“Unharmed physically or mentally?” I asked.
Jack gave me one of his pleased-with-a-student smiles. “Physically, they’re fine. But someone has shuffled through their memories, taking away the finer details.”
“Meaning even if they were abused or hurt in the period they were there, they wouldn’t remember it,” Rhoan stated. “What about Starr? How does he pick his lovers?”
“From his security force.” Jack hesitated. “We have someone in his estate already, and he’s managed to uncover details about the firm Starr uses. That’s how you’re going in.”
Rhoan frowned. “Who have you got in there? Gautier would have passed on Directorate photos, so Starr would recognize anyone we tried to get in there.”
“But he doesn’t know Kade. Starr has a passion for horses—he apparently doesn’t ride them himself, just loves watching them run around with naked women on them.”
“I’m betting the women aren’t just riding them,” Rhoan muttered. “From what I’ve heard, Starr loves watching others get it off. And the more dangerous the situation, the more he enjoys it.”
Some people kept dogs as pets. Starr kept horses and lab-made nightmares, and, from the sound of it, combined the two interests sexually. It said an awful lot about the man. Or rather, his weirdness.“Are the other horses shifters? Or just Kade?”
“Just Kade.”
Then poor Kade. Having naked women riding around on his back was going to be mighty frustrating for the poor fellow.
“Tonight,” Jack continued, “Director Hunter will place Rhoan’s new identity in the security company’s system and alter the memories of the three men who run the place. Tomorrow night, Kade will kill one of the current security force. Rhoan will, of course, be the recommended replacement.”
“What about me?”
Jack glanced my way. “Dia began her recruitment drive last night.”
I raised my eyebrows. “But the full moon is three weeks away, not two.”
“Yes. And two nights ago, Dia left a message for Gautier saying the timetable has been stepped up to February fifth.”
Which was one month away. “Do we know what timetable they’re talking about?”
But even as I said it, I knew, if only because of the premonition I’d had earlier. Gautier would try to kill Jack that day.
Which is exactly what Jack said. “And while we have no idea why the timetable has been stepped up,” he added, “it means we have less than a month to stop Starr.”
“Is that going to be enough time?” Christ, Rhoan might know what he was doing, but I was a novice, and it would take me longer to uncover information for that reason alone.
“It’s going to have to be.” Jack reached past the computer and gave me a folder. “Your new identity.”
I opened the folder and looked inside. “Poppy Burns?” I looked up at Jack. “Do I look like a Poppy to you?”
“You will by the time I’ve finished with you,” Liander said, voice dry.
I poked my tongue out at him and kept on reading. Poppy apparently was the result of a horny werewolf and a human groupie encounter, with neither parent being intelligent enough to realize they were fertile at the time of their brief liaison. The mother didn’t want the resulting child, didn’t know where the father was, so poor Poppy was shoved onto various relatives until she ran away at fifteen. She’d had a multitude of jobs since then, but thanks to her temper and her attitude, hadn’t been able to hold on to anything for very long. She supported herself in between with thieving and the occasional spot of prostitution. She’d gotten into Melbourne three days ago, after having ripped off the wrong house in Sydney and having the owners place a large reward for information on her whereabouts.
Charming. I’d just become a wanted criminal. “Poor Poppy’s had a bitch of a life, hasn’t she?”
Jack grinned. “Read that until you know her by heart.” He hesitated. “And make sure you start reflecting her attitude.”
I nodded. “I won’t have a problem with that part of it.”
“Which is why we put that in. Liander, you want to start in on her? Rhoan, here’s your profile.”
Liander grabbed my hand and led me into the bathroom. As he sat me down, I saw the scissors.
“How short are we going?” I said instantly.
“Very short.”
“No,” I said, my hands going to my hair. I loved it just the way it was—I could put up with it being dyed, but cut short? No way. I mean, I cut it to shoulder length every summer, but I didn’t really consider that short. Not in the sense Liander was talking about, anyway.
He sighed. “Darling, your hair is luscious, I admit, but it is so out of fashion at the moment. Hell, even your brother has more style than you, and that’s saying something.”
“That’s because my brother raids the bank account to go shopping, and I’m the one that worries about where the rent and food money is coming from.”
“Yes, but lack of money doesn’t excuse lack of style. I have been offering free haircuts for years.”
“I like medium to long hair. Anything wrong with that?”
“Normally, no. But long hair doesn’t suit the shoes you’re stepping into. She’s trendy. With it.” He flicked the end of my hair. “This is not.”
“I know, but—”
“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll look divine. And your hair will grow back, regardless.”
I blew out a frustrated breath, but gave in to the inevitable. I was being ridiculous and I knew it. Besides, I wanted my life back, and if doing that meant cutting my hair extremely short, then surely that was a small price to pay. “If it doesn’t look good, I’m going over to your place and destroying all your makeup.”
He grinned. “Warning heeded. Now shut up and let the master create.”
For the next three hours he had his wicked way with my looks, and I had to admit, the end result was startling. He’d dyed my skin a dark gold, covering the smattering of freckles scattered across my cheeks and shoulders, and giving me the rich glow of a sun worshipper. My hair was as short as I’d feared, the ends barely brushing the bottom of my ears, but had been layered so that it framed my face, giving me a cheeky, yet extremely sexy, look. He’d also streaked it with blond, which played amongst the natural gold highlights in my red hair and gave the overall effect of three-toned hair. Breathable, bright green contacts completed the transformation.
“Wow” was all I could manage to say. I didn’t look like me, even though he hadn’t changed all that much.
He gave me a pleased smile. “One more touch, and we’re finished.”
“And what’s that?”
“Voice modulator.”
“E”
He smacked my shoulder. “Stop being a baby.”
“Hey, it’s not the inside of your cheek that thing is being shoved into it.”
“I got hold of some of the smaller ones, just because I knew you’d whine.” He showed me the round pieces of soft plastic. They were even thinner than the last ones we’d used, their thickness being little more than that of extremely fine paper. Width-wise, they were no bigger than a small coin. Once inserted, no one would feel they were there unless they were actually looking for the things—or I decided to deep-throat someone. Not an option considering where I was going.
“Open wide, darling.”
“I bet you say that to all the men,” I muttered, but did as he asked.
He inserted the small plastic chips in either side of my mouth, and it still felt like he was ripping out teeth rather than shoving plastic under my skin.“Owww, owww, owww,” I said, when I could. “You could at least use painkillers when you do that.”
“Stop being such a baby. Besides, the surface of the modulators are covered with an analgesic and deaden the skin as they go in.”
“Hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t work.”
“Trust me, this would be a whole lot more painful if it wasn’t. Now, say something else so I know they’re working properly.”
“I hope one day someone does this to you, just so you can see it is painful, painkiller or no painkiller.” My voice was several octaves lower, and rich with a huskiness that conjured long nights in smoke-filled rooms. A threat had never sounded so sexy, let me tell you.
“Very nice,” he murmured, then bent and grabbed a backpack. “You wardrobe and worldly possessions.”
“Joy.” I unzipped the bag. Inside was jeans, tank tops, a pair of sneakers, a belt that had a real-looking spider as the buckle, a couple of sweaters, and one barely-there dress. All of them looked worse for wear, worn and wrinkled looking. Except for the underclothing, all of which was top shelf and extremely sexy.
“A female thief would at least ensure decent underclothing, no matter what other state her clothes were in,” Liander commented.
“But I’m not a very successful thief if this bag is all I have to show for it.”
“Jack told me your cover had to leave Sydney in a hurry, and to pack accordingly. Why don’t you change, then I can get on with transforming Rhoan.”
“And just what are you going to do with Rhoan?”
“Brown on brown. Boringly so.”
I raised an eyebrow. “If you’re hoping boring will mean less appealing, I’m thinking it won’t work.”