by Sierra Dean
But without having a really good way to explain the situation to another person, I was keeping it to myself. Unfortunately that meant I had been acting weird all morning, and people were starting to notice. Cash thought I was mad at him and left early with his lawyer buddy, Matt, to talk to Hank at the police station.
I waited for the breakfast sandwich I’d ordered, and my stomach rumbled. The chime on the door sounded, and I glanced up to see who had entered, wary of new arrivals.
Josie Dwyer, the deputy I’d met during my brief jail stay, came in. She was wearing her beige Louisiana-standard uniform and had pushed a pair of aviators up on her head when she came in.
The waitress poured her a to-go coffee and said, “On the house, Deputy.”
I expected her to leave, but instead she walked up to Wilder and me, and took a seat next to Wilder without waiting for an invitation.
“Miss McQueen. Mr. Shaw.” She nodded to us both in turn. “I assume y’all are on your way out of town?”
Wilder and I exchanged uneasy glances. “Not quite,” he replied.
“Charges have been dropped. Settlements made.” She gave us both a funny look. “I can’t image a good reason to stick around unless you’re planning to start more trouble.” It was like the sheriff had given her a script. The words sounded forced and stilted, as if she was having trouble saying them.
“We’re waiting to find out if the lawyers can do anything for Hank,” I offered finally. “I promise we’re staying out of trouble. One stay in lockup was more than enough for us.” I gave her a forced laugh, and she smiled weakly in return, sipping her coffee.
The order bell chimed, indicating our food was ready. I watched the waitress, hoping she would bring our to-go bag quickly. Outside, an ambulance drove by, its lights on but no siren. Josie watched it go, her expression betraying her obvious worry.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I have the answer to that.” She seemed to realize she was being overly candid and straightened her posture, her demeanor shifting. “Sheriff has an ambulance on call for the next couple days. Just in case of more attacks.”
I glanced at Wilder, his cheeks reddening.
“If the sheriff thinks Hank did it, why would he call in an ambulance?” Unless he thought someone else was hurting people. Or knew someone else was going to get hurt. My suspicions about the sheriff’s involvement seemed warranted.
Josie got to her feet, slipping her glasses back on. “I’m sure Sheriff McGraw has his reasons.”
No doubt. “Nice to see you again, Deputy.” I tried to remain polite. I didn’t think Josie was the enemy here.
She was almost at the door when she turned back. “Miss McQueen? Genie?” Her voice was suddenly full of worry, and I went still, making Wilder wait.
“Yeah?”
“Y’all be careful, okay? And get out of town as soon as you can.” It didn’t sound like a threat.
If anything it sounded like a warning.
Wilder and I were in Cash’s car, parked down the highway from a charming ranch-style home set back off the main road, and I still couldn’t decide if this was a great idea or lunacy. Josie’s words floated around in my head, adding to my worry.
Wilder stuck a cup of coffee under my nose, and I took it, sipping the lukewarm bitter liquid laced with way too much sugar. My lips puckered involuntarily, but I didn’t say anything. Even gross coffee was better than no coffee.
“You sure this is his place?”
Reaching under my seat, I grabbed the slim yellow parish phonebook I’d stolen from my motel room. “T. Deerling was kind enough to be listed. Yeah, I’m sure this is his place.”
“It’d be so nice if scumbags would put signs on their lawn, you know? Dear World, a Racist Shithead Lives Here. Or if there was an online registry.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose beneath my sunglasses and took another swig of the foul brew I was holding. I yearned for a café au lait from La Madeleine. The sandwich had been good, but not what I wanted. Too bad I couldn’t get fresh palmiers or fancy bullshit coffee in Franklinton.
That was the most princessy thing I’d ever thought.
I ignored my snobby internal dialogue to reply to Wilder. “If they broadcast it like that, little old ladies wouldn’t bring them cobbler every Sunday. And evil pricks love a good peach cobbler.”
“Shit. Who doesn’t love peach cobbler?”
The car was starting to get hot in spite of us having the windows down. I would have loved to turn on the engine and let the AC run for awhile, but it was bad enough we were sitting on the side of the road in broad daylight. Sitting in an idling car would look even more suspicious.
I wished we could turn on the radio for distraction, though. Answering every one of Wilder’s cheeky barbs with something equally witty was taking way more energy than I had to give. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to be so on for him, but it was easier to be clever than to be honest.
Silence fell again, and this time I was brutally aware of every second of it. I wondered what he was thinking and what he thought I was thinking. And that terrible circle of pointlessness kept nagging at me until he cleared his throat.
“Sooooo. Tell me about you and Cash.”
As awful as that idea sounded, it was better than talking about what was on my mind and better than sitting here quietly torturing myself.
“What do you want to know?”
Based on the face he made, I gathered he was hoping I would declare the topic off-limits and he’d be able to get away without actually hearing about my love life. Well, tough shit for him. He’d asked, and I was desperate for distraction.
“Uh. I guess…how did you guys meet?”
“Fraternity party.”
Wilder choked on a mouthful of coffee, then exaggerated the hacking, beating his chest like he was dying of shock.
“Oh, simmer down,” I scolded. “I was trying to live a normal college life, you know. I thought about joining a sorority, ended up at the party. I kept the boyfriend, ditched Greek life.”
“At least you made one smart decision.”
“I’ve been known to on occasion. Other times I do really boneheaded stuff like running off with half-cocked mechanics on their crazy rescue missions.”
“I am all-cocked, thank you.”
He didn’t bat an eyelash and kept on looking at Deerling’s house as if he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous thing ever.
What a guy.
“I have a hard time picturing you in head-to-toe pink, drinking daiquiris and hazing freshmen,” he said.
“So did I. Turns out they only wanted me to pledge because they considered me a minority. They thought having a werewolf in the house would be good for diversity. I said fuck that. But hey, was that…almost a compliment? Coming from you, anyway?”
“Hey now, Princess. Let’s not get carried away.”
My response died short when movement at the front of Deerling’s house caught my attention. I slipped my half-finished coffee into a cup holder, and my fingers hovered over the keys, ready to start the engine at a moment’s notice.
“Hold on.” Wilder put his hand over mine, and we both watched the house, though my pulse was going crazy. “We don’t know if it’s even him. Don’t rush, we might spook him.”
I let my hand fall to my lap, but Wilder’s stayed on top of it, a warm reminder of his presence. It took me a second to realize he was comforting me, keeping me calm. I darted a quick glance at him, but he was totally focused on the house. How could Ben believe Wilder was capable of murder? How had I believed it? It made me feel sick to my stomach that I’d let my brother’s prejudice taint my opinion of Wilder so easily.
Focus.
My attention veered back to the house where Timothy had gotten into his own car, a ridiculously fancy tan Mercedes Benz. That car probably cost more than most of the homes in Franklinton. It was a strange sensation for me
to begrudge someone with wealth since I was too rich for my own good. Yet Callum never lauded our wealth over anyone. We provided for the pack. He made handsome donations to the local church and other charities. Hell, he’d helped rebuild the old five-and-dime he’d loved as a kid, converted it into a convenience store and arcade that was doing solid business in St. Francisville. We used our money for good.
Timothy Deerling bought himself a Mercedes with the Church’s online earnings and let his town die around him.
Considering I already hated the man, I was looking for any reason to let my rage fester. But I really hated the guy. He was convincing his parishioners we were monsters and was spreading a cultish gospel of fear. There was nothing redeeming about him as far as I could—
A woman stepped out onto the front porch, her belly round with pregnancy and her loose summer dress billowing in the light breeze. She pushed her long dark hair off her face and smiled at his car, waving as he drove away.
Must be Shannon, the wife Josie had mentioned.
Shannon’s soft voice carried through our open windows as she laughed and said something to him, though the words were unclear.
She sounded happy.
I pulled away from Wilder and placed both hands on the steering wheel, clutching it fiercely while I decided what to do next.
“Hey.” He nudged me with his elbow. “If we’re following, we should go now.”
I watched the front of the house. The woman rubbed her belly and smiled broadly, chatting to her unborn child. She smiled up at the beautiful day, shielding her eyes from the bright gleam of sunshine, then appearing satisfied everything in her life was perfect, she went back inside.
Dammit.
“Dammit.”
Wilder started the car before I could stay his hand. “This doesn’t change anything. It can’t change anything. He’s got a wife, so what?”
“And a baby on the way.”
“Yeah?”
“Wilder…”
“We’re not going to kill him, that’s not what we’re here for.”
“But Cain—”
“What happens between Cain and Deerling isn’t our problem. You saw what he did to my brother. You saw what he allowed to happen to that woman. Just because he has a pregnant wife doesn’t make him any less of a monster. All it means is that he has a functional dick and is appealing to women. You can’t afford to be romantic about this. We can’t afford to forget what he is.”
“What if that makes us the same as him?” I stared at him, pleading without words for him to give me the push I needed. I hated Deerling, but Wilder had to hate him more. I needed to feed off his loathing, no matter how unhealthy it was for me, because Wilder was right. Deerling was out to wipe every supernatural creature off the face of the earth, and I couldn’t hesitate because he had a pretty wife and a bun in the oven.
“He tried to kill you.” He placed a hand on my cheek, and I let myself lean into it, reveling in the rough warmth of his skin against mine. This was the comfort I’d needed last night, and no one had been there to give it to me. “He will kill you if we give him half a chance.”
I smiled, liking the way it felt with his hand on my face. “You said you thought I wasn’t easy to kill.”
Wilder’s hand dropped. “Let’s try to keep it that way, okay?”
He was right.
It was painful to realize these were the kinds of decisions I’d be faced with on a regular basis if I followed in Callum’s footsteps. These were the things Secret had been faced with all the time. The seemingly impossible choice between one evil and another.
Nothing was going to come easily for me again after this.
I shifted the car into drive and followed Deerling, making sure the length of road between us was enough he wouldn’t suspect we were on his tail. We needed to know what he was doing and what his plan was now that Hank was in jail. And there was no way for us to do that if I was afraid of what it might do to his family.
He’d forfeited his right to a happy ending the moment he had someone try to drive me off the road.
If he wanted a war, he had it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I was not a born private detective.
Several times while we were tailing Deerling, Wilder had to remind me not to get too close, and whenever we got too far back, I started to worry we would lose him. Lose him where I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t a big town, and now that we knew what car he was driving, we should be able to spot him easily.
“If he goes to the church, we’re not going to be able to follow him,” I said. There was nowhere near the big building we could park inconspicuously, and considering what had happened the last time we walked on Tim’s lawn, I wasn’t too keen to repeat the performance. One arrest in a week was enough for me. If I had to tell Callum I was back in jail, he’d never trust me again.
As it was I was walking a fine line with him allowing me to spend the extra two days in Franklinton on my own. I wasn’t about to squander that opportunity by being an idiot.
We drove past the turnoff into Franklinton, bypassing the road that would have taken us directly to the church.
“Where’s he going?” Wilder asked.
Like I’d know.
After another fifteen minutes of driving I was dead certain we weren’t going anywhere near town, which made me think Deerling was going to lead us somewhere useful. For all I knew he might be going to pick up baby supplies at Walmart, and God knew he’d have to drive a long way to get there. Yet I didn’t think that was the case.
I was grateful that the farther we got from town the more traffic picked up on the highway. I let a car get between us and was careful to not draw attention to us. Still, fear circled around me like a shark in bloody water. No matter how many precautions we took I felt certain he knew we were back here.
Another ten minutes and I was wringing my hands on the wheel, ready to turn around. I could only follow so long before it got obvious, and we were damn near crossing the line. I had almost announced an ultimatum, when Deerling’s signal went on and he exited the highway onto an obscured dirt road. He made the exit so quickly I was already driving past the road when I realized what had happened. I pulled over to let the car behind me pass, and shut the engine off.
“What are you doing? Go back.” Wilder craned his neck to look over his shoulder.
“Yeah, let me drive blind down some dirt road where we have no idea what’s at the end, and we could be driving ourselves right into a trap. Sounds like a peachy-keen idea.”
He frowned, glancing back again. “So what’s your plan, since you obviously have a better one?”
I drummed my fingers on the dash and chewed my lower lip. I didn’t have a plan. To this point I’d only thought far enough ahead to keep following Deerling until he led us to something. Now we’d arrived at that potential something, and there was no easy way to stay on his tail.
“We could wait here until he comes back out?” I suggested weakly. Even as I said it, it sounded pathetic.
He gave me a look that said he wanted to say more, but he was too polite to actually spit it out. Considering the things he was willing to say, I had to imagine it must be something pretty unpleasant for him to bite his tongue.
“We can’t drive in there.” I wanted to know what Deerling was up to as badly as Wilder did, but not enough to waltz into the dark unknown, where we both might end up dead. “We are not driving in there.”
I’d barely finished speaking, and Wilder was out of the car. We were a little ways beyond the turnoff, far enough that anyone leaving would probably think our car had broken down, but close enough we could see the drive. Wilder was halfway there by the time I got out of the car and engaged the auto locks. I had to jog to catch up to him. Long-legged, speedy son of a bitch.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“You said we’re not driving in. I’m not driving.” A few yards from the t
urnoff Wilder hopped into the ditch and made his way up the opposite slope. I checked for traffic—stupid since I was already across the road—and followed him. The voice in my head that constantly made me toe the line and do the right thing was having a field day with this.
Bad idea, bad idea.
Yeah, no fucking shit, guardian angel. But if the best she could do was scold me as it was happening, a fat lot of good that did. Typically, by the time I was in trouble, it was too late to go back and reconsider.
Bitch, you’re on your own.
Like I wasn’t before.
I dodged a branch swinging back out of Wilder’s path and caught up to him inside the woods. “What the hell?”
“Genie, you can come with me, or you can wait in the car. I don’t care. But nothing is stopping me from following that prick and finding out what is dragging him all the way out here.”
He kept going like I wasn’t there. Periodically he would stop, sniff the air and alter his path slightly. It was funny. I’d been around wolves almost my whole life, but some of them tried harder than others to play human. We all used our skills to varying degrees, but Wilder seemed to slip them on as easily as a pair of gloves. It was rare to see a wolf as comfortable with his own animal as Wilder was.
I wanted very badly to know what it was like to run with him.
Running with the pack back home, or on my own in the swamps, were experiences I was familiar with. Once I’d learned to put a tether on my magic when I shifted, I was able to enjoy being a wolf and letting the wild part of myself off its leash. But I was never truly free. I needed to be aware of what I was feeling because if I lost control, the magic might go haywire. Someone could get hurt.
People could die.
That kind of threat looming over me made it hard to totally let go. Yet somehow, I suspected Wilder had no problem being as reckless and carefree as his wolf form allowed for. I wanted to know if running with him would make me feel equally alive.
We moved through the woods quiet as smoke, me contemplating the sinews of his back, wondering what his wolf looked like. There was no rhyme or reason to our lupine forms. A fair-haired guy like him could have a wolf as black as coal. Sometimes hair color was the same in both forms, but it was rare.
