Green-Eyed Envy (6 page)

Yeah, those are the ones who married in
to
the family. Like I will someday.
Wow. Where the hell had
that
thought come from? We’d only been in the
on-again
phase of our relationship for a few months and were taking it slow. He came over to my apartment some nights, I went over to his others, but neither of us had permanently moved belongings to the other’s place like during our passionate eighteen-month relationship. Nothing was yet set in stone.

At least, that’s what my brain said. My heart, on the other hand? Not so much.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Murphy. I see your ultimate plot. Ensure job security for your never-ending assortment of relatives by sleeping with the head of the MCU.”

He shot me a sexy wink and an even sexier grin, white Hound’s teeth gleaming. “Seems to be working so far.”

I laughed at that, because he
did
have a point. “Come on, lover boy, we’ve got people to see, things to do, and asses to protect.”

And for once, those asses to protect didn’t include either one of ours.

HARPER HAD THIS ON ME: EACH OF HER EXES was hotter—and more successful—than the last. Unintentional on her part since she’s
so
not the gold-digging type, but true nonetheless. Take the first two victims, Carlos Mendez and Simon Xavier, her high school boyfriends. Both had been fairly average in looks and subsequent careers: Carlos a lower-level CPA in a mortal-owned firm and Simon a dental hygienist for the area’s first arcane dentist. Both lived low-key lives from an arcane point of view. Neither would have inspired fireworks-inducing passion at first glance. Bryant Wilkins, however, seemed a step above in areas both physical and financial. A fitness guru, he’d double-majored in business and physical education, and later opened the first of what would become a regional chain of fitness centers. I’d been able to pull publicity photos of him off his company website and whistled at the tall, well-built hottie staring back at me. Dark blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a perfect white smile that might have been worked on by good ole unassuming Simon.
You definitely traded up on that one, Harp.

Then I remembered how all had been brutally sliced and diced without regard for looks, finances, or loved ones who might mourn their loss, and scowled at the photos of Exes 4 through 6, the ones Trinity and I had deemed most at risk via an earlier teleconference. I was praying they could give me some new insight into the killer we were up against. Barring that, hopefully Scott could get a feel for which of his Shadowhounds would make the best security fit for each.

“You casting for a porno flick, or what?”

I blinked and looked up to see Scott smirking at me as he eased his siren red sports car (clichéd but oh-my-godssexy) into a parking space at the top level of a garage I hadn’t noticed us enter. He saw my confusion and nodded at the glossy photos spread across my lap.

“Oh hardy har, Murphy.” I fought back a flush since my thoughts hadn’t been too far from his line of thinking. Stuffing the photos back into a manila folder, I glanced around to orient myself. The open-roofed parking garage clued me in to the fact we’d left Boston proper and found our way out to the ’burbs. Or as ’burb-like as it got in the metropolitan area surrounding Beantown. “Meritton Enterprises?”

Scott nodded. He pocketed his keys and climbed out of the Ferrari with surprising grace, considering how big he was in comparison to the delicate-looking car. I pushed the passenger door open and leapt up to do the same, only to stumble as my knee buckled. White-hot pain licked its way from the center of my knee outward, and I cursed, long and low. Scott was at my side in an instant, concern on his face, but he caught one look at the fury in my eyes and wisely kept his hands—and sympathy—to himself.

Every damn time I start to think this blasted knee is getting better . . .
But Gianna, the Oracle who saved me from certain death months before, had warned that just wasn’t going to happen. I’d used magic to seal myself away from agonizing pain during a fight with evil cloned Sidhe—once thought extinct—in order to save Scott’s life, rather than channeling magic through my Amphisbaena to heal the wound then and there. Because of that not-so-little choice, magic masked the pain for a time while the injury grew exponentially worse during the rest of that fight for life. Scott’s sister, Kiara, a Warhound who specialized in magical poultices and remedies, kept me stocked with spell-worked bandages and creams to hide the pain and allow me to function despite the ravaged knee. But her remedies seemed to be fading, and more and more, I found myself turning to alcohol to take the edge off. What was I going to do if
that
stopped helping? Move from Jack and Coke to just plain coke?

No, it’s just the stress you’re under.
I gritted my teeth and rolled my eyes. Not even
I
could believe my halfhearted protestations anymore. If things kept going like this, I was going to have to break down and crawl back to Gianna for another opinion. I might be stubborn as hell, but I wasn’t stupid.

But time enough for that later. Right now, I had a serial killer to bring down.

I cleared my throat and brushed nonexistent dust from my dark blue jeans. With my promotion to Head of the MCU had come the need to blend in with mortals on occasion, rather than my usual shock and awe routine with the Fury getup. Today I’d opted for dressy jeans, a deep blue blouse, and mortal form for the planned day of interviewing Harper’s exes. No sense in scaring the shit out of everyone until absolutely necessary.

My cell phone buzzed inside my jeans pocket. I took it out and checked the number. Unknown caller, so back inside the pocket it went so I could focus on the task at hand. They’d leave a voice mail if it was important.

Scott steered the conversation away from my near fall. “Meritton’s expecting us?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Trin made the phone calls for us. She had time before sitting in on the latest autopsy with Sahana.” We’d decided one of us should be there for that, especially since the lab results for the first two Cats were supposed to come in today.

We made our way to the elevator in the middle of the garage, rode the empty car to the ground floor, and passed through a tunnel into the lobby of Meritton Enterprises. I let out a low whistle at the gleaming granite walls, expensive slate flooring, and shiny accessories surrounding us. Apparently, business was
very
good for Paul Meritton. Which went along with my unscientific theory that Harper’s exes just kept on getting better with age.

An overly chipper male receptionist directed us to—where else?—the top floor and a secondary, even plusherlooking reception area. A chic woman in a stylish but no-nonsense suit introduced herself as Paul Meritton’s executive assistant, Clara Danvers, and offered us various and sundry beverages (though none alcoholic, more’s the pity). At our polite refusal she ushered us down a hall and through a solid wood door.

Paul Meritton, CEO and sole owner of Meritton Enterprises, jumped to his feet and rushed over to welcome us the moment we stepped over his threshold. I’ll admit it, my knees—both this time—got a little weak when he turned the full force of his megawatt smile our way.
Holy . . . he should be a supermodel, not heading up a medical supply corporation.

Because
damn
, he was sexy. Coal black hair, olivetoned skin indicating Greek heritage, and warm brown eyes that could have been the template for bedroom eyes. He wasn’t as tall or muscular as his direct predecessor, Bryant Wilkins, but
whoa
, was he way more gorgeous. His cheekbones were to die for, his long eyelashes needed no mascara to make them fuller, and his unblemished complexion could have made angels weep. I tried to find a flaw in his physical features and just kept coming up empty.

Then he spoke, and the mirage wavered. “Chief Holloway, Mr. Murphy, so marvelous to meet you both.” The high-pitched voice that came out of those perfect lips would have sounded
so
much more appropriate coming from the assistant he turned his attention to. “Clara, cappuccinos. Now.” The charming expression he threw our way turned to barely disguised derision when he glanced at the other woman.

So, there’s reasons one and two. A voice that could make angels
and
devils weep, and rude to boot.
It was actually a relief to find that his interior wasn’t as perfect as his exterior. And further illustrated that age-old adage about appearances being deceiving.

He gathered up every ounce of his charm and guided us into decadent visitor chairs placed across from his high-end office chair. It was easier to see through the snake oil façade masked by his breathtaking good looks after having witnessed his shoddy treatment of his assistant—and okay, after hearing that godsawful, nails-on-chalkboard voice. Something about the light in his eyes when he focused on me had the hair on the nape of my neck standing at full alert. I frowned but couldn’t quite put my fingers on whatever was bugging me.

“Now, then. Your partner mentioned something about a murder investigation, but I didn’t quite catch how exactly she thought
I
could be of assistance to
you
. ” Raised brows and a half smile indicated doubt that someone of
his
caliber could be in any way associated with something so distasteful as a murder investigation.

I kept my expression bland but polite. “We have reason to believe that a serial killer is prowling the streets of Boston, Mr. Meritton.”

He acted suitably surprised, though that could have been exactly that—an act. “How horrible. But that relates to me exactly how?”

“An
arcane
serial killer.”

“An arcane—but we haven’t had an arcane serial killer in I don’t know how long.”

Out loud, I said, “Yes, and what’s more, this killer seems to be preying upon one arcane race in particular.”

This time his expression didn’t appear feigned. Apprehension made his mortal-seeming brown eyes flash unnatural yellow (not all Cats have green eyes in arcane form like Harper’s) and back again. “He’s killing Cats?”

Typical to assume a serial killer was male, especially among law enforcement, but I took note that Meritton had assumed the same thing Harper did. “He or she.” He rolled his eyes, making it clear what he thought about
that
suggestion. “And not to unduly alarm you, Mr. Meritton—”

The snake oil salesman slipped back into place. Complete with creepy, flirtatious smile turned my way. As if we were alone in the office—maybe even in the entire building. “Please, call me Paul.”

I continued smoothly, though inside I was dying to look at Scott to see how he was reacting to Meritton’s not-at-allsubtle flirting right in front of him. “But we have reason to believe that you are at no small risk from this serial killer.”

Another arched eyebrow. “And that reason would be?”

“All three of the victims had one trait in common. One which you share as well. A past romantic relationship with the same woman.”

Apprehension grew into outright fear. He pushed back in his chair, and a bead of sweat welled up on his forehead. “Wait. Are you telling me that all three of these men screwed the same woman? Someone I screwed as well?”

Oh yeah, Mr. Charming had disappeared entirely in light of the revelation he actually
could
be associated with a murder investigation. “All four of you share an ex in common, yes.”

“Who? What
woman
”—he spat the word—“could possibly be worth killing over?”

Scott shifted in his chair and I resisted the renewed urge to look at him. Boy, Meritton was on a roll here. Hitting on a Hound’s current lover, bad-mouthing a past lover . . . Not that the gorgeous but slimy man had any clue to either of those facts.

“Does the name
Harper Cruz
ring a bell?”

His sneer grew even more pronounced. “That whore is the reason three good men have died? Three Cats?”

I slammed the low but solid heel of my red leather boot onto Scott’s foot to keep him from leaping across the desk. “Ms. Cruz”—I enunciated the
Ms.
—“is the thread tying all three victims together, yes. And we have every reason to believe this killer will strike again, that the killer is taking out exes of hers in chronological order, which means that you are at very high risk of being next.”

The sneer disappeared entirely. Meritton licked his lips and took in a deep breath of air. For the first time since we entered, he turned his full attention on to Scott. “I want to hire you.” Well, guess he knew exactly who “Mr. Murphy” was. My lips trembled with threatened laughter, but I did the honorable thing and told him the MCU would be hiring Scott’s mercs to serve as bodyguards on his behalf.

The two of them settled into the business of working out the exact timing and details and paid little ole me no heed, so I stood and wandered around the spacious room. Meritton’s assistant bustled in with gourmet cappuccinos—which I just
had
to sample so as not to appear rude—and then out again. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that took up an entire wall caught my eye. I set down the coffee mug and wandered closer, letting my eyes roam across the book spines. The typical business books you’d expect to find in a CEO’s office occupied one shelf. Books specific to the medical industry took up another. I browsed two more mundane shelves before coming across something much more interesting: esoteric arcane history books. Esoteric because I, big arcane history and cultural buff that I was, had only read a bare fraction of the books. Hell, I’d only even
heard
of a handful of the many I hadn’t read. My gaze went to the stillhaggling Meritton before settling back on the bookcase’s upper shelves. Well, well, well, Mr. Meritton was definitely a collector.

My cell phone buzzed again, but my attention had been caught by a slim, dull-colored book titled
Treatise on the Cultural and Theological Divide Between the Bastai and the Anupu’mesu
. The word
Bastai
had me backtracking in light of the current circumstances. The Bastai—meaning Cats like Harper who could trace their roots (however far) back to the Egyptian goddess Bast. The Anupu’mesu—
Anupu
being an ancient name for Anubis,
mesu
being loosely translated in ancient Egyptian to
children
. So specifically those Warhounds descended from Anubis rather than the Celtic goddess Epona.