Destiny

by Rachelle Mills et al.

  Her optimism flagging, she grabbed the files and retreated to her office. She smiled when she found Henry’s cat sleeping on her couch. Emma set the paperwork on her desk and quietly approached the dozing calico. As she knelt in front of her, the cat slowly opened her eyes and yawned. Emma held out a hand for the cat to sniff and was surprised when she started mashing her face against her hand and purring. Unable to remember the calico’s name from amid the chaos yesterday, she gently tugged at the thin pastel green collar until she found a tag. Emma laughed quietly.

  “Ingrid Bergman, huh?” She rubbed the cat’s soft fur under her chin.

  The cat purred louder in response. Despite the absurdity of yesterday’s brawl, Emma admired that Ingrid was so loyal to Henry that she was willing to attack a werewolf for him.

  Someone gasped behind her. “She likes you.”

  Emma turned to see Rick step into her office. “Is she normally picky about who she befriends?”

  He sniffed in disdain. “No, but she doesn’t like me, which is affront enough. Especially after I was the one to get her for Henry.”

  Emma rose and approached him with a smirk. “You did something to her, didn’t you?” Rick hadn’t earned Henry’s eternal exasperation for nothing. To confirm her suspicions, Ingrid leapt off the couch and hissed at Rick before darting out of the room.

  He lifted his shoulders and focused his gaze on a filing cabinet. “I may have used her in a pull-a-cat-out-of-a-hat trick that possibly went horribly wrong.”

  She gaped at him.

  He raised his hands in self-defense. “You saw her. She’s fine.”

  Emma gave him a long, disbelieving look and headed back to her desk. “You need something?”

  Before he could respond, the sound of the front door opening and shutting made them both frown and deflated her good humor. She really hoped that wasn’t a client.

  Rick leaned out of her office before jerking back inside. He shot her a wide-eyed, panicked gaze. Her hopes were dashed when Wendell stopped in front of her doorway.

  “Oh hell no,” she muttered.

  Keeping herself very still, she considered her next steps. What was it you were supposed to do if you encountered a bear or a wolf? Bang pots and pans and puff yourself up to make yourself seem bigger? Pots and pans weren’t an option, so Emma drew her shoulders back, raised her chin up, and held eye contact. Damned if she was going to let him snarl at her again. Had to show him she was on the same level as he was…sort of.

  To her surprise, Rick set his hands on his waist like he was a superhero waiting for a cape-fitting and blocked Wendell’s entry.

  “Mr. Davies, unless you’ve spoken to Henry already, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His voice was calm but firm.

  “No, but—”

  Emma approached Rick, not wanting the guy to find himself on the werewolf’s bad side because it was horrifying. But her new assistant blustered on, bizarrely intrepid as he yanked a deck of cards from his pocket. He spring-shuffled the deck, the cards rushing between his palms with as much menace as if he’d been brandishing a gun instead. Then the cards flipped and twisted through the air and landed effortlessly back in his hands. Emma took a step back to avoid getting hit.

  “Mr. Davies, you will have to talk to Henry later. He’s currently busy, and I’m not about to let you rage at Ms. Parker.” What cards had to do with the threat, Emma didn’t know.

  Rick tossed a card up-up-up and then let it land face up on the floor. Nine of hearts. The six of diamonds twirled in the air and fell on the ground too.

  Wendell frowned. “What are you—”

  “Just starting a game of Fifty-Two Card Pickup, but I’ve got ropes and knives, as well. Would you like to see them?” He flicked a card at Wendell’s chest.

  The werewolf stared down at the card and blew out a sigh. Rick’s threats weren’t exactly intimidating considering he was throwing playing cards at his opponent, but Emma smiled at him. He’d been as dumbstruck as she was yesterday, and even though he barely knew her, she appreciated his allegiance.

  Wendell raised his head and gave them a strange combination of a smile and a frown as he raised a large brown paper bag. “But I brought lunch…?”

  Emma and Rick glanced at each other, eyes wide.

  “Wanted to apologize,” he mumbled. “I should’ve controlled myself better, even if that guy was being an asshole.”

  When they still didn’t respond, he said gruffly, “Let’s go in there.” He gestured vaguely toward the conference room. “If you’re not busy,” he added more contritely.

  Emma exhaled. Balls. She couldn’t brush him off when he was trying.

  Wendell opened the bag and passed a stunned Rick two sandwiches. “Henry probably doesn’t want to see me, but if you could pass one of those along to him. I heard the roast beef is good if you squirt a little blood on it.” Then he pulled out a bag of gourmet cat treats. “Those are for the furball,” he said sheepishly.

  Rick opened his mouth and shut it, apparently at a loss for words. He shot Emma a concerned frown.

  Grabbing Wendell’s file and a pen, she gave Rick an encouraging smile. “I’ll be fine.” Smiling at Wendell, she joked, “I’ll scream if I’m not.”

  Her client winced in response, so she ushered him to the conference room without another word. A moment later, she poked her head out to see a wide-eyed Rick standing outside the door.

  “Can you get us a couple of mugs of chamomile tea?” she asked then ducked back into the conference room, shutting the door behind her.

  Emma took a seat, but he remained standing. Wendell fingered the blackout shades and peeked out the window. Despite his contrite offer of sandwiches, he seemed to be assessing an exit strategy. Probably would be a smart idea for her to do too.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” she prompted, keeping her voice steady.

  Trying to keep the mood calm and light, she pulled out a turkey sandwich from the bag and did her best to pretend she wasn’t in a small room with a werewolf.

  He turned away from the window and looked her straight in the eye. “Sorry I scared you. It was mean of me to rage at you like that.”

  Emma laughed and shook her head. “It was a generally ridiculous situation.”

  “Still shouldn’t have done it. My temper gets the better of me. Also sorry for not trusting you. Looked you up on the Google. You’ve got all kinds of qualifications.”

  Emma blinked, surprised he even owned a computer, much less knew what “the Google” was. “I appreciate that, Wendell.”

  He hesitated. “If Henry’s serious about not doing supernat cases, I still need your help.”

  Ah, there it was. Here to grovel because he needed something. He did seem genuinely sorry, at least, and helping clients was what she was there to do. Rick slipped into the room, placed two steaming mugs on the table, and was gone just as quickly. Wendell eyed the tea warily.

  “I accept your apology. Peace offering?” She gestured toward the mugs. “It’s chamomile. You seem edgy. I thought it might calm you down some so you could tell me what happened when you got arrested.”

  Some of his tension dissipated, and he grabbed a salad and fork from the bag. Emma wondered if she should offer to trade when she remembered his arraignment where he admitted to the judge he was a vegan working on improving himself with yoga. A vegan werewolf. The more she learned about it, the weirder this world got.

  They exchanged awkward looks across the table as they ate their lunch in silence. A short while later, Emma finished her food and smoothed down the lone page that made up his file in what she hoped was a neutral signal that he should say something. Wendell raised his mug to his lips. She bit back a smile as she watched the burly man take a delicate sip of his tea.

  Finally, he relaxed enough to explain what had happened. He was driving home from the Silk Moth, where yes, he’d acquired some weed, but his friend Mike had put it in a teeny tiny airtight Mason jar. A cop pulled him over for a burne
d-out taillight.

  “Even though I check them all the time,” Wendell groused. “My truck looks beat up, is all.”

  The cop grilled him about whether he had drugs on him because “this is a neighborhood with a lot of drugs.” He then asked Wendell if he could look around in his car a little. Wendell declined the request, but the cop insisted and put him in handcuffs outside the car for “officer safety.” The weed was in Wendell’s leather bag in the front seat. The officer started rummaging around in it and, sure enough, found the jar.

  Scrawling notes furiously in the file, Emma asked, “Did he mention anything about a smell?”

  When he shook his head, giddiness bubbled up inside her. This was promising.

  “Same thing happened to my packmate Josué a couple months ago in the same area,” he grumbled. “You can probably guess why it went a hell of a lot worse for him. The cop got rough, so it was a damn miracle he didn’t shift.”

  “Shit.” Stories like this didn’t surprise her, but she always hated to hear them.

  “‘Shit’ is right. Henry got him out of jail one day before the full moon.”

  She felt like a Doberman eager to lunge. “Was it the same cop?”

  Wendell shook his head, and she deflated a little. It had been worth a shot, and she already had one hell of a fact pattern. She scrawled a few more notes and tapped her pen idly against the table.

  Emma took a deep breath. “I called about your case this morning but didn’t have these kinds of details. I’m going to follow up and see what I can do for you.”

  “Sure.”

  She weighed her words carefully. “I’m fairly sure I can resolve this for you today, Wendell, but I need to tell you that if you continue with this kind of behavior, you’ll end up in jail or worse. The bigger problem is that when you get into trouble, you endanger the other supernatural people in this town, too. What if you turned while locked up?”

  His eyes sparked that eerie werewolf green. “You think I don’t know that? My pack keeps me in line. Are you going to keep me out of the clink or not?”

  Oh boy. Ragey eyes weren’t a good sign. She may have come on too strongly and too early with the guilt trip.

  “I understand, but trust me. We’re not there yet,” she assured him. “Want to give this a shot? I can make the phone call now if you want.”

  He shrugged. She snatched the receiver from the conference room phone and dialed the literal Get Out of Jail Free Card number again.

  “Yeah,” the woman answered.

  Setting the call to speaker, she said, “Hello! This is Emma Parker from the Law Office of de Daumier-Smith. We’ve spoken already today,” she greeted brightly.

  A cantankerous sigh was her reply.

  “Anyway, this morning we spoke about a client—?”

  “Listen. You call me once per day, maximum, and you give me names then. After five, if you please.”

  She expected her to hang up but didn’t hear the telltale click on the other end.

  When Emma didn’t respond, the woman said, “Last name for the day. Go.”

  “Wendell Davies.”

  The line went quiet for a time. She thought she heard typing in the background.

  “Oh. That.” Another pause, then, “I’ll knock it all down to a misdemeanor with a thousand-dollar fine.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. She was officially over this woman’s attitude. “For a nonviolent crime?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “You drop the charge completely,” she shot back.

  A bark of laughter. “Too many possession charges lately, and he’s got a record.”

  “Have you had a chance to look at the arrest report?” she asked sweetly.

  She was bluffing. Wendell had no reason to lie, but the cop could’ve written down anything. The officer’s camera footage would be her best bet, but she didn’t have the discovery yet. She would try to brazen her way through the phone call, but if that didn’t work, there were other options. If Wendell’s story was right, the cop’s search had been all kinds of illegal.

  More typing. Silence. Emma smirked. That was a good sign.

  “Dashcam footage has got to be a real hoot, too,” she added.

  The woman grunted. Wendell frowned at the phone.

  “Probable cause is a fascinating topic, don’t you think?” When the woman still didn’t say anything, Emma added, “Come on. You know it’s flimsy. I’m sure you’ve got bigger issues to worry about.”

  “Fine. Dropped,” she ground out.

  The fight ended as quickly as it began. Before she could thank the woman, she hung up. Emma stared at the phone. That was four for four in one day. She may have put up a bit of a fight with Wendell, but something shady was going on. Wendell was growing on her, but unease still kicked up her pulse.

  She understood this mystery lady’s point of view and why she would want someone to see some consequences. It was only a matter of time before a murderer or rapist came in to the office. What was she supposed to do then? Should they receive no punishment at all because they couldn’t be exposed as supernats? The clients she’d met so far weren’t an eighth as contrite and forthcoming as Wendell was. A fair defense and just punishment were one thing, but to catch and release supernatural criminals without any consequences seemed infinitely more dangerous.

  But for now, she would take the day’s wins. The murky ethical issues were a conversation best had with Henry. Clearing her head of her uncertainty, she looked up at Wendell and smiled.

  A grin lit up his face, and he panted a little. Emma blinked. Human-dog behavior would take some getting used to.

  “Thank you.” He expelled another deep breath.

  “You’re welcome.” He started to rise from his chair, but she said, “Not quite done yet.”

  Wendell sat and leaned forward, clearly eager to get the hell out of there. She needed to straighten some things out with him first, though.

  “Like that woman said, this isn’t your first arrest, and you’ve been convicted. Do you have issues with substance abuse in general, or were you a little too eager for full moon pre-gaming?” she asked and relaxed her shoulders in an effort to look more approachable.

  Surprisingly, he admitted he’d had a drinking problem for the past twenty years. He’d been working on his sobriety with a pack of other werewolves for over four months with mixed success. Weed was his latest attempt at handling it.

  He clasped his hands in front of him on the table, and the vulnerable look on his face surprised her. “I’m trying.”

  She was skeptical about whether that meant he would actually stay out of trouble, but she appreciated the sincerity in his voice.

  “That’s great to hear. Are you open to counseling?”

  Wendell shook his head vehemently. “I don’t need a head shrink. The pack is working with me.”

  Not much she could do to force the issue. “Fair enough, but consider it. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I’ve told my pack I need them to keep an eye on me more. They’re good about that,” he said gruffly.

  Message received. She could lead a horse—or a dog, rather—to water and all that.

  “What about your job? Will that help keep you focused? I’d imagine living forever might make someone a bit listless.”

  Despite her research, she realized she didn’t know if werewolves could really live forever. He didn’t contradict her, though, so she must have been right about that assumption.

  Rubbing a hand against the gray stubble on his face, he said, “Plumbing can leave you alone with your thoughts a bit too much, but working with my hands is always good.”

  “Good, that’s good. Keep doing that. Or hell, explore something different if it’s not working for you. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I don’t want to see you ever again.”

  Wendell gave her the barest hint of a smile—nothing more than a quirk of his mouth. “Ditto.”

  Emma stood and extended he
r hand. He shook it, and she led him back to reception. Henry and Rick were waiting with wide, expectant eyes. She smirked at them.

  “Rick, can you talk to Mr. Davies about the particulars of billing?”

  “Abso-positively—yes.”

  “Henry, can I have a word with you in your office?” she asked with an excessive amount of charm.

  Henry nodded absently. Emma started walking toward him when Wendell called out to her.

  “Ms. Parker? Thanks again,” was all he said before he strode over to Rick’s desk.

  She glanced at Henry to find him staring at her, lips parted in surprise. Emma bit back a smile and followed him into his office. Just as he closed the door behind her, she heard Wendell say in a low voice, “Now I’ve got a fifteen-percent-off coupon here…”

  Emma laughed, and Henry grimaced at her before taking a seat at his desk. Ingrid was curled up in his wooden inbox and purring. Her victory was dampened when she remembered why she’d cornered Henry in here in the first place. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with peeling that tailored suit off his body, piece by piece.

  She leaned her hip against the outside of his desk and said, “Henry, if I’m going to help you with these cases, then you need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

  He tilted his head in confusion. “Going on with what?”

  “The sticky note you left me with the mystery number. Who do you know in the county attorney’s office?”

  His head fell forward. “Shit. That was old. You weren’t supposed to call her.”

  “Call who?”

  ***

  Henry watched Emma’s worried eyes and the narrow line her lips had formed. A foolish image crept in through his ear and wiggled its way into his head: him kissing her to ease that concerned line into fuller, swollen red lips. He looked away and settled for staring at a smug, napping Ingrid instead. He toyed with the idea of lying to her to protect his source but didn’t see the point, especially since Charlotte was supposed to be helping. If Emma was going to be in charge of these criminal cases, she needed to know about every resource they had.