by Lisa Ladew
Mac stopped next to Bruin to read it. The wolves are guarding the sheep, wake up, sheep! Below it was a black and yellow line-shaded drawing of a wolf that took Mac’s breath away, it was that good.
He whistled. “If I could draw like that, I’d draw nothing but naked females.”
Bruin didn’t even look around. “Wouldn’t you have to have seen one first?”
Mac laughed, surprised into it. “Funny, Paddington, I’ve seen me with females, you know who I’ve never seen with a female? You. Never gone to one rut. You scared of vaginas? Do boobies spook you?” But Bruin was already jogging away. He disappeared on the other side of the weird art. Mac shook his head. “Mik Maks is this way!” he shouted, but Bruin was gone.
“What?” Mac snarled to a young boy on a scooter who had stopped on the path to stare alternately at each of them. The boy scooted away and Mac hurried in the direction Bruin had disappeared in, ignoring the fresh air and birds.
He found the big male sitting at the end of a long table lined with people, each with a pie placed in front of them. A man nodded at Bruin, then a pie was set in front of him, too, and a whistle blown. The others at the table dropped their faces into their pies and began eating like their lives depended on them finishing their pies in 3.2 seconds.
Bruin produced a shiny fork from somewhere in the folds of his light jacket and dug in to his pie, his face alight with anticipation. Mac rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for this shit. Did you enter the pie eating contest?”
Bruin delicately chewed and swallowed the bite that he’d brought to his mouth before answering. He motioned at the tin full of crust and sugared berries in front of him and crooked one eyebrow at Mac. “Free pie.”
Mac nodded, like everything made sense. “Meet me at Mik Maks when you’re done.”
Bruin didn’t acknowledge him, already intent on his next bite.
***
Twenty minutes later, Bruin finally walked in the door, but Mac was almost done there. He had six new females already. Real party girls. The rut would change them for life, either set them on the path to becoming nuns, or ruin them for single men forever.
He eyed another group of giggling females, testing out opening lines in his head. Do you like cops? was used to death and useless in here. They all did, this was a cop bar and they knew it. How about something new? Hmm. How sensitive is your gag reflex? How long can you hold your breath? He nodded. The last time he’d used something like the first one on a female, she’d slapped him. He raised a hand to his cheek and rubbed the stubble there, savoring the memory. She’d been a feisty one, all attitude and snark right up until she’d invited him back to her place. He’d gone back for seconds and thirds with her, something he didn’t do often.
Bruin passed him without comment and hit the group of girls first. They eyed Bruin up and down, smiling openly at him. Sure, he was tall and muscular. He could think up a good joke every once in a while. But whatever else the females favored in him, Mac couldn’t see it. His brown hair was thick and never took a style. He almost had to clip it to his skull to make it not look ridiculous. No matter how often he shaved, he always had a five o’clock shadow, and, in fact, he’d taken to wearing a short-trimmed beard now that he never worked as a firefighter anymore. His nose was bent like it’d been broken a few times and his eyes were the same auburn brown as his hair, plus when he smiled, his dimples were lopsided. Whatever. There was no accounting for female taste. Mac settled back in his chair, watching closely. Bruin didn’t talk about females much, and Mac wanted to see if he had any game at all. Mac could still be friends with him if he didn’t, he just wouldn’t take him out much.
Bruin pulled over a chair and sat down with the females. Score one for him. But Mac almost fell over in his chair when he heard the first thing Bruin said.
“I live at home with my parents.”
Mac’s mouth dropped open and he looked around. Had anyone else heard that? He didn’t know any of the cops in the bar by name, but he recognized most of them as patrol officers. All of them had their eyes glued to their food. Clowns.
Bruin was at it again. He leaned in close to one brunette and smiled at her, just one stupid dimple appearing. “I have my own pad in the basement, but my mom packs my lunch every day.”
Mac shot to his feet while all the females at the table giggled. School was in session.
He tapped Bruin on the shoulder, smiling at the women. “Ah, Scorpion, could I talk to you for a sec?” He winked at one female who had raised her eyebrows at the interruption. “Scorpion, that’s his nickname.” He pulled Bruin to the bar and whispered intently to him. “Bear, be cool, you’re gonna ruin everything.”
Bruin jerked his head back, his eyebrows drawn tight. “What? Those are my best lines.”
Mac shook his head. “Those aren’t lines. Those are confessions.”
Bruin frowned. “Scorpion’s not my nickname. Who told you that?”
Mac’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You did, you big marshmallow.”
Bruin grinned. “Oh yeah, I remember.” He leaned in close. “Look, I have a rule. I can only lie to a female five times in our entire relationship. So I like to get them out of the way at the beginning. It doesn’t hurt that girls eat the corny stuff up.”
Mac stared hard, trying to make sense of any of what Bruin had just said. He looked at the table of females, half of whom were watching them, all still with smiles on their faces, then back to Bruin. “What happens when they find out the first five things you said were a lie?”
Bruin shrugged. “I don’t know, I never had one stick around that long.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Bruin crossed his arms over his chest. “Right, like you’ve had long relationships? Lay your longest one on me. What was it? A month? A week? Overnight?”
Mac didn’t say a word. He couldn’t defend himself.
Bruin raised his hand, palm facing Mac. “I thought so. Talk to the claw.”
“That was corny as shit.”
Bruin grinned. “Corny is my thing. I thought you knew.”
Mac frowned. “So, what about me? Is any of the shit you told me a lie?”
Bruin was already looking back at the table of women, waving at them. His eyebrows jerked as he glanced at Mac for only a second. “I don’t know. Read it back to me.”
“You big-”
Bruin put his hand on Mac’s shoulder to cut him off, leaning close. “Ooh, I got a good one. Watch and learn.”
He leaned over the bar and grabbed a lime, then headed back to the table of girls, producing a sharpie from some hidden pocket somewhere, and writing a phone number on the lime. He handed it to the female he’d been sitting next to before. “That’s my best pickup lime, just for you.”
Mac grabbed a chair and pulled it over, unable to believe he was going to even humor the bear, but the female had already whipped out her phone and texted the number Bruin had put on the lime, making Bruin’s phone chime in his pocket. The rest of them were giggling again.
Mac frowned, trying to think of the stupidest thing he could possibly tell a woman. He would give Bruin’s way a try, just so he could rub it in Bruin’s face later when the girls all took off.
He had it! He turned to the blonde next to him. “I didn’t learn to tie my shoes till I was 12. Velcro was my best friend.”
She threw her head back and laughed, then told him her name and touched his forearm lightly, making him shake his head.
Damn stupid bear.
Chapter 4
Rogue turned her face to the struggling sun as she walked down the sidewalk, a green messenger bag hanging from her shoulder. After this job, she would disappear somewhere for a few weeks. Somewhere warm with cliffs to jump from. Maybe she would try base jumping or flying a squirrel suit from the top of Angel Falls in Venezuela, her dream jump. Exhilaration stirred her good feelings. She had the file that was worth a small fortune. All that was left was to get it to Soren.
She
hooked a right, heading to the parking garage where she’d left one of her cars the night before. As she turned the corner, a cold wind blasted her, lifting her hair and reminding her spring was still only a promise, despite the sunshine. She pulled her light jacket tighter around her, cinched her stocking cap lower, and slouched a bit more. Cold weather was a friend in her business, bulky clothes and caps providing concealment that made her almost invisible. Long sleeves hid the knives strapped to her forearms.
She’d ditched the coveralls and cap back in the maintenance closet where she’d gotten them, intending to put them back in the stack, but she hadn’t been able to resist a load of wash agitating in the machine deep in the back of the small room. She had stuffed both items in, not reflecting on her luck. She’d always been an extraordinarily lucky criminal.
Halfway up the dusty concrete stairs to the second floor of the parking garage where her car was stashed, her senses pricked up. She slowed her steps and glanced to the ceiling of the stairwell. No one there. She peered over the handrail. No one below her either. But it wasn’t her being watched, she realized, it was her car. She had no idea how she could know such a thing, but she trusted her instincts implicitly. She kept climbing the steps past the floor she had intended to enter, all the way to the fourth floor, then pushed open the heavy steel door into the echoes and stink of the garage. She strode purposefully across the concrete, her Ugg boots making almost no noise. Ugg, she hated the boots, but they worked with her college girl ensemble/disguise which also included yoga pants, and a fur-fringed jacket pulled deep over her face.
She felt the eyes of her first tail fall on her right away, coming from the roof of the squat building across the street. She faked hurrying to her car in the far corner, out of his view, but his eyes didn’t slide off her. His interest didn’t go elsewhere. Which meant he’d been warned how good she was, and he would not dismiss her as the unrelated person she was trying to appear to be.
As she walked, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in furlined pockets, she thought about who was watching her, and why? If it was Soren, it meant he suddenly didn’t trust her, and that meant she could be in real trouble. The guy was dangerous. Not to her, never to her, but why would he watch her?
Rogue lowered her head, circled the row of cars, and headed back for the exit, feeling the interest on her double, although she still hadn’t placed the second watcher. She reached the exit door, hit it at a run, and shot down the stairs as lightly as she could in the ridiculous boots. They were good for not making any sound, at least. Once on the ground floor, she headed back the way she had come.
To lose herself in a crowd.
Any crowd.
***
Rogue dodged people on the sidewalk, weighing her options. She hadn’t been followed the night before or any time recently. These watchers were new, and somehow they’d known which car was hers, a feat which should have been impossible. It had been bought with cash, registered under one of her aliases, and left in storage until she needed it. She couldn’t think of one person who knew that alias, although she could think of a dozen who might have reason to follow her.
Her tails were still behind her and there were more now, one on the block to her left and one on the block to her right, keeping time, while more tracked her from behind, coming fast. They didn’t have a visual, but she bet they had radio, and they would be on her in moments if she didn’t do something quickly.
On impulse, Rogue turned to her right and jogged up the steps of a brownstone, her eyes scouting the lock type, her fingers teasing a curtain pick out of her pack on their own. She only had a few short moments before her tails were close enough to see her. She was an amazingly fast pick, but was anyone that fast?
She reached the door. Her fingers brought out her tool and seated it in the lock as her eyes searched the room beyond the glass. No people. It was a foyer to what looked to be a two-unit building. Perfect. Score one more for her intuition.
Before she had a chance to feel the placement of the levers or turn her pick, a succession of soft clicks told her the levers were sprung.
She frowned. She hadn’t even-shit. She turned the knob, pushed open the door, and slipped inside, ensuring the door behind her was locked again, then sprinted up the stairs. A window on the second floor would give her a much better vantage point to see who was following her without them seeing her.
She reached the window just in time. From just to the left of it, she saw her follower on the sidewalk closest to her, and his partner across the street. They were dressed similarly. Work boots, dark pants and shirt and jacket, caps on their heads. They strode forward with purpose, eyes scanning the people in front of them.
That they were Soren’s men seemed more likely than ever.
Which made no sense at all. He didn’t need to tail her. She was headed to his place next. She’d never given him any reason not to trust her.
She bit her lip and pressed a hand to the glass, craning her neck to watch the backs of the two men disappear down the sidewalk.
Contingencies raced through Rogue’s mind. She couldn’t let anyone track her, even Soren. Especially Soren. In her business, when the big boss didn’t trust you, you turned up dead. She was way too young for that shit.
She’d known she wouldn’t be able to do what she did forever, but was it really time to get out so early? Her nest egg, the one that needed to last for the rest of her life, was still half-empty. She frowned. Half-empty. Half-hatched. Whatever. She was a thief and a spy, not a fucking writer.
Rogue began to form a plan. Step one, she would change disguises. No one beat her at her own game. Ever. Step two, she would visit Soren. Feel him out. Only then would she be able to decide what to do next. If he wanted her dead, there was no way it would happen at his house. Or near his house. He didn’t operate like that.
Nearest disguise? She pulled out her phone and looked at her private map. The Englewood post office was the closest. She had a post office box there where she mailed herself a box of clothes once a month, as she did many places in Chicago. It was just good sense.
Decision made, Rogue hurried down the stairs and out the door, turning left and walking the opposite way of the two men who’d trailed her, her senses telling her she was unwatched. She had no sense of the two men anymore, which meant they had lost her completely.
Within moments, she was close to the post office, approaching it from the east, the sun shining from almost directly overhead, heating the day to a pleasant temperature, despite the still-chilly wind.
The post office loomed in front of her, all tan brick and harsh lines. The closer she got, the more her teeth clenched. Something about the place set her on edge. Even before she’d heard of Dr. Henry Howard Holmes or Herman Mudgett, which was his real name, she’d hated visiting this post office. The echoing of her feet on the tiled floor and the closed-in-ness of the square, squat building stirred a dusty fear inside of her that was rare for her to feel. She had only one true fear that she knew of, well, maybe two, because they went hand in hand, and something about this building made her think of them. A certain emptiness beneath her feet as she walked in the building that always made her think the dungeons belonging to America’s first serial killer hadn’t been fully filled in like everyone claimed they had. She could sense something below the building.
Rogue used her laser focus to control her emotions, walling them off into a tiny square and covering them with the steel discipline she’d perfected as a vulnerable young girl. In and out, she’d be done in no time. No time for fear or indecision.
Rogue walked up the steps as she had dozens of times before… but she immediately noticed something off. A strange pulse called her attention, firing her neurons and making her muscles sing.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Rogue frowned and looked around. A man pushing out the exit doors to leave didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Her body on autopilot, she walked in the door he held open for her and made a left to head to
her box.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound became louder, like a heartbeat, a living, breathing heartbeat that was not her own, but somehow conveyed excitement to her.
Her own heart sped up, and it wasn’t a bad feeling. A humming started inside of her, like power, like electricity, wrapping her muscles and bones in energy. Her eyes crawled over the rows of identical numbered post office boxes in front of her, barely seeing them. She felt, suddenly, like she could fry something with a glare or a touch. Power thrummed through her, shaking loose the trepidation the building brought to her, dissolving the negative emotion in heat and light.
Rogue sensed something wanted her. Something huge and brimming with life. She looked down at her hand, surprised to see it looked normal. No light shot out of it. No electricity sparkled from her fingers.
She dropped her hand and let her body do what it did best. Act normal, no matter what was going on inside her, no matter what her thoughts were hiding. Her feet carried her in front of the row of boxes where her post office box was. She knelt and reached to the flat pouch around her waist to dig out her keys.
A voice sounded, making her hand falter. It seemed to come from everywhere, and yet not outside of her. After a moment’s contemplation, she realized she placed its origin right at her heart.
Rogue, come. Come to us. We belong with you.
Rogue looked around, eyes blinking rapidly. No one was paying her any attention yet. There weren’t many people there. A mom and a baby to her right, four or five people in line. A big guy coming in the door behind her. A few employees. None of them seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
The voice had been loud in her ears, with a feminine lilt and tone, but still clear and booming, like whoever had spoken to her did it through a megaphone.
Rogue stayed where she was and turned inward, replaying the statement. She didn’t know what had spoken to her, or if she were completely out of her mind, but she could feel the rightness of the statement, they did belong with her. Whatever they were.
