Chapter 10 Declan
DECLAN
Once my breathing and heart rate was under control, I glanced down at Veronica.
She was still panting, her back rising and falling.
What surprised me the most was how she was lying on me.
Her head resting right on my chest. I stared at the gorgeous curly brown hair; the claw clip she’d been wearing was gone, probably lying somewhere in the room.
The warmth of her cheek on my chest sent a strange yearning sensation through me.
How long had it been since a woman had been this close to me? How long since a woman had touched me in an intimate way? A fucking long time.
In my heyday as a full-time private eye, I’d been what some might call a ladies’ man.
The mystery and intrigue surrounding my profession got people interested.
That lent itself to conversation, which led to flirting, which would invariably end up with me and the woman thrashing around in bed.
After what happened three years ago, though, I’d lost all desire.
For work, for women, for friendship. Hell, I’d damn near lost my desire to live.
I’d thought all of that was gone forever, yet here I was, fighting for my life, taking a new case, and feeling something.
It made me a little uncomfortable with how much I liked it.
Keep business and pleasure separate, Dec, I thought as I eased myself out from under Veronica.
She sat up, moving to her hands and knees, her curls falling down and obscuring her face.
“How the hell did that thing find us?” she asked, then turned her head, pinning me with her hazel eyes. My mouth went dry as my eyes drifted across her lightly tanned skin. “Did it find us? Could it have been a coincidence?”
I grunted as I got to my feet. “You’re on the run for the murder of a famous magical professor, and within hours, a changeling turns up right on the doorstep of a safe house where, quite literally, no one would ever think to look for you.
That’s not a coincidence. That sounds like you were tracked down. ”
“But how?” Veronica said, sitting back on her butt and hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m not great at magic, but I’m not an idiot.
I cast cloaking spells and used magic to obscure my tracks.
I even crossed creeks and stuff to mask my scent in case they hired shifters to track me.
” She shrugged and looked away. “I would have masked it magically, but I haven’t learned that yet. How could they have found me here?”
I thought about it as I reloaded my gun, pulling silver cartridges from the inner pocket of my leather jacket.
I’d had her spray herself with the scent neutralizer back in the car.
Even if that thing had somehow managed to track her all the way from my house, there’s no way it could have followed right to the safe house door.
That thing had walked up knowing she was inside.
There was only one possibility I could think of.
“Take off your clothes,” I said absently.
“Uh…say what?”
I clicked the cylinder in place and slid the gun back into my shoulder holster. Veronica was looking at me with wide-eyed surprise, a faint red glow on her cheeks.
“What?” I said, frowning at her. “Take off those clothes. I need to see something.”
Veronica slowly got to her feet and took a single step back, eyeing me warily. That was when I realized what my statement sounded like. I grimaced and slapped a hand against my forehead.
“Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to get into your pants. I need to check if there’s some kind of tech or magic tracker on you.”
It seemed my ability to be polite and subtle had atrophied during my retirement. In the two hours I’d known this girl, I’d already conversed more than I had in the last three years combined.
“Why would there be something in my clothes?” she said, visibly relaxing, but looking more worried as she ran a hand unconsciously across the sleeve of her shirt.
I knew how most of the magic academies worked.
They were basically like a boarding school.
Some were for children, others for adults like Veronica, and still others were more like research facilities for the experts in magic.
The one thing they all had in common were uniforms. Most had the students wear traditional robes, but underneath they also wore a standard outfit provided by the school.
Veronica wore a fairly bland short-sleeved button-up and navy pants.
“Did Balthazar provide those clothes to you?” I said, pointing at her outfit.
She glanced down at herself, then back at me. “Uh, yeah. Everyone gets this to wear. These are the casual clothes you get. It’s what we wear when we aren’t in class. The only thing you get to choose to wear is your pajamas.”
“Exactly. I can’t think of any other way they could have found you.
” I stepped forward, hands raised in surrender.
“If you want, you can take them off in the bathroom and hand them out to me for privacy, or I can check them with my hands while they’re on you.
Up to you. Whatever you’re more comfortable with. ”
Veronica worried her bottom lip between her teeth, then glanced at the hole where the door had been before the changeling so rudely busted it down.
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “I’d rather not be naked in the bathroom if some other asshole shows up. Fine. Check it now.”
“Want me to do those first?” I said, pointing to the lensless glasses.
Her eyes widened slightly, and another flush crept across her cheeks.
“No need. These, uh, these aren’t uniform. I brought them from home when I came to the academy.”
My forehead furrowed as I took that in. “But it doesn’t have any lenses. They look like the glasses you said belonged to this Wendy girl. Why would you wear that?”
She pushed the glasses up her nose, and shrugged. “I had to wear them when I was younger, okay? Before I became a shifter.”
Some of the information clicked into place. “You had bad vision.”
She nodded. “I got made fun of a bit when I was younger, and these”—she touched the glasses once more—“turned into a comfort thing. I popped the lenses out and wore them. All right? Good enough?”
“Gotcha. No problem. As long as you’re sure they’re safe.”
“They are. Go ahead and get started. We need to hurry.”
“Okay. I promise I won’t do anything inappropriate.”
“I trust you.” Our eyes met for a breath before she glanced away.
First, I ran my fingers around the waistband of her pants, probing the seams and folds of fabric before tucking them inside the thin leather belt, moving slowly as I walked around her. She sucked in a small breath as I checked the spot around the pants button.
Glancing up, I said, “Do you want to check the zipper? I don’t want to touch—”
“It’s fine,” she said, her voice obviously tight. “I wouldn’t know what I was looking for anyway.”
“You sure?”
She nodded once—a quick bounce of her head—and her throat moved as she swallowed. “All good. Be quick.”
“All right.”
Quickly, I tucked my fingers inside the small flap of fabric that covered the zipper, and slid it down and back up, doing my best to keep away from her body.
Then, because I had to be sure nothing was attached to it, I ran my index fingertip along the serrated metal zipper.
Veronica trembled slightly, and I winced inwardly.
Despite my attempt at professionalism, I couldn’t help but think of what was only a few millimeters away from my hand.
A tiny bit of metal and cotton separating my finger from—
“Nothing there,” I said, kneeling to check the pant cuffs and attempting to throw off the thoughts that had been trying to pry their way into my mind.
The pants had nothing that I could find, nor did her shoes and socks. I rose after checking and ran my hands over her shirt. I did not go over her chest. This was already degrading enough for both of us. I’d save that for the very last thing if I had to check.
Her sleeve cuffs, hem, shoulders, and back were fine. It wasn’t until I slid my fingers beneath the folded collar that I found something strange. At the very back, tucked up inside the fold, behind where the tag would be, I found what felt like a round piece of leather.
“What is this?” I said, flipping the collar up.
“Uh, I think it’s the Freedman Coven sigil,” she said. “Kinda like an ownership tag. All the robes and shirts have them.”
“Right.” I leaned down to look.
Sewn into the shirt was a round patch of leather etched with an emblem of an upside-down hammer with tiny knotwork along the handle, and a half-moon on the head.
Obviously, the sigil of the Freedman Coven.
Digging my fingertip into the thin threads running around it, I tugged and pulled until, with a quick pop, the sigil tore off and fell into my other hand.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
Veronica spun in place to face me. “What?”
The leather patch had landed face down on my palm. A tiny piece of metal was embedded in the leather. As small as it was, I could still make out the line of numbers engraved along the bottom edge. Nine or ten numerals that looked like a serial number.
“A tracker,” I said. “Or something like one. Can’t tell if it’s simple human tech or magical without inspecting it better, but this has to be how they found you.
“I don’t understand,” she said slowly, shaking her head, her curls swishing across her cheeks. “Why would I have had a tracker put on me?”
Pointing to the line of numbers, I said, “I don’t think it was just you. I think each student at Freedman Academy has a specific number. You said everyone’s robes and shirts had these leather patches?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, if I had to guess, every student has one on them at all times when they aren’t in bed.”
“That’s crazy,” Veronica said. “Why, though?”