Page 67 of White Raven
“Damn, Gloves. Genius.”
Rhaena shrugged, smirking as he knelt next to her and helped raise the door. “I told you I had a habit of getting into things I wasn’t supposed to when I was younger. Just because my uncle caught me most of the time doesn’t mean I wasn’t initially successful.” They smiled at each other and the light rushed into the storage chamber, revealing an unorganized mess inside.
There was a broken-down bed frame, a dismantled crib, and some toys. An infant mobile hung broken and half-eaten by rodents. A rack of clothes was situated underneath clear plastic to the side with a ton of shoe boxes stacked beneath a packed row of hanging garments. There was a gliding rocker with a pink seat cushion, a tattered old teddy bear, and some stacked plastic storage bins against the wall. Foley moved into the small, cramped space like he was afraid he’d find a body in this museum of Lindsay’s former life—a life she didn’t get to finish living. Rhaena went the opposite direction and slipped between boxes towards the back of the unit. It was darker back here, and she flipped on the flashlight on her cell phone to see what else was stashed in the back corner. Several framed photos of his partner on her wedding day were leaned against the leg of a small oak desk. Rhaena pulled the small drawer open, seeing nothing of any interest other than some old highlighters and pens.
“Anything?” she asked, turning the light toward him as he lifted the lid off of one of the storage bins.
“Looks like a bunch of baby clothes, and keepsakes from when Brynn was little. I get why she’d pack it all in here. All of this stuff is the most Brynn could probably remember about her mom.”
Rhaena shivered, turning the light back towards the corner while an uneasy feeling crawled up her spine like a handful of spiders.
Spiders…God, there were probably thousands hiding in this dump.
The light caught something shiny through a handle opening in a dark brown box wedged in the corner on the other side of the small desk. Rhaena pushed past the clutter, scooting a wooden chair away and kneeling down to brush the dust off the side of the box. “V.H.?” she whispered under her breath, sittingthe phone down to pull the box from between two others. It was a case file box like the ones they had at the precinct. She knew that box anywhere. She moved it over to the desk, and propped her phone against a standing picture frame, shining the light over the lid as she lifted it off. Lindsay’s badge gleamed as it sat on top of a stack of files and loose paperwork. The letterhead caught her attention as she slid the badge aside—EverLife. “Hey, Cap?”
“You got something?” Foley’s muffled voice followed his sneeze, and the clatter of another plastic lid closing from the other side of the unit.
“Did you work any cases with EverLife before Kane’s situation with Sarah?” she asked cautiously, skimming down the paper and looking for Nick Specter’s name. It wasn’t on it…but somebody else’s name was. Someone she hadn’t expected. Rhaena’s mouth dropped open and that chill in her bones set in deep and frigid. “Oh, my God.”
“No, and what’s wrong?” Foley asked, making his way over.
Rhaena turned, holding up the paper. “Lindsay was working with the Black Bird coven.”
He snatched the paper from her hand and stared down at it in disbelief. “That’s not possible. Where do you see that?”
“D. Van Hausen…she’s been making dirty deals with EverLife long before she had Athan supplying that coven with plasma.”
“That doesn’t mean Lindsay was working for her. Maybe she was just investigating her?”
Rhaena tightened her mouth, waiting for him to catch up to the other signature on that paper. The fall in his expression confirmed it. “I wish that were true, Malcolm. That’s Lindsay’s signature too.”
Wren picked through a walk-in closet full of freshly-pressed suits, and crisp button-down shirts, settling on a black one that she slid her arms into and buttoned around her. All it took was the sound of a woman’s voice downstairs to make heralmostregret everything they’d just done. The shirt barely covered her ass, and her bare legs were rudely exposed as she carefully stepped downstairs, finding no rail to creep down as she dipped her head and could just make out the lower half of Brent and whatever twat he was arguing with. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, the striking blonde met eyes with her, assessing every inch of her like she was sizing her up. An already kindling rage started to catch in Wren’s gut as she hopped off the last step and walked barefoot through the kitchen.
“Nice,” she spat at Brent, who didn’t take his eyes off Wren.
Good choice, Stratford.
“Yeah, you can say what you want about the ‘rich-kid shit’…but it looks very…verygood on you,” he smirked, biting down on his lip. Any worry she had about the way they’d spent the last few hours fizzled out with that look. A look that smoldered, even as he stood next to somebody way more suited to his position in society. Talk about a confidence boost. Wren shrugged a shoulder, winking at him and ignoring the tart that returned her attention to her scantily clad interruption.
“Smells like dry cleaning and bullshit down here.”
“I can tell you that’s not at all what I smell,” the blonde rolled her eyes.
Wren kept her eyes fixed on his. “Do you hear something?”
He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck as the woman scoffed and shook her head. Brent met her halfway through the kitchen, slipping an arm around her and tipping her chin up to kiss her. Maybe it was a solid dig at whoever this woman was, but she couldn’t care less as she returned it, sliding her hand down the front of his robe and grabbing his crotch. He grunted, hissing as he broke away from her mouth.
“Okay, seriously? I brought your clothes back in, could that at least get me a pass?”
Brent turned towards her, Wren following suit as they moved closer towards the pretty pantsuit that reeked of Chanel, and expensive hair products. “Cece, this is Wren. Wren? C. J. Parks. We worked together. She was my competition this past year when we were trying to make partner at the firm.”
“Wren…this is—this is the girl from the paper,” C.J. said, apparently just realizing who she was.
“That a problem?” Wren asked, glaring at her.
“No,” she answered, glancing at Brent, who didn’t balk. “Makes perfect sense.”
“Right, so now that everybody’s been introduced, we were kind of in the middle of something,” Brent snapped, tightening his hold on her side. A rush of pride settled into Wren’s chest.
