Fox Hunt

by J. Leigh Bailey

  “It’s something to think about.”

  We continued down the road, my mind churning with an odd combination of zeal and doubt. I could absolutely work on a project that I believed in with every iota of my being, but there were risks. Risks I wasn’t sure I was willing to take.

  “Why’d you do it?” Buddy asked a couple hours later.

  It took a second for the question to register. I blinked, trying to pull myself from bullying and harassment and my future to Buddy. “Huh?”

  “The hacking thing. The one that caused so much trouble.”

  “Favor for a friend.” I didn’t know if this was a good or bad shift in attention. Better than debating social good versus personal gain.

  “What kind of favor puts you in the crosshairs of a terrorist group?”

  “My friend Owen’s boyfriend Joey—”

  “Joey Franke?” Violating his own safety standards, Buddy took his eyes off the road to look at me.

  “You know him?”

  “I was called in when he had trouble with his first shift.”

  I cocked my head. “You were there?”

  He shrugged. “We had a freaked-out lion shifter. Who else could they have called in case he got out of hand?”

  My heart jumped at that. “But you could have been hurt!”

  He squinted at me. “It’s what I’m good at. Hired muscle.” A patina of bitterness edged his words.

  Shit. That’s what I’d called him the day before. While in my temper, it hadn’t occurred to me how completely condescending that was. Especially now that I was getting to know Buddy better, I knew there was more to him than size and intimidation. Yoga for Christ’s sake. The man did yoga and mother-henned like no one’s business. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, but I couldn’t help but think that he was lying. And then I couldn’t help but wonder how many people like me had designated him as nothing more than a brawny shield. “How does Joey factor into all of this?” He gestured with his finger to encompass the car and the freeway in front of us.

  I wanted to say something else—to apologize or let him know that I understood he was more—but deferred to his wishes. It was one more thing I added to my building list of questions for him to be asked later. I told him about Joey. “If you know Joey, then you know his situation.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, Joey asked me to dig into his adoption records. Actually, he wanted to see if there were any adoption records. When the first-level stuff didn’t pan out, I kept digging.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “So, I decided to dig deeper. I had no idea when I was looking that hacking into adoption records in Iran would trigger some kind of trap. I mean, what are the odds that a secret international research group would be watching adoption records?”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Disgusted, I said, “No. After all of that, it turns out there were no adoption records for Joey. They were using private adoptions to cover their other kidnapping and research efforts.” My stomach lurched. That was a piece of information I wish I hadn’t learned during my two-week debrief at the Council’s safehouse. I’d slept better when I hadn’t known that shifter children were being kidnapped and tested on. I couldn’t stand thinking about what they were going through. How many families were mourning their lost members, or left wondering, not knowing if they were even alive?

  There was silence in the car for a moment; then Buddy said, “Maybe it’s a good thing, you getting caught.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you hadn’t been discovered, would the Council have known about the adoption connection?”

  I thought about it. “It didn’t sound like they knew about it beforehand, so probably not. Or at least not with that level of evidence. And they were able to shut down an entire testing facility in the Middle East.”

  “So some good has come from it. Sometimes things happen for a reason.”

  “What, like fate?”

  “Or divine providence. Or maybe a cosmic coincidence. Either way, it’s important we don’t ignore the positive consequences. Even if the negatives mean you end up with an unwelcome bodyguard for a few weeks.”

  I almost told him that he was a little less unwelcome with every passing hour, but that was maybe too much honesty at this point. Besides, we were only on the second day of the trip, and he’d already confiscated my keys. Who knew what other unforgiveable sins he might perpetrate in the coming days?

  My phone binged, and I glanced at the screen. A text from Aiden. I scowled.

  “Bad news?” Buddy asked, concern creasing his brow.

  “Probably not.” If it had been an emergency, Aiden would have called rather than texted the words Call at next stop.

  I gave serious consideration to ignoring the message. But honestly, Aiden and I weren’t the kind of siblings who were constantly talking and texting. Usually if he reached out it was because he needed something. Or because I was in trouble.

  Since there was no way he could know anything about the speeding ticket or about our run-in yesterday with the indigent gunman, I didn’t think I could be in too much trouble.

  I hit the Call icon and waited through three rings.

  “You’re not driving, are you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not even a hello? No ‘how’s it going?’ Mom would be disappointed in your failing telephone skills.”

  He huffed out a breath, and I could just picture his pinched expression. “I can hear the engine and the traffic moving past. You shouldn’t be talking on the phone while driving.”

  I caught Buddy’s smirk from the corner of my eye. Yeah, yeah. Must be a big brother thing. Not that I wanted to think about Buddy in a brotherly way given the way I’d been mentally molesting his body during his morning yoga routine.

  “Buddy’s driving.”

  Silence. Then, “You’re actually letting someone else drive your baby?”

  I’d point-blank refused to let anyone, especially my brother, behind the wheel of my Mini Cooper. And of course, Aiden would know how significant that act was. Which meant he expected an explanation. I couldn’t tell him the real reason—that Buddy threatened to wrestle the keys from me after getting another speeding ticket. So I had to spin this. Partial truths made the best spin. “I’m prepping for my interviews. Buddy’s driving, and I’m going through my notes and talking points.”

  “I see.” He sounded like he believed me. Good. “Speaking of interviews, can you send Mom and me your schedule? She’s upset that you left without sharing your itinerary.”

  “Why? Doesn’t she trust me to plan my trip?”

  He sighed, deep and heavy and disappointed. “Don’t be childish. There are people looking for you. There is a threat. Of course she wants to know where you are. What if something happens to you? If we don’t know where you’ll be and when, we won’t know where to start searching if you fall off the face of the planet.”

  Okay, that made a little sense, even if it was a little morbid. “So basically you want to know my schedule so you know where to start searching for my body in case someone assassinates me between now and three weeks from now.”

  “Basically. It’s a worst-case scenario, but one that can’t be overlooked. Also, don’t forgot to check in every day—”

  “Every day? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

  “With the target on your back? No, it’s not a bit much. It’s practical.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Buddy murmured.

  “Fine. Whatever.” I agreed because it was practical, not because Buddy thought I should. “I’ll email my calendar to you. I’m at the University of Wisconsin tomorrow. Northwestern in Chicago the day after.”

  I heard the muted sound of conversation on the line, as if Aiden had covered the speaker of his phone and was conferring with someone.

  “Who else is there?”

  A second later Aiden said, “Oh, Darren wanted to
remind me to make sure you include the list of hotel reservations as well.”

  I gritted me teeth and tried counting to ten to cool my temper. I knew it wasn’t a bad idea. It was practical. And sure, I guessed I’d want someone to be able to narrow down a starting point to search if I mysteriously disappeared. But I’d been planning this trip for months. I really wanted to be able to do this on my own. To do something important that was just for me, without relying on my mother or brother to do it for me or fix my mistakes after the fact. But sure, practicality and safety were more important that my ego. “Fine. I’ll email it to you.”

  “CC Darren on it too.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s putting together a family calendar so we know where everyone is. Not day-to-day stuff, but we’ll know when Mom is out of town or business, or if Darren is, or me for that matter.”

  “It’s not that hard to keep track of our schedules.”

  Aiden lowered his voice. “Look, he’s trying. He wants to show he’s part of the family and that he cares about us. This is his way. Let him have that.”

  And if that didn’t bring a twinge of guilt. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

  “Okay. Great. I’ve got to go. Don’t forget the daily check-ins, David.” He disconnected before I had time to say goodbye.

  “Such a pain in my ass.” I tossed my phone in one of the drink holders in the console between the seats.

  “You and your brother don’t get along?”

  I looked at Buddy. He still had his gaze responsibly on the road, but something about the way his right shoulder tilted toward me told me that he was more than a little interested in my answer.

  “We get along all right,” I said, adjusting the seat belt across my chest. Even with the air conditioner on, my shirt was getting sticky. “When we were little, before my dad left, we were nearly inseparable. We did everything together. Mom likes to tell this story of when I was maybe eighteen months and he was three, to illustrate our relationship at the time. Aiden grabbed two sticks of butter from the fridge and proceeded to drag them across the carpet like they were big crayons.”

  Buddy’s lips twitched.

  “Yeah, adorable. And then I somehow got my hands on a toothbrush. I trailed behind Aiden and scrubbed the butter into the carpet.”

  Buddy guffawed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. She said we were so in sync with it that it was like we’d planned the whole thing. But I was barely a year and a half old. It’s not like we sat down and had a project planning meeting about this.” Sometimes I wished I could remember more details about that time in our lives, to be able to think back and remember what it was like to be so in tune with Aiden….

  Disregarding his rules for road safety, Buddy reached out and rested his hand on my thigh. “So what happened?”

  “Nothing major. Or, well, it felt major at the time, but I didn’t notice the changes at first. When I was seven, my dad left. Don’t know why or where he ran off to. One day I came home from school and Mom sat Aiden and me down at the kitchen table and told us that she and Dad were getting a divorce and that he was moving out. I don’t think he was supposed to abandon us completely, even though that’s what he did. Anyway, Aiden was nine, and Mom said he was the man of the house now.”

  Buddy flinched.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I don’t think she meant it to be an obligation or expectation, but Aiden was always a bit serious. After that he was determined to be the man of the house. For him that meant being perfect. And he was. He got perfect grades. He excelled in sports. He did what he was supposed to. Most of the time, he did more than he was asked. He was, in a word, the perfect son.”

  “Hard to live up to that,” Buddy said, his voice casual, but I could tell he could see where this story was going.

  “Real hard. All these things seemed to come so easy for him, and he kept pushing me to be as perfect as him. The thing is, I’m not perfect. Not even close. I struggled and I made mistakes. And he became the good Sherman brother. The one who could be counted on. The one who would succeed. I was the screwup. I was the one who talked too much and asked too many questions. I was the one who struggled to control his shift. I was always second best.”

  His hand squeezed my thigh, in understanding, in support, I didn’t know, but it was enough to ground me. And I appreciated the gesture more than I could ever say, even as I tried not to notice his hand was on my thigh.

  “For a long time, I tried. I tried so hard. I wanted to be as good as him. To be better than him at something. I got into hacking because he was. I’m good, but he is outstanding. Do you know how hard it is to always compare yourself to someone and always come out lacking? That’s some serious pressure.”

  “Are you still trying to best your brother?”

  “No. Not really.” I chuckled. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s different now. It could be argued that this trip is a result of that stupid rivalry, which was probably one hundred percent in my head. He probably didn’t even notice.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, most of this I figured out in therapy.” I shot a quick glance his way to see how he’d react. Some people could be dicks about someone needing to see a psychologist. He didn’t show any signs of derision, so I kept going. “So the rivalry with Aiden, and added to it, my mom’s position and the constant expectations from others, it got to be a lot. As a result, I tried so hard to manage and succeed in all other aspects of my life that I couldn’t control my shift as well as others. That’s why I had to go to Shifter U instead of one of the schools I really wanted to go to. I had to be somewhere that people could monitor me, step in if things got to be too much and I ended up on the verge of turning furry in front of humans. I didn’t want to stay in Cody, but I had to. But I finally found something that is mine, something I’m good at, something I love, but to succeed—on my own terms, not on Aiden’s or my mother’s—I need a school with a top-rated journalism master’s program. Which is what leads us to this lovely road trip we’re on now.”

  “So, when you’re the next big reporter—”

  “The next Anderson Cooper, specifically,” I corrected.

  “—you’ll have your brother to thank.”

  I snapped my jaw closed, sputtered for a good ten seconds, then demanded, “What the hell?”

  Chapter Seven

  IT was only 6:00 a.m., and I paced the hotel room near the UW campus. I tried to be quiet so I didn’t wake Buddy, but I’d barely tossed aside my sheets before I noticed his eyes open too. I tried reviewing my notes—talking points, intelligent questions, my digital portfolio of articles—at the little desk by the window, but the jittery feeling wouldn’t let me sit still. I took a shower, but the five minutes it took to wash my hair and body wasn’t enough of a distraction. I thought about rubbing one out for a second, surely an orgasm would help me relax, but the idea of doing so with Buddy in the other room—awake in the other room—seemed wrong somehow.

  The dress pants and button-down shirt I planned to wear were hanging in the closet. If I donned them too soon, I’d run the risk of adding weird creases or spilling coffee down my front. Not that I needed coffee. I couldn’t even imagine how bad my shaking would be if I added caffeine to the mix. I stood in front of the closet and inspected the shirt for the fifth time. Was that a wrinkle? No, no it was just a weird shadow. Come to think of it, it probably wouldn’t hurt to iron the pants again. They looked all right, but another go-round with the iron couldn’t hurt.

  I wrestled the hotel’s ridiculously cumbersome ironing board out of the closet. Then the stupid thing wouldn’t unfold the way it was supposed to. I shook it, hoping the folding legs would descend, and somehow managed to drop the whole contraption on my foot.

  “Damn it!” I flexed my stinging toes to make sure I hadn’t broken anything.

  “Put that away,” Buddy said, exasperated.

  “But I—” I cut off when Buddy stood up. He wore the same shorts and sleeveless shirt he’d
worn the previous night, and his hair stood up in a dozen crazy directions. He looked adorable. And until that moment, I hadn’t understood that adorable could also be so damned tempting.

  “You need to chill. If you keep this up, you’ll be a nervous wreck before you get to your interview.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Giving up on the ironing board, I shoved the stubborn piece of crap back into the closet.

  “C’mere.” Buddy curled his fingers, beckoning me to the foot of his bed.

  “Why?” I probably sounded like a petulant child, but I didn’t think I had it in me to care at the moment.

  He shook his head. “Just come here.”

  With a jerky shrug, I made my way to him.

  “Sit.” He pointed at the carpet in front of the bed.

  I glared at him. “Excuse me? I’m not a dog.”

  He smirked, and I thought about it for a second. “Okay, so I’m not a dog right now. Besides, foxes may be canid, but they’re not really doglike.”

  “David, just sit.” In a graceful movement, Buddy sank to the ground. He grabbed my hand and pulled me down until I plopped in front of him. He crossed his legs tailor-style, then rested his palms on his knees. “Now you.”

  I released a put-upon sigh but followed suit. I wasn’t really as irritated as I pretended to be. I’d wanted a distraction and this definitely counted. I tucked my legs and rested my hands on my knees. I touched my thumbs to my middle fingers. “Is this where we om our way to a higher state of being?”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. And if you want to om, go for it. I don’t generally find it helpful, but there are those who do.”

  He took this so seriously, I felt a little bad that I was making fun. I cleared my throat and sat a little straighter. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”