Deathtrap (Crossbreed Series Book 3)(13)

Latasha rolled her eyes and nodded. “Someone could make a lot of money opening a daycare. More women these days are doing it alone, and I’ve seen a couple of girls turn to prostitution. Breed employers don’t like it when you have to take off work because you can’t find a babysitter. That doesn’t fly, and we don’t have laws to protect our rights.”

So true. What little Gem knew of the human world was that employers had to go through a process to fire someone. And even then, people could collect unemployment. In the Breed world, you could simply roll your eyes at the boss and you’d be out on the street with no income.

Latasha touched her crimson hair, making sure everything was in place. There were short corkscrew curls like loose coils twisting and pointing in every direction. “I remember Jenny talking to some guy a few times right before she was fired. It sticks out because I was new on the job, and she got in trouble for ignoring her station when it happened a second time. I don’t know if that helps any.”

“Is he a regular?”

“We get so many faces coming through…” She waved her hand and turned a sharp eye toward a woman who set an empty glass on the floor.

“What did he look like?”

“It’s been so long I don’t remember. I might see him in here every day and not even know it,” she said with a chuckle. “Maybe dark hair? Definitely short hair, because what I do remember is that he had a tattoo on the back of his neck. Some kind of design.”

Gem’s heart began to race. “Can you describe it?”

Latasha pulled a curl straight, and when she let go, it sprang back into position. “It’s been ages, so I couldn’t tell you. Why people mark their bodies up with those things, I’ll never know.”

Gem jotted her number down on a scrap of paper and folded a twenty-dollar bill inside. “If you remember anything else, can you give me a call? You’ve been so helpful.”

“Sweetie, it was nothing. Duty calls.” She stood up and shook off the lethargic posture she’d adopted. “If you change your mind on that drink, let me know. I hope you find her. She probably got herself a new man. Or maybe she moved. People do it all the time.” Latasha winked and strutted away.

Gem had goose bumps all over.

She didn’t usually like working on murder cases, but this was different. Somewhere out there was a baby wondering where his mother was. Scared. Alone. Crying. It didn’t matter if he or she was too young to remember; the damage was done. Gem had been one of those children who grew up never knowing who her parents were, always wondering what her life would have been like had she not been sold on the black market. She used to believe that her mother had given her up, but after working for Keystone and seeing all the stolen children, she was certain that wasn’t the case.

What fate lay ahead for that baby? Despite the rumors of hopeful couples who shopped on the black market, most of the victims were sold to nefarious criminals who wanted to brainwash those children and use them like slaves. She didn’t want this baby to experience a loveless childhood filled with memories of abuse and emotional manipulation.

Claude appeared and sat in the chair across from her. He leaned forward, nostrils flaring, and held her hands in his. “What’s wrong, female?”

Gem didn’t talk about her past with Claude, but he sensed it from time to time when that dark cloud came over her. She quickly stood up and led him into the hall. “I have a description of someone who was seen with her.”

“And?” When Claude folded his arms, his muscles pushed out.

Gem rocked on her heels. “Dark hair and a tattoo on the back of his neck.”

“What kind of tattoo?” he asked flatly.

“A design,” she said, making a veiled reference to Shepherd’s neck tat.

Claude shook his head. “Lots of people have tattoos, Gem.”

“And Shepherd is one of those people.”

Claude turned in a circle, his eyes downcast. “This isn’t his kind of place. And even if it was him, so what? It’s not a crime to be seen with someone. He’s not selling children on the black market.”

“I sure hope he’s not! And we’re all entitled to a personal life, but I’d like to think that if we’re working on a case and he recognizes the person in the photograph that he’d say something. Otherwise, it appears as though he’s hiding something from us. Shepherd may be a big ol’ grump, but I’ve always trusted him. Now I don’t know what to believe.”

Claude put his arm around her when a couple walked by. “Tone it down a notch. We can discuss this somewhere more private.” When they reached a darker spot by the wall, he pulled out his phone.

“Who are you texting?”

The display illuminated his face. “Shepherd. I’m requesting his presence so we can settle this once and for all.”

Gem shifted her weight to the other leg. “What makes you think he’ll come?”

Claude flashed his butterscotch eyes at her. “Because right now he’s probably praying for a meteor to hit the planet to get him out of that formal dinner.”





Chapter 8





Shepherd shifted in his chair, eager to get this night the hell over with. He didn’t like rubbing elbows with suits, and all he could think about was getting back home, lighting up a smoke, and sharpening his knives with a whetstone.

Instead, he was on his fifth glass of alcohol.

Shortly after dinner, a familiar sound came from under the table, and that was when Shepherd realized his phone was missing. Patrick discovered his kid was hiding there the whole time… with Shepherd’s phone. Shepherd had to laugh thinking about how fast that kid took off out the door, Patrick right behind him.

Mr. Bane entered the room and returned to his seat. “I’m sure your companion will find him if my servants don’t. Had I known the boy was underneath the table, I would have sent him away. That’s no dignified place to sit.”

“He’s a kid. Doesn’t matter,” Shepherd said, tracing his finger around the rim of his whiskey glass.

“No, but I’ve raised him not to steal. If he breaks your phone, I’ll replace it.” Patrick poured himself another glass of wine and sat back. “Never have children. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“Give him up for adoption.”

Made sense. After all, the kid wasn’t even his. Maybe Patrick once had a thing for the kid’s mom, but that didn’t mean he was obligated to care for her children after she died. Then again, guys like Patrick loved that kind of shit.

Good PR.

“You make a valid point,” Patrick said, leaning to one side. “But it’s too late for that kind of thing now. He’s grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle. I’ve had him since he was a wee baby. The house wouldn’t be the same without him. No, sometimes a man must put aside his selfish needs and rise to the occasion. Just as you did.”

Nice segue, Shepherd thought. He didn’t want praise or recognition for saving the kid. He was just doing his job. A kid falls, you catch him. Period.

Patrick pulled out a cigar. “Are you a smoking man? Feel free to light up. I don’t have rules about that kind of thing.”

Shepherd opted for one of his cigarettes instead. Rather than wasting a match, he stood up and lit it on one of the candles. The taste was heaven. He savored the first drag that removed the flavor of turtle soup from his palate. Eating those nasty little monsters wasn’t the highlight of his evening, but he’d had too much fun after seeing Raven’s horrified reaction to his liking it. She wasn’t normally the squeamish type, so he couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

He sat down and propped his elbows on the table, tendrils of smoke climbing to the ceiling. Candles flickered between them, and his gaze distractedly dragged up to the painting on the wall to his right. He could hear Viktor’s words in his head. “Make small talk.”

Had this been anyone else, Shepherd would have asked him to turn on the fucking lights. Candlelight was a way of life in the Keystone mansion, but this house was wired from top to bottom.

“I want to offer you a favor of equal value. A life for a life,” Patrick began. “There’s only one caveat. I’m an important man, and you realize I can’t have you walk away with that kind of favor to keep in your pocket. Men change over time and sometimes abuse favors that were granted them.”

“What are you asking?”

Patrick puffed on his cigar and blew out a deformed ring. “I want to know your favor before you leave this room tonight.”

Shepherd felt a hot coal in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t need anything.”

Patrick tilted his head to the side, his narrow eyes brightening. “Oh, come now. Every man has a past bountiful with enemies. Not many have the opportunity to gain a favor from someone in my position; don’t be so quick to decline. I have a lot of connections.” He leaned forward and gave Shepherd a pointed stare. “I’m not taking your good deed lightly, and neither should you. Whatever you ask will stay between us.”

Shepherd took another drag and flicked the ashes onto his empty dessert plate. That was a lot to lay on a man.

“A life for a life,” Patrick repeated before he sat back in his chair. “Would you like more cake?”