The Werewolf Coefficient (The Outlier Prophecies Book 3)

by Tina Gower

  He clears his throat. Then his pacing becomes more productive. He throws his coat into the bed. He retrieves his shoes from under my desk, shoves his foot inside, and furiously laces. “You like to talk about risk, Kate? Following through with this is a huge risk. For me. If we fuck it up, it’s not just a failed relationship to me. I lose everything. I can’t come back from that again.”

  “Wait, Ian—” I reach for him.

  He raises an arm like a shield. “No. Don’t touch me.”

  I back off.

  He keeps his eyes on me as if I’m a threat to be monitored. He opens the window to my bedroom swinging his coat around and shoving his arms through.

  I take a few more steps backward until the backs of my knees connect to my bed and I sit. It’s as though I’m watching someone else. I’m screaming at that other woman to get it together. Tell him he’s wrong. We’re worth the risk.

  “Where are you going? Are you coming back?”

  His legs are over the sill. He twists around to look at me. “I don’t know.” Then his shoulders slump. “But, yeah, probably.”

  And then he’s gone.

  Chapter 12

  My computer hums, as the fan kicks on from being in use so long. Outside my office windows I have a clear view of Gretchen speaking with Miles in his office. The phones ringing, printer printing, and faxes—all muted to a dull background rhythm behind my closed door.

  I think about nothing but how many quotas I can get through each hour. The more I can do the more time I can spend later on Alana and Jared’s case. And, damn, right after work I have to attend Jared Walker’s funeral.

  Tonya, our office assistant, knocks a few times and then enters.

  She drops more files at the corner of my desk. “More marginals. Not really sure where they’ll be classified. I spotted a couple you might want to send down to Nyla in Low Prob. At least get those out of our hair and clear the decks. Got any that you’ll take on as cases yet?”

  “No. Haven’t dug out a diamond in the rough. Most of these are simple letters or cautionary notices.”

  She smiles, it’s friendly, thank gods. Finding out that someone in Traffic was jealous of my promotion caused me to feel insecure that it’s taken a while for me to find my place in the hierarchy of the office. Maybe I’m imagining it.

  “Thank you.” I motion to the files. “For this.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome.”

  I keep eye contact and it’s enough that she pauses at the door. Maybe I’ll make my first office friend.

  “We missed you yesterday, but I was surprised you were able to exceed the quota. Gretchen was impressed.”

  “I wasn’t…I didn’t feel well. Didn’t want to spread it around the office.”

  “I could tell you were drained on Monday. You look a lot better.”

  I return the pleasant smile. How long is small talk supposed to last? I glance at my clock.

  “Must be something going around,” she continues. “Miles called in to the station for a consult and they said Becker is out sick today.”

  “Becker is sick?” I get that sinking feeling, as if all the blood quickly drains from my extremities. Too late, I realize I reacted too quickly. I sit up and do my best that’s-too-bad face.

  Tonya hesitates, a knowing grin creeps on her face. Crap, I showed my cards; now she knows my play.

  I take the stack of files, making like I’m too busy to chat for much longer. I practice one of Becker’s half-truths. Why lie when you can offer some truth and act as though there’s no reason to hide? “We’ve become friends. I saw him a few days ago.” Shit. “For a case,” I add too quickly as a cover up. “I hope I didn’t give him anything.”

  She smirks and her hip juts out as she swings the door open. “Indeed.”

  I get back to work, reading the same paragraph over and over. My heart flutters when I see Tonya on her way back to my office. Shit. I shouldn’t have done the friends thing. Now she’s going to pry me for details about Becker and me. Before I make friends maybe I should research it better. For all I know, Tonya is the office gossip and everyone knows about our little discussion.

  She opens the door, expression neutral. “There’s a woman here to see you. Ms. Morrison. Should I tell her to wait? She doesn’t have an appointment.”

  Alana? I scoot out from behind my desk. “I’ll meet her in the front office.”

  Too late. A woman I’ve never seen before, but looks familiar. An older version of Alana, but not her. Her hair is short, cropped at the chin where Alana’s is long. Alana is tall and thin, shaped like a dancer. This woman has an elegant stoutness. Her mother. I nearly don’t recognize her without all her television makeup—but also, without it, she’s a lot harsher. Her mouth is pressed together, revealing several wrinkle lines that point to her thin lips.

  She stands, hands on hips, behind Tonya—who, bless her—has her arm extended across my door. It acts as a barricade. “I’m sorry, miss, if you’ll just wait up front—”

  “Hale? Kate Hale, I presume.” Her head jerks with small tiny movements, like a bird inspecting a worm. “I’m sorry, I must not wait. I have other appointments today that cannot be rescheduled.”

  “It’s all right, Tonya. I’ve just remembered that I asked Mrs. Morrison to stop by today. Please, have a seat, Mrs. Morrison.” I motion for the empty chair in the corner of my office.

  She marches forward with her handbag held in front of her with both hands. She doesn’t acknowledge Tonya and when she sits she lets out a small, petty humph, as though the nuisance of being stopped at our reception has been an ordeal.

  Tonya leaves with an annoyed look toward our unexpected visitor. Shoot, I’d forgotten I’d told Beatrix Morrison’s daughter to send her mother to our offices today. I should have told Tonya to be ready for her.

  “Mrs. Morrison—”

  “Let’s not waste time with pleasantries. You called my home late last night—”

  “It was actually afternoon. Around four o’ clock.”

  “Asking disturbing questions to my youngest daughter. We’re very fortunate that Alana survived her prediction, but as far as we’re concerned the matter is settled. My husband’s family has a small bit of Fae. Brownie on my side. The police officers who spoke with Alana assured her that this bloodline might have caused the error in her prediction.”

  “It’s not exactly that clear cut. When Officers Becker and Lipski spoke to Alana they weren’t positive that her bloodline was enough to invalidate the forecast. It doesn’t fully explain the anomaly—”

  “Then why would they tell her so? I find it quite intrusive to continue this investigation. What if your attentions bring her another unfortunate prediction?”

  “There’s no evidence to suggest that an investigation will spark a prediction. That’s an ol’ warlock’s tale.”

  Mrs. Morrison crosses her legs, uncrosses them. “Well, at the very least I don’t see how poking into Alana’s life and her family will bring you any closer to understanding what happened. Why not just let it go?”

  “I’m curious, has anyone else visited you, aside from Orland Chandler?”

  “Who him? Nobody besides that nice sensitive. He was very relieved to see my daughter well and alive. I can’t say the same for you.” She opens her purse and pulls out her lipstick, freshening up. “My daughter says you treated her like an errant nose hair. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  Because she wasn’t, but I can’t tell that to a victim’s mother. My job is to investigate any strange occurrence of prediction, whether it be wrong or chance or something else. I can be as delicate or as gruff with the circumstances, but in the end some clients will be sensitive to how I handle it. We can always do better. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the statistics we forget about the people, like a doctor that doesn’t see a patient, but a medical problem that must be solved. Although some twinge in her voice gives me pause. Is she trying to push me? Guilt me?

  Her chin wo
bbles. Not genuine, more like she’s trying to bring forth the emotion as though we’re in acting class. A flash of frustration.

  There. A show of weakness? Or a sign of some emotion she’s hiding from me? She’s coming on strong, protective of her adult daughter. It’s a risk for her as a television personality to show at my office and make a fuss.

  I sit, leaning forward, and lace my fingers together in front of me. “I’m truly sorry for any inconvenience brought to your family by this investigation.”

  “I assume you’ve gotten all you need. We’ve answered every question, supplied additional information your department didn’t think to ask for. If you had known of our bloodlines perhaps this mistake could have been avoided.”

  “Of course. We’ve recorded the occurrence for future actuaries to be aware of. Although, this anomaly has never presented before. Not even with full-blooded Fae.”

  She fiddles with her purse clasp. “Well, I’m just going off of the police officer’s explanation.”

  “Which I explained was not based on any fact.”

  Mrs. Morrison’s lips pinch together. She doesn’t like this explanation. I take a deep breath. If Becker were here I’d have much more insight into what is really motivating this woman. Is it truly a concern for her privacy? Or something else? I decide to test the latter.

  I look her straight in the eye once she gives me her gaze. “What I’m trying to get at here, Mrs. Morrison, is that we have reason to believe that this prediction has been tampered with.”

  She looks away. Interesting.

  “I wouldn’t know about that. Alana is an honest girl. We’ve raised her to respect the fates. Fae have a long history of working with oracles for positive outcomes.”

  “Right. Thank you for your cooperation thus far in the case. It’s been very helpful.”

  “Hopefully helpful enough for you to close it and let everyone go on with their lives. I would hate for this to haunt Alana.” She rises, brushing her skirt free of any wrinkles.

  In two strides I catch the door before she can open it. “One more thing. I’m curious about what you’d said earlier about meddling in a case bringing about another negative outcome. What did you mean by that?”

  Orland had said the same, but for a reason. He knew about what happened with Jack. Our investigation had ended less than ideal. It had been because we’d not put a watch on his name. If a prediction is successfully altered, then it can sometimes cause a ripple. We never accounted for the possible ripple.

  The woman smiles, but the edges of her mouth twist downward. Her eyes widen slightly, and her pupils dilate. “Nothing, Ms. Hale. I actually don’t quite remember what I said about the matter.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Did you mean the ripple? From reversing a high probability?”

  “Yes,” she says too quickly, as though she’s grasping for an explanation. “That must have been what I meant.”

  With a pleasant smile I open the door, and she moves through without hesitation, but she very carefully keeps her gaze from mine. Her heels thump along on our Berber-over-cement carpet. I watch her the entire way, wondering if she can see my eyes following her.

  We both know the ripple effect isn’t what she meant. She’s hiding something and I’m going to find it out.

  Chapter 13

  I call Orland. No answer. It’s fishy that I haven’t received an email from Rosa Germain—the main oracle who predicted the Alana Morrison case. Mrs. Morrison and Orland both want me to stop this case. Half the department heads would like to see this case filed and marked as an error and the other half don’t really care. Nobody likes untied threads or incomplete paperwork, but I don’t like cases that have no answers. At least answers that don’t make sense anyway.

  I go over my case file on Orland again. He’s clean, at least on paper. After the ordeal we had with the last sensitive, Liza Hamilton, he was our first suspect. Except he has a much more straightforward file. And all his references check out. He has a long history with the Department of Oracles. The only reason I’ve kept him on my suspects list is that I just don’t like him. However, he’s on the same side in a way. He wants the oracles safe. We merely have different opinions on how to go about doing that.

  I dial Lipski. He picks up after the first ring. “What did you do to my wolf? He won’t answer my calls and the boss says he sick today. Got something you’d like to admit?” His tone is teasing.

  “If you’re asking how Becker is, I wouldn’t know. He left my house last night and I’ve not seen him since.”

  “Ah, he’s just embarrassed that you saw him like that. Give him a day. He’ll come back.”

  “I don’t think so, Hank. Not this time.”

  There’s a pause where I’m afraid he might start asking questions I’m not ready to answer, so I cut in before he can think of any. “I’m not calling to talk about Becker. I need you to pull in Orland Chandler, the sensitive we met with a few days ago.”

  “You got a suspicion? Evidence? You know we can’t bring him into the station without a reason.”

  Damn it.

  “The reason is that I gave my email to Rosa and she’s not responded. I’ve tried to call him and he won’t pick up. I think he’s interfered with my communication with her.”

  “So the reason is that you don’t like him? Not enough, Katie.”

  “We’ve recently had a leak in the Oracle Department where a trained sensitive slipped into a position they shouldn’t have. She nearly killed her entire house.”

  “They plugged that hole. It worked for the anti-faters once. It won’t happen again.”

  “What if they found another way? What if he’s set up this prediction from the get go?”

  “Okay, look, I can tell you’re not going to let this go. I can’t pull him in, but maybe I can intimidate him into at least answering your calls. Let me see what I can do.”

  He hangs up. Ten minutes later my phone rings.

  “Kate Hale.”

  There’s a sigh. Orland. “Actuary—”

  “My name is Kate. Hale. Or Ms. Hale. Or Kate. But if you value your life you’ll stop calling me actuary. We both know you are well aware I’m the actuary that worked on the Jack Roberts case.”

  There’s a long pause. “Actually, I was unaware.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Orland. You mentioned that little tidbit when we met about digging too deep into a case and having the ripples come back and affect Jack. You were obviously making a threat toward me about this case and why you wanted me to drop it. You’re afraid I’ll make the same mistake again.”

  “I’m well aware of the Roberts case. I had no idea you were on the actuary team.”

  “There was no team. I’m telling you it was me, only me, acting as the investigative actuary and Ian Becker was the police consult.”

  He clears his throat. “Then we have you to thank for saving his life.”

  My blood heats, boiling in my veins. “Fuck you. A few days ago you accused me of making a mistake that caused his accident. I know how you really feel about the situation. Nice try.”

  There’s a sharp breath on the other line. I suppose I could have been less coarse. So much for careful professionalism.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Hale,” he says, speaking my name clearly and distinctly, as if to make some point, “is there a reason why you’ve felt it necessary to first have Detective Lipski threaten me into calling you and when I politely do, you proceed to yell, curse, and accuse me of ulterior motives?”

  “Yeah, you want me to drop this case. I gave Rosa my email and asked her to contact me and she promised she would, but she hasn’t. Last time a sensitive wanted me to stay away from her oracles she was planning on murdering half of them.”

  “I can see you care for the oracles as much as I do. I admire you for this. Many do not see them as people, but as cogs in the net. The world only cares about them as far as they can forecast their good fortunes.” He takes a long breath. “I did discourage Rosa from contacting y
ou, but I left it to be her own decision. I meant what I said a few days ago. The more you meddle in this case, the more repercussion that will come down on the oracles.”

  “Not if we catch the people behind these threats. I can’t do that if you won’t tell me all the information. It leads me to believe you’re hiding something from me for them or because they’ve threatened you. And whichever it is, I’ll find out eventually. I just met with Mrs. Morrison, the mother of the girl, Alana, who’d been destined to die. She says you’ve been visiting them, encouraging them to believe this forecast was an error.”

  “It was an error. Alana Morrison is alive and not dead as Rosa had forecast.”

  Interesting he no longer denied the forecast. “Did you or did you not make them believe that a ripple would occur if I continued to investigate?”

  “I mentioned no such thing. Although I admit the fear haunts me, I would never pass that fear to another or make threats for which I do not know the truth.”

  “This prediction has been tampered with. We need to find out why.”

  “No, Ms. Hale, we don’t need to do anything of the sort. Oracles are tasked with the job of forecasting future events. Actuaries assign the probability of those events occurring. Nowhere in there does it state we must concern ourselves with the errors to the degree you’re applying.”

  “I’m an investigative actuary. My job is to find out why predictions go wrong. Why are you fighting this? You want to protect the oracles? You have a shitty way of showing it.” Becker had eliminated Orland as a suspect, over and over, but his behavior bothers me.

  “I’m showing it the only way I’m capable. My hands are tied in an ethical dilemma.” His voice lowers. “I had no intention of going this far with you, Ms. Hale. You were meant to stop this case and report it as an error, but I see now that you are a nuisance that will not go away.”

  “Not until you tell me why you’re resisting my investigation and potentially sabotaging it.”

  “You spoke of the incident with Jack Roberts? You claim it is your fault that he was nearly killed, but you see, that cannot be because it is, in fact, mine. It’s my fault Jack was in danger.” His voice wavers with a hint of emotion. My first indication he’s finally being straight with me. But how could he blame himself? I never once saw him during the case. Sure, there was a ton of Brothers and Sisters of the Vates, but they all blurred together.