Phoenix Aflame (Alpha Phoenix Book 2)

by Isadora Montrose

  No one came out of the main house as they rolled by. Frankie held the bike to the same slow pace even when they got to the county road. She turned left and followed the road. Hot asphalt and decaying weeds with a whiff of wild boar. Not the most delightful of summer smells. But beneath these things, standing out like red paint on a white wall, was a layer of foulness that caught him by the throat.

  She noticed. She braked smoothly and turned. “You smell it too?”

  “Be hard not to.” His mouth was full of saliva. “I have a pretty strong stomach, but that reek is special. A combination of methane and skunk, with notes of carrion and unwashed male.” He sniffed again. “And some nasty man-cologne floating on top like perfume on sewage.”

  She didn’t want to laugh, but her lips twitched. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Axe.”

  “I meant the animal.” Her words were stern but she was still having trouble battening down her smile.

  “Nope. But I’ll bet your daddy does. Probably some Texas critters I’ve never encountered. You got a lot of shifters in these parts?”

  “Critters, yes. Shifters? Just us phoenixes.” She kicked stones with her polished black boots.

  Cam nodded. “My nose is telling me to run. Kinda catches you in the pit of the stomach and makes you want to take to your heels, doesn’t it? I need to do this in bear. My bear is a whole lot less concerned about whether a smell is good or bad.” When he was in bear, his senses reveled in the delight of identifying smells. Bears didn’t label smells nasty or nice. Just edible or inedible.

  “It’s way too dangerous to shift out here on the road.”

  A pickup drove past, churning dust. A couple of hound dogs hung their heads out the back windows. Frankie raised a casual hand. “Mr. Petersen lives over yonder. He’d set his dogs on you and shoot you for good measure. But it looks like he’s going into town.”

  “Hmm.” Cam looked around. “We’ll be cautious.” He sniffed again. It was still a fearsome stench. “I feel I should know whatever laid it down.”

  “Let’s get Dad and see what he says.”

  * * *

  The smell of coffee woke Harrison. He sat up convulsively – ready for a fight. His father smiled and held out a steaming mug. “Sorry to wake you, son. But Cameron and Frankie found something. We need to get on it.”

  Harrison sipped and listened.

  “Frankie picked up a nasty smell in the ditch along the county road when she was on patrol. Got Cam’s nose on the job. He identified three probable shifters – type unknown.”

  Harrison put his mug down on the bedside table. “What’s the plan?”

  “You need to confirm that the spoor is related to the fire. Cam and Frankie are backtracking right this minute. Cam took bear. Frankie shifted to lesser to keep a lookout for neighbors. The trail led directly onto Petersen’s land. They got through his fence and into his woods without being spotted. I came back for you. Let’s go, son.”

  While his father had been speaking, Harrison had been cramming his clothes on. He drained his mug. “Okay.” Halfway to the door he paused. “Where are my girls?”

  “Your mom took them to buy wedding clothes in San Angelo.”

  Harrison’s spine crawled. “I wish they were safe in the compound.”

  “Me too. But your mom is no pigeon. And whatever or whoever was in the ditch is long gone. Cam said at least three days. And I concur.” Dad snagged his keys as they passed through the kitchen. They drove out to the road.

  The fetid reek wafting up from the ditch was the same as the odor from the condo all right. Harrison gently stirred the hardening mud with a stick. “Skunky,” he said. “There were three of them all right. And one of them is our arsonist. We’ve been surveilled.”

  Dad looked resigned. “Thought so. Do you recognize the scent?”

  Harrison shook his head. “I feel as though I ought to, but I have nothing.” He sniffed again. “Not ferret. Not skunk. But I can’t place it.”

  “Skunk bear,” Dad said. “Nastiest pieces of shit on the planet – bar none.”

  Harrison shook his head. “That’s a new one on me. What the heck is a skunk bear?”

  Dad pulled out his cell and showed him a photo of a sprawling, muscular mammal with a stocky body and short legs. Its heavy brown-black coat had a white V down the back and a white throat ruff. Its massive jaws were open in a snarl that revealed huge teeth.

  “Arctic predator. Seventy to eighty pounds of concentrated mean. And a smell to make you gag. More often called a wolverine. Nothing to do with wolves – wolverines are a kind of weasel. They specialize in snatching kills from bears and wolves. Chew up the bones like candy. Been known to take on grizzlies and win. “

  Harrison handed back the phone. “You can tell all that from a photo?”

  “I read the wiki entry. I’ve only run into one wolverine shifter in my life,” Dad said. “Once was enough.”

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “Aside from indifference to basic hygiene? Fellow was a thief. More to the point, it was Willet that rammed the Morrows and killed them.”

  “Coincidence?”

  Dad shrugged. His eyes were gazing into the past. “Willet died in that crash.” He shook his head. “He had a grudge against both Morrow and Reynolds.”

  “I thought you said an airman caused that crash.”

  “I did. Corporal Willet was court-martialed for stealing supplies – he was a clerk in the depot – he was acquitted of theft but lost his stripes for incompetence. His drug use was a vice he apparently acquired after his trial.”

  “And?” Harrison prompted.

  “Three months later, that bastard rammed the officer who had reported his theft with his motorcycle. I always thought it was deliberate, even though Willet was hopped up on drugs.”

  “We talking about stealing giant cans of tomatoes, sir?”

  “We’re talking guns and ammunition.”

  “Ah. Losing his stripes seems mild.”

  “My fellow judges were impressed by Willet’s previous good record. I was not. I was overruled.” Dad pressed his lips together. “Still, it’s a stretch to think that there is any kind of tie-in between Airman Willet and these wolverines.”

  “But no stretch to identify our arsonist as a wolverine.” Harrison began to tell his father about Lincoln’s discovery.

  * * *

  “I have good news and bad news,” Linc said cheerfully.

  “Oh?” Harrison tucked his phone under his chin and scowled at the white mark on his dress uniform pants which he had had couriered from Yuma. What the hell was that crap?

  “As soon as you identified the perps as wolverines, I ran a check on the Fuck Alls’ database.”

  “Hmm.” The smudge was chalky. Easy to remove. Fellow had to look good for his own wedding.

  “We have been keeping an eye on a family in Florida. Bad luck seems to follow those wolverines around. Other people’s bad luck. Until now, we had suspicions but no proof.” Linc was smug.

  “Yeah?”

  “The Willets run a trucking company.”

  “Did you say Willet?”

  “Mean something?”

  “Dad says that a wolverine named Willet was responsible for orphaning Tasha. And we know that Col. and Mrs. Reynolds were killed in a freak accident. I don’t like coincidences, and they are piling up like cars on a foggy freeway.”

  “Hang on while I make some notes. Okay, I’m back.”

  “What have you got on the Willets?”

  “Not that much. They don’t have a lot of employees. And the ones they do have are mortal. But there is something funny going on.”

  “No crime in hiring mortals,” Harrison said. He inspected the back of his jacket. It needed pressing.

  Lincoln grunted. “Did you know that the Grape Creek sheriff’s department found a big old thumbprint on the chassis of Tasha’s SUV? And the San Angelo police found some in her condo?”

  “I did
not.”

  “The Rangers ran the prints through the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System and up popped two of the brothers Willet,” Lincoln continued.

  “Willet Trucking operates out of Clearwater. The Florida cops had nothing on them but were chronically suspicious of their setup. Warrants were issued. Malik and Dustin Willet were picked up and charged this morning. Arson, attempted murder, plus a little drug running to round things off.”

  “Excellent.” Harrison laid his uniform flat on the bed.

  Linc continued. “There’s more. The third brother and the mom are in the net too, and because of the drug charges, the assets of Willet Transport have been impounded.”

  “You don’t say.” Harrison hesitated. “So far that’s all good news. What’s the bad news?”

  “It’s a two-fer. One, those sons of bitches are wolverine shifters, which you already knew. Means they probably can’t be kept in custody. And two, Colleen and Shawn Willet have vanished. The cops are hunting. But I’m not expecting an immediate arrest.”

  “Huh,” Harrison grunted. “Did you find a connection between these guys and the guy who killed the Morrows?”

  “Yup. Sons. My guess is that the mom raised them to be asswipes off the same roll.”

  “So where does Sutcliffe fit in to this picture?”

  Linc whistled a long note – a habit that indicated uncertainty. “Hard to tell exactly. We’re looking at the money trail. Could be that Sutcliffe put money in a bank account connected to the Willets. If so, my people will trace it.”

  “What I don’t understand is how the hell Sutcliffe just happened to find hit men with a grudge against Tasha.”

  “You have it backwards, Harry. The Willets had Tasha and probably her brother on their radar waiting for opportunity. When Tasha’s ex put out feelers looking for someone to do his grandma, the Willets bid on the contract. And when Sutcliffe decided to do Rebecca, he naturally went back to the same people who had killed Nancy Callahan.”

  “Bastard.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Caroline stepped back. “You look beautiful,” she said. Her eyes were filmy with tears. She blinked hard and peered into the mirror. “I’m going to look like a raccoon in a minute.” She fanned her eyes with her hand.

  Tasha’s nerves tightened. Behind her Quincy and Becky held hands and swung their skirts in a wild dance. Caroline recovered her composure. She smiled determinedly. “You can dance later, girls,” she said. “Right now you have a job to do. Do you remember what you need to do?”

  “We have to walk in front of Mamma T and sprinkle,” Quincy said importantly. “But only half. The other half is for afterwards.”

  Caroline straightened Quincy’s wreath of baby’s breath and rosebuds. “That’s correct. Becky and you will walk together. And you start to sprinkle when Poppy Danger winks at you.”

  The girls began to jump with excitement. The poofy skirts of their blue and white dresses floated up and down revealing net crinolines. Their wreaths slipped precariously. Caroline reached for the hairpins. “Let’s fix your headpieces before they fall off,” she said. “Remember, if you jump while you’re carrying your baskets, the petals will spill.”

  Becky looked worried. “Mommy,” she whispered, “What if I have to jump?”

  “I think you can remember to walk quietly into the living room, sweetheart. And if you spill, it will be okay too.”

  Becky slipped her hand into Tasha’s. “Will Daddy Danger really be my daddy?”

  “Really and truly.”

  Becky stroked the lace skirt of Tasha’s tea-length dress. Tasha had argued for a suit as more suitable for a wedding in a private house between two people who had been married before. But Caroline had insisted on a white dress. “You’re not pretending to be innocent. You are just dressing like a bride. I don’t care how pretty a suit is, it doesn’t say special.”

  Tasha was wearing a slimmed down, grownup version of the girl’s dresses. The sweetheart neckline was cut high but there was still plenty of room for Harrison’s wedding gift. A ruby pendant surrounded by diamonds hung on a gold chain. It matched the ring on her finger, and the bracelet on her right arm. Harrison had given her all three together. She smoothed the sash at her waist and glanced in the mirror.

  The hairdresser had piled her hair up and left tendrils hanging down. Her upswept hair was threaded with pearls and crystals. They caught the light and sparkled. She had a feeling that those hairpins which Caroline had given her were genuine jewels. They were certainly beautiful. She didn’t look like the foolish girl who had married Blaine. But she did look like a bride.

  Caroline finished pinning Becky’s wreath more tightly. Becky’s straight hair had been curled into ringlets by the hairdresser. Quincy wore her natural curls. They looked adorable and angelic and excited enough to do anything. The piano music got louder and someone began to sing. The music called to her.

  “I’m going to go to the living room,” Caroline said. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?”

  “No, Meemaw,” Quincy said. “Just on your lips.”

  Caroline hurried out, the skirts of her blue dress rustling. The singer’s voice increased in volume. This was her cue. Cam walked into the bedroom. Pink and white rose petals flew into the air and covered the carpets and hardwood as the girls hurled themselves at him. Cam stooped down to hug them as if he was not in his dress blues. Harrison had extended Cam’s leave so he could be present at their marriage.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m glad to see you too. But we have to get your flowers back in the baskets.”

  The girls’ happy shrieks almost drowned out the singer’s heartrending song. Cam helped Quincy and Becky gather the petals. Caroline had insisted on silk ones and Tasha was grateful for what had seemed an unnecessary extravagance. They assembled themselves. The piano and the singer began a new song.

  The girls skipped ahead. The entered the living room two paces in front of Cam and Tasha. The grand piano had been moved into this seldom used room. Frankie was also dressed in her dress blues. She was playing for Grant, who was the singer. His song was exciting and reassuring at once.

  There were two half-arcs of chairs surrounding the Reverend Endicott, who was wearing his robes and smiling broadly. More guests than Tasha had expected filled up the chairs. George, who was sitting beside Caroline, turned and winked. Rev. Endicott indicated that everyone should stand. Grinning faces turned and stared.

  Quincy and Becky were supposed to take turns throwing their petals, but they forgot. They began to strew them with lavish disregard. Harrison was staring straight ahead, his shoulders stiff and his face as grim and hard as if he were facing a firing squad. But when the girls joined him with their empty baskets and reached for his hands, he seemed to wake up. His eyes met hers and he smiled as broadly as his family.

  Cam gave her hand a last pat and stepped backward. Harrison reached for her right hand and held it like a lifeline. Quincy set down her basket on the floor and took Tasha’s spray of white orchids and rosebuds. She waved it like a flag and clung to Tasha’s left hand.

  Becky took hold of Harrison’s spare hand and grinned up at the minister. “We’re getting married,” she announced.

  Rev. Endicott smiled back and began to read from his book. It was over before Tasha had time to think. Harrison’s big hand slid her ruby off and pushed a broad gold band on her ring finger before replacing her engagement ring. He kissed it, and right there before the servant of God and the guests, her panties got wet.

  She gave him the matching wedding band she had selected for him. Her fingers trembled a little. The minister blessed them and announced that they were married. A baby began to hiccup and was hushed.

  Becky gave a cheer and bounced onto her toes. “Are we married too?”

  Harrison bent over and picked her up. He kissed her cheek. “Yes,” he said. “You are my little girl now.”

  “And Becky is my sister.” shouted Quincy. Tasha’s bouquet w
ent flying. Frankie shot up from her seat and grabbed it to general laughter and applause.

  “You’re next,” said Rev. Endicott benignly.

  Tasha knelt and hugged Quincy. “You are my daughter too,” she whispered. “And Becky is your sister.”

  They still had to sign things. Frankie moved back to the piano, set Tasha’s flowers down, and began to play. Grant stood sang another song of equal loveliness. The girls scrambled to refill their baskets with petals from the floor. Harrison only let go of her hand so she could sign her name. Caroline wept. It was chaotic and silly and sacred all at once. For better or worse, she had married Harrison D’Angelo.

  * * *

  Frankie and the Little Warbler were looking pleased with themselves. They had herded him into Dad’s study as neatly as a wrangler cutting a steer from the herd.

  “What’s going on?” Harrison demanded. He had a bride to see to.

  Frankie smirked. “We knew how busy you were, big brother. Getting ready to get married and all. Grant and I took care of business for you. Phoenix business.” Her smirk became a grin.

  Harrison’s heart sank. “What are you talking about?” As if he didn’t know.

  The Little Warbler was wreathed in smiles as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small, brown leather sack. He held it out. “You can thank us later.”

  It had obviously never occurred to either his little brother or sister that he did not want to risk transforming Tasha. He had had a mate. Tasha was his wife. Darling, dear, and in a completely different category. He was going to make sure she stayed safe. And Becky too – that went without saying.

  But he was not going to get involved with the whole phoenix fated mate rigmarole. Never again. Once in a lifetime was enough. He couldn’t face the prospect of another phoenix bond. He would not survive the loss of another mate.

  But he didn’t have the words to explain the facts of life to his siblings. The genteel roar and clink of glasses and plates from the living room was almost inaudible here in the study. Yet it seemed to fill his head with a sort of crazed buzzing. Frankie and Grant were frozen. The smiles died on their faces.