Authors: Alexandra Kane
She didn't answer, but held out her open palm, effectively dismissing him. “Marcelo, where are you? Mmm Hmm. I'll meet you there in 45. I'll be needing your help on a case. Okay. Bye.”
He rolled his eyes.
God, she's rude.
Ending the call, she turned to him again. “Alright, let's go.”
***
When they were dismissed from the briefing, Tatiana gestured to the confused looking man she'd been partnered with. “Come on, Agent Groves, let's get going.” Before he could respond she strode out. She was the lead on this case and he would just have to keep up.
The rain had finally stopped, leaving the grass damp and glistening in the fading light. Dusk began to fall, painting the sky like a canvas with shades of orange, pink and purple.
She was outside, unlocking her car door when he came jogging out. “Do you have to walk so fast?” he groused. “And shouldn't we take the same vehicle?”
“I'm a tigress, so I naturally move that way.” Sliding into the driver seat of her blue sedan, she peered up at him through the still open door. “We are taking the same car...mine. So get in.”
He made a sound, something like a groan and a gasp combined. “Why should we take your car? Mine's bigger.”
She rolled her eyes. So Mr. Trench Coat didn't get it. She remembered the way his eyes raked over her body when she'd arrived. He'd been doing two things: sizing her up, and lusting after her. “I'm leading this investigation, Johnny Boy, so it's my rules, my tactics ,and my car.”
“Are you serious?” His face twisted into a frustrated frown. “You really want to start things off with that attitude?” He stuck his large hands into the pockets of his trench and stared at her, waiting.
As if I'm going to cave and take his car
.
“Get in the car, Johnny Boy." She closed the door and started the engine.
Throwing his hands up, he stalked around to the passenger side and got in. His tall, broad frame monopolized the front of the vehicle. Buckling his seat belt, he leveled those dark, serious eyes on her. “For the record, don't call me Johnny Boy again. You may be the lead on the case but you will not disrespect me.”
Running a hand through her short curls as she swung the car out of its space, she nodded. If he was that sensitive, who knew how this would all turn out? Glancing at him, she found him still glaring at her, so she assumed her nod wasn't good enough. “Alright, I won't call you that again. Happy?”
He sank back into his seat, stoic and stiff. “Sure, ecstatic.”
She smiled slightly. He was pouting, and they both knew it. Even with that sour puss, she had to admit he was handsome. Big, dark, and broad shouldered, just the way she usually liked them.
Be a damn shame if he wears that screw face all day.
Refusing to apologize for taking command, as she was assigned to do, she focused on driving. Marcelo would be expecting her.
Marcelo Spirelli, whom she referred to as her “Italian connection,” owned a landscaping company by day. At this very moment he was negotiating his services with a church in downtown Raleigh. She smiled as she thought of his broad grin and devil may care attitude.
He's nothing like Johnny Trench Coat, thank God.
She hadn't called Marcelo to prune her rosebushes, though. He was one of the most powerful sorcerers in the area, and a case involving sublimers would definitely benefit from his expertise.
By the time they got off of US-1 near the campus of North Carolina State University, she glanced over and saw that the tight face he'd been wearing had softened. Since she rarely drove with the radio on, the silence inside the car was palpable.
She was idling at the stoplight of Hillsborough Street and Park Avenue when she heard him say, “Is
that
your usual work attire?”
Is he for real?
“No, it's not,” she answered, failing to keep the annoyance out of her tone. “I was out for a run when I got the call, and this leotard is specially made to shift with me so random folks in the woods don't get to see my goodies.”
He released a deep, rumbling chuckle.
She set her attention back on driving.
Then he blurted, “Okay, but don't you think you should change?”
“Why?” Pulling in to the parking lot of First Baptist Church on Edenton Street, she cut the engine. “I'm just as good at what I do, no matter what I wear.”
“I don't mean that, I just meant...”
“What? That my attire is distracting to you?”
He touched his large fingertips to his temples. “Don't flatter yourself, Tatiana.” He opened his door and stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
She followed suit but closed her door gently. “Don't slam my doors, John. And don't pretend you weren’t undressing me with your eyes back at headquarters.”
“Whatever.” He leaned his broad back against the car, folded his arms across his chest. “I was simply amazed that somebody would show up to work in that getup.”
She shook her head slowly.
What a piece of work.
“Okay, if you say so.” She used her key to open the trunk. “I am going to change, but not because of you. I'll be right back.”
As she crossed the parking lot toward a side door of the church, she heard him call out, “Good. Try to look professional this time.”
It was all she could do not to turn around, shift, and bite his ass.
Or stay in human form and slap him.
When she entered the church, she found Marcelo sitting in a plush chair near one of the Sunday school rooms, just as he'd indicated on the phone. He stood as she approached, embracing her briefly.
“Bongiorno, Tatiana. I am at your disposal.” He bowed low, swinging his arm in a dramatic gesture.
The brown uniform he worked in was only a few shades darker than his burnished skin. With his shoulder length black wavy hair and well muscled, slightly above average height frame, he was certainly easy on the eyes. His good looks coupled with his demeanor made working with him a regular trip down the primrose path.
Chuckling, she nodded. “Thanks, Marcelo. I'll fill you in on everything we know, just as soon as I change.”
He eyed the flaming red leotard with an appreciative smile. “I rather like your attire, Bella.”
She rolled her eyes, assuming Marcelo flirted in his sleep. “Well, our other colleague doesn’t agree. Anyway you know I'm not working in this.” Spying the ladies room a few feet away, she drifted in that direction. “Give me a minute and we'll get going.”
In the restroom, she chose the handicap stall in the rear to give her space to change. Reaching into the large, leather Kathy van Zeeland satchel she kept in her trunk, she extricated the slinky navy blue tunic and black leggings. Slipping out of her leotard, she tucked it into the bag before donning the change of clothes. Slipping her feet into the comfy ballet flats she'd packed, she tossed her sneakers into the bag and made her way back out to meet Marcelo. Passing the mirror, she ran a hand over her chin length, auburn streaked curls. They were looking a bit less than tame, but there was no time for getting pretty.
We've got some law breaking ass to kick.
With that goal in mind, she strode out of the restroom and walked with Marcelo to her car. He'd leave his brightly painted landscaping van at the church, so it wouldn't draw attention as they went back to headquarters.
By now, dusk was retreating into night. The city lights twinkled against the dark backdrop. Pedestrians filled the sidewalks, heading into the various bars and restaurants in the downtown area. She inhaled and blew the breath out.
Nothing like the Capital city at night.
John leaned against her car, his arms folded across his chest just like before. When he saw them approaching, she could swear he was sizing Marcelo up, as if they were involved in some sort of competition. Pushing that thought aside, she made the introductions. “Marcelo, this is John Groves. John, meet Marcelo Spirelli.”
Marcelo extended his hand, and John hesitated a moment before grabbing it. They shook, and the sorcerer stepped back. “So, John, what is your power, if you don't mind telling me.”
John bristled, but answered, “I'm a telekinetic. And you, Mr. Spirelli?”
Marcelo waved his hand. “Please, please, not so formal. We are going to be working together, so call me Marcelo. And to answer your question, I am a sorcerer.” He laughed, brushed a wisp of wavy dark hair from his face. “By night at least. By day I am the proprietor of Spirelli Landscaping.”
That seemed to please John, she noticed, as the scowl on his face softened. “I see. Well, I teach history at Saint Augustine's. It's nice to meet you, Marcelo”
He nodded in response. “Likewise.”
She clapped her hands together. “Well, now that we all know each other, I think we'd better get going.”
The three tucked themselves into her sedan, and she drove back the way she'd come, toward regional headquarters. When they'd arrived, she turned to John.
“I think I'm going to enjoy being in the lead on this investigation,” she announced, enjoying the combination wince/frown that came over his face.
He groaned.
Then Marcelo asked from the backseat, “Who is that?”
She turned to her driver side window, only to see a shadowy figure standing next to the car.
The man lifted his hand toward her door handle.
And she realized she'd forgotten to lock it.
CHAPTER 2
John watched Tatiana nearly jump right out of her seat as the driver side door was pulled open for her. The figure, shrouded in the long, black, cloak like coat with his face hidden from view by a hood probably looked very frightening to her. He recognized the person outside right away, but why miss an opportunity to see 'Ms. In Charge' sweat? Casually, he called out, “Hey, J How's Lalah feeling these days?”
His good friend Junjie Yu ducked his head down. The hood fell back, and his face became visible in the car's headliner light. “Hey John. She's good. That round belly really looks good on her.” Then he addressed the visibly shaking Tatiana. “Sorry, Lieutenant Yates. I'm assigned to work on this case with you. Just opening the door for you.”
John stifled his laugh, but Marcelo did not.
She frowned, composed herself. “Nice to meet you, Agent...”
“Junjie Yu,” he replied.
“Junjie,” she echoed. “It's refreshing to see that chivalry is still alive and well.” She cut a disapproving look at him, there in the passenger seat. “At least for some folks.”
He bristled.
What is she trying to say?
He often held the door for his students, even helped the young ladies carry their books on occasion. They'd just met, and already she was judging his manners?
This woman is entirely too opinionated.
They exited the car, and Junjie followed them into headquarters.
He walked behind Tatiana, and noted the change in her outfit. The black leggings encased her shapely thighs and curvy behind in an enticing way.
She may be infuriating, but damn she's fine.
“There's some information laid out for us in the conference room,” Junjie said, leading them in that direction. “Dr. Black told me about it when I was called in.”
The conference room was as drab looking as any corporation's might be, but with many more bells and whistles. The walls, with their subtle gray and white pinstripe pattern and framed portraits of famous PHOENIX operatives, belied the true nature of the headquarters. His eyes fell on the oil painting of the founder, General J.T. “Phoenix” Pierce, a decorated veteran of the Vietnam War, which covered a safe containing emergency weapons and first aid supplies. And that was just the beginning of the hidden secrets the building held.
He took a seat on the far side of the round, polished cherry table, because he hated to sit with his back to a door. Marcelo and Junjie apparently shared his sentiment, taking flanking seats around him. The lady lieutenant occupied the seat in the table's middle, nearer to the door.
On the table's surface, a large map of the North Carolina Museum of History had been laid out.