Touch of Evil, page 27
part #1 of The Thrall Series
"Thanks for the warning." She took my hand and shook it. I nodded farewell and walked out of the room and back into the bright afternoon sunshine.
* * *
Chapter 19
Tom sprinted to catch up with me in the short distance to where I'd parked Edna. He touched my shoulder and I felt a shudder pass through me. Mary stood at the entrance to the motel room, but didn't make any motion to approach or stop Tom from talking with me.
His voice was low, nearly a whisper, making me wonder just how good wolves' hearing was "Kate, I'm sorry about that. Normally, Mary's a terrific Acca, but she's under a lot of pressure right now from others in the dyad. Dusty is a very controversial choice for surrogate because of her background. She's drawing too much attention to the wolves."
He slipped his hands around my waist and pulled me against him. "I need to stay here. I'll get a ride back home. I didn't want you to know about the ribs, but I don't care if I have to take a beating every day for the rest of my life, Kate. They can't change how I feel about you. I—oh, to hell with it!" He pulled me tight against him and gave me a kiss that left me breathless and speechless. It was a fierce joining of lips and limbs that made me feel both comforted and possessed, and turned my stomach to butter. It was as if he was trying to fill me up with his power like he had filled me with his body only hours ago.
It took me a few seconds to recover enough to whisper, "We're going to make it through this. I swear it to you. No Romeo and Juliet. And when it's all over we are definitely going to talk." He smiled and drew back from me. My knees were jelly as he sprinted back up the stairs to disappear back inside the room, past a very annoyed Acca. I could still feel the phantom tingling from where his lips had pressed.
But then everything changed. I was removing the truck keys from my pocket when all of the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end in unison. Someone was watching me. I was guessing that Mary had posted more guards than Jake for our meeting, but considering everything I'd learned today I didn't want to take any chances. As I slid the key into the door lock I used the window reflection to check behind me. Upstairs, a curtain twitched.
Time slowed; became surreal. So many things happened at once that I could only catch flashes of action—glimpses of still photographs. The door to room 150 opened again. Mary stood framed in the doorway. Dusty was a full head taller, and a half-step behind. A flash of light glinted from the drawn curtain. It reflected off my truck door.
"MARY! Look out!" She glanced at me and then to where I pointed in a fluid movement as quick as a hummingbird in mid-flight She shoved Dusty backward with one hand and transformed in a blast of pure power just as a gunshot crack sounded. Half a dozen wolves bounded from various directions, all converging on the shooter's room. One of the wolves came from Room 150, sailing over the head of the Acca. The first werewolf to arrive leapt onto the hood of the car beside me then jumped onto the second floor balcony. The wolf's chest exploded in a rain of blood and bone as a second shot rang out. The furred body fell backward with a lifeless thud that dented the roof of the parked car. My psychic sense told me that the wolf wasn't Tom—thank God. His lifeblood flowed in thick rivulets over the white paint and down the cracked windshield.
A high-pitched scream from the shooter's room chased me as I ran to where Dusty lay. Blood pooled beneath her and her eyes were open and startled. The scream behind me ended in an abrupt gurgle as I dropped to my knees beside her, heedless of the blood soaking into my jeans.
She whimpered, her eyes wide with panic and shock.
Her shoulder was shattered. I could see shards of white bone protruding through the ruptured skin. Blood flowed steadily, but wasn't spurring, thank God. If Mary hadn't shoved her out of the way… I didn't want to think about that I had too much to do. I rose and sprinted into the bathroom to grab what I hoped were relatively clean towels. By the time I was back at her side, Mary was there. She was calm and cool as the other wolves slavered and howled around the shooter, many of them wet with fresh blood. She knelt, naked beside me. Without a word, I handed her towels and she began applying direct pressure to the wound despite Dusty's screaming protests. I ran down to the truck, to my cell phone. It was time to call 911. Someone probably already had but in this neighborhood it was better to be sure.
The wolves were back. They stood guard in a semi-circle around their companions in the doorway, their duck neck ruffs bristling, bloodied fangs bared. Was one of them Tom? I didn't think I wanted to know.
Events returned to normal time. I reached into the truck cab and grabbed my cell phone. Just that small movement hurt enough to make me wince, which made me wonder just how bad the damage to my shoulder was becoming. I stifled the thought, and made my way carefully over to the gathered werewolves. I stopped bare inches from the guarded perimeter.
"The police and an ambulance are on their way." I announced. "You probably better get dressed—and they'd better change back."
I pulled my laundry bag from behind the seat. Tossing it onto the ground caused another shooting pain to radiate from my shoulder into my neck. My breath caught in an involuntary gasp. All of the wolves immediately raised their noses to the air. I'd assumed they'd heard me, but could they smell pain? I made my way very tentatively between the snarling animals to the fallen girl. They moved smoothly; parted and allowed me to pass and then closed ranks once more. I nudged Mary aside, taking her place applying pressure to the wound. It hurt my shoulder. A lot. But I did it anyway. Mary stared at me for a long moment over the wounded girl. Her gaze tried to extract information but I wasn't giving any. I just kept my eyes and attention on the wounded girl. Dusty's blood was still flowing, but more slowly. I hoped the ambulance would get here soon.
Mary disappeared into the room with the bag, reappearing just as the police and the first ambulance arrived.
The black sports bra was loose on her small chest, while the matching shorts were stretched uncomfortably tight over her ample hips. The rest of the wolves had vanished. I wasn't sure where. I hoped they'd reappear. There were bodies on the ground and Tom was a paramedic. I wasn't But most of all, involved parties at a shooting don't just get to walk away—on two legs or four.
I was a bit concerned that Tom didn't reappear to check on Dusty—or me, but all of the wolves had become scarce. I couldn't blame them. The police aren't supposed to be prejudiced against the wolves, but they are. I was betting the body upstairs had been ripped apart; another thing I wanted to avoid thinking about. The cops might shoot first and ask questions later.
I was cooling my heels in Edna's front seat when the nice policeman came to get me. He escorted me through the crowd of emergency workers and police to stand before a black man in a navy suit. Detective John Brooks was more imposing than you would expect from someone who stood a mere 5'7". But his suit looked liked it had been specially fitted to accommodate the kind of torso that can only be obtained through hours of hard work on weights. The dark brown eyes that stared out from that ebony face had seen it all. The power of an awesome intelligence and equally formidable will was in that gaze. I had heard through the grapevine that he, too, was Not Prey. One look at him made me believe it. I could tell from his glance that he recognized me as well. Not a surprise. After all, not many women in Denver stand 6' 1" and wear sweaters and jackets in the middle of summer.
"John Brooks." He extended a broad-fingered hand to me, I shook my head no, holding up my bloodstained palms. He nodded acknowledgment, but his eyes went very dark.
"Kate Reilly."
"You're Not Prey." He observed, running his hand over a smoothly shaved pate. It wasn't a nervous gesture, just a human one.
"So are you."
"Why are you dressed for vampires on a warm summer day?"
I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Long story."
He returned the smile, but it was the kind where the person knows they have the upper hand, and that made me nervous. "I look forward to hearing it, since you can't lie to me."
My eyes went wide. I realized in a flash that he was right. Custom dictated that Brooks and I were equals. If I lied to him I was displaying prey behavior. Everything would be null and void. Then I realized that it didn't really bother me. I'm not much of a liar, and I had nothing to hide. I smiled again and replied truthfully. "I wouldn't anyway."
He gave a genuine smile that lit up his face, and I realized with a start that he was actually quite handsome. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. He was a man whose impression of strength so dominated his nature that the "softer" qualities were noticed later, if ever.
"That's what they all say." His brown eyes sparkled when he said it and small laugh lines appeared at the corner of his eyes.
"Ah, but do they mean it?"
"Almost never," he admitted. "Come with me." He led me into one of the first floor hotel rooms, letting us in with a key one of the uniforms had acquired from the manager.
The room was an almost mirror image of 150, but done in shades of dark blue with a water theme instead of jungle. The window air conditioning unit was noisily blasting frigid air in a direct line toward the bathroom door. It occurred to me that he'd chosen the room with my outfit in mind. I gave him a nod of appreciation.
He returned my nod and lowered himself into the battered chair, gesturing for me to sit on the bed.
"Mind if I wash my hands?" The blood was dried and it was going to be a bitch to get off. The bloody jeans were hopeless, but I didn't have any options. I'd given the werewolves my only spare clothes. The police had come while I was tending to Dusty, so he knew the blood was hers, but that didn't mean he wouldn't test it to make sure. Still, it was worth a try.
He surprised me by saying, "Sure. While you do, you can start telling me that long story of yours."
"Rumor has it Monica is dying." I used her proper name. I was fairly sure he'd recognize it He did.
The water pipes were noisy so he waited for me to finish washing before he continued his questioning. I grabbed a flimsy white towel from the rack and walked back to the main room drying my hands. The small movement hurt my shoulder more than it should, damn it. Not good.
"She hasn't got an heir?"
I nodded. "She's got two in mind. Me and the girl with the gunshot wound."
I perched on the edge of the dresser so that I wouldn't get blood on the bed. It creaked in complaint. I could feel the veneer peeling up beneath my palms. It made me wonder if I should sit on the bed after all.
"She wants you for a Queen Host?"
"So I'm told."
"Shit!" He flexed and tensed his hands into fists again and again. It was a nervous gesture that went well with the tic that had appeared in his right cheek. "What's that got to do with this mess?" He leaned back causing the chair to creak in protest.
"Maybe something—maybe nothing. I do know that the girl's stepfather has plenty of money and good reason to want her dead."
He nodded in acknowledgment.
"You're armed?"
I nodded and showed him the sheaths "Knives. I have a concealed carry permit."
"Let's see it."
I pulled the black leather wallet I carry from my back pocket and handed it to him. He examined the permit carefully, slid it back in its sleeve and returned the wallet.
"Good." His jaw set, but he shifted uneasily in his seat. I didn't blame him. Thinking of the Thrall is enough to make anyone uneasy. The more you know of them, the worse it is. Detective Brooks and I shared more knowledge than was ever going to be comfortable.
"So." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat to withdraw a small black notebook and slim silver pen. "What happened here today?"
I gave him a quick rundown. We then spent considerably longer going over details. Repeatedly. Detective Brooks was thorough, and if he actually did trust me to tell him the truth it didn't show. I didn't blame him. I didn't even mind. It felt good to be somewhere cool and relatively safe.
"You think the girl's stepfather was responsible?"
"That would be my guess. The guy in the window had a rifle with a scope—and she's the one who got shot. The Thrall aren't big into guns. If it were up to me I'd give her police protection. No visitors, check all doctor IDs, the works."
"It's not up to you and it's not that easy."
My brow furrowed.
He looked at me hard and long. Then he nodded once as if he'd made an internal decision. He put down the pen and pad. Then he stood, opened the door and asked the uniform outside to leave for a few minutes. That raised my eyebrows.
"There are things you should probably know if you're going to go against Monica," he said as he sat down again. He fidgeted; was clearly nervous. "The nest is a lot bigger than it was with Larry. Monica wants power, and a lot of it. Her Hosts aren't just psychically talented, they're well placed, influential. She's got at least one person in the mayor's office, city council, business leaders. She even infected someone at the U.S. Mint. The Herd extends into the hospitals, the fire department and even the police. If Monica is determined, I can't guarantee the girl's safety, even with guards."
My eyes widened. Brooks' warning finally answered something that had been bugging me. Dylan had said they'd caused the wreck but I couldn't figure out why. Now I knew. Monica's people at the hospitals could have netted me that morning. If I were drugged or injured, I would be in no condition to put up a fight while she infected me. Wow. Monica showing up at St. E's meant that she had been covering all of the hospitals.
My eyes widened. I didn't have any appropriate phrases to cover the magnitude of the plot. "Damn!"
"No shit." He was talking to me like an equal. I knew it was unusual and I appreciated it, so I returned the favor.
"If you don't protect Dusty, the wolves will. Depending on how determined the stepdad and Monica are, that could get very messy."
"Do you know which of the wolves took down the shooter?"
"Haven't got a clue." I admitted with a shake of my head. "I was downstairs the whole time—and I don't know who looks like what in animal form."
He nodded sagely and jotted down some more notes.
"But you'd say it was self-defense?"
"Absolutely. He shot at the girl first. Then he killed one of the wolves. He wasn't going to be giving himself up."
"Even if they gave him the chance. Which they didn't."
"I wouldn't know. I was downstairs the whole time."
His gaze on me was the cold hard stare of a lifer cop. "Then why do you keep saying he when you refer to the shooter?"
I blinked. I'd just assumed the shooter was male. How incredibly sexist.
My expression must have been priceless because Brooks laughed out loud. "Lucky guess?" His voice sparkled with amusement. All I could do was nod.
Brooks rose from the chair and stretched. I started to get up with him, but he gestured for me to stay put. "I'm going to go talk to some of the other witnesses now, but there's something that the Acca wanted me to tell you. One of her wolves is missing—that firefighter, Tom Bishop." I felt my heart still. Where could he be? Was he the one who took down the shooter? Was he going after the stepdad?
Brooks never noticed my shock and fear. "You stay here. I may have some more questions. There'll be a uniform outside if you need anything—and to make sure you stay put. I've heard a lot about you. 'Kay?"
"Uhm, yeah—right."
* * *
Chapter 20
It was a long wait. Hours passed, and I do mean lots of hours. The police took away my cell phone and the one in the room wasn't hooked up, so I couldn't call Joe or Mike. What must they be thinking after not hearing from me all day? News vans surrounded the place, so they would probably know that something was up, but be worried out of their minds.
The light seeping through the cracks in the poorly hung drapes dimmed as the sun finished cresting at noon. I didn't bother turning on the room lamp. I wished I'd tucked a deck of cards in my pocket the way I usually do. At least then I could play solitaire. I know about a dozen different varieties. The cards help me pass the time waiting in airports. I hadn't planned to be doing much waiting today, so they were still sitting on top of my dresser.
At first I paced, but there wasn't much room to do that. I could hear the sound of heavy footfalls up and down the stairs and across the balcony as a multitude of cops, crime photographers, newsmen and the like trooped around the crime scene. Sirens kept sounding as more and more people arrived.
The lights flickered on the drapes like a bad neon sign.
It gave me plenty of time to assess things in my life. Where could Tom have gone that he wouldn't have notified Mary? I thought about the kiss and what he said—"They can't change how I feel about you." But how did I feel about him?
I hadn't gone to the room to see the mangled corpse. I presumed that was all that remained of the shooter. And while I'm not into the whole vegan scene, I had never really asked just what Tom served himself for dinner when he wasn't eating apples or cheese omelets. Maybe I didn't want to know. For all I knew he might have been the one to take down the assassin.
If I managed to survive the wrath of Monica and Matt Quinn and even Mary, I'd probably have to screw up my courage and ask Tom about his life as a wolf. I wasn't kidding when I told him I don't do casual. But to be in a serious relationship, you can't afford to take things for granted. That much I learned from Dylan.
And what about Dylan? I'd loved him with all my heart but he'd betrayed me long before he became a Host. I'd thought I was over him. But my heart hadn't listened my head when he kissed me. I'd responded to him and missed his touch and loving words. "I won't let you get away a second time." A part of me was thrilled at the ferocity in his voice, but most of me was terrified. I wasn't sure I would survive being with him.
