Deceit Can Be Deadly Page 3

  “Understood.” He ended the call and resumed watching the murder scene. Negative publicity. Yeah. That’s all Higgins cared about. Made you wonder who the real bastard was.

  Chapter 2

  Chicago, Illinois

  “You knotty-pated varlet!” Gwyneth waved her hands at the large brown tabby cat that sat on the kitchen table licking the butter from her toast. “Scat!”

  The feline didn’t look up, continuing to cover every inch of the slice of bread with tongue prints, obviously confident his position in the household was secure. She’d found him over a year ago, huddled between the garbage bins. He’d been wet, dirty and starving with a nasty infected cut on his paw. It had taken her considerable time and effort to nurse him back to health and win his trust. In contrast to those early days, he now seemed to feel he owned the place.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she glared at the animal. “I should turn you out into the alley where I found you, you overweight miscreant!”

  Laughter erupted behind her. “I thought a witch and its familiar were supposed to be friends.”

  She didn’t bother to turn towards the speaker. “Laugh all you want, Matthias, it’s not your breakfast that’s being eaten. And Sherman is not automatically my familiar simply because he is a cat; that’s a myth perpetrated by doltish writers who can’t be bothered to check the veracity of their statements.”

  “I stand corrected, but it’s still funny because it’s not my breakfast.” Matt walked past her and put two slices of bread in the toaster. “By the way, have I mentioned recently that I love your turn of phrase and the hint of a British accent that appears when you’re upset?”

  She shot a dirty look his way, before returning her attention to the cat. He was done with the toast now and was sitting on the table diligently washing his face.

  “You are an ungrateful creature, Sherman.” Picking the cat up, she dumped him on the floor from where he gave her an indignant look before stalking out of the room.

  Her breakfast was beyond disgusting, so she dumped it in the garbage and poured a cup of tea instead.

  “Your day can only go up from here,” Matt commented as he searched the fridge for the jam.

  “Always looking on the bright side, aren’t you?” She grabbed his slices of toast and grinned at his affronted look. “My kitchen, my bread, therefore my toast.”

  “You’re an evil woman, Gwyn.”

  “I try to be.” She patted his shoulder and then sat down to read the morning paper.

  Matt made more toast as she perused the headlines. Nothing exciting seemed to have happened in the world, just the usual political blustering and celebrity scandals. Folding the paper for later viewing, she looked at Matt who was now leaning against the counter.

  “You’re scheduled to work tonight.”

  “I know.” He took a gulp of coffee. “No need to nag.”

  “Nag?” She arched a brow and he responded with a chuckle.

  “I know you, Gwyn. You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

  “I rather think that happened last night.”

  He grinned at her double-entendre and she took a moment to admire his strong features. Matthias Bendov was a superb specimen of half-naked maleness. Tall, well-muscled; if she needed a protector, he’d be the kind she’d pick. She didn’t need a protector, though. She was quite capable of caring for herself except, of course, for the services Matt provided.

  Matt was a friend, as well as one of the bouncers at the club she ran. At some point, they’d drifted into a casual friends-with-benefits arrangement. It was eminently satisfying except that recently she’d been taking advantage of his talents rather more than usual. She pursed her lips. The weakness didn’t sit well with her; she’d need to do something about that.

  “You were late last night. I almost fell asleep waiting for you.” He looked up at her from the sink where he was setting his dirty dishes.

  “It was a full moon. Witch things needed to be done.” She shrugged making no effort to explain the full-moon ritual she’d completed or the unusual vision that had accompanied it. “Thanks for closing the club for me.”

  “No problem. It was well worth the wait.” Matt dried his hands and ambled over to where she sat. Bending, he brushed a kiss over her cheek. “Do you have plans for today?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  If he noticed her cooler than normal tone, he gave no sign merely nodding and snagging his shirt from the door knob where he’d left it last night. He donned the garment, then zipped his low-slung jeans.

  She watched with an inner sigh of regret as his muscular abs and intriguing ‘V’ disappeared from sight. Maybe she should have stayed in bed with him rather than heeding the incessant meows of Sherman to get up and serve breakfast. Especially since the finicky feline had snubbed his bowl of kibbles and taken over her toast instead.

  “Gwyn?”

  With a start, she realized Matt was addressing her.

  “I asked if something was wrong.”

  She opened her mouth to reply but he didn’t wait.

  “And before you brush me off, remember we’re friends. You can talk to me.” He gave a soft laugh. “I’ve known you for quite a while. There’s not much you can say now that would shock me.”

  If only you knew, she replied in her head. I could shock the socks off you but, if I did that, it would spoil everything. She set down her cup and stood. “I’m fine, but thanks for your concern.”

  When she would have brushed past him, he reached out and took hold of her arm. She pointedly looked at his restraining hand before fixing a deadly glare on his face.

  He gave a soft laugh. “That doesn’t work on me.”

  “You know what I’m capable of.”

  “Yeah, you’re a big, bad witch.”

  “And I’m your employer. I can replace you.”

  “Probably.”

  “And that doesn’t worry you?”

  “A friend is worth the risk.” He let go of her arm and trailed his hand over her cheek before tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

  His touch stirred something inside her. Damn Matt for being the noble type. It really was hard to be her usual bitch of a witch around him. She sighed heavily. “I’m fine. Really. Perhaps missing Tina more than I thought I would.” Tina, a young relative as well as a club employee, had recently followed her lover, Elijah Stone, to Canada. It was irritating that the witchling had left before she was fully trained in handling her powers. And, if Gwyn were honest, there was a certain feeling of emptiness now that the girl was gone. It was likely the reason she’d been relying on Matt so much lately and why she’d felt the need to make use of the full moon last night to renew her energy.

  The man in question was studying her, scanning her face. Finally, he nodded and stepped back. “Okay. I’ll accept that for now but I’ll be watching you.”

  She started to walk away and then paused. Matt was her friend. She should thank him for caring but, if she did, he might think there was more between them than there was. Never let them know you care; that was how she lived her life. She continued towards the bedroom to change. Matt would let himself out when he was ready.

  Pinning her hair up in preparation for her shower, she waited for the sound of the apartment door to shut, signalling she was alone in the building again.

  Alone. Just her and the stray cat she’d rescued.

  She could have ended the morning differently, inviting Matt up to join her in the shower before he left for his day job, but that would have been encouraging him and she couldn’t do that.

  Slowly, she lowered her hands, one pausing over her heart. The small crescent-shaped scar was more than a mark on her chest. It controlled her existence, a constant reminder of the folly of love.

  Matt stood in the kitchen considering the woman who had left moments before. Gwyneth O’Donohue was a complicated woman with a titanium shield guarding her heart. She had a temper, was a passionate lover and a f
riend he could depend on for honest feedback but the softer emotions… He shook his head.

  They’d been casual partners for a little over a year. He’d broken up with his girlfriend, Gwyn had been in a mood over something Tina had done. Several drinks later they’d ended up in bed together.

  Of course, the very next morning she’d left him in no doubt that the relationship was purely physical, of no more importance than playing a board game together. It had suited him at the time. It still suited him…he supposed.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe it was spring that was affecting the bear inside him. Lately he’d been restless, wanting more than mere sexual release.

  His cell phone rang and he answered it while checking that the coffee maker was unplugged. He had to leave soon and get to his day job, a small but growing construction business he’d founded. “Matt here.”

  He listened while a foreman explained a problem with the house they were currently renovating.

  “Okay, I’ll be at the site in a half an hour. Call our engineer and have him meet me there. No one starts working in the house until we’re sure those support beams will pass inspection.”

  He ended the call and grabbed his jacket. For a minute, he debated going upstairs to say goodbye, but Gwyn probably wouldn’t care one way or the other. Giving a shrug, he exited the apartment and made his way downstairs.

  Having a casual affair with a witch was damned confusing at times.

  Chapter 3

  Dante finished registering for his room and then picked up his suitcase and walked to the elevator. The five-star hotel would be the polar opposite of the dive he’d occupied last week. No hot and cold running roaches, no musty mattress or paper-thin walls.

  As he crossed the marble-tiled foyer, he admired the crystal chandeliers, lush planters and indoor water wall. There was a gathering area with leather couches, a piano bar and lounge, and he noticed a sign for a rooftop restaurant. Yep, this was much more his style. Plus, Lycan Link was ultimately footing the bill. The idea kept him amused as he rode the elevator to his floor and found his room.

  He set his suitcase on the bed and checked the view from the window then scanned the room. The Chicago skyline was impressive as was the room itself. At least this part of the job wouldn’t be a hardship. Beyond that, he had his work cut out for him.

  After some investigation, it turned out Higgins had been correct and the most likely target really was Gwyneth O’Donohue, the owner of Mystique, a popular club for shifters and Others in Chicago. He’d visited the establishment before, had noticed O’Donohue but had never realized she was on the Universal Coven council. Thankfully, he’d always kept a low profile so the chances of her recalling him were slim. It was just his luck that she hated Lycans; there was no way he could change what he was.

  Flipping open the lid of his suitcase, he considered how he should dress to con a witch. Last time he’d been in Chicago he’d played the role of a down-on-his-luck rogue. A threadbare, oversized jacket and poor posture had minimized his frame. Worn shoes and a lack of hygiene had also helped with the ruse. He’d used stage makeup to create bags under his eyes and shadows beneath his cheekbones to make his face appear sunken. It had been an effective disguise but it wasn’t wise to use the same persona twice in the same place. Plus, such a character wasn’t likely to catch the interest of his target. Nor would the jungle mercenary he’d used last year, though it had served its purpose at the time.

  Who should he be? Himself?

  He gave a dark laugh.

  After all these years, he had no idea who that might be. An occupational hazard, unfortunately. But not for much longer. With any luck this would be his last job. One more con and he’d be done…or dead.

  Done? His inner wolf perked its ears at the word.

  “Don’t get too excited,” he warned. “The end might be tantalizingly close but we know better than to bank on it.” More often than not, shit happened, mockingly moving the prize out of his reach.

  True, the animal nodded, its excitement waning. But if we’re successful…

  “If the job is successful, then we’ll have cause to celebrate.”

  His hand hovered over a black leather jacket. A biker? It had possibilities. But the witch he was after likely ran into that type all too often at the bar. He needed something different, something that would intrigue her. He eyed a silk shirt. A sophisticated Lycan on vacation?

  It’s a possibility.

  He walked across the room to the mirror, adjusting his posture and stride as he went. No slouching. No swagger. A straight spine and a measured, confident pace. The cynical look on his face faded into a mildly bored expression.

  Almost but not quite. His wolf gave him a critical look.

  The animal was right. Studying himself, he made a mental list; haircut, shave, perhaps buff his nails. It was the subtle changes that could make or break a successful role. Your tone of voice, the vocabulary you used, even the way you held your fork. Getting into the right headspace was key as well. You didn’t pretend to be a character. You became them, adopted their attitudes, their thought patterns, their lifestyle. You lived it 24/7 for as long as needed no matter if it curdled your gut or fit as comfortably as an old pair of shoes. And he’d done the gut curdling ones enough times that he was surprised he’d never developed ulcers.

  Your shoes are wrong.

  He glanced down at his feet and gave a soft huff of laughter. “You’re right.” After all these years, the animal was as good as he was at this.

  Striding to the bed where he’d left his suitcase, he pulled out trousers, shirt and shoes. After changing, he stuffed his old clothing in the suitcase and stowed it in the closet. An extravagant shopping spree would seem to be in order. He smirked. Lycan Link could foot the bill for that as well.

  A few hours later he’d acquired the basics in clothing, enough to allow him to assume his new role at least. Now he sat in a café studying the building across the street. A sign hanging from a black metal arm proclaimed it to be Club Mystique. The establishment didn’t open until four in the afternoon which made this the perfect time for his purpose.

  Silently, he began itemizing its features. Brick. Three storeys. Flat roof. In relatively good condition given its age. If he were to guess, going by the architecture, he’d say it had likely been built in the late 1800s. The main entrance was a solid wooden door flanked by windows in the eight over eight style. Reproductions, unfortunately. He preferred authenticity and quality whenever possible; it was a quirk he’d developed, perhaps to make up for the fakery that plagued his life. While he could grovel in the mud when it was called for, in his off hours he enjoyed the finer things of life.

  “Your latte, sir.”

  He smiled at the waitress who appeared at his side. “Thank you.” He took a sip of the beverage. “Perfect.”

  “Have you decided on anything to eat?”

  “Are the croissants fresh?”

  “We bake them daily.”

  “Then I’ll take one.”

  The woman nodded and he turned his attention back to the club.

  He had no intention of entering the building yet. Instead, he needed the light of day and the absence of patrons to assess the establishment—and its owner—for any signs of weakness.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” The waitress set his croissant down and he gave her his most winning smile, one he’d perfected over the years for such occasions. She flushed in response as he’d known she would.

  “Nothing, thank you. Just the check.”

  She nodded and gave him the slip of paper.

  After glancing at the total, he handed her a large bill. “Keep the change.”

  “Why, thank you!” The woman beamed at him before moving to the next table. It didn’t escape his notice that she continued to cast glances his way.

  Another conquest. It helped to have a wide variety of locals on your side. One never knew when they’d prove useful.

  Settling back
in his chair, he ate the pastry while allowing his gaze to drift over the street. Traffic was calm, only a few pedestrians strolled down the sidewalk. An urban renewal success story, the neighbourhood was known to be relatively quiet until noon or later. Trendy restaurants and boutiques, a few art galleries and clubs. It was only as evening fell that the area became busy.

  About to raise his cup to his lips, he realized his drink was gone. A sure sign it was time to move. He set down the empty vessel, folded his napkin and rose to his feet. Another assignment was about to begin.

  He waited for the usual rush of adrenaline that accompanied such an event but it didn’t appear. Yet another indication it was time to pack it in. The problem was, he’d played this role for so long he had no idea what else to do. His lips tightened and he shook his head. Right now, he had to earn the advance he’d been paid. There’d be time to figure out the future later, provided he lived that long.

  “Come on, boy,” he murmured to his inner wolf.

  The beast within him raised its head and sighed before getting to its feet. It, too, was tired of the game but too loyal to complain.

  “Soon buddy. Soon.” He mentally ruffled the animal’s fur and it leaned into him. Life might kick them in the teeth but they always had each other.

  With his wolf now alert, he crossed the street and began to walk around the block, always keeping one eye on the club. It was a good-sized building, dominating the smaller businesses around it. Glimpses of the sides could be seen down the small alleys and driveways he passed. There were a few barred windows on the first and second floors; he’d be able to breach them if need be but he’d look for an easier route instead. Some claimed he was lazy; he preferred to think of it as efficient. Why waste energy breaking through locks if you could convince someone to hand you the key?

  Pausing, he considered his next move. It was a lovely day in late spring. The sun was shining; a warm breeze was gently caressing his skin. Planters filled with flowers lined the street, their colours cheery and fresh. Soon the heat of summer would reduce them to crispy, faded petals but for now they were the epitome of the promise and hope of the new season.