Griffin's Treasure: Department 57, #4

By L.M. Connolly

International soccer star Josh Friedland has a secret. He's a griffin shapeshifter, and a covert operative for Department 57. Josh's brother Laurie is missing, and Josh is sure businessman George Skeffington is involved. So he definitely can't trust Skeffington's stepdaughter, Chana Rafiz, even though he wants her with every fiber of his being.

When her controlling stepfather asks Chana to look after his guest, she suspects another trick to keep her by his side; only she finds that Josh is the man she's been waiting for all her life. Long, hot Californian nights see their bodies twined in more inventive positions than Chana even knew existed, but when she finally discovers his secret, she uncovers another. One about herself that'd been kept from her her whole life.

Together, Josh and Chana have to face dangers only Department 57 can help them with, but they plunge the whole Department into peril. If the Department is to endure, and Laurie is to be found, Josh and Chana must defeat the longest odds to succeed in their mission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LMC Publications
• Release date: Mar 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498989954

L.M. Connolly

L.M. Connolly writes steamy, exciting contemporary and paranormal romances. The best-selling writer of the STORM, Department 57, Pure Wildfire, and Nightstar series, she lives and breathes her characters. She lives in the UK, but travels to the US once a year, to enjoy the high life! Her books have gained her a number of awards and five star reviews, and she's also a best-selling author. Her life experiences add colour and veracity to the stories she tells, and she is always finding more! As Lynne Connolly, L.M. also writes historical romances.

Book preview

Chapter One

Josh stepped out of his Porsche and absently smiled at the girls waiting for him. Half a dozen, and from the look of them, they should have been in class at school, not here, in the car park of Manchester Rovers Football Club. Ever since David Beckham had turned into a sex symbol, girls had become interested in football, and targeted players like Josh and his brother Laurie. Seemingly young, blond, playing for one of the most prestigious and richest teams in Europe, Josh was still vaguely surprised when girls greeted him with autograph books open, instead of the schoolboys he used to see. They shouldn’t have been here, this car lot was private but there were only half a dozen, so he’d sign their autographs before sending them on their way.

Some of the female fans knew a lot more about the game than their male counterparts. Others, it was true, were attracted by his sideline modeling career and the sponsorship deals. One, a gangly brunette, less patient than the others, shoved her book under his nose. To Sharon, she commanded.

Smiling his professional welcome, Josh took her pen and signed, as she’d requested, or rather, demanded. He signed the other books and answered their questions almost by rote, his mind elsewhere.

When will you be well enough to play again? Are you coming back this season? Where are you going?

Yes, no and San Francisco. I’m getting better, thanks, but I won’t be back this season. I’ll probably help Ted with the coaching for a while, when I get back. There aren’t any important England matches coming up, so I’m resting until I’m better.

One girl gazed up at him, her baby blue eyes bright with speculation. How about a fuck?

Josh nearly swallowed his tongue. However often it happened, he couldn’t get over how brazen young girls were this day and age. This girl couldn’t be much more than fourteen years old, even though she’d tried to look older, with heavy black eyeliner and carefully manicured nails. In Manchester Rovers’ colors, he noted. Green and white. It took an old man like him to notice these things, but because his age didn’t show, people assumed his attitudes were those of the current generation.

He forced a thin smile. I’d be arrested if I touched you.

The girl sighed, despondently. I’ll wait, then. I’ll be back.

They tended to do that. I don’t doubt it.

To a chorus of disappointed groans, he headed for the door into the main building. They couldn’t follow him inside. A security guard winked at him as he passed. Thanks for that, Mr. Friedland. My niece is the red-haired one.

That explained how the girls had found their way into a private compound. You’re welcome, he replied. And the name’s Josh.

He was getting too old for this. Two hundred and fifty posing as twenty-five and a world-renowned footballer. But he was having the time of his life. Several lives, actually. Or he had been, until recently.

Upstairs, Ted waited for him. His inspiration, his mentor, Ted Maxwell, manager of Manchester Rovers. His friend.

The sight of the man warmed Josh, despite the worry tearing him apart. After he’d closed the door and taken his seat at the other side of the massive desk, which was still littered with scraps of paper despite the laptop adorning it, he sighed heavily and let his professional expression of easy assurance drop. It wouldn’t fool Ted for a minute anyway. There was no point because Ted Maxwell was one of the most astute people Josh had ever met.

He told him straight. Laurie’s missing, Ted. I need some time off so I can look for him.

Ted lifted one meaty hand and gestured. I ‘eard about it. Somebody called me this morning. A man called Cristos. Had an accent. American and a touch of summat else.

A slight smile crossed Josh’s face, more relief than pleasure, but tinged with amusement, the first he’d felt in days. The thought of the Yorkshireman accusing someone else of having an accent tickled him. I know him. I’ve met him in New York. And the rest. Cristos had a hold over Josh very few other people knew about. He provided services Josh and his kind needed. In return, Josh helped him. Sometimes.

We ‘ad a very interesting conversation about you, lad and it seems we’re in agreement. I want to give you time off, as well.

Josh frowned. The thought of the two most formidable men he knew in league with each other chilled his blood. Should I run now, or later?

Ted’s rich, fruity chuckle filled the room. Want some tea? He hit the intercom. Bring us some tea, will you dear?

Dear, was his secretary, the stiffly correct Madeleine Otterthwaite, an officious woman with a body built for sin, which she did nothing to hide in the severe business suits that hugged her mouthwatering figure. Thirty years old, divorced, and gorgeous. She brought in a tray of tea so quickly, Josh knew she was merely waiting for Ted’s summons. Although she was extremely unlikely to have made the tea herself, she always ensured it was just as Ted liked it, just as everything else she did during working hours was for him. What she did out of working hours was anyone’s guess. Josh wasn’t the only person to ask her for a date and be politely, but firmly refused. Only Maddy could have turned down some of what the tabloids called ‘the most eligible men in Europe’ when they were being polite.

Her behavior towards Ted was so empathetic, Josh had suspected her of being Talented but all his efforts to gently probe her mind had met with a hard rebuff from a powerful barrier. Whether her barrier was self made or evolved was anyone’s guess, but neither Josh nor Laurie had ever been able to breach it. The remembrance of Laurie added another dagger to the bunch piercing his heart. Every time he tried to contact his brother, by phone or using their strong telepathic link, he’d been rebuffed by a deafening silence. He was worried sick.

Maddy flashed a tight smile at Josh as she put the tray down in front of Ted, on top of the scraps of paper, many of which already held circular stains from tea mugs. They exchanged conventional greetings while Ted poured out the tea. He liked to pour it himself, and insisted on ‘milk last.’

Anyone walking into the luxurious but untidy office would never have suspected that Ted Maxwell controlled a team of players, stars who could have bought a small country each and still have plenty of change to spare. Men like Josh and his brother Laurie Friedland, feted everywhere in the world except one country, the USA. Which helped to explain why they spent a lot of their free time there. The one place in the world people didn’t stop them in the street all the time, where they could shop, eat out and go to the theater if they wanted to, without hindrance from avid fans.

Now Josh wanted to go back for an entirely different reason.

Knowing Ted would discuss his problem in his own time, Josh sipped his tea, which was, as usual, excellent, and listened to a litany about the team, who was fit, who was off his game, who needed a push, who was about to receive a ‘rollicking’ for staying out too late at too many nightclubs before a big match.

Eventually, his manager came to the point. And if that weren’t enough, I’ve got this damn fool owner on my back.

Yes. Everything clicked into place. Cristos, Ted, Josh, they all converged at the same point.

Bloody George Skeffington.

There it was. Josh put down his tea mug, following Ted’s example and using one of the bits of paper as a coaster. He leaned back in the comfortable leather chair and waited.

That man doesn’t understand the first thing about the game. Maximize profits, he says. What does he think we’ve been doing? Giving tickets away? If we screw much more out of the fans, the poor bastards will be ready to rebel. In fact... He leaned forward, a crafty smile wreathing his features In fact, I’d say they’re ready now.

Josh grinned back. You’ve primed ‘em.

Oh yes. We’re all on the same side here, lad. This sod bought the club by foul means, and he took it out of public ownership.

Josh stayed silent, though he knew more than Ted suspected he did. What made this American, who knew nothing about the game, think he could do better? But Skeffington certainly did think that. He’d bought the team from under Ted’s consortium’s noses, paid an outrageous price for it, and nobody knew why.

Go, as they said in the States, Figure.

Ted gave Josh a broad grin. We’ll get it back. Not a good season for us, is it? For the first time in ten years, Rovers was out of Europe, failed in the leagues that brought big money and huge prestige to the club.

Suspicions had crossed Josh’s mind recently, and his warning bells clanged even louder now. And you have so many injuries, too. I could go back, Ted. I’m pretty much better. Ted didn’t know how fast Josh could recover, but even by normal mortal standards, his recuperation had been leisurely.

I want you all better, lad. No setbacks. Next season we’ll do better.

I thought that depended on the Skeffingtons.

Ted raised a quizzical eyebrow, the thick mass lifting slightly, exposing the sharp pale blue gaze that had terrorized many a young player. The gaze softened into Ted’s usual mild one, far more deceptive and one of the reasons Ted was so popular with the media. The jovial, easygoing air Ted cultivated was far from the real man beneath, the man who could control a team of young men, each of whom could afford a Porsche from the change in their pockets.

Josh laughed. It depends on whether they’ve given up or not. The club must be worth much less than they paid for it after a season like this one.

Ted’s fruity chuckle filled the room. He reached for the teapot. Josh declined a second cup, so Ted helped himself before he spoke again.

Mebbe so, lad, mebbe so. But with Mr. Cristos’s help, I might be able to help it along a bit.

He prefers just Cristos.

Ted sipped his tea, his mild gaze fixed on Josh. I don’t mind a new owner. I’ve worked for a few in my time. Skeffington wants to sell Rosenberg and Schmidt, two of the best players we’ve got. He says he wants young talent instead. Young talent my arse! Ted’s snort of derision eloquently expressed his opinion on Skeffington’s ability to manage a football club. He wants the cash. He’s asset stripping, my son. At the height of their careers, Rosenberg and Schmidt were also valuable players.

And some of your best players are off sick.

Ted’s grin broadened. I want them fit for next season, so they’re stayin’ off for now. No sense rushing them back, the way things are.

One more season and Skeffington will give in and sell up, Josh observed to the room in general. So you could say things are going well.

In a way, Ted replied in the same distant tone. He turned in his chair and fixed Josh with a gimlet stare. I want him out as fast as possible. Faster. ‘E’s after finishing this club, takin’ what ‘e can and clearing off with the proceeds. But I won’t see that happen. He’s tried to get me to move on. Ever so gently, of course, but there you are. I want to know what he’s up to.

Josh felt a little bewildered that Ted was opening up to him at last. He, together with most of the team, knew this was war, but neither side had confided in anybody until now. What has that to do with me?

More than you think. Ted leaned back, his chair creaking under the strain of his not inconsiderable weight. Ted wasn’t fat by any means, but he was large, bulky, fleshy. A presence in every sense of the word. Especially after this call. Cristos called about your brother.

A flare of anger consumed Josh. If Cristos had a lead, he should have contacted him first, not Ted. After a week of not knowing, with no leads, Josh was ready to take off after Laurie. Nobody had seen him for weeks. Not his friends and not Department 57, situated in downtown Manhattan, where Laurie had been helping with a case.

Laurie’s disappearance had nothing to do with the Skeffingtons and the power games he was playing with Rovers. Or did it? You could have told me when I first came in, he growled. Laurie means more to me than any bloody football club.

Ted shook his head sadly. You’ve never had any patience, have you, lad? It’s all bound up in the same thing. Or it might be. Listen. Cristos and me had a really interesting talk.

The mannerisms Ted used to signpost his feelings, his moods when in public, were all absent now. Only the real man was left, the man who knew how to traffic in power and rarely lost. He stared directly at Josh and leaned forward again to rest his elbows on his desk. Cristos says he’s tracked Laurie to San Francisco.

San Francisco? What on earth made Laurie go there?

Yep. Cristos has no idea why. Do you?

Slowly, Josh shook his head. We’re close, you know that, but he might have taken off on a whim. Or after a woman. Laurie had never lost his enthusiasm for the opposite sex. Josh didn’t pursue anyone any more. He seemed to have lost the edge of his appetite for dates and sex.

What if he’d been taken by force?

Shock jolted through him. How could that happen? Laurie and Josh were shape-shifters, powerful beings rarely bested by anyone. If someone had taken Laurie by force, it would almost definitely have been another Talent.

Fear replaced the shock, terror for his brother. Oh God, let it be a woman. Laurie was one of nature’s romantics, always seeing the best in his women before deep disillusionment. Josh could cope with that; he couldn’t cope with his brother’s torture or death.

So Cristos thinks Laurie is in San Francisco?

He knew Ted would see his alarm; the man knew him well. Ted’s mouth, set in a hard line, softened slightly, the only sign he’d noticed Josh’s agitation, but it was enough. He’s probably chasing skirt. Not to worry lad. But I’d already decided to send someone over to find out what Skeffington is up to.

A spy?

If you like. You, if you want it. I can book you a few goodwill appointments, get you out to some schools and colleges, that’s reason enough to go, and I can get Skeffington to put you up while you’re there. He can arrange some appearances for you as well. Nothing too much, because you’ll want to look for Laurie, but it’ll give you an excuse. Two birds with one stone, you might say.

Ted and Josh regarded each other in silence. Ted would send Josh to hunt for Laurie, if Josh did a favor for him in return and scoped out Skeffington. In characteristic fashion, Ted had struck right at Josh’s one vulnerable spot. Laurie. Ted got what he wanted by letting Josh have his way, because he must know nothing, not even the threat of dismissal, would stop Josh going after Laurie now.

I’ve not been keen to let you out of my sight while you’ve been off the field. Mainly because you’re careless with your health, and I want you well, but this changes things, Josh. You’re almost better, and if I weren’t being careful, I’d let you on for the odd match or two, or at least put you on the bench as a substitute. He paused, giving Josh time to think. Ted was extremely good at giving his players thinking time. Every member of the Manchester Rovers squad was a perfect physical specimen at the peak of their health, but not all of them were the sharpest knives in the intellectual drawer. Most needed time and space. When Ted wanted something from, say, Scott Jensen, he’d push and push, not giving poor Jensen time to think, but this tactic didn’t work with Josh. He was more likely to dig his heels in and refuse to do whatever Ted wanted until he’d thought things through.

Ted knew that, and was giving him space. Not that he needed it. Josh was going. After he’d spoken to Cristos.

Give me a few hours and I’ll be ready. Get Maddy to sort out a flight and leave the tickets at the airport.

Ted’s mouth flickered in the semblance of a smile. I’ll do that, lad. Good luck.

Looks as though I’ll need it.

*****

Chana Rafiz strode into the Skeffington mansion and hurled her car keys on the marble side table. Disappointingly, the expensive surface didn’t crack. She let out a shriek of pure rage, and watched the butler come at a very fast walk into the other end of the large, echoing hall.

Miss Rafiz, are you all right?

Depends what you mean by ‘all right,’ Osborne. Is Mr. Skeffington in?

Osborne’s thin lips turned down. He’s in his office, though I’m not sure he’s home to visitors.

Well it looks like I’m not a visitor any more. I’m back to stay for a while, and hopefully to make his life hell. He deserves it, after what he’d done to me.

Casting a darkling look back at the tall, cadaverous Osborne, Chana took the corridor that led to the office wing.

She had a bone to pick with Skeffington. Several bones, in fact. Still dressed in the uniform of a San Francisco cop, Chana was only too aware of how incongruous she must look in the marble hall, and the corridor lined with paintings. Originals, as Mr. Skeffington was fond of telling visitors, but when they questioned further, he passed them on to Edward, his third son, the one who knew about Art.

When Skeffington’s personal assistant, the suave and sophisticated Eric Minow, stood to prevent her access to the inner office, she brushed past him and burst through the double doors. Eric was far too refined to grab her and yank her back.

What?

Skeffington’s craggy face looked startled for a moment before he lifted his hands and smiled at her. I wondered when you’d arrive. Come and sit down, dear.

Don’t you ‘dear’ me. she growled, beyond anger now. She decided to stand and loom over him, except that his desk was huge and the effect largely lost.

George continued to stare at her. Hell. She sat down. So what did I do wrong? I know you were the person who got me dragged off the street, so why?

George Skeffington’s face relaxed, as far as that was possible, and a broad grin spread across his full lips. I’ll never know why you have more spunk than any of my children by blood. Chana growled, but said nothing. I had you pulled, my dear, because you were a danger. You’re more of a liability than an asset as a cop. Anyone could target you, take you straight off the street. They’d have to put cops on duty to guard you. I gave you your head, but it’s time to come home.

Chana ground her teeth. This was not her home. Then why did you let me go through the training course? Why did you let me believe I was free of you at last?

His smile was positively avuncular. Because you needed breathing space. I even let you rent that slum of an apartment on your wages. You wanted to be independent. I can respect that, Kanchana. It’s more than the boys have ever tried to do. I was even proud of you.

Is that meant to make me happy? What gave him the right to be proud of her? He was no relation of hers, although he’d tried to control her as he did his own children.

"If I said that to any of my employees, it would keep them happy for a week. Yes, Kanchana, it is supposed to make you happy. It’s the truth. I respect you for it. But it couldn’t go on, you must see that."

"No I don’t. If you hadn’t told anyone I was your stepdaughter, they wouldn’t have known. My mother married you for a grand total of two years, including the time it took her to divorce you. If you hadn’t had my picture put in the paper, nobody would have known. It was you, wasn’t it?"

Not directly.

She made a sound of derision. "What does it matter? You had it done, you had my picture put in the paper and all that Goddamn speculation started. After that, I couldn’t move for cops asking me out for a date, wanting favors, trying to partner with me. How could you?"

I wanted to see how far you could go. And the training will come in useful for what I have in mind for you. George hit a button on his intercom. Bring in some coffee, will you, Eric? He turned back to Chana. You passed the exam and I didn’t interfere. You were just a wannabe cop, and you passed. But you couldn’t have gone on the streets, you must see that. Someone would have broken your cover and they wouldn’t have hesitated. They would have kidnapped you, and that would have cost me a packet.

Is that it? The money?

He hesitated before he denied it. No, of course not. I want you safe, that’s all.

I could still try for some kind of career in the SFPD.

So you could. He paused when Eric brought in the coffee and the scent, as usual, made her stomach contract with need. At least she still had that much cop in her. A craving for coffee seemed to go with the job.

It would have been childish to refuse something she wanted, so she accepted her cup. And your medical condition, he continued when Eric left, George not even thanking him for the service. It could get worse. You know the stress the job has. But yes, you’re right. If you want to pursue a career off the street in the department, I won’t stop you. You could even be useful, one day.

Stony faced, Chana listened to the death of all her hopes. Oh yeah. She could take a job in the office, progress up the administrative ladder and one day help the Skeffington estate from her high rise in town. Become part of the organization, a Skeffington babe. George Skeffington would have another scalp in his belt. If she wanted a career of her own, independent of him, she would have to move across America. Perhaps even leave the States. His reach was too long. He had interests everywhere.

Not even leaving the country would help her. Skeffington’s influence crossed political barriers as though they didn’t exist.

Before you pursue that, there’s something I’d like you to do for me. George’s voice, always mild, gained a sharp edge. Only someone who knew him well, someone as sensitive as Chana would have discerned it, but it was there nevertheless. She picked up the bone china coffee cup and took a sip. The coffee was excellent, as always, but she would have swapped it in a minute for a chipped cup of flavored dishwater at the station house.

What?

Angelina left yesterday. Chana couldn’t say she was surprised. George’s latest wife had never settled down properly, and hadn’t managed her life well. George didn’t take infidelity lightly, especially when the story was splashed over the newspaper gossip pages. I haven’t a hostess and you could do the job blindfold. A guest’s arriving tomorrow, which should give you time to get your hair done and a facial. I want you to show him around, help him while he’s here.

Have her hair done and a facial. Who is it?

One of the team members from that English soccer club I bought.

Oh yes. She couldn’t recall the details. Skeffington thought this club was a big deal, but something that happened half a world away concerning a sport her little stepbrother played at school didn’t excite her one bit.

He’s coming over here for a few goodwill visits, and to touch base. He’s twenty-five, so there’s a few playing years in him yet and he’s a valuable commodity. I want to get to know him, and I want him happy while he’s here.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. You’re pimping for me?

George’s mouth pursed into a tight, prim button. You should know better than to use such language. Of course not, I just want you to act as hostess while he’s here. Is that too much to ask?

Probably. She smiled, feeling a modicum of relief. But in any case, it’s hardly likely he’ll take an interest in a thirty year old has-been cop.

Kanchana, you shine up a treat. Have that surgery and you can look eighteen again. George took a long sip of his coffee, keeping his eyes trained on her face. You never took me up on that offer I made a couple of years back. It’s still open.

He was provoking her to a reaction, Chana saw it in the pale eyes. So she chose not to react. I’m happy with a C cup, thanks. Having Skeffington buy her new tits wasn’t her idea of a functional relationship. Not that she was even sure what that was. I’ll do a deal with you, George. Not a family deal, but a business deal. George took business deals far more seriously than he did family agreements. Not that that was any guarantee. If George really wanted something, he tended to go for it, and to hell with ethics.

He nodded, his attention completely on her. People thought George had a vague, watery look, but that was just because his eyes were so pale. Anyone caught in the full beam knew different, and he had caught Chana enough times to know the full force of George Skeffington’s full attention.

"If I look after this...boy...for you, you’ll let me go