Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta Book 4) Read online

  And Bishop, in turn, hadn’t sensed anyone else following them.

  That didn’t mean much when anyone who blended in could hang out in the lobby and get a detailed rundown of almost everyone’s schedule, social life developments, and horoscope sign reading for the night. Gwyllgi loved to gossip almost as much as they loved to eat.

  An enforcer working out of the Faraday made the most sense as their firebug. The OPA was a possibility, but it fit that an enforcer overheard a rumor about their date night and set their plans in motion. An enforcer would also have known ahead of time when the Knoxville pack was in town, and how much chaos they brought with them. An enforcer could have made certain they were in the lobby, hidden in plain sight, to overhear any plans that were made. That could explain why the bar blew after Hadley left.

  A bomb took time to place, set, and detonate. To get in and out again on the fly would prove difficult. To go undetected? Almost impossible. Unless you were a local the visitors had recognized and dismissed as a threat.

  Had the Knoxville pack’s arrival sparked this latest outbreak of violence? Or was the coven lashing out in response to Hadley’s family visiting? Either way, the combination formed a perfect storm of distractions.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?”

  Midas glanced over at Hadley to discover they had circled back around to the Faraday. “Everything.”

  “I get that.” She took his hand. “Are you up for visiting Abbott with me?”

  “You just don’t want to be alone with him.”

  “He’s started harping on me taking vitamins,” she grumbled. “How does that make me less flammable?”

  “Maybe he wants you to live a long and healthy life, flame retardation aside?”

  “Please?” She leaned in and fluttered her lashes at him. “I’ll pay for your cooperation in hot wings.”

  Neither of them had felt up to eating on patrol, but a headache was settling in from the lack of calories.

  “Only if you spring for extra ranch.” He led her to the elevator. “Abbott is only pushy because he cares.”

  “He’s worse than a mother hen.” Her shoulders drooped. “Always pecking at me.”

  The doors slid open on Abbott, who stood waiting for them, and she greeted him with a low groan.

  “How did you know?” She curled her lip at the pills on his palm. “It was Hank, wasn’t it?”

  Mumbling death threats, she picked up the red and purple children’s chewable vitamins and ate them.

  Midas kept his tone light. “Flintstones?”

  “She won’t swallow pills.” Abbott held up a bottle. “This is the only brand she’ll accept.”

  “Vitamins are horse pills,” she complained. “Plus, they taste funny.”

  “Mom takes these individually wrapped cubes that resemble Snickers bars. Mybite, maybe?”

  Hadley snapped her heads toward him. “What?”

  “Hey.” Hands up, Midas stepped back. “I would have mentioned it sooner if I had known.”

  “Find me that brand,” she bargained with Abbott, “and I solemnly swear I will devour nougaty vitamins of my own free will.”

  “Done.” He dug out his phone and sent a text. “I’ll forward the information after Tisdale verifies.”

  “Thank you.” She worked her mouth like the remaining grit bothered her. “Now, we have to talk.”

  Mood brighter, Abbott led them to his office. “Come on in.”

  Once Hadley and Midas sank into their respective chairs, Abbott shut them in and locked the door.

  Leaning forward, Hadley asked, “Have you made any progress on field testing for hosts?”

  “Yes and no.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “We have a test that’s accurate four out of five times.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “The problem is how the test is administered.” He linked his hands on his lap. “Accuracy is dependent on a fresh blood sample akin to a diabetic pricking their finger to test their blood sugar levels.”

  “Not exactly inconspicuous,” Midas said, reasoning it out. “The host and—whatever we’re calling the skins being worn—would know they had screwed up and were under suspicion.”

  “Blood sugar testing takes seconds.” Hadley frowned. “It would be harder for them to dodge us than if we had to send off samples for results.”

  “I doubt they would let it get that far.” Midas crossed his ankle over his knee. “They would see the finger stick and bolt. Or attack.”

  A close cousin to amusement brightened her face. “That would make it even easier to spot them.”

  “Unless they suffer trypanophobia,” Abbott explained at their blank expressions. “Fear of needles?”

  “Okay,” Hadley rallied, “so it’s an imperfect solution.”

  “Right now, the kit consists of a lancing device, lancets, and a meter,” Abbott explained. “I have one.”

  “One meter?” Hadley bounced her leg. “Or one to spare?”

  “Both.” Abbott rose to his feet. “You can use the prototype, should an opportunity present itself.”

  “I’m not sure how much good it will do.” She held out her hand. “It can’t hurt, though.”

  Actually, it would hurt. A lot. For such tiny needles, they inflicted a disproportionate amount of pain.

  Abbott lifted a finger and left the room, and her arm dropped to her side as she waited for his return.

  “Where is Superman and his X-ray vision when you need him?”

  Midas ran a hand down her back. “I don’t recall him spending much time in Atlanta.”

  Rising with a sigh, she rolled her shoulders to stretch them. “We need our own superhero.”

  “We have one.”

  The flicker of a smile was there and gone before he could savor it, but she plopped down on his lap, which was even better.

  “Any ideas for my outfit?” She traced a finger over his lips. “I’ve watched crap-tons of science fiction and fantasy movies. Women end up draped in chains, cinched in leather, or poured into spandex. Which will it be?”

  The hard clench in his gut was nothing new when it came to Hadley, but his desire still held the power to surprise him. It had been so long since he craved touch, since he had allowed himself to want, he tingled with need for her.

  “It depends on if you plan on wearing this outfit in public or strictly when we’re at home.”

  A throat cleared as Abbott rejoined them. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all.” Hadley kissed Midas’s cheek. “You have the kit ready?”

  “I do.” Abbott reclaimed his perch. “Now.” He clasped his hands. “Are you on any birth control?”

  Hadley shot out of Midas’s lap and was standing at the door as his arms closed over air.

  “I’m not having this discussion.” She slapped her hands over her ears, bolted, then called back, “Ever.”

  Midas chuckled until Abbott reached behind him, opened a drawer, and tossed him a box he fumbled twice.

  “You are being careful?” Abbott folded his arms over his chest. “You’re newly mated, and with the city in turmoil at the moment, I doubt either of you are ready to entertain the idea of pups.”

  Slow heat climbed from the base of Midas’s neck up into his cheeks. “We’ve been careful.”

  More careful than the tatters of his male pride allowed him to confess, even to his healer and friend.

  “That ought to last you a while.” Abbott rose. “Call down, and I can have more sent up as needed.”

  The tips of Midas’s ears flamed red when he noticed the box was full of condoms. Dozens of them.

  “I should go check on Hadley.” He shot to his feet then lifted the box. “Um, thanks.”

  “Not at all.”

  Halfway out the door, Abbott cleared his throat again. “The kit?”

  “Yes.” Midas threw on the brakes and pivoted toward him. “The kit.” He took the pouch. “Thanks.”

  The healer’s c
huckles flowed into the hallway and chased Midas into the elevator.

  “That man…” Hadley began, palms on her flushed cheeks. “He’s so…so…”

  “Yes,” Midas agreed, torn between sharing his pain and hiding the evidence.

  Sadly, the silver panels clued her into the presence of the box in his hand, and she started laughing.

  “He didn’t.” She leaned around Midas. “He did not.”

  “Oh.” Midas handed them over. “He did.” He cringed. “He also offered to send up more as needed.”

  The doors opened on the top floor before she could answer, and she stepped out into the hall.

  “I smell Boaz.” Midas tipped his head to one side. “Addie too.”

  The hope in her voice almost trumped his embarrassment. “From last night?”

  “From about an hour ago.”

  The door swung open, and Boaz stood on the threshold. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “I have to talk to Linus about letting randos into our home,” she muttered at Midas. “Hello, Boaz.”

  “What do you have there?” He stole the box with glee. “Bonbons? Truffles? Cup…” he recoiled as if a snake sat on his open palm, “…cakes?”

  “Give me those,” Hadley hissed and snatched them back.

  Addie popped her head out into the hall, and she beamed at Hadley and then at him.

  “Hi, guys.” She wiggled her fingers. “I made dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Hadley said stiffly. “Make yourselves at home.”

  “We haven’t eaten tonight.” Midas rested his palm against Hadley’s lower back. “Thanks for cooking.”

  “That—” Boaz pointed, rediscovering his voice, “—is a box of condoms.”

  “Yes, dear.” Addie wrapped her hand around his finger, led him inside, and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  When Hadley made no move to follow Addie into their apartment, Midas gave her a gentle shove.

  “You need to eat,” she said under her breath. “It’s not good for you to go so long without food.”

  In reversing their roles, she found her feet, and he was happy to let her use him as her motivation.

  “I hope you like Italian.” Addie stood over the stove. “We’ve got chicken parm, cheesy baked ziti, garlic bread, bolognaise, and pappardelle that’s a little thinner noodle than I meant for it to be.”

  “It smells fantastic.” Midas’s mouth watered. “You made all this?”

  “It’s cheaper to eat in than to go out.” She set a stack of plates and a handful of silverware on the counter, indicating dinner would be served buffet-style. “Plus, we can talk here without fear of slipping up or being overheard.”

  “Hadley is learning to cook,” Midas bragged. “She’s very good.”

  “That’s great, Hadley.” Addie tossed a hand towel over her shoulder. “If you’re not too busy, we can do this again tomorrow night.” She beamed at her. “We can tag team dinner.”

  Hadley wasn’t the only one more comfortable in the role of caretaker, and in Addie’s case, he understood why she felt the need to fuss over Hadley. Her little sister had suffered from chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia. She had been housebound and often bedridden from the pain and exhaustion. Addie had been her caretaker, and just because this Hadley wasn’t her Hadley, she couldn’t seem to flip the switch of sisterly affection.

  “I can try.” Hadley thawed, unable to resist Addie’s warmth. “You’re more advanced than I am.”

  “You can set the menu,” she offered. “I’ll help you learn to cook whatever you like while I’m here.”

  “That would be amazing.”

  The sisters chatted while Midas and Boaz filled plates for them and then made their own. They moved to the dining room and settled in for a family dinner that reminded Midas of growing up in the den.

  After his second helping, Midas sat back in his chair. “Are you comfortable in your temporary quarters?”

  “The apartment is great.” Addie pushed a tomato cube around her plate. “Four bedrooms, so plenty of space for everyone.”

  The reminder of who else had joined them shot tension into Hadley’s shoulders. “How is…Dad?”

  “Good.” Her smile was more of a grimace. “Ready to see the art installation, but it opens tomorrow.”

  “He’s butting heads with Mother.” Boaz rolled his eyes. “They weren’t thrilled with the original hotel choice. Now they’re not thrilled with staying in a guest apartment. They’ve fought over food, luggage, and the choice of rental vehicle. I half expected them to start yelling ‘his leg touched my leg’ or ‘she keeps looking at me’ during that last half hour of the drive.”

  “They’re both used to being top dog.” Addie rubbed the spot between her eyes. “I’m with Boaz, though. I was ready to muzzle them halfway into the trip.” She flinched. “No offense meant, Midas.” She bit her lip. “Not that you are a dog, but I don’t want you to think that I think that—”

  “You’re fine,” he assured her. “You didn’t offend me.”

  “So.” Hadley crunched on garlic bread. “The real reason you keep inviting yourselves over is revealed.”

  Grimacing, Addie dropped her fork. “We’re not imposing, are we?”

  “No.” Hadley reached across the table to her. “I’m teasing.”

  Fingers linking, she gave a playful tug. “Then you won’t mind if we stay and watch a movie?”

  “I don’t want to say we’re desperate.” Boaz scratched his jaw. “But we’re desperate.”

  Withdrawing to her side of the table, Hadley leaned into Midas and whispered, “Do you mind?”

  Though he would rather spend the predawn hours cuddling her, alone, he said, “Not at all.”

  “The man of the house says you’re welcome to stay.”

  Amused, Midas countered, “Only because the woman of the house asked so nicely.”

  A sour expression twisted Boaz’s features, but Addie was all but clapping her hands with glee.

  The Pritchards had disowned Amelie after her crimes and her bargain with Ambrose were exposed. For that reason alone, Midas understood why Hadley hadn’t asked after her mother and why the others kept mentions of Matron Pritchard to a minimum. He couldn’t shake the impression Hadley’s silence stemmed from more than that one act of betrayal, but she would explain, when she was ready.

  And if she never unburdened herself, he would accept that too. Just as she had accepted his past.

  The four of them pitched in to make cleanup fast and painless, and they reclaimed their spots on the couch from the night before. They settled on an action flick to balance the scales after the romcom, but the movie didn’t matter. The point was spending time together, and Midas wanted Hadley to soak up all the love she could get before Boaz and Addie returned home.

  With Hadley using his shoulder as her pillow, Midas lowered his lashes to watch her observe her brother teasing Addie, who humored him with softness in her eyes. He knew she worried about them, but Midas saw the affection between them. Their marriage might have been arranged, but they were trying to make it work.

  Midas wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, only that he woke in an empty apartment with a note stuck to his forehead and a blanket pulled up to his chin.

  A knock on the door provided him with the reason he was up earlier than usual, and he was tempted to pretend he didn’t hear and go back to sleep.

  After he removed the note, saving it for when his eyes were less blurry, he trudged to the door and found Ares waiting on him with blood smeared across one cheek.

  Yeah.

  Some nights it didn’t pay to get out of bed.

  Six

  As I sipped my second café mocha of the night, I listened to Reece’s update, plucked straight from the cleaners’ database, and regretted the sweet fullness curdling my stomach.

  The wall in front of me was painted an unrelieved black, and the two rows of monitors anchored there blended in when not in use. The up
per row held four monitors, each about thirty-four inches and filled with the shadowed outline of a teammate. We had a full house tonight, which was always nice. The lower row mirrored the one above it, but those were always on and flashing surveillance mooched off city cameras as well as our own private mounts.

  “Station Thirteen retrieved fourteen bodies,” he announced. “Eleven of those were gwyllgi, so it’s safe to assume they’re the Knoxville pack members Claudia reported missing. We’ll have conclusive results in two weeks. The other patrons are unidentified, except for one regular whose wife called in to ask if her husband had been found since he, and I quote ‘parked his ass on the same stool five nights a week and drank until he fell off it.’”

  The cleaners would handle identifying the remains and notifying the families, so there wasn’t much for me to do on that front but wait for the results and see what dots they connected for us later.

  “We’re almost through the list of Choco-Loco employees.” Anca rustled papers on her desk. “All the alibis we’ve been given have checked out so far, but this changes things. Under the circumstances, I doubt we’re dealing with an employee.”

  “Send me half of what’s left.” Lisbeth vanished from the screen then returned with a mug. “I can help.”

  “Thank you,” Anca said warmly. “I appreciate it.”

  “Once we eliminate Choco-Loco’s staff, we’ll get started on the bar workers.” Lisbeth shrugged. “Probably a waste of time, given the second location, but better safe than sorry, right?”

  “Right.” I sloshed my drink, which had gone cold. “You ladies have my thanks.”

  “What about the origins?” Milo drummed his fingers. “Any commonality there?”

  “Both the fire and the bomb were set in the women’s bathrooms.”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re dealing with a woman.” Lisbeth hummed. “It’s not like there are bathroom police, and the stalls are private.”

  “We can speculate the arsonist entered the ladies’ room at Choco-Loco out of habit and at the bar out of necessity,” Anca said, “but we can’t afford to eliminate half our suspect pool based on conjecture.”

  “Neither establishment uploaded their security footage to a cloud,” Reece added, annoyance in his tone. “They kept their backups on site. Needless to say, any evidence on the recordings was destroyed along with the equipment.”