Илона Эндрюс - Emerald Blaze (Hidden Legacy)

“You seem like a nice girl.”

You have no idea.

She kept going. “Let’s be reasonable about this before the testosterone starts flying. This monkey is the property of House Thom. It’s a part of a very important pharmaceutical trial. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but we have a certificate identifying the ownership of the monkey. I’ll be happy to let you verify it for yourself. You’re still young, so a word of advice, always get the proper paperwork to cover your ass.”

“Oh no she didn’t,” Leon muttered under his breath.

At twenty-one, most of my peers were either in college, working for their House, or enjoying the luxury carefree lifestyle the powerful magic of their families provided. Being underestimated worked in my favor. However, we’d been looking for the monkey for several days. I was hot, tired, and hungry and my patience was in short supply. Besides, she’d insulted my paperwork skills. Paperwork was my middle name.

“This monkey is a helper monkey, a highly trained service animal, certified to assist individuals with spinal cord injuries. She was snatched from her rightful owner during a trip to the doctor and illegally sold to your client. I have her pedigree report, immunization records, vet records, certificate from the Faces, Paws, and Tails nonprofit that trained her, a signed affidavit from her owner, a copy of the police report, and her DNA profile. Also, I’m not a nice girl. I am the Head of my House conducting a lawful recovery of stolen property. Do not impede me again.”

On my left Cornelius frowned. “Could we hurry this along? Rosebud is experiencing a lot of stress.”

“You heard the animal mage,” Leon called out. “Don’t we all want what’s best for the stressed-out monkey?”

The shorter of the men squinted at us. “Head of the House, huh? How do you even know this is the same monkey?”

How many golden lion tamarin monkeys did he expect to be running around in Eleanor Tinsley Park? “Rosebud, sing.”

The monkey raised her adorable head, opened her mouth, and trilled like a little bird.

The three MII employees stared at her. Here’s hoping for logic and reason . . .

“This proves nothing,” the woman announced.

As it happened so often with our species, logical reasoning was discarded in favor of the overpowering need to be right, facts and consequences be damned.

“What about now?” Leon asked. “Can I kill one? Just one. Please.”

Leon was extremely selective about shooting people, but the MII agents drew on me and Cornelius, and his protective instinct kicked into overdrive. If they raised their guns another two inches, they would die, and my cousin was doing his best deranged rattlesnake act to keep that from happening.

Leon wagged his eyebrows at me.

“No,” I told him.

“I said please. What about the kneecaps? I can shoot them in the kneecaps, and they won’t die. They won’t be happy, but they won’t die.”

“No.” I turned to Cornelius. “Is there any way to retrieve her without hurting them?”

He smiled and looked to the sky.

Cornelius Maddox Harrison didn’t look particularly threatening. He was white and thirty-one years old, of average build and below average height. His dark blond hair was trimmed by a professional stylist into a short but flattering cut. His features were attractive, his jaw clean shaven, and his blue eyes were always quiet, calm, and just a little distant. The three MII agents took one look at his face and his badass ensemble of light khaki pants and white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and decided they had nothing to worry about. Next to him, dark haired, tan, and lean, Leon radiated menace and kept making threats, so they judged him to be the bigger risk.

“This has been fun and all,” the older MII agent said. “But playtime is over, and we have an actual job to do.”

A reddish-brown hawk plummeted from the sky, plucked the monkey from the pole, swooped over the agents, and dropped Rosebud into Cornelius’ waiting hand. The monkey scampered up Cornelius’ arm and onto his shoulder, hugged his neck, and trilled into his ear. The chicken hawk flew to our left and perched on the limb of a red myrtle growing by the sidewalk.

“Well, shit,” the woman said.

“Feel free to report this to Augustine,” I told them. “He has my number.”

And if he had a problem with it, I would smooth it over. Augustine Montgomery and our family had a complicated relationship. I’d studied him with the same dedication I used to study complex equations, so if he ever became a threat, I could neutralize him.

The older of the men gave us a hard stare. His firearm crept up an inch. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I snapped my Prime face on. “Leon, if he targets us, cripple him.”

Leon’s lips stretched into a soft, dreamy smile.

People in the violence business quickly learned to recognize other professionals. The MII agents were well trained and experienced, because Augustine prided himself on quality. They looked into my cousin’s eyes and knew that Leon was all in. There was no fear or apprehension there. He enjoyed what he did, and given permission, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Then they looked at me. Over the past six months I’d become adept at assuming my Head of the House persona. My eyes told them that I didn’t care about their lives or their survival. If they made themselves into an obstacle, I would have them removed. It didn’t matter what I wore, how old I was, or what words I said. That look would tell them everything they needed to know.

The tense silence stretched.

The woman whipped out her cell phone and turned away, dialing a number. The two men lowered their guns.

Oh good. Everyone would get to go home.

Augustine’s people marched toward the river, the shorter man in the lead, and turned right, heading for the small parking lot where I had parked Rhino, the custom armored SUV Grandma Frida had made for me. They gave us a wide berth. We watched them go. No reason to force another confrontation in the parking lot.

We’d been looking for Rosebud for five days straight, ever since Cornelius took the case. Her owner, a twelve-year-old girl, was so traumatized by the theft, she’d had to be sedated. Finding the little monkey had trumped the rest of our caseload. We had accepted this job pro bono, because snatching a service animal from a child in a wheelchair was a heinous act and someone had to make it right.

Scouring Houston in hundred-degree heat looking for a tiny monkey took a lot of effort. I had barely managed five hours of sleep in the last forty-eight, but every bit of my sweat would be worth it if I could see Maya hug her monkey. My Monday was looking up.

Cornelius smiled again. “I do so love happy endings.”

“Happy ending for you, maybe,” Leon grumbled. “I didn’t get to shoot anybody.”

First, we would deliver Rosebud to Maya, and then I would go home, take a shower, and then a long, happy nap.

Cornelius shook his head. “Your reliance on violence is quite disturbing. What happens when you meet someone faster than you?”

My cousin pondered it. “I’ll be dead, and it won’t matter?”

Talon suddenly took to the air with a shriek, swooping over Buffalo Bayou River. Leon and Cornelius stopped at the same time. Cornelius frowned, looking at the murky waters to the left of a large tree.

Directly in front of us, a narrow strip of mowed lawn hugged the sidewalk. Past the grass, the ground sloped sharply, hidden by tall weeds all the way to the river that stretched to Memorial Parkway Bridge in the distance.

The river lay placid. Not even a ripple troubled the surface.

I glanced at Leon. A second ago his hands were empty. Now he held a SIG P226 in one hand and a Glock 17 in the other. It gave him thirty-two rounds of 9 mm ammunition. He only needed one round to make a kill.