Conditional Probability of Attraction (The Outlier Prophecies Book 2)

by Tina Gower

  Why would she choose me? Because I have a history of disciplinary action against me? Does she think that I’ll remain quiet to keep my record clean? Or is she finding some excuse to push me out? Those thoughts don’t sit well.

  Gretchen doesn’t seem to see me as expendable. But the more I chew on the evidence, the more I tick off reasons I’d be the perfect candidate for such a risky job. I’m a blank, someone who is fateless, I can’t be predicted on and I work in an industry that relies on predictions to function. On the surface, I have no horse in this race.

  I’m new to Accidental, barely there for less than a month. I’ve yet to prove myself. I took over Michelle Kitman’s office, the nation’s Investigative Actuary hero who retired about three years ago. Filling her shoes is a challenge and my coworkers, although warming up to me lately, could easily let me go and not be too bent up about it.

  This is just the first line of a long line of shitty cases thrown my way.

  Becker groans. “Shit.”

  His cursing pulls me from my self-pity. “What?”

  I follow his line of sight into my laptop case. For a minute I think he’s spotted the lone wolf book, but he motions for me to put my files away. My cheeks get hot at almost getting caught with the book, but it’s well hidden. Thank gods. Becker glances at his rearview mirror. Behind us, I see the flashing of red and blue lights.

  “It’s Lipski,” Becker says it the same way some people would announce the arrival of their much younger, more annoying sibling. This was usually how my brothers would announce me.

  Lipski knocks on his window.

  Becker rolls it down. “Problem, officer?” He smiles, but it’s all teeth.

  “Yeah, you forgot to sign this.” He tosses the paperwork I filled out through the window.

  Becker digs for a pen.

  “Is this how police officers flirt?” I ask.

  “Why? This how Beck flirts with you?” Hank retorts back with a wink. He nudges Becker’s shoulder. “You coming to the bar tonight? It’s my birthday. You can’t say no.”

  “No.”

  “Come on—”

  “After I drop Ms. Hale off, I’m meeting friends for dinner.” Becker says it all real smooth, then glances at me briefly, when Hank steps back, clearly having accepted the half-truth.

  Yes, okay, I get it, Becker. You’re an excellent liar. And I clearly suck at it.

  Hank strokes his jaw with the back of his hand. “You don’t have friends.”

  Becker looks to me. “Hale, do I have friends?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. I’ve seen him with people outside of work.” Hoping I did a good job with my little test of truth-between-the-lines.

  Becker gives me a discrete thumbs up, out of Lipski’s view.

  Lipski watches us both, assessing. I can see the wheels turning. That he’s throwing out things to see what will catch.

  When the next one comes to mind, he preens at Becker. “Oh geez, fine, you can bring your girlfriend.” Hank nods his chin at me.

  And he’s backed into a corner, because he’s on the girlfriend tangent again. I sigh. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

  “Did you clear that with the wolf?”

  I keep my expression neutral, but don’t offer him more rope to hang myself. Like I said, I have brothers; I know how this works. My attention catches on the ring on his finger. “Your wife know you’re pulling over your partner and his coworker for sport? That you make a habit of being inappropriate with female employees in Predictions?”

  Hank’s grin fades. Bingo. He respects his wife’s opinion. There’s hope for Lipski yet.

  Becker’s grin brightens. Until his eyes narrow on a paragraph of my statement.

  He holds it up to me. “You didn’t see the guy? At the garage this morning?”

  “Huh? No.”

  “Tall, skinny, so-blond-it-might-as-well-be-white hair, and pale face, lots of freckles. He wore white coveralls spattered in grey paint and walked slowly toward us when we were in the elevator. He didn’t get too close, but he was looking right at us.”

  I pause, concentrating, trying to remember, but the memory isn’t there. And no mild headache or any indicator that I’d been wiped or had a memory lock cast on me. “No.”

  He turns to Lipski. “How could we miss it?”

  “Makes sense.” Hank rests his arms on the window opening. “The guy would be visible to everyone except for a small percent, but it narrows down our suspects dramatically.”

  Becker turns to me. “Our guy is a shade. He can make himself not visible to humans.” He rests his head on the back of his seat, staring at the ceiling. “He was showing off. When shades fade, they strengthen their scent to wolves. He was trying to intimidate me when he realized I’d made him. Make himself seem closer than he was. He must not have realized you wouldn’t see him because you’re human.”

  And I don’t have any supernatural blood in me. I’m not a practicing witch.

  “Hells yes.” Becker and Lipski smack their fists into each other’s. “We’ve got him.”

  “I’m on it.” Lipski takes the paperwork through the window. “I’ll go over our database and comb it for shades who might have priors. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go through Traffic for DMV records. We already had some intel on the guy. Now we’ll have his name, address, and personals in less than an hour.”

  The little exchange ends, and Becker eases out into traffic.

  “This is good news, right? This means after dinner you don’t have to guard me all weekend. You know the guy who’s after you.”

  Becker lets out a breath, one of exhaustion. Now that the sun’s light is going behind the mountains, I see the lines above his cheekbones. His eyelids are half-mast. I wonder how long he slept last night, if at all. “Unfortunately, no. You can’t see this guy, but I can. Also there’s no way I can check for predictions on your safety, because you’re fateless. Until we have him in for sure and I can confirm he’s not working with anyone else. I’m not going to be able to let you out of my sight.”

  He says the last very slowly. He’s not talking as Becker the police officer, he’s talking as Becker the werewolf. I’m reminded once again, that I have no idea what that means. I fix my gaze directly in front of me, not letting him see the alarm in my face, but I’m sure he can sense it.

  Chapter 8

  Ali has whipped up her masterpiece chicken soup and dumplings. She glares at me as I take a bite. Her eyebrow arches in question, or like she’s waiting for an explanation. Maybe because she discovered all the takeout containers in my trash. When she works nights I have a bad trans fat habit. But it’s something more. She’s piecing things together and I don’t like it. All through dinner she stares us down as though Becker and I might run away.

  She swirls a carrot around with her spoon. “...and so I don’t know. I spent how many years celibate? I held back my inner instincts to sleep with pretty much anything that was willing, all for the love of my discipline. Now, I feel lost. Like I’d I rather have a, blah”—she makes a face like her broth was sour—“relationship.” She makes like she’s going to take a bite, but then puts her spoon down. “It’s like sex has to have meaning now. I want meaningful sex and not meaningless sex. Ask me a week ago and I’d have just jumped anything. Right, Kate? I was so desperate once that celibacy vow lifted.”

  I stare into my bowl, willing her to shut up. The little twinkle in her eye says she’s having fun with this. Toying with us.

  Becker pushes his bowl away. “I’m getting my place fumigated.” He says out of nowhere. But a thankful nowhere considering the previous discussion topic. “I’ll probably sleep at the station unless there’s somewhere else.” He looks expectantly at both of us, more nervously at me.

  Ali sits up straight, almost as though she never expected him to be so direct.

  I clear my throat, catching Ali’s widened eyes and snickers to get my attention her expression seems to say “Offer him. Tell him to stay here.”

&nbs
p; I lace my fingers together and place them in front of me on the table, doing my best to look like I’m taking advice from Ali and not that we already had this set up. “I, uh, have a couch.”

  He breathes a sigh of relief and goes to open his mouth to accept, but he catches my slight shake of the head. Don’t give away your cards too quickly.

  Ali watches him, her teeth working on her lip. She’s doubting the speed and timing of this invitation. Her wheels are turning. We have to work a little harder to convince her.

  Becker frowns and narrows his gaze, zeroing in on me. “It’s fine. Now that I think about it, it might be more convenient for me to stay close to work.” He says the last deadpan. Although I know he’s struggling with the imaginary threat of having to separate with the object he wants to protect, it comes off as exhaustion.

  It works. Ali scoots to the edge of her chair. “No, really, you should stay with Kate. I know from experience she is really boring and won’t engage you in conversation. You’ll have your space.”

  I cross my arms. “Thanks, Ali. How sweet of you.”

  She continues. “You can also stay at my place.”

  Becker, gods bless him, pretends to mull that option over. “I’ll try the couch out and if I can’t stand it, I’ll head back to the station.”

  Ali claps as though it’s settled and gathers everyone’s bowls. “I’ll clean these dishes and get out of the way. I have an early shift in the morning.”

  Ali hums while she works. Becker and I blink at each other from across the table. It’s awkward. I set my napkin on the table.

  Becker does the same, then stands. “I’ll get my stuff.”

  He pins me with a look. He wants me to give him my key. I slide it over to him. He locks the door on his way out. Cautious, but also smart. We have no idea when the invisible shade will decide to reappear.

  I grab a towel to dry, working along side Ali. “Do you know any wards against shades?”

  “Yeah, I know several.”

  “Becker thinks that the guy he’s after is a shade.” At first I don’t bring up the parking garage, but then remember she saw us leave together in the morning. “This morning he says he saw him, but I didn’t.”

  Ali pats my shoulder. “My poor human cousin. There’s a whole world out there that you’re not privy to.” She plunges her hands back into the soapy water. “Sometimes I envy you.” She rinses, passes over the plate. “You’re going to need two teaspoons of sugar.”

  I grab some from the cupboard overhead.

  “Two cups of flour. A dash of cinnamon.”

  I get those too.

  “A pinch of salt.”

  “Right. You said salt is important in witchcraft.”

  “What?” She scrunches her nose. “This is my famous pancake recipe. You’re going to need to feed Becker and I won’t be here because I’ll be at work.” She lifts the items from my hold. “Please tell me he eats bacon now. Werewolves need protein like fish need water.”

  “He’s gone back to eating meat.”

  “Then he must have found a pack.”

  My neck heats up. I rub my hand over the tense spot just above my shoulder blades.

  Ali analyzes me. “He has a pack, right?” She ticks off the clues with her fingers. “He’s eating meat. He’s a heck of a lot calmer than a few weeks ago.”

  “I assume he must have…”

  “He didn’t say anything?”

  “We don’t talk much.” And really we don’t. But I have a feeling Becker talks to me more than he does anyone else.

  She knits her eyebrows. “It’s weird he didn’t go to his pack tonight. Since he’s getting his place fumigated. It would make sense to go where he has the emotional connection.”

  “He said something about a pack in Turmoil.” I offer quickly, maybe too quickly. I force myself to slow down. “That’s quite a drive on a work week.” I dry off a handful of forks and organize them into their designated drawer. I pause. Take a deep breath. I can do this. I can lie. Time to throw her off, as far off as I can. “Maybe he’s got someone.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and hope I’m convincing enough.

  She snorts. “He’s not that calm.”

  The door unlocks. Becker returns with a hat pulled low, so we can’t see his face. He stomps his feet at the entry to knock off the leaves. He tosses his bag at the foot of the couch and proceeds to kick off his shoes. If he heard our conversation, and I’m betting he did, he’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise.

  “You have to work tomorrow?” Ali asks him.

  “No. I think I’m going to do a quick trip to Turmoil.” He catches my gaze. So he did hear. Or he’s decided he’s done with this little pack setup and all its inconveniences.

  “Turmoil.” I tap my lip. “ForeverMatch’s headquarters are near there.”

  Becker fishes through his bag for a grey shirt and sweats. “Yeah? You should come with me. We can eliminate them as a suspect in that case you’re working on.”

  Ali makes a snoring sound. “All right, guys, before you get into the oh-so-fascinating topic of math, if you”—she points to Becker, then to me—“or you, or both of you are going to Turmoil, then I need you to pick me up some topaz at The Little Apothecary, Crystals, and Minerals on First Street. They have a mandala in the window.”

  I jot it down. “We’ll try.”

  “You better. It’s for you.”

  I tilt my head to the side, not following.

  “For your shade problem.” She says it real clear and pronounced, then blows a frustrated breath through her lips. “I’m out, guys. Early shift.” She gives Becker a look of pity and hooks her thumb at me. “Oh, and she snores.”

  The door clicks behind her.

  Becker shoves his clothes under his armpit. “Finally.” He crosses over to the door and locks it. I shake my head about to tell him not to, he cuts me off. “I’m not going to leave the door unlocked so we can keep up appearances with your cousin. A. She might walk in on us.” He motions to the bedroom. I clamp my mouth shut. He makes it sound so sordid. “B. There is a shade who’s hunting both of us.” He scrunches up his forehead, thinking of a third reason. “C. Werewolves don’t sleep with the door unlocked.” He slices his hand through the air like a judge banging a gavel and storms to my bathroom.

  All right, I twiddle my thumbs in my kitchen. He has a point.

  Chapter 9

  I look up the ForeverMatch’s employee list and see a name I recognize. Mia Peté. Short, sexy, cute, and sweet leprechaun who graduated a year below me at the same college in the actuary program. I send her an email and hear back a few minutes later. She’s free this afternoon and lives near Turmoil.

  Becker plans to meet with a rep from the pack at a coffee shop and so I arrange for Mia to meet me there as well. Our trip out of town goes smoothly and we manage an easy, non-awkward conversation.

  Turmoil is a secluded town that beats to a slower pace. Much slower than Angel’s Peak. Well removed from the city, it’s nestled further into the valley of the Sierra Nevada mountains just beyond Angel’s Peak and has only one long main street with three stop lights. One breath of air and my lungs fill with acrid pine and wood bark instead of smog.

  The sidewalks are wider the closer we get to the two tiny cobbled streets that make up downtown. We have to park a few blocks away, since cars are not allowed in the market areas. Thankfully, due to the size, it’s not far of a walk. We find a place in front of a few office buildings built like winter lodges with logs that tower into a long A-frame-style construction that most of the town has adopted. It doesn’t take us long to find the only coffee shop, but Becker stops midstride.

  I re-adjust my glasses. The prescription’s not quite right. They’re slightly blurry when I wear them, clear when I take them off. It’s as if I don’t need them as much anymore, but I still use them as a security blanket. It’s one more layer to protect me—even if imagined.

  Becker paces outside of the shop. “We made a mistak
e. We should go.”

  “I can’t leave Mia after she agreed to meet with me at the last minute on the weekend to talk about ForeverMatch. I’m basically accusing her of working for a dirty company. She’s taking a risk even being here.”

  “You’re taking a bigger risk. All she has to do is blow the whistle.” He tips up his jacket collar and stares at the two people, a man and a woman, sitting in a booth near the front door. “He said one rep. There are two here. Does he think I can’t count?”

  “It will be fine. Mia’s a good friend. I trust her. The other wolves aren’t going to hurt you. You can take them.” In case my words aren’t enough, I discreetly take his hand in both of mine, squeeze hard.

  “It’s not just them.” Becker revealed on the ride here that Lipski managed to get all our shade guy’s personals, and that he’d abandoned his home and work. Becker closes his eyes, centers himself, then stands up straight, analyzing me. “Do you have your mace?”

  I pat my pocket and fumble for it. Hold it up.

  “You should have it ready.” He replaces it in my palm at a better angle to keep it hidden and still able to use quickly. “In your hand or somewhere you can easily access it.” He points at my chest and gives me the motherly do-you-have-your-lunch-and-coat expression. “And you remember the moves I showed you? If he grabs from behind, stomp on the instep of his foot and back of the head to the nose. From the front—”

  “Go for his balls, twist. Yes. Yes, I remember.”

  He digs into his own pocket, produces a small blade. “And take this. Just in case.”

  I recoil. “I’ll just end up cutting myself. Besides I have the topaz. Ali says it can burn a shade if he gets close. He also won’t be able to stay invisible at certain distances.” We grabbed the largest rock we could find. Becker figured it would have a three-foot radius, not enough warning, but Ali texted he was being overly conservative. “Ali says we’ll get at least ten yards. At the very, very least.”

  “Not good enough. Not far enough.” He sighs, shakes his head. “Sit in the back left corner. Away from the employee exit.” He peeks into the shop again. “I’ll still have a clear view of both entries and can get to you quickly.”