Page 1 of Cause Of Death

ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

Iquietly rummage around in the bushes at the base of the office tower, grumbling to myself under my breath at the inconvenience of being unable to carry anything with me when I’m in my Wisp form. Things would besomuch easier if I didn’t have to rely solely on my surroundings when on a job.

It has to be around here, somewhere,I think to myself, knowing that I’d already found it once as Wisp, so it couldn’t have gone far in the ten minutes it took me to shift, get dressed, and return. I grunt in triumph as my fingers brush over the hard plastic shell of the USB stick, and I grab it, eager to be on my way.

Glancing around me to make sure nobody’s watching, I tuck the tiny payload into my bra, then return to rustling through the bushes, this time volubly cursing and wondering aloud.

“Gizmo, you crazy kitten, I saw you run under here. Where have you gone? If you come out now, I’ll buy you a piece of fresh salmon next week, I promise.”

I chuckle silently as heavy footsteps hurry forward at the sound of my voice.

Right on time.

The security guard pounds toward me, his flashlight bright and blinding as he flicks it up to my face, making my eyes squint and water. I turn to face him fully, using the sting of his torch to send tears tracking down my cheeks.

“Oh my gosh, thank goodness you’re here! Can you help me, please? I’m trying to find my kitten, the little rascal somehow escaped his crate and jumped out the window when I pulled over to take a call. Please, sir, I’m so worried about him, he’s still so young.”

I deserve an Oscar for my demure damsel-in-distress act.

It helps that I’m wearing a short, ocher A-Line skirt with a flowy, burnished bronze off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and matching strappy sandals. My hair is bundled into a messy ponytail, and my naturally bee stung lips have a light coating of cherry-vanilla gloss. I look sweet and innocent, and not atalllike an adept of corporate espionage.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be back here. I can help you for a few minutes, but then you’ll need to leave whether we find your cat or not,” the guard tells me, his body language a dichotomy that contradicts itself. He’s trying so hard to appear stern, his tone firm and authoritative, yet his entire stance belies his words. His facial expression is sympathetic, his eyes gleaming at the idea he could be a hero for a pretty girl. Even his body language is open and trusting toward me.

He lowers his torch to the bushes and gives me his back as he peers through the foliage, trying to make out a non-existent kitten in the shadows of the branches.

“What does your kitten—what was his name?—look like?” The guard asks, and I stifle a smirk.

“His name’s Gizmo, and he’s a void kitty.” I smile softly as the guard frowns up at me, not understanding the description.

“It means he’s completely black, like a void. It’s why I’m having so much trouble finding him at this time of night.” I clarify, and the guard grunts as he goes back to his useless search. I join him, pretending to look while also making noises that become more and more distressed the longer we take.

A low vibration hums through my tits as the phone I have tucked in my cleavage buzzes. I straighten and pull it out of my bra, eyebrows rising at the name on my screen.

“Kimmy, honey, what’s the matter?” I croon down the line at my best friend and partner in crime. “I’m still out here looking for Giz’, you haven’t seen him, have you?”

My question, innocuous as it is, won’t raise any red flags if overheard by someone not already in the know… such as my helpful security guard friend standing close enough to hear not only my side of the conversation, but also Kimmy’s response. But it’s all part of a prepared script, one that explains our situation without giving anything away. My opening statement essentially communicates that I’ve got the payload, I’m still on-site, and I have company. Other variations convey other possible scenarios.

Kimberly chuckles throatily on the other end, and her next words complete the code we’d come up with to denote the all-clear.

“Dee, my love, he wandered back to me only minutes after you went searching. I’ve got him all locked up, so come back to the car and we can head home.”

I turn and face the guard, the phone still held up to my ear, a beaming smile splitting my face.

“I’ll be there in a minute, I just want to thank the nice guard who stopped to help me.”

He speaks before I can say anything else, holding one arm out to direct me away from the building.

“It’s not a problem, miss, but it’d be best if you leave now. I’m happy you’ve found your cat, perhaps next time you take him somewhere you also put him in a harness and strap him into the car. That way, he won’t escape and cause you distress.”

I smile and thank him once more before walking away, my hips swinging just that little bit harder in case he’s watching. Give him something to reminisce over once the shit hits the fan, not that anyone will be able to pin anything on me.

I reach my car, glancing back to check on the guard, but he’s already gone, having disappeared into the darkness to continue his rounds. Opening the driver’s door, I slide into my seat, slipping my phone into its holder before tugging the USB out of my bra and handing it over to Kimberly, who’s sitting in my passenger seat, her laptop open and ready.

On the surface, Kimberly is a stereotypical gamma—small and soft, with tousled russet hair bundled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, clear hazel eyes, and lips set in a sweet cupid’s bow. Her curves are currently hidden beneath comfortable sweats and an oversize T-shirt. It’s all a lie. In reality she’s a snarky ball of over-caffeinated sarcasm, with a hair-trigger temper, a petty, vindictive streak that’s a mile wide, and vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. She fits in with all the other poor saps who work as IT support on a public-facing Help Desk.

“Let’s hit the road. Send this off to our contact, and once we’ve got confirmation of payment, we can crack open a bottle of bubbly and celebrate another success,” I instruct her, before shifting the car into gear and accelerating away.

A couple hours later, I pull into the drive of the two-story Craftsman that Kimberly and I share, the automatic garage door lifting as soon as I depress the sensor. We’re both giggling like schoolgirls over the extra two hundred and fifty grand padding each of our offshore bank accounts, knowing that part of our allure and prestige comes from my abilities to get in and out of buildings undetected. Kimberly’s skills are the ones that net us the information our clientele are after, but I make it so much easier for her by using our target’s own defenses against them. She doesn’t need to worry about firewalls and authentication protocols if I can plug her directly into the secure servers with the necessary keys to the kingdom.

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