Black Wings, Gray Skies (Black Hat Bureau 4)

Cleaners specialized in erasing signs of paranormal activity. They swore oaths of impartiality and vowed to seek justice for all supernatural factions. They worked for themselves, but organizations could buy in. The membership fees funded investigations as well as industry advancements, and it provided cutting-edge services smaller towns couldn’t have afforded on their miniscule budgets otherwise.

However, the director all but owned the cleaners. As in the entire organization. Their database was a curated version of the one the Kellies maintained for Black Hat. Their oaths of neutrality might as well have been made on bended knee before him.

“Thanks.” I appreciated the inclusion. “I’ll do that.”

Now I had no choice but to file, since they would expect me to track the case through their connections.

Better to let them see I was signed in and active on their network than wonder why I didn’t need to be.

Lucky for me, Colby excelled at cyber drudgery that made my head throb.

Our team left the officers to wait on the cleaners and returned to the top of the Battery to gather our things. I was out of bravado at that point and allowed Asa to boost me high enough for me to reach the railing and haul myself over it again.

Except for a curious bird, a plump royal tern, no one had bothered our abandoned breakfast.

I was tempted to finish eating to avoid wasting the food, but I didn’t like how the idea made my stomach clench. As much as I hated to admit it, the scene hadn’t cost me my appetite. But maybe it should have?

A lifetime of inflicting horrors on others for purpose or pleasure had numbed me to most terrible things. Only now there was a whispery acknowledgment from my fledgling conscience when I should feel sad or angry for what was done to a victim. I wasn’t sure carnage would ever bother me again, but that nascent tug of conscience whispered it was okay if it did. That no lacquered cane waited, eager to whack my knuckles for showing emotion, for empathizing. But I couldn’t shake a lifetime of conditioning so easily.

“You okay?” Clay bumped my shoulder as I set out for the SUV. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

Blinking away the fear I might not live up to my own expectations, I asked, “What look?”

“The look that tells me you need a second breakfast to recover the calories you burned climbing.”

Accidentally on purpose, I stuck out my foot and tripped Clay, who toppled into the bushes.

Without hesitation, Asa dove in after him, ripping the poufy wig off his head and holding it high.

Clay yelped at the sting and stumbled out the other side, patting his shiny bald head in horror.

“What the f—” Clay bit down hard, “—fudge did you do that for?”

“Oleander.” Asa exited the bushes. “Every part of the plant is toxic.”

“Goddess bless.” I spun on my heel, hit the nearby stairs, and rushed onto the sidewalk. “Colby?”

“I’m fine,” she called out, laughing. “I’m upside down, but I’m good.”

Clay escaped unblemished, but Asa had splotchy hands. The fall must have snapped limbs and exposed him to sap.

“I should have recognized it.” I took the wig from him, and my fingers tingled. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“Let’s get Shorty to the SUV.” Clay stole the wig. “Then we’ll revisit what the hell city planners were thinking when they planted murder bushes along one of the city’s biggest tourist magnets.”

Not waiting for us, Clay booked it toward the SUV, leaving Asa and me to play catch-up.

“No one got hurt.” Asa tucked his hands into his pockets. “Except the wig.”

Now that he mentioned it, I wasn’t sure if Clay was in triage mode for Colby or his hairdo.

“Everyone knows about oleander.” I flung my hand toward the neat row of bushes. “What kind of witch misses that?”

“One whose thoughts were on the case and not on the hat tip to confederate tea.”

Tour guides loved to talk about how Southern women brewed oleander tea for Union soldiers. We’d had a close encounter with a ghost tour last night and overheard the tale. Had it been here, at the Battery, I might have put two and two together. As it was, I figured the plants had been grown in secret.

Apparently not.