not be as bad for her as it would be for other people. She’d long known he had a thing for her, but he never acted on it, because he respected her, too.

Rogue stuck her head out of the icy shower and peeked at the clothes she’d dropped to the floor, including her pack. The pendants were in there. She’d chosen this bolt hole of the three she owned in Chicago specifically because it had a place to hide them.

Teeth chattering, finally forced from the shower, she stepped out and dried off. She still felt dirty, had never been underground for so long before, was very surprised that she’d even gone down there. The voice hadn’t just been convincing, it had charmed her somehow, convincing her to do what she hadn’t done on purpose since she’d been five years old.

The voice of the pendant. What a mindfuck that was. How could an inanimate object have a voice? A brain? Be able to convince anyone of anything?

She shook her head and attended to her right hand, which was bleeding and cramped, barely able to flex or open. If only she could remember what had she been doing with it.

She frowned as she spread some antibacterial ointment on her fingers, finding more scrapes down her forearm to her elbow, and attending to them also. What really was a mindfuck, if she allowed herself to think about it, was all the locks she had sprung with just her touch. The lock at the brownstone, the locks of the dozens of boxes in the post office, and then, if she wanted to be precise, she probably should include the jury-rigged lock on the bottom of the lantern that someone had used like a safe. Oh, hold up there, don’t forget the lock on the door at Chief Lorenzo’s condo. That was a lock of sorts.

She hadn’t had the time to consider all of this before, but now that she’d had a night of crazy ‘sleep’ on the floor of some nasty underground room, it was time to face reality. And reality was looking awfully shaky, right about now.

Fuck. She’d always been a wizard at locks, picking simple ones with paperclips at seven years old. Two years after Amaranth disappeared, her mind supplied, even though Rogue didn’t need the reminder. She’d only made it look like magic, though. It had never actually been magic before.

Fully ointment-covered and bandaged, Rogue headed for the bedroom to pick out some clothes, her mind on the pendants she was leaving behind her. She would deal with them. When she was ready. She picked out an under-outfit, all black, then an over-outfit, more colorful but not her, then rooted around in her dresser drawer for accessories, dressed quickly, then headed back to the bathroom.

The clothes she had been wearing, she shoved into the tiny bathroom trash can, holsters, she’d strapped on her forearms, frowning at the one she’d placed on her right arm. The knife was missing. It was a solid blade, expensive, and she couldn’t imagine how she had lost it, but she had. She would get another. After. Her pack, she checked for dirt or tears. Finding none, she re-wrapped it around her waist, unzipped it, and pulled out the two pendants that were back in their cloth coverings.

Holding one in each hand, feeling the core of cold metal warm her palms somehow, she stalked through the one room of the small apartment, sending out all her feelers. No one was peeking in a window or surveilling her in any way. It was safe to do what she was about to do. She swerved right, away from the five-canvas picture of the wolf on the wall above the fireplace. Her safe was behind the largest canvas, with a satisfactory amount of money and jewels stashed in it, plus the only things she had left of her sister’s. Money she didn’t care about, the money and jewels were only a lure in case someone broke in, they’d think they found all the good stuff. The other two items? No thief would take them. They had only sentimental value.

She rounded the corner, entered her bedroom, then stopped in front of a piece of decorative molding in the wall. She dropped to her knees first, then her belly, took out a pick from her pack and lowered her chin to the floor to pick the lock of her main safe, the one she’d created herself by digging out the hole in the wood and plaster, pushing the safe back there, rebuilding everything, and fashioning a hidden door and lock. A thought struck her and she dropped the pick to the floor with a plink, then reached out her bare fingers, settling them onto the wood that hid the lock.

A soft snick rose from the molding and the hidden door swung open.

Damnit. What in the hell was going on?

***

Rogue tried hard to keep her focus as she strode down the sidewalk, approaching Soren’s four-million-dollar digs in Lincoln Park from the north, the way she came from when she wanted to stop at Bradford’s house. No one was watching her, but someone was watching Soren’s place. That someone was across the street, holed up on the roof deck above the garage. His focus swung to her and she pulled into her persona. Young librarian. Sensible skirt with tights underneath. Clunky shoes. Hair twisted into a bun. Thick glasses hiding her face. Purple messenger bag draped over one shoulder. The someone watched her legs move under her skirt for a few minutes, then flicked his attention back to Soren’s house. Great. Cops. She always felt so conflicted about cops, loving them and hating them at the same time. It was the same way she felt about Chicago. The same way she felt about her profession. Confliction seemed built into her being.

She sensed two more of them in other yards across the street. Soren paid off most of his neighbors with lavish gifts and sometimes outright bribes, but apparently it didn’t always take.

How was she going to convince Soren that she hadn’t been the one to tip them off? Or maybe she had been. No one caught her stealing the file from Chief Lorenzo’s place, and she’d taken several files, not just the one, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t connected the burglary to Soren because of what had been taken.

She didn’t want to be seen entering his place if it was under surveillance. So she would have to tell Soren she was coming in from the back. But not yet. First she would do a bit of her own surveillance.

She turned right and headed up the stairs to the porch of the neighboring custom-built brick home and hit the doorbell, smoothing her skirt and hair, then turning her face to the camera. No one answered. She pulled out her key. Bradford wasn’t home and that was exactly what she’d been hoping for. He was the lead developer of nanotechnology at Intel and worked long hours, but he was happy to share his home with her on the off-chance she’d be there when he got home occasionally. Which she was. Occasionally. He was much older than her, but handsome and sweet.

She opened the door to his palatial home and slipped inside, quickly punching in the code to the alarm, not bothering to admire the stark whiteness of everything. The floors, the walls, the balustrade, the stairs, all of it was white. It was an impressive look, but not one she would replicate when she bought her own mansion. She craved something… more. Coziness, maybe.

“Rosita, it’s just me,” she called, knowing the maid wasn’t in, the house was empty, but still playing along.

She climbed the gleaming stairs, letting the heels of her shoes make tiny echoing clips on the marble. When Bradford watched the video later she wanted to look normal. Like she belonged there.

Inside his monster-sized bedroom, she dropped her bag on his bed, then kicked out of the horrible shoes and went straight to her drawer in his dresser and pulled out the book she had in there, and one other item. She settled on the seat in the reading nook in front of the window, made a show of reading for a few minutes, even though she knew there were no cameras in here, then she shifted her position, pulled open the drapes, and glanced out the window lazily, like her mind was drifting.

Tree limbs were in her way, the buds of springtime popping like crazy. She propped a pillow under her butt, then another, then twisted until she could see right in Soren’s house, his library completely open to her. But her gaze didn’t stay there. It followed the open door into the hallway, then landed on the ornate mirror she’d given him, even telling him exactly where she thought it would look best.

Through its reflection, she could see into Soren’s office. The door was open, like always. He disliked feeling shut in, even to a room as large as his library. She knew he’d spent a little time in jail, maybe that was why.

Soren was there, sitting behind his desk, but he wasn’t alone. A large man with the build of a natural athlete who’d let himself go sat in the leather chair opposite him, speaking with vehemence, thick movements of his hands punctuating his every thought. Rogue frowned and stuck a tiny earbud in her ear, then flipped on the receiver in her hand, holding her breath to see if either man reacted. When they didn’t, she huffed out her breath, glad she was right in thinking her bug was too far away for his constant all-in-one detector, that sat in the middle of his office, to notice.

The two men looked vaguely alike, had the same shoulder-length hair, but Soren’s was silver while the other man still had blonde threading through his. Soren was tall and lean with wiry muscle and a thick silver moustache and dark eyebrows, a combination Rogue had always liked, while the other man was bigger, but with more fat around his midsection. He had a full goatee instead of a mustache.

Soren regularly scanned his office for bugs, but a bug had to be turned on for it to be found. This was the first time she had ever turned hers on. A woman working alone in this business needed to be even more cunning than anyone else, but she’d never felt she needed to go this far before. Until she’d been followed, she never would have. Now to find out if Soren was the one who’d had her followed. She turned the sound all the way up and pressed the bud into her ear.

The man was still talking, his voice a low growl that sounded a lot like Soren’s. “She could be useful.”

Soren shook his head. “She already is useful. But not to you.”

Rogue frowned, wondering if they were talking about her.

The other man shook his head as if he didn’t like that answer, then relented. “Fine. Back to our little party. The one today is just for show. It won’t blow more than a hole in the wall if it does go off, but it won’t. You know the chief has done what he was supposed to do and the SPD already has that intel. You’ll get confirmation as soon as your girl shows up with your file. They’ll do their search, find the medium banger, assume that was it, and drop their guard. In a few days, we’ll plant the big banger, the real one, and blammo, goodbye Wade Lombard, goodbye KSRT. Score one for the big boss.”

Soren didn’t say anything for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was strange. Rogue had to listen for a long time before she realized he was terrified. Normally, he was as unflappable as she was.

He looked around his office, strategically located in the center of the house with no windows or outside walls. “Can he hear us right now?”

The other man, who sounded like Soren with a hard edge, snorted. “I think he could show up right there if he wanted.” He flicked a finger toward the center of the room. “But we’d see him come. He has to rip a kind of hole to get over here. And a smell like fire precedes him. The felen can feel him come, but they can’t feel me.”

Rogue frowned. Just what in the fuck did that mean?

Soren dropped his gaze to the center of his desk. “I wish you never would have come to me with this, Rex. I don’t want to be involved. I might not be on the wolf side of the law, but I don’t want to kill people.”

Rex snorted. “Don’t pull that bullshit on me. I know exactly how many people you’ve killed.”

Soren’s head raised and his eyes blazed. “Only for good reason. I’m not looking to eradicate an entire species.”

Rex shook his head and stood up, kicking Soren’s expensive leather chair over on its side while Soren watched impassively. “Fuck that. You telling me that some part of you doesn’t burn to get back at all the wolfen, those fanged assholes who think they are so much better than you and me?”

Rogue wrapped her arms around herself, not sure why she was trembling.

Soren spoke softly. “I’m telling you exactly that. They are cops, I’m a criminal. They are just doing their job. They don’t have anything against foxen, and I don’t have anything against them.”

Rex leaned over his desk. “Then let me tell you this, brother of mine. All your money and all your power will mean exactly dick when The Father takes over. When that happens, our lives will be measured by his mercy, and that cannot be bought, it can only be earned.”

Rogue suddenly knew exactly who this guy was, Rex Brenwyn, Soren’s brother. She didn’t know why she hadn’t put it together before now, except she’d thought he was in prison for life. She chewed on his words, especially the father. Not my father or our father, but the father. Boe had said those exact words so many times when she’d first come across him, clothed in rags and wandering around the park next to her home in Serenity, blabbering endlessly about things that made no sense. Except the wolves. That part made sense, or at least she wanted it to. Foxen was another word she’d heard before, but wasn’t completely certain what it meant.

Rex stood tall and thumped a fist on his chest. “You have no choice, Soren, but to join me.” He dropped his hands to the desk again and practically hissed at Soren, while Soren’s face took on a green pallor Rogue could see even from the next house. “You will have everything you’ve ever wanted. Ten times the money and power you have now. You’ll be a ruler of the world, not just some shitty crime lord in one district of Chicago. No one will tell you no. And whether you hate them or not, I promise you that all those wolves-”

Rogue sucked in a breath at the word.

“-they hate you. They think they are better than you. And they will be destroyed for it!” He pushed off the desk in one great heave and whirled around, disappearing from Rogue’s sight for a moment, then he came back close where she could see him from the side. “Look at this!” He ripped up his shirt to his chin. Rogue studied him for only a second until she realized she couldn’t see the skin of his chest or his belly- his angle was wrong, so then her gaze shot to Soren’s face.

Soren’s eyes were huge in his head and his mouth was working like he was trying very hard to speak but had no words, only a guttural response that could not be translated.

“Who wants a renqua? This thing gives you power, makes you a monster among males,” Rex shouted, his voice full of passion and insanity. Rogue frowned at his words, at everything he’d said, feeling like she’d fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole to a place where nothing made sense.

Soren’s handsome, normally placid face folded in on itself in disgust and something more, maybe a sick sort of interest? Rex turned directly toward Rogue’s line of sight and strode toward the mirror in the hallway, the one she was viewing the scene through, his eyes fiery.

She threw herself off of the window seat onto the floor in one smooth motion, knowing how unlikely it was that he had been looking at anything but his own reflection as he approached the mirror, his face twisted, his hand yanking his shirt up, baring the awful mark that looked like a clawed handprint three times as large as a human hand that had been branded into his skin.

But she swore his eyes had met hers.