Bishop's Gambit: Redclaw Origins, #2

By McKenna Dean

Bake a cake? Give her a cold, hard killer any day.

 

Newly-minted secret agent Rhett Bishop would rather face down a horde of angry wolf shifters or her father's former mob contacts than accept her current assignment: pose undercover as a suburban housewife, complete with a husband, slippers, and pipe.

But after the debacle of her previous mission, Rhett has a lot to prove.

To redeem herself in the eyes of Redclaw Security, and to carry out her mission without distractions, she must table her budding relationship with Peter Knight while the two of them uncover the secrets of Forest Grove.

Armed with her trusty ray gun, her unique little dog, and Knight's brains, Rhett is confident she can handle whatever the suburbs can throw at her.

Until they lob a curveball.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Redclaw Publishing
• Release date: Oct 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393440109

Book preview

Praise for Bishop Takes Knight

This paranormal romance has it all! ~InD’Tale Magazine

I really can’t recommend this highly enough, and I can’t wait for the next book! ~The Romance Reviews

A fun, fleshed out fantasy with sympathetic main characters~ Kirkus Reviews

Best Paranormal/SFF Romance in the New England Reader’s Choice Awards

RONE Nominee

PRISM Award winner

Royal Palm Literary Award Finalist

Dedication:

TO EVERYONE WHO IS struggling right now to get through the day. Be it because of work woes, chronic illness or pain, fears for the feature, tears for the past, or simply the sheer weariness of being asked to make bricks without straw over and over again.

I hope this story can make you forget all that for a few hours and remind you of the kick-ass person you really are.

Chapter One

New York City

Summer of 1955

The door to Mr. Jessop’s office sprang open and he stood to one side as though allowing something to pass. I didn’t even have time to lift an eyebrow before a small colorful bird flew past him, making a beeline for my desk. It landed on the rim of my jar of pencils, the resulting crash tipping the holder over and scattering the contents across my work area.

Since Mr. J’s office didn’t have windows, there was only one place the bird could have originated. From the hidden passage to the hidden laboratories below.

Unfazed, the bright little bird righted itself and hopped a few strides in my direction, giving an occasional chirp. Close up, I saw the bird wasn’t alive but some fantastical toy made of metal. Individual feathers were layered in black and gold to approximate the real thing and the overall result was so lifelike, most people wouldn’t give it a second glance. A bold red band held a miniscule note to its metal leg.

I looked up to see both Mr. J and Miss Climpson watching me.

Mr. J’s jowly features had the befuddled look of an old Bassett hound, along with a benign and amused acceptance of the bizarre, or rather, what passed for normal at Redclaw Security. Miss Climpson’s face was stiff with disapproval. She bore a marked resemblance to the headmistress of my old boarding school when my father had shown up to take me out of class for one of his little jaunts, as he called them. I’d spent more time traveling the world with my father than I had in school, but as my grades had been exemplary, the headmistress could do no more than radiate disapprobation.

I rather suspect now that the school president’s love of Scotch and my father’s connections to bootleggers had been a factor in my graduation, valedictorian or not.

Needless to say, with her stern expression and her faded red hair escaping its messy bun, Miss Climpson looked as if she’d like to fail me as an employee. Which was tiresome, as I was hardly the lowly receptionist I’d been when I first started working at the agency. I’d been a field agent now for nearly two months, even if part of that time had been spent on probation.

Miss Bishop! Her admonition rang out with all the censure women in positions of authority held everywhere.

I stifled a wince. It wasn’t as though I had any control over what Peter Knight decided to do, including his methods for contacting me. I snatched up the fake bird. Though it wasn’t real, the construct had been programmed to act like one, and it struggled as I clamped down on its wings and wrestled the message free of the band. As it was impossible to hold onto the bird and unroll the note at the same time, I let go of the finch-like device and fixed a glare on it. Don’t go anywhere.

The bird cocked its head at me and began pecking among the pencils.

Miss Climpson stood with her fists on her hips, one eyebrow raised. Though I would have dearly loved to stick my tongue out at her, I read the note instead. In tiny, cramped handwriting, it said, Lunch. Park. 12:30.

I glanced at my watch. I had fifteen minutes to spare.

A note from Dr. Knight, I presume? Mr. J beamed at me, not at all fussed by the interruption to the workplace.

Yes, sir. I scribbled a hasty affirmation on the back side of the paper and chased the bird around my desktop so I could tuck the note back in the leg band. When I looked up, Miss Climpson pursed her lips. Since being on probation meant I was currently on desk duty, the two of us took turns manning the reception area during lunch breaks. If you please, Miss Climpson, I’d like to go to lunch a bit early.

Why the man can’t use the intercom like a civilized person is beyond me. Miss Climpson’s sniff contained volumes of censure.

Now, now, Mr. J continued to smile benevolently. I’m sure Dr. Knight is merely testing the equipment.

May I? I held up the bird, directing my question to both of them.

Oh, very well. Miss Climpson gave in with poor grace.

Mr. J merely stepped aside and waved toward his inner sanctum. While I supposed I could pick up the phone and dial Knight’s station down in the labs, no doubt this was a test of the bird’s ability to carry messages back and forth. When I released the bird, it darted into Mr. J’s office, and presumably back through the still-open door to the labs below where Knight waited.

A loud buzz emanated from Miss Climpson’s phone, and a red light lit up on its base. She crossed the room to pick up the receiver. Yes, sir?

Of the two people most likely to use the intercom, one was standing in the room with us. That meant Miss Climpson was speaking with Ryker, our enigmatic boss. Her gaze slewed in my direction as she listened, and her eyes narrowed. Yes, sir. Right away, sir. She replaced the receiver and gave me a thin smile. Mr. Ryker would like a word with you in his office before you take lunch.

I nodded. Grabbing my notepad along with my ever-present clutch, I made my way down the corridor to Ryker’s office. The only good thing about the dark, forbidding passageway was that it was no longer as cold as a meat locker, the way it had been when I first began working at Redclaw this past winter. Now its very gloom prevented July’s unbearable heat from touching the halls until almost time to quit for the day.

Pausing only to straighten my navy sailor suit, I rapped on the door and waited for permission to enter.

Come in, Bishop.

Ryker stood behind his desk as I entered, both hands resting on the back of his chair.

In my early days working for Redclaw, I’d wondered how my boss had his finger on the pulse of everything going on in the main office, despite rarely leaving his own office at the end of this gloomy corridor. Now that I knew he had closed-circuit cameras operating in various parts of the building, I no longer marveled at his mysterious knowledge. He might have lost his almost magical air of omnipotence but he remained very much a mystery. I only knew a few of his secrets, such as his ability to change into a flaming phoenix.

Five months ago, I would have laughed out loud at the notion of shapeshifters or artifacts capable of almost magical powers, let alone work in a firm that dealt with both. The mere suggestion screamed of too much time reading the stories in Astounding magazine or Ripley’s Believe It or Not. But then I discovered the company I worked for wasn’t your typical insurance agency and my coworkers were something more than ordinary humans. After the initial jolt of shocked disbelief, I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else. The average jobs available to women in the 1950s paled in comparison to the thrill of working for Redclaw Security.

Sit down, Bishop. I need a word with you.

I took the chair opposite his desk and folded my hands over my notebook in my lap.

My boss was a handsome man if you favored the elegant pirate look. With his dark hair brushed back from his brow and the neatly trimmed beard that framed his jaw, he could have passed for an eighteenth-century sea captain or one of the Three Musketeers. Although I rarely saw Ryker in anything other than a gray flannel suit, I could picture him in a cravat and waistcoat, brandy snifter in hand.

The less said about the times I’d seen him in his birthday suit, however, the better.

I want to talk to you about the report you put together on that batch of unusual activity over the last few weeks up toward Poughkeepsie. One of those new-fangled subdivisions. What was it? Park Grove? Forest Hills?

Forest Grove, sir.

Beats me why they would cut down all the trees and name a housing development after them, but there you are. Five reports of UFO sightings and three inexplicable phenomena. There was that sinkhole that swallowed a house—luckily no fatalities—and a case of spontaneous combustion, which needs to have a paranormal component proved or disproved. Then there was that little matter which according to our resident eggheads, was the result of an EM pulse short-circuiting a wide variety of electrical and mechanical objects. That’s a bit too coincidental for my comfort.

As ever, Ryker was a master of understatement. But I merely said, Agreed, sir, as he lit a cigarette.

He took an inordinate amount of time to take his first puff, savor the tobacco, and let out in a slow trail of smoke. It was so deliberate the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I suspected I wasn’t going to like whatever he had in mind. Instinctively, I glanced at the Magic 8-Ball sitting on the corner of his desk. I had good reason to know this version was more than a child’s toy. Had I been alone, I might have consulted it to see what Ryker had in mind for me.

We need to investigate, but damn it, we’re talking the suburbs here. The usual two-man team won’t do. We need someone who looks the part. Are you up for it?

The tension that had been building ever since Ryker lit his cigarette oozed out of my spine. I’d been on desk duty long enough after my impetuous handling of my first case—locating Peter Knight and persuading him to join Redclaw. While for the most part everything turned out all right in the end, some dangerous tech had gone missing and was now in the hands of one of Redclaw’s toughest competitors, who happened to be my boss’s half-brother. Rian Stirling played by his own rules and the jury was out on whether he was one of the good guys or bad guys.

I’d been on probation ever since.

Yes, sir. Finally. If I had to play Betty Crocker to get back in the field, I would.

Don’t be too quick to agree until you know all the details. Smoke wreathed Ryker’s head as he took his seat and fixed an assessing gaze upon me. I suppose you’re aware of the security changes we’re making.

Yes, sir. I schooled my expression into one of neutral calmness.

He tapped the ash from his cigarette several times on the tray sitting on the corner of his desk in an obvious bid for time to marshal his thoughts. Well, it was overdue. In the past, we relied on our cover story and minimal security, as anything else would have called undue attention to our activities. Given the recent security breaches, we’ve implemented stronger measures. That’s been sufficient for the time being, but we’re also outgrowing our offices. Diversifying our holdings into multiple facilities will prevent losses from any one location from being astronomical should another breach occur.

Very wise, sir. The unease I’d felt before returned to coil like a snake in my belly. Why couldn’t he come out with whatever plan he had in mind?

Ryker cleared his throat. We’re spread thin at the moment, trying to cover all of New York, and I don’t have the manpower to spare. I need a team to investigate these reports. He paused slightly before continuing. Knight has a gift for figuring out what this strange technology does.

Ah. Knight wasn’t an official agent, more of an expert consultant. You want me to work with Knight on this mission. Undercover in Forest Grove. A second later, the whole of Ryker’s plan dawned on me. My stomach sank as though it had been filled with lead. You want us to pose as a married couple.

Something in my tone made Ryker flick a sharp glance in my direction. You have a problem with this? You and Knight are both adults and professionals. Without waiting for my response, he flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "If you’re concerned about your reputation, don’t be. Your fellow agents are shapeshifters. If Redclaw can pretend it’s a normal investigative agency, surely you and Knight can pretend you’re married. The end of Ryker’s cigarette glowed as if it were the open door to a furnace as he took a deep drag. Since we’re hiding from the rest of the world the fact that shifters exist, a couple of agents pretending to be married is a much lesser offense against society."

Something inside my clutch lurched, and I clamped my hands down over my bag. The little ray gun within had attached itself to me the first time I’d picked it up, and now it traveled with me wherever I went.

Though to be fair, while I agreed with my strange weapon’s proposed action, shooting my boss might be frowned upon. Even on the stun setting.

Since Ryker was indeed my boss, I managed to speak without grinding my teeth. Given that the operation is undercover, obviously my reputation won’t be at risk because no one outside of Redclaw will know about the mission. But I question how Knight will react to this plan. After all, until recently, he thought he was a widower. Less than two months ago, he discovered not only had his wife faked her death, but that she’d never loved him in the first place. I’m not sure he will accept the assignment.

The evening Knight had discovered Margo’s duplicity was the night he’d almost walked away from Redclaw entirely. I felt certain I didn’t need to point that out to Ryker.

The end of his cigarette glowed as he took another deliberate drag. Actually, it was his idea.

I couldn’t keep the outraged incredulity out of my voice. "Knight suggested the two of us pretend to be married?"

Ryker lifted his immaculate shoulders in a little shrug. Er, yes. But if you aren’t interested....

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I forced myself to take a deep breath. Wasn’t a field assignment what I wanted after all? This was my chance to redeem myself with Ryker. I didn’t say that. I need to think about it, however.

I snatched up the 8-Ball and turned it over. The window into the ball appeared blank for a moment, and then a triangle slowly rolled to the surface of the liquid within. It read, The odds are in your favor.

I clapped the 8-Ball back on Ryker’s desk without comment and ignored his knowing grin.

Pretending not to notice my reaction, Ryker ground out his cigarette. Take the weekend to decide. If you aren’t willing to undertake this proposal, I understand, but I will need to place agents on site as soon as possible.

The irony of Ryker’s use of the word proposal was lost on him. I took my leave without pointing out this little detail.

I had a lunch meeting to attend and a snarky scientist to slap.

Chapter Two

Certain my sandwich would turn into a sour ball of lead in my stomach should I attempt to eat it, I abandoned my packed lunch back at my desk and stormed outside. A small, weed-choked park within walking distance served as speck of green space in an otherwise dismal business district. Knight and I usually met there for lunch when the weather was nice. As I crossed the street, I saw him sitting on the only bench, surrounded by pigeons and one rather plump squirrel. From my vantage point, he appeared to be tempting the squirrel into taking a bite of food from his hand. My approach emboldened the squirrel to grab the tidbit and run. The resulting dash through the throng of pigeons scattered them, lifting some into short flight before they settled to mob Knight once more.

Knight laughed lightly, still watching the squirrel’s antics, as I came to a stop in front of him, fists on my hips. When his eyes met mine, his face creased into a smile. Hello.

After the harsh tones of the average native New Yorker, Knight’s crisp British accent never failed to affect me. I suspect I could have willingly listened to him read from a telephone book, if only to hear that precise articulation. When I wasn’t furious with him, that is.

His dark blond hair lay brushed back from his forehead, save for a heavy lock that disobeyed all attempts at control and curled toward his eyes. Those same blue eyes that snapped with intelligence and humor now brimmed with delight on seeing me. He whisked out a handkerchief and brushed away the bread crumbs from the bench in order to make room for me.

Saying nothing, I sat down beside him.

What did you think of Jenny Lind? He pulled the other half of his sandwich out of a paper sack and began eating it.

It took me but a second to follow his mental gymnastics and arrive at his meaning. I doubt the mechanical bird is either Swedish or a nightingale. Does it sing?

Satisfied I’d gotten his reference, he prattled on about the abilities of the construct, its probable original function, and how he’d been able to activate the alien technology. At least, that was Knight’s theory: the superior technological devices that had been appearing with increasing frequency since the advent of nuclear weapons had not originated on this planet. It was as good an explanation as any, I suppose, though no one had a clue as to why and for what reason they existed.

Apparently, controlling the little artificial bird still gave him trouble but listening to him expound upon the mechanics as he waved his sandwich around, I had no doubt he would solve any difficulty getting the bird to do as he wished. Annoyed as I was, I could still see the value in being able to send confidential messages via the bird. No one would even look at it twice. Without slowing down, Knight launched into an animated monologue about another project he was working on, while I thought about the various ways I could kill him.

Some of my simmering fury must have leached through to him, for he stopped talking and shot me a sharp glance. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.

On the contrary. Though cool, I remained polite. You have been speaking at length about the difference between cylinder and cyclone vacuum cleaners and the superiority of the cyclone model over the other.

Cyclone vacuums don’t lose suction. He sounded sulky as he spoke, as though he’d made that argument many times before. That’s a critical design difference.

I take it Ryker vetoed your idea of bringing this new model to the mass market.

He dug the toe of his shoe into the sandy ground, much like a disgruntled small boy. Ryker says the design is too advanced to be released right now. It skips too many steps in the manufacturing process, and the leap in technology would be hard to explain. His voice dropped to a growling pitch. A brilliant idea, something that would help housewives and cleaners everywhere, and it has to sit on the shelf for who knows how long.

Redclaw has to be careful about revamping the artifacts for the general population to use. You know that.

Knight curled his lip and made his hand into a puppet, flapping his fingers up and down as though it were his hand speaking, Yes, yes. He dropped the grimace and sighed heavily. Have to be certain nothing we put out there is dangerous to the rest of the population. Can’t put anything on the market too advanced, or someone will start looking into how Redclaw is making these extraordinary gains in manufacturing. I don’t see that slowing down our old pal Stirling, though.

That was a sore point for both of us. The artifacts in question had originally been stolen from Redclaw and had become the subject of a bidding war between rival organizations. Knight and I had only managed to recover a handful of the missing cache before Stirling scooped the rest out from beneath our noses.

I imagine you’re right. At some point, we’ll see Mr. Stirling release another unusual, and yet somehow practical, appliance or device no homeowner wants to be without.

He has an absolute gift for re-treading the artifacts into innocuous household items. Envy warred with disapproval in Knight’s voice. I don’t think it helped that Stirling had shown himself to be somewhat taken with me, at least to the extent of mild flirtation, and even if accompanied by a warning not to get in his way.

Just because you can’t mass-produce your marvelous vacuum cleaner for housewives across America, doesn’t mean you can’t make a prototype.

He brightened at that. Snapping his fingers, he pointed at me. You’re right. You’d like a cyclone vacuum cleaner, wouldn’t you? One that doesn’t lose suction?

I’d never had a better opening. Oh yes, I drawled. It will be just the thing when we set up our own little house in the suburbs.

He blinked. His gaze shifted from my face, down to my lunchless hands and stiff posture, back to my face again. Oh, you heard about that, did you?

Fascinated, I watched as a slow flush stole up his neck and over his cheekbones.

I narrowed my eyes. It was inevitable, don’t you think? Particularly when Ryker would like us to be in Forest Grove as soon as possible. Presumably by the beginning of the week.

Knight seemed to find his shirt collar too tight, given the way he ran a finger around the inside rim. You’re angry.

"You sound like Ryker. What is it with men anyway? Why wouldn’t you think I might be angry about this unilateral decision on your part?"

Like Ryker before, Knight frowned. I’d have thought you’d been delighted by the prospect of getting out in the field again, going undercover and all that. How is this any different from me pretending to be your boyfriend for Em’s wedding shower?

Any softening toward him I might have had earlier now disappeared. Well, I don’t know. Maybe because there’s a big difference between you pretending to be my boyfriend for the weekend, and our faking a marriage for weeks, perhaps even months.

He pulled back, his expression making him look like a startled horse. Fake boyfriend, fake marriage. I fail to see the difference.

I spoke through clenched teeth. In the first circumstance, we’re not expected to share the same bedroom.

Oh. His entire demeanor wilted. I didn’t realize... I thought we were... I mean... Oh, never mind. He flicked a hand up, waving me off though I’d said nothing.

You thought what? Shooting Knight was no more an option than shooting my boss, so I decided to bore a hole through the middle of his forehead with my eyes instead.

The glance he cut in my direction was decidedly wary. I thought, you know. That you and I were, um, getting closer. He dropped his voice on the last word, as though someone might overhear us in the middle of the empty lot.

I see. You could have gotten frostbite from my tone. You see this assignment as an opportunity to further our relationship?

Well, yes. Knight blinked when he realized what he’d said and backpedaled furiously. "Wait, what? No! I mean, yes, in that we would be working together. Not in, you know, that way."

A little clarity in the exact status of our relationship would be nice. During the course of attempting to retrieve the stolen artifacts, we’d shared a toe-curling kiss. One I often thought about repeating—and imagined taking further. I’d accepted his desire to take things slowly. After all, he’d discovered his wife had faked her love for him as well as her death, and then witnessed her being gunned down by her criminal accomplices, all in the space of a few hours. Since that fateful night, he’d continued to make unexpected appearances in my kitchen where I would watch him make dinner and listen to him talk about his day’s work. We batted around theories about the various pieces of technology being discovered and generated madcap ideas on how to use them. From the way he brushed my shoulder when pulling out my chair or laid a hand on my arm while we sat talking together on the sofa, his affection for me was plain. But either he had unresolved feelings for his thoroughly dead (this time) wife, or trust issues in general because there had been no progress since the night his kiss made me rethink a chaste life until marriage. I very much wanted to know where we stood on this matter. Otherwise, I might think this ridiculous attraction I sensed between us was one-sided. My side, at that.

My silence must have unnerved him, for he added, Not that taking this assignment means I expect anything from you that, um, you wouldn’t want to do.

I lifted my chin. I should hope not.

A spark of annoyance crossed his expressive features. Narrowing his eyes, he said, Look. Ryker came to me and laid out the assignment. It soon became clear the only way to investigate the events in the subdivision was to set up a team as a married couple. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather work with—or be fake married to. You were the logical choice.

Put that way, I knew I shouldn’t be offended, but he chose not to leave it there.

I don’t know what you’re so steamed about. It’s not like you have any reputation to be worried about.

That did it. Knight knew damned well my father’s actions had shattered my social standing among my peers. Ryker decided. You decided. Fake marriage or not, a girl likes to be asked!

I got to my feet, causing the pigeons to scatter with a whirr of wings as I stalked back to Redclaw.

Wait!

His footsteps crunched on the gravel path as he hurried to catch up, but