Spike bulged with muscle, his entire body covered with tatts, and he kept his head shaved. In the last six or so months, Spike had relaxed, changing from a man who lived for nothing but fighting to one who had more to love. Discovering he had a four-year-old cub, and finding his mate, Myka, had softened the Feline who’d once been hard as granite.
Ellison drove them to a warehouse district and a large mechanic shop housed in one of the older warehouses. When the two pickups pulled up, Spike and Ellison emerging from one truck, Sean and Dylan from the other, the guys working on cars stopped and slowly straightened. Gazes followed the four Shifters and Maria, with Sean’s sword obvious on his back, as they moved toward the entrance.
The man called Pablo Marquez had an office in the back of the warehouse, shut away from the noise of the men working on cars. Pablo had dark hair and eyes, Latino coloring, wore a business suit, and rose smoothly when they came in.
He was also a criminal. Maria sensed that before she took two steps inside. He didn’t shout the fact—his clothing was tasteful and he didn’t flash jewelry, but she knew. He was too congenial, too courteous, and there weren’t enough cars being worked on to pay for this cushy office and his thousand-dollar suit.
“I saw you coming,” Pablo said, remaining on his side of the desk. “Which means you wanted me to. How are you, Dylan? Sean. Ellison.” He cleared his throat as he looked up at Spike. “Eron.”
Spike gave him a nod, not betraying surprise that Pablo called him by his real name. Only Myka called Spike Eron, but Pablo seemed the kind of man who knew everything.
“Drink?” Pablo asked without moving. “I have plenty of cold beer, stronger if you want it.”
He carefully didn’t look at Maria. Maria saw his curiosity about her, but he was acknowledging that she belonged to the Shifters, and he wouldn’t poach.
Not long from now, Maria thought with conviction, I won’t be treated like a possession. By anyone. I’ll stand up and tell people like Pablo Marquez what to do with themselves. She started to smile, imagining it.
Ellison didn’t see her smile, because he was standing in front of her, a barricade between her and Pablo, but Sean shot her a puzzled look.
“What did you come to ask me to do?” Pablo said, lacing his fingers together. “And why does it take four Shifters and a civilian to ask it?”
“Ellison,” Dylan said.
Ellison described what had happened in the tunnels—how he’d found Olaf about to be abducted by the three men with a net and a tranq rifle, how he’d chased them out of the culvert to see them leap into an SUV. Ellison rattled off the license number, but Pablo held up his hand.
“I don’t have to look it up. High-dollar SUV, professional thugs with top-of-the-line equipment, fake plates. That’s Clifford Bradley.” Pablo shook his head. “He’s dangerous. Very dangerous. Even for you, I think.”
“If he’s so dangerous, why haven’t I heard of him?” Dylan asked.
“He’s a recent arrival. From Atlanta, but he works the entire country. He also doesn’t have his finger in things you’d be involved in—you’ll never see him at the Shifter fight club or throwing back a beer at a local bar. He’s high dollar. The higher the better. He has clients in New York, Los Angeles, London, Paris . . .”
“Clients for what?” Dylan asked in his quiet voice.
“Drugs mostly. The very expensive kind that fund wars. Weapons. Diamonds. Anything he can move that’s sought after by the ultrarich and untouchable. I’m too small-time for him—I don’t even think he knows I’m alive. Fine with me. I leave him alone.”
“Why would he try to take Olaf?” Maria asked. “Not for ransom, was it?” She knew that kidnapping was a lucrative business in some third-world countries. Even people who couldn’t pay much for the return of their loved ones would manage to pay something.
On the other hand, though Shifters had more resources than most humans realized, they were perceived to live close to the bone. A man who dealt in diamonds might not believe he’d get much from Shifters.
Pablo spread his hands. “I’ve heard rumors—and I haven’t heard them lately—that some very rich people like to keep captive Shifters, especially when they’re young.” He swallowed and looked at the Shifters, who were watching him in absolute stillness. “As pets.”
Silence descended. Outside the office, the clink, clink of tools went on, a sudden clatter and a swear word in Spanish as someone dropped a wrench.
Ellison was the first to speak, his Texas drawl toned way down. “And you didn’t bother to tell us this, because . . . ?”