Just the Secretary

Evie’s POV

I’d worked with three supernatural women for six years. During that time, I’d learned a few important things.

For example, you should never tell a vampire she looks terrible.

It’s generally unwise to ask a witch exactly what’s inside the unlabeled mason jar in the refrigerator.

And trying to convince a werewolf that biting a suspect does not qualify as an official interrogation technique is usually a waste of breath.

But there was a fourth rule.

The most important one.

If you’re human, stay in the office.

I was the human.

And I was getting really damn tired of the office.

“I’m going to kill him.”

I didn’t even look up from my computer.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No.”

“He deserves it.”

“Probably. You still can’t kill him.”

The front door slammed.

Something large and heavy landed on the floor with a thud.

I sighed.

“Please tell me that’s not a dead body.”

“It’s not a dead body.”

“Thank you.”

“Yet.”

I took off my glasses.

“Roxy.”

Roxanne “Roxy” Mercer, one of the owners of Nightshade Investigations, a full-time werewolf and a part-time public menace, gave me an offended look.

She was tall and athletic, with short dark brown hair and amber eyes that served as a warning even in her human form.

At the moment, she was dragging a bound man behind her.

“What did you say to him?” I asked.

“To keep his mouth shut.”

“And?”

“He didn’t.”

The man groaned.

“Help...”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Roxy’s just making threats.”

“She’s going to kill me!”

“Yes, I heard. But believe me, if she actually wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Roxy grinned.

“See? This is why I love you.”

“Put the man down.”

“I already did.”

“On the couch, Roxy. Not the floor.”

The werewolf rolled her eyes dramatically, then effortlessly picked up the man, who had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, and deposited him on the couch reserved for clients.

The man went pale.

So did I, although for an entirely different reason.

“Roxy.”

“What?”

“The new couch.”

“It’s fine.”

“His nose is bleeding.”

“I didn’t hit him.”

I stared at her.

Roxy shrugged.

“He walked into a door.”

“Which door?”

“The one I closed in front of him.”

I shut my eyes.

Counted to three.

It didn’t help.

“For six years, I’ve been asking you not to bring tied-up suspects into the reception area.”

“There’s a police car parked by the back entrance.”

“And?”

“I didn’t feel like explaining myself.”

“So you brought a bound man through the front door instead?”

“Exactly.”

“Brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

At that moment, the man on the couch suddenly shifted.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with!”

Roxy turned toward him.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re the idiot who tried to disappear from the city using three different identities.”

The man fell silent.

My head snapped up.

“Three?”

“Yeah.”

“The report said two.”

“We found another one.”

I held out my hand.

“Show me.”

Roxy pulled a crumpled document folder from beneath her jacket.

I took it.

Three identification cards.

Three names.

Three dates of birth.

The same face.

One glance was enough for me to notice something.

“Interesting.”

Roxy had already started toward the kitchen.

She stopped.

“What?”

I laid the IDs side by side.

“Two of these identities were created in the same month. But the third one is nine years older.”

“So?”

“So the address associated with the third identity is the same one that appeared in last year’s Ashford case.”

Roxy turned around.

“What Ashford case?”

“The missing witch.”

The man’s expression changed.

Barely.

But it changed.

And I noticed immediately.

“Well, well,” I murmured.

He looked at me.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. For now.”

I opened one of my desk drawers and pulled out an old case file.

Roxy leaned over my desk.

“Are you seriously telling me you remember an address from last year?”

“I didn’t remember the address. I remembered the house number.”

“What’s the difference?”

“In the Ashford case, a witness claimed to live at number 417. Except the even-numbered houses on that street are on the north side, and the odd-numbered ones are on the south. But the photograph the witness provided showed buildings on the north side.”

Roxy blinked.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I checked the map.”

“When?”

“Last year.”

“And you remember?”

“Yes.”

“That’s disturbing.”

“Thank you.”

I opened the file.

The man on the couch attempted to stand.

One look from Roxy sent him straight back down.

“Stay.”

He stayed.

I found the document I was looking for.

The address matched.

But there was something else.

The missing witch’s last known employer had been a logistics company.

The very same company listed on the employment verification attached to one of the man’s newer identities.

“Roxy?”

“Yeah?”

“Call Daniel.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think our little friend here is just a document forger.”

The man suddenly spoke.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into.”

I looked up at him.

“That’s possible.”

Then I closed the file.

“But at least now we know where to start.”

Nightshade Investigations occupied the ground floor of a three-story redbrick building in the city’s old business district.

We’d been renting it for six years.

The landlord had originally intended the space for a law firm.

Then four women in their twenties showed up.

One vampire.

One witch.

One werewolf.

And me.

For some inexplicable reason, he rented it to us.

Since then, he’d raised the rent twice and tried to terminate our lease once.

Then Roxy repaired the front door after an enraged troll ripped it off its hinges.

He’d left us alone ever since.

Our company name looked good on the glass door.

NIGHTSHADE INVESTIGATIONS

And beneath it, in smaller letters:

Private Investigations – Human & Supernatural Cases

I’d designed the lettering.

The website, too.

And the business cards.

The contract templates.

The client management system.

And the spreadsheet without which my three best friends would probably have driven the business into bankruptcy years ago.

Not that they ever acknowledged it.

Well, technically, they did.

They just always used the same sentence.

“What would we do without you?”

My usual answer was:

“Probably be in prison.”

I wasn’t joking.

By seven twenty-three that evening, all four of us were back in the office.

The bound man had been handed over to the authorities.

I’d cleaned the couch.

Roxy had eaten two sandwiches.

And I was making my third coffee when our resident vampire spoke.

“You’re drinking too much caffeine again.”

Vivienne “Viv” Laurent sat beside the window, one long leg elegantly crossed over the other.

She was a hundred and forty-two years old.

At least, that’s what she claimed.

Personally, I suspected she was older and simply too vain to admit it.

Her long black hair fell over her shoulders in perfect waves. With her pale skin and vivid green eyes, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a luxury perfume advertisement.

The difference was that models in luxury perfume advertisements generally couldn’t rip a car door off with their bare hands.

Viv could.

She’d done it once.

I hadn’t let her drive the company car since.

“You drink blood,” I replied. “I drink coffee. We all have our flaws.”

“Caffeine is bad for you.”

“Says the woman who put a blood bag next to the fruit juice yesterday.”

“It needed refrigeration.”

“It said AB-negative on the label.”

“And?”

“Our client thought it was some new kind of energy drink.”

Viv smiled.

“At least he didn’t drink it.”

“Because I noticed in time!”

“See? That’s why you’re indispensable.”

Exactly.

Indispensable.

Like the printer.

Or the coffee machine.

Or toilet paper.

Our third friend emerged from the back room.

Selena Ward was a witch.

Thirty-two years old, with copper-red hair and gray eyes, she could announce a life-threatening magical catastrophe with the same calm expression someone else might use to discuss the weather.

At the moment, she was holding a smoking mug.

I eyed it suspiciously.

“What’s that?”

“Tea.”

“Why is it smoking?”

“Because it’s hot.”

“Selena.”

“Yes?”

“Why is the smoke green?”

She glanced down at the mug.

“Oh.”

That was never a good sign.

“Oh?” I repeated.

“I may have added slightly too much sage.”

“How much too much?”

“Not much.”

The mug exploded with a soft pop.

Green sparks scattered across the floor.

Selena looked down at the handle still clutched in her hand.

I looked at her.

Viv started laughing.

And Roxy announced, “I think we’re going to need a new mug.”

“No,” I said.

All three turned toward me.

“We’re going to need a new witch.”

By eight-thirty, it finally looked as though we might be able to call it a day.

Rain battered the windows with increasing force.

The city lights blurred behind the wet glass.

Roxy was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through some ridiculous supernatural dating app.

Viv was inspecting her nails.

Selena was bent over an ancient book of magic.

And I was organizing the day’s reports.

I was just about to shut down my computer when something caught my attention.

The case from earlier that day.

The three false identities.

The logistics company.

The missing witch.

Something didn’t add up.

I reopened the documents.

Lined up the dates.

Then the addresses.

Then the bank account numbers.

And there it was.

“Girls?”

No answer.

“Girls.”

“If this is about the refrigerator again, it wasn’t me,” Viv said.

“It’s not about the refrigerator.”

Roxy looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Remember the Ashford case?”

Selena closed her book.

“The missing witch?”

“Yes.”

“What about her?”

I pointed at my monitor.

“The man you brought in today has three different identities. Each one is connected to a different city.”

“We know that,” Roxy said.

“Yes. But all three identities are linked to the same payment intermediary.”

Viv stood.

“And?”

“And that same intermediary processed payments to someone involved in the Ashford case.”

Selena moved closer.

“That could be a coincidence.”

“It could.”

I opened another file.

“Except three months ago, we handled a case involving a missing vampire.”

Viv’s expression changed.

“The one at the docks?”

I nodded.

“Same intermediary.”

Silence.

Then Roxy spoke slowly.

“Are you saying three completely different cases...”

“Might not be different at all.”

Viv leaned over the monitor.

“Why didn’t we notice this before?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because the answer was simple.

They looked for supernatural evidence.

I looked at paperwork.

“Because we didn’t have a reason to connect them before now,” I finally said.

Selena studied the screen thoughtfully.

“Who owns the intermediary?”

“A shell company.”

“And who owns the shell company?”

“Another shell company.”

Roxy groaned.

“I hate cases like this.”

“I know.”

“Why can’t we ever get something simple?”

“Because simple clients don’t pay enough.”

Viv smiled.

“This is why I love this woman.”

I was about to respond when the bell above the front door rang.

All four of us turned.

It was after eight-thirty.

We weren’t expecting anyone.

The glass door slowly opened.

Two men entered.

The first was of average height, with light brown hair and an elegant charcoal-gray suit.

He carried a leather document case.

He looked like the sort of man who would arrive punctually at his own funeral and probably prepare the seating arrangements in advance.

He inclined his head politely.

“Good evening. My apologies for disturbing you so late.”

I stood.

“Good evening. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. My name is Thomas Reed. I’m a personal secretary.”

I waited.

“And?”

The man offered a faint smile.

“My employer would like to speak with you.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

For a moment, Thomas Reed looked genuinely surprised.

“No.”

“Then we open for clients tomorrow morning at nine.”

Behind me, Roxy made a strange noise.

I ignored her.

Thomas Reed, however, didn’t move.

“I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

“Everyone says that.”

“I can assure you—”

That was when the second man stepped inside.

And suddenly, paying attention to anything Thomas Reed was saying became extremely difficult.

The man entered the room as though he’d been specifically designed to make women lose their minds at first sight.

He was very tall.

At least six-foot-three.

Broad shoulders. Athletic build.

And he moved with the kind of effortless confidence that had absolutely no need to announce itself.

He wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone.

Dark trousers.

An elegant coat.

Thick black hair fell slightly untidily across his forehead.

A neatly trimmed beard emphasized his strong jaw, while his olive skin almost glowed gold beneath the warm office lights.

But his eyes...

His eyes were what truly stopped me.

Dark.

Almost black.

And when he looked at me, my stomach tightened so suddenly that I forgot how to breathe for a second.

Wonderful.

Exactly what I needed.

An outrageously handsome man who probably believed the entire world revolved around him.

Then I noticed something.

Roxy stood.

Not simply stood.

She went rigid.

Viv put down her glass.

The faint magical glow around Selena’s fingers vanished.

Thomas Reed stepped aside.

The tall man surveyed the room.

And somehow, the atmosphere changed.

I couldn’t explain it any better than that.

I had no magic.

I couldn’t sense supernatural energy.

But even I could see that my three best friends were behaving as though a predator had just entered the room.

A predator even they were afraid of.

Roxy slowly lowered her head.

“High Alpha.”

I blinked.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

The man’s gaze settled on her.

“Mercer.”

His voice was deep.

Calm.

And somehow far more dangerous than if he’d shouted.

Roxy still hadn’t raised her head.

I, however, had.

Because I’d suddenly remembered something very important.

This man had arrived without an appointment.

After closing hours.

And he was currently standing in the middle of our office while three supernatural private investigators stared at him as though the apocalypse itself had come to pay us a visit.

I cleared my throat.

“Excuse me.”

Four pairs of eyes turned toward me.

His included.

I put on my receptionist smile.

The one I’d perfected over six years.

“I understand that you’re an important man, but we were just about to close. If you’d like to schedule an appointment, I’d be happy to—”

“Do you run this office?”

I stopped.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you run it?”

I glanced at my three friends.

“We own the business together.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Then perhaps you could clarify?”

The corner of his mouth moved almost imperceptibly.

“Who makes sure this place actually functions?”

Silence.

Viv looked at me.

So did Selena.

Roxy slowly lifted her head.

And I...

Well.

I had no idea what to say.

Because the question had caught me completely off guard.

The man, however, didn’t seem to expect an answer.

He walked past Roxy.

Past Viv.

Past Selena.

And stopped in front of my desk.

Close enough for me to catch the subtle, woody scent of his cologne.

I looked up at him.

Way up.

This man was ridiculously tall.

“I’d like to speak with you,” he said.

I blinked.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m the secretary.”

“I know.”

I stared at him for a moment.

“Then I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“There hasn’t.”

“Look, if you’re looking for a private investigator, there are three excellent professionals standing behind me.”

“I know.”

“A vampire, a witch, and a werewolf. Quite a selection, really.”

“Indeed.”

“Then?”

The man slowly leaned forward.

Not threateningly.

More as though he’d discovered something particularly interesting.

“You’ve worked here for six years.”

I stiffened.

“Yes.”

“During that time, you’ve been involved in one hundred and twenty-three cases.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“How do you know that?”

“In sixty-eight of them, you prepared the final case summary.”

I said nothing.

“In thirty-one, you identified the inconsistency that sent the investigation in a new direction.”

My stomach tightened again.

This time, it had nothing to do with his appearance.

“And in twelve cases, your observations led directly to the solution.”

Behind me, the room fell completely silent.

The man looked straight into my eyes.

“Interesting numbers for a secretary.”

Slowly, I put down my pen.

“You went through our cases?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“All the ones we could legally access.”

That didn’t make me feel particularly better.

“Why?”

Thomas Reed stepped forward.

He placed a thin black folder on my desk.

There was no name on it.

Only a single emblem.

A silver wolf’s head.

And beneath it, three words.

HIGH ALPHA – RESTRICTED

The man spoke.

“Because I need an investigator.”

I glanced at my three friends.

“Then—”

“No.”

I looked back at him.

“No?”

“I’m not looking for them.”

His gaze locked onto mine.

“I’m looking for you.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

Then I looked down at the black folder.

And back at the man.

“Why?”

The High Alpha’s expression turned serious.

“Because someone has made three supernatural women disappear from my territory.”

The room went cold.

“My vampires found no trace. My witches detected no magic. My wolves couldn’t follow their scents.”

He slowly pushed the folder closer.

“Everyone is looking for something supernatural.”

He paused.

“I want someone to finally start looking for something human.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

His eyes never left mine.

“Well, miss...”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Are you finally willing to step out from behind that desk?”

For six years, I’d been told that going into the field would be too dangerous for me.

For six years, I’d stayed in the office.

For six years, I’d wanted someone to finally take me seriously.

And now one of the most powerful men in the supernatural world was standing in front of me, offering exactly what I’d always wanted.

A real case.

A real investigation.

A chance.

There was just one problem.

One of the names on that black folder looked familiar.

Very familiar.

I slowly opened it.

Three photographs.

Three missing women.

A fourth document.

A bank statement.

With the exact same payment intermediary I’d discovered in the Ashford case less than ten minutes earlier.

I looked up.

The High Alpha was watching me.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

I swallowed.

Then I turned the document toward my monitor.

“I think...”

He stepped closer.

“Yes?”

I looked at him.

“I don’t think you’re looking for three missing women.”

His eyes darkened.

“Then what am I looking for?”

Behind me, Roxy swore under her breath.

And I finally said what the numbers had made impossible to ignore.

“I think someone’s been making supernatural women disappear for at least a year.”

The High Alpha’s face went completely still.

“And how do you know that?”

I pointed at the monitor.

“Because the same person paid to make every single one of them disappear.”

A brief silence followed.

Then the man slowly smiled.

This time, there was absolutely nothing friendly about it.

“Thomas.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Cancel my meetings tomorrow.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

The High Alpha looked at me.

“It seems I’ve found my investigator.”

And in that moment, I realized something.

My boring life was officially over.