The Werewolf Coefficient (The Outlier Prophecies Book 3)

by Tina Gower

  A window slides up to reveal a short officer, black curly hair pulled back into a braid. “Appointment details and I.D.” She raises an eyebrow at my lack of vehicle and presses her lips together like I’m going to cause her some sort of headache.

  I dig my actuary badge out of my laptop case and pass it through the Plexiglas. She inspects my credentials under a black light. Our department seal is revealed over my pictures and description.

  “Place your thumb and first two fingers of your left hand on the screen.” She angles a tablet with red circles for each of my digits.

  The screen flashes green after the prompt.

  I collect my I.D. and place it in the holder of my front pocket. “I’m meeting Officer Ian Becker for the appointment at six p.m. in house forty-seven and he seems to be running late. I thought I’d get settled and start the interview.”

  She scrolls through her computer. “Officer Ian Becker, you say?”

  “Yeah.”

  She smirks.

  I spend the next tense few seconds over-analyzing her reaction. Okay, Becker, what sort of wrong have you committed that she’s about to take out on me?

  “I’m going to have to wait until both of you are able to enter at the same time. Sorry, new protocol.”

  “Right.” I rub my index finger under my lower lip and step back to wait on the corner, except my air goes all wheezy and my stomach tightens. I don’t like being late. “It’s just that I’m afraid if we don’t get started, we’ll be cut short, or possibly rescheduled and the information is time sensitive.”

  “If it’s that imperative, I’m sure Becker will be here shortly. Not like him to drop a case.” Her words say one thing, but the attitude she throws in says otherwise. “Unless…” She shakes her head, pretending to take back the aside.

  “What?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Ian isn’t exactly reliable.”

  I clench my fists around my bag strap. Becker is a lot of things: aggressive, pushy, obsessive, emotionally closed-off. Sure. But unreliable? Never.

  I force a pleasant smile. “He’ll be here.”

  She twists her body back to whatever she was doing in an exaggerated manner and her expression flattens in a you-must-be-new face. “Sure thing.” Then she reaches behind herself to slide the small opening where we passed documentation through closed.

  I stomp over to the corner where Becker will pull in and wait, tapping my foot. Come on, Ian, prove her wrong. It never occurred to me that he might not show until she planted that anxiety.

  He’d been edgy, but with a reason. The shade bringing up his old pack’s death had shaken him. If he didn’t show it would be because he had something bigger on his plate. We couldn’t let our personal connection get in the way of work and this would be an example of that. If he stopped a priority investigation just to come down and escort me for what amounted to a follow-up in the eyes of both our departments, that would raise some eyebrows in HR.

  I tug my blazer in place and wrap my grey wool coat a little tighter.

  Twenty minutes.

  Twenty-five.

  My legs shiver from the drop in temperature. I saw my knees back and forth to keep them warm.

  Thirty minutes.

  Thirty-five.

  Hey, they won’t let me into the oracle housing without you. Let me know when you get this.

  No reply.

  Are you okay? Tell me where to meet you.

  No reply.

  Forty-three minutes. My stomach growls, eager for dinner.

  A police car pulls up around the corner, slowing as it gets close to me. Finally! Ha! I glare at the security officer in the booth. See? She has no idea about Becker’s reliability.

  On shaky, stiff legs I wobble to the driver side window. It slides down and Lipski elbows his way out into view. I stare past him, looking for Becker.

  “Hey, Katie cupcake. Hop in. I’m about to make your dreams come true.”

  The heat rolls out of the car, tempting me with its warmth. “Don’t bullshit me, Lipski. Where’s Becker?”

  “He got dragged into a meeting and…other things. You get me. Hells of a lot prettier, don’t you say?”

  I speed walk around the front of the car, looking forward to the moment I can feel my toes again. I reach to strap myself in but instead grab a hold of a frayed fluff of what used to be the nylon seat belt. I twist around to inspect behind the seat, convinced I must have missed something.

  Lipski’s lips quiver into a grin. “Nope. No belt. Sorry. Becker’s the reason we can’t have nice things.”

  I hold out the dangling fabric. “Becker did this?”

  “Chewed right through it. Sharp little teeth, the bastard.”

  “Why didn’t he just…unbuckle?”

  “Might have been because I cuffed him to the belt.”

  “Wh…” My mouth hangs open with a list of questions about what sort of argument they must have been having to cause this. He zooms forward before I can regain my bearings and I grip the frayed strap over my shoulder for safety. We plop over a bump and I swing around in my seat like Tarzan.

  Lipski waves at the cop in the booth and we pull through.

  “What? That’s it? We don’t have to show any identification?”

  “I called ahead. We’re on a tight schedule. Marlee knows me. We have her over for dinner at least twice a week. She and the wife are buds.”

  “I see Becker sent the best.”

  “Becker didn’t send me. Well, yeah, but not exactly like that. I just saw he was supposed to meet with you on the schedule and knew he wouldn’t make it. We’re like an old married couple. We sense each other’s needs.” He makes a fist and smacks his chest. “He doesn’t have to ask.”

  I keep my gaze forward with no reaction, finding it hard to believe Becker completely forgot about me.

  Lipski slaps my shoulder. “Oh come on. Really? What are the cow eyes for? He might have mumbled something about you. I don’t really remember the details.” Now it’s his turn to keep a straight face. “Besides, it’s not like you guys are dating.” He elongates the last word, working out every syllable.

  I’m past details over what Becker and I are; now I’m at the vague stage, so I don’t answer one way or the other.

  I pull out my case notes and questions for the oracle. “You can wait in the car.”

  “Oh, no can do. I promised I’d keep an eye on you and I can’t do that from the car.”

  Ha! So Becker did send him. I sit a little straighter.

  “Fine. Don’t get in the way.”

  “You’ve got twenty minutes with the oracle and then I’ve got a pressing matter to attend.”

  “That’s hardly enough time—”

  “Take it or leave it. I’m not the wolf you have wrapped around your pinky.” He gets out of the car, ending the conversation.

  Except I don’t like Lipski’s last words. “Is this about me stepping back from Becker? I did that for him. He won’t move on to another werewolf pack if we get too close and neither of us wants a relationship.”

  “You don’t?” He whistles and types some message into his phone. “Coulda fooled me…and your cousin…” He absently scratches his chin. “And Becker…and yourself.”

  I shove him from the side, but he’s too large, so I bounce right off him. “Stop it. I. Was. Doing. What’s. Best.”

  He scoffs.

  “You saw that love prediction profile. He needs to be with another werewolf. I’m not a werewolf.”

  Lipski narrows his eyes at me. “Those profiles are as worthless as reading a horoscope. It said statistically wolves do better with other wolves. As in the vague plural, not specifically. Since when has Beck fit a werewolf profile?”

  I’m about to argue, but I don’t have a counter. Okay, maybe he had a point. I grasp at a new explanation.

  Except—

  However—

  But—

  Lipski rings the bell and the door opens. I shut my mouth before Orland an
d the rest of the complex are treated to a snippet of my personal life. Besides, I know now that pushing Becker away was wrong and I would make an effort to fix it.

  “Good evening, Actuary, Officer…”

  “Lipski. And it’s Detective.”

  “Detective Lipski. My apologies.” Orland smiles as though the information pleases him.

  My skin tightens and my nostrils flare like a charging bull. Orland cares to be sure to get Hank’s name and rank right, and I get to be “actuary.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve already sat down for dinner and I cannot allow our schedule to be altered. Perhaps if you were on time—”

  I cut him off. “We can wait.”

  He slides out a little planner from his robes. “It may be around fifteen minutes.”

  “Nope.” Lipski shakes his head. “We can’t stay.”

  “Then you can go and I’ll wait here and call a cab,” I say through a fake smile.

  Lipski raises a finger to nix my suggestion and Orland rings a bell, effectively startling us both into paying attention. “Please, no negative energy around the oracles. It causes undo stress. I will see what I can do about the schedule issue.”

  He disappears behind the door.

  Lipski snorts. “Negative energy. This is why we never make appointments with the oracles.”

  At least we agree on something.

  “Kate!” Someone calls from across the parking lot. Lipski’s palm goes to his hip and I place a hand on his elbow to still him. I turn around to see Mica, a finance oracle I befriended after working Jack’s case.

  Lipski glares at me. “Do you pull that shit with Becker?”

  My eyes go wide. “What?”

  “If I’m going for my gun, you stay down. Got it?” The words are harsh, but he has no bite behind them. Something has him on edge and this is just an excuse to get riled up, but not the reason.

  “I didn’t want you to shoot my friend.” I step away from Lipski, who turns his interest to his phone text messages, and meet Mica halfway.

  “Are you here to visit Jack? Zoey will be excited to see you.” Mica’s grin covers most of his face. I wonder if that means what I think it means. Jack had been working on renewing his friendship with Mica. Although Jack would like for that friendship to be more, Mica is involved with Jack’s ex.

  “Oh, I…no. I’m on another case.”

  His grin wavers. “Another target on an oracle?”

  “No, no. Not that.” I rush to assure him. “It’s a high probability prediction that didn’t happen. I’ve got to connect the dots to see where it went wrong.”

  He shrugs, adjusts his glasses. “Well, it’s not the first time we’ve been misunderstood.”

  “It’s not…” I stop myself. There’s no place for ego with the friend of the man I failed to protect. I’d been wrong before. The evidence stood right in front of me. “Right. My hope is to prevent these types of misunderstandings in the future.”

  “Who are you meeting?”

  I lift the file I’ve been hugging to my chest and read the name at the bottom. “Rosa Germain.”

  “Ah, she’s a sharp one.”

  Great. I groan inwardly. All I need are more clues that I’m dragging this case on for no reason. Becker’s already bored. Must be why he didn’t show.

  I tuck the file under my arm. “I guess I should get back over there. I don’t want to miss my appointment.”

  Mica holds up his palm and his face changes as though he’s just remembered something. “Nita Ricen.”

  Her name stops me. She’d been a thorn on one of my last cases. Head of ForeverMatch with a jealous streak that caused her to target EverAfter. The two love predictions private companies had started a war that put several innocents in the middle.

  “Thanks to the tip Ian gave me about her, we just predicted her embezzling from a non-profit.”

  “Becker gave you a tip?”

  “Yeah, he said to put her in the eye.”

  “Put her in the eye?”

  “It’s a cop term for the oracles. They mean they want us to focus our predictions and see if we can come up with anything. He sent us some of her personal items she’d sold at a yard sale. And had us watch a few tapes of her speaking engagements. The predictions on her started rolling in. We sent them directly to Ian.”

  “Becker didn’t tell me any of this.” I’d known he spoke to Mica, but I didn’t believe anything could be done. It burned me to know Nita would get away with setting up Yin and then using Pepper to do her bidding.

  “Well, he sat on the prediction.” Mica pauses and lowers his gaze as though he’s waiting for my full attention. “Sitting on a prediction means he lets it occur. I guess it never gets kicked up to Predictions or the police ask to have it held or something.”

  “Right.” I wave him to continue. “I knew that.”

  “Anyway, I just saw on the news that they got her. So I hope it’s what you wanted.”

  I nod slowly, a knot in my throat, and my eyes itch. “You didn’t have to do that.” It would be one more thing the oracles did for me when I didn’t do anything to deserve their loyalty. I’d nearly gotten a large group of them killed.

  “Anything for you, Kate. Anytime.”

  A number of corrections and insistences that they don’t owe me crowd the tip of my tongue.

  He digs into his pocket. “Oh, I forgot. I was going to send this to you. You’d said if anything strange happens to let you know. It’s not…well, I don’t know what it is.” He pulls out a blank piece of paper. “Can I borrow your pencil?”

  I hand it over.

  “Jack got some weird symbol sent to him with a vase of herbs. It looked like this,” he sketches it out. A series of parallel hashes that cross each other at a diagonal. “On the other side it said ‘balance paid.’ It could have meant for the flowers, but Jack said he didn’t know what it meant. We don’t know who sent it either.”

  “That is odd.” I take the drawing from him, not recognizing it.

  “Hale!” Lipski calls.

  I glance over to see Orland at the door bowing with his arms sweeping into the house.

  I turn to Mica. “I gotta go. Give Jack and Zoey my best.”

  “Maybe you can stop over after?”

  I think of Lipski’s urgent matter that’s rushing us through the meeting. “I don’t think I can. My ride has other plans.”

  He frowns. “That’s too bad.”

  I jog back to the house. Gods, I should be able to give them a minute of my time if they wanted it after what he’d just done for me. He tied up the loose end from my last case. Sure, it had gone down in the books as a win, but I knew the real culprit had gotten away. I’ll make time to visit Jack and the others again soon.

  I reach the door just as Orland is about to close it on me. His expression is neutral, but I detect a hint of disappointment that I made it on time.

  He guides us from the entryway to a small receiving room, sparsely decorated, bruce wood flooring polished to a shine I can see my reflection in, and ecru walls with taupe crown molding. There is a couch with floral print, which we’re instructed not to sit on, and an end table with a few magazines we’re warned not to touch.

  Orland delivers what I’m sure is his standard greeting for all guests. “Every item that goes into an oracle house is properly cleansed. Items brought in from other countries and made new still have traces of the maker embedded in the materials. We cannot allow contamination to occur.

  “Please be aware that touching the oracles is not permitted, as you may alter their visions or impart traces of your destiny into their subconscious. If you touch an oracle I will ask you to leave the premises and I will instruct your department to place a note on your file. Future appointments will be denied.”

  I didn’t plan on breaking any of the rules. Plus, as a fateless, I had no idea what sort of consequences would come of that. Would the oracle be rendered useless until my influences wore off? Would it make me less fateless
in some way? I didn’t know. It didn’t seem to have an adverse affect on Jack or Mica or Zoey, but I was sure if Orland knew of my fateless status I’d never have been allowed on the property.

  Orland waits for us to object, or maybe to ask questions, I don’t know. Either way, when we don’t speak up he leaves the room.

  Lipski does a little loop around the room and then he gestures to the magazines on the end table. “Come on, Katie, you know you want to.”

  “I don’t actually.” I cross my arms, hug my notebook to my chest, and wait for Orland to come back with the person who can give me answers.

  Lipski touches the magazine.

  My breath hitches in my throat. “Stop it.”

  “Oh come on, what’s he going to do? That was all a bunch a horse shit.”

  “It wasn’t. It’s been proven.”

  Lipski touches the couch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I do best, Katie cupcake, what I do best.”

  “You’ll get us kicked out,” I grit each word out between my teeth.

  “Hopefully.”

  “That is the opposite of what I want to do. I need this interview.”

  “I’ll remember you said that later when you’re angry we wasted our time.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugs and then looks like he’s about to tell me, but a woman enters the room using a crutch to keep the door open. Orland rushes behind her to hold it open.

  She whacks him with the other crutch. “What did I say about opening doors, OC?”

  Her speech is long drawn out with a bit of a lisp.

  “I’m sorry, Rosa. I just was concerned—”

  “Keep the concern for the others. I’m not an invalid; just need these sticks to help the legs.” Her legs slide along the flooring until she reaches the couch and then twists to inspect us. “Why aren’t you sitting? We going to do this standing up?”

  “Uh…” I blink, wondering about proper protocol.

  Lipski sits on the arm of the couch, back to the rest of us, not paying attention to much in the room, his nose in his phone. Gods, what is so interesting that he can’t give this his full attention?

  “Sit, sit,” Rosa insists.

  I do, sending an apologetic look to Orland, who glares at both of us. I make sure to touch as little of my butt on the couch as possible. “Of course. I don’t want to be rude.”