Page 8 of Cause Of Death

When we finally start to talk, it’s only regarding inconsequential things. Subjects such as Steve’s last bounty, the epic technologically illiterate customers that Kimberly encounters as IT support on a daily basis, and even some of my newest creations at the patisserie. Nothing too heavy, no topics that can be considered controversial or unsuitable for dinner conversation. Just idle chit-chat.

By the time dinner is over and done with, we’re ready to get to work researching Kieran Prince. Kimmy and Leslie go off to delve into their own little hubs full of informants, rumors, hacked systems, and emails. Steve sits down with me at the table, scattering several pens alongside two empty notebooks to help us jot down the information now clogging the pathways of my brain.

“How about we start with the basics, yeah? Tell me everything that the Guild dumped into your head regarding Kieran, and then we can move on from there—his activities, security, and even any standing routines or appointments on his schedule. If your ‘Wispy’ senses are tingling, then there’s something about this guy that’s easily overlooked, but is probably gonna end up being important. So, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, write it down and we can come back to it later.”

Steve’s words make sense, so I nod and get to work.

It wasn’tuntil the early hours of the morning that, eyes blurred and burning, Steve and I gave up for the night. Kimmy had already headed off to bed, Leslie close behind her. It was always a toss-up with those two whether they’d fall into bed just to snuggle, or tear each other’s clothes off and ravish each other, but by the heavy footsteps leading up to Kimberly’s room, my guess for last night was the former.

Henley has already left by the time I stumble downstairs, relieved that—yet again—I have today off. The clock on the microwave is showing that it’s a little after half past seven, so I’m not even up that late. There’s no sign of Kimmy yet—not that I’msurprised—although Leslie is already up, albeit barely conscious themselves. Steve, the delicious hunk of sigma protector that he is, is hovering over the waffle iron resting on the bench next to the stove, while a pan of what smells like bacon sizzles away on the stove top.

Mmmm. Waffles.

I cross over to the coffee machine and press a few buttons, grinning happily as the mug already sitting underneath fills with the steaming fluid. I add my preferred creamer and a spoonful of sugar before sipping the drink slowly, savoring the bitter brew as it wakes up my neurons. Honestly, I will never regret making this purchase with my very first paycheck from the Guild, and I know that both Leslie and Kimberly are also eminently grateful for my decision.

I wonder if this coffee machine is part of the reason why Leslie has been coming and staying over more frequently since I joined the ranks of theFemme Fatale Freakshow.

“Here you go, waffles with bacon and melted chocolate, just how you like them.” Steve sets an overflowing plate in front of me, delivering the required cutlery at the same time. I don’t hesitate to dig in, moaning my appreciation over his culinary skills with the first mouthful. Steve simply winks at me before adjusting himself and heads back to the waffle iron.

The saltiness of the crispy bacon perfectly offsets the sweetness of the chocolate, and when paired together with the fluffy buttery flavor of the waffles, my taste buds are in paroxysms of ecstasy. In my world, the only thing better than bacon or chocolate is the two of them combined.EVERYTHINGis better with bacon and chocolate.

Don’t even get me started on cheese.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today? I know Kimmy has work, the poor darling. I swear, people seem to grow dumberand dumber with each passing day. Some of these ‘customers’ she has to deal with would be better off just unplugging their machines, moving to Pennsylvania, and joining the Amish. I have no doubt that the Amish are more technologically inclined than some of these morons she has to deal with.”

Leslie’s complaints aren’t anything that the rest of us haven’t thought or said aloud ourselves at one point or another. Luckily for us, the stupidity of some people, especially those higher up in some of the bigger corporations, has made our corporate espionage jobssomuch easier in the past. In fact, I hope that there’s an ID-10-T or PEBCAK—Problem Exists Between Chair And Keyboard—somewhere on the Prince family’s payroll, because it’ll cut down Kimmy’s workload by a decent percentage if she can get into their security and systems without too much issue.

“Today, the short-stack and I are going to venture forth and do some recon at Royal Tower in downtown San Fran. It’s listed as the primary residence for Kieran Prince, and we’re in luck. It’s a monstrosity of a high-rise, and the lower half-dozen or so levels are open to the public as a high-end mall, and then the floors between the mall and the residential accommodation are all offices. We’re gonna go in, have a look-see, and hopefully come back with enough intel that Kimmy will be able to make a start on getting inside their security.”

Steve and I had come up with the plan last night before Henley had headed up to bed. There was still something niggling away at my brain, some instinct that told me not to just sneak in and kill the guy. While I don’t have an actual deadline for the job, I also don’t want to dilly-dally and possibly invoke the ire of both the client and the Guild. Taking the slow, cautious approach is not only smart, but will enable me to pinpoint the most opportune moment to enact the contract, and to find the perfect method to execute it.

“Is Hen coming back tonight?” I ask as I finish my plate of chocolate-covered ambrosia, then gulp down the cooling remnants of my coffee. “I know he’s heading back to Kentucky in a couple of days, but do we know where he’s gone today? Should we expect him back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up with him around lunchtime. He’s just got a few personal errands to run, and then we’ll join up and pay a visit to one of my contacts who’s currently in town. Greg has his fingers in a lot of different pies, and quite a few of them have a more…distasteful… brand of filling. I’d guess that there are going to be a number of new contracts issued by the Guild by the time Greg and I are done with this.” Leslie’s glower is telling. While many of their associates deal with the murky underbelly of society, some of their black-market contacts are darker than the rest. I don’t know how they manage to sleep at night, not with what they’ve seen or been involved in, but I guess they’re like undercover agents in a way. They’re getting their hands dirty in order to clean up those whose souls aretrulycorrupt and stained.

“Okay, well, once this one’s ready, we’ll be off. It’s gonna be a long day for us both, and I’d rather not spend most of it stuck in traffic.”

I snort at Steve’s whining, but take the hint. It won’t take me long to get ready for the day, but seeing as Steve has been up long enough to make breakfast for us all, I know that out of the both of us, I’m the one who’ll be holding us up if I don’t get a move on.

The imposingglass edifice of Royal Tower looms over us as Steve and I walk through the rotating glass doors. Our journey to this point has been uneventful, but that can always change in an instant. We saunter nonchalantly through the doorway and immediately head for the interactive display screen stationed in the middle of the expansive thoroughfare. As Steve mentioned earlier, the lower half-dozen floors of Royal Tower are open to the public. That’s because it’s home to almost every single Royal brand outlet, as well as a number of other, high-end brands. It’s like a mall, but for the elite. Even the coffee shops and kiosks are boutique and bougie, with nary a fast-food outlet or franchise in sight.

Steve’s arm is slung over my shoulder, tucking me into his side protectively, the two of us posing as a couple ready to take the next step in their relationship. I tap the name of one of the Royal jewelry brands into the search bar, humming happily when it gives me detailed instructions on where the store is located, its opening hours, the best ways to navigate to the store from where we’re currently standing, and then prints out those same details when I select that option. Spying a rather enticing-looking café off to one side, I tug on Steve’s hand and lead him toward the shop, following the tantalizing smells that are making my mouth water.

As we pass by one of the elevator banks, a subtle note of leather and tobacco teases my nose. I pause for a moment, confused as to why thatparticular fragrance has caught my attention. A deep voice swears softly from behind us, and I’m jostled slightly as a man—no, scratch that, analpha—brushes against me as he weaves his way through the other shoppers and pedestrians. Steve bristles beside me but I pat his chest, soothing the soft growl of displeasure rumbling there.

“Easy there, big guy. It’s not his fault. I stopped suddenly, and he obviously has somewhere to be. Now, how about we goand get a coffee and something to nibble on while we gird our loins for battling salespeople who’ll want us to pick out rings today so they can hit their targets, hmmm?” I soothe, and Steve eases off with the macho theatrics. Only some of it is an act, I know that, because while I might be an omega, I’ve gone to great lengths to disguise that from the rest of the world. Outside of the orphanage where we all grew up, there are very few people who know my true designation and identity. Discounting theFemme Fatale Freakshowresearchers and higher-ups, that number can be counted on one hand with a finger to spare. While we aren’t officially a pack, with nothing to signify our bonds to each other, I know that the moment I’m ready to register as an omega, that Henley, Steve, Leslie, and Kimberly will be there beside me, registering as my alpha and betas, and solidifying our bonds as more than just family.

But until that day comes around, my designation will remain hidden, and I’ll continue to take suppressants that both disguise my perfume and also ease my heats.

I’m fuckingfuriousright now. If it didn’t put Kieran at risk of exposure, I’d have already hauled him out of that penthouse prison they call an apartment and set him up in my own, modest condo. His apartment might be luxurious and decorated to Kieran’s taste, but his comings and goings are heavily monitored and curtailed by his mother. The man has every right to do as he wishes, but unless his actions and desires pertain to a very few exceptions, we both dance to the merry tune of “She-who-holds-her-husband’s-balls-in-her-ugly-designer-handbag.” Honestly, money doesnotequal taste, especially when it comes to Darla Prince. The woman had to fucking buyher degree in fashion design, and nobody in their right mind in the Royal empire lets her evenbreathenear their design teams. She’s the very antithesis of good taste.

Either her pussy is gold-plated, or she’s buying off the silence of her side-pieces, because she sure as shit isn’t the devoted wife and mother she professes to be. My guess is the latter, as Edgar is oblivious to her numerous “indiscretions.” Instead, he choosesto devote his time to the golf course with its quiet, open spaces… or the tennis court with its quiet, open spaces… or the pool with… well, you get the picture. I have no doubt that Edgar loves his wife, but he also cherishes his peace and quiet.

Viciously cursing at the idiots in charge of the Barrow clinic—who have yet again fucked up Kieran’s medications—I storm out of the private elevator and into the flow of foot traffic on the ground floor of Royal Tower. I’m in a rush, and in no mood to deal with dawdlers. I have to get to the clinic as soon as possible to deal with the epic clusterfuck awaiting me. I have no proof of it, but I wouldn’t put it past Darla to have somehow “influenced” the staff there to “lose” Kieran’s files. If I don’t get this sorted out, and pronto, then my boy is going to be in a whole world of pain come next month.

I growl softly and swear under my breath as the female half of a young couple suddenly stops two steps in front of me, causing me to jostle her as I brush past. My nose—and my dick—twitches as the beguiling scent of smoked vanilla and ozone beneath an artificial layer of honey reaches me, mingling with the rather pleasant smell of fresh linen, hops, and cut grass. Despite the sudden urge to stop and follow the scents to their owners, I forge forward. I can’t risk Kieran’s health to chase a smell, no matter how pretty or tempting it is. His health, his welfare,alwayscome first with me. It’s what his father hired me for in the first place. In fact, having Edgar as my contracted employer instead of the corporation or even Darla is probably what has kept me working all these years. While the man might have disconnected from a lot of his business dealings over the last few years, one thing is for sure.

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