Chapter Eleven – Kris Cole

 

Kris looked around her boss’s office from behind his old desk as she sipped from her glass of bourbon.

Heavy wooden shelves loaded for bear with hundreds of books, leather furniture, thick carpet. All more than the agency could afford, really. Col. Harrington had been a special operations agent for decades before he started the agency, and he always seemed to understand human psychology. Had always understood that the most important part of getting high-paying clients for Full Moon Security was playing the part. Of looking like you deserved their money, if only because you didn’t desperately need it.

“What a lying piece of shit,” Kris mumbled as she downed the rest of her third glass, setting the empty tumbler on the desk in front of her as she grabbed the bottle and went to tip another few drams into it. “Liar, liar, I’ll set your pants on fire. Soon as I find you.”

And, as a dragonkin, she was quite capable of it.

Col. Harrington had up and disappeared months before, leaving the agency on shaky financial footing. Sure, Kris could have afforded to save it. Could have sunk her horde into it, brought it back into solid standing. But then the IRS might have gotten involved, begun to wonder where she was getting all the gold from. And, of course, it wouldn’t have fixed any of their systemic problems. Problems of a bunch of male shifters who only wanted to hunt down supernatural creatures, who always seemed to have to grit their teeth and bear it when a paying job came through.

Her old boss had been able to control this rabble. Hadn’t needed to cajole or threaten them like she sometimes did. Kris was getting a handle on it, of course, but it was slow going.

She settled back in the plush and comfortable desk chair, and crossed one long leg over the other as she  held the glass in both hands, staring down into its amber contents. Brooding was good. Brooding worked.

She looked out through the open office door. To the empty offices beyond, and the empty receptionist desk. The overhead lights had already, in an effort to conserve energy and make Full Moon Security more green, shut off for the night.

At first, Kris had nearly grieved about Harrington just disappearing the way he had. He was the closest thing to a father figure in her life, especially after her own had passed. There’d been no warning, no foreshadowing of what was about to happen. Just one day he was there, and the next he didn’t show up at the Full Moon offices, or answer his phone. His house was as empty as a tomb, and his sidearm had gone with him.

Then, as time had gone on, and she’d come to believe he was still alive and free out in the wider world, she’d become a little upset. How dare he leave her with this burden? With his burden? He’d never asked her to take over the agency by herself. Only expected her to be a second-in-command. His right hand dragon, as it were.

But, now that some mysterious source was sending the agency gigs, and allowing them to continue their sort of pro bono work of hunting down supernatural creatures, she didn’t know how to feel. At least they were back on mission. Back on point.

Because that’s what mattered for all of them. The mission. Otherwise, all of this was a waste. Sure, the whole “being able to pay their bills” thing with mundane work was welcome. But it hadn’t been why they’d created the agency in the first place.

No, the shifters of Full Moon Security had banded together to create something to help people who couldn’t help themselves.

After the little intrusion into their lives last month, which had sent Sam down to hunt a vampire in East Texas, Kris had launched her own investigation into Harrington’s world of secrets.

Now, Hunter Jackson was trying to find where the keys in the colonel’s house belonged.

Because what man had dozens of keys to padlocks and storage lockers in the drawer of the desk in his home office?

A man who was trying to hide something, that’s who.

But, all Kris Cole could do was sit and wait, while Hunter searched for clues to where the locks might be. Where they might lead. What doors they might open.

Kris tipped back the rest of the bourbon, swallowing down the burning liquid with relish, letting it warm her all the way down to her toes. As a dragonkin, there were few things she enjoyed more than actually finding something that warmed her down to her bones.

“Thank god for human ingenuity,” she mumbled, going to pour one more, her vision just now beginning to swim. She’d take a cab home, she figured, to the nearby apartment she rented. Or, maybe, she’d just sleep on the couch here. She’d have to be back first thing in the morning anyways, so why bother leaving?

Realizing what her plans were for the evening, she leaned back in the chair and threw her head back against the headrest. “Great,” she said with her eyes closed, before groaning in abject resignation. “Now I’m a workaholic.”

“Few more of those,” said a voice from the other side of the room, “and you’ll start expanding your -aholic repertoire.”

Before Kris’s eyes even snapped open, her hand was on the top drawer where she kept her sidearm, her fingers already pulling it open so she could arm herself. Immediately, her shoulders began to loosen when she realized who her unexpected guest was.

“Relax,” Hunter said. “It’s just me.”

Kris took her hand slowly from the drawer, breathing a sigh of relief. She hadn’t exactly relished the idea of getting involved in a shoot out this late in the evening, especially not when she was already a few drinks deep.

The Gray Fox, as he had been known in his past life before the Paranormal Research Board and Full Moon Security, leaned against the door frame of Kris’s office, arms crossed. That stupid little cocksure half-grin on his lips, his shoes polished, his nails manicured despite the calluses on his fingers. He’d taken off his suit coat, for once, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows to show off his defined forearms.

She gave the bottle of bourbon a nudge, moved it less than a handbreadth towards him. “You interested?”

He pushed off from the frame and strode into the room, every step confident and fluid. When Hunter had been the Gray Fox, he’d worked as a cat burglar, con artist, and all around thief. He was the best safe cracker on either side of the Mississippi, and knew keys like the back of his hand.

Also, he was a dragon, just like Kris.

The two of them couldn’t have been any more different, though.

“Any luck?” she asked as he stopped in front of her desk and picked up the bottle.

“I think so,” he replied as he examined the label. “A lead, at least.”

Kris sobered up nearly immediately. A lead on one of Col. Harrington’s keys? The first lead in a damned month? “What the hell, Hunter? You couldn’t have called down here and told me?”

He dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand, before setting the bottle back down on the desktop. “Wasn’t sure you were still here, Kris. I mean, I should have known better.” His eyes shifted from hers to the bottle of bourbon. “Going to offer a gentleman a drink, but not a glass? How uncouth, Kris.”

She rolled her eyes and reached down to one of the bottom drawers. She pulled it open, asking, “Should have known better? What’s that supposed to mean?” She withdrew a glass and slid it across the desk to him, narrowly missing a stack of files.

He caught the glass with an agile hand, and positioned it in front of himself. “Nothing bad, I swear. Might almost say I meant it as a compliment. You’re as dedicated to this agency as Harrington ever was.” He sniffed as he swept the bottle of liquor into his hands, twisted off the cap, and began to pour a couple fingers’ worth. “More so, now that I consider it. After all, you haven’t left us high and dry, have you?”

“I suppose not,” she admitted. “So you found something, then? What?”

“Can’t a man enjoy his drink, first?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink and wincing a little at the burn.

“Cheers,” Kris said, raising her glass to him. They both took deeper drinks, eyeing each other over the rims of their glasses the whole time. “Now, tell me what you found.”

“Know what I like about you, Kris?”

“That I keep liquor and an extra glass stashed in my desk drawer?”

“No,” he said, giving her that damn half-smile of his as he set his glass back on the desk. “It’s that you’re all business. You can separate the personal from the practical every time.”

She was getting a little tired of this. It was late, and he’d been working on this thing for damn near a month. And now she was sick of being teased with information. If he had something, he needed to put it on the table. After all, he was getting something out of this whole deal, too: his freedom.

Kris sighed, rolling her eyes again. “Hunter, quit trying to fucking butter me up, here.” She rested her elbows on the edge of the desk as she leaned forward, nearly baring her teeth like a wolf. “Just tell me, or get the fuck out.”

He smirked again and arched an eyebrow as, with a flick of his wrist, a key appeared in his hand.

Taken a little aback, she blinked as she settled back into her chair. “Doing magic tricks now? Is that what you’ve been reduced to?”

“Ha ha,” Hunter replied as he tossed the key down in front of her. “Just a little sleight of hand. Useful in my old line of work. Besides, it keeps the fingers nimble.”

Kris glanced down at the key. “And that?”

“One of the keys you brought me.”

“Clearly.”

He took a drink of his whiskey, set the glass back down on her desk. “I’m going to be honest with you, Kris. I was the wrong man for this job. The only reason I took the offer was because you promised to help me find the blackmail Harrington has on me.”

“Wrong man, huh?” She nodded to the key on her desk. “What’s that, then?”

“The fruit of diligence, frustration, and perseverance. You brought me those keys, but I’ve never really been one for keys, as such.” He wiggled his fingers. “After all, I normally use these and a set of picks.”

Kris snorted, shook her head. “Well, you still haven’t proved you are now. What’s with the key? Something special about it?”

“Not directly, no. But, I did manage to discover what kind of lock it goes to.” He seemed to flick his wrist again, and a black disc about the size of Kris’s closed fist appeared in his hand.

She furrowed her brow. “Picking up hockey?”

He grinned a little as he put it down next to the key. “This isn’t a hockey puck. It’s a lock.” He pushed it forward over the desk, sliding it like an air hockey puck till it came to rest in front of her. “Very secure, too.”

She grabbed the lock, picked it up. On one side of the disc was the keyhole and plate. But the rest of it was almost devoid of markings. To the point where Kris was confused as to how the damn thing actually worked.

“Flip it over,” Hunter suggested.

While looking up at the handsome cat burglar, Kris flipped the hockey-puck-style lock over and saw the slot on the back.

“You put that over the latch itself,” he explained, glass of whiskey still in hand, “then you turn the key and secure the shackles. If someone comes at it with a pair of bolt cutters or a hack saw, they’re certainly inconvenienced.”

“Interesting,” Kris admitted as she set the puck back on the desk. “But I still don’t see how it helps us find whatever Harrington’s hiding behind those locks.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he replied. “You see, these are pricey locks, and not incredibly common, since they only work on specific types of latches because of their design.”

“So, what? We just find all the storage units in the area where he could have used this style of lock?”

He smiled. “Precisely.”

She sighed. “Great. How long are we looking at for that? Another month?”

He made a face, putting a hand to his chest as if he were hurt. “Kris, I’m astonished you’d think that I would come to you without any truly useful information. What do you take me for? One of those other shifters in the agency? I’m a professional, after all.” He reached into the left back pocket of his slacks and withdrew a carefully folded piece of printer paper, holding it up for her to see.

“What’s that?” she growled. “Another list of possible locks?”

“No,” he said, now taking his turn to roll his eyes as he stuck out the sheet to her in offering, “not at all. It’s a list of possible storage units. That is what most of this month was spent doing. Calling nearly every storage unit within a hundred-mile radius of the city. Do you even know how many there are around here?”

She snatched it out of his hand, unfolded it.

Five businesses, with their names, addresses, and phone numbers, were printed on the page in tight computer font. “This is it?” she asked. “Only five? I figured there’d have been more.”

“So did the lock manufacturer, I imagine.”

Kris found herself smiling as she looked up at Hunter. “You know what this means, right?”

“That you have a new direction to look in.”

“Correction,” she said, smiling more broadly as her eyes glowed a faint green, “we have a new direction. You’re going to help me find out if Harrington opened up units at any of these locations.”

His face dropped. Clearly, he didn’t relish the idea of driving around to those different units to investigate them in person. “Both of us?” he asked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” she replied, pushing back from the desk and going to stand. Her grin widened as she grabbed her glass and poured a bit more whiskey into the bottom. “We’re going to find what Harrington’s been hiding. And, I guarantee that if we find that, we’ll find him.”

“What then?” Hunter asked as she raised the glass to her lips.

She paused, looking past him to the loads of books stacked on the shelves, to the spot right around where she and Sam had found the burner adhered to the wall just the month before. “Then?” she asked, before downing the little bit of whiskey left in the glass. “Then, we find out why the fuck he abandoned us.”