Chapter 1
John
Six months later
John Blackwood hadn’t meant to glance at the small, soap-flecked mirror. He’d been avoiding reflective surfaces lately, but it wasn’t until he was staring at himself that he knew he’d been doing it.
Nothing about his appearance had changed. His buzz cut was as even as it had been when that sort of thing was regulated. His skin was pale and his mouth too red and plush to pass for masculine. Many times he’d been labeled some variation on the phrase ‘cocksucker’ and many times he’d put a short, brutal stop to it.
But aside from his overlarge mouth there was nothing unusual about his appearance. Nothing except the stranger looking out of his pale green eyes. John gripped the cool basin and stared hard at his reflection. “Come on then, tell me.”
The asshole didn’t answer, just looked out at him from under his too-long lashes. His mom had called the alien forces ‘unfamiliars’ but John preferred to think of them as assholes. They were rude, self-absorbed and ruined even the most enjoyable day just by showing up. He pressed a palm to his solar plexus. “What do you want?”
There was no answer. John swore softly. This particular asshole had been waiting for a while, now he was acknowledging it the prick was enjoying making him wait in return. “If you don’t hurry the fuck up I’ll…”
Go on, the asshole behind his eyes seemed to say. What will you do?
He could do nothing. That was the issue. ‘The gift’ was in his blood, handed down by Slavic ancestors a century of WASP marriages couldn’t breed out. His mom saw assholes, her mom saw assholes, her mom saw assholes and so it stretched backward; generations of women predicting famine, fortune and death. Plus him. A man. He’d been burdened with all this mystic crap despite having a sister who, by rights should be staring into her workplace mirror like a dick. God knew if Mallory had been the one chosen his life would be completely fucking perfect.
“Last chance,” he told the asshole. “Talk or I’m leaving.”
As if on cue his eyes flickered, glazing over until they appeared almost black. John braced his hands on the sink as nausea boiled up inside him. His mom once told him this was the closest to childbirth John would ever come; fighting to get some other being out of himself. If that was true he didn’t know how anyone had more than one kid. It was fucking horrible.
“Hurry up,” he croaked to the mirror. “I haven’t got all day.”
His stomach contracted and suddenly he was in a packed nightclub smelling sweat and alcohol, feeling people brush up against him. A magenta strobe light burned his retinas and as he turned to cover his eyes he saw the outline of a girl. She had big tits and long curly hair and he knew she was the one. The Girl. The Reason. He stepped forward trying to make out her face but darkness closed around her like a circular curtain and the vision faded.
He came to, pale and sweaty, slumped against the speckled glass. “That’s it?” he said. “That’s what you wanted to show me?”
There was no response. John’s reflection was just a mirror image of his form. His body was purely his own again. “Any more details?”
Again silence.
“Well thanks for fucking nothing,” John muttered, splashing water on his face and rubbing it into the corners of his aching eyes.
The bathroom door rattled making splatter water down his chest. “Who the fuck is that?”
He knew it was Colt. Seb would have knocked. He also wouldn’t have laughed and said ‘Are you talking to yourself in there asshole?’
“No,” John lied, trying to blot his chest with a paper towel and only making matters worse.
“Sure.” Colt laughed again. “Well if you can tear yourself away from yourself someone’s looking for you.”
“Who?”
“Fucked if I know, a lady in a big hat.”
John rolled his eyes. Colton Stone was a damn fine soldier, a decent security guard, and a complete fucking birdbrain when it came to anything that didn’t involve a risk of getting shot.
“Any more details?” he asked for the second time.
Colt wasn’t any more helpful than the unfamiliar. “No. Hurry up,” he said, already walking away.
John frowned. Why would a lady in a big hat visit a Private Security firm? He hoped she knew they weren’t private investigators. He wasn’t filming anyone’s husband balls-deep in his PA. Not unless he could poach said PA and get her working behind the front desk at Blackstone. He needed someone to do admin; answer phones, organize clients and brief him with more than ‘lady in a big hat’ but as a start-up, their capital for non-essential staff was negligible. They just needed one good year, a couple of big contracts and then they’d have the capacity to expand.
“Wish in one hand, spit in the other,” he muttered scrubbing at his shirt.
With his guest in mind, John abandoned the translucent patches and gave his reflection a once over. He was always raw after a vision, keenly aware of what a freak he was and half convinced others could see it too. He straightened his tie and offered the mirror a tense smile. The skin around his eyelids crinkled. Women told him he was good-looking and maybe he was but at thirty-five changes were coming on thick and fast. He was starting to look like someone’s old man. Like his old man and a lot sooner than he’d hoped. No doubt the stress of being a fucking psychic was behind it.
“Screw it,” John said to nobody in particular. He threw the paper towel in the trash and headed for his office.
The woman Colt had told him about was already seated when he arrived. She’d removed her hat, displaying a sleek cap of silvery blonde hair. She looked to be in her late fifties but her skin was smooth and her makeup immaculate. She reminded John of someone his mom would have gone to a champagne brunch with. Please don’t be wanting a PI, he thought. Please don’t be wanting a PI.
“Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m John Blackwood.” He extended a hand. The woman shook it, her skin soft but cold. “Leslie Elkin.”
She had a clipped British accent and the equally flinty look of someone who could shoot you in the gut and watch you bleed to death without blinking. He’d seen it in plenty of men over the years but never a female. It was a little jarring and he suddenly understood why Colt hadn’t hung around asking for her details. “What can I do for you, Ms. Elkin?”
She gestured to his chair. “Please sit down.”
John didn’t appreciate being addressed like a subordinate in his own office, but hiding dislike behind a wall of neutrality was an old and quickly recovered skill. He took his seat without comment.
Ms. Elkin opened her leather satchel and slid a manila folder across his desk. “I’m here on behalf of an organization called Middlebend; have you heard of us?”
The name did sound familiar, John racked his brain, recalling a Times article he’d read ages ago. “European company? Fracking?”
“Superb Mr. Blackwood, though we prefer ‘shale gas.’” Elkin’s voice was light, but it was evident he’d repeat the word ‘fracking’ at his own peril. “We’re interested in procuring your company’s services.”
“In what capacity?”
Elkin pursed pale pink lips, examining John as carefully as he’d observed himself in the bathroom mirror.
“For reasons that cannot currently be disclosed Middlebend is acquiring a person of interest toward the end of this month. We need to arrange round-the-clock security at a private holding location for a minimum of six weeks.”
John was instantly dying to ask about the pay but his brain was better behaved than that. “Where’s the location?”
“California. Santa Monica, to be precise, and we will require all three of you. That is to say yourself, Mr. Stone, and Mr. Rhodes.”
John raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done your research.”
Elkin didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed to be called out. “Yes I did. You’ll be happy to know your reputation is sterling.”
“Glad to hear it,” John said wondering what she knew about him. His military history? His medical history? His personal history? Resentment attempted to peer around his interior wall and he shoved it back. He had nothing to hide. Nothing that appeared on any records anyway. He recalled the faceless girl in the nightclub and his stomach gave a little unhealthy lurch. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called, relieved at the interruption.
It was Seb, wearing a perfectly knotted tie and a look of calm courtesy. “Sorry to interrupt John, would you or your guest like tea or coffee?”
For the hundredth time John thanked god Seb had agreed to come work for them. Colt was the epitome of anti-customer service but the kid was a natural. Sharp and intuitive and with impeccable southern manners he’d taken to the job like a duck to water. If the former Marine weren’t infinitely more valuable in the field John would have kept him behind a desk greeting clients full time.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” he said. “Ms. Elkin?”
Elkin’s gaze raked over Seb’s chest with obvious interest. “Mr. Rhodes, is it?”
Seb shot him a quick, unnerved glance. “Ah, yes ma’am.”
John tried not to grin as Elkin visibly melted. Seb was from the middle of nowhere Tennessee and while he’d hadn’t lived in the south for years his good ol’ boy accent was as thick as the day he showed up for basic training. Men assumed the kid was dumb because of it but most chicks couldn’t get enough of a drawl. Elkin, it seemed, was no exception.
“Are you having a good afternoon?” She said in a far friendlier voice than the one she’d used on John.
“I’m uh, fine thanks ma’am.”
She crossed her stockinged legs exposing a length of upper thigh. “That’s good, now what were you asking?”
Seb’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Do you, uh? Would you, um, like a drink? Or-or somethin’ else?”
John kept his hands flat on the desk so he wouldn’t be tempted to press them over his eyes. For all his good points, his manners and his intelligence, Seb was notoriously bad at talking to women. It wasn’t an issue in a war zone, but this was New York and his pretty-boy face got him into a lot of tongue-tied embarrassment.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Elkin said, amused. “You know you have lovely hair.”
Seb’s hand jumped to his scalp. “Thank you, ma’am. My momma and daddy were both blond. Are both blond. They ain’t dead. Neither’s my sisters. They’re blond, too.”
John had heard enough. “Seb, we’re having a meeting…”
“Right, sorry.” The kid walked backward to the door still flushing profusely. “So, no drinks?”
“No,” John said firmly. “Goodbye, Seb.”
With a final mortified look at Elkin, Seb vanished. John hoped Colt hadn’t overheard them, torturing Seb was one of his favorite pastimes.
He turned to Elkin, who was examining Seb’s retreating ass with obvious hunger. Jesus wept. John forced a smile. “So this contract. When would it commence?”
“We would expect you to fly to California within the next five days.” Elkin’s voice was coolly businesslike once again. A vainer man, Colt for example, would have been insulted.
“So you’ve already got the person of interest in custody?” John asked.
“No, you would prepare the location and await their arrival.”
“They a criminal?”
“I cannot reveal that at present. You, Mr. Stone, and Mr. Rhodes will sign non-disclosure agreements before we supply any further information.”
“Right.”
John’s gut gave a telling twinge. Blackstone wasn’t so well established that they could afford to turn down six weeks work but Elkin’s certainty, not to mention her icy smile had him on edge. He gave her his best, thanks-but-no-thanks smile. “I don’t think Blackstone has the capacity to fulfill your requirements, might I suggest trying—”
Elkin held up a hand, silencing him like he was a German Shepard. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem particularly busy.”
“We’re on retainer for five other organizations,” he said trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
Elkin smiled indulgently. “Are you really content to sit about twiddling your thumbs? I wasn’t aware office space in Manhattan was inexpensive.”
Before he could respond she flicked open her manila folder. “If you read this document you’ll see Middlebend is prepared to offer three hundred thousand dollars in exchange for Blackstone’s services.”
John worked hard to keep a straight face. “Right.”
“Does that perhaps change your mind?”
“Not necessarily,” he said almost choking on suppressed elation. “I don’t understand why you’d give a contract like this to a private firm. Surely Middlebend has internal security?”
Elkin didn’t answer straight away. She sat back and studied him as though he were a badly behaved schoolboy in need of a whipping. John wasn’t a cane-and-flogging man himself but he saw in her a quality he recognized in his own murky insides. She was a sadist, he’d bet his right hand on it. Again, that was unusual in a woman. It made her fascination with Seb funnier, but his overall impression of her soured, something it didn’t usually do when like recognized like. Why?
She likes hurting, an internal alien voice replied. And she’s not like you, she likes that she likes hurting. She doesn’t care if other people don’t like that she likes hurting.
“This is a delicate situation,” Elkin said finally.
John straightened up and tried to look like he hadn’t pictured her waterboarding a drifter. “What is?”
“The person of interest we’re acquiring is a dangerous individual,” Elkin said. “I believe monitoring them to be beyond those currently in our employ. This is why I’ve come to you. Rather than throwing our men in and hoping for the best Middlebend has chosen to invest in a smaller, more experienced team.”
“Blackstone has been operating for just over a year,” John pointed out.
Elkin smiled her thin-lipped smile. “We both know you and your men have been together for a lot longer than that Mr. Blackwood.”
His pulse kicked up another couple of notches. “If you’re referring to what I think you are, your research stretched into some criminal activity.”
Again Elkin didn’t seem bothered by the accusation. “Is that a no?”
“It’s an ‘unsure.’” John tapped the manila folder. “Can I speak to my team, get back to you?”
“Certainly.” Elkin stood and placed her wide-brimmed navy hat back on her head. “Though I should tell you I expect a response within two business days.”
John nodded, dislike welling inside him once more.
Elkin headed for his door before turning to stare at him over his shoulder. “You should know if you undertake this job for us I can all but guarantee larger contracts in the future. I’m sure an emerging business like yourself would find it very profitable so don’t wait too long to call.”
She flashed him another icy smile before striding away, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor.
John leaned back in his chair and let the enormity of Elkin’s offer wash over him like rain. Three hundred thousand dollars and the promise of more contracts in the future was a dream come true. It meant a real office, support staff, company cars, a permanent contract for Seb. It meant everything changing for the better.
Before he went looking for Colt, who would probably slug him for not taking the job right away, John scanned the content of the manila folder and emailed it to his father’s lawyer. He was determined to go through the motions of cynicism even if he could barely remember his reasons for hesitating. Within minutes Marty called him begging him to accept the job. “You’d be crazy not to Junior. Absolutely fucking insane.”
If there was one thing John hated more than being called Junior, it was being called crazy but the thought of three hundred grand staved off his irritation.
“I have to talk to Colt,” he said, as much to himself as Marty. “He’s a partner you know and Seb’s got a girl back home he’ll have to—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Marty said impatiently. “I swear Junior, you army men and your ‘brothers in arms’ shit. Do what you want, say what you want, just hurry the fuck up and sign.”
Marty wouldn’t hang up until John agreed to go find Colt the second the line disconnected.
Colt was holed up in the staff kitchen drinking sugar-free soda and playing a billiards game on his phone. John’s oldest friend had removed his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so the inordinately large
‘Live Free or Die’ tattoo on his forearm was exposed. Usually, he’d have given Colt shit for being such a waste of space, but not today. Today he leaned in the doorway and grinned. “Ever been to California?”
Colt didn’t look up. “Once or twice. Why, you need a tan?”
“The lady with the hat offered us a contract.”
He snorted. “Oh yeah? Skinning Dalmatians?”
“Try three hundred thousand dollars for six weeks’ work.”
Colt looked up, his eyes wider than silver dollars. “You fucking kidding me?”
“Nope. Job’s ours if we want it.”
“You signed the contract?”
“No, not yet.”
Colt shot to his feet. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
What the hell was he waiting for? For a moment John recalled the girl in the nightclub and the unease he’d felt when he stared at Elkin’s manila folder came rushing back in. Then he shook his head and it was gone. “We’re not waiting for anything. If Seb’s game then we’ll sign. Where is he?”
Colt strode toward John and pulled him into a half hug, half headlock. “I sent him out for coffee; let’s find him and turn it into beer.”