Page 4 of Connected
Owen wondered who was more astonished at this—him or Tempest. It was Tempest who spoke. “I’m an actor, not a… cop.” He spat out the last word as if it were something bad-tasting.
“You’ve been an actor, yes, and you’ve done very well with it. But in recent years you’ve found yourself increasingly struggling to obtain parts. Many people have difficulties making the transition from child performer to adult. And son, there have been issues with drugs, with drinking”—he hefted the bottle as if to demonstrate—“and a few brushes with the law. You’ve spent more time in the scandal sheets than on marquees.”
Tempest had gone white. “That’s none of your fucking business,” he growled, his hands clenched into fists.
“No, but recruiting qualified agentsismy business. You have talents that could serve the agency well. You’d do much more good here than you would clutching at increasingly poor projects and watching the last of your money evaporate. We can provide access to excellent counseling and treatment for substance dependency. You wouldn’t be the first agent to take advantage of those services.”
“I won’t?—”
“It’s a rewarding job, son. You won’t get rich from it, but you’ll be comfortable enough. You will have a meaningful life and a good share of excitement. Ask Agent Clark—that’s why I brought him.”
When Tempest turned his gaze on Owen, it was filled with such fury and loathing that Owen wanted to sink under the table. Which wasn’t fair—this hadn’t been his idea. He hadn’t had a clue what the chief was up to.
But the chief also had a point.
For the first time, Owen spoke to Tempest. “We save lives. We get to interact with creatures other people only read about in fairy tales. It’s like we’re in on this big, important secret, youknow? And the other agents, I really like working with some of them. I feel like I’m a part of something that matters.”
Well, that was more soul-baring than he’d intended. He wanted to tell Tempest that the Bureau accepted agents from all sorts of backgrounds—some of them weren’t even human—and nobody seemed to care where you came from or who you slept with. The job could be scary and even deadly. But nobody had rejected Owen, which was more than he could say about his own flesh and blood. He kept his mouth shut, though. Tempest continued to stare at him, and Owen thought he saw a small waver, a bit of thawing in those intensely blue eyes.
“Where are you from?” Tempest asked. “I bet it’s somewhere with a lot of cornfields, like Nebraska.”
Owen felt his cheeks redden. “Copper Springs, Wyoming. Cattle, not corn.”
The corner of Tempest’s mouth twitched. Then suddenly he scrambled out of his chair and spat, “I’m an actor, not a fucking cop.”
He walked briskly through the restaurant, as if he were being pursued. Or as if he feared he might change his mind. He looked back once, caught Owen’s eyes, and then hurled himself out the door.
Townsend sighed as he poured a refill. “Shame. I’d hoped he’d at least consider it. He would have been an asset. Would have saved himself a great deal of grief as well.” He shrugged, then brightened. “Ah, here’s our lunch.”
“But… sir.”
“You might as well eat your hamburger. The Bureau’s going to have to pay for it anyway. When our entrees are done, we’ll discuss your next assignment.”
Owen, who was a big man with a big appetite, echoed the chief’s shrug before digging in. He hoped the Bureau would send him somewhere exciting.
CHAPTER 2
Los Angeles
2024
“My master wishes to see you.”
Owen glanced at the demon filling the open doorway of Owen’s tiny Bureau office. “Well, your master wishes you to wear pants at work, but you’re not.” Owen returned his gaze to the computer screen.
“If hecommandedme to do so, I would obey. But he has not. He has merely suggested it, which I am free to disregard if I so choose. In contrast, he has not simply suggested that you come speak with him.”
“Fuck.” Owen took a few deep breaths. “It’s past six on a Friday night. I need to finish entering my field notes on the vampire I dealt with in Vegas, and then I get to go home, eat a gummy, and space out in front of the TV.”
But Tenrael crossed his arms and waited. Not only was it impossible to get any work done when a demon was staring at the back of one’s head, but Owen didn’t really want to piss himoff. Tenrael could plague one’s sleep with nightmares, and Owen already had plenty of them as it was.
“Fine.” Owen hit Save and powered down. The notes could wait until Monday. It wasn’t an especially interesting or important assignment anyway. Vampires loved Vegas, and it was official Bureau policy to leave them be as long as they weren’t causing undue harm. If an occasional gambler woke up feeling a little extra dizzy, well, they should have known that Sin City would drain them dry. This particular vampire was a concierge at one of the high-end casinos, and she kept her noshing on guests to a minimum. Owen had confirmed that nobody she’d had contact with had turned up dead, had reminded her that the Bureau had its eyes on her, and then he’d made the long drive back to LA.
He followed Tenrael down the corridor toward the elevator. As always, Owen found himself intrigued by Tenrael’s black-feathered wings. They were large, but they shouldn’t have been nearly big enough to lift the demon’s considerable muscle weight in flight. Nevertheless, Tenrael could fly. Maybe the lab nerds downstairs knew how. For his own part, Owen thought it was unfair that he was bound by the laws of physics in ways that a lot of NHSs weren’t.
The hallway was long and Owen’s body ached. That’s what happened when you spent over two decades getting beat up. Eventually, even the Bureau’s skilled doctors could do only so much. Maybe once he got home he’d have some CBD along with his THC and maybe a soak in the apartment building’s jacuzzi. But only if nobody else was using it. He wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
“What does he want?” Owen asked when they reached the elevator.
