by RJ Blain
“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee if you wanted to show me a little mercy. You’ll need a crane to get me up at this point. I’d also like to know what I’ve missed.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” my mother announced, marching towards the kitchen.
“I would’ve showed you mercy, but I’m banned from the kitchen.”
I sighed, completely unsurprised she’d gotten evicted from my mother’s kitchen. “How did you get banned from the kitchen?”
“I put my paws on the counter and checked out the contents of the fridge. She’d asked for someone to get her some milk! She just wasn’t expecting me to fetch the milk while transformed. I didn’t damage the jug, either. I was gentle.”
The thought of Sassy mouthing my mother’s milk jug made me smile. “You’re such a cat.”
“I am. You’ve missed a lot, although I’m glad you’ve missed it. That annoying DA prick keeps bothering me, and those damned cops keep getting these ridiculously specific warrants. They sent over six of the damned things yesterday.” Sassy pouted and stared at the coffee table, and knowing my mother, Sassy had already heard the riot act about feet on the coffee table.
“You won’t have feet if you put them on Mom’s furniture, and if you don’t have feet, you won’t need shoes,” I warned.
“Vicious. Evil and vicious, that’s what she is.”
Since announcing the purchase of expensive shoes to remove Sassy from the dating pool hadn’t ended my life, I decided to test my luck. “For the record, should I be infected with lycanthropy, I’m trusting you to preserve my heterosexuality. I don’t want to be attacked by angry females like your father was. He made it very clear to me: female cheetahs are vicious.”
“To you, all women are vicious and dangerous.”
“You’re especially dangerous. I keep buying you shoes. So many shoes.” I slumped my shoulders and faked a pout. “I’m—”
“Don’t you even, Aaron! If you say what I think you’re going to say, I will find a way to torture you for life.”
I fought to avoid smiling, as keeping her around for life was my goal. “I’m going to go bankrupt trying to bribe you into forgiving me for my every sin.”
“You’re an idiot. You don’t have to bribe me with shoes.”
“It’s the only thing I know that works!”
Sassy rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless. I’ll accept your bribe of shoes as an excuse to reject bad dates, but every time I’m challenged about my rejection, you have to go on a very public date with me so I don’t look like I’m a liar.”
I considered her offer a complete success of my first goals. The next goal would be to have her reject every other man to make a pass at her. “How often are you challenged when you give someone a rejection?”
“Twice last week, resulting in two unwanted dates.”
“And the week before?”
She shrugged. “Four, I guess. Maybe five.”
Uh oh. I wouldn’t have enough money to buy shoes if I took her on good dates two to four times a week. I’d enjoy it more than I should, but I’d have to watch my money carefully—or find out what her favorite inexpensive outings were so I wouldn’t go bankrupt within a month. Then again, I spent thousands on shoes. Surely I could be more selective about the shoe acquisitions and spend my money wisely to plan appropriate dates. “This week?”
“The ones from this week don’t count. I told them I needed to visit you in the hospital, which was the truth.”
“Humor me.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “I stopped counting after ten. They wanted to ‘distract’ me.”
I could think of a few reasons men might bother Sassy, and the lycanthropy virus only played a small role. A good pair of heels elevated her to a daydream, although her temper and tongue could easily transform her into a nightmare. “Dare I ask?”
“I suggested they could distract each other if they were that bored.”
Of course she had. Sassy sassed, and how she sassed directly related to her stress levels. When Sassy turned snide, she needed shoes or an outlet. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
“Someone tried to kill you,” she whispered.
I wanted to point out someone had tried to kill her father, too, but I kept that thought to myself. “I probably either saw or photographed the killer, and I get the feeling they’re the type to want to get away with their crime.”
Unfortunately, the idea that the killer wanted to get away with a chain of brutal murders added strength to my idea we weren’t dealing with a serial killer, but a hired mercenary or assassin.
“Or they didn’t care if you lived or died as long as you are out of the way.”
I glanced at my brother, who decided he had a lot of dirt under his nails in need of immediate attention. “Your thoughts?”
“I think it’s plausible there’s a psychopath, likely a professional, with an agenda on the loose, but he wants to fuck with law enforcement without getting caught. I think you know something, but we can’t figure out what, which leads us back to a twisted serial killer who decided to add you to his tally. The mercenary idea, as I said in the car, makes sense, but we just can’t prove anything either way. The photographs we looked at didn’t lead to anything, although there are a few individuals we couldn’t identify in your shots.”
When searching for a criminal or solving a mystery, I dreaded three words above all: I don’t know. The lack of knowledge often led to incorrect convictions. Sometimes, the innocent went to prison. Sometimes, the guilty walked free.
Too few were willing to request an angel; angels told the truth and nothing but the truth, and everyone had their secrets.
I sighed, wondering if we’d find the truth before even more women and children were murdered. “Sassy, did the DA get warrants for information on our clients?”
“Yes. They got a warrant for all clients within the past two years. The clients have already been notified about the circumstances. The DA was particularly interested in Tom Heatherow.”
The DA would love to crucify a newbie politician, especially one actively attempting to smear a rival candidate. “I can’t see how he might be a factor unless he copy-catted to get out of the bill. And even if he did, why ruin his potential political career saving some money? He’s invested millions into his campaign, and that’s out of his own pocket. I didn’t look too closely at his campaign funding,” I admitted.
Sassy and my brother exchanged worried glances. Before I could question them, my mother brought in a tray burdened with mugs and placed it on the coffee table.
She placed a #1 Grandmother mug in front of me. My brows inched upwards. First, I wanted to know where she’d gotten the damned thing, as my brother and I had no children due to our dedication to all things contraceptive. Second, when a conservative like my mother, who practiced her religion with the fervor of the truly devout, started dropping hints, she meant business. When a woman with a strong aversion to the evils of the lycanthropy virus dropped them without shame, I knew to worry.
Sassy got a bright pink mug decorated with unicorns..
With a smirk, Sassy picked up her mug and lifted it in a toast to my mother. “The odds of a girl are really low, but I can take a hint.”
Sassy handled my mother better than I did. Since when did my mother even think of accepting a lycanthrope as a potential daughter-in-law—or drop hints she wanted a granddaughter?
My brother snickered. “They’re zero unless you convince my brother he isn’t actually allergic to women. I wish you luck. But anyway, you don’t date the uninfected.”
“Apparently, I do now, but only when assholes refuse to accept no as an answer. I expect I’ll be forced to date the same person into eternity. There are that many assholes in Texas,” she complained.
My mother unloaded the tray and tucked it under her arm. “What a terrible tragedy. Would you like some cheese to go with that whine? If you need to have ten boys before you have a girl, I’ll just have to suffer t
hrough somehow.”
Shit. My mother had done some basic research into cheetahs, and she’d found the math to her liking. If she pressured us for a girl, she’d get more grandchildren than I could count out of the deal, and as Mark wasn’t going to ever enter the father pool if he had a choice in the matter, that left my mother with me, and she’d dipped her toes into desperate waters, willing to let go of her prejudices for the sake of the family line continuing.
Since criticizing my mother would land me in a world of hurt, I turned my annoyance onto my brother. “You should settle down and have a few kids. You’re the older son. Why are you shirking on your manly duties to our beloved mother?”
My mother snorted.
“I’m a slut. I’m not marriage material. As our beloved, wonderful mother raised me right, I take every precaution. The last thing any of us needs is me having an unexpected child.”
Sassy laughed and nudged me with her elbow. “You’d make a much better single dad compared to Mark. He manages to stink up everything, even his flight helmet.”
I could only think of one answer that wouldn’t have someone in the room out for my blood. “But I don’t want to be a single dad. Single dads have to pay child support. Married dads get a wife, a kid, and tax breaks. I think they get other things, too.”
“Free sex,” my brother said.
I shook my head. “Most expensive free sex known to man, but possibly cheaper than child support?”
Mark stared at me, his brows furrowing. “How much is child support?”
I shrugged. “How much do children cost?”
As we only knew one woman who’d have a realistic answer for us, my brother and I stared at our mother for enlightenment.
“Children are cheaper when married,” she announced.
Considering my mother was rather traditional and conservative, I doubted every word to come out of her mouth when it came to children. “Justify that statement, please.”
My mother smiled. “Married couples require babysitters less frequently, and daycare can be avoided in some cases. Babysitters and daycare facilities can run up to twenty an hour. That’s only the beginning.”
I held up my hands. “I surrender.”
“Smart boy. When you take frequency into consideration, I assure you free married sex is much cheaper than child support or prostitutes.”
Mark snickered. “Can’t argue with that one.”
The last thing I wanted to think about was my parents having sex despite appreciating the results. “Noted.”
“And now that I’ve disgusted my sons, let’s discuss this serial killer that’s on the loose. I’d rather not get another call like that in my lifetime. Where are you in the investigation? How can we help?”
Mark sighed and shrugged. “We don’t know anything concrete. Our current speculations are disturbing at best. Ironically, the attempt on Aaron’s life might be the clue we need to find the killer.”
Leaning back, I frowned and considered my brother, wondering why he’d left that tidbit out on the drive over. “I’ll bite. Justify that, please.”
“The date left is our parents’ anniversary, nine months to the day we were born. The other dates match up roughly before the kids were born, too. None of the kids have a father listed, although you do. Your date, however, confirmed the trend; we knew, without shadow of a doubt, your date of conception.” Mark hopped to his feet, headed for the door, and retrieved a laptop from his battered backpack. He took over the rest of the couch, plunked his computer onto the coffee table, and booted it. “I’ve built a victim profile with some help from the police and the DA. It’s unpleasant.”
“How so?” I peeked at my brother’s screen to discover a pornography collection. “Seriously, Mark?”
“They’re a mix of the murder victims and stalked women who may be potential targets. It’s not my fault they worked their way through school or decided to do this for whatever reason. Not my business. Some were prostitutes, a few were strippers, there was a bucketful of escorts, and one campaign manager. That’s the odd one of the lot, but ironically, she’s the one that drew the police’s attention to Tom Heatherow. All of the children killed were between the ages of six and twelve. In the politics world, that’s essentially one full Presidential election cycle, classified as two years for the main campaign and the full term building up to the start of the next cycle, which technically has a two-year overlap since people start campaigning early.”
“What does the Presidential election cycle have to do with anything?”
“The campaign manager worked for a failed Presidential hopeful in Texas during that time period. His campaign went nowhere, but he pocketed a hefty funding bonus from the attempt; he essentially dropped at the end of the overlap period when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to make a second bid for the Presidency.”
“Who?”
“Abraham Sarmassen.”
“Never heard of him,” I admitted.
“He’s Tom Heatherow’s biological father. Heatherow’s illegitimate, and his mother married before he was born. Sarmassen was married to someone else at the time, and the scandal ended his second Presidential campaign run out of the gate. After looking over the evidence, I’m thinking he only got through the first part of the cycle because he had no chance in hell of winning his first bid, but his second bid was looking far more promising.”
Well, that little discovery explained why Heatherow wanted to sink Senator Sterling using a sex scandal. “All right. Tie it together for me. What does this have to do with the killed kids?”
“Heatherow is participating in a campaign for the senate, which is usually considered a precursor for a Presidential run later. If he wins the senate, he can do his own bid for the Presidency. He hired you to get dirt on his opponent so he’d be a shoe-in for the senate.”
“Sassy? How is Tom Heatherow’s involvement with us such common knowledge?” I complained.
“The fucker got a warrant, and he got clearance to be privy to the intel. Sorry, Aaron. Nothing I could do. With the notifications filed, the courts can make the list public as the subpoenas are filed. To cover their suspicion, everyone is being subpoenaed to get a basic statement on what they hired us for. I expect Heatherow will take the easy out and claim we were doing background investigative work on rival candidates, which is completely legal; everyone does it, so no one will think twice of it, especially him. Heatherow already contacted me and informed me he’d be present for the hearing with his statement. He also sent a card wishing you well. I turned it over to the DA as an early Christmas present to see if it had Heatherow’s prints on it for their records.”
“If no one has told you this today, you’re such a smart woman. Good work.”
Sassy smiled.
“I really want to know how the fucker got a warrant when he’s in the damned military.”
Sassy’s smile blossomed into the kind of grin I loved most, promising trouble of some sort. “He’s sleeping with the enemy.”
I matched her grin and arched a brow at my brother. “Jumped straight into the DA’s bed, Mark? Classy. Hey, whatever works for you. After associating with so many cheetahs, I’m used to being the only single straight man Sassy knows.”
Sassy wrinkled her nose and huffed. “Dad’s straight.”
I laughed. “Your father’s only heterosexual because your mother resorted to kidnapping him and taking him hostage until their viruses bonded them for life. You’re going to have to resort to drastic measures if you want a cheetah.”
Or she’d have to wait until her brothers tenderized me and I caught a severe case of lycanthropy. Either would work. With a little luck, some good would come from the accident. Most considered infection with lycanthropy a bad thing.
I wasn’t most men.
“Can I continue or do you two need some time?” my brother grumbled.
“I still want to know how you got a warrant.”
“Technically, the DA nudged the police to get the wa
rrant, but he requested military policing assistance and dropped my name, thus earning me the right to poke my nose in your business. The FBI is involved, as is the CDC. Hell, everyone’s involved at this point. I’m the only one who really thinks Heatherow is a major player in this game though, and I mean as the hire not as the hitman. I think the killer hates targeting kids but is too professional to dump an accepted job. The DA thinks I should stop concocting conspiracy theories, but he looked really uncomfortable as he listened to them, which tells me he’s probably warming up to the idea because none of the other ideas fit.”
I considered that, and one thing stuck out to me. “What does Heatherow have to do with the murdered women?”
“My preliminary research indicates he’s fucked them all.”
“Mark,” my mother warned.
“I have photographic evidence of the fucking, and I have reason to believe Heatherow hired Aaron to find out if Miss Sharon Gray has kids. Fortunately for Miss Gray, Aaron didn’t learn at the time that she does. She has twin daughters and a son, and the daughters are likely Heatherow’s. I believe she wasn’t using contraceptive because she wanted to help her sister have a family. No father is listed on the twins’ birth certificates. Since you have a reputation of being thorough, I suspect Heatherow assumed you’d notify him if she had children. It’s worth noting she had the kids before contracting lycanthropy, and rumor down the line is she’s looking for a father so she can have some babies of her own.”
“He hired me to follow her regarding Senator Sterling.”
“Gray is a politics groupie, and he remembers what happened to his father. The senate is a common stepping stone for people seeking a Presidential nomination, although plenty of governors, mayors, and other lower politicians make runs as well.”
As I could easily understand someone running a ruthless campaign to secure power, I found the idea of murdering women and children for the cause abhorrent at best. “Are you going to tell me anything else I’m not going to like?”
“Yes. If it is Heatherow behind this, we still have to catch the killer doing his dirty work, and no one knows where he’s going to strike next.”