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Chapter 9
“MR. EVERTON, I’m Agent Sloane Brodie, and I promise you, I only want to talk.”
Sloane relaxed his stance, his assessment of the Therian before him completed. He didn’t believe Everton posed a threat, but he wouldn’t take any chances
with his team in the truck. At the first hint of trouble, Sloane would take Everton down.
“You have a lot of guns for someone who only wants to talk,” Everton replied somberly, his gaze never leaving Sloane’s.
“Those are a precaution.”
“Right. And the cage?”
“An unfortunate necessity.”
Everton cocked his head to one side, his fallen expression unexpected. “You put your own kind in a cage.”
Sloane had those words thrown at him countless times in various degrees of animosity. Yet Everton’s soft words stung more than any hostile accusation. He schooled his reaction, something he’d learned to do when he’d first been recruited. Being anything other than a THIRDS agent was something he couldn’t afford. It was his job to remain neutral, to seek justice and keep the peace within his species. “I have to protect my team, Mr. Everton. They’re my family. Wouldn’t you do what you had to do to protect your family?”
There was a moment of quiet before Everton released a sigh. “Okay. Well, this clearly isn’t a routine registration issue, so what is it?”
“Come on, Mr. Everton. Let’s be honest with each other here. It’ll make this a lot easier for both of us.” Sloane took the tablet Cael handed to him and showed it to Everton. “Mr. Ortiz. You were at his house for a charity brunch with Ms. Thalia’s catering company the day he was murdered, correct?” He studied Everton who merely glanced at the image of a once living Hector Ortiz and nodded.
“That’s right.”
“Did you approach Mr. Ortiz at any time?” He handed the tablet back to Cael. Rosa would be recording everything for review later.
“No. I was busy working.”
“Tell me about the waiter who approached you. What did he say to you?”
Everton shifted in his seat. “That he knew what I was. How dare I pretend to be a civilized member of society? If I didn’t vacate the premises, he would phone the authorities.”
Sloan pursed his lips. That sounded awfully polite for the waiter who’d all but spat in their faces. “Are you paraphrasing?”
“Yes. I’m not comfortable with the language he used,” Everton replied, once again fidgeting awkwardly in his seat.
“Please, Lloyd. It’s important you tell me what he said, exactly as you remember it.”
“Okay. He said, ‘I know what you are, you Unregistered piece of shit. If you don’t get the fuck out of this house right now, I’m going to report your cocksucking ass and have them lock you up in a cage like the motherfucking animal you are.’”
Sloane cleared his throat. Well, that certainly sounded more like it. At times, he wondered who the real animals were. “And despite his threat, you continued to work? Why?”
“I needed the money. Work is hard to find when you’re Unregistered. They try to rip you off, not pay you after the job is done because there’s nothing you can do about it. Ms. Thalia didn’t do that. She always paid and on time.” He gave a sniff, lowering his gaze to his fingers. “I have a wife and kids to feed.”
Sloane crouched down in front of Everton, his voice gentle and sympathetic. “Then why not register. For them?”
Everton met his gaze, anger flashing through his amber eyes, eyes that reminded Sloane of what could have been. It was like looking into a warped mirror, one that showed Sloane what his life would have been like without the good fortune of having a family such as Everton had. If he would have even made it to Everton’s age. Quickly he pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the task at hand.
When Everton next spoke, his voice was low. “I won’t let the government mark me like I’m some criminal. They say we’re citizens like everyone else, but they keep us under surveillance, watch our every move and treat us like animals. Our existence makes us guilty until proven otherwise. My grandfather had been marked once, back in Germany. I won’t let them do that to me or my family.”
“It’s not the same thing, Lloyd,” Sloane said gently.
Everton pulled back, his eyes filled with sadness. “It’s all got to start somewhere, Agent Brodie.”
There was no point in arguing with Everton. He clearly wasn’t going to budge on the matter, and who was Sloane to try to change his mind? The guy felt strongly about what he was doing, enough so that he was prepared to face the consequences of his decisions. Sloane stood with a sigh and continued with his interview. “Okay. What time did you leave?”
“Around noon. I put it off as long as I could. I was at my station from eight a.m. serving vodka and orange juice and didn’t move from there until I left. Guests can confirm that.”
