Touch of Madness

by C. T. Adams

  On and on it went. Question after question. I started squirming in my seat. I had to go to the bathroom. My stomach was growling, and I was beginning to worry about Tom and the others.

  Eventually even the attorney grew weary of it, and he was getting paid by the hour. “Detective Allcock, my client has been extremely cooperative. You have questioned her extensively, and I believe her responses have been borne out by the other witness statements. If you’re not going to charge her, it’s time to let her go.”

  The detective obviously didn’t want to. But he couldn’t legally stop my leaving unless he charged me with something, or made me a “material witness.” I could see the temptation to do just that pass over his face. But when he caught a glimpse of the attorney he backed down. He surrendered to the inevitable with ill grace, letting me go with a strong admonishment not to leave the state without letting him know. Then he stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to make the one-way mirrors rattle.

  “Charming.” I muttered the word under my breath. The attorney smiled. Brooks didn’t. “Is there a restroom anywhere around here?”

  “Through that door and on the left,” Brooks advised.

  I left them talking earnestly as we exited the interrogation room. I didn’t care what they had to say right now. I needed a bathroom, and sooner rather than later.

  I found the restroom and gladly made use of it. When I was done I stood at the sink and washed my hands and face. Amazingly, my purse hadn’t gotten lost in all the confusion. It had made it from the Jeep to the hospital, and with me from the hospital to the police station. I was glad. Replacing everything would be a problem, and getting new identification is a damned nuisance. I unbraided my hair and then rummaged in my purse for my hairbrush. By the time I was finished with my toilette I was starting to feel like a human being again.

  When I stepped into the hall, neither Brooks nor attorney Hamilton was anywhere in sight. I followed the sound of voices and let myself out through the door at the end of the hallway. I stepped into a tiny lobby area. There were four molded plastic chairs in a shade of dark brown that exactly matched the vending machines. Tom sat in one of them. He wasn’t alone. His Acca, Mary Connolly, was with him. She wore a very businesslike black suit with a red blouse, and low-heeled pumps that clicked on the tile as she paced back and forth across the gleaming linoleum. She’d probably come straight from work, where she was a parole officer for violent teenaged offenders. Nobody was talking, and the tension was thick enough to slice.

  “Where are Dusty and Rob?”

  “They’re still questioning them.” Tom spoke softly.

  “Do they have an attorney?”

  “Yes.” Mary answered, her voice tight with fury. Her golden brown eyes had narrowed to slits. Her compact body practically vibrated with controlled anger. “Reilly, when this is over, and we can all go back to Denver, you and I are going to have a little chat about your dragging my people into danger.”

  “She didn’t drag us,” Tom protested.

  Mary whirled to face him, and he pulled back from her in fear. “Shut up, Tom. Don’t you even speak to me right now.”

  I glanced over at the far wall. There was a window of bulletproof glass with a uniformed officer sitting at a desk. At the moment she appeared to be working the radio, but there was a bank of black and white televisions next to her, and I saw the lobby pictured on one of them.

  I kept my voice low, making sure my back was to both the window and the camera. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have brought them along.”

  I watched her close her eyes and count to at least one hundred. “You admit that.”

  “They could’ve been killed. Hell, Rob almost was.”

  “Katie—” Tom started to speak, but a look from Mary silenced him.

  “I knew Amanda was laying a trap for me. I suspected she’d stolen the eggs. I didn’t know she’d made her own nest and was going to try to use the hosts to kill me. I figured she’d want to do that all by herself.”

  Mary opened her eyes. She gave me a long, searching look, but her body language had relaxed fractionally. I watched her force herself to relax. “God, Reilly, only you can get into such unmitigated disasters. What is it with you, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” It was God’s honest truth.

  Mary stared at me long and hard. “This isn’t over between us. I appreciate the apology, but it’s not enough. You put our surrogate in danger along with two of our pack members.” She swept her hands outward in a gesture of frustration. “And Rob’s got a record. If they press assault charges it could really go badly for him.”

  We heard the latch of the door I’d come through a few minutes ago and turned as one. Brooks stepped through. “Kate, you ready to go?”

  “What about the Jeep?”

  “Impounded for evidence. I’ll give you a ride, but we need to leave through the back door. Our escort is waiting outside.”

  I shot Mary a mute appeal for guidance. I didn’t want to abandon Dusty and Rob, but I wasn’t sure whether my being here would be a help or hindrance.

  “Go home, Kate.”

  Tom started to rise, but Mary put a restraining hand on his arm, squeezing hard enough that her knuckles whitened. He’d have bruises.

  “You stay here. We’re going to have a little chat.”

  Tom swallowed hard, but his jaw thrust stubbornly forward. “Yes, ma’am. Kate, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Mary gave a low growl. “Reilly, go. Your being here isn’t helping anything, and you need to get out of here before the locals get together a lynch mob.”

  “Do you think they will?” Tom asked.

  “Why do you think she’s getting a police escort?” She snorted in derision. “It isn’t’cause they like her.”

  17

  I walked out the back door of the police station between Brooks and a uniformed officer who was walking like he had a stick up his butt. I could almost hear his teeth grinding over the crunch of the crusted snow beneath our feet. He was probably about my age, more or less. He looked even younger than Gary Hamilton. It almost made me feel sorry for him. Or it would have, if he hadn’t kept his hand hovering near his gun. He was pissed and trying to look intimidating. It wasn’t working. I had no doubt he was willing to shoot, but he wouldn’t look scary doing it.

  At the edge of the sidewalk there were three vehicles with their engines running. The first and last were police cruisers, their lights flashing blue and red in the fading daylight. I’d spent the entire day at the station. It was no wonder I was hungry and tired.

  Brooks led me to the middle vehicle, an older model Ford Bronco. Like him, it was big, burly, and well maintained. The navy blue paint gleamed with a fresh coat of wax, and the chrome step-plate reflected the flashing lights.

  I climbed into the passenger seat. When Brooks took the wheel, our little caravan was off.

  As we passed through the front lot I saw people gathered in small groups talking to each other. There were news vans, of course, and several of the locals were gesturing angrily as they talked to the camera under the glaring lights.

  We were moving too slow. I wanted the hell out of here before something bad happened, but the driver in front of us was crawling along. One of the news crews spotted us and pointed. People began shouting and running toward the car. Brooks swore like a sailor and cranked the wheel hard to the right. I saw someone bend down. A moment later one of the landscaping rocks crashed into the passenger window. It was safety glass, so it didn’t exactly shatter, but the impact crushed the glass in the spot by where my head had been and sent cracks across the rest of the window as Brooks threw the Bronco in gear and stomped on the gas.

  The vehicle leaped forward and right, hard enough to slam my head against the headrest as Brooks ignored the driveway and exited by jumping the curb and going over the grass. I thanked God for the seatbelt and grabbed the panic handle as the shoulder harness jerked across my throat, nearly choking me. As th
e tires hit the road Brooks shifted again and we left the scene with a squeal of tires, both cop cars trailing behind.

  “Idiots! Fucking idiots! Were they trying to get us killed?” Brooks slammed a meaty palm against the dashboard, his face livid.

  I didn’t say a word because anything that came out of my mouth would just make things worse. He was already pissed enough without that. But I couldn’t help wondering if maybe, just maybe, the driver in front hadn’t been thinking exactly that. At the moment there were just too many people who wanted me dead.

  I leaned my head against the seat back and closed my eyes. I was exhausted. But more than that, I was weary. Life had been one crisis after another for months now. I’d been running on adrenaline and determination. Unfortunately, you can only go on that way for so long. Both my mind and body had reached the end of their endurance. I needed rest. If someone attacked right now, I wasn’t positive I would be able to lift a hand to defend myself.

  I felt Brooks’s gaze, but didn’t even have enough energy to open my eyes. After a long moment he spoke.

  “It’s a long drive, Reilly. Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

  “Reilly.” A meaty hand landed on my shoulder and gave me a shake. “Wake up. I need the pass code.”

  I blinked in confusion. We were at the gate to the garage at my place. Apparently I’d slept through the whole trip. Wow.

  “The pass code?” Brooks repeated.

  “Yeah, right. Okay.” I shook my head, trying to clear it of the cobwebs that seemed to want to take up permanent residence. “82719.”

  He punched the buttons in sequence. Like magic, the gate began to rise. I yawned, my jaw stretching far enough to make my ears pop. I needed more sleep, but even the little bit of rest on the ride home had helped. I felt better. Not good, but functional.

  Brooks pulled the Bronco into the empty spot with Tom’s apartment number on it and put the vehicle in park.

  I reached to unfasten my seatbelt, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  “All right, Reilly, this is as private as it gets. I need you to tell me what in the hell is going on. I got your messages, but they didn’t make a lot of sense.”

  I leaned back, trying to decide where to start. So much had happened. Fortunately I hadn’t done anything that wasn’t perfectly legal and above-board. One of the great things about honesty is how it really does simplify things.

  Taking a deep breath, I started with the meeting with Doug and Carlton. It took a while even though Brooks didn’t interrupt. He simply sat there, utterly silent, his eyes getting wider by the minute. When we reached my waking up in the hospital I stopped.

  “Jesus. What a mess!” He shook his head, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it without saying a word. We sat in a well of silence so profound that I could hear the traffic outside the garage. I watched as he pulled himself together, putting on his work face piece by piece until, once again, he was the ultimate professional cop.

  “All right. I’m still technically on sympathy leave, but I’ll make some calls, check on the other Not Prey, see if you’re right about our being hunted. They could just be dreams, you know.”

  I heard sympathy leave, but he didn’t give away any more information, so I didn’t quite feel right about asking. I gave him a long look, but didn’t say anything.

  “Amanda isn’t a host, so technically she is responsible for what she did. Warrants will issue. Sooner or later we’ll find her and bring her in.”

  “I don’t doubt you’ll find her, but bring her in? Not a chance. At least not if what the queens said is true.”

  “They can’t lie. What did they say?”

  I concentrated, trying to remember everything they had said. “She’s a monster. What she did to herself has made her powerful enough that the entire collective is absolutely terrified of her. They said she can heal almost any injury, and that her psychic abilities would put Monica’s to shame.”

  Brooks shuddered. Neither one of us was liable to forget how the past Thrall queen of Denver had successfully used mind control on an entire mob.

  “Amanda will know they’re coming. If we’re lucky, she’ll just disappear. If not—” I left the sentence unfinished.

  “So what, you think you should take care of it instead.” He was practically quivering with anger, but he managed to keep his voice under complete control.

  I shuddered. “Not if I can help it.”

  He was a smart man. He heard the implication behind the words. “You don’t think you’ll have a choice?”

  “She’s not sane and she’s fixated on me. What do you think?”

  He gave a gusty sigh. “I think I’d better call my wife, let her know I’m not going to be home for a while. Then I’m going to do some research, see if I can find any records of anyone dealing with something like this in the past: what they did, how they handled it.”

  “Is your wife going to be pissed?”

  Brooks thought about it for a moment, then gave a wry grin. “Probably. But she’ll get over it. She knows the drill.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He took out a business card and passed it to me. “This has my cell number on it in case you need to reach me.”

  “Thanks, Brooks. I appreciate it.” I unfastened my seat belt and opened the door. As I climbed out of the Bronco I told him, “Someday I’d really like to meet your wife. She’s got to be one hell of a woman.”

  “Yeah.” Just thinking about his wife made him grin.

  “She’s something all right. Keeps me in line, that’s for damned sure.”

  “Good that somebody can,” I teased.

  “You telling me that Tom doesn’t do the same thing for you?”

  I felt the humor starting to drain away. Tom did that, and so much more. But the way Mary had been acting … well, I couldn’t be sure what the future would hold. Tom was a werewolf. The pack meant everything to him. If he had to choose—

  “You worry too much, Reilly.” Brooks spoke gently, his expression softening. “He loves you. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m right. You’ll see.”

  I climbed out of the vehicle and grabbed my purse from the floorboard. “When do you think I’ll be able to pick up the Jeep? The lease company isn’t going to be happy. Neither will my credit card company.”

  “I dunno. I’ll make some calls. See what I find out.”

  “I hate to pay for a car when I can’t even use it.”

  “Yeah, well, all I can say is I hope you got the supplemental insurance.”

  18

  I slept until nearly noon. I might not even have woken then if Blank hadn’t jumped onto my chest and started nagging me about giving him a can of soft food. Despite an acute lack of coffee, I felt good physically; better than I had in a while. My head was clear. My body wasn’t hurting. I fed the cat, set the coffee brewing, and ran a bath. Sunshine flooded the apartment, and it lifted my spirits. Nobody had died. Yes, things were pretty grim on a lot of levels, but there was hope.

  I felt even better when I checked my messages. Tom had called. The district attorney had decided not to press charges against Rob or Dusty. They were on their way back, but it would be a few hours.

  The only food in the house for humans was cold pizza, and not much of that. I really did need to go to the store soon. If I managed to get through the next two or three hours without a life-threatening disaster I’d try to get that done. I snorted, amused at my own joke. It’s good that I amuse myself, because half the time my sense of humor just annoys the hell out of everybody else.

  Speaking of pissy, my brother Joe was due back from his business trip in a couple of hours. I knew I should probably give him a call later, invite him over to watch a movie, find out how the trip went. But if I did he’d ask me about my life. I didn’t want to talk about my life right now because it would start a fight. My new goal as of this moment was to get through an entire day without a major arg
ument or physical fight. I was sure I could do it—but it would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t see Joe. How sad was that?

  I heard a horn out front and wandered over to the windows. What I saw made me choke on the last bite of pepperoni. A familiar green Hummer pulled to the curb, and Tom was in the passenger seat.

  I dropped the pizza crust and dashed to the door. Vampires and werewolves hate each other. What in the hell was going on?

  I thundered down the narrow staircase, my bare feet slamming against the cold metal as my mind sought Tom’s. I panicked when I couldn’t feel his presence. Shit. My hands slammed against the bar to operate the fire door on the first floor and I dashed through and across the lobby. I was on my way through the front door in time to see Carlton helping Tom up from the seat.

  He’d been beaten badly by somebody who knew what they were doing. His hair was matted with blood. One eye had swollen completely shut. His lip had been split. It was obvious that even the slightest movement was causing him pain. He couldn’t even stand up straight on his own. The beating wouldn’t kill him, but even a werewolf can only heal so much. He’d be miserable for days.

  I rushed outside and moved next to them, sliding my arm around Tom’s waist and his around my shoulder until I was supporting most of his weight. Carlton took the other side.

  He kicked the car door closed and the three of us staggered into the building.

  “What happened? Shouldn’t we be taking him to the hospital?”

  “No,” Tom answered. There was force behind the word. It came out clearly, despite the split lip.

  “Tom—” I put a pleading note in my voice. This was bad. He could have internal injuries.

  “No!” He growled, and it wasn’t a human sound. I turned slowly, my eyes inches from that mouth. Up close the damage looked even worse. I was scared, but more than that I was angry. Who in the hell had done this to him and why?

  “People are staring. We’d better get him upstairs.”

  I looked around. Carlton was right. It was Saturday, so there weren’t as many people on the street as usual, but there were plenty of spectators just the same. Most were staring at us as if we were putting on quite the show. I glared at one or two, and they quickly averted their eyes.