by Sharon Green
I turned from putting the gun back in the forms case in time to see Jaril handing a business card to Freemont, then Jaril looked at me. The look was as strange as some of those his brother gave me, but he didn't say anything. He just walked away, which let Freemont close the door.
"For a couple of minutes there I was glad of the blanketing spell," Freemont said after taking a deep breath. "When I saw you go down under that second wave of attackers I was afraid to know - Why don't we get you into bed now. You can shower in the morning when you're feeling more up to it."
"In a few minutes I'll be up to it tonight and I'd rather wait," I said, turning toward the sitting area and the cup of coffee I'd abandoned. "Besides, I need to unwind before I'll be able to sleep."
I went to the chair I'd been using and lowered myself into it, then leaned forward to get my cup from the coffee table. The pain was receding slowly as my strength came back, but I still felt flattened.
"So… When do we become official members of the task force?" Freemont asked much too casually as he reclaimed his own chair. "Having federal badges ought to make our work a lot easier, don't you think?"
I was busy sipping cold coffee so I didn't answer him, but George didn't have that problem.
"Joining the task force would do more than just give you two badges," he said, and I could feel the weight of his stare. "You'd be associating with people who really want you around, people who aren't prepared to take no for an answer. Please, Taz, tell me you aren't going to be stupid about this."
"It isn't stupid to refuse to let yourself be forced into things," I said, paying a lot of attention to the cup I held. "Those two men make me very uneasy, and it isn't smart to get involved with people you don't trust."
"Those two men don't make you uneasy, they make you nervous," George stated, interrupting some kind of protest from Freemont. "Do you think I missed how worried they were when they thought you were seriously hurt? They definitely want you for their task force, but they also have a more personal interest and that scares you. When we were partners in New York the longest you ever dated any one man was three times. Was I supposed to have missed that?"
"Personal relationships bring nothing to your life but complications," I stated, still studying the cup I held. "It isn't the same for men, so don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. Besides, I've never been all that interested in older men."
"What do you mean, older men?" Freemont demanded. He'd immediately gotten caught up in George's accusations, and now he sounded indignant. "Those two can't be more than five or six years older than you if that, and they're just as hetero as you are. Not to mention gorgeous. How can you refuse to give one of them a chance to get you interested?"
"No, they're a lot older than that, but so what?" George said. "Ordinary men don't seem to interest you, so why not give a different kind of man a chance? Or did you intend to spend the rest of your life with just Freemont and me?"
"What do you mean they're older than that, George?" Freemont asked as I got out of the chair and headed for the bedroom. "How much older can they be?"
I didn't know how Freemont could have missed what Grail had told us, but I also didn't care. I now had enough strength to stand through a shower, so I intended to do just that. The idea of getting into bed clean was more attractive than any man living or dead, and if anyone didn't like that they could lump it.
When I noticed I'd carried the coffee cup into the bedroom I put it down on the nightstand between the beds, got my night shirt, then went into the bathroom. I had to take off my clothes slowly because of my side, but when I also took off the bandage I found that the wound hadn't opened up again. It was very tender and throbbed like crazy, but it wasn't bleeding.
Soaping my body near the wound wasn't fun but I did it anyway. Rinsing off was almost as interesting, and once I stepped out of the shower I still had drying off to look forward to. Instead of going straight to the drying, though, I wrapped one of the big towels around me, got a smaller towel, then sat down on the commode seat to dry my hair first.
Which meant there was nothing left to keep me from thinking about what George had said. These days it was often hard for a woman who wasn't stay-at-home to associate with men in any way other than as co-workers. If the man was a dog he worried that you might be making more money than he did, and he resented it if you'd earned a promotion that he hadn't. He also sometimes assumed that you were cheating on him, so he didn't hesitate to get something on the side himself.
But if the man was the decent sort, the kind of man you enjoyed being with because he truly cared, you then had an even bigger problem. That kind of man wanted his woman to be safe, needed her to be safe. If her job was in the least dangerous he worried, and if her job was very dangerous the worry became a major problem between them. People seemed to be designed so that it was acceptable for men to do dangerous things, but women weren't supposed to. Mother Nature, totally uninterested in equality. What a disappointment.
I finished with the small towel and dropped it to the floor, then stood up to dry the rest of me and brush my hair. By tomorrow I'd feel fine, but right now I had the urge to wonder which football team's offensive line had run over me. That on top of the wound I'd gotten earlier would have added wonderfully to any relationship I'd been foolish enough to become involved in, a truth George refused to see.
Or maybe George was hoping I'd become deeply enough involved with a man that I'd give up rogue hunting. George and I had been family as well as partners before he died, and his having been fifteen years older than me had tended to make him think of himself as my father. What he thought I'd do instead I had no idea. Teaching first grade or joining a garden club had never been on my list of career choices.
And that was another reason why I really didn't want to join that task force. Vampires might be a part of society in almost every country in the world, but most of the ones I'd come across had been rogues needing killing. The way Grail had touched me outside, after the fight… If I hadn't been hurting so badly I might have responded to what he did in another way, a way George seemed to approve of. But I didn't need that, at least not from Grail, no matter what George thought.
Jaril had looked at me in the same way, but his still being - mostly - human didn't make him any more appealing. He had a lot of power he didn't mind using, and trusting someone like that was stupid. Not to mention the fact that I had a feeling the two task force leaders had a private reason for their interest in me. George could be hoping they'd give me a desk job in an office somewhere, and then the twin men would be able to come courting. Like hell.
No, joining the task force just wasn't a good idea. I finally gave up on the drying and threw the towel onto the smaller one, brushed my hair fast, then slipped into my nightshirt. The shirt was blue and reached all the way down to below my knees, a size that was called Texas Small. I couldn't have slept in anything so all-over covering, but for wearing between the bathroom and a bed it did a great job.
It took only a minute to walk from the bathroom to the bed closest to the windows, but when I sat on the bed after pulling down the covers I saw I had company. Freemont stood in the bedroom doorway, George hovering right behind him.
"What are your plans for tomorrow?" Freemont asked, and the worry was clear in his voice. "You can't let yourself be arrested, Taz, you just can't."
"Before I leave in the morning I'm going to call the media," I answered, only just keeping myself from sighing. "If I hold a press conference before going into the police station, Detective Wilson should have some trouble making his trumped-up charges stick. Don't worry, I won't let that fool mess things up for us. Okay?"
Freemont nodded with a sickly kind of smile, then he turned and headed back for the sitting room. He had the same bad habit I did, needing to read before going to bed, but tonight holding the book up would have been a chore for me. George hovered a moment longer before following Freemont, giving me a chance to get into bed, take off the nightshirt, and tur
n off the light.
One benefit in being almost out of strength is that you don't spend a lot of time trying to fall asleep.
Chapter Four
The next morning I had all my strength back and the wound was nothing but a thin red line along my side. The benefits in being a shapeshifter don't really outweigh the drawbacks, but the compensation of healing literally overnight is something to appreciate.
Because I meant to speak to the media, I wore a light blue shirt with my gray slacks and white sneakers instead of a T-shirt. Casual is okay in front of the cameras, sloppy isn't. Too often sloppy is taken for sleazy, and that was a direction I couldn't afford to go in this morning. I also carried a white shoulder bag, symbolism at work in the effort. Wearing a white hat would have pushed the point, but the shoulder bag should be subtle enough to get by. My holster and sheath were in the shoulder bag along with a new belt. When I got my weapons back I'd be ready to wear them.
"You don't look happy, Taz," George said as I walked down the stairs on the way to the parking area. "Why is that?"
"I don't like the fact that Freemont is still being blocked," I answered, hating the way George was pushing the point. "I know you trust those people, George, but I don't. I want to know what they're keeping us from finding out about."
George started to say something in response, then his words broke off when he realized I wasn't listening. I'd stepped outside to see that the mess from last night was completely gone, but something else had been added.
A smaller limo than the one from last night stood not far from the door, a woman beside it. The woman wore a skirt suit in gray with a white blouse, making me wish I'd chosen a different color combination for myself. Her sensible shoes were dark gray, her face put her in the mid thirties, her hair was blond, and her eyes blue. She stood a couple of inches shorter than me in spite of the moderate heels, and her smile was cold enough to freeze a magnesium flare.
"Good morning, Ms. Bell," she said when she saw me. "Right on time, I'm glad to see. I'm Linda Sontaag, and we have an appointment with the chief of police in a little while. But there's enough time to stop for a cup of coffee for you on the way. I would have gotten you the coffee on my way here, but I was told that that wouldn't be a good idea."
"You're a lawyer," I said rather than asked, knowing it for a fact. "I didn't ask for a lawyer, and I sure as hell didn't ask for one from them."
"We owe you a favor for the effort you made last night, Ms. Bell," the woman answered. Her smile was still sub-zero, but now it was also faintly amused. "There are no strings attached to the help I'll be giving you, and you won't even need to say thank you. Take my help, Ms. Bell. It's the best offer you're likely to get today."
"Now you know why Freemont is still blocked," George murmured from where he floated right next to me. "They were afraid you would take this wrong, but that would not be very smart. If they feel they owe you, let them pay the debt."
And then we'll be even and I'll be free to walk away. George didn't add that last but I did, and I really liked the sound of it.
"All right, Ms. Sontaag, we'll let you pay the debt your people think they owe me," I said after making up my mind. "Why are we going to see the chief of police?"
"When you expect to have trouble with an employee, you talk to his boss before the trouble starts." Sontaag's smile hadn't warmed any, but now it looked satisfied. "We need to get going right now, or we won't have time to stop for your coffee."
She opened the limo door and got in, a silent invitation for me to do the same. I would have preferred using my own car, but the Saturn didn't scream power the way a limo did. Obviously I wasn't the only one who believed in using visual aids. Sontaag had slid over to the righthand side of the car, so I got in and closed the door. George put himself on the facing seat, and the limo started to move.
I got a cup of coffee from the same gas station Freemont and I had used last night, and was even able to drink some of it before we reached the Masson Town Hall. The Town Hall was on the opposite side of the building from the police station, and no one seemed to have followed us there. It looked like Jaril's spell was still working, and the police watching my motel had no idea I'd left.
As soon as Police Chief Leo Standing's secretary found out who we were she ushered us right into her boss's office. Standing was a tall man of about fifty who carried more weight than he should have, his red and jowly face saying the same thing his body did. He was badly out of shape, but his dark eyes said he saw himself as he'd probably been in his younger years.
"Ms. Sontaag, this is an honor," Standing said after getting to his feet. "Federal agencies don't ask for the help of my department every day."
"It's more your help we need, Chief Standing," Sontaag answered without any kind of smile, at the same time taking one of the chairs in front of the man's desk. "This is Ms. Bell, formerly a detective with the New York City police department. Ms. Bell is the rogue hunter who found and stopped those ghouls yesterday."
"I heard about that," Standing said, offering me his hand once I got close enough. He hadn't offered his hand to Sontaag, but then Sontaag wasn't a former cop. When I gave him my own hand he just shook it, no power games, no tries to prove I'd just been lucky when I did something he hadn't. "We owe you our thanks, Ms. Bell. We purely hate it when we're used like that, not to mention what we were being used for."
"My pleasure," I said, able to sit down once I took my hand back. Standing waited until I was seated, then sat down himself.
"But there's something that won't be a pleasure for her," Sontaag said, drawing Standing's attention again. "Our people have found out that one of your detectives has been naughty. He … convinced the man Ms. Bell made it possible to arrest to say that Ms. Bell was part of the ghoul gang. Since Ms. Bell had plenty of opportunity to kill the man before the police arrived, the claim is patently ridiculous. The very fact that the man is able to be questioned proves the lie, but your detective doesn't seem to have thought of that."
"It's probably just an honest mistake," Standing said, his face suddenly closed down completely. "Masson may not be as big as some towns in this state, Ms. Sontaag, but that doesn't mean we act any less honorably."
"It isn't your whole department, Chief, it's just Wilson," I put in before he could dismiss the entire idea. "I used to back my own when I was still on the force, but never somebody who was just pretending to be mine. Wilson doesn't want to protect and serve, he just wants to make a big enough name for himself that he'll be invited to play in a suitably bigger pond."
"And apparently he doesn't care who he hurts along the road to fame," Sontaag added. "We've done some looking into the matter, and this isn't the first time Wilson has pulled something like this. I like to think that one of his previous chiefs would have stopped him, but people of Wilson's sort seem to know when it's time to change locations. Are you going to give him a chance to find another innocent town to take advantage of, or are you going to stop him once and for all?"
Standing's face still showed nothing in the way of emotion, but the look in his dark eyes said he should have gone haggard. Some cops believe in protecting their own even if the people involved have actually committed a crime, and I would have bet money on the fact that Standing had once been a cop. His decision was still a toss-up for about fifteen long seconds, and then he leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with his hands.
"I hate this, I really hate this," he muttered, then he pulled his hands away from his face and sat forward again. "I'd like to see your identification, Ms. Sontaag."
"Certainly, Chief Standing," Sontaag answered, reaching into the dark gray briefcase she'd taken out of the car with her. "Here it is. Please feel free to call anyone you care to in order to verify what I've told you. It really isn't necessary that you simply take my word for it."
Standing opened the small ID case she'd handed to him and stared down at her credentials for a minute without speaking. I could tell he wasn't a happy man, but that didn
't keep him from going straight to the bottom line.
"Considering who called me to say you were coming by, checking your statements about the past won't be necessary," he said after the minute as he handed back the case. "I appreciate you and your people not spreading the word about what almost happened. Give me a minute and I'll take care of the problem."
He picked up his phone, did some pressing of keys, then said, "This is Standing. Give me Bill Wooding."
He only had to wait for a minute, but during the short wait I wondered if that was the same Bill who was the other detective in the warehouse. Then his party was on the line and it was time to listen instead.
"Bill, I need to ask you a couple of questions," Standing said. His voice was flat, but his expression had turned downright grim. "During that trouble at the warehouse yesterday… Did you and your people walk in just as the fight was finishing, or was it all over before you got there?"
"No, the whole thing was settled before we showed up," I heard the voice on the phone say. The voice did sound like Detective Bill, but I made sure not to change my own expression. Sontaag couldn't hear what was being said, so I pretended I couldn't either. "What's wrong, Chief?"
"You arrested someone in the warehouse," Standing said, making no effort to answer Bill's question. "What did the man say when you questioned him, and who videotaped the interview?"
"I wasn't the one who questioned him, Chief," Bill answered after a short but noticeable hesitation. "Wilson and a couple of uniforms took the suspect to the hospital to get his broken wrist put in a cast, and before they got to the station I had to leave on another call. Wilson did the interview, but he mentioned later that the video camera was acting up so only part of the interview was taped."
"And what part was that?" Standing asked, his voice more dead than flat now.
"The part where the suspect accused that rogue hunter of being a member of the gang," Bill said. There was no hesitation in his voice now, but the words were almost as dead as his chief's. "And before you ask, yes, Wilson did the interview alone. Are we in trouble, Chief?"
