by C. D. Hersh
“I won’t.”
The bathroom door swung open and Gladys entered. “Oh dear God in heaven! It stinks in here. Who’s vomiting?”
“Me,” Katrina said. “I think I’ve got the stomach flu.”
Gladys crossed her index fingers in front of her face and backed away. “Don’t give it to me, and I hope you didn’t give it to your fella when you did the nasty last night.”
“What?” Katrina and Alexi said in unison.
“His card said you didn’t get breakfast so he wanted to take you to dinner. I just assumed—”
Sticking her finger in her throat, Katrina approached Gladys, gagging. The older woman bolted from the bathroom.
Alexi doubled over laughing. “Did you do the nasty?”
“No! I barely know the guy.”
“Do you want to?”
The hesitation and the faraway look which came over Katrina’s face told all. She wanted to. She could only hope it wasn’t with the murderer Hugh suspected her of protecting.
Kat’s answer made Owen smile all the way to Rogueman’s Bar. Things were moving along well. Once she was into him she wouldn’t give him up to the cops. As he pushed the door open, he waited for the customers inside the bar to turn and glare at him, like they usually did, but no one noticed his entrance. Spotting Johnny cleaning a table near the bar, Owen made his way toward him.
“Guess they’re getting used to me,” he said as Johnny looked at him.
“I had a talk with them,” Johnny said. “They shouldn’t give ya any more trouble.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Can’t have them messing with my mentee, can I?” Johnny cocked a red eyebrow at him. “Ya fixed it, didn’t ya?”
“Awful sure of yourself, aren’t you?” The bartender’s confidence bothered him.
“Sure of you. I didn’t think Falhman would give ya trouble once ya explained the situation.”
“Or you’re sure of your gossip.”
Johnny grinned. “That, too.” He motioned for Owen to sit and then took the chair across the table. “So what did he say?”
“A trial period. Two weeks.”
“Fair enough. I didn’t expect him to just give ya to me.”
“There’s another hitch. If you, we, don’t produce something he likes, the relationship-and more, if you get my drift-will end.” He scrubbed his chin anxiously. “If you’re not willing to risk it, I’ll understand and go back and tell Falhman I’ve changed my mind. No hard feelings on my part.”
“Climbing the ranks of any company means taking risks. I know what I can do and what ya can’t. We’ll have improved yer skills enough he won’t ask ya to do me in. Ya can count on that.”
“How did you know that’s what he had in mind?”
“Falhman never does his own dirty work, and he makes his people loyal to him by sealing their fates in one way or another. The fact he’s so willing to let me, an unproven mentor, take ya on tells me he hasn’t tied ya to him yet.” Johnny cocked his head sideways and assessed Owen. “There’s still time to get out, if yer a mind to.”
“Not going.”
“Do ya have a lady?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure how she feels yet.”
“Is she one of us?”
“No.”
“Ya might want to think about yer next steps then. If ya get too deep ya might not get out. Shifter-non-shifter relationships aren’t easy.”
“You sound like you know that from experience.”
“I hear things. Know some people who’ve had them.”
The door flew open, banging against the wall. His mother marched in, her fury preceding her like the wind in a Nor’easter squall. All heads turned in her direction. “You,” she said, jabbing a perfectly manicured, red-nailed finger toward Johnny. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Here comes trouble,” Johnny whispered as he stood and faced Sylvia.
Placing himself between her and Johnny, Owen said, “I’ll handle it.”
“Be my guest,” Johnny replied as he went behind the bar.
She veered to the right in pursuit of Johnny, but Owen stopped her. “Have a seat, Mom. We’ve got some talking to do.” Grasping her arm, he guided her toward the table, but she jerked free.
“My fight’s not with you.” She jabbed her index finger toward Johnny again. “That double crossing sneak of a bartender—”
“Sit down,” Owen commanded, shoving his mother onto a chair, “and listen to me.”
As she hit the seat, she shot an annoyed expression at him. “Owen, how dare you—”
A murmur went through the room at her reprimand, and he swore the crowd angled their direction in anticipation. “Nothing to see here,” he said to them. When they continued to stare, he moved forward menacingly. One-by-one they turned back to their own business.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“Good question, Mom. Want to tell me why you’re here, although I think I already know.”
“That lowlife tried to usurp my authority. Did you know Falhman made him your new mentor?”
“I asked him to.”
Her chin dropped.
He sucked his cheeks in to hide the growing smile. Astonishment was a look he’d never seen on his mother’s face. Anger. Determination. Sneakiness. All trademarks looks for her, but astonishment? Never.
“Why?”
“Because you’re holding me back. Not allowing me to reach my full potential.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Being motherly.”
“Progressing too fast, too soon, isn’t good. I know.”
“Just because it broke your marriage and cost me knowing my real father doesn’t mean I can’t handle it.”
She huffed. “You’re my son. What makes you think it won’t?”
Because of the hatred he had in his heart toward all shifters, he figured he could not fall in as deep as she had. Ridding the world of shifters was the ultimate good. The ends justified the means. When he eliminated them all, present company excepted, he’d file off the inscriptions inside the rings he collected, including his and his mother’s rings, and throw them in the deepest part of the ocean. That would end this shifter world domination crap. Humans didn’t need anything but humans dominating them.
“Besides,” his mother continued, “you’re playing with fire challenging Falhman.”
Playing was exactly what he was doing. Playing Falhman. Playing along with whomever and whatever Owen needed in order to accomplish his goals. If he did things right, he’d play both sides against each other.
“So what’s the problem then? I’m a rogue. In order to be better I have to have a mentor who’s not my mother. End of discussion.” His words were sharp and his tone harsh, and her jaw dropped again. “Close your mouth, Mother. You look like a fish.”
Her jaw snapped closed so fast he swore he heard her teeth chatter. “We’re not finished with this,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Yes, we are.” He gave her a frigid stare. Then he turned his back on her and went to the bar.
Reflected in the mirror, he saw her mouth open and shut and then draw into a thin line. Rising, she strode from the room, her high heels clicking so angrily on the floor he heard them over the crowd’s murmurs. There’d be hell to pay when he got home. If he went home.
The bar patrons watched her exit, then swiveled around toward him. Using the mirror, he surveyed the room, his gaze traveling from one table to another until everyone went back to their business.
“Nice piece of work,” Johnny said, as he pushed a bottle of beer toward him. “I’ve never seen anyone face her down before.”
“Neither has she.” He grabbed the
beer, trying to keep his shaking hand from showing.
“Will ya need a place to stay?”
“You offering?” Moving in with Kat wasn’t an option. Yet.
“I’ve a spare bedroom if it gets hot at home.”
Chances are it would heat up quickly. His mother didn’t take rejection lightly.
Chapter 9
Hugh arrived at Alexi’s house in time for after-dinner tea. She let him in and led him to the kitchen where Rhys and Eli loaded the dishwasher.
“Do ye want me tae disappear?” Eli asked as he wiped his hands on a brightly striped towel.
“Can you do that?” Hugh asked incredulously.
“I havenae mastered the amoeba yet.”
“Really?”
“No,” Alexi said. “Eli’s pulling your leg. Sit, all of you.” As the men chose their seats, she put the teakettle on and set out a plate of Eli’s scones and some jam.
“What did Katrina say?” Hugh asked.
“You get right to the point, don’t you?” Hugh’s impatience annoyed her. Ever since her conversation with Katrina, she’d tried to figure out what to say to him that would give enough information to satisfy him and still allow her to protect her charge.
“I’m chasing terrorists. I don’t have the luxury of time.” He quirked his brow at her in a questioning manner. “So . . .”
“She admits being in the alley and helping the man who shot the shifter.”
“So she saw him shift?”
“Her focus was on the man she rescued.” She hoped Eli or Rhys wouldn’t catch her lie.
“Not an answer,” Hugh said.
“The only one I have,” she replied. Any more would compromise Katrina.
“And the man? Where is he?”
“She doesn’t know. They went to her apartment, and when she left to get bandages he disappeared.”
“No hospital?”
“He begged her not to.”
“Not a good enough reason. The man committed a murder. She should have taken him to a hospital. I would have at least had him in for questioning.”
The teakettle screamed. She took it off the stove and poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot. “If she had, and he’d seen the shift and told the hospital staff he’d shot some paranormal thing, what would you have done? Would you want that going out over the news airwaves? You suspect shifters are involved in this terrorist cell. Having attention drawn to them could ruin your investigation.”
Hugh grimaced, and she knew she had him.
“We should have a team sweep her apartment for DNA. Maybe he left some blood we could analyze.”
Hugh appeared determined to get some sort of satisfaction out of the conversation. A DNA sweep couldn’t happen. No telling what they might find in an apartment of a paranormal huntress.
“I’ll take care of it.” She’d fake a report to keep him satisfied. What would that take? She was getting in deeper and deeper. Not a good feeling.
“Nae tae be changing the subject, but have ye learned any mair aboot yer terrorists?” Eli asked as he passed the scones and plates.
Thank goodness for Eli. She wanted to give him a big hug for diverting the conversation from Katrina.
“Not much. I’ve narrowed the entry point down to several shipping companies.”
“Which ones?” Rhys asked.
“WK Shipping, Alco, and Willamette and Sons. All three have recently received cargo from Atlanta where the trail originally started.
“Didn’t you have an appointment with WK Shipping today?” she asked Rhys.
“The CEO had to cancel. We rescheduled.”
“About what?” Hugh asked.
“P.I. work. The CEO wants me to keep an eye on someone or something. I don’t know the details yet.”
“Speaking of keeping an eye on things, I could use some help. Anyone on the force, whom you trust implicitly, you might be able to assign to me?”
“What aboot Rhys? He’s nae on the force anymair, but he’s a great tracker, especially from the air.”
All heads swiveled toward Eli. “Eli!” she said as she noticed the shocked look on Rhys’ face. Rhys could only track from the air using his animal ego. What was Eli thinking?
“’Tis all right, lassie. Letting Rhys help ’twill be fine. After all, we canna let anymair humans get involved in this, and ye canna help, not with ye being in the way—”
She cut him off with a pointed glare before he could spill the beans concerning her potential pregnancy. She wasn’t going to believe until she had the doctor’s test in hand.
Eli gave her a sorry-I-mentioned-it look then cleared his throat and continued, “As I ’twas saying, the laddie needs a hand tae hunt the shifters, and he canna do it on his own.”
“You could help Hugh,” she said, anxious to keep her husband out of harm’s way.
“Aye, I could, but I dinna have the right qualification fer this job. Rhys can spot the shifters from the air and relay the information tae Hugh. From above he can sneak up on them unawares. All the help we can give only leads us closer tae stopping anything the scoundrels are planning.”
“Helicopters are noisy,” Hugh said. “The shifters would hide the minute they heard the blades.” He took a scone, spread some jam on it, and started to take a bite.
“He’ll nae be in a chopper,” Eli said, “but using his own wings tae fly.”
“What?” The scone hit the plate and bounced off. Hugh’s gaze jerked around the table, confusion clearly marked in his eyes.
“I’m a hawk,” Rhys said.
Hugh’s head drew back like a turtle getting ready to retreat into its shell, his eyes rounded in disbelief. “As in feathers-and-beak hawk?”
“Yeah. That would be me.”
“How would a hawk help me?”
“I can see a hare from a mile away. Can you?” Rhys sounded indignant at Hugh’s challenge to his abilities.
“No, but seeing a shifter, when you are a hawk, isn’t telling me where I can find it unless you all can speak when you’re shifted. Delaney never said you could do that.”
“We canna. Who’d think a silly thing like that? But we can rig a tiny transmitter tae affix tae his leg, and ye can use signals based on Rhys’ hawk calls. One squawk tae stop. Two turn left. Three go right. Rapid squawks means come quickly. And sae on.”
“When he shifts to a hawk won’t the transmitter fall off?” Hugh peered beneath the table where Rhys sat. “Your ankle looks a lot bigger than a bird’s leg.”
“Ye’ll havetae attach it tae Rhys after he’s shifted.”
A disgusted expression crossed Hugh’s face. “I won’t have to see him naked, will I?”
“Nae.” Eli’s whiskers rose on his cheeks as he smiled.
“Good.” Hugh retrieved his scone and took a bite, then accepted a cup of tea from Alexi. “So how does it work?”
“’Tis not like the tales o’ werewolves or selkies who have tae shed their clothes or coats tae change and canna change back without them. The ring’s magic absorbs the wearer’s clothing when he shifts tae his animal ego.”
“But not the transmitter?” Hugh asked.
“Aye. ’Twould absorb the transmitter, but he couldnae use it anymair than he could access his purse in animal form.”
“Purse?” Hugh glanced askance at Rhys.
“Wallet,” she explained. “Eli still has a bit of the Scottish in him.”
“Ya think?” Rhys said with a big grin.
“Ye dinna havetae make the fool o’ me,” Eli said gruffly to Rhys. “’Tis clear as the nose on yer face what I meant.”
“When will you start,” she asked.
“As soon as I get a lead,” Hugh said. “In fact, I’ve got
some poking around to do tonight.” Wadding his napkin into a ball, he scooted the chair away from the table.
Rhys rose. “Need some help now?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll be in touch.”
Alexi didn’t like the anticipation in Rhys’ voice. Another day of reprieve from her husband’s rogue terrorist hunting was okay with her. Rhys might think himself safe as a hawk, but she knew a panther roaming the streets of Cleveland wanted Rhys dead. Cats and birds did not mix. The cat usually won.
When Hugh walked into the Dew Drop Inn, he saw LJ leaning on the bar chatting up some rough-looking men. An urge to tell the guys to back off rose in his chest. He took a step toward her, then stopped. He didn’t have the right to do that, yet. Catching her eye, he motioned toward the empty table in the corner he’d favored since his first visit.
She grabbed a menu and headed toward him. “I hoped you’d come in.” As she neared, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve got some leads.”
Probably nothing. Ambulance chaser that LJ was, when she’d seen his business card fall out of his wallet she’d jumped on it like a frog on a fly demanding to know his business. She even threatened to announce his presence to the bar if he wouldn’t tell her. With the assortment of seedy characters hanging around, he figured one probably had a bone to pick with an FBI agent. Any FBI agent.
To keep her quiet he’d asked her to chat up the clientele and see what was happening in the area. He thought it wouldn’t be a risky assignment. Seeing the characters she’d been talking to, and the way they eyed him, he doubted his earlier decision. He should have just walked away and not come back. It would have been safer for her. Something about her made the decision impossible.
