Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two Read online

  “You act as if you can’t beat Dalara, Travis.”

  Travis resisted punching Peters and concentrated on the dossier, jumping to the next mug shot. The bald charcoal-colored man interested him until he caught dark soulless eyes and cracked skin with blood oozing from his wounds.

  “We’re not looking for Taurus,” Peters said. “The rest don’t have updated mugshots. I’m working to get those for you.”

  Travis’s hand snagged on a paper clip and he scanned the photograph. He recognized Reginald Rodriguez from the vision, down to the brown eyes, dark hair, and disapproving scowl. His finger traced under Rodriguez’s jawline when he spotted a thick scar.

  A shame he died so young. Cleaned up nice in a tuxedo, I’ll give him that.

  “Interesting story, Travis,” Peters interrupted. “Remember Jemina Rodriguez?”

  “I try not to,” Travis said. “She nags me with her butchered English and threatens to kill me every chance we meet.”

  “That’s her oldest son. She’s got a daughter, too.”

  So, that’s why Mye’s mechanic stays with Rodriguez, Travis thought, piecing together similar characteristics from both adults. At least he can deal with her. Maybe he can get Rodriguez to quit wearing hooker outfits every time I see her. That’d be nice. He lifted the mugshot and read the death certificate stapled to the picture.

  “So, the question is… how did he die in a car crash?”

  “Seemed odd to me, too.”

  “You have a photo of their daughter, Peters?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because she’s dating Dalara.” Travis flipped through the documents and skimmed for more information. “Dalara referenced it when I overheard Mye. If I can talk to her—”

  “The daughter’s not involved, Travis.”

  The mage pitched forward after narrowing his eyes. “Peters, I can’t imagine Greene cutting ties with his family after he passed. Look at us.”

  Peters’s eyes turned murky and his lips tightened into a thin line.

  Before the situation spiraled out of control, an incoming call interrupted their tense discussion.

  As Peters answered the phone, Travis thought about his vision and budding magical abilities. He watched Peters’s body language and noticed his apprehension. As Peters hugged himself, Travis rubbed at his stubble, wondering how to suppress his developing powers.

  Travis squeezed his eyes together and tried blocked the pounding headache and Peters’s angry tone out, but picked up his partner’s inner monologue instead.

  After a few thoughts and choice words from Peters, Travis straightened in his seat, snickering at Aviere’s nickname for Peters.

  She’s right. The name suits Shawn. But… damn it, not another one!

  Another vision presented itself to Travis, and the agent stared at the windshield, feigning boredom while disguising his blight. He watched Peters meeting a robust white man with short brown hair, boxy spectacles, and a tuxedo inside a dark passageway. Peters accepted the dossier, flushed and agitated. Their mouths moved, but Travis couldn’t make out the words.

  A car door crashed and jerked Travis out of the vision before he tried deciphering their conversation or Peters’s movements. As Travis readjusted his seatbelt, he caught Peters’s intense stare.

  “The hell? Scared the shit out of me, Peters.”

  “You were acting weird.” Peters jammed his Blackberry inside his suit pocket. “Blanking out isn’t safe for stakeouts.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you met the director this morning?”

  Peters stiffened before his coffee eyes widened. “I didn’t mention that.”

  “That’s the problem.” Travis squinted, battling his growing headache. Travis pressed his cold, clammy hands against his face and covered his eyes. Once the vision ended, Travis concentrated on blocking Peters’s neurotic inner monologue.

  “What do you mean?”

  Travis pointed to his temple before tapping it a few times. Then he placed a finger over pursed lips before exhausted hazel eyes drifted to the radio.

  Immediately, Peters turned the earpiece down and the radio to an unused frequency. “Shit.”

  “I never wanted this, Shawn.” Travis checked the highway and his racing heartbeat slowed after noticing the city lights and darkened atmosphere. “You can stop freaking out. You’ll attract every nearby telepath.”

  “Great.” Peters slammed a fist into the dashboard. “Just what I wanted—finding another magic trainer. I suppose Dalara—”

  “Training with Mye’s scary enough,” Travis confessed. “Magic training with Dalara gives me nightmares. We don’t need any more of Mye’s family issues.”

  “I’m not sure which partner’s freakier, Travis—you with budding magic, or Mye with every creepy associate known to man. Either way, assignments keep getting weirder every time I work with you.”

  “Stop bitching and be glad you’re human, Peters,” Travis reprimanded. “I have to figure out how to hide my magic from Sanderson and the director.”

  “Don’t think you can from Sanderson, but the director just called.”

  Travis drew his Blackberry from his pocket before recognizing the missed call. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “He’s demanding you meet him at the Tethered Mistress. I took up the call while your problem occurred.”

  The atmosphere changed between them, almost as if an invisible barrier erected around Peters. Travis wrung his hands and met Peters’s distant gaze, compelling his racing mind to convey consoling words. Unbridled energy coursed through Travis’s body, choking him as his calloused fingers dug into his arms, scratching at flesh until it almost bled.

  Magic makes my life harder, but Peters won’t listen. Just drop the subject and revisit it later, Keith.

  “Peters, I’m not thrilled about this either,” Travis muttered.

  “I don’t want you reading my thoughts, goddammit.”

  “Jesus, I don’t want to overhear your neurotic monologue, Peters. But Mye’s name carries some merit.”

  “It was okay when you could just teleport.” Peters flinched before fluttering his fingers over the files inside his briefcase. “I finally accepted that. Hell, even Mye’s escapades were tolerable. Things became a norm—then you ruined it by proclaiming you’re spying on people’s minds.”

  “Yeah, I’m with you there.” Travis rested a clammy hand on his colleague’s shoulder as he wiped the sweat off Peters’s suit. “If I could get rid of magic, I would. But it’d kill me.”

  “Why, because you’d have to drive everywhere?”

  Despite Peters’s lighthearted joke, Travis winced. The silver collar around his neck reminded Travis of why Sanderson captured him and his inability to control his budding powers.

  I can’t avoid it forever, but if I recall, a mage becomes soulless without their powers. The thought crossed my mind, but then—I remembered Soulstealer. The freaking woman is insane and I promised to surpass my first tormentor.

  Travis studied Peters’s trembling movements before tapping his boot against the plastic floor cover.

  I’d give it up if it meant not having strained conversations like this with you, Shawn.

  “Shawn, I spoke of magic being fused into my life force.”

  It came out sharper than he wanted, but Peters spun around with comfort in his brown eyes. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “If someone stole my powers, I’d die. Just because I loathe magic doesn’t mean I want to commit suicide, unlike Mye. I’m hoping bounty hunters don’t appear, but I’m sure the Red Coat Society will after our disaster with McSeeten.” Travis remembered Limere’s skills and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I consider myself a B rank, at best.”

  “Perhaps,” Peters agreed. “But no worse than the others hunting Mye. She’s a better Renegade, but crueler.”

  “You’re calling her that now?”

  “She’s a shifter,” Peters argued with a curt tone. “Sanderson calls them Renegade
s.” A stiff finger pointed at the vacant highway. “While I’m working through our new developments, I’ll investigate the director. Asshole pissed me off this morning and I’m determined to get blackmail on him.”

  “What did you talk to him about?”

  The glare from Peters expressed volumes. “Let’s just say I feel betrayed by that bastard.”

  “Hmph,” Travis grunted in disapproval. “What happened to ‘keeping the peace’, Peters?”

  “Get going,” Peters ordered. “He’s calling again.”

  “He’ll know.”

  Peters shrugged. “You’ll recover. You always do.”

  “No, I mean—”

  “It’s not like Sanderson isn’t aware of them, anyway.” The binoculars rose and Peters surveyed the area. “I’ll come to terms with it. Just give me some time to process.”

  Travis flung the door open as he exited the Focus, placed his hat over his messy honey brown hair, and progressed down the street. As Peters called out the window, Travis cast a scathing glare, silencing his partner’s complaints.

  Ten feet later, Travis released a full breath and wiped his brow, slumping against a wall when various thoughts from strangers assaulted his head. The agent’s knees locked, but Travis held another tense breath, praying the assault died quickly.

  Fifteen minutes seemed like hours before Travis rose and wiped his drenched hair off his sopping forehead. The inner turmoil he felt almost climaxed, but it diminished before Travis’s emotions boiled past resentment. As he willed his rubbery legs to cooperate, Travis licked at his parched lips and swallowed, craving warm coffee and a glazed donut.

  When he dug through the large trench coat pockets, Travis glowered at the single pack of sugar and breadcrumbs from lunch. After a large gurgle, Travis grunted.

  Mental powers shouldn’t give me munchies, but—crap. The director. Yeah, I should probably meet him before getting dinner.

  Travis walked into an outlet square and moaned when numerous thoughts invaded his vulnerable mind. The agent gripped his temples and zipped through the parking lot, astounded at how oblivious humans remained. Exhausted employees grumbled about their bosses, while others contemplated how to act on homicidal thoughts hidden from their family and friends.

  No wonder mages detest humans. It’d be easy to psychologically break them.

  His phone vibrated and Travis sighed after viewing the caller ID. The short sigh bordered on exasperation after noticing eleven notifications about missed calls. Travis counted each person around him, checked who exactly messaged him, and then wiped sweat away before the corner of his lip twitched once more.

  I can’t avoid my bosses forever, but they can wait until I arrive. Maybe I’ll ride the light rail instead of teleporting. I can gather my thoughts and practice evading Mye’s temper.

  The agent crammed the Blackberry in his trench coat with a darkened scowl before shuffling inside the stairway to the light rail station.

  As the phone buzzed again, he darted down the steps, praying the light rail remained deserted. Each clomp echoing from his cowboy boots riled the gurgling in Travis’s stomach. He thought about his destination and Travis’s trembling softened.

  At least Louis Armandi arms his security at the Tethered Mistress, Lyssa. Jesus, even the bouncer is loyal to Mye. But when you go inside, the businessman uses state of the art tracking devices and a pretty façade to hide his involvement within the Underground.

  After entering the station, Travis exhaled, removing a heavy weight from his tense chest. A few steps later, the weight returned after spotting a homeless woman dozing on the bench, covered with newspapers. Travis averted his gaze from the raggedy shopping cart of clothes beside the elder, but curiosity played at him. No matter how long Travis resided in Charm City, the homeless still tugged at his heartstrings.

  The light rail doors parted and a sorrowful man’s voice announced the stop over the speakers. Travis pulled the wide brimmed hat over his head as he entered the desolate subway and held onto a pole, thinking of how to break the news to Aviere. Compared to Peters’s reaction inside the Focus, Travis figured Aviere would understand better.

  When weighing his two colleagues, Travis preferred Aviere’s aid.

  At least Mye’s more open-minded, even if we’re questioning her brother. She won’t shun me if my powers grow. But dealing with Mye and Peters… Lyssa, even you’d lose your patience with them.

  The agent’s stomach knotted when thinking about the sexy brunette with cold cerulean eyes. Travis prayed after signaling a cross across his chest, stopping after the light rail moved and announced their destination. While gliding across the tracks, Travis couldn’t shake his foreboding. When he closed his eyes, Travis imagined Aviere’s cold eyes and her conniving smirk.

  The Blackberry buzzed one final time and Travis cursed under his breath as he checked the notification. The single line of text sent his stomach to full-blown nausea.

  Great, Lyssa. I wanted a quiet night, but there’s a homicide and I know Mye’s involved. So much for an easy rendezvous meeting. But if Mye’s responsible, I’m wringing her neck.

  Travis grumbled under his breath and plopped on a plastic seat, cursing the shifter and her infernal luck. After the fifth curse, Travis stopped and rubbed the Desert Eagle, exhaling after feeling cool metal.

  Once he found Aviere Mye, Travis would ring her neck.

  Until then, the agent leaned back, rested his arms behind his head, and considered different shooting exercises to subject Aviere with in their first shooting exercise. A wicked grin crossed Travis’s lips and he whistled softly as the light rail continued, satisfied with Aviere’s punishment.

  Last time, the Poisoner took him by surprise and almost outwitted him.

  This time, Travis vowed to be the victor—no matter how many shifters Aviere deployed or how many times she raced away without notice.

  Chapter Two

  “I have to say, Miss Greene drove well with your partners chasing her, Aviere.”

  Aviere Mye crossed her arms in the passenger seat as she scrutinized the dented silver Ford Focus, seething at her partners’ actions. A scowl crossed her lips as her coworkers argued amongst themselves inside the vehicle. Two fingers pulled her restored silver-rimmed glasses closer as Travis shoved the door open and stormed away from the automobile.

  Goddammit, Travis. Why are you and Peters investigating Karyn Greene? I know I’ve been on medical leave for six weeks, but you could’ve waited till tomorrow afternoon.

  Gloved fingers clenched in a fist as Aviere stared at the agent playing detective, then returned to Peters as he screamed from the cracked driver’s side window. The agent’s nasally voice carried through the abandoned gas station, raising the longer Travis ignored Peters’s demands.

  Aviere’s tightened lips widened in a condescending smirk when Peters threw his arm out the window. She snickered after Travis turned around, lifted his wide-brimmed leather hat, and gave his partner a single finger salute.

  Serves Neuro right, Aviere agreed, chortling as Peters slammed a fist into the dashboard. They shouldn’t investigate what I do on my down time. Prick.

  “The human’s pretentious, Aviere,” her companion remarked. “He’ll cause trouble in the unit, more so than Travis.”

  The Poisoner shifted as she addressed Louis Armandi, adjusting her glasses once more. “I’m aware, Louis.” She frowned at Armandi stroking his dark goatee. “If Peters becomes a problem—”

  “You’ll have my support if you choose to punish him. But I’m curious about something.” The businessman cracked his window and turned his back to Aviere. “I checked Miss Greene’s record and the background check returned clean. Not a hint of criminal activity in her adult record. So why are your agents questioning her?”

  Two lithe fingers covered Aviere’s tiny lips. “Not sure.”

  “Hmm?”

  Aviere cleared her throat before her boot tapped the floor. Then she removed her fingers from her lips and d
rummed them against the dashboard as Peters raced out of the gas station. “I’m wondering myself. She’s familiar, but she’s changed since I last saw her.”

  “That’s not important.” Armandi’s jovial tone sent shivers down Aviere’s spine. “But filling your vacant slot is since you’ll be racing soon.”

  “A few days,” Aviere snapped, fingers seizing against the dash. “Christ—the doctor just cleared me for work tomorrow. I’ve been taking care of business. Pardon me if picking a new racer wasn’t on my list of priorities while juggling other responsibilities.”

  “Family sentimentality won’t behoove you, Aviere.”

  “You wouldn’t understand, nor do I expect you to, Louis.” Aviere folded her arms over her chest and glared at Karyn’s athletic form fuming outside the neglected Stingray. “The Vipers consisted of close-knit people. I didn’t get along with Jemina, but I’d deal with her over some new chick.”

  “Just meet with her, Aviere,” Armandi encouraged, voice lifting at her name. “I’m sure you’ll understand my decision once you interview her.”

  “You’re handing me a problem child, ” Aviere warned, brushing brunette strands behind her ear. “I don’t like that you’re overstepping boundaries. You’re only a sponsor, not my decision maker.”

  “I recall a certain hellcat taking unauthorized liberties when she needed a dead body a few weeks ago. Wonder who that was, Aviere.”

  Christ, what did Ma see in Louis Armandi? The Poisoner edged against the cushioned seat and her hands bunched the material as her breathing quickened. I saved Armandi from McSeeten, yet Armandi’s wounded pride won’t forgive me. I swear, I’m dealing with Gunther or Da.

  Cerulean eyes narrowed as Aviere straightened then exhaled, hoping to stop her racing pulse. “I explained the situation several times, Louis. Not my fault you’re spiteful or won’t accept the truth.”

  “You killed me with potassium chloride to get to Vinny McSeeten, Aviere.”

  “Quickest and most effective way to stop your heart. I had an antidote, for Christ’s sake. You’re alive and kicking, so I don’t understand the problem.”