Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4)

by Jenny Schwartz

  “Can’t hurt.” John recapped the bottle. “Come to the library when you’re ready. Phil’s coordinating the search for Brandon from there. We’ll need everything you can tell us, if not to find Brandon, then to construct the case against him. To understand why he did this.” John growled the last sentence, the strain showing through.

  “Twenty minutes,” Carson promised.

  John nodded and left.

  Swearing under his breath, Carson began the painful process of undressing.

  Next door, Liz stood patiently while her mom fitted plastic bags over Liz’s hands and secured them with elastic bands at her wrists. They’d protect the bandages on her hands from getting wet, and stop some of the pain, while Liz had a bath. She’d leave her knees sticking out, dry if awkward, which was why Natalie was running a bath although Liz was usually a shower kind of woman.

  Liz felt an urgent need to be clean.

  Michelle finished looping on the last elastic band. “All done. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll manage a bath.”

  Her mom still fussed. “If you feel dizzy or your knees hurt or anything, just call out.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Natalie said. “We’ll wait here.”

  Liz closed the bathroom door with a silent sigh of relief. Alone, she didn’t have to be brave. Shuddering with emotional rather than actual cold, she stripped out of her clothes and sunk carefully into the hot bathwater. Natalie had added a sudsy lavender bubble bath to the water, and the scent was clean and comforting. Liz’s muscles, tight with shock and pain, slowly unknotted.

  So did her thoughts.

  “Mom!”

  Her mom crashed into the bathroom. “Lizzy?”

  “Sorry. I’m fine. Absolutely. I just had a thought.”

  Her mom leaned back against the wall, dramatic and reproachful. “Well, that’s lovely, dear. I thought you’d lost a leg or something.”

  Natalie snorted a laugh.

  Rather than repeat her apologies, Liz shared her inspiration. “Has anyone shown Daria a photo of Brandon?”

  Michelle and Natalie stared at her.

  “Your human friend? The girl you were hiding?” Natalie asked.

  “Yes. Daria was often in Andrew Thirkell’s company, the human trafficker. If Brandon knows him, Daria might know more about that side of Brandon, the secret side he hid from us.”

  “Good idea.” Michelle nodded.

  “Mom, could you take the photo to Daria, please? I would, but if she sees my bandages, she’ll blame herself.”

  As worried for Liz as she’d been, Michelle was fair. “None of us are to blame for the evil wicked people choose to do. I’m not sure Daria will remember me from last night.”

  “You’re pretty memorable, Mom, and Daria saw photos of you all the time in my house.”

  Michelle nodded, accepting the point. “I’ll do it, now.”

  “Phil has photos of Brandon,” Natalie said.

  Liz’s mom and aunt left her to finish her bath in…well, not in peace. She was too wired for that, too worried. But she had a few minutes of quiet alone time to get her wolf settled and prepare herself for when they found Brandon.

  She dried herself awkwardly before unpeeling the plastic bags covering her hands. The bandages on her knees had stayed dry which saved replacing them. Someone had left her a choice of a long skirt, short skirt or wide-legged trousers that wouldn’t bother her knees. Since the bandages provided some protection, Liz chose the black trousers and a warm, snuggly sweater top in a soft apricot pink. She dragged a comb through her hair and left it loose.

  “Are you decent?” a man called through the closed bedroom door.

  “Steve!”

  Chapter 9

  Through the bedroom wall, Carson barely heard Liz’s cry of “Steve!”. Without wolf hearing, he wouldn’t have heard it at all. The house was that well-built.

  He took a second swig of the gentian extract before replacing it in his pocket to return to John. His borrowed clothes—new underwear, blue cotton shirt, zippered jacket and jeans—included loafers that meant he could avoid both the whole sock issue and lacing them.

  His ribs were both burning and aching. As much as he appreciated being clean, showering had been painful. Was still painful. The massive bed looked incredibly appealing. Weres healed faster than mundanes, fast enough that the demands accelerated healing made on his body required sleep and food.

  Food he could manage.

  He walked to Liz’s room and saw Liz just inside, crying against her brother’s shoulder.

  Steve looked ready to murder someone. He turned his head at Carson’s silent approach. “Carson.” He freed an arm to offer a handshake. His grip was strong with unspoken thanks. “Seems you’re always rescuing a Jekyll. We owe you.”

  Carson watched Liz duck away to snare a tissue from a box. “No.” He met Steve’s interested gaze. “You don’t owe me.”

  “What did he rescue you from?”

  Wolf-were senses and all, Carson hadn’t heard the woman approach.

  Steve made introductions. “Carson, my mate, Fay. Fay, Carson’s a botanist. He stepped in to help me with a warlord in the Congo. Ended up handling the man and his mate single-handed. Saved my unconscious ass.”

  Fay was tall, although not as tall as Liz, blonde and blue-eyed with a direct manner. She shook hands with Carson before entering the room. Unlike the weres who’d crowded Liz with touch, hugs and concern, Fay stayed an arm’s distance from her future sister-in-law, but her voice was warm and sympathetic. “How are you, Liz?”

  “I didn’t cry till Steve showed up,” Liz defended herself.

  “Yeah. He has that effect on me, too,” Fay deadpanned.

  Liz laughed and pulled Fay in for a hug, palms raised to keep from hurting her grazes.

  Reminded of her hurts, Carson’s quick grin died.

  Fay returned Liz’s hug, and Steve watched them both with a serious look.

  “I think I have the story straight,” he said. “But details are missed in phone conversations. I’d like to go over things again.”

  “Food first,” Liz said, suddenly decisive, and much more like herself. “Carson and I need to eat. We’ll take the elevator down.”

  Steve’s gaze flicked down to her knees, hidden by her trousers. “Uncle Phil’s coordinating things in the library. We’ll meet you there.”

  “I’ll collect a tray of food for us,” Fay said. “I noticed a buffet. Any preferences?”

  “We can…” Liz began, then rethought her protest. “You’re right. You’re less likely to be mobbed for answers than the rest of us.”

  Fay and Steve headed for the stairs.

  Carson followed Liz to an elevator hidden behind an ordinary-looking door and stepped in. “Sending someone else for the food would be even easier than having Fay brave the pack.”

  “They don’t scare her,” Liz said as the door closed. “But she and the pack are wary of each other. They’re not used to magic, and she’s not accustomed to people being so involved in her life. This way they’ll see her caring for me, for you and me, and that’ll help people accept her. She’s proven herself as a fighter and loyal to Steve, but people need to see her as a hundred percent part of the family.” Liz paused as the elevator opened to the main floor. “She needs to see herself that way.”

  Carson gestured for Liz to precede him. “You’re a bit of a psychologist.”

  She stepped out of the elevator, but then waited for him and clasped his hand. “Emergency physicians have to be. All sorts of people and situations hit a casualty ward. And then.” A wry smile. “I’m an omega wolf. I like healthy relationships around me.”

  The grief in her voice tugged at Carson. “Get it out of your mind right now. You are not responsible for Brandon attempting to kidnap Daria or kill you.”

  She gave him a startled look. “Maybe you’re the mind-reader?”

  “I just know you.”
>
  A simple statement, but it stopped them both in their tracks. They stared at one another.

  Liz’s fingers tightened around his. “You do, don’t you?” She stretched up and kissed him briefly, but on the mouth.

  It was the last quiet moment they had for the next two hours.

  Liz’s dad and uncle listened to their stories, from Liz’s hiding of Daria Gretsky, through the invasion of her house, their visit to Albert and the Russian mage in hospital, and finally, the attack on them that morning.

  In between the mushroom soup and hot roast beef rolls Fay brought them, he and Liz did their best to answer questions. Carson had a few of his own.

  “What do you know of Brandon’s business interests? Does he own any property? Rent anywhere not obvious?”

  “We have a list,” Phil said. “We’re also exploring whether he did business under an alias.”

  “I doubt it.” Liz’s mom, Michelle, entered with an air of suppressed triumph. “Daria did recognize Brandon’s photo,” she said to Liz. “Yours was a good idea.”

  “And?” Phil prompted.

  First, Michelle had to hug Steve and Fay. Then she sat down and reached for a cheese sandwich. “Daria only saw Brandon once, but he made an impact on her. She said it was the only time her abuser, Andrew Thirkell, showed fear.”

  “He was afraid of Brandon?” Liz’s dad queried.

  “Personal fear? Perhaps. But what Thirkell said was that Brandon wanted his connections, saw himself as Lord Muck. Lord Muck from Mucking. Daria remembered the name because she didn’t understand why Thirkell laughed like he’d made a joke if Brandon was a real peer.

  “But Lord Muck is just a name to call someone who is up themselves,” Liz explained the English slang term to Carson.

  Her dad nodded. “But Mucking, on the other hand, is a real place in Essex.”

  “Nice place,” Phil said, reaching for a laptop and tapping keys in pursuit of something.

  “Brandon doesn’t have an Essex accent. From Cornwall, he said once.” John paced the length of the room.

  “But if he has business—or criminal—interests in Essex…” Phil was bent over the computer screen. “Mucking is close to industrial centers, conservation areas and major transport hubs, sea ports and airports. He could run, or hide, a number of activities there. Hide himself, perhaps.”

  “It’s another starting point.” Michelle opened her laptop. “Let’s see what the financials show.”

  “Carson and I will consider the lay of the land,” John said, beckoning him over. “Street maps, topographical maps. The conservation areas can be marshy. Brandon’s proven he’s smart in some limited ways. He’ll be wanting multiple escape routes.”

  “Unless he’s already fled the country.” Carson sat gingerly in the chair beside John’s as the old man unrolled maps and secured their corners with books.

  “He’s not on flight lists,” Phil said without looking up from his computer. “But aliases are possible.”

  “He won’t run, not yet,” Steve said. There was so much certainty in his voice that everyone turned and looked at him. “Brandon’s powerbase, whatever it is, is here. He’ll have a lair to hide in, but he won’t readily abandon everything.” The back of the chair that he leaned against creaked as his hands closed tight. “And he’ll know we’re after him. Warn everyone that he’ll use lethal force. I’ve told the marshals to do whatever they have to.”

  Fay, standing beside him, put a hand on his. It was a warning touch of its own. Her gaze was on Liz, who looked stricken.

  Steve released his strangling grip on the chair back.

  “John, with your permission, I’d like to ward the house here, the whole property, I mean,” Fay said.

  The earl frowned at her. “The pack has always been protection enough.” He sighed. “Times change. For Brandon to employ a rogue Russian mage proves it. Fay, I accept your offer. It is kind of you. Is there anything we can do to help you?”

  Fay glanced fleetingly at Liz, who was staring blindly out the window, her bandaged hands restlessly rubbing her arms. “I’d appreciate Liz’s company walking the boundary.” Liz glanced at her, startled. “Unless your knees are too sore?”

  “I’d like the exercise,” Liz said.

  Everyone exhaled as the door closed behind the two women. A few minutes later, they saw them walking down the driveway.

  Phil quietly issued an order, via phone. The women would be guarded. Two wolves in front, two behind, far enough away not to hear a low-voiced conversation, but near enough to deal with any problems.

  Although from everything Carson had heard of Fay, the powerful mage would obliterate anyone before they could hurt her new family. Liz was safe, and she was also safely away from further discussion of Brandon’s treachery.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there,” Liz said to Fay. The oaks in the parkland surrounding the house were already beginning to turn color, the green fading in welcome to autumn’s cooler weather. Fallen leaves whispered under foot as Liz led Fay along a shortcut to the main gate.

  “No problem. Although I’ll consider it a favor owed.” A small, uncertain smile in Liz’s direction.

  Liz made an effort to return the smile.

  Unlike her, Fay had grown up isolated and very aware of others’ resentment and envy of her powerful magic. Since falling in love with Steve and their mate-bond establishing itself, Fay had become part of his family, and appeared both delighted and wary. Any attempt she made to relax and fit in deserved to be honored.

  Plus, Liz genuinely liked her. “Collecting favors…okay, I’ll bite. What for?”

  “I’d like you to be my bridesmaid.”

  Liz stopped. “You want me to be your bridesmaid?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind?” Fay’s smile wavered.

  Liz hugged her excitedly. “I’d love to.”

  Fay’s smiled widened as she survived Liz’s exuberant hug, and returned it. “I promise, no pink meringue dresses—unless your mom says so.”

  “Mom wouldn’t do that!” Liz laughed. “Does she know that you’re asking me?”

  “No. I asked Steve, though, if he thought you’d mind.”

  “And my big brother said?

  Fay grinned. “He said, Liz? Mind an excuse to dress up and flirt with all the single guys at the wedding? She’ll love it.”

  Liz held onto her smile, although flirting reminded her of her problems with Brandon. Just two days ago she’d thought he was courting her, and how to turn him down gently had been her biggest worry. Today, he’d tried to kill her.

  “I think Steve’s wrong or out of date,” Fay said, recalling Liz’s attention. “I think you’ll only flirt with one guy. I like Carson.”

  Liz blushed. “I don’t know if the thing between us could be real. It’s been a crazy couple of days. We were pretending to be together—long story. Now, we’re not together, but we feel…I feel close to him.”

  “He looks at you as if you’re important to him.” Fay started walking again. “When Steve looks at me like that, I melt.” She glanced away, shy at the personal confession. “I’m glad you’ll be my bridesmaid. You can help me make decisions. Steve’s no help, and your mom has a lot of ideas.”

  “I’ll bet.” Liz smiled. “It’ll be fun.”

  Fay shot her a humorously dubious look.

  “I promise,” Liz said recklessly.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Fay said.

  They couldn’t find Brandon. Liz watched her family turn feral with frustration.

  As for Carson, he was silent: watching, listening, researching online and moving increasingly stiffly. His skin had paled, drawn taut over his cheekbones and his eyes were sunken.

  Liz intervened, finally. She walked to where he sat painfully upright at a table in the sitting room, laptop open in front of him, fingers tapping slowly. Tap, tap, pause. “You need to sleep.” Twilight had faded into night, the cool, rain-soaked scent of it creeping in the window. “When they find
him, someone will wake us.”

  “Us?” He looked up at her with surprising alertness.

  There was no one near them. Everyone had scattered, intent on their own pursuit of Brandon. Steve and Fay were out, somewhere in Essex. Michelle and David had driven to a friend’s house, needing a face-to-face meeting with the mundane financier to convince her to open her records for a search of Brandon’s hidden financial arrangements. John and Natalie were dealing with the pack members as they left and returned. Phil remained in the library, the coordination center for operations.

  “Us,” Liz said quietly. Grandfather had assigned them separate rooms, but Liz needed to be held. Or, if not held, given Carson’s broken ribs, she craved his presence: the reassurance of his warmth, the sound of his breathing, the scent of him. “I don’t want to sleep alone, tonight.”

  “You look exhausted.” He closed the laptop.

  “Emotional rather than physical,” she said steadily, well aware of her own nature and what hurt her. Mostly the empathetic aspect of her omega nature was a strength, but it could also make emotionally painful times worse. “It’s so wrong to be hunting one of our own.”

  “The police are chasing Brandon, too,” Carson reminded her as he stood carefully. Despite his cautious movements, he winced. “I’ve broken bones before and not felt this bad.”

  “You need to sleep. You’re pushing on when you should be resting. As weres we heal faster than mundanes, but our bodies need food and sleep to fuel the process. You’re skimping on the sleep.”

  They walked out of the sitting room and along the corridor. Carson limped, favoring his wrenched knee. “Could it be the gentian extract?” he asked quietly. “I took some twice.”

  “You think it’s accelerating your healing even faster?” The notion intrigued her, and distracted her from the hunt for Brandon and all her worry.

  “I’m wondering,” he said tightly. “Everything feels compressed, more intense.”

  “It hurts,” she summed up bluntly. “I’ll get the painkillers you were prescribed. I expect Uncle Phil has some from when he broke his collarbone.”