“Yes, yes, the lad’s a woeful handful,” Nadia soothed. “One easily found. You know he’s fond of you. He’ll not have gone far.”
“You’re right!”
“I nearly always am, darling.”
“He wanted to talk to Caro,” Annette said with growing excitement. “He said so before we left for the hospital. But I wouldn’t let him. So he must have… Is there any lock that kit can’t pick? Because we should find one. And then buy them in bulk.”
“Ask him,” David suggested. “Maybe he’ll tell you.”
So off they trooped. Caro had been moved to a private cell in Juvenile Detention and seemed entirely unsurprised to see them. She sat on the edge of the bunk, crossed her legs, and waited for their questions.
“Did Dev come talk to you?”
Silence.
“Because he might be in trouble,” Annette added.
“More trouble,” Nadia elaborated.
Silence.
“Do you know him? Had you met before? He claims you’re his sister.”
A slow shake of her head, and the girl’s expression… Was that sadness? Without context, it was difficult to know for certain.
Annette was now even more annoyed, which she hadn’t thought possible. She’d actually given credence to Dev’s sibling claims. “You remember my colleague, Special Investigator David Auberon. He pulled you off the man you tried to kill.”
“Hello again,” he said.
Nothing. If she was intimidated by any of the three of them, Caro Daniels wasn’t showing it.
Annette sighed. “Fine. You know what to do if you need to talk.” On their way out, she asked, “Nadia, when’s Dev’s hearing?”
“Fifty-five minutes.”
“Well, great. No idea where he is or how he got out. Nothing from Caro or Lund, adding to the great big pile of unacceptable that is this case. Nadia, I want those video feeds yesterday.”
“Impossible, as I’m not a temporal-bending sorceress. But I can provide them in the next thirty minutes.”
“It’ll have to do.”
“You’re so welcome. When are you and David going out again?”
Oh, now this was too much. Teasing Annette about her nonexistent love life was one thing; doing it right in front of David was taking it too far. “Never, obviously,” Annette snapped. “Drop it, will you?”
“The path of true love is never—”
“Nadia.” This through gritted teeth, and Annette didn’t bother keeping the growl down.
“I’ll see to the videos, shall I?”
As Nadia hurried away, Annette turned to David, who’d been looming over them the entire time. Not that it was his fault—you couldn’t be annoyed at someone for being obscenely tall—but she was in no mood for lurking, no matter how benign. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“It’s just this dumb thing Nadia does for reasons I’m terrified to look into,” Annette continued. She absently brushed the damp spot on her sweater. The baby had drooled, but David’s fingers lightly grazing her shoulder was the sensation that remained. It was annoying to discover some romance tropes (burning touches, long soulful glances, pining, etc., etc., ad nauseum) were true. Annoying and maybe a little…a very little…exciting.
David shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not, but you’re sweet to say so.”
“I’m not sweet.”
She barely heard him. Well past time for a subject change. She brushed at her sweater again and mused aloud. “Now, if I were an amoral troublemaker with no regard for the system or the careers of those charged with my safety and well-being, where would I go?”
“Perkins Restaurant?”
That surprised a laugh out of her. “Not around here. But that’s a good idea—Dev’s always hungry.” And dammit! Now she was feeling sorry for him again. Dev was always hungry because he’d been neglected by those who were supposed to love, protect, and feed him. Then he was hungry because he had to steal to feed himself. And then he was hungry when the state took him in…
You remember that all his foster homes fed him, right? Every one of them. His choice, every time, to run.
Still. Hungry cubs tweaked something inside her. In a world full of food, starving children were an abomination.
Annette spotted him the second she stepped into their vile break room, because he was the only one in there,
(obviously not hiding)
(dammit!)
and the audacious creature had the gall to greet her with “What the hell is that smell?”
“You!”
“No, it’s not me. It smells like someone took a dump in here, then deep-fried it. But that can’t be right.” He glanced around. “Uh…can it?”
“Dev Devoss, you tricky wretch.” Annette had to make a conscious effort not to shake her fist at him like a B-movie villain.
“What? You needed to talk to me. So here we are, talking. It’s not like you… Ow-ow-ow!”
“The temptation to yank your ear off your skull is so strong,” Annette confessed, tightening her grip. “I’m not sure I’ve got the self-control to resist.”
“Aw, c’mon, not again, Garsea,” David mock-groaned from the doorway. “There’ll be blood everywhere and reams of paperwork. And the boss’ll land on you like a disapproving motherfucker.”
“Is this—ow!—good cop, idiot cop? Because you suck at it. Both of you.”
“Never mind,” David replied. “Yank away.”
“Are we going to have to Hannibal Lecter you?” Annette demanded. “Strap you to a gurney and wheel you in and out of court? Where would we even get a hockey mask?”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about—ninguna, nessuna, keine—but I gotta say, it sounds awesome.”
“Stop that. You’re drawing a blank on the pop-culture reference. I get it.” She let go of his ear, and he collapsed back into his chair. “Explain yourself.”
“Hey, you were at the hospital again. What is it with you and para-pediatrics?” Dev leaned in and sniffed. “Who’s the little punk you were holding?”
“None of your business.”
“Impressive,” David commented. “I don’t know how you can scent anything in here.”
“Thanks! And there was some Caesar-looking guy named Oz who was definitely up to no good in here—”
Oz Adway! Dammit, the man simply will NOT stay in his lane. Who leaves the sterile glory of the Accounting break room for this squalid cell? “If anyone would know what ‘up to no good’ looks like, it would be you, Devin Devoss.”
“—and he said he’s your brother, which was just weird. Why would your brother be skulking in the break room? So I told him to get bent.” Dev paused. “No need to thank me.”
Annette rapped on the table. “Focus, you charming jackass. You realize you’ve got a hearing in a few minutes, yes?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m ready to go. I was waiting for you. I feel like you’re not getting this.”
For a second, all she could do was gnash her teeth at him. Which, given how his eyes widened, was gratifying. She silently counted to three (when she was this irked, making it to ten was impossible), then said, “Fine. And shall I suggest to His Honor that you would like to visit your mother?”
The grin fell away. “No.”
“Dev…”
“No. What’d be the point? She can’t use me anymore. It’s why she’s locked up.” The kit’s green eyes were very bright, with anger or tears or both. “You told me that.”
“So I did.” Annette lowered her voice and blessed David’s silence from the doorway. “But I’m not suggesting you see her for her sake.”
“You told me this already.”
“I’m suggesting you do it for yours.”
�
��You told me this already.”
Annette sighed. “Fine, off we go. It’s Judge Gomph, who thinks on time is late, so let’s get moving.”
Dev, always quick to recover his equilibrium, asked, “What the hell is a Judge Gomph?”
“Quiet, you. And you’re combing your hair on the way over.”
“It’s supposed to stick up like this.”
“Good God.”
* * *
“I wish you had time to change,” Annette fretted as they walked through the parking garage. She and David had advised they were taking Dev to the hearing and gotten authorization for same. Not for the first time, Annette was grateful the Shifter system allowed more flexibility than the alternative. “But that would entail letting you out of my sight for more than five seconds, so that is, needless to say, off the table.”
“I’ll drop trou right here. I don’t care,” the boy declared.
“Ha!” From David, who was…cheerful? In the last three hours she’d exchanged more words with him than in the past year. Who knew he could smile? And laugh? And joke? There were rumors, of course, but nothing anyone had actually seen or heard. David’s sense of humor was like the Loch Ness monster: there were passionate believers on both sides of the argument. “You don’t know who Hannibal Lecter is, but you’re using ‘drop trou’?”
“Saw it in a movie.”
“So you watch movies,” Annette observed, “but you don’t know who Lecter is? Because that’s—” She cut herself off as a long black car suddenly swung out of a spot at the end of the row and arrowed toward them, tires squealing as the driver wrenched the wheel to make the turn. “Oh, wonderful. These are the idiots who cause pileups the first time it snows. And the second time.”
“Aren’t you gonna smile at them?” David asked with a smile of his own. “I thought that was your thing. You grin and it freaks people out.”
“I don’t grin. You’ve got me confused with a jack-o’-lantern. No, I’m polite, and if that happens to freak people out, I have no control…over…”—Was the thing speeding up?—“that…uh…”
Over the course of the next three seconds, many things happened. Well, four things happened. (1) Annette clamped down on Dev’s collarbone and yanked, ignoring his yelp as she sent him sailing over her shoulder. (2) The car did an excellent job of trying to cream all three of them. (3) David slammed into her with the finesse of a garbage truck. (4) The car roared past and down the first ramp behind them.
“Oh my God, Net, are you okay?”
“Argh,” Annette groaned. “My skeletal structure…” Then: “Net?”
“Did it hit you?” Dev cried.
“No, that was me,” David said, which was especially startling since his face was less than two inches from hers. In a feat of disastrous timing, she abruptly found she loved his aftershave, which was warm and spicy, like expensive pepper. And his denim-blue eyes, inches from hers, were the sky. Which was a good trick since they were in a parking garage. “Are you okay, hon?”
Hon? Maybe he meant Hun, as in “Attila the.” Have people always had nicknames for me, or is this something new everyone’s trying? I want to put my arms around him. I will put my arms around him.
No. From her perspective, that is to say, from beneath him (groan), he was solid, steady warmth. Solid and sky-colored eyes and she wasn’t going to hug her crush while on the floor of a filthy parking garage in the wake of their attempted murder.
Right?
Right.
“Your breath smells like Skittles. That’s not a criticism. And I’m reasonably certain the car did hit me. Feels like it, anyway,” she groaned, elbowing David off her bones. She looked up and saw Dev had landed with the inherent quickness and grace of his kind
(generalizing’s bad, but truth be told, I’ve never met a clumsy werefox)
and was peering down at them while clinging to the top of a cement pillar. His eyes were so huge they dominated his small, pointed face.
“I’m fine,” she said, gingerly feeling her ribs.
“Jeez, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” David’s expression was still calm, but she could hear his distress.
“Comparatively speaking, you didn’t. Sorry, nearly getting run over wreaks havoc on my manners. Thank you very much, don’t mind my grumbling, I welcome the bruises because the dead don’t bruise, and I am astonished and impressed by your speed.” Then, louder: “Come down, Dev.”
He let go and dropped to the top of a small SUV, so lightly he left no dent and made hardly any sound, then bounded back to her side. She took him by the shoulders, peered into his face, and felt his skull, which he tolerated with a minimum of squirming. “You’re all right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Nothing scraped? Broken? Spindled? Folded?”
“I’m good. You had me flying before I had time to be scared,” he said. “I bet you flipped me ten feet!”
“No betting. And…Net? What was that about?”
He blushed, which was amazing since Dev Devoss was the poster boy for shameless. “S’just somethin’ we call you,” he said in a voice so low she had to bend closer to hear. Under different circumstances she would have followed up, but the child was clearly distressed. Oh, and someone had just tried to kill them.
Or maybe just kill Dev. Which was worse.
She turned to David. “Thank you again.” Now! Hug him now! You’re not on your back anymore. Totally appropriate time and setting! “I should have said that first before talking about your breath.”
“I understand,” he replied, straight-faced.
“I like your aftershave,” she said, because she was a touch-starved moron, apparently.
He smiled a little. “Thanks.”
Dev was staring at them. “You guys wanna get a room?”
“Hush up, Dev.” To David, in growing confusion and despair: “What is going on?”
“Nothing good.”
1 “Head of the family,” unique to Shifters. Stables use the term parens patriae, and minors in need of protection are considered wards of the state.
Chapter 7
Judge Gomph would have dominated the room even if he wasn’t seated above them on the bench. He weighed three hundred, easily, with brown skin that looked gray under unforgiving fluorescents and a wide, wrinkled face. His broad frame made it look as though someone had flung a robe over a mahogany table, and he was methodically eating salad out of what appeared to be a bucket, his big fork spearing leaves and bringing them to his mouth with such steadiness it was almost hypnotic. He was overworked, even for a juvie judge, and his stamina was legendary. When they’d lost two judges in the same month, Gomph had gone four days without sleep, wading through the jammed dockets with calm efficiency that steadied them all, from his clerk to even the smallest cubs who came through his court.
He had a reputation for never being rattled—no one had ever heard him so much as raise his voice—and this was borne out today. When they had burst into his courtroom, he had looked down at them with the eyes of a tired king, as Nadia once described them, but waited patiently for their approach. And speak of the well-dressed devil…
“Nadia, what—agh!”
Nadia’s spade-shaped fingernails had sunk into Annette’s biceps like a raptor on a rabbit as she leaned in to hiss, “She’s gone.”
“Please tell me you’re not talking about Caro,” Annette whispered back, knowing it was futile. That was, after all, the kind of day they were having. Were trapped in. Whatever.
“Of course I’m talking about Caro!”
“What are we whispering about?” This from Taryn, Gomph’s clerk, who had crept over, probably because Annette had been too frazzled to return her wave. Annette made it a policy to return all waves, even ones to mortal enemies, which Taryn was not. “Are you guys okay?”
“You wouldn’t even believe it,
” Annette whispered back. “I was there and I don’t believe it.”
“Oh. That sounds bad. Hi, David.”
He nodded. “Hey, Taryn.”
“Annette and I are going for burgers again,” Taryn whispered. “Want to come?”
“You didn’t learn your lesson last time? Meat makes you sick as shit.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Taryn, again: veggie burgers,” Annette urged. “Seriously. Try one.”
“I have. Why do you think I won’t order them? Yuck, yuck, yuck.”
There was some pointed throat-clearing, and they all looked up at the bench as Taryn hustled back to her spot to the left of the judge.
“Sorry!” Dev said with a grin for the impassive, massive judge. “We’re sorry, Your Honor. But we almost just got creamed, so the ‘adults’ are freaking out.”
“I heard those air quotes, you wretch,” Nadia hissed. “And intelligent concern is not ‘freaking out.’”
“It’s not like any of you to make such a dramatic entrance,” Judge Gomph rumbled.
Nadia looked up at the bench. “Then I’m clearly doing something wrong, Your Honor.”
Annette cut in before Nadia could elaborate or start fishing for compliments. “I beg your pardon, Your Honor. Something unprecedented in my career has happened. I respectfully request that you clear the courtroom of everyone except you, me, Ms. Faulkner, Mr. Auberon, Ms. Wapiti, and Mr. Devoss.”
As that left only five people, two of whom were dozing, the judge blinked, chewed, shrugged. “Very well.” At that, Taryn surged to her feet and had the place cleared in fewer than ten seconds.
It didn’t take long for Annette to explain what had happened—what was still happening. Gomph was about as easy to read as the Book of Kells, but Taryn looked gratifyingly horrified.
“Sir, I don’t understand any of this, but I promise you, I will find out what is happening,” Annette said. “In the meantime, we have to keep these children safe, and I’m not sure the official system is the best way to do that right now.”
Munch. “Suggestions?”
She took a deep breath. “I’d like to take responsibility for Mr. Devoss as mater Pack, effective immediately, and once we have Ms. Daniels in custody again, I’d like to bring her before you to discuss options. We’ll also be working on identifying the driver in the garage, as well as their motive, and will be following up with Mr. Lund, among other things.”
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