Even if we catch these guys, will Caro feel safe enough to speak? Ever again?
“Almost there,” David warned as they crossed over into the warehouse district, and not the trendy shops and restaurants section. The dirtier, grittier, smellier section, warehouses built in the late 1880s that most of the population forgot were there.
I’ve gotta deal with customs, oversee the quarantine facilities, clear the charter flights for the imports…
Lund’s warehouse. Because Nadia had seen it the day they found Lund’s files: his apartment wasn’t a home; it was an operating room. The broken-down building ahead that shielded his life’s work…that was his home.
Oz’s confusion over the accounts made sense now, too.
The methodology is way off. The setup’s all wrong.
Of course it was, because profits weren’t the name of the game. Secrecy was. Why else buy dilapidated warehouses in a floodplain? Why have an attorney of record when your revolting half-brother can take care of the paperwork?
I can’t think of a legit reason for this random guy to have twenty-two accounts and eleven shell companies. Of course not. Because Oz was, fundamentally, a good man. Lund’s polar opposite in all ways. And her foster brother’s inability to sniff out sadism was one of the reasons she’d wanted him to stay in accounting. But that had backfired; Oz had just dug in. Which she should have foreseen.
Though perhaps she was underestimating him. He was clever enough to suss out some of it, after all, and leave a message for Nadia, who relayed it to them in the dressing room.
Lund was doing all this from somewhere, Annette had said, thinking aloud. He mentioned a warehouse when we spoke with him at the hospital. I’m betting it got the same treatment his apartment did: a casual glance, and then lockdown. Can you check it out?
Nadia had…but somewhere in that time frame, she’d also called the police.
Or had she?
Should’ve taken your vacation, Nadia, no matter whose side you’re on. One way or the other, I think it’ll be a while before you get another one.
Chapter 32
Pat put down the last pad, ashen. “Annette and David don’t know any of this.”
Caro, who had been still as a—well, not a mouse, exactly—while he read shook her head, her grave gaze never leaving his.
“Nobody knows. Except the people who”—there was a dry click as Pat swallowed—“sold you. To the people who did those things to you.”
Caro scribbled, held up the new pad:
What’s going to happen to A & D?
“They’re going to be arrested, Caro. But only if they’re very, very lucky.”
Dev had been watching the conversation for the perfect time to jump in, which he gauged was now. “Not if we help them! Well, they still might be arrested, detenido, arrestato, but the ‘sindicate’ won’t be able to kill them.”
“Think so?”
“We just need to buy her time. And then Annette can figure out what to do. And tell David, and, I dunno. Stuff will get done.” Sindicate: Caro’s deliberate, punny misspelling. It had seemed silly at first, a cute fuck-you from an impressively defiant teenager, but now he pictured it in his mind the way Caro had: with sin blackly emphasized. And it was much less cute.
Now it was Pat’s turn to say nothing, which Dev could only take for a few seconds.
“Guys! Why aren’t we calling for help? Or way, way better, why aren’t we in your car speeding to the rescue?”
“Because to do that, Caro has to tell someone in authority where the warehouse is and all that was done there. But she’ll have to break cover to do that, and if the sindicate taught her one thing in two years, it’s that breaking cover can be lethal.” Pat tapped his scar, baring his teeth in a humorless smile. “Take it from one who had his own teachers.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And by her own word she won’t speak until she’s free. But as long as people like her parents and Lund are out in the world, she isn’t free. Right, Caro?”
Scribbling.
How do I know A and/or D won’t screw me over?
Pat took a breath, then slowly let it out. “You don’t. I can promise you she wouldn’t, and I could assume David wouldn’t, and it would be the truth, but you can’t know that. I’m just the random guy you met a couple days ago.”
“Or random gal!” Dev piped up. “Depending on how you feel that day.”
“Thanks for the validation, Dev. But…yeah. You don’t know. There are no guarantees. And I wish I could tell you otherwise.”
Dev had watched Pat grow paler and paler the more he read of Caro’s horrible story, not that Dev blamed him. Dev already knew the story; he and Caro were siblings by choice and had no secrets. Well, no serious secrets. His stash of stolen ATM cards, his cache of lockpicks hidden all through IPA’s offices, and his crush on Ariana Grande—who had to be a werehare—were his own business.
He and Caro were related because his mother had sold him for a week’s supply of carfentanil. And because Caro’s had sold her for $5,580: six months’ rent, with a little left over for a nice meal at Applebee’s.
He’d had options, at least. He’d been able to get away from his “owner,” which was why he’d been bouncing around the system like a fuzzy Super Ball the last couple of years. And why his mother was in prison.
Caro hadn’t been so lucky. No matter what they did, she wouldn’t break. And no matter how she fought, she couldn’t escape. Until the night she did, and crossed paths with Dev, who showed her his den on the outskirts of one of the homeless camps, and let her stay, and decided by the end of the week that they were brother and sister and dared anyone to say otherwise.
During the weeks of her (physical) recovery, she wrote it all down for him, including the part about how she’d refused to speak to her captors, how she realized this could only be happening if the system was in on it or turning a blind eye or just didn’t care, and how that led to her vow of silence. No talking until she was truly free. And no communication of any kind with IPA until she knew she was safe.
As promised, he burned her story while she watched.
I won’t talk to IPA, Caro wrote.
“Understandable.”
Or the police. Or 911. Or the fire department. Or Pet Control.
“Why the hell would I call Pet Control?”
But we can go help A&D. I know what you’re gonna say, we’re just cubs, we should leave it to the adults, but we can’t.
“Found the keys. C’mon.”
Dev whooped and leaped off his stool. “I fucking love hanging out here.”
“Language. I don’t need Annette biting my face off for teaching you bad habits. Okay, more bad habits.”
“Literally every twelve-year-old in the world has heard ‘fucking’ at least once. You’re not teaching me anything.”
“Excellent. That’s the story I expect you to stick with. We—” Pat cut himself off and tilted his head, listening. “Huh. That’s Oz Adway yowling away out there again. The guy just will not knock like a civilized were.”
Caro tensed and Dev asked, puzzled, “What’s he doing here?”
“I imagine Annette sent him to check on us. Good, we can make use of him. Now go start the car while I find Mommy’s shotgun.”
Chapter 33
Is it a trap if we know about it beforehand?
Annette had no idea. And no time to worry about it. She and David weren’t stupid—at least, not entirely stupid. It was beyond obvious that at least two Shifters were in the warehouse with them; the stench masked a lot, but not everything.
It didn’t matter. They couldn’t reach out to IPA. They couldn’t call for backup or for help. But they couldn’t dodge the syndicate anymore or walk away, either.
We’ve been hares to their hounds too long.
“Are you oka
y?” he asked, bending close and almost whispering.
“Not at all.”
He squeezed her hand and she closed her eyes, the better to shut out the sight of the place. But she couldn’t shut out the smells. I’ll bet—if I hadn’t sworn off betting—that David holding my hand is the only affection this squalid shithole has seen. She let go, opened her eyes. This was business. They had work to do. She’d cry and scream and vent later.
“Well, he got some of it cleaned up,” David announced, hands on his hips as he examined the scene. He was obviously sticking close to her, which she decided was adorable and only slightly irritating. “But the place still smells like piss and blood.”
To be expected. There were cages, and restraints, and crates, and hoses, and collars, and prods. No clothes, though. Which made sense. Clothing was for people, not pets.
There were rows of unforgiving fluorescent lights, because all the windows were blacked out. And it was cold. Annette shivered and defied Nadia by putting her arms through her cardigan sleeves. How about THAT, you treacherous harpy?
David let out a hiss. “Christ. Once he broke them, he’d ship some of them overseas. No wonder the hospital couldn’t find them. They must’ve shit themselves when Sharon and Dr. Tilbury started asking questions.”
“So they brought in Brennan. And they had him ‘find’ the missing cubs, but only on paper. It would have been a stalling tactic while Lund tried to get those particular Shifters back from overseas. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, Caro escaped.”
There were desks and file cabinets and paperwork. There were manifests to the Ukraine, Kenya, Qatar, Turkey, and the United Emirates. All in a poorly locked (David had broken in without half trying) warehouse by the river because nobody gave a shit.
The one spot that didn’t seem completely terrible was a comfortable-looking twin bed made up to the left of the desk, with thick blankets and quilts, and two space heaters.
“It would appear that after a long day of torturing children, he would sometimes sleep here, too.” Annette quelled the urge to spit on Lund’s pillow. “Two space heaters for that fraudulent fucking coward. It must have made him nuts that he couldn’t grow fur and they all could. Ha. Good.”
“Lund must have come here straight from the hospital. Cleaned up as best he could with missing fingers and a broken foot.”
“And it’s not like he could have called a service. So he called the syndicate for help. But he was a liability to them at that point.”
“Then he went home,” David said, using a pen to sift through shipping manifests. “Got himself murdered. And whoever killed him didn’t finish the cleanup.”
“No, of course not.” This from a new and entirely unwelcome voice. “Harder for us to pin it all on Lund if we didn’t leave, y’know, evidence. The files you stole. The pictures you didn’t know what to do with. And this shithole, of course.”
Judge Gomph’s assistant, Taryn Wapiti, stepped out of the shadows. She’d been standing beneath the stairs, watching as the two of them poked through Lund’s torture chamber/business venture/nap zone. The stench had covered her scent, among others.
Annette slapped her forehead. “I. Am. An idiot.”
Taryn smirked. “Lucky for us.”
Annette turned to David. “Earlier this week. Taryn was talking to Brennan the morning after you brought Caro in. I only saw him from the back, which is why it took so long to place him.” Back to Taryn: “You were at the memorial, weren’t you?”
“Sure was. Saw you pull in. Ducked in the back office before you hit the chapel.”
“And called the police. Dammit!”
“There’s an upside, though,” David pointed out.
“Nadia’s not the mole,” Annette realized. And neither was Oz. Good news. No, great news. Possibly the only great news this charnel house had seen.
Taryn came forward, dressed in a heavy brown sweater, a knee-length gray wool skirt, fleece-lined black tights, and sturdy boots. “You must be freezing in that ugly orange thing.”
“It’s salmon, fuck you.”
“Oooooh! You almost never drop f-bombs.”
“It’s been a stressful week. Nice to see you’re dressed appropriately for this chilly cell block. Too bad the kids weren’t allowed to.”
Taryn shrugged. “They had fur. They’d only be cold if they disobeyed and shifted without permission. That was against the rules. Can’t be someone’s pet if you’re a biped. Some of ’em were quicker learners than others.”
Annette had a sudden memory of Caro’s letter,
(I am comfortable on any floor if you are lacking in beds. I don’t mind the cold so the basement is also fine.)
felt her nails bite into her palms, forced her fists to unclench.
“You know you’re not leaving here under your own power, right?” Taryn asked with off-putting gentleness. “And that sucks. I wish you hadn’t followed the bread crumbs, and not just because we can’t let you catch us.”
“Not the ‘I like you, I’d hate to kill you’ speech. Murder me any way you like, but spare me that bit of trite bullshit.”
“I do like you, Annette.” And, ugh, the woman actually sounded sincere. “Enough to eat meat with you, even though every time we went out, I’d spend the next two days in the bathroom.”
“Your depravity knows no bounds. I’m not being sarcastic, you understand. Your refusal to have a veggie burger should have tipped me off to the fact that you are a depraved monster.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to get over that, won’t I, Annette? Killing you will probably do it.”
Annette waved that away. “Yes, yes, death awaits us, evil shall prevail, good shall be forever blotted out… Is it a trap if we walk in knowing you’re waiting for us?”
“I’m not alone,” she warned.
We’re counting on it. “Why, Taryn? I know it’s naive. And I know you won’t have a satisfying answer. But what did those poor cubs ever do to you? How could you be a part of this?”
“Money, mostly.” She shrugged. “Sooooooo much fucking money. And it’s low-risk. The overhead’s low, too, and it’s so easy to pick up product.”
“Product.” David, to his credit, said that with a perfectly straight face.
“There are so few of us,” Annette said in a small voice, fiddling with the buttons on her cardigan. “How could you endanger your own?”
“‘So few’ is open to interpretation. ‘So few’ compared to Stables, sure, but that still means there are millions of juvies running around. What difference do a couple dozen here and there make? Who fucking cares? Who even notices?” The worst part: Taryn sounded genuinely puzzled. “I couldn’t believe it when the med staff started asking questions. With all the work they have to do? Once the cubs are discharged, the hospital is supposed to be out of it. Fucking nosy idiots.”
Annette shook her head. “I would try to explain, Taryn, but it would be a waste of everyone’s time.”
“God, you’re such a sanctimonious shithead.”
“Hey! What happened to liking my company enough to spend days on a toilet?”
“You’re standing there all ‘Every life is precious’ when you know it’s a lie.” Taryn rolled her eyes. “Every life isn’t precious. You only have to spend five minutes in IPA’s file room to get that. Parents abuse their cubs, abandon them, kill them, and sell them, like Caro’s parents did.”
For a moment, Annette was back in Mama Mac’s warm, welcoming kitchen.
There are worse things than being snatched from your family.
What could be worse than stealing her, Mama?
Selling her.
Annette had assumed she meant Lund selling Caro to an owner. It never occurred to her that Caro’s parents would sell their own child into brutalization and permanent bondage and a denial of their very natures. For money
. And probably not very much money.
I’ve still got so much to learn about the world. How thoroughly depressing.
Meanwhile, Taryn was still whining. “Why the fuck should I have a care for them if their own parents don’t? Nobody wanted them. So we found people who did. After a few attitude adjustments. It’s basically a victimless crime.”
“It’s the opposite of a victimless crime, you repellent twat. Tell me one thing. One thing before we get into this.”
“What?”
“Is Gomph in on it?”
Taryn let out a scornful laugh. “That pussy? He’s a bigger softie than you are.”
“So Gomph was never after us.”
“He was after you because he was worried about you. He knew something was wrong, but not what. After you left the hearing, he started thinking maybe you should all go into protective custody, or at least get a lot more backup, and I had to keep you from meeting up again.”
“So you followed Nadia to the hospital, then kept us away from Gomph by saying we were going to be arrested. Hey!” She turned to David. “We’re not going to be arrested! For that, anyway.” Which begged the question: where was Nadia? She was one of the reasons Annette and David had run from the memorial to the warehouse in the first place.
“Believe me, you’ve got bigger problems than jail. Why didn’t you just go, Annette?” Taryn shook her head so hard, her reddish-orange hair momentarily obscuring her face. “As far as you knew, you were in huge trouble. Why didn’t you run?”
“Because we knew. The kids. Were in. Bigger trouble.” Not sure why I’m bothering to go over this. She will not get it.
“You’re wasting your time, Annette.”
“I’m aware, David. So you and Brennan-the-IT-expert figured out how to let Caro out of IPA, and then I’m guessing Brennan was driving the car that tried to smear us all over the parking garage?”
“That was stupid,” she admitted. “He was so mad about Lund’s fuckup and Caro’s escape, he didn’t think it through.”
Bears Behaving Badly Page 24
