Sam sneezed and turned his back to us—and I started breathing again.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized to both of them. “That was a dumb way of doing things.”
I didn’t want to look at Adam. I didn’t want to see if he was angry or hurt or whatever. I’d had just about enough already that day.
And that was a coward’s way out.
So I turned and looked up at him, keeping my gaze on his chin—where I could see his reaction without challenging him by meeting his eyes.
“You are so screwed,” he said thoughtfully.
“I’m sorry I let you think . . .”
“What?” he asked. “That you needed some time away from the pack, from me? When you really wanted to keep any of us from seeing Samuel?”
He sounded reasonable, but I could see the white line along his jaw where he was gritting his teeth and the tension in his neck.
“Yes,” I told him.
Ben boiled into the room—saw our little tableau, and came to an abrupt halt. Adam glanced over his shoulder at him, and Ben flinched and bowed his head.
“I didn’t catch it,” he said. “Her. The fae thing. But she was armed, and she dropped her weapon when she bolted.” He’d been carrying a jacket, and from under it he pulled a rifle that had very little metal on it. If it had been a little prettier, it might have looked like a toy because it was mostly made of plastic.
“Kel-Tec rifle,” said Adam, visibly dragging himself into a businesslike manner. “Built to fire pistol cartridges out of pistol magazines.”
Ben handed it over, and Adam pulled the magazine. Jerking his hand back with a hiss, he dropped it on my counter. “Nine millimeter,” he said. “Silver ammunition.” He looked at me. “I’m pretty sure that was a nine millimeter or a thirty-eight you were holding on Heart.”
The topic of my transgression was not dropped, just set aside for business. I wished we could just get it over with.
“Nine millimeter,” I agreed. “She could have shot someone, and they’d have blamed it on the bounty hunter. How likely is it that someone would have done a ballistics test and noticed one of the bullets didn’t come from the same gun?”
“Someone was supposed to die,” said Ben. “That’s what I think.”
“Agreed,” said Zee from the garage doorway. Samuel moved—a little stiff-legged, but he moved—so Zee could come into the office.
“Ballistics wouldn’t have mattered,” said Zee. “Making one bullet match another is cake if the fae is dealing with silver. Even a few with little magic could handle it. Iron is impossible for most fae to work, lead isn’t much better, but silver . . . Silver accepts magic easily and keeps it.”
My walking stick had silver on it.
Zee continued speaking. “The bullet would take on the appearance of the others. A little more glamour, and the extra bullet disappears. And whoever that was, they weren’t minor fae—they had a fair touch of The Hunt—The Wild Hunt.”
“I don’t know what that means.” But our fae assassin had been out to kill werewolves. To kill Adam. I needed to find out as much as I could.
“In this case, mindless violence,” Zee told me. “The kind that leaves a man looking at the bodies and wondering why he decided to pull the trigger when he only intended to make a point. If I hadn’t been here to counter it . . .” He shrugged and looked at Adam. “Someone wanted you dead with the blame easily placed, so no one would look too closely.”
Adam put the gun down on the counter next to the magazine, grabbed Ben’s coat, and tossed it on top of them. “I haven’t ticked off the fae recently. Have I?”
Zee shook his head. “If anything, it goes the other way. It must be an individual.” He frowned, and said reluctantly, “Someone could have hired her, I suppose.”
Ben said, “I’ve never seen a fae who used modern weaponry.” He turned to Adam. “I know she was fae and all—but could she be one of the trophy hunters?”
“Trophy hunters?” Zee asked before I could.
“David has captured two people and killed a third hunting him this year,” Adam said. “One was a big-game hunter; one turned out to be a serial killer who’d been preying upon marines from the local base and decided to take on bigger prey. And one was a bounty hunter—though there’s no bounty on David’s head any more than there is on mine. It looked like he just wanted to try his hand at hunting a werewolf.”
“David Christiansen?” I asked. Christiansen was a mercenary whose small troop specialized in rescuing hostages—I’d met him once before he’d become famous. When he retrieved some kids from a terrorist camp in South America, a photographer got a series of really terrific shots that made Christiansen look heroic and sweet. The photos made national news—and the Marrok chose David to be the first werewolf to admit what he was to the public—and thus the most famous werewolf around.
“Yes,” Adam said.
“ ‘The Most Dangerous Game,’ ” I murmured. See? An education wasn’t wasted on me, no matter what my mother says.
“This doesn’t feel like that, though,” said Adam. “This wasn’t personal. Heart wasn’t hunting me for thrills, or at least not only for thrills. Someone set him up.”
“And not very well either,” I added. “He didn’t know who you were—and all his producer would have had to do was a simple Internet search for a photo. You’d think someone sending him out after you would make sure he knew who to shoot if you were the target.”
Adam tapped his foot. “This feels like a professional job. A lot of planning, a lot of work to kill someone in the most public way possible. And, most telling, when it didn’t work according to plan—she withdrew.”
“Not ‘someone,’ ” I said. “You. It makes sense. She didn’t want Heart killing you; she wanted to do it herself.”
“No.” It was Ben. “I was wrong to suggest a trophy hunter. This didn’t have that feel. It wasn’t personal. A woman out for blood—assuming fae females are like the rest of the cu—”
“There’s a lady present,” growled Adam. “Watch your language.”
Ben grinned at me. “Fine. Assuming fae ladies are like other ladies, this one would have been excited, triumphant over the kill. And enraged when I came along and ruined her fun. She didn’t even hesitate when she spotted me. Dropped the gun and ran—no fuss, no bother.”
“Well trained,” said Adam. “Or just a cool thinker.” He looked at me. “And while I admit it looks as though I was the target, it could as easily have been Zee or you. Heart had silver bullets—so the assassin used them, too. It doesn’t mean she was hunting werewolves, not when we know Heart was.”
Tony opened the front door. “You okay, Mercy?”
“Fine,” I lied, but I didn’t expect anyone here to believe me anyway.
Tony frowned at me, then turned his attention to Adam. “You have any enemies we should know about? Sounds like Heart’s producer wanted some more publicity—but we won’t know for certain until we run her down. He had the right paperwork, other than the small fact that it isn’t legitimate. There was a series of victim photos, too. We’ll look into how she got them when we talk to her.”
“Internet,” said Ben. “There’s a website devoted to pictures of dead bodies.”
We all looked at him, and he smirked. “Hey. Don’t look at me—it’s the job.” He saw Tony’s blank face and continued. “Information technologies, IT—you know, computers. At work, when we get bored, we issue challenges—like the person who can come up with the worst website gets taken out to lunch. I got the free lunch—the dead-bodies guy was the runner-up. When I chatted up the bounty hunter’s people, they showed me the photos of the bodies in the file. The dead-bodies website has a section devoted to animal kills. I recognized one of the photos from that.”
“You are a sick, sick man,” I told him.
“Thank you,” Ben replied, looking modest.
“Someone’s after you,” Tony told Adam.
“See,” I said. “Tony thinks you
’re the target, too.”
Adam shrugged. “I’ll be careful.”
Werewolves are tough, and Adam tougher than most—but I’d seen a lot of them die.
“Yeah, well, you keep me on speed dial and don’t kill anyone if you can help it.” Tony looked at me again. “Hey, Mercy. Did you talk to Sylvia? She looked pretty upset when she left. Are they all right?” His heart was in his eyes. He was interested in her and had approached her once. She’d told him she didn’t date people she worked with—and that had been that, as far as she was concerned.
“She wasn’t happy about Heart pointing a gun at Maia,” I told him. “But I think she was madder at me than Heart. He didn’t bring in a werewolf for her kids to play with.”
His face went police-officer blank. “What?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t think she’ll be coming here to get her car fixed anymore. Gabriel’s not coming back either.”
“You did what?”
“Cut it out,” growled Adam. He gestured at Sam. “This wolf would never harm a hair on a child’s head, and Mercy knew it.”
“Special circumstances today,” I reminded Adam harshly—how could he have forgotten that we weren’t dealing with Samuel but with his wolf? “She was right to be angry. If I’d remembered Sylvia and the girls were going to be here, I wouldn’t have brought him.”
“Were they in any danger?” asked Tony.
“No,” said Adam, and he meant it.
“Did Mercy know that?”
“Yes,” Adam said right over the top of my “no.” “She’s just feeling guilty because she thinks she should have told Sylvia anyway.”
Tony looked at me. “Sylvia’s not unreasonable.” He paused and gave me a little smile. “Not really. If you explained—”
“They’re gone,” I told him. “It’s for the best. Since I’ve started running around with the wolves”—and fae and vampires—“this is not a safe place anymore.”
“Is it safe for you?” he asked.
Before I had to answer, the door opened one more time and Kelly Heart came in. My office isn’t too big—and it was already holding me, Zee, Sam, Adam, Ben, and Tony. Kelly was one and a half persons too many. Sam growled at the bounty hunter, but he’d have to go over Zee, Adam, and me to get to him—or hop over the counter.
“Mr. Heart?” I asked.
“My camera people tell me that someone borked the cameras in the van.” He looked at Ben. Who smirked. Sam’s growls were getting a little louder.
After a moment, Heart shrugged. “Pretty tough to do. It left us with just the data from Joe’s camera, which ends with Ms. Thompson disarming me. The cameras aren’t coming out of my salary, anyway.” He looked at me. “You moved pretty damned fast.”
“Not a werewolf,” I told him in bored tones as I shoved my way past Ben so I had my back to the counter. Not much better, because Sam could just jump on top of it, then over me, but maybe I’d slow him down.
“I just came to get the gun.” He smiled at me. “My crew is extremely concerned that we might lose the silver bullets.”
“Mercy,” said Tony. “If you are okay, I don’t need to know about any gun I might have to include in my report.”
“We’re fine,” I told him. “Adam’s here.”
“Yeah,” said Tony wryly after a quick glance at Adam. “I think you’re safe enough, Mercy. I’ll get back to work.” He opened the door. “You sure you don’t want me to talk to Sylvia?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “This is easier. Better.”
“All right.” He left, and there were still too many people in the room.
“So now that the cops are gone, are you going to tell me what this morning was all about?” Heart asked. “Why someone would get us all the way out here from California to play an elaborate practical joke that could have gotten people killed?”
“No,” said Adam.
Heart took two steps forward and stood over Adam. “What did your errand boy go chasing after across the street?”
Before I could mention that threatening a werewolf was a little rash, Adam had the bounty hunter pinned against the door, with a forearm across his throat. Heart was taller, bigger, and more obviously muscled—but he wasn’t a werewolf.
“Not your business,” said Adam in a low, hungry voice.
“He’s not the enemy,” I told Adam. “Don’t kill him. And, Mr. Heart, if you are going to hunt werewolves, you ought to do your homework. Don’t try threatening an Alpha. They don’t like it.”
Adam increased the pressure against the bounty hunter’s throat, but Heart, after an abortive effort to break free, quit struggling.
Adam took a step back, opening and closing his hands several times—maybe to shake off the desire to hit the bounty hunter. When he turned his back on Heart, I think everyone took a relieved breath.
“I’m as upset as you are,” Heart told Adam. “Daphne . . . My producer is missing. She’s a good person. Someone gave her that file and had her send me after you. She’s not in her office, she’s not answering her phone, and her housekeeper hasn’t seen her for three days. And I don’t even know where to look.”
Adam sighed and stretched his shoulders to relieve the tension. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know who planned this or why—or even if I was the real target. Give me your card. If I find out something that might help, I’ll get in touch.”
“Is your producer fae?” I asked him. Adam put his hand on my shoulder—a clear signal I should shut up. He didn’t want me making Heart curious. I was more worried that he might know something that we needed—something that might tell us if the intended victim was Adam.
“No,” Heart said. “Why? Do the fae have something to do with it?”
“Not that we know of,” said Adam.
“Then why ask about fae?”
“You sound a little too certain that your producer isn’t a fae,” observed Ben.
“She’s a member of several fae hate groups—which takes guts in Hollywood today—and likes to rant about how the country is succumbing to the wiles of the Wee Folk.”
“When did you find out they were sending you here?” I asked.
Heart turned to me, his face thoughtful. “Yesterday morning. Yes, that means that Daphne hadn’t been home for two days before that.” He smiled at me. “You were supposed to be the Alpha’s eye candy.”
Adam laughed.
“What?” I asked him. “You don’t think I’d be good eye candy?” I looked down at my overalls and grease-stained hands. I’d torn another nail to the quick.
“Honey is eye candy,” said Ben apologetically. “You’re . . . just you.”
“Mine,” said Adam, edging between Heart and me. “Mine is what she is.”
Heart took out another card and gave it to me. “Call me if you have any more questions. Or if someone knows something that might help me find Daphne. She’s good people. I don’t see her pulling this as a prank or publicity stunt.”
Heart gave Adam a nod and left. Ben followed him out the door—and Sam wiggled through before the door closed.
Zee looked at Adam and me. “I’ll just go keep an eye on Samuel, shall I? That way, if he hunts someone down, I can share in the spoils.”
“And you can give Heart back his gun,” I told him.
Zee grinned cheerfully and produced a hunk of metal that was sort of pretty—steel shot with silver. “I’ll be sure he leaves with it.” He shut the door to the garage behind him, leaving me alone with Adam.
“Mercy,” Adam said. And his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of its case on his belt with an impatient jerk. He glanced at the number, took a deep breath, and answered it.
“Hauptman,” he grunted.
“Adam,” said the Marrok’s easy voice. “I need you to locate Mercy and my son.”
“I know where they are,” Adam said, meeting my eyes. No such thing as a private phone conversation with me or any of the wolves around. Adam could have chosen to take the phon
e call outside, where he could have talked to Bran in private.
There was a little pause.
“Ah. Would you be so good as to put one or the other on the phone?”
“I think,” Adam said carefully, “that it might be a little precipitous to do that.”
Another long pause, and Bran’s voice was cooler when he spoke. “I see. Be very careful here, Adam.”
“I believe I am,” Adam said.
“I can talk to him,” I said, knowing Bran would hear me.
Adam was putting himself up as a shield between Samuel and his father. If something happened, Bran would hold him responsible.
I love Bran. He, as much as my foster parents, raised me. But I’m not blind about it. His first directive is to protect the wolves. If that meant killing his son, he would do it—but he would kill Adam faster.
Adam said, “No. My territory, my responsibility.”
“Fine,” said the Marrok. “If I or mine can help, you will call me.”
“Yes,” Adam said. “I’ll call you by the end of the week with the results.”
“Mercy,” Bran said. “I hope this is the best path.”
“For Samuel,” I said. “For me, for you. I think it is. Maybe not so much for Adam.”
“Adam has always had . . . heroic tendencies.”
I touched Adam’s arm. “He’s my hero.”
There was another pause. In person, Bran doesn’t think out his comments as much. The phone is difficult because wolves communicate so much with their bodies.
“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Bran said. “Be careful, Adam, or you’ll turn her into a real girl.”
Adam looked at me. “I like her just the way she is, Bran.” And he meant it, greasy overalls, broken fingernails, and all.
Bran laughed, then stopped. “Take care of my son. And don’t wait until it is too late to call me.” He hung up.
“Thank you,” I told Adam.
He put his cell phone away. “I didn’t do it for you,” he said. “Wolf in charge or not, Samuel obviously isn’t as dangerous as most of us would be. There are some advantages to being very old. But the letter of the law is what Bran has to follow. If he knew exactly what was going on, he’d have to carry out the sentence.”
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