Risky Goods: Arcane Transporter 2 Page 7

  “Over by the Reserve.” He stepped around what appeared to be a pile of blankets. “It might be a waste of time. The file indicated that nothing out of the ordinary was found there or at his office at Origin.”

  “But,” I said as the lump of blankets moved, revealing one of the many who called the streets home.

  “But,” Zev agreed, ignoring the street sleeper as he headed toward the lot.

  I slowed, dug into my pocket, where I had a twenty stashed for just such an occasion, and stopped to tuck the money into a weathered fist. I returned the gap-toothed grin before catching up to where Zev waited at the lot’s entrance.

  His gaze shifted from the man huddled in the worn sleeping bag to me. “You do realize that was exactly what he wanted.”

  “Cynical much?” I strode past him, heading to my car.

  He stayed on my ass. “Realistic. If he has friends nearby, you just confirmed that you’re worth cornering for more.”

  “Or I just gave him enough to fill his stomach.”

  Either way, I wasn’t really worried about it. If his friends were foolish enough to come after me, they’d learn better. Not to mention, if they got by me, they’d have to get through Zev, and the outcome of that was almost guaranteed.

  “You don’t have a very high opinion of people, do you, Zev?”

  On dark eyebrow rose. “I only think highly of them if they’ve earned it.”

  That reaction was… well, I wasn’t sure if it was sad, depressing, or haunting, but it stung. We were almost to my Mustang when the hair on the back of my neck rose in warning, but my magic stayed inert. I stopped, my abrupt move bringing Zev to a halt at my back. Using him to block my movements from anyone watching, I angled a bit to look behind us, but Zev’s chest and shoulders were in the way.

  “What?” He started to turn his head.

  I pressed my hand against his chest. “Shh.” I let my gaze drift over the shadows pooling under the weak amber light spilling from the lone pole in the far corner. My hands rose to his shoulders, and I used them for balance as I got on tiptoe. The move let me to see behind him, but it also put my mouth close to his ear. “We’re being watched.”

  His hands went to my waist, the heat of them searing through my T-shirt. To anyone watching, we looked as if we were having an intimate moment. Zev lowered his head, his breath falling over the curve where my neck and shoulder met, and my grip on his shoulders tightened.

  “We interrupted a deal.” His lips brushed my skin as he spoke at a barely audible level. “By the dumpster.”

  It was a fleeting touch, but it rushed through me with unexpected force. For a moment, I lost my concentration. My lashes fluttered as my body shivered in a reaction that had nothing to do with Zev’s magic or mine. With a shaky breath, I angled my head enough to see the bulky shadow of the dumpster perched against the brick wall. Sure enough, the darkness shifted into two huddled figures doing their best to not attract our attention. Since my magic wasn’t scrambling in defense, I figured we were safe enough for the moment, but there was no way I was leaving my Mustang there.

  I dropped down until my feet were flat against the uneven ground. Zev didn’t let me go, so I slid down the front of his body. Mine gave an enthusiastic cheer and clamored for more, all but melting against him. My hands drifted down to rest against his ribs, right between what felt like number six and seven of a possible eight-pack. I tilted my head back and got caught in his glittering stare, my thoughts fracturing for a second before I managed to slap them back together.

  “Follow me?” It came out husky.

  That glitter in his dark gaze got brighter, and the fingers at my waist dug in then relaxed. “Where?”

  At his question, it hit me that our exchange could be interrupted on multiple levels, but I shook off the ill-timed thought. “The Guild. I’m not leaving my car here.”

  His head dipped, and then his mouth brushed mine with a fleeting touch that sparked a cascading storm. Before I could tumble into it, he drew back and let me go. “Probably for the best.” Despite the grit in his voice and the gleam in his eyes, he stepped back.

  The minute breathing room gave me a chance to gather my composure, I, too, stepped back, but not before I snuck in a quick stroke over those abs. His soft inhalation was barely discernible. My hands curled into fist, holding tight to the faint sensation of muscles flexing in reaction. “Right. So let’s hit the Guild, I’ll drop off my car, and then we can ride over to Jonas’s.”

  I dug my keys out of my pocket and then disarmed both the alarm and wards before Zev moved to his bike. I turned on my heel and got my door open, dropping into my baby. I pulled out of the lot with Zev on my ass. Then I spent the entire fifteen-minute trip to the Guild giving myself a stern talking-to. Unfortunately, it didn’t do me much good. By the time I pulled into the garage and parked, the part of me inexorably drawn to Zev was pouting and defiant, while my more practical side was shaking its head in exasperation.

  Zev pulled up alongside me, the throaty rumble of his bike filling the near-empty garage with a bone-rattling sound. I locked my car and headed over. He was twisted in his seat and bent over the side of his bike. When he straightened, his black helmet with its equally dark face shield turned to me.

  It was the only warning I got before he tossed something at me. I caught it and realized it was another helmet. Only under the light could you tell it was a deep blue, so deep that it appeared black. I put it on as I got close to his Harley. It was a beautiful beast in matte black, made to intimidate. Much like the rider driving it. Together, they painted a stunning picture that kick-started more than my rebellious hunger.

  I got on, tucking in close, my thighs bracketing his hips and my arms sliding around his waist. His scent, an enticing mix of sandalwood and male, left my recently lectured hormones cheering. My practical side threw up its hands in defeat and stomped away in disgust. The position of the pillion seat was just high enough for me to see over Zev’s shoulders, even pressed up against his spine.

  The click of a mic was the only warning I had before Zev’s voice curled through the helmet’s built-in speakers. “Ready?”

  “Yep.”

  Taking me at my word, he rocketed out of the garage. There was an art to riding pillion on a bike, one that required trust that the person driving wouldn’t splatter you all over the road. I had no problem giving Zev that kind of trust.

  As he sped through the night-slicked streets, I could feel my face stretch in a teeth-baring grin. Zev might not be a Transporter, but it was clear he was one with his bike. Riding with him was exhilarating, and the only way it could be even better would be if I were driving. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t be happening, so I settled in and enjoyed the ride.

  Caught up in the leashed power of the bike and the rider, I let that innate ability that made me a Transporter flare to life. Magic and speed wove together until moving with Zev was as natural as breathing. Time slipped away. Attuned, I closed my eyes in pure bliss and trusted Zev to get us where we needed to be.

  All too soon, Zev slowed. I forced my eyes open to see that we’d hit a neighborhood. As our speed eased, so did my magic until it was tucked away and that unique sense of connection dissolved into nothing but memory. Now that we were no longer racing the night, it was safe enough to unwind my arms and sit up. Before I could let go, Zev caught my hand. Heeding his silent request, I kept my hands on his hips, my chest to his spine.

  He made a few turns taking us deeper into the quiet neighborhood. While the street was veined with the lines of patched asphalt common to older neighborhoods, the ranch houses all showed signs of proud ownership. I loved neighborhoods like this. They were reminiscent of simpler times, when residents weren’t sitting on top of their neighbors or trying to squeeze mini-mansions into lots meant for modest homes. Homes sat back from large front yards, guarding decently sized backyards. I was pretty sure no one was overly concerned with a homeowner’s association here, but still, no one parked on the stre
et. The driveways were filled with SUVs, sedans, and vans. Not exactly the scene I pictured for a single male who pulled in good money doing research for Origin.

  The growl of Zev’s bike caused a couple of dogs to respond, but that was the extent of our passage. He pulled into the driveway of one of the smaller brick-faced ranch homes, triggering a security light. He stopped the bike in front of the narrow carport tucked on the side. A color-filled planter sat in front of a low brick wall that divided the home from the street. When Zev pulled off his helmet, I did the same and handed it over. He locked them to the bikes and led the way around the front. Following the walkway sandwiched between another brick planter and the home’s blue shuttered windows, we slipped by the darkened front window and the bistro set.

  Unconcerned with curious neighbors or potential security, Zev pulled open a wrought-iron security door. A muted set of beeps broke the quiet, and then he was stepping inside. I followed him in as he flicked on the light in the entryway.

  I was turning to close the door when what lay just beyond the entryway in the living room to the right came together. I paused with my hand on the door. We were not the first visitors. “Wasn’t the alarm on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh. Weird.” Although it hadn’t been much of a deterrent for whoever had come before, I closed the front door.

  Zev only grunted and moved to the edge of the living room. He used his foot to nudge aside a broken frame, revealing the cracked tile underneath. Broken glass scraped across the hard floor.

  I went to stand next to him as he studied the rampant destruction. “Must be the housekeeper’s year off.”

  “More like someone had a hell of tantrum.”

  Deep scratches marred the polished wood of the built-in shelves surrounding the torn-up drywall where the TV probably once sat. Now the television was facedown on the floor, cracks visible in the plastic back. A couple of the top shelves were crooked and barely holding on, but the rest were mixed in with the wreckage strewn across the floor. I looked at what remained of the shelves. It was almost as if someone had come through and cleared them in one brutal swipe, leaving behind broken piles of debris.

  The furniture hadn’t fared much better. The couch and cushioned chair looked as if massive claws had gone digging for gold. Stuffing from both pieces was scattered throughout, and tattered material hung on cracked wooden frames.

  Oddly, the mess appeared to be more for destruction’s sake than an actual search. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What were they looking for?”

  “Same thing as us, probably. Whatever they could find.” Zev kicked the debris that had spilled over into the hall that led farther into the house, clearing a path. “Come on.”

  I followed, picking my way through the mess. A repulsive smell crawled its way down my throat, growing stronger as we approached the kitchen. “You think they found anything?”

  Zev stopped where the kitchen opened to the hall. He turned his head toward me his nose wrinkled. “Hard to tell, but we’re going to check through this mess anyway.”

  Oh joy.

  The kitchen was a putrid mess that matched the devastation in the front room. One of the two fridge doors hung crooked, the contents spilling out into a nauseating jumble on the floor, clearly the origin of the suffocating stench. “Ugh!” I slapped my hand over my nose and breathed through my mouth in an effort not to lose my tacos. “I’m going to go over here.” I motioned down the hall, desperate to get away from the smell.

  I left Zev behind and headed farther in. The hall was strangely untouched, and as I worked my way back through the bathroom and two bedrooms, it was like walking backward through a progressively frustrated search. There was a violence to the destruction in the kitchen and living room that didn’t exist in the back bedrooms. The farthest room, which also happened to be the smallest, was the office. There was no computer on the desk, and I assumed it had been taken, most likely with the initial search instigated by the Trasks.

  I moved to the leather chair behind the uncluttered desk, sat down, and started pulling out drawers to rifle through the contents. When Zev’s presence hit the doorway, I spoke without looking up. “Was there anything in the file about what was on Jonas’s computer?”

  “Did you not read it?”

  Ignoring his note of censure, I said blandly, “Sabella gave it to me just before the meeting. I haven’t had time to study the details.”

  “No, his computer came up clean.”

  Okay, moving on. “How possible is it that whoever was here before us found something?”

  “Hard to tell, but considering the escalating destruction, I’m thinking they didn’t find anything either.”

  I looked up as he moved to the two-drawer file cabinet topped by a printer and a half-dead plant. “So, what? Third time’s the charm?”

  “Something like that.” He opened a drawer and began rummaging through the files. “According to Imogen, lab protocol required Jonas’s notes to be stored on Origin’s local network under high-priority security. When they examined those notes, there was nothing unusual or unexpected in them.”

  “And you think he’d keep information like that here?” I tugged on the bottom drawer, and it only opened a couple of inches. It was stuffed with papers.

  He half turned from the file drawers and motioned back toward the front of the house. “Obviously, we’re not the only ones who considered that.”

  “Why would he do that?” I yanked on the stuck drawer, but all that gained me was a sharp screech of wood. I tried again, and this time, I earned a few more inches. When I realized that Zev still hadn’t responded, I looked up.

  He had a file in his hands and was frowning, not at the file but at me. “Because I’m willing to bet both research teams crossed more lines than they’re admitting.”

  Well, at least we were on the same page there. “No doubt, but so far, Origin is the only one admitting to creating a possible serum.” I started fighting the stubborn drawer, determined to get it open.

  “I don’t think Trask was the only one with the serum.”

  “What? Do you think the teams were working together?” At his silence, I looked up to find him still frowning at me, his face dark.

  When my gaze hit his, the forbidding look eased, and his lips twitched. “Why do you say that like it’s hard to believe?”

  I gave the stupid drawer one last hard yank, and it finally gave up the fight. “Because LanTech and Origin were so keen on one-upping each other that they risked everything by going after Jeremy, even knowing the Cordovas wouldn’t forgive or forget.” I shook my head and began flipping through papers, skimming them for anything noteworthy. They were frustratingly mundane, a mix of billing statements and random correspondence, nothing that screamed top secret lab information. “Besides, even today at the meeting, it was clear there’s no love lost between Leander and Stephen.”

  “So? You think that because they hate each other, it would stop them from working together on something that would set them up for life even as it fundamentally shifted the existing status quo?” He folded his arms. “Especially if they controlled the serum that created that shift?”

  I sat in the chair and studied him. “But the council said that anything resulting from Lara’s research belongs to the Cordovas.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Rory, if they created a serum that could either restrain or boost magic of any mage, what would stop them from using that against the council to get what they wanted?”

  “The rest of our society wouldn’t stand by for that.”

  “Wouldn’t they?” The way he asked the question left me feeling foolishly naive. Before I could respond, he turned back to the drawer, thumbing through the files before continuing with a ruthless practicality. “If they had access to a weapon that would bring down even the most powerful, why wouldn’t they risk it?”

  Zev pulled out a file and flipped through it. He had a point, even if I didn’t want to admit it, which suck
ed big-time. Zev was crushing all my altruistic hopes for humanity under his cynical boot heel.

  “Is this how things work when it comes to Families?” I asked, thinking I might have to seriously reconsider my future, maybe look into finding a tiny island somewhere to hunker down until this storm passed.

  He put the file back, shoved the drawer closed, and went to the next one. “Maybe not all, but in this case, when it comes to the Trasks and the Clarkes, definitely.”

  I scrunched my nose and shoved at the sticky drawer. It barely moved. “That’s depressing.”

  “That’s life.”

  “Still depressing.” I kicked the bottom drawer in frustration and left it. “There’s enough paper here that we could be going through these files forever.” It was a mind-numbing thought.

  Zev left the filing cabinet and moved to the shelves, stepping carefully around the handful of books on the floor. “Yeah, I think this is a dead end.”

  I sat back in the chair. “Well, it’s safe to assume one thing.”

  Zev looked over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “Jonas knew something.”

  “I think the fact that he was turned into a crispy critter was proof of that.”

  Yeah, that’s definitely telling. Something from the Prism’s journal teased my mind. I reached for it, but it slipped away. “What about Jonas’s body?”

  “What about it?”

  “Anything on it? Wounds? Signs? Magical traces?” As soon as I asked the last, that memory drifted back. There had been a brief entry about how the Prism had been able to pick up lingering traces of a broken spell on a dead man. I’d need to go back and reread it to see if there was a chance that I could pick up something the coroner couldn’t. I have to try, right?

  Zev turned and braced his shoulder against the edge of the shelves, his brow furrowed in thought. “The autopsy report didn’t indicate anything unusual.”

  I took my first deliberate step out of my safe little box. “You think we could get in to see it?”

  He studied me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Maybe. You want to share why you want to see him?”