Gray seas black hat bure.., p.1
Gray Seas (Black Hat Bureau Book 8), page 1
GRAY SEAS
HAILEY EDWARDS
Copyright © 2023 Black Dog Books, LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by Sasha Knight
Copy Edited by Kimberly Cannon
Proofread by Lillie's Literary Services
Cover by Damonza
Illustration by NextJenCo
CONTENTS
Gray Seas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
23. Epilogue
Join the Team
About the Author
Also by Hailey Edwards
GRAY SEAS
Black Hat Bureau, Book 8
After the challenge for the throne of Hael went sideways, Rue expected Stavros to place a bounty on Asa’s head, but she didn’t expect him to pin an even bigger target on her back. Then again, it was her fault he was forced to turn tail and run from the fight during a live broadcast to the entire kingdom. That had to sting his pride. Life would have been so much simpler if only he had been incinerated by her magic along with the rest of the arena.
But simple is one thing Rue’s life has never been. And things keep getting more complicated when a stalker turns to murder, carving messages into the bodies of his victims. With a killer on her trail, she ought to be focused on staying alive, but a hot tip on another case leads her into the bowels of the Black Hat compound, where Rue discovers a world of secrets and lies that just might bring the Bureau crashing to its knees.
CHAPTER ONE
The dainty clip-clop-clip of delicate hooves on stone was enough to make me twitch at each blasted little step the cervitaur made in my direction. The director assigning me an assistant who was sleek deer from the waist down still galled me. The Silver Stag case was the turning point in my life, marking the moment I woke up and realized I had been living a nightmare. And he had chosen to taunt me with it.
“Muffin?”
Arms folded across my chest, I stared at the ornate door in front of me and grunted in Inga’s direction.
“They’re wheatgrass and coconut.” She swallowed loudly. “I—I made them myself.”
The director, for all his come back to work or else threats, was hiding from me.
Right.
Behind.
This.
Door.
A smile crept up on me at the confirmation he was afraid. Of little ol’ me. But it wilted at the proof he no longer had any intention of even pretending to trust me in his immediate vicinity. Hence the locked door with a nasty ward keyed to me and only me, which I had been poking at for the last hour out of spite.
Odds were good he felt a teeny jolt each time I disrupted the spell. Nothing painful, sadly, just annoying. Akin to poking him in the side for attention each time he relaxed, ruining all hope of him focusing on his work.
You waste my time, I waste yours.
That was my mantra for the day.
“I can take a bite first,” Inga tried again, “if you’re worried I poisoned them.”
As she hovered around me like a carpenter bee dive-bombing anyone who trespassed on their territory, I got a bitter taste of my own annoying medicine.
“Until you mentioned it,” I murmured, lining up my next jab, “the thought hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Oh.”
“Why does it matter if I eat your muffins?”
A snicker-snort told me a certain golem with the maturity of a twelve-year-old boy had overheard me.
“I m-made a b-bad impression.” Her voice grew higher, tighter. “I want t-to make amends.”
The urge to bang my forehead against the door in front of me was strong, but I resisted to avoid another zap from the repellent magic coating it and pivoted to face her.
“I’m in fascination with Agent Montenegro, which I’m sure you know now even if you didn’t last time we met.” I suppressed a growl at the memory of her flicking her cutesy tail at Asa. “I advise you to keep your hands, hooves, and horns to yourself if you want to keep them.”
“I r-requested th-the week I was in h-heat off work.” Her stammers grew worse the longer our gazes held. “I-it was d-denied.” Her fingers tightened on the greenish muffin in her hands until she crushed the base and the top plopped onto the floor. “I-I m-meant n-no o-offense.”
Once upon a time, I would have relished terrifying Inga into a quivering mess of prey instincts. Say, while she was swishing her hips at Asa the last time I was in my office. But her fear didn’t thrill me. Neither did the news she had tried to avoid the inevitable come-hither routine with Asa and been denied all hope of maintaining an amicable working relationship with me. Probably by the director. As yet another taunt.
Grr.
“You’re not in any trouble.” I pried the crushed muffin from her trembling hand. “We’re good, okay?”
To punish her after that hard-won confession would be as satisfying as kicking a puppy.
“Yes, ma’am.” She bent her front legs, sweeping into a bow, allowing her to clean up the crummy mess. “Thank you.”
As a token of good faith, I bit into what remained of the muffin and gulped fast. “These are great.”
Tasty as fresh-cut grass arranged in a cupcake liner and then iced with sunscreen.
“Mr. Kerr said you prefer h-homemade treats.” Her lips almost curved before flatlining with no hope of a resuscitation. “They’re vegan. I hope that’s o-okay.”
“I love all muffins equally,” I lied, relieved when her eyes lost their deer-in-the-headlights quality.
“Oh good.” Her knees, all four of them, knocked with the instinct to flee. “Do you need anything else?”
“No.” I waved her off and faced the door once more. “You can return to your desk.”
Clip-clop-clip. Clip-clop-clip. Clip-clop-clip.
How long was that hall anyway?
Clip-clop-clip. Clip-clop-clip. Clip-clop-clip.
“You’re cute when you growl.” A heavy arm draped across my collarbones, almost buckling my knees with its unexpected weight, and Clay rested his chin on top of my head. “Like a kitten with its back up.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Oh, like when you dropped off the face of the earth for ten years? That kind of hurt?”
“You’ll never let that go, will you?”
“Ask me again in ten years.”
“Ha.” I studied the whisper of magic responding to my proximity. “As if I would remind you.”
“You were very nice to Inga just now.” He shook me gently. “I’m proud.”
“Take it back.” I glanced up and got a lovely view of his nose hairs. “I’m evil. Horrible. Cruel.”
And I was stumped as to why he had paid good money for hair implants there of all places.
“You ate a wheatgrass and coconut apology muffin. A vegan muffin.” His scoff warmed my face. “What horrors will you unleash upon the unsuspecting world next?”
“Just because I can’t think of one—” I shrugged him off, “—doesn’t mean I don’t have ulterior motives.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He slid in front of me. “How long are you going to stand outside this door?”
The magic read his identity and dissipated, which meant he could knock and get himself invited in.
Not that he would ever venture into the study unless under a direct order for fear of his master slapping more restrictions on him. Or, more likely, grilling him until poor Clay spilled every secret of mine he held.
“You’re on guard duty.” I poked his shoulder. “You would be standing outside a door all day anyway.”
“I’m bored.” His bottom lip thrust out in a perfect pout. “Let’s break for lunch early.”
“Fiiine.” I let him hook his arm through mine and drag me away. “You’re such a crybaby.”
“Slap a diaper on me and stick a binky in my mouth. I don’t care as long as it gets me to food sooner.”
“Let’s discuss your kinks after I’ve eaten.” I tapped my chin. “Or never. Never is good. Actually, it’s great. I’ll pencil you in right after the apocalypse.”
“Works for me. I’ve always wanted to meet the four horsemen’s ponies. I bet they’re adorable.”
“You’re not adopting a harbinger of doom as a pet.”
Now that he was a homeowner and lived on a farm, his new hobby was adopting anything that couldn’t outrun him.
“Harsh.” He hauled me out of the compound into the sun. “Harbingers of doom n eed love too.”
A weight lifted off my shoulders as I filled my lungs with fresh air. Even the distant crash of ocean waves pummeling the cliffside beneath the stark mansion where I spent the bulk of my childhood failed to cast my mind back to those dark days. Maybe because I had Dad now. Mom too. Sort of.
During the stroll to our SUV, Clay and I bickered over the best butter substitute for vegan baking.
Vegetable shortening was his pick, but I sided with margarine based on its artificial flavor.
We piled in our ride, I drove out the front gate, and we rolled into town where I pulled into a gas station.
With a grunt, Clay exited the vehicle, and I did too. Then I cast a spell to fry any tracking devices or other fun equipment that might have gotten attached to the SUV while it was idle. A few chunks of metal hissed as they hit the asphalt under the tires, and I turned my attention to a secondary sweep for spells.
The precautions were tedious but necessary to protect our privacy.
Hence the debate on butter substitutes rather than anything sensitive, like our lunch plans.
“Done yet?” Clay slurped behind me before pumping a straw that screamed in my ear. “I’m starving.”
“Almost.” I turned to find him shoveling gas station nachos, heavy on the jalapenos, into his mouth between gulps of an electric-blue slushy. “Why are you like this?”
“Handsome? Charming? Intelligent?” He thrust a loaded chip in my mouth that incinerated my tongue on contact. “Be more specific.”
Forget the peppers. The cheese sauce was molten-magma hot. As my tastebuds died screaming, I considered waiting until he got in the SUV then smudging his shem so he missed out on gulab jamun.
The fried dough balls soaked in sweet rosewater syrup were a favorite of his.
“Drink?” He tilted his cup toward me when I started fanning my face. “It’s blue raspberry.”
Since my mouth was on fire, I did take a sip. Then I stole the whole cup and flung it in a nearby trash can.
“Hey,” he squawked, pointing a cheesy finger at the garbage. “That was half full.”
“That just means it was half empty.”
“Look here, pessimist, that jolt of sugar was all that stood between me and oral incineration.”
“How did you even get food that fast?”
“It’s not fast food. It’s junk food. They are not the same thing.”
“To prove I’m a good friend—”
“You’ll buy me another slushy?”
While his eyes shone with hope, I snatched his nachos and trashed those too.
“—I’ll save you from yourself.” I dusted my hands. “No nuclear cheese, no need for a slushy.”
“You were right.” He faked wiping a tear. “About what you said before.” He sniffled. “You are evil.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Promise.”
Once I climbed behind the wheel and strapped in, he slid in the back and made sad puppy eyes at me in the rearview mirror until I rolled up to Glory of India. I had my pick of parking spots in the empty lot, which was nice. This place was usually packed to the gills during the lunch rush.
There were definite benefits to booking an entire restaurant for a private meeting.
Happiness too large to fit in my body exploded in tingles across my skin when Asa rose from a low bench beside the small koi pond, a remnant of the days this was a Chinese restaurant. I was out of the SUV and running before Clay got his door open. Asa and I met in the middle, he dug his fingers into my hips, and he lifted me until my feet dangled above the pavement.
“Four hours.” Clay spread his arms. “It’s only been four hours.”
Asa, proving I was a bad influence on him, spun me around like we were a couple reunited in a romcom. I cackled like the witch I was, tucking my face in the crook of his neck and filling my lungs with his scent.
“I missed you,” I whispered in his ear, and he growled in response, sending shivers down my spine.
“Knock it off.” Clay bumped his shoulder into us on his way past. “You’re embarrassing yourselves.”
The jostle slid Asa’s unbound hair over his shoulder, and a white bolt shot past me.
“Clay.” Colby lit on his head and nestled into his wig, giving his scalp a six-point hug. “You’re here.”
His eyes softened to marshmallow fluff, and he reached up to collect her. “Hey, Shorty.”
Opening his jacket with one hand, he held out the magically insulated inner pocket while she dove in.
About to gleefully point out I wasn’t the only one suffering from separation anxiety, I got distracted by a woman mashing her face to the window by her table. She buffed the glass with her forearm, puffed hot breath on it, and then wrote hey bestie in the resulting fog with a fingertip.
“That’s who you traded me in for?” Clay muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Seriously?”
“You traded me in first,” I reminded him. “Colby is your bestie now, remember?”
“I stand by that upgrade.” He passed Colby her custom headset and phone. “Can you say the same?”
Sure, Marita had stuffed a straw up each nostril by the time I glanced back at her. And yeah, she was blowing bubbles in her drink that way, but she was also grinning from ear to ear. Because she saw me.
Me.
I had an actual friend. One I made all by myself. One who…was lifting her tee to show us her pink bra?
“Is she flashing for beads?” Clay tilted his head. “She knows we’re not in New Orleans anymore, right?”
“Why are you looking?” I smacked him upside the head. “She’s a married woman.”
“Her undershirt.” He ducked my second swing and raised his arms over his head. “There’s something written on it.”
Sure enough, Marita had figured out she was putting on a show and began wrestling with her undershirt where it stuck to her tee. Our pictures, hers and mine, were printed on the front. Beneath our disembodied heads was written Besties for the Resties.
“She’s just buttering you up so you’ll take her monster hunting.”
“Jealous?” I tweaked his side. “Green isn’t your color.”
“Lies,” he hissed. “All colors are my colors.”
Before Marita escalated again, I made a beeline for the door and then the reserved table. “Hey.”
“Don’t hey me.” She smacked into me with the force of a linebacker. “Hug me.”
With her pinning my arms flush against my sides, the highest I could reach with my fingers was her hips, which didn’t make our embrace awkward at all.
“I can see we have work to do.” She reared back to frown down at me. “Practice makes perfect.”
“I don’t need—”
“Prepare for Stealth Hug Protocol.” She wiggled her fingers at me. “Love could happen at any moment.”
Beside me, Clay mouthed Stealth Hug Protocol with the joy of a child experiencing his first Christmas.
“Um.” I scooted closer to Asa, escaping her immediate grab range. “Okay?”
“Marita.” Clay chose the seat next to the one she had vacated to greet us. “Always a pleasure.”
The lack of pleasantries between Asa and Marita told me they had chatted while waiting on us to arrive.
“Back at you.” Her gaze dipped to his pocket as she reclaimed her spot. “Lunch for five?”
“Just four.” He winked to confirm Colby was present. “We can begin whenever Rue is ready.”
Marita smacked her palm on the seat next to her, which put me very close to a person armed with hugs. Asa, who must not have read my panic, sat on my right, leaving the chair between them my only option.
Once everyone was seated, I cast a privacy spell to allow us to speak freely amongst ourselves.
“First, Marita, I want to thank you for coming.” I sank onto my chair, one cheek hanging over the edge closest to Asa. “I appreciate your willingness to take time away from your mate and pack to help us.”
