Page 17 of Heir of Ashes
“Curiosity. What about a clan? Does he belong to one?”
Logan’s eyes shuttered, and I regretted the intrusion right away. I hurriedly explained, afraid I’d just broken some unknown protocol with the question. “If he belongs to a clan, they can demand he be released. The PSS would have no choice but to comply or risk facing serious repercussions.” Unless they denied having him and were clever enough to hide the subject well enough that no amount of investigation turned him up. Maybe if Logan had proof; he certainly seemed sure enough.
“They didn’t believe me. Thought my friend decided to take off, get some time away from everyone and everything.” His disgust and frustration came out loud and clear.
“Do you know why the PSS took your friend?”
Logan looked straight at me and lied. “No.” His expression didn’t change, his eyes didn’t twitch, his nose didn’t grow, but something instinctive in me recognized the lie for what it was.
“Do they need a reason?” he asked.
“Well, yes. You see, PSS’s staff and guard members are mostly ordinary humans. Some of them, like those three back at the hotel, have an extra oomph, but that’s all. Sometimes, when the situation calls for it, they hire a preternatural consultant or mercenary, but mostly, the bulk of their security team are ordinary humans: Navy SEALs, Marines, veteran soldiers.” I paused, drawing imaginary patterns on the tabletop with my index finger.
“Go on.”
“What I’m trying to say,” I explained, “is that they lack the capability and manpower to go targeting preternaturals for the hell of it. It’s just not their way.”
Logan angled his head and studied me. “You don’t think the Society is capable of foul play?”
“Oh, but they are.” I picked a napkin and began rolling it between my thumb and index finger. There was something wrong here, something about this situation that didn’t click. I could feel Logan’s heavy gaze on me, waiting for me to say something else. The PSS was certainly capable of anything illegal—as long as they were certain they could get away with it. They sure had with me. Even if they had taken me by force, my mother had been present, standing there, doing nothing but watching me kick and scream. I’d often wondered about that, and as year after year passed, I had learned to resent it.
I looked up, straight into his gray eyes, and wondered again about his friend. “It’s just weird, you know?”
Logan leaned forward in his seat, his predatory gaze solely on me. His intense scrutiny, along with his close proximity, was very disconcerting. I had to stifle the urge to bolt for the nearest exit, and forced my focus on the problem at hand.
“How so?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, frustration making me sound sharper than I intended to. “Why your friend? Why not you or someone else’s friend? What’s so special about him? Something just isn’t right. For one, the PSS has resources everywhere. Let’s say they have a new test they want to conduct on a specific preternatural—a were, a mage, or whatever.” I waved my hand. “They start using resources. Some are volunteers, others come in for extra cash or protection, whatever.” I frowned when a new thought occurred. “Maybe someone pointed your friend out to the PSS, gave them a specific place and time where he would be, promised the PSS no one would be coming after him …”
I trailed off, considering for a moment, then began tapping a chipped nail on the plastic tabletop. “What about enemies? Would an enemy have enough information about your friend to get the PSS interested enough to risk their guards”—I raised a finger to make a point—“theirhumanguards, to go after someone preternatural? And I mean something the PSS couldn’t gain from a more cooperative source instead.”
“Hmmm,” Logan replied noncommittally. I might have struck a chord there.
“Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe the PSS doesn’t have your friend. How can you be sure?” Something nagged at me, but I couldn’t place my finger on it.
Logan’s lips thinned and his expression became annoyed. “I’m sure,” he said in the tone of one who had been repeating himself over and over.
“How?” I insisted. “Did your friend leave a note behind or call you, telling you where he was?”
“I’m sure.” His note of final determination brooked no argument, and I didn’t give him any. Maybe he knew something and just didn’t want to share. I could respect that.
“Alright, then. The PSS carries out a retrieval op by two means.” I raised one finger. “One, someone tipped off the PSS about a time and place where your friend would be, and the Elite Team set up an ambush with plenty of their tranquilizers.” I raised another finger. “Two, they hired someone equally strong or even stronger to do the dirty work.”
During my entire stay at the PSS, retrieval operations only happened twice—not counting myself, though at the time I was taken, I hadn’t known there were different guard levels with different sets of skills and strengths, dispatched according to how dangerous a specific preternatural could be.
From the looks that crossed Logan’s face—interest, worry, anger, and the hard set of his jaw—I could tell he hadsomeone in mind for either scenario. He leaned back in his chair and eyed me. I couldn’t say what it was about his direct gaze that left me unsettled and maybe even a bit alarmed. Maybe it was because I wasn’t accustomed to having a predator’s gaze fixed on me without it triggering my fight-or-flight instinct, and yet here I was, having lunch with one.
“You seem to be very familiar with their system.”
I shrugged. “That’s because I am.”
As I watched him mull over my words, a thought came to mind, startling me into a new light. What kind of man would risk his life for someone else’s? A lover? I studied his profile. His black eye was completely healed; no doubt, he had shifted to his alternate form—probably to heal the knife injury to his stomach—and, despite not having shaved, he looked good. He had dark, thick long lashes surrounding his black-ringed gray eyes, giving them a more definite shape. His hair was a little long, carelessly mussed and a little curled on the edges, with reddish streaks here and there, depending on the angle of the light. His jaw was square and strong, but it didn’t detract from the soft look and shape of his lips, which twitched as I watched. My eyes flew to his, catching the suppressed humor in them. I averted my gaze, blushing furiously. Ugh, he’d just caught me ogling him.
I almost kissed the waiter when he arrived with our food, grateful for something to focus on besides the man sitting to my right. I attacked the fries first, but before my hand could leave the basket, Logan caught my wrist.
Startled, I looked at him, wondering if he mistook my scrutiny for romantic interest. But he was looking down at my hand.
My blistered, awkwardly bandaged hand.