Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(16)

The moment I felt the tear roll down my cheek, I hated myself for showing my emotions. “You made me a promise.”

“Aye. And I’ll keep that promise,” he said, taking a step back. “Even if it means losing you as a partner. Do you think I didn’t contemplate returning to Ireland to see if my sister was looked after? Nature has to take its course. You can’t interfere. Even after I scrub your father’s memory, it won’t remove the emotions. They’ll linger, and if he’s gotten over your disappearance and death, he might end up reliving those feelings all over again without knowing why.”

When Christian returned inside, my heart sank. What if he was right? What if visiting my father ended up being the catalyst that turned him back to the bottle? What right did I have to erase the peace he’d probably found after five years?

Even still, I couldn’t back out.

I needed to see him.

I needed to know.





Chapter 6





“That was the worst breakfast in God’s creation,” Wyatt remarked from his office chair.

Ignoring his complaint, I stared at my file on the floor in front of me.

“I thought the jam was marvelous,” Gem said from the beanbag chair.

Wyatt’s laugh ended with a snort. “That’s because it was the only thing she didn’t burn. Toast I get. And I’ll even forgive bacon. But how do you burn eggs?”

“Will you two pipe down so I can concentrate?” Shepherd grumbled. He’d taken over the sofa and surrounded himself with papers.

Since Wyatt had a lot of territory to cover with recent black market offers, he’d printed them all out for us to review while he monitored the new listings in search of a baby. The whole team was present except for Claude and Christian.

It was official. One of Viktor’s contacts with the higher authority had hired Keystone to take on the case of the murdered woman and stolen child, so Viktor gave us the green light to begin as soon as possible. The team had put away their side projects to focus solely on the case.

“Is Claude still out?” I asked.

Viktor crossed his legs from his chair in the corner. “He believes the fates will deliver us the killer on a silver platter.”

Claude owned the killer’s scent, and he wanted to scout the area and visit some popular bars where the seedy lowlifes hung out. Basically, he thought there was a chance he could pick up the guy’s scent and solve the case.

Nothing in life came that easy.

“Is there nothing I can do to help?” Niko leaned on Wyatt’s desk and gripped the edge. He’d taken two sections of his ebony hair on either side and tied them together in the back, highlighting his carved cheekbones.

Wyatt kept his eyes on the computer screen. “Sorry, buddy. I could order a braille printer and see if those work.”

Niko turned his head away. “It would be an excessive waste of paper if it’s just going to be discarded.”

I rubbed my eyes. “What about the report I gave you a half hour ago, Wyatt?”

He spun around in his chair, a pen between his teeth. “The sellers don’t always get back to you right away. He finally sent more info. Dead end. The kid was seven.”

I took the last page in my pile and placed it with the others. “Well, I figured if I couldn’t find the baby on the auction block, I’d make use of my time and organize the papers. Slave trade, pile one. Mage infusing, pile two. Murder for hire, pile three. And I have questions about pile four.”

Wyatt held his stomach and grimaced. “What kind of questions?”

“Most of them were marked ‘cemetery plots.’ I was going to put them in the murder-for-hire pile but thought I’d ask first.”

He leaned back. “Those aren’t killers. Those people will bury your enemy alive for a long, long time. It’s an archaic tradition. Gravewalkers still check cemeteries, but some of the black market traders don’t necessarily bury immortals where someone can find them. At least, not until the land is bulldozed for home construction or a Walmart.”

Gem shifted in the black beanbag chair to my left and squinted at him. “What’s wrong with you? You’re all sweaty.”

“I think it was the eggs.”

“Maybe it’s Ebola,” she suggested. “Played with any monkeys lately?”

Wyatt looked green and finally stood up to leave. I felt a twinge of guilt when he left the room holding his stomach, but in my defense, I’d never had to cook breakfast for so many people at once. Even in the years when I had an apartment—before I’d become a crossbreed—I didn’t do much cooking.

“I’ll make something better tonight,” I promised.

Viktor shook his head. “Nyet. Not tonight.”

I was about to argue until I remembered why. “Damn, we have that dinner thing to go to. Is it too late for me to back out? We’ve got all this work to do.”

Shepherd stood up and crossed the room. He dropped a file in Wyatt’s chair and locked his fingers around the back of his neck as he stretched out his muscles. “The victim’s name was Jennifer Moore.”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked up.

Shepherd leaned against the long desk next to Niko. He took a cigarette from the pack on the desk and struck a match. “I combed through everything we could find on her. She was a Sensor who worked at Club Nine.”