by Neely Powell
“Just let him try.” A gleam of determination replaced Lizzie’s spacey demeanor. I had to wonder if her giddy young woman act was just that—an act.
We made arrangements for her to get me some additional phone numbers and addresses of employees, families, and friends. Then I headed for the bus and home to New Jersey.
I was back in the office before five. Darla was already gone, of course. Hunter was nowhere to be found.
I ran through some messages and put in a quick call to check on Kinley. She hadn’t seen Eric since Friday night. Every other Monday, Eric’s mother picked the girls up from school and kept them overnight where he could see them. Kinley was not happy with the arrangement, but it was the best compromise we could reach while the divorce was being finalized. I advised her to check the new locks and get some rest.
Then I wrote up my notes in the Howerton case file, including people to interview. Daddy Douglas topped the list.
Going to the Internet, I put Dr. Charles Hayden in Dogpile. Though there were ten pages of results, most of it was in obituaries from people who had been involved with the Hayden Clinic. I added his widow, Elaine Hayden, to my list.
By then, my stomach was rumbling. I sent a text message to Hunter to let him know I’d be fixing his favorite chicken casserole for dinner if he wanted to come by and eat. It was a recipe from Delores, one of our family cooks. She used to fix it often for Hunter and me. Delores always said that when you can fix a great meal with a cut-up rotisserie chicken and canned soup, you feel like a domestic goddess.
At home, as I prepared our meal, I remembered the wonderful food Hunter and I had once shared in Scotland. We went there together the summer after he learned about his second nature. Most Scottish fare was all about meat, potatoes and gravies—hearty, delicious, and comforting. I liked it, though I did have to diet some when we returned home.
My thoughts went back to the little kitchen in the cottage where Hunter and I stayed. We were there for two months, in the countryside between Glasgow and Edinburgh. It was close enough to town to have fun and had enough land attached to give Hunter a place to roam free and work out the kinks of shapeshifting.
We were looked after that summer by two of the MacRae family’s devoted employees. Tall, spare Robert McPhee had once been the right hand man of Hunter’s grandfather and great-grandfather. Though his face was seamed with age, he didn’t miss a beat. He knew where Hunter and I were at all times, and had even shown up a time or two unexpectedly, both in the city and out in the countryside.
It was eerie, I remembered. It was as if he had a special ability where Hunter was concerned.
Robert’s wife, Molly, was as short and round he was tall and thin. Though as ancient as he was, she kept the cottage sparkling and the scent of delicious savories and sweets coming from the kitchen.
That trip was one of my best summer vacations. I was nostalgic as I pulled the bubbling casserole out of the oven.
Hunter’s car was in the driveway and he gave a quick knock on the front door before unlocking it and yelling, “Hi, honey, I’m ho-o-ome.”
“In the kitchen, sweet cheeks,” I said with a laugh. “How was your day?”
“The usual. Great sex in the office. A nasty battle in the courtroom.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re playing with fire with Mandy.”
“I could lie and say that I’m sorry, but I’m just a randy tom cat.” Hunter grabbed plates from the cabinet. “God, that smells good. I’m starving.”
“Want a salad to go with it?” I asked, though I knew what his answer would be.
“Nope, just give me some hot food.”
I fixed a small salad for myself and heated some Texas toast with garlic butter. We ate in companionable silence for a while, and then I said, “I was thinking about our time in Scotland. Do you ever think about it?”
“A lot.” He took another bite. After swallowing he continued, “I remember how great it was to run for miles with no worry about people coming after me.”
“Are you going to visit this summer?” I carried my empty plate to the sink. “You haven’t been back in a while. Do you think you have more to learn?”
He was digging in for another helping of the casserole. “I don’t like to go as much since Robert and Molly are dead. They made the visits appealing. The only thing I work on now is trying to make my clothes disappear as I change, so I have them on when I change back. I still haven’t mastered that.”
“That particular trick would be very beneficial,” I replied, thinking of finding him in his office naked on Friday night.
“I’m seeing Grandda tomorrow,” Hunter said suddenly. “He’ll be in the city.”
I was surprised. The older man had always preferred the mountains in winter. He told me often enough he hated the piles of dirty city snow.
“Something’s up.” Hunter relayed his grandfather’s phone call on Saturday.
“You think he’s going to try to talk you into joining the family business.” As usual, I was able to express what Hunter felt.
He nodded. “Grandda may have decided to join the dark side of the family.”
Unexpected fear coiled in my belly, but I turned away, instinctively hiding it from Hunter. “You knew it could happen.”
“Don’t worry.” Hunter always read me well. “I have no intention of leaving our firm.”
That wasn’t what I was worried about, but since I couldn’t explain my feelings, I said nothing.
“Do you like what you do, Zoe?” Hunter continued.
I turned back to him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“It feels like enough? It satisfies you?”
I decided to be completely honest. “You know I’m not always thrilled with cases like the Corbins. It’s better when I feel like I’m really helping someone, you know, like Kinley and her girls or even my new case, which we’ll get paid for.”
“You don’t think I’m helping people who just want a divorce?”
I sighed and turned his initial questions back on him. “Does it satisfy you? Does it feel like enough?”
I expected a quick retort about the fringe benefits of distraught divorcees and rich clients. Instead Hunter regarded me for a long moment. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I’m feeling kind of unsettled.”
This pensiveness wasn’t usual for Hunter, but before I could pursue the subject, he shook off the mood. He told me about the reporter for Out There that he had met on Saturday. By the time he had finished describing her and talking about the New Jersey Devil, he had dug a half a cheesecake out of the refrigerator and insisted I share it with him.
He left in a rush, no doubt eager to change and run off his pent-up energy from the day. I prepared for bed and tried to dismiss the nagging thoughts that were skirting the edge of my brain. They made me nervous. I had noticed lately that my “intuition” had grown stronger; something was happening to make my perceptions of events more focused.
As I crawled into bed and pulled the sheet across my legs, I felt an immediate and strong sense of alarm. Closing my eyes, I focused on that and struggled to identify why I should be alarmed and Kinley’s face popped into my mind.
Kinley was in danger. I knew it as surely as I knew if I didn’t act now it would be fatal for her. I called her, but there was no answer.
Without pausing to consider what I was doing, I scrambled out of bed and dressed. In less than five minutes, I was headed out the door. I telephoned Hunter but cats don’t usually carry phones, I reminded myself.
I left a message telling him where I was going and why and told him to call the police if he didn’t hear from me soon.
Though lights were on everywhere, there was no sign of life at Kinley’s place. When I got no response to the doorbell, I headed to the back of the house. I crept forward until I could see the back stoop.
What I saw made me to fight to keep my dinner down. There was blood everywhere. A long spray covered the wall. Kinley lay in a
crumpled heap at the bottom of the steps. When she moaned, I ran to her. Her face was a mangled mess, and her body was varying shades of blues and purples. She had been beaten relentlessly, and was barely breathing. What I couldn’t understand was how she was still alive.
I reached for my cell phone and heard something behind me. Before I could turn, I felt a horrible pain in the back of my head. I fell forward.
Chapter 6
“Wake up, lass.”
I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like lead. I could smell the outdoors; the air was cool and damp. Where was I?
I struggled to remember. Images flashed quickly. Fear. Had to get to Kinley. I felt like I was in the woods, but there were no woods around Kinley’s house. She lived in a subdivision. Need to help Kinley. Where is Kinley?
“That’s a girl. Come on now, wake up,” a deep voice urged.
The voice had a familiar Scottish burr, and as I finally forced my eyes open, I looked into the green eyes of Fraser MacRae, Hunter’s grandfather. Why was he with Kinley?
“Mr. MacRae?” My words came out as a hoarse whisper. I tried to clear my throat, but it made my head hurt too much.
“Come on, lass, let’s sit you up here.” His big arm came around my back and raised me to a sitting position. “I’ve only go’ a wee bit of time, and I need to tell you something, something very important.”
I leaned against him and concentrated on not passing out again.
“Listen, Zoe. Hunter’s very life depends on your ability to know what’s coming,” he said, his eyes boring into mine.
“I don’t understand.”
He picked up my hand. “You’ve got the sight, girl. You have to use it to help Hunter. It’s a gift, and it’s time for you to learn to work with it in a better manner.”
“The sight?”
“You call it your ‘women’s intuition’ or ‘gut instinct,’ but it’s the sight, the ability to see what’s coming, and it’s the one thing that will give Hunter an edge and keep him alive.” His voice filled with urgency. “Just as Hunter is strapped with the curse that hangs over our family, you’ve got the responsibility that came down through yours.”
I struggled to make sense of what he was saying, but it wasn’t easy. His voice softened. “Why did you go to Kinley’s house tonight?”
“She was in trouble and needed help.” My memory returned in a rush. In Kinley’s backyard, somebody had hit me and knocked me out.
I tried to look around again, but Mr. MacRae held me firm. “You can’t help Kinley now, but you can help Hunter. When you feel compelled to do something, you must listen to your inner voice. It’s a guide for you and Hunter. It will keep both of you alive. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking clearly at last. “Lately it has gotten stronger. I am able to focus on something once it enters my mind, and that makes it stronger.”
“That’s exactly what I mean, lass. You’re the key.” His voice thickened with anger. “Chymera, that’s what the goddamn monster Michael Killin calls himself now. He’s like us but not like us. You’ll learn soon enough.”
I recalled something about chimera from Greek mythology, about an animal that was more than one species, with a lion’s body and a dragon’s head or something like that.
“Killin is the other side of the coin in our history.” Mr. McRae never took his eyes from mine. “His mission is to destroy us, to wipe out entire families if possible.”
I focused hard on his words, knowing his message was vital.
“His family has a genetic problem and cannot shift properly. They’re a band of mutants, dedicated to eradicating shifters who live normally in our abnormal world. Every time we think we’ve got them under control, another one shows up.”
“They’re coming for Hunter.” I struggled with dizziness as the full impact of his words penetrated the fog.
He gripped my hand. “Promise you’ll keep him safe. Promise.”
“I promise. I promise.” I descended into another black hole. When I woke, I was cold and damp. I moved my head and moaned. Pain shot down my neck like searing heat.
“That’s it. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” The deep voice had no Scottish burr.
“Let me in here, Detective,” another voice chimed in.
My eyes opened. I jerked as a bright light sent a brief but violent burst of pain through my brain. I blinked and started to push up with my hands.
“Uh-huh, ma’am,” said the voice on my left. “I need you to stay put while I check things out.”
I assumed he was a paramedic as he deftly wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Zoe Buchanan.”
“Good girl. Do you know what day it is, Zoe?”
I looked up at the starlit sky above me. “It’s night.”
“That’s true,” he said with a chuckle, “but what night is it?”
I struggled to remember. All I could think about was Hunter’s grandfather. I had talked to him. So strange for him to be here. But first there was Kinley.
“Kinley, where’s Kinley?” I asked, once again trying to get up. “What about the girls? Where are the girls?”
Both men held me down. I recognized Detective Mike Scala, who had questioned me about the body in the woods.
“There are people helping Kinley. We didn’t find any children here. The house is empty. You’ve got to stay down and let Joe here take care of you.”
I looked into intense blue eyes in a chiseled face framed by dark hair. The eyes were kind, but filled with determination. If I tried to get up, he would have no trouble stopping me.
“There was so much blood.” I closed my eyes as the scene flashed into my mind. “Oh, God, is Kinley dead?” When he didn’t answer, I groaned. I turned my head. “Oh my God,” I whispered.
Mike sighed. “She is. Why are you here?”
Joe removed the blood pressure cuff and examined my head. When he touched the tender place on the back, I flinched.
“I’m sorry, but I had to look at it. We’re going to get you on a stretcher and have you checked out at the hospital. Looks like you might need a couple of stitches too. Just stay right here for a minute.” He moved away and walked to the ambulance.
“Feel like talking to me, Zoe?” Mike said.
“I think so.”
“What did you see?”
I thought of Kinley’s legs bent at an odd angle, her face almost obliterated. “She was laying there like a little rag doll.”
Eric. Goddam bastard. He finally killed her.
This time when I tried to sit up, Detective Scala helped. I leaned into his shoulder and closed my eyes as my stomach rolled with nausea. He tightened his hold.
“It was her husband. Kinley’s husband—”
“You saw him?” Mike replied. “He hit you?”
“No, but—”
“Zoe! Zoe!”
I opened one eye and saw Hunter arguing with two uniformed officers. His features looked stark in the glowing red and blue lights of the police and emergency vehicles.
“Hunter is Kinley’s divorce attorney. Please let him through.”
Mike motioned to the cops. Hunter hurried over to kneel beside me.
“What happened?” He reached for me, but Mike wouldn’t let Hunter move me. I groaned and wished I didn’t feel so sick.
“Hold on, man,” Mike said. “We’re waiting for the paramedic to get back. Just take it easy.”
Hunter took my chin in his hand and turned my face to his. “What the hell happened?”
Against my best efforts, tears filled my eyes. “Kinley’s dead.”
“Ah, God.” Hunter winced. “I should have protected her.”
“Why?” Mike asked.
“Her asshole husband, Eric Russo.” Hunter put his hands on his knees. “She thought he was accepting the divorce, but he kept dropping in to remind her she was his wife until death. I guess he took care of that option.”
Mike started to say something but was interrupted by the paramedics and their stretcher. As they lifted me onto it, I felt sick again, and to my horror actually threw up. The paramedics cleaned me as well as they could with Mike and Hunter watching. How humiliating.
I’d seen lot of tough private eyes on TV come back from being hit in the head with no problem. I guess I need to work on my quick-recovery-from-being-knocked-out skills.
“We’re going to need her clothes,” Mike told the paramedics. “I’ll send somebody to the hospital or pick them up myself.”
“I’ll follow the ambulance,” Hunter said.
Mike grabbed his arm. “After I talk with you,” he told Hunter. “We need to discuss a murder. Again.”
“I’ll be there soon,” Hunter yelled as the doors to the ambulance slammed.
I wanted the luxury of unconsciousness. Between the nausea and the pain, I was sure this was going to be a bumpy ride.
Where’s Bette Davis when you need her?
For a moment I was afraid I was badly injured. Kinley was dead and the best I could do was come up with a line from an old movie.
Chapter 7
Hunter strode across the crowded ER waiting room toward the information desk. Family members and patients were creating chaos. When someone yelled his name, he saw his golfing buddy, Taylor Bradford, an ER physician, coming his way.
Taylor grasped Hunter’s hand for a hearty shake. “Zoe told me you were coming.”
“The damn detective kept me in a patrol car asking questions forever. I thought he was going to arrest me, but I finally escaped.” Hunter walked with Taylor back into the patient area. “Is Zoe all right?”
“She has a concussion, but she’ll be fine in a few days. I wanted to keep her overnight, but she said you’d stay with her,” Taylor said.
“Sure, sure, whatever she needs.” Hunter ran his hand through his already-disheveled hair. “I think we’re pretty lucky she wasn’t hurt any worse. She could have been killed too.”
“Zoe told me about Kinley,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “I treated Kinley a couple of times when Eric banged her up. He’s nothing but a damned bully. I begged her to go to a domestic violence group. She always said it was too embarrassing. I reported it, and they picked up Eric, but she never pressed charges.”
