Wolf's Edge (The Nick Lupo Series Book 4)
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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lupo
He went back to where Simonson lay dead in a puddle of gore and closed his eyes, one at a time. He tucked both sheathed daggers into his belt. Then he picked up his silenced Glock left-handed. His right hand was a mangled mass of melted, seared skin, and the pain was so intense he could barely stand.
He checked his watch.
DiSanto, the cavalry, should be at the gates now, having made the trip with the department’s chopper as Lupo had instructed. A trip to the local law enforcement, a warrant signed by a friendly Milwaukee County judge in his hand, should have stimulated their interest. Lupo’s phone hadn’t vibrated in his pocket, so everything must have gone according to plan. A convoy of cop cars should have been driving through the gates, the guards held at gunpoint.
The werewolves stationed here would make themselves scarce.
Live to fight another day?
He turned back to where Heather guarded the Wolfpaw CEO he had known as Sigfried. Schlosser sounded more like a remnant of the Nazi party, though.
He brought up the Glock and unsnapped the suppressor.
“What are you doing? Do you know who I am?” Schlosser demanded.
That old chestnut? He’d have to tell DiSanto.
He glanced at his watch. Probably less than five minutes now.
He nodded at the wolf, who growled at Schlosser. It blurred, and then it was Heather standing there again. She put her long hand on Lupo’s mangled arm and hissed in sympathy.
“God, Nick, this looks terrible. Painful.”
“You have no idea,” he said, not taking his eyes off Schlosser, who seemed to be measuring his distance to the door.
“We almost done here?” Heather asked.
“Almost.”
“You got DiSanto leading the charge again?”
“He’s getting really good at it,” Lupo said.
He smacked Schlosser with his mangled arm and the CEO cringed, crying out.
“That’s for what you did to Mordred, or Simonson, and all the other people you and your family tortured through the decades. The Reaper, huh? Something to really be proud of.”
“Nick, the time.” Heather said.
He noticed for the first time her Nazi tattoos. “Those real?”
She grinned. “Yeah, had to be convincing. But I’m going to have them lasered off, and then the scars’ll heal back to normal.”
He shook his head. “You really are crazy. Dominatrix!”
Had to be good at it, he thought.
She tapped his watch.
“Okay, time to pay up, you sonofabitch. You and your mercenaries and murderers have had your way with too many good people. Here, overseas, you name it. With your threats gone, I’m sure the congressmen you silenced will go back on the attack. Wolfpaw is no more. As of now.”
He pushed Schlosser to the door through which Heather had come. “Is that one okay?”
“It’s like a study with a connecting door to a sort of secret apartment. There’s a desk.”
“Good.” Lupo shoved the shuddering CEO through the door bodily, eliciting a grunt of pain. He pushed him down in the chair behind the desk.
There was a pad and an expensive pen on the old-fashioned blotter.
“I’ll keep watch,” Heather said, backing out. She closed the door.
“Write,” Lupo said to Schlosser, handing him the pen. He held the Glock in his left. He thought he saw Ghost Sam standing in the room’s shadows. When he looked again, the specter was gone.
“Write what?” All fight had leaked from the CEO like bitter water.
“What I tell you.”
“Wait, I know something about your family…your father…”
Lupo rested the Glock’s muzzle on Schlosser’s forehead, staring into the frightened eyes below.
“Talk first, then,” he growled.
Heather
She thought she heard sirens outside, far away. Many of them. Coming closer. She looked at the door.
Come on, Nick. Come on.
Looked like DiSanto had come through. The information used to request the warrant couldn’t be ignored by any judge, anywhere. What she had culled from Sigfried’s—Schlosser’s—files had probably yielded several roads of inquiry.
Lupo was going to have a time of it, what with the missing cop and psychologist. But she never underestimated Lupo’s ability to shield himself. And Jessie.
It’s over.
Too bad, she thought. Being a dom had been…fun.
Too bad about Simonson, too. He’d been exciting.
She heard a single shot from behind the door.
She grinned.
It was over.
Minutes later, two wolves made for the woods backing the Wolfpaw compound as a file of official vehicles fanned out. They were ignored by almost everyone as escaping guard dogs.
DiSanto, wrapped up in a police kevlar vest, gave them a tentative little wave and watched them go.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Heather
Two weeks later…
She let herself into her huge Washington condo and closed the door behind herself, kicking off her heels and allowing her toes to sink into the shag carpeting. It was retro, it was decadent, and she’d had to have it.
She still felt the ache of where her tattoos had been removed—shouldn’t they have healed by now?
Then she flicked on her dim lights and turned.
And stopped, startled.
Her eyes widened a fraction, but she could hide her feelings easily enough.
“Hello, Jessie,” she said, smiling as if they were friends and Jessie had stopped by for a sociable cup of coffee or tea with cake and scones. “I didn’t expect you, or I would have prepared something.”
“Cut the pleasant bullshit,” Jessie said from where she stood, leaning against the massive, oblong desk set at one side of the wide living room. Behind her were floor to ceiling bookshelves. Heather’s laptop, a silver Mac, was open on the desk. Jessie tossed a tiny flash drive up in the air and caught it.
“Thanks for your files,” she said. “Should do the trick.”
“Trick, what trick?” Heather said, looking down while sidling closer. She took her hand away from her side. Appeared to be checking for her discarded shoes.
“Prove to Nick that you’ve been keeping files on him, on me, on all of us and what we do and why. You have enough information to get us all charged with something, certainly to make our lives miserable. Maybe now Nick will believe that you aren’t on his side after all, even though you seem to be obsessed with him.”
Heather said nothing.
Jessie grimaced. “I saw through you from the start, but Nick—well, Nick is damaged when it comes to women. He’s too easily led to the wrong conclusion.”
“And you lead him to the right conclusion? When you’re not busy pushing the slot machine buttons?” Zing.
“I never claimed to be the best thing he’s ever had,” Jessie said, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. “I never said he owed me anything. I never led him wrong.”
Now Heather was slowly approaching her intruder. “Well, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out. I’ll take that flash drive now.” She held out her hand.
“Fuck yourself.”
“Don’t make me angry, Jessie. You don’t want to make me angry.”
Heather seemed to be touching herself in the dim light, but then her dress dropped off her shoulders, and she stepped out of it almost daintily. Naked now, her breasts thrust out at Jessie and, her exquisitely honed body glowing, she stepped closer.
Jessie spoke. “You shouldn’t make me angry, Heather. I have what I need. Step aside. All you’ll lose is Nick.”
Heather couldn’t help but laugh. “Jessie, I don’t plan on losing anything. Now, if you want to leave here alive, hand over the drive.”
Jessie shook her head. “No,” she said. “You lose this time.”
And
didn’t move from her spot.
Heather’s features turned ugly. Her sneer became the basis of a growl, climbing up from the depths of her throat.
Long runs of light-colored fur started to sprout along her back and shoulders and on her belly. Her manicured nails turned to claws. Her teeth became fangs. Another growl erupted from her throat. Her eyes swirled and changed colors like kaleidoscopes.
Jessie seemed mesmerized for one second.
But then she showed what her other hand held. It was one of the twin Longinus daggers from the wooden case they had taken from Mordred’s car. Its blade glowed as she slowly unsheathed it from the shielding wooden scabbard.
Heather’s body blurred and she was now on all fours, a sleek giant gray wolf poised to leap and maul her intruder.
The dagger’s point cleared the end of the scabbard and Jessie held it, much more expertly than Heather would have expected, and approached the threatening wolf.
The wolf lunged.
Jessie’s hand became a blur in motion, the bluish glow of the blade marking the arc of her attack.
They met in the middle of the room.