Beside him sat Solomon Judah. Michael wasn't sure of the male's origins. All he knew was that he'd never encountered anyone like him, and everyone who met him feared him. Including Michael! Solo either burned hot or iced cold, and there was nothing in between.
Solo kept to himself, only emerging from his "hick, backwater bat cave," as Blue called it, for a mission. But then, Solo had to be solitary. He was taller than both Corbin and John, monstrously so, with an even bigger muscle mass, but while the others were fantasies of urban beauty, Solo was a nightmare of hellish ugliness.
And okay, yeah, that was way harsh. He only resembled a creature from the underworld when his temper overtook him. Right now, he was actually what Michael's female assistant referred to as barbarian chic. And she always used a hushed, deferential tone.
Solo had unevenly chopped black hair, thanks to his affinity for cutting the strands with his own blade, and deeply bronzed skin. His eyes were blue and heavily lashed, his nose strong and aristocratic, with a slight bump in the center from one too many breaks.
Whenever he experienced a surge of anger, Solo's skin would darken to a frightening shade of crimson--the last color his enemies saw before dying horribly. His teeth would elongate into something far worse than fangs. His cheekbones would double in size and his ears would grow and develop sharp points at the end. Metallic claws would sprout from his nails.
By the time the last of the physical changes occurred, no one would be able to calm him. He would rage until becoming too weakened to move, everything in his path already totally and completely obliterated.
That hadn't always been the case. Once, his adoptive parents had had great success in the soothe-the-savage-beast arena. In fact, the pair had taken countless years off Michael's life, terrifying him as they'd approached the crazed boy, not to try and subdue him but to wrap their arms around him and hug him close. And Solo had let them!
When Mary Elizabeth and Jacob died, Solo had been inconsolable--and once again unstoppable.
He must have felt Michael's gaze, because he looked up and locked on him. They shared a silent moment of communication.
Michael: How are you doing, son?
Solo: If you don't get started, I'll rip out your heart and have it for breakfast.
That was just a guess on Michael's part, of course, but he was suddenly certain Solo iced cold today.
"I received a great piece of intel," Michael said, getting down to business. He sat upright and pressed a few buttons on his computer.
"Uh, I hate to break it to you, boss, but that's not exactly a news flash," Blue replied. "The only time you call us together is when you've received intel. Get to the real stuff, will you?"
"Why do you care whether or not he delays?" John said. "It's the off-season for you, so you've got nowhere else to be."
"Speak for yourself." Blue hitched his thumb in the Rakan's direction, all Can you believe this guy? "I have a wedding to pretend to help plan."
Unvarnished truth, right there. And Michael was still shocked about the impending nuptials. He kept track of his boys, and knew Blue hadn't known the girl long. A few weeks, nothing more. But that wasn't the shocking part. After a failed relationship a few years ago, Blue had become a serial one-hit batter. Yet now he expected a lifetime of wedded bliss? Please. And the girl? Blue's philandering was well known. Did she truly believe she would be the one to change him?
Well, she wouldn't. The fiancee had no idea Blue worked in the shadows of the government as a hired killer, and she never would. Eventually, she would realize he was lying to her about his whereabouts, and she would demand answers he couldn't give. She would assume he was having an affair--and he might be doing that, too--and leave him.
Michael had seen it happen to his operatives time and time again, but they kept trying, hoping to build ties with someone, anyone, and create an illusion of normalcy. When would they learn? When your life was a big fat lie, happily-ever-after was impossible. And yes, Michael knew that firsthand.
He would have released the boys from his employ, but they would have told him to go screw himself. They were brothers by circumstance rather than blood, and deep down they truly loved each other. Michael, too. Besides that, they knew of no other way to live. He hadn't let them learn. A mistake on his part, yes, but one it was too late to rectify.
At least John and Solo would not make the same mistake as their friend. The pair had waded through too much filth to try the marriage thing, and Michael knew they both felt as if they were tainted all the way to the bone. And Solo . . . well, he wasn't wrong about that.
Other agents made messes, and Solo was the one to clean everything up, destroying evidence that was never meant to make the light--whether living or not, whether guilty or innocent.
Michael would call him, give him a location, and tell him what had gone wrong. A few days later, Solo would have everything in order. And oh, the things he'd had to do to succeed . . .
"What's got your panties in such a morose little twist, boss?" Blue asked. He'd always been the most observant of the three. "You thinking about my wedding? Wanting to cry because you didn't get an invite?"
"Cry, when I'd rather kill myself than attend?" he asked, already knowing he would be there, hidden in the shadows. "Hardly."
His gaze returned to Solo. Would he go? The guy was slouched in his chair, his shoulders slumped in a wasted effort to make himself appear smaller. His eyes were narrowed and still locked on Michael, now piercing as sharply as a sword.
"All right, moving on," Michael muttered, taking the hint. He punched a few buttons and a screen appeared on the wall behind him. Images formed. "Meet Gregory Star. Human. Thirty-three. Married with two children, a boy, twenty-one, and a girl, nineteen. Both are heavily into drugs. We've traced the disappearance of several Alien Investigation and Removal agents to Mr. Star's door."
"Location of the agents?" Blue asked.
"Scattered. We haven't yet acted because we aren't yet sure if they're dead or alive."
A few more buttons were punched, and a picture of each agent flashed over the screen.
"So you have no idea what Star wants--or does--with those agents," John stated bluntly.
"Correct."
"But you're sure it's him?"
"We are. We had him under surveillance for something else and overheard a few phone conversations. While we can pin him to the crimes, we can't figure anything else."
"Well, I've spoken with him at several parties, and I gotta say, I'm baffled," Blue said. "He's a wealthy businessman with an eye for the pretties. Gambling is a weakness and drugs are a hobby, which is probably why the kids are addicts. Bodyguards are a staple, and mistresses as disposable as underwear, but he seems harmless enough."
Solo snapped, "Yes, and everyone is always exactly what they seem, aren't they? Why don't you think before you speak? Idiot."
Blue, who sat in the middle of the boys, twisted to face him. "Why don't you say hello to the cherry slushie I'm about to make from your brain?"
He could do it, too. He possessed extraordinary abilities no human, and very few Arcadians, could even dream about.
"Go for it," Solo said, unconcerned. "Unlike you, I've got a few cells to spare."
"Children," Michael said, clapping his hands. "Enough." If they decided to reenact the gimpy-gazelle-versus-hungry-lion scene from Animals of Old Earth, Michael would be down two agents and probably missing a few limbs after trying to pull them apart.
Hired guns were such babies.
"Just let them play," John said, his tone now edged with an emotion Michael couldn't name. Something spiked with poison . . . deadly. "They need to get it out of their systems. They're due."
"Uh, that's not happening." Blue knew how to play; Solo did not. Blue would unintentionally insult Solo (more than he already had), and Solo would leave--with carnage in his wake. Nothing and no one would be able to bring him back until he was ready. But he would never be ready. "If it does, I'll have to pull all three
of you from this case and assign you to work with my daughter, Evie."
"Enough!" John shouted, and the other two immediately zipped their lips.
They might be able to dismiss Michael, but they'd dance through fire for John.
"We good now?" Michael asked.
Blue nodded.
Solo ran his tongue over his teeth . . . teeth slightly longer than they'd been a few moments ago.
Michael knew Solo had been insulted by people all of his life. Because of his height and muscle mass, the kids at his elementary school had called him Ogre Boy--until his temper had gotten the better of him and he'd partially morphed into his other form. Then they'd called him Monster Mash and Ugly-O and had even thrown rocks at him.
Once, to protect himself, he'd nearly beaten a kid to death.
His mother had been phoned, and she'd arrived in time to calm him before he'd harmed another child, but the damage had already been done. He was pulled from the school system, and would have been locked away for life if Michael hadn't intervened.
"We're good," John said, his face pale. "Evie is now off the table."
A well-known secret: John would protect Evie with his life as long as he didn't have to talk to her. It was Michael's fault. He had spoiled his youngest daughter, and she now felt as if it was every man's duty to do the same.
"I mean this in the nicest way possible, Michael," Blue said with a shudder, "but Evie needs to be put down."
"I'll take that under advisement." Michael cleared his throat. "Now, as I was saying, the agents were snatched while on the job."
"Human? Otherworlder?" John asked. His color hadn't yet returned to normal.
"Both," he replied. "Male and female, too. The only common thread is the fact that they work for AIR."
"Are they young? Good-looking?" Blue asked.
"Some of them, yes."
"Maybe they're being sold into the slave trade. That's the best way to hide multiple living bodies, as well as the best way to make fast cash when you're trying to support a drug habit." Blue worked two fingers over the smoothness of his jaw. "Have any civilians been taken?"
"Yes," Michael said, impressed by the jump his quick mind had made. It had taken Michael two days to connect that particular dot. "We don't think this has anything to do with trafficking, though. We have men on the inside of every major auction and whorehouse, but none have seen any hint of the agents or the civilians."
"What do you have?" Solo asked. "How do you know the victims were snatched by the same guy?"
Another excellent question. "Mr. Star has a calling card. He uses the victim's blood to draw the Chinese symbol for revenge somewhere in their home."
Blue rolled his eyes. "Are you sure the symbol is for revenge? A guy I know got a tattoo of what he thought was the symbol for strength, but it was really the symbol for indigestion."
"A guy you know? Dude, I've seen your back," John quipped. "The tattoo is yours."
Unapologetic, Blue said, "I thought the story had more spice the other way."
Anyway. "Yes, we're sure," Michael interjected. "We think he uses it to throw us off and confuse his motives. There's no reason for him to seek revenge against the seventeen people who were abducted. None of them have any connections to him or each other. Outside those from the agency, of course."
John pursed his lips. "Let me guess. You want us to find out what Star has done with all seventeen people before we kill him. Well, forget that. If we end him now, no one else will be abducted, and the problem will be solved," he said, spreading his arms. "You're welcome."
"When one of those people is a senator, we don't take out the only man who might know where she is." But there was no question Star would die when all was said and done. "So here's how this will go down. John, you'll join the New Chicago AIR team as a transfer from Manhattan. They've lost two agents to this catastrophe."
"Got it."
"And no one can know who you really are or why you're really there. Not your new boss and not your partner, Dallas Gutierrez." Michael tossed him a mobile folder with all the information he would need.
John caught the device and immediately dug in. "And why am I really there?"
"To listen to office gossip, and to study the agents. If someone's got a connection to Mr. Star, I want to know about it and I want you to make friends. Sleep around. Whatever."
He nodded.
"Blue, the world is about to find out about your new drug habit."
The pro-baller's eyes slitted dangerously. Good. He understood. He'd have to pretend with the fiancee, too.
"Now that you're spinning out of control, you'll throw a party. You will invite Mr. Star's kids, and you will make nice. If you can, become the son's new supplier. And if the daughter's interested, sleep with her. Just be careful. I'd hate for you to disappear, too."
Like John, he nodded.
At least he hadn't protested the affair.
Michael focused on Solo. He was still slumped in his chair, his gaze still narrowed. "You will become Blue's new, most trusted bodyguard. The man who gets things done. The one Blue relies on for the darkest of deeds."
A flash of panic before Solo's features smoothed out, revealing nothing else. "Very well."
He hated going out in public, and Blue led a very public life. His photo would be taken, would be plastered across every newspaper, and he would have to relive every moment and tolerate every insult. But he would do it. He always did what Michael told him.
"Good," Michael said. "You each have four days to prepare. On the fifth, I expect you to be entrenched in your roles. Dismissed."
In unison the boys popped to their feet. As they stomped to the door, Blue grumbled. John rubbed the back of his neck. Solo was quiet, his arms at his sides, his footfalls purposely soft.
The sensors above the door caught their movement and caused the soundproof metal to unlatch and slide open. Blue crossed the threshold first, John right on his heels, and Solo right on his.
Whoosh.
A sudden, violent gust of heat slammed through the entire office, lifting Michael out of his chair and propelling him into the far wall. Fire licked at his skin, and lances of pain battered at him as he slid to the floor. He tried to breathe but couldn't. Something heavy pressed against his chest, and he blinked rapidly in an effort to focus. A desk was now on top of him, he realized. What the . . . How . . . ?
The answer clicked into place. Someone had bombed his home office.
He laughed at the unlikeliness of such a situation, and blood bubbled from his mouth. As he coughed and fought to suck air past the liquid obstruction, his pain intensified and his eyesight dimmed.
Where were his boys? he wondered dazedly. Were they . . . ? Darkness closed in on him . . . hurt . . . hurting . . . was hurting so badly now . . . The boys had been closer to the blast, and he wasn't sure they could have survived . . . but they were so strong, so vital . . . surely they had . . .
The darkness finally reached him and he knew nothing more. . . .
*
For Solo, consciousness arrived in slow degrees. There was smoke in his nose and down his throat and his body throbbed as if every bone had been broken. He wasn't sure where he was or what had happened to him.
"--with this one?" a voice he didn't recognize was saying.
Despite the fog hazing his vision, he was able to distinguish two males leaning over him. One was tall, thin, and around thirty years old, with dark hair and dark eyes. The other was a living version of the man Solo had seen in the picture projected on Michael's wall. Gregory Star.
Star was a short human with silver hair, brown eyes, and skin tanned and lined by the sun. "Look at him," he said, his lip curling in disgust as his gaze roved over Solo's body. "Sell him to the same circus we sold the AIR agent to. He'll fetch a decent price."
"And this one?"
Both men vanished from Solo's line of sight, yet still he heard Star sigh. "Finish ashing him. As fried as he is, there's no way he'll survive tran
sport anywhere else, and that way, there will be nothing left of him for anyone to find. A shame, though. I kind of liked him."
"And this last one?"
A pause. A purr of relish. "Do nothing. I'm keeping him."
Two
Oh, that I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest.
--PSALM 55:6
ONCE AGAIN, CONSCIOUSNESS ARRIVED in slow degrees for Solo. Darkness gradually faded from his mind, little thoughts forming. I need to wake up. Something's happened. Something's wrong.
He was enveloped by heat, sweating, his skin stinging. With every inhalation, the inside of his nose burned. With every exhalation, his chest throbbed as though it had been scraped with broken glass. He flexed and straightened his fingers. The joints were stiff, swollen. He arched his back, stretching. Every vertebra cracked, some even popping back into place with painful force.
He was Allorian--a race the humans knew nothing about--and because of the power of the guardian given to him by his biological parents, he healed quickly.
He forced his eyelids to part, grimacing as tender flesh pulled. He blinked once, twice, then again and again. Someone had flipped on a too-bright lamp and was shining it directly into his eyes, blistering his corneas. He could make out nothing but blinding white and gold.
He closed his eyes again. Sounds penetrated his ultra-sensitive ears. The rattle of metal against metal. A moan of pain. Multiple sets of footsteps. The slosh of something being dumped into a bucket.
His still-burning nose twitched as smells assaulted him. Dirt, grass, old oats, body odor, stale perfume, even the tang of corroded copper. Blood.
No longer caring about the damage from the light, he opened his eyes and kept them open. Gradually the stinging ceased, for which he was thankful. He looked around, only to realize no one had turned on a lamp. He was outside, the sun responsible for the high beams now spotlighting him.
And . . . he was inside a cage.
The knowledge hit him with the electrical power of a lightning bolt, and he jerked upright. Dizziness set up camp in his mind, but he didn't allow himself to react. He'd experienced worse a thousand times before, and with the life he led, he would experience worse a thousand times more.