Click.
I pulled on the bars.
I yanked.
It didn’t open.
That was good, but there would be no shutting them sneakily if they all needed this much effort. I rolled my eyes—and saw there was a little cylinder atop the door. It was similar to the spring atop my screen door that made it snap shut, but this was hydraulic, and I could see the barest hint of wires, fed from it into the metal bars.
They’d upgraded the doors. Johnny told me the Omori had upgraded the den security and more. Both he and Renaldo activated the elevator with their thumbprints. I scanned around for the master switch for these doors and found a key-code pad attached to the wall near the stairwell, and the tube that encased the wires running from it connected to the cages.
Yes! I opened the flask. With one swinging gesture, I splashed the bloody water in a half dozen cages. Another swing, another and another.
I was running low, but I had enough to splatter droplets into enough cages and drop a puddle of it leading from the main aisle to the stairwell.
The ruckus below had lapsed into the same grunting it had before, but as I hovered in the stairwell, chancing to inspect the key-code pad and hoping there was a marked Close button, the intense canine sniffing began again.
I flew up and around the landing, out of sight. “C’mon.” My heart was threatening to beat itself out of my chest as I waited, listening so hard, ready to bolt up and around another flight of stairs, ready to flee if I had to.
I heard one wolf, then a few more, and then suddenly they all had the scent. They rough-and-tumbled their way into the kenneling area, following the scent of blood to find the source. I peered around the edge, letting only the smallest part of my head show . . . but none of the wolves were aware of me. Their noses were on the floor. When about half the pack was in the kenneling area, a familiar black wolf crowded past the others.
I waited as they spread out, sniffling paths to the rear.
Johnny paced back and forth, on the trail, but not entering a cage. Every time I thought he was about to enter one, he backed out and searched for the scent elsewhere, found it.
They all had to be inside a cage. Some were grouped, sniffing in twos and threes.
The broom floated me forward, into the stairwell and then into the room with them. I hovered beside the device. I had to figure out how to work it. The buttons had numbers and letters, like a phone. There would be a code to close them. A code to open them.
And those codes could be anything.
Then Johnny entered a cage.
I punched in the numbers correlating to the word close.
Nothing but a quiet beep. L-O-C-K. Quiet beep.
S-H-U-T.
The doors swung closed.
I sighed in relief.
Too soon.
Upon hearing the little motors whir, most of the wærewolves backed deeper into their cages and away from the metal.
But not Johnny.
He thrashed and squirmed until he broke through his door, causing the little motor to grind and give.
“Shit.” I sat very still. Don’t see me. Don’t see me.
He reviewed the confined state of his pack and studied the doorway. He broke into a gallop.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I swung the broom into the stairwell, twisting up it as fast as possible. When I burst into the hallway of the topmost floor, he was right behind me. He leapt. His paw knocked the bristles of my broom and caused me to swing slightly sideways, but that actually helped me get through the turn to the room with the steps to the roof.
I was up and out on the roof before he’d topped the stairs.
Leaning down, I snagged the strap of the duffel, where I’d shoved what ritual items were still usable. Flying out over the edge of the roof into the open air beyond, I twirled around.
The big black wolf put its paws on the raised edge and snarled and barked and growled at me. “You’re going to have to figure out what to tell the rest of them,” I shouted, not sure he’d even understand me. I’d done all I could.
I dropped down and entered the parking garage. I unlocked the trunk and put everything inside, including the stone wrapped with William’s fur. The guys in the Audi were still asleep. I knocked on the window and woke them as promised, and was about to get into my Toyota Avalon when a Hummer rolled up the ramp, followed by a Magnum and a white delivery van.
Hector, the former dirija’s assistant, was driving the Hummer. I recognized him by his size and his trademark Hawaiian shirt.
Seeing me waving him over, he cruised close and rolled down his window. “How’d it go?” There were three other men with him.
“Good, but I need to ask you something. Privately.”
He put the window up and parked. The others who had ridden with him wandered over to talk to the wæres climbing out of the other vehicles, but Hector came to me. “What is it?”
“There was a situation,” I said softly. “I think a surge of bloodlust hit some of the wæres. How do you deal with that?”
“There’s a small meat locker on four. Beau usually supervises us on full moons.” He frowned. “I don’t know what’s in it, we haven’t had newbies in a while and it’s usually just the newbies that act up.”
I acted casual. “I guess the spell must have made them sensitive.”
“That happen before with this spell?”
“Actually, yeah. One of the wæres that changed the first time tried to attack me.” It had been Erik. Johnny had intervened.
“You all right?” Hector asked.
“Yeah. I’m a little shaken up, but . . . I’m fine.”
Beau hurried around the end of the Hummer. “How’s William?”
“He’s fully wolf—”
Beau hugged me and danced me around in a circle in the small space between cars. “I knew you could do it! I knew you would!”
“Beau.” I pulled away, too sore for such antics. “He’s still on the roof, he’s still unconscious and . . . Johnny’s with him.”
“Watching over him! What a fine Domn Lup.”
“Yeah, but you should be cautious approaching him. He’s jumpy, okay?”
“We will be.” Beau walked away. One of the others had pushed the button to bring the elevator down, and everyone was assembling near the gates.
I grabbed Hector’s arm. “Seriously. Be careful. You understand?”
He caught the worry I was conveying to him. “We’re wære too.”
“Still.”
With concern darkening his features, he nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In Saranac Lake, New York, SSTIX Investigator Kurt Miller eased his Ford Crown Victoria into the garage and cut the engine. He hit the button to lower the garage door and sat checking the emails that had rung in on his Droid phone during the drive home.
He entered his home via the laundry room, greeted by the mingling scents of “sunshine fresh” dryer sheets, pot roast, and the bread machine. If she keeps using the bread machine, I’ll never again run a mile in under eight minutes.
At forty-three, though, do I need to run a mile in under eight minutes?
He plopped his briefcase onto the folding table by the dryer and hooked his coat on a peg. He smoothed his hair, trying not to think about how thin it felt.
“Brenda,” he called as he continued on to the kitchen. “Something smells wonderful.”
A woman wearing tan khakis, a tight-fitting periwinkle sweater and pot-holder gloves came into view. She was placing a large pan on the stove. The curly brown hair that draped down her back had few grays in it.
“Hello, beautiful.”
She used her foot to shut the oven door and flashed a perky smile at him as she tossed the pot holders to the counter. “You have a good day?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.
God, I’m a lucky man. “As always,” he said. “You?”
“Mmmm-hmmm. Diane and I went to the furniture store. They have
this gorgeous bedroom set. I want you to see it this weekend, okay?”
“Sure,” he said. He sorted the mail on the built-in desk. Phone. Cable. Ah . . . Premier Interior Designs. P.I.D. had just finished remodeling their kitchen two weeks ago. He glanced around the updated and expensive environment and sighed. It made Brenda happy and helped compensate for the time his job often took him away from her.
“But I do have some bad news. We have a change in plans for tomorrow night.” Brenda’s chipper demeanor dimmed considerably.
“Oh?” Kurt kept his expression blank while he wondered what they were supposed to have planned on doing.
“We aren’t going out with George and Diane tomorrow.”
Kurt hadn’t remembered, but he was as disappointed as his wife. Brenda and Diane had been best friends since high school. Similarly, he and George had been pals. “Why? George didn’t put his back out at the gym again, did he?”
“No. Diane is babysitting for Toni this weekend.” There had been another couple who had always run around with them, Antonia and Andy. A heart attack had killed Andy about ten years before. The two women had made sure Toni still felt welcomed and included her in their socializing, then tragedy had struck again a few years back. Toni’s daughter had died and she’d been left raising a grandson, Evan, on her own. They’d all remained friends, but Toni no longer went out much. To need a babysitter for an entire weekend was unusual.
“Why?”
“Toni’s going out of town. She’s leaving tonight.”
“Why?”
“Hey, Mr. Specialized Squadron Tactical Investigator, my kitchen is not an interrogation room.”
He laughed softly at Brenda’s often used phrase: My kitchen is not . . . “And what a beautiful kitchen it is.” Kurt coerced her away from the stove and into an embrace.
“Indeed.” Brenda kissed him, then gently departed from his arms.
He could understand her being saddened by a change in plans, but this was a little much. “We’ll reschedule.”
She said nothing as she collected the plates and flatware and set the table.
It wasn’t like Toni to do something that impacted other people’s plans. She’d known they were all going out. Kurt hoped the three women hadn’t had a falling-out. “Bren, what is it?”
“Toni won’t give me a straight answer about why she’s leaving and where to.”
“Maybe she’s going to Vegas. You know, what happens in Vegas . . .”
“Kurt.”
“What?” he asked. “Andy’s been gone ten years and things have only gotten worse since. She’s allowed to go to Vegas. Maybe she’s embarrassed.” Poor woman. Toni’s parents had been killed in a car crash her senior year in high school. Pregnant shortly after, she and Andy had gotten married the day before graduation. They’d done well for themselves and their daughter. Little Francine had everything a girl could want until her dad died when she was fourteen. After Andy’s death. Toni couldn’t afford the big house and downsized to something more modest.
Brenda opened the bread machine and removed a round loaf. “She’s not going to Vegas.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. She’s going to Cleveland.” She set the bread on a cutting board. “Of all places, she picks there. There! And on a bus, no less. She’ll be riding more hours than she’ll get to stay in the city. For all that trouble, if I were her, I’d be going someplace warm.”
“Does she have family there?”
“I don’t think she has any family at all, Kurt. Just Evan.”
“Damn. Whatever she’s doing must be important if she’s willing to ride a bus.”
Brenda placed the serrated knife by the loaf with more force than was necessary. “Quit it. This isn’t funny.”
Kurt pulled her into his arms again. “I just want to see you smile.”
Brenda laid her head on his shoulder. “Kurt, have you seen her lately?”
“No,” he admitted.
“She looks awful. She doesn’t get her nails done anymore, and half the time she doesn’t even bother with makeup. She always used to fuss over the details, and now . . . she doesn’t. It’s not like her. She needs to go somewhere and relax. Diane and I have been telling her that for months.”
Maybe a long, arduous bus ride would be relaxing after taking care of that kid. “Maybe that’s what she’s doing.”
“Yeah. That’s what she said.”
“So why aren’t you happy?”
“I pressed her and she gave me the name of the spa she was going to. It doesn’t exist.”
It wasn’t like Toni to lie. “So, we’re back to Vegas and embarrassment.”
“No, Kurt.”
He rubbed his wife’s shoulders. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.” She arched into the impromptu back rub. “If you and Diane have been telling her she needs a vacation, why is Diane the one who gets to look after the boy?” Babysitting would do her good. Maybe it will get that mothering need worked out.
“Because George actually likes kids. Unlike someone I know . . .”
Kurt realized he had given her an opening to lead this into another conversation about adoption. Kids weren’t Kurt’s favorite portion of the population. Loud, spoiled, tantrum-machines. He and Brenda couldn’t have kids. For him, that was the end of the story. Not for her.
Leaving his arms again, Brenda selected a bottle from the new little wine refrigerator, and leaned against the counter, downhearted but not sulking. “Diane asked if we would come over to their house for dinner, but I told her you would rather reschedule.”
“Smart woman. Diane better not take her eyes off that boy.”
“Kurt.”
“He’s a brat.”
“Kurt!”
“Am I wrong?” The last time Kurt had seen the kid, probably two years ago, he’d tried to be tolerant, but the kid made him nervous. Evan was into cars, so Kurt thought seeing the flashing red light mounted to the dash of his car would be fun. The kid had been delighted, but he’d proceeded to push every button and flip every switch in the car and in the house.
Brenda sighed but said nothing. She slid the wine and the corkscrew toward him, and then carried the meal to the dining table.
Kurt made a mental note to check the bus schedule.
It was well after nine when Kurt switched on his home computer. Though the evening was far from over, the world was dark, and Brenda was presently soaking out her worries in a cherry-blossom-scented bubble bath.
He checked the online schedule and found that the local terminal would have a bus leaving tonight at eleven twenty, and, with all the stops and connections, it seemed that someone could arrive in Cleveland as early as one in the afternoon tomorrow.
That is a long ride. It was definitely out of character for his wife’s friend.
He opened his briefcase and plucked out a key to a certain filing cabinet. Inside, the rearmost files comprised his personal copies of a particular cold case from his days as a local small-town cop. He drew out the one marked Hampton, Elena A.
He opened it a fraction and saw a candid photo of a positively gorgeous young woman. Black hair, long and straight and thick. He remembered how sleek her hair used to feel when he ran his hands through it.
Guilt twisted in his gut.
He’d cheated on Brenda. They hadn’t been married yet, but he’d still been unfaithful. After high school, he’d gone away to college. She’d stayed home to attend the local community college. They maintained their relationship long-distance. Then he’d met this girl . . . Elena. They had a math class together. Deliberating for all of August and September, he built up his nerve and asked her out. Throughout October their romance had been torrid. He’d even considered breaking up with Brenda, but resisted. Then Elena abruptly broke it off with him the day after a wild Hallowe’en party they’d attended. She said she was transferring to a college closer to her hometown in Montana and stopped talking to him.
Kurt never saw Elena again until
her file crossed his desk. She’d ended up in Saranac Lake, working at the federal prison as a guard. Did she know I was here?
He closed her file, set it aside and pulled another. Burdette, Doug R.
This file he opened fully. Photocopies of news clippings lay on top. Deadly House Fire. There was a picture of the remains of a house, below the date May 20. The next clipping had bold letters stating, Gruesome Discovery in the Ashes. The next, Authorities Suspect Murder, Arson.
Behind that was the official documents, then a photocopy of a work ID. Burdette had been an HVAC mechanic at the prison. Next was the autopsy report. Kurt scanned the highlighted words: “. . . in approximately twelve pieces found on the stairs and in the upper hall” and “. . . claw marks consistent with those of a large animal.” The official cause of death was listed as exsanguination.
“Kurt?” Brenda called from the hallway.
“Yeah?”
She appeared in the doorway. “It’s awfully late for work.”
He let the pages slither through his fingers to lie flat on the file. “I think I’ve got a break in this case. . . .”
“I took some melatonin,” she said. It was her natural sleep aid. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good idea.” Kurt rose from his seat to go and kiss her. She hugged him tighter and longer than usual. “Toni will be okay,” he whispered.
Brenda left him there. “Good night.”
Sinking behind his desk again, Kurt flipped to Burdette’s autopsy. Under that was a list of driving citations—speeding, DUI, hit-and-run damage to other vehicles. There was a rap sheet, too. Assault and battery, destruction of private property, various domestic violence crimes. There were also charges of possession, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and a dropped charge of rape.
Since these files first crossed his desk years ago, Kurt had always wondered how a sweet, straight arrow—never even a parking ticket—like Elena could have been with someone like Doug Burdette.
Doug had been a less-than-model citizen, but he’d been alive when someone—something—tore him limb from limb. Burning the house down had not been able to disguise that.
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