Bait and Bleed

by Elizabeth Blake

  I stepped back from the door and let them pass, giving Rosco plenty of space. Ignoring him seemed like the best option. “Come in. I'll make coffee.”

  “Where were you last night, Durant?” Rosco said.

  “None of your business.”

  “Your handgun discharged Ag rounds,” Andreas said.

  “Accidental discharge. Why are you keeping tabs on me, Sarakas?” I kept my voice more inquisitive than accusatory. He was between a rock and a hard place, and I had put him there. Goddamn secret-sharing, what a stupid idea.

  “I filed a suspicious behavior complaint against you,” Rosco said.

  “My suspicious behavior? I cautioned you against a potential, but you ignored your senior associate and almost got yourself eaten. Ever hear of negligence? And stupidity?”

  “You hit me,” Rosco said.

  “You pushed me, jerkwad.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Bootie call,” I said.

  “How much did you have to pay for it?”

  I smiled. “Now this is getting fun.”

  “Both of you need to stop being bastards.” Sarakas set his hands on his hips, which made him look like my father. I pressed a coffee mug against his chest, and he dropped his arms to take it. “Look, Kaidlyn—”

  “I’m done with your shit,” Rosco said. “I don’t care what kind of superstar, affirmative action Rambo-Barbie you think you are. We can subpoena your phone records, firearm, and tag data. I will find out what you’ve been up to and have you deemed unfit for service.”

  “You could do all that, but it would take a long time and I'll lie about it anyway. That’s a lot of work simply to cover for your inability to take a hint, which endangered your teammate and officers on the scene. Besides, are you willing to wager that the bureau wants you more than they want me? I mean, wouldn’t they just fire you for trying to take out their PR Princess?”

  I bluffed. I knew I was expendable. We all were.

  “Why not simply tell us where you went?” Rosco said.

  “Because it falls into the none-of-your-business category. I'm entitled to my privacy when I'm off the clock.”

  “You're up to something,” he said. I wiggled my fingers and hummed a spooky tune. His face blossomed pink and tightened with anger. Sarakas positioned himself between us in case he needed to break up a fistfight.

  “Bring Davey out here,” Rosco said.

  “Why?”

  “Rosco wants to talk with him,” Sarakas said.

  “Maybe Rosco can sod off,” I suggested.

  “You don't get the benefit of the doubt this time,” Rosco said. “You told FBHS agents that you are willing to lie to us. That’s a felony.”

  “Only being honest,” I said, smiling.

  “Kaidlyn,” Sarakas chastised. I put my hands on my hips. I could shoot Rosco, then inevitably Sarakas, or I could hope Davey could meet the belligerent feds without growing agitated.

  “You have no right to make demands of me.”

  “We may not have the right, but we have the authority,” Rosco said.

  Sarakas looked like someone shoved a cactus in his mouth.

  “Isn't that the truth,” I said. “Wait here.”

  I walked toward the bedroom, and heard Rosco say, “Want me to guard the back door?” Rolling my eyes, I opened the bedroom door. Davey sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, meditating. His breathing was sturdy.

  “They want to talk with you. Are you up for this?”

  “Yeah. What's one more asshole?”

  “An asshole with a gun.”

  “Yeah.” His cheeks grew pink despite his assurances. I reached out to touch his wrist. I only wanted to feel his temperature, but he thought I wanted his hand. He clasped my palm in his fingers and sighed. “Your hands never shake.”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  He stood, taking my hand with him. He led the way down the hall, dropping my hand at the last minute.

  Sarakas said, “Hey, Davey, how's it going?”

  “Hi. What’s up?”

  “This is Rosco,” Sarakas said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Davey said. Rosco held out his hand, leaving Davey little choice but to touch him. They shook. I watched Rosco's face for any suspicion, but he hadn’t come for Davey. He was after me.

  He released Davey's hand after a few pumps.

  “Davey, do you have any idea why Kaidlyn left the house last night?”

  “I was asleep,” he said. Diversion, and not a good one. Avoiding a question by answering a similar one was novice stuff. Crap. Davey might avoid a shed, but he was a bad liar.

  “Would you say that Kaidlyn has been behaving oddly the past week?”

  “She's been stressed out,” Davey said. “My rehab cost a fortune and I got kicked out of school. Then her old partner, Vincent, died and someone tried to blow her up. That would make anyone act oddly.”

  “Any unusual visitors?”

  “Like, besides you? Her dad came to visit after the explosion,” Davey said.

  “Any idea why Kaidlyn might fire her handgun outside of work?”

  “Shooting? No, I don’t much care for guns.”

  “Video show her speeding across town toward Red Sector. Any idea why?”

  “Well, I think she's got a boyfriend she hangs out with, Clifford? Because the truck always has food wrappers from this round-the-clock Mexican restaurant near his gym. And he's totally sweet on her.”

  Huh?

  Davey explained, “He's a good looking guy with big eyes. You know, he's got all these muscles and stuff. Amazing overall tone, quite picturesque. Lovely skin, too. He lives near Red.”

  Sarakas said, “Clifford who?”

  “You know, she trains with him at the gym. MMA stuff. I considered getting into the sport. Do you think it will help in a fight?”

  “Not as much as a Glock.” Sarakas frowned.

  “I can't own a handgun for another three years.” Davey shrugged. “Crazy how I can join the army and kill people at age seventeen, but I can't drink or buy pistols. Does that make any sense to you?”

  That's my boy.

  “You’re eighteen now, aren’t you, Davey?” Rosco said. “You’re no longer a minor, therefore Kaidlyn is not your guardian. Why are you here? What’s the nature of your relationship?”

  “We're done,” Andreas said. “Let's go, Rosco.”

  Rosco stepped into me, glowering into my face. His breath fanned my cheek. Too close for comfort. “I'm watching you, Durant. You’ve losing it. You’re done.”

  “What a lovely glass house you have, Rosco.”

  His eyebrows flattened and he gave me his poker face. Funny how people with something to hide suspect everyone else of harboring dark secrets. Eventually, he and I would need to come to terms before we offed each other.

  “Rosco,” Sarakas said.

  “You know she's hiding something,” Rosco said.

  He didn’t want me suspended, he wanted me gone. Deemed incompetent. Sarakas already knew I was a mutt sympathizer, and he recently learned that I lied a lot. I'd cracked some of his trust, and Rosco aimed to exploit the weakness. Nice, in a Machiavellian sort of way.

  I looked at Davey. “Clifford?”

  “Nothing I said was particularly untrue. You eat at Filiberto's all the time.”

  “Don't you think you went overboard with the muscles and eyes bit?”

  “Also true. And do you think he would have agreed to train me if he wasn't a teeny bit sweet on you? You aren't that good at laying guilt trips.”

  “Oh, dang. We were supposed to go to Clifford's today.”

  “He'll forgive you. Especially if you say thanks.”

  “Should I tell him about the Russian mutts?”

  “Yes.”

  I didn't have anything to add or say, so I walked back into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. Dealing with Rosco left me agitated.

  “Maybe you should take a nap,” Davey said.

>   “Yeah.” I surprised him by agreeing. “Wake me if there's trouble.”

  He saluted. “Guard dog at your service.”

  “Funny.” I went to my bedroom, removed the holster, the Glock, and the boots. I laid down on the covers and closed my eyes. Just a wink of sleep, enough to make it through the day. That's all I needed. A few minutes, I promised myself, and then I zonked out entirely.

  Chapter 27

  Food vapors woke me.

  “Do you want dinner?” Davey said, surrounded by a full ham shank, a vat of salad, and a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.

  “No, I’m going out.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Crappiest way to start any conversation ever. Okay, shoot. What's up?”

  “I don't want to take Xen.”

  “Regularly? Today? What do you mean?”

  “Ever. I don't want to take it ever again. I don’t want Xen or Down-boys. They both feel sick and dirty.”

  “Davey, you’re L-pos. The disease is virile, aggressive, and degenerative. The urge accumulates. I hear the hunger never ends. You need something to take the edge off, and there’s no shame in that. Sedatives prove helpful. So far, the experimental drug works better than most, but even then…a lot of mutts don't last. Your L-strain burned past three heavy tranquilizers. Wanna know how many mutts kick the sedatives and then kill people? I've got a list of names a mile long.”

  “I hear you, I do. And I understand. But you're missing the bigger picture.”

  “What's that?”

  “I've got three people intimately aware of mutt function who can help me. You will teach me things most mutts never have the opportunity to learn. Like, you're the keystone here, and I need your support because I'm dead without it. Even on Xen, it is only a matter of time. While you’re teaching me the basics of survival, Clifford can teach me to deal with high-stress situations.”

  “You said three. Three people.” I had a sinking feeling. “Who is the third?”

  “Svetlana is not on Xen and neither is Peter. Her people weren't drugged up, as far as I can tell. That's a whole kennel of mutts who coexist with each other and are integrated with society without the aid of drugs. Which means it is entirely possible.”

  I cringed. He was right, and I'd be seeing more of Svetlana. “Davey, this social experiment will end poorly.”

  “I have to believe I can do it.”

  “Belief isn't always enough.”

  “However, belief, knowledge, and preparation is a powerful combination.”

  “You want to go cold turkey with the help of an illegal, possibly insane support group.” I groaned, sick to my stomach. Maybe some mutts could live drug-free, but I wasn’t interested in the risk. Why? Because Davey's life depended on a delicate balance, and if I let him down, I would have to execute him.

  Death was not a pleasant alternative to Xen.

  “We both know, if you convince me to stay on the drug, it won't work indefinitely. You’ve said a hundred times that it’s simply a bandage, not a cure.”

  “Even Clifford takes Xen,” I argued.

  “Not all the time,” Davey countered. “And when you think of it, he doesn't hang out with strong mutts, he plays with normies. People are aggressive, sweaty, and they bleed on his mats. He takes Xen because he stands in front of a steak buffet. Besides, you’re putting too much faith in drugs. Those tranks you praised were supposed to knock the monster out of me, but it didn’t work. Three shots in, and I still had to anchor on you, otherwise I would have lost it.”

  “Anchor?”

  “Y’know, like, you grounded me. Spiritually. Whatever, I don’t want drugs.”

  “Goddamn it.”

  “Are you mad?” He stood motionless and watched me.

  “I hate that I'm going to agree to this.”

  “Because you're thinking about worst case scenarios.”

  “You should, too. Most of those what-ifs are based in reality.”

  “Kaid, I think we can agree Xen is not the answer. It's a crutch that will make me weaker and weaker until it doesn't work anymore. Then I'll die. I'll kill someone and then I'll die. I don't want to go out that way. I don't want the Xen.”

  “Maybe you don’t need it. Maybe there’s no point.”

  I slipped the Jericho from its holster, set it on the counter, and slowly I spun it until the pistol pointed at him. My finger wasn't anywhere near the trigger, the safety remained on, but his face flushed and his nostrils flared. His body began to curl as if he had a sudden cramp.

  Mutts who weren't comfortable with their shed always curled up like a baby. He might go right here, right in my kitchen.

  “What are you feeling now?” I said.

  “Irritated. Cheap tricks won’t push me, Kaid. At this point in our relationship, it’s insulting you tried. You aren’t what I needed to be afraid of.”

  “What do you need to fear?”

  “Myself. Or rather, I should fear being afraid of myself.”

  “Dang.”

  He had me from every angle. I sighed. I was not doing the best thing. The right thing, maybe, but that wouldn't matter when it backfired and someone got hurt. It's all fun and games until a werewolf munches on your eyeballs.

  “Davey, this needs to be a group effort. I must know everything you are feeling. If you see anything or hear anything that might trigger you, I need immediate honest details about the situation.”

  “In exchange, you need to tell me everything you know about my condition, all the trends and pitfalls,” he said. “And you have to keep an eye on me when I work with Clifford. Sometimes you can tell when I'm close to shedding before I have a clue.”

  “We are probably going to get ourselves killed. The both of us, or possibly one of us will kill the other.”

  He smiled softly. “Couldn’t imagine putting my life in more capable hands.”

  My gut seized like I had a cramp and something happened to my eyes. “I gotta go. Errands.”

  His knowing grin chased me out the door.

  Chapter 28

  I told myself I shouldn't do what I was about to do: meddle. I hated meddling, especially if it happened in conjunction with an apology. Coincidently, I also hated apologizing.

  I smoothed the shirt over my breasts and checked all my guns, which were locked and loaded with Ag. Sighing, I went to further complicate Clifford’s life. I bought a heap of food from Filbertos as a cheesy peace offering. He greeted me at the door, arms crossed, leaning against the frame.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He stared blankly. Silent treatment, or an attempt to make me uncomfortable? God, he was beautiful. And doomed. And luscious in the fading sunset.

  “Sorry about killing a guy in your parking lot,” I said. He didn’t move. My apology missed the mark. I shifted nervously. “Sorry for leaving the body?”

  “Do you want to tell me why an FBHS agent came to see me this afternoon?”

  “Ah, shit.” I had completely forgotten about that.

  “Yeah. 'Aw shit' is right.”

  “Did they give you a hard time?”

  “It was one guy named Agent Sarakas. Asked me where I was last night. Asked me if I was with you. Implied we were intimate.”

  “Crap.” So much for the alibi.

  “I told him yes,” he said.

  “Huh?” I blinked.

  “I figured it was important. Besides, if they bust you, they will bust me. After that, he shut up and left. Makes me think he didn’t come on official business, that it was personal. Which is it?”

  “It has the potential to be both. He's my partner. Can I come in and talk?”

  He jerked his chin at my food. “Is that a bribe?”

  “Yep.”

  “Cupcake, you're lucky I'm hungry.” He stood aside. I hesitated, not sure if I wanted him at my back. “Skittish today, Kaid? If we are pretending to sleep together, you should come in.”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe a kiss at the door, in ca
se we’re under surveillance.”

  I chuckled. “Nice try.”

  His grin proved gorgeous, and I walked by. Heat radiated at me, accompanied by the smell of a virile man with fresh sweat on his skin and orange oil wafting from his fingers.

  He’s a mutt, I reminded myself.

  He closed the door behind me. His students had all gone and the giant shades were drawn on the windows. We were relatively secure. He straddled one of the benches and stared expectantly. I straddled the other end of the bench, leaving him less than an arm’s length away. Grappling distance. He stared at me with eyes that gleamed amber in a certain light. I passed him the carryout.

  “Why does the FBHS think you and I are sleeping together?” He cracked open the cartons.

  “I needed an alibi and Davey improvised.”

  “Now your agent partner thinks we're intimate. Which only makes sense, of course. We're both attractive, aggressive people. If you were driving to see me in the wee hours of the morning, we would definitely be fucking. A lot.”

  “Huh.” I couldn't argue with that. At least, I couldn't argue about it while I checked out his amazing eyelashes and perfect cheekbones.

  “Where were you this morning? You were supposed to bring Davey by.”

  “You're not curious about what brought a nosy federal agent to your door? Or whether or not we’ll see murder charges?”

  “If you want to tell me, fine. Otherwise, I assume it’s taken care of.”

  “You are a good person, Clifford.”

  “Bribes and flattery. Must really have something nasty up your sleeve.”

  “More truth than flattery.”

  I told him about the death threats, work friction with Rosco, and the tenuous situation between Erik and I. Left out most of the details, but even the bare bones were incriminating. And I told him about Svetlana and how she jumped on a terrorist’s pipe bomb to save a crowd. Clifford was the first mutt I spoke to who hadn't heard of her. I found it refreshing. I ended, “Despite an exploded spine, she didn't shed.”

  “Then she isn't a mutt.”

  I smiled because that had been my instinct. “She's a mutt. I'm certain.”

  “That kind of tolerance is not possible. Some mutts shed over paper cuts.”