So I stalk the stalkers.
Cillian thought about the dark-haired girl. Eve. He’d stared at her picture frequently enough that he’d begun to feel like a perv. He wanted her not to be a victim or a criminal, but he couldn’t find any evidence to suggest which she was or any logical way she wasn’t one of the two. Nice girls don’t flirt with drug dealers. Nice girls don’t spend inordinate amounts of time at strip clubs. He was pretty sure of that—except everything else he could find on Eavan made her seem like a nice girl. She worked at her jobs for short periods, but her employment records were all flattering. She was average: modest clothes, nondescript reading habits, no odd purchases, not a single unexplained trip; in sum, there wasn’t anything at all that would flag her as criminal.
Still thinking about Eve, he let himself into the apartment he’d rented.
Just inside the door, he stopped. A cream-colored envelope sat propped up against a book on his kitchen table. No one knew he lived here other than his supervisors, and they weren’t the sort of people to leave notes with calligraphic lettering on his table.
A quick search of the tiny apartment revealed that he was alone. After donning a pair of gloves, he carefully opened the letter. Mr. Owens, If you’d like to resolve the D.B. problem you’re having, contact me. Nyx. Under it was an address in the historic district and a meeting time that was just late enough to be private.
Several hours later, Cillian parked up the block from the address on the note; he glanced again at the sheet of lilac paper sealed in the bag on his passenger seat as he cut off the engine. The paper, the calligraphic writing, the lavender scent on the paper—it wasn’t covert. It didn’t seem apropos of intrigue.
At least not any sort I’m used to. Prior to this assignment, he’d worked in the research and clean-up divisions of the C.D.A.
He closed the car door quietly and made his way up the flagstone path. A woman sat on the front porch. She looked to be in her thirties at most. She was stern, eyes too flat, smile too calculating; everything about her was predatory in the true sense of the word. Whispers of caution rose from that instinctual part of the mind: walk carefully, mind the escape routes.
“Mr. Owens, so nice of you to visit.”
“Nyx?” His voice was steadier than his emotions. He’d walked into altercations that resulted in hospital visits, but this beautiful, polite Southern woman in a semi-public location was setting off the same sort of alarms usually reserved for the truly unsavory.
What is she?
“Come.” Nyx patted the swing beside her. Then she reached over to a crystal decanter sitting on a side table. “Whiskey?”
“No thanks.”
“It’s not poisoned, dear.” She smiled a courtesan’s smile. “Poison isn’t a method I prefer. Too distant.”
Cillian paused midstep and looked around the porch and azaleas that lined the front of it. There were no other people he could see, nothing that looked dangerous. Except Nyx. He’d learned before his first year with the C.D.A. that criminals didn’t all look dangerous. Usually, though, they weren’t this odd combination of ballsy, blunt, and beautiful. “Is there another method I should be watching for?”
She laughed and poured herself a drink. “Sit down, Mr. Owens. The neighbors needn’t see you looking at me so cautiously. They’re used to my business, but discretion is always wise…especially in your business.”
He sat next to her, but not so close that he couldn’t reach his gun. “I’m not sure what you think you know, Ms.—”
“Nyx.” She sipped her drink and smiled. “It’s just Nyx.”
If not for the fear he felt as he sat beside her, he’d find her attractive. She was all curves and muscles, and none of it hidden. Thick dark hair fell around her like a cloak. She was near-naked from the waist up, clad in a sheer top over bare skin; dark aureoles and pert nipples more than visible. Not an inch of flesh was bared below the waist. A long skirt and boots hid her legs.
Why hide the rest of—
“I see the temptation in your expression,” Nyx said softly. “Trust me, Mr. Owens; you’re much better off not following those thoughts to completion.”
He was here on business. Ogling someone he might have to kill was bad form. He forced himself to hold her gaze.
And Nyx smiled then. Her posture hadn’t changed. Her spine was arrow-straight, making her very not-sagging breasts—
I’m not like this. He felt positively amoral. His libido was healthy enough, but he didn’t mix business and recreation. I’m not going to start, either. He caught and held her gaze. Like being held in the gaze of the snakes in the reptile house…without the safety of the glass.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She handed him a picture. “This is Eavan.”
Eve.
Cillian kept his face blank. “And?”
“The girl, my cousin Eavan, is getting mixed up with a man I’d rather she didn’t. You’re stalking him, so I thought we might help each other.” Nyx folded her legs up on the swing, angling her body so she was facing him. “I’d rather Daniel Brennan die. I find him…unpleasant, but Evvie would be cross with me if I killed him.”
“Do you often murder people you find unpleasant?” The words were out before he could think better of them. Despite looking like an ingénue, Nyx spoke with a callousness that made Cillian certain that the woman beside him was, indeed, capable of murder.
Nyx laughed. “I think we’ll both be happier if you don’t ask too many questions like that, Cillian. I know who you are. I know about the C.D.A., and I know that Mr. Brennan is a person of interest to your organization.” She lifted a folder from the floor and extended it to him. “Here’s a list of others you might want to investigate.”
She held it there while he reeled from how casually she listed top security clearance C.D.A. information.
Cillian reached out and took the folder. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’d be in? We’re talking about treason.”
She waved away his remark with a flick of her wrist. “Your government isn’t a concern of mine. I know what I know, and you’ll not let anyone find out about me. Do you think that there aren’t people who would erase the entirety of your organization if they realized that your superiors know about…people that treasure privacy? History is filled with stories of strange groups of people, secret societies if you will, vanishing. Your sort exist only because we’ve yet to decide how much of a threat you might be. I believe you can be harnessed and made useful. I need my cousin looked after, and you are getting nowhere with Mr. Brennan. It’s a simple business exchange.” She ran a finger absently through the beads of sweat sliding down her glass and licked a droplet from her fingertip before adding, “I’m trusting you, Mr. Owens.”
In seven years for the C.D.A., he’d never experienced anything quite as surreal as this meeting. Admitting that he understood that she was Other was a breach of several papers he’d signed under strictest security. She’s not human. She’s just admitted as much. That didn’t mean he could admit it though. He tucked away the questions he wanted answered and focused on the issues he could address: “A single phone call and you’ll be in jail or worse for the rest of your life. You can’t summon a government agent to your house and just…” He shook his head.
“I trust you because if you expose me or reveal the other unusual things you learn by accepting my offer, I’ll kill you, your sister in Miami, your nephew in Chicago…and your dear sweet father in”—she paused and tilted her head—“where was it? Phoenix, I believe?”