by RJ Blain
“Since your stalker took pictures of you and your house, let’s not take any chances. I’d have a pretty hard time explaining why I have a cheetah in my house.”
I bobbed my head.
“Dan came around earlier and filled the fridge with all the beef you can stomach. Us humans are having fried chicken for dinner in about two hours, so let’s find out how much you can choke down, shall we? And none of your ‘I’m not hungry’ excuses from yesterday. You’re going to eat even if I have to pin you down and cram it down your throat.” Marcello glared at me until I acknowledged him with a nod. “Good.”
I was too tired to fight with Marcello, so I ate everything he offered until I couldn’t handle even the thought of another bite. I shuddered and turned my head to the side.
“Go shift to your cheetah and let’s get him fed, too.”
While I appreciated the acknowledgement I wasn’t alone in my head, as did my spirit beasts, transforming on a full stomach was an unpleasant experience, one I endured in the privacy of his bathroom. When I emerged, I was disgusted I was hungry again despite having eaten enough to feed a family of ten plus a few extras.
“You’ll get used to it,” my friend told me without looking away from his cooking efforts.
I hissed and spat at him, lashing my tail back and forth. The temptation to take a bite out of something got the better of me, and I latched onto Marcello’s ankle, growling and beating his shoe with my paw.
Marcello sighed, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and took several pictures of me. “Last time he was over here, Dan suggested I get a cat. Get a cat, he said. It’ll be good for me to share my house with another living thing for a change. When I said no, he suggested I make some serious efforts into finding a mate. I would, except the pool of eligible ladies is rather shallow, and you happened to snatch the best prospect in the state. You’re a bastard for that, I hope you know. Regular males have to posture, flirt, and pray for a nip. You? You walked in the room, smiled, and had her wrapped around your finger. You have to help me find a mate now, you hear me?”
I growled and kept slapping the tile floor with my tail, although I made sure I didn’t break through his skin while keeping a firm hold.
Marcello’s cell rang. “Albano.” I heard Captain Ramirez’s voice, although I couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Yes, I’m home. Do you happen to know how to pry open a cat’s mouth? My ankle seems to have found its way into the jaws of a cantankerous feline. I think I’m going to need a new pair of shoes, too.”
A burst of laughter on the other end of the line was followed by a click and the dial tone of a disconnected call.
“I just can’t win, can I? Hey, look. I seem to have made more steak. I wonder how that happened? Why don’t you chew on this instead of on me?”
Both of my spirit beasts found the taste of steak more appealing than dusty jeans, so I turned my attention to my second dinner to ease the bite of my hunger.
I made the transition from cheetah to human without incident, although I didn’t last long before I slipped into a food-induced coma on Marcello’s couch. The awareness of people nearby roused me several times, but the instant my wolf identified them as members of our pack, I dropped off again without caring who was around or why.
If it was important, someone would wake me.
No one did.
The house was dark and quiet when I did wake up, still sprawled on the couch, although someone had covered me with a blanket. I had no memory of dressing, and the clothes were undoubtedly Marcello’s, because I didn’t own a pair of sweat pants in any color, and while I had a few t-shirts, his were far larger than mine.
My spirit beasts slumbered, and I fumbled for my glasses before remembering Captain Ramirez probably had them. Becoming a Fenerec had given me strength and an uncanny ability to heal fast, but it hadn’t helped my vision in the slightest.
Sometimes life wasn’t fair.
I hadn’t had a chance to eat as a human before the gorging I had done as a wolf and a cheetah had caught up with me. Yawning, I staggered towards the refrigerator. While my vision remained blurry, at least I benefited from my cheetah’s ability to see in the dark, which was far superior to my wolf’s.
There was no sign of the fried chicken, which I assumed had fallen prey to the appetites of voracious Fenerec. I drummed my fingers against the door, scowling at the selection of raw meats.
“I have you figured out. You’re a nocturnal feeder. Can’t you do anything normally, Sean?” Marcello shoved me aside, digging through the fridge for a Tupperware container. “We saved you some. Ramirez brought Andrea over. I warned them you were down and out for the count, but they didn’t believe me.”
“What time is it?”
Marcello pointed at his stove.
“I’m not wearing my glasses. I think we forgot them at Ramirez’s place.”
“Ah, we did. Ramirez sent one of the pack to fetch them while you were sleeping. They’re worried, by the way. During the ritual sickness, most health problems—including vision—are resolved. You’re different. They, the Inquisition, that is, are worried you haven’t finished the transition to full Fenerec. It might also have something to do with your shamanistic abilities.” After dumping the Tupperware on the counter, my friend headed into the living room and returned with my glasses. “Your timing isn’t too bad, actually. My shift starts in two hours, and Dan and I are on a special assignment.”
“Special assignment? What special assignment?”
“Despite the Inquisition’s worries, you’re cleared to make a human comeback. Ramirez talked to the uppers, and the general consensus is since you didn’t go psycho during a high stress situation after being shot, you’re probably not going to snap and eat a Normal. With the exception of your vision problems, you’re healing on par with the average Fenerec, too.”
I stared at Marcello, unable to believe what I was hearing. “You mean I don’t have to be subjected to more police station time?”
“Exactly. In two hours, we head to a private airstrip where I’ll put you on a plane that’ll be taking a very short flight to the main airport. You’ll cab home, and we’ll be shadowing you in an unmarked car to make sure there are no incidents on the way.”
Home was the last place I wanted to go. The last thing I wanted was to breathe in Idette’s scent, which undoubtedly contaminated the entire house. “Remind me to file charges so I can process legal separation from Idette. The first thing I intend to do is sell that fucking house.”
“Someone has been reading up on divorce law,” Marcello murmured.
“I thought that was obvious, Marcello.”
“It’s already been handled, Sean. A warrant for Idette’s arrest for attempted murder, kidnapping, and an assortment of other crimes, including aiding and abetting criminals escaping prison was issued months ago. For all intents and purposes, you’re a free man. If you’re not comfortable going back to your house, we can arrange a hotel instead.”
I considered it but sighed and shook my head. “I should pick some things up first. I’ll think about it. I want to grab my copy of the deed and look it over to see if I can sell it without requiring Idette’s signature.”
“Already done. We take care of our own, Sean. We were a little surprised the deed was only in your name. You’re free and clear to sell your house if you want, and considering the charges against Idette, you won’t owe her a dime once the divorce is finalized—which will be as soon as a guilty verdict is handed down.”
“I bought the house before we were married. She didn’t want her name on the mortgage. She was worried about her credit.” I laughed, marveling at how much things had changed.
Idette had pressured me for a lot of things over the years, but the house had been one of the few things she hadn’t challenged. California law protected divorcing spouses unless one was charged and proven guilty of assault, attempted murder, and an assortment of other crimes.
I owed her nothing.
Marcello grabbed a drumstick and pointed it at me. “Unbelievable. Anyway, almost everything has been taken care of. We have copies of all the filings for you, some of which require your signature, but we can deal with that next week. The Inquisition has some leeway with how documentation is handled with the government. It’s Andrea’s specialty. Here’s a tip for you. If Andrea is handling a case, the Inquisition is involved somehow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Andrea is their ace in the hole. You’re not going to like this, but there’s no point in hiding it from you. When they want a case to go a certain way, they send Andrea in to bat. Don’t let her fool you, Sean. She’s a wicked little bitch, and you’re not the only one she’s good at manipulating. When the Inquisition puts her on a case, you can count on her to be either stealthily throwing the defense or putting up so solid a wall not even you could bust it down.”
The airport to airport transfer went off without a hitch, and I was home by noon, regretting my decision to return. Wearing a brace to give the illusion of recovering from a broken leg only soured my mood further. The weight of my entire adult life crashed down on me, and no matter where I turned, I saw the evidence of Idette’s presence in my life. Her scent clung to everything, so strong I could barely detect my scent under hers.
I was so, so tempted to light a match and watch the whole thing burn.
Marcello’s scent, along with Dan’s, Ramirez’s, and a few others my wolf identified as pack, lingered in my office and other places I frequently occupied. Several suitcases, replacements for the ones likely held in evidence somewhere in New York, waited in the bedroom.
I had no reason to stay, which made it easier to pack my suits. Dry cleaning floated to the top of my list of things to do. With a clearer understanding of what I meant to Andrea, I understood her scowls a lot better.
My clothing reeked of Idette’s scent, although the cinnamon signature of her Fenerec nature was masked by the acrid bite of my wife’s—ex-wife’s—annoyance, which in turn was blended with the sour odor of illness.
I didn’t understand the nature of Idette’s illness, and it bothered me I didn’t really care. Three months of my life were gone, spent trapped with Idette, on the run, or hunting and obeying the demands of my spirit beasts’ instincts. I had left for New York in the autumn.
Winter in California wasn’t very cold compared to other places in the United States, but I was aware of the dip in the temperature outside. My wolf was especially aware of it, and he had certain ideas of what I should be doing with my time instead of wasting it in a house I no longer wanted.
He wanted a proper den, and he found the house I had shared with Idette as displeasing as I did. Selling the property had never crossed my mind before my return to Los Angeles, even when I struggled with the desire to divorce Idette and get on with my life.
I finished stuffing the suitcases full of suits, shirts, and ties, and headed to my office to take the first step in cutting away every connection to my old life so I could start fresh.
It began with finding a real estate agent. I considered approaching one of my clients. Over the years, I had represented quite a few real estate agents. One man came to mind.
His situation, with a few exceptions, hadn’t been much different from mine. The change in California law helped the victims of domestic violence escape their partners without facing financial ruin as a result. A fifty-fifty split of assets no longer applied when a spouse was found guilty of assault against their partner.
Soon enough, I’d experience the process for myself.
It took a long time for me to work up the courage to call the number on Kevin Weston’s card. I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear, kicking my feet up on my desk.
Someone had closed the office curtain while I had been gone, blocking my view of the back yard. I wondered who had taken the pictures of me during the Roberts trial. In a way, I hoped I would never know and the problem would go away.
“Kevin speaking,” my former client answered.
“Hey, Kevin. It’s Sean Scott. How are you?”
“Damn, Sean. It’s good to hear from you. I saw the news. What can I do for you?”
I grimaced, wondering just how much publicity my disappearance had gotten. “I’m looking to sell my property and need an agent. You were the first person I thought of, so I thought I’d give you a ring.”
“Let’s get together and talk, then. When is good for you?”
“I’ve got a pretty open schedule right now. I go back to work on Monday, but I can probably make time even after I return to the office.”
“If you’re free now, I can head over and get a look at the house.”
“Now’s good,” I replied, tapping Kevin’s business card on my desk. I gave him the address, and after exchanging a few more pleasantries, I hung up. Aware Ramirez probably had someone watching my house, I dug her business card out of my wallet and called her cell.
“Ramirez,” she answered after the third ring.
“Scott. A friend of mine is coming over to my place in a bit, and I thought your cops would like to know if they’re prowling around.”
“Thanks for letting me know. You settling in okay?”
I snorted. Okay wasn’t the word I’d use for my state of mind, but I wasn’t quite ready to confess my mood. “I’m all right.”
It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.” I hung up, setting the phone in its cradle. I waited for Kevin, wondering what sort of life I’d make for myself when the dust finally settled.
When I had represented Kevin Weston, the weight of stress had burdened his shoulders, leaving him a tired, middle-aged man out of his prime. The months had done him good. There were no longer any shadows marking his dark eyes, and he had a ready smile when I met him at the door.
“You’re pretty good on your feet for a man with a broken leg,” he said, arching a brow at me. “I was expecting at least crutches.”
I stuck out my left leg and pulled up my slacks to show off my brace. “Reporters. They don’t have anything better to do than crow about other people, do they? I’ve graduated from crutches to this thing. I won’t be winning any races for a while, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“I bet. No kidding about the reporters. The instant they figure out you’re back in town, you’re going to be swarmed,” Kevin warned.
I grimaced. “Wonderful. Come on in. I want to give you free rein so you can sell the place off quick. The sooner it’s gone, the happier I’ll be.”
“This is a nice place,” my former client murmured, taking his time as he explored my house. “Selling it isn’t going to be a problem. Selling it for a price you’re happy with might be, though.”
“I owe about fifty thousand on the mortgage,” I replied, following Kevin as he toured the house. “Roof was done three years back, furnace and air conditioning systems are new. There are solar panels on the roof, and the electrical box was updated four years back. I have wiggle room. I’d rather get a little less and have the place gone rather than deal with it staying on the market longer.”
“It’ll sell, and I’m pretty sure I can get you a good price. Good location. Not quite a mini mansion, but close enough. The real issue is the mortgage. Are there any cosigners?”
I saw the question for what it was, and fighting to keep my expression neutral, I shook my head. “Deed and mortgage are in my name only. There won’t be any problems there.”
“Good. I have research I need to do, but I’ll get back to you tonight with recent sales in the area and give you a ballpark on what you can expect to sell for. We can sign the initial agreements and get a posting up as early as tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was better than I was hoping for, and I allowed myself a grim smile. “Sounds good.”
“Normally, we set up lockboxes for the keys, but I think in this case, I won’t allow any agents to show the
place without me or one of my associate agents present. I’ll see if I can get private showings only. I have the feeling an open house would bring more trouble than either of us want.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for the help, Kevin.”
His smile was as grim as mine. “I owe you a lot, Sean. Helping you sell your house is the least I can do.”
“Don’t even think about skimping on your commission, either.”
He laughed. “I’ll think about it all I want, and you can’t stop me. I’ll bring some interesting listings with me tonight along with the regular paperwork. We’ll see if I can find you a place you’ll like.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The police watching my house would probably hate me for leaving without telling anyone where I was going, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. If they shadowed me downtown to watch me have dinner and discuss options with Kevin, I didn’t really care. I needed out of my house before I snapped.
Thanks to the Inquisition, I had my credit cards back, they had all been updated to new numbers, and Idette had been removed from all of our joint accounts. I had no idea who had covered my balances, but when I found out, I’d pay them back from my savings, which had remained untouched during my disappearance.
The restaurant Kevin chose was a quiet Italian place in the heart of the city, and he had acquired a quiet table tucked in a corner. “Glad you could make it, Sean.”
“Parking was a bit of a bitch, but when isn’t it?” I sat, dumping my briefcase on the chair beside me. “I hope you didn’t inconvenience yourself.”
“Not at all. I had nothing planned tonight. Apparently all of the sane single women didn’t receive the memo I’m an eligible bachelor.” Kevin grinned and placed a folder in front of me. “If the ladies at the office are to be believed, you’re a hot number. My secretary noticed I was making a file for you, asked if it was for the Mr. Scott, the trial lawyer fellow, and when I confirmed it, well, I’ve never seen her move so fast in my life.”
