Mind Sweeper (2 page)

We spent a few more minutes checking the alley to make sure no evidence was left behind. I didn’t expect to find the angel’s bloody sword thrown in the dumpster, but it pays to be thorough. When we returned to our van, we found Misha sitting in the back scanning surveillance equipment worthy of the FBI.

“I just did a sweep. There’ve been no other weird reports in the city.”

Who would have thought Cleveland, Ohio, would be a hotbed of supes? Maybe the lake attracted them, or the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Either way, it kept us hopping.

Jean Luc chose to drive, as always, and pulled away from the curb, or rather screeched away. He drove like a vamp possessed, but his reflexes hadn’t failed him in four hundred years, which I constantly reminded myself about every time he took a corner too fast.

Misha smirked at me as if reading my thoughts. He could be a smug bastard.

Frustration bubbled to the surface and burst from my mouth. “What are you grinning about? All hell’s breaking loose.”

“Really, little one, you can be terribly melodramatic,” Misha answered in a condescending tone, which didn’t sit well with me.

“Excuse me? You don’t find it somewhat ominous that an angel descended from heaven and killed a vampire in front of human witnesses?”

“You’ve been sucked into the hype, my dear. Angels are not babies with wings. They’ve been alive for millennia. For every artistic rendering of fat cherubs, there are just as many angels depicted with swords. Many are soldiers.”

I needed some backup. “Jean Luc?”

“Misha is right. Angels are soldiers, and soldiers do what they are ordered to do.”

My mouth opened like a fish chasing a worm. “You don’t think”—I poked my finger toward the roof of the van—“
He
ordered the vamp killed?”

Jean Luc shook his head. “Not directly. Remember, heaven is a hierarchy. Someone lower probably ordered it.”

“Holy crap,” I responded, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“Stop worrying,
ma cherie
, we will figure it out.”

I must have looked pretty freaked out for Jean Luc to pull out the French. He thought it helped calm me down when I was about to lose it.

It wasn’t working.

Chapter 2

Seven a.m. and I inhaled my third cup of strong black coffee, hoping the caffeine overload would keep me awake. After we left the bar, and Jean Luc had dropped me off at home, sleep had been out of the question.

I wasn’t surprised when I got the call to come in ASAP for a briefing. I ran my fingers through my straight, chin-length, currently black hair and pulled on a pair of black pants, a gray short-sleeve T-shirt and a vest. I gravitated to black and gray clothes, since they matched my gray eyes and, more importantly, always went with whatever color I decided to dye my hair. Black was really beneath my creativity level, but I didn’t need to call attention to myself for the time being. This case was a potential ticking time bomb. I had never even seen an angel before, let alone a sword-wielding one.

While running last night’s events through my sleep-deprived brain, I tripped over Booger, my cat. I liked to believe he followed me around because of his undying love for me, but after briefly circling my legs, he proceeded to stand by his empty food dish and glare. At least I knew where I stood with him. No need to worry about an ulterior motive, anyway. Opening his food bin, I groaned out loud. It was empty.
Damn.
I rummaged through the cupboards for a substitute and pulled out two cans. I held them up in front of him.

“Tuna?”

He stared at me indignantly.

“Chicken?”

He circled my legs again and meowed, leaving a trail of hair behind. “Okay, chicken it is. I’ll stop at the grocery store tonight before I come home, I promise.”

He gave me the
I’ve-heard-that-one-before
look.

“Be good today.” I maneuvered around the couch to the window and pushed it up just enough for him to get onto the fire escape. Locating my keys and phone, I locked up, ran down the stairs, opened the apartment building door, and scanned the street for my car.

I was glad to call Little Italy home, with its wonderful, close-knit neighborhood and turn-of-the-century brick buildings, but parking was a bitch, especially with my weird hours. Just before I resorted to clicking my key fob like a loser to locate my car, I spotted it across the street. I jumped in and took off, grateful I at least hadn’t had to spend ten minutes scraping snow off my car. The joy of August in Cleveland.

Normally, my morning routine included buying Italian pastries for Misha, but I didn’t want to be late. Depending on traffic, it could take fifteen to thirty minutes to drive downtown to work. Our office was on the third floor of the Smithson Building. Our cover story was that we were a detective agency, which wasn’t too far from the truth. We did investigate weird happenings and solve crimes; they just weren’t your garden-variety adulterers or deadbeat dads. We worked for the Bureau of Supernatural Relations or BSR for short. Most of the time we were called the Supe Squad, which was a bit too Scooby Doo for my taste, but the name had stuck.

When I stepped into the office reception area, it was empty. I glanced at my watch. Dolly wouldn’t be in for another half hour, which meant the coffee, if there was any, had been made by Misha, or, God forbid, Jean Luc. Why he insisted on making coffee when he couldn’t drink it was beyond me.

The door to the back office sat open and I sauntered through. While the front reception area was reminiscent of a Mickey Spillane novel, with its beige walls, dark wood moldings and a beat-up wooden desk, the main back office area had been upgraded to the seventies.

There was a seating area and an almond-colored faux wood table we gathered around for meetings. At one point there had been a mustard yellow refrigerator I finally put out of commission with a fork that “accidentally” lodged itself into the back cooling unit. No one should have to store food in something the color of baby poop.

Even though the office reminded me of a bad acid flashback, it was more of a home than any I’d had growing up. Which was a pathetically sad statement, but true nonetheless.

Misha was parked on the lime green sofa eating a breakfast sandwich. Between bites he mumbled, “No cannoli?”

“Not today.”

Misha was an amazing eating machine. Apparently his demon metabolism pretty much let him eat anything. And even though intimidation radiated from him, in reality he was a teddy bear. The irony was, his name in Russian actually meant “little bear.” When I first started working with him, I gained fifteen pounds trying to keep up. Now I just sat back and watched him eat.

“Where’s Jean Luc?”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. Get some coffee.”

I hesitated. “Who made it?”

Misha grinned. “I did.”

Taking my mug off the hook, I poured a cup and liberally doused it with cream, then sat down next to him. He finished the last of his sandwich, crumpling the paper wrapper.

“While we wait,” he said, “have you heard anything interesting about the new TV season? What shows should I be watching?”

I rolled my eyes. Misha swore the best thing that had happened to him in his two hundred and sixty-year life was the invention of television. If it had been on TV at any time in the last fifty years, he had watched it. Hell, he had memorized it, since he had a photographic memory. This worked very well for the job, but not so well during stakeouts, especially when he quoted entire episodes of
The Brady Bunch
. All except the ones with Oliver. He hated those episodes.

“I haven’t heard anything yet.” I sipped the coffee, reminding myself to add cream to my grocery list. After another minute, I bounced my foot with impatience. “What is taking Jean Luc so long? I thought we had a briefing with Nicholas.”

“He went to get the new guy.”

I glared at him. “What new guy?” You wouldn’t think it would be possible to freak out a high-level demon, so his scared-rabbit gaze would have been amusing if I wasn’t starting to see red. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Um… Nicholas said he was assigning a new guy to the team. I thought he told you.”

“Obviously not. So, what is he?”

He refused to meet my eyes. This couldn’t be good. “Misha?”

“He isn’t a supe.”

My stomach dropped like I was on a roller coaster at Cedar Point.
No, no, no.
“Please tell me Nicholas is not assigning a normal to the team again. After what happened last time, why would he risk it?”

Our last normal teammate, Steve, had been a disaster. Soon as he realized Jean Luc was a vampire, he started wearing garlic necklaces and declared me a “traitor to humanity.” I’d thought his pronouncement was over the top until he tried to stab Jean Luc with a wooden stake. Another myth. Stakes won’t kill vamps, although I learned they hurt like a bitch. Misha had to hold Jean Luc down while I pulled it out. Needless to say, good ol’ Steve was not back the next day.

Before I could continue my rant, the monitor beeped. Time for our briefing. Misha turned on the screen and Nicholas’s face appeared. He was ridiculously handsome, which I’m sure helped him get his way in most things. He reminded me of Cary Grant from the classic movies Misha made me watch.

“Misha, Kyle, good morning. Where is Jean Luc?”

“
Apparently
, he’s gone to pick up our newest team member,” I answered.

Nicholas sighed. “Even from you I don’t expect such hostility this early in the morning.”

“Why am I the last to know about this?”

“This is not a conspiracy, Kyle. The decision was made overnight. Until we have a better idea of what’s going on, it would make sense to have a human on the team to run interference.”

“What am I exactly?” I asked flippantly, even though I was feeling anything but.

“I meant no disrespect. But you are not the most diplomatic person.”

“That’s a load of bull!”

Misha snorted next to me.

I huffed. “Point taken. So who is this guy?”

“He’s a Cleveland police officer who is the department’s media liaison. He should be perfect for the job.”

“What happens when he sees his first demon? Or a rogue shifter tries to eviscerate him?”

“He’ll do fine,” Nicholas replied.

“You said the same thing about Steve, and I ended up spending an hour pulling splinters out of a very pissed-off vampire.”

Nicholas smirked. “If you’re so worried about it, I’ll put you in charge of making sure our newest member falls in line. Do you think you can handle him?”

“Oh yeah, I can handle him.”

Misha shot me a nervous glance and Nicholas got down to business. “Misha, give me your take on the scene last night and your interview with the shifter.”

I sat there half listening and had the strangest thought. We were the supernatural version of Charlie’s Angels. The original TV show of course, since I agreed with Misha that it was better than the movies. I was Kate Jackson’s character. She was spunky and the true brains of the group. Jean Luc was definitely Farrah Fawcett, which would make Misha Jacqueline Smith. Nicholas was Charlie. God, I had really been spending too much time with Misha and his TV addiction. That or I had finally OD’d on caffeine.

Nicholas interrupted my tripped-out thoughts. “Do you have anything to add regarding the interview, Kyle?”

“No, as usual, Mr. Photographic Memory here didn’t miss a beat.”

“Contact me again when you have more information.”

Nodding, Misha logged off. The door opened behind us and I turned. Jean Luc stepped into the room, alone.

“Where’s the new guy?” I blurted.

He angled his head toward the door. “In the reception area with Dolly.”

“Did you check him for wood?”

“Very funny.”

“Does he know what you are?”

“No.”

I smiled. “Please, let me tell him.”

“I am not sure that is a good idea,” Jean Luc said.

“Nicholas put me in charge of him,” I countered.

Misha confirmed my statement by nodding. Jean Luc shrugged and stepped aside. I started for the door, then stopped.

Misha scowled. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Jean Luc, please tell him I’ll be out in a bit to give him his orientation. That will give Dolly a couple of minutes to
welcome
him.”

If Dolly’s picture appeared in the dictionary it would be next to the words gorgeous, tall, blonde, and sleek. But beneath that beauty beat the heart of a barracuda when it came to overseeing the front desk. I had actually seen Dolly make school children peddling candy bars cry. So I was more than a little surprised when I finally opened the door and found new guy perched on her desk. Their heads were close together and she was giggling. Actually giggling like a tweener.

I took a long gander at the man. Not sure what I’d expected to see. The stereotypical cop who had eaten one too many donuts? I mean, a cop who sat behind a desk all day couldn’t be in very good shape, right? Wrong.

I highly doubted his lean body had ever been exposed to processed sugar…or saturated fat, for that matter. He was wearing khakis and a blue polo shirt that accentuated his muscles. I studied his profile and decided he wasn’t too bad looking. Dark brown hair and a strong nose. What exactly was the big deal?