“Nope.”
“You were about to kill all of those guys, weren’t you?”
“Maybe. Don’t you think they had it coming?”
“I’m not a judge. I’m an agent.” She rubbed her temples. “Man, this is one rotten Christmas.”
“I’ve had worse,” Smoke said, adjusting the rearview mirror. He glanced at her shoulder. “That might need stitches. I can handle it, if you like. But you need to put some pressure on it.”
Sidney had a few things to consider. A trip to the hospital would generate paperwork. She was a shadow agent now, and maintaining a low profile would take some getting used to. There were other bizarre matters too. The deader and the body of Edwin Lee. She still needed to confirm that. Grimacing, she searched her pockets. Panic seized her.
“What’s wrong?” Smoke said.
“That man, the Boss, he must have taken my phone!”
***
On Smoke’s insistence, she let him take her back to his place. It wasn’t like her to not put up a fight, but his words persuaded her. Now, she sat on his kitchen counter inside his service garage apartment. The gas heater made a soft roar overhead, which gave the place a cozy feeling. Her shoulder throbbed, however. Sitting too long and staying awake on depleted adrenaline had stiffened her body.
“I’ll be back,” Smoke said, heading for his bathroom. “You might want to remove your jacket, and you’ll probably need a clean shirt. I can help out with that one.”
With a few grunts, she slid her jacket off and dropped it to the floor. The shoulder of this shirt was ripped and soaked in blood. She debated taking it off or not. Screw it. Life’s too short to be modest. Off the shirt went, leaving her in only her bra and slacks.
Smoke returned with a towel, a damp washcloth, and a medic kit. “Did you learn that move from your sister?” he said, eyes fixed on hers.
“Ha ha. If it were my sister, there’d be no top at all and your sofa-bed would be unfolded.”
“Ouch,” Smoke said, inspecting the wound. “Sounds like you’re feeling better, but it’s pretty nasty.”
“Just get on with it.”
He went to work. Wiping off the blood. Cleaning the wound. Threading the needle. “Four or five should do it. It might sting a little.”
She didn’t look away. She looked right at him. His warm presence and rock-steady hands drew her in. Her blood began to sizzle. They’d only spent a few days together, but it felt like a lifetime. The needle dug into her arm. Her eyes watered.
“You okay?” he said, fixated like a surgeon on the wound.
“Never better,” she said in his ear, eyeing the wound.
He ran another stitch through. “Good. That’s two … that’s three … and four.” He knotted it off and clipped it with scissors. “All done.”
“That was fast,” she said with bated breath, looking into his eyes and resting her good hand on his neck. She rubbed his cheek and earlobe with her thumb. Her body was throbbing. “Good job.”
“You’re a wonderful patient,” he said.
Her lips drew closer to his. “And you’re a wonderful—”
Smoke withdrew just as the sound of an approaching car caught her ear. Morning glory!
CHAPTER 17
Headlights illuminated the window blinds. Smoke went for his gun. She went for hers. The sound of tires crunched over the driveway. He peeked through the blinds, pulled back, and headed to the other side of the room.
“Who is it?” she said, standing in her bra and slacks, holding her gun.
Smoke opened up a dresser drawer and withdrew a T-shirt. He tossed it to her. “Put this on. We have company.”
“Good company or bad company?” she said, slipping the shirt on. It was a little tight and had a battle helmet and axe logo on it. “Whose was this, your girlfriend’s?”
“I used to be smaller.” He put away his weapon. “It’s a sentimental treasure.”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Smoke made his way over to the door and swung it open. A short stocky man, bald-headed and bearded, bustled inside. A woman, taller, followed in behind him. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a long silky pony tail. Her winter jacket did little to hide her generous curves. Smoke closed the door behind them. She was older than Sid, over forty, but without a wrinkle and nary an eyelash out of place. I hope I age that well.
“Nice shirt,” the woman said with a voice that was a little Lauren Bacall-like. She looked Sid up and down with very pretty eyes then took off her coat and handed it to the other man. She wore a sleeveless black top adorned in silver sequins and a pair of Buckle jeans. “I used to have one just like it.”
“Hey,” the man said to Sid, “The Darkslayer. I like that.” He hung the woman’s coat on the wall and did the same with his. He wasn’t tall for a man but stocky as a bull, with thick forearms bulging beneath his flannel sleeves. His voice was warm and friendly. He had a rugged charm about him. He walked over and extended his hand. “They call me—”
“Guppy,” Sidney said, taking his hand in hers.
Guppy’s eyes lit up. “You can call me Gil if you don’t like Guppy. I don’t mind.”
“Well, you don’t look like a Guppy.”
“I’d say not. I’ve been telling everyone that for years.” He scratched his brown-red beard and glowered back at Smoke.
“So why the name then?”
“Well, it is my last name, after all.”
“Ah,” she said. “So it’s Gilmore Guppy.”
“Er, no,” Guppy said, scratching the back of his bald head. He mumbled. “It’s Gilligan actually. Gilligan Guppy.”
“We tried Double G, but it didn’t stick,” Smoke said. He slapped his hand down on Guppy’s brawny shoulder. “So, Guppy it is. And over there is Fat Sam.”
Fat Sam had moved away and taken a seat behind the computer.
“It’ll take some time, but she’ll warm up to you,” Guppy said with a wink.
“I have to admit,” Sid said, “neither of you are what I expected, especially in her case. She’s so—”
“Stacked,” Smoke interjected.
Sid narrowed her eyes on him. “I was going to say gorgeous and female.”
“Thank you,” Fat Sam boomed, pecking away on Smoke’s computer.
“Yes, she’s the fat with a PH kind. Pretty hot and tempting, wouldn’t you say?” Guppy said, raising his brows.
“I get it,” Sidney said, glancing at the woman.
“And Sam’s short for Samantha,” Guppy added.
“I think she figured that out already,” Sam said.
“And she’s grumpy,” Guppy whispered.
“I heard that.”
“Well, I have to admit, your arrival is a bit peculiar.” Sid made her way over to the computer desk and looked over Fat Sam’s shoulder. The monitor had pictures from the Drake graveyard on it. The ones she had taken. How in the world did she get those? On the desk, she noticed a phone similar to the one she thought she lost. A jolt of fury went right through her. “Smoke!”
“Oh, I meant to tell you, I found your phone,” he said.
She jerked her phone off the cable. “Garage! Now!” Jerk! Smoke made his way into the garage, and she shut the door behind them. She wanted to hit him. She poked him in the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Easy,” he said, putting his hands up, “you don’t want to tear those stitches.”
“I’m going to tear your tongue out if you don’t give me some straight answers!”
“Is this an interrogation?”
“It’s betrayal,” she said, walking away. In one of the garage’s double bays, his IROC Camaro was on a lift with a new fiery red paint job on it. When did he do that? On the other side, two motorcycles were covered in tarps. Last time there had only been one. Boxes of Snap-On Tools hugged the block walls, and long shelves were filled with neatly organized parts.
“I shouldn’t have taken it,” he said, “or at least I should have give
n it back. But I wasn’t sure how forthcoming you’d be with the information. We need it.”
“I’m here. We’re well past that point.”
Dejected, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Her fires simmered down, but it still hurt a little. She wanted to trust him. Even worse, she had trusted him, letting things hang out with only a bra on. She wanted to take the T-shirt off and throw it at him. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her. Damn men! “So, this shirt, was it Sam’s?”
“Still is, I think.” He stretched his arms up on the bottom of his car that hung on the lift. “We aren’t a thing. Her and Guppy stay over sometimes.”
“I don’t want to know anything else.” Keep it professional. She headed for the door. “But it’s nice knowing you kids have sleepovers.” She opened the door and stepped inside, then shut it behind her. Guppy and Fat Sam were seated at the desk, staring at her.
“Is the squabble over?” Sam said.
No! “Yes.” She made her way over to them. “Care to fill me in on what you’re doing?”
“Trying not to freak out,” Guppy said, staring at one of the four monitors. He got up from his chair. “Please, Agent Shaw, have a seat.”
“I’m all right.”
“I insist.”
Sidney obliged. Nice guy but probably lying to someone. “What are you freaking out about?”
Sam twisted her head around. “Are you shitting me?”
“Language,” Guppy warned.
“Oh, I’m sorry for my French. I meant to say, are you joking?” Sam clicked on the mouse and pulled up four images, one on each monitor. The tombstone marker of Edwin Lee. Edwin Lee’s corpse. The 1943 obituary and photo of Edwin Lee, and finally the deader. “That’s what we’re talking about. Craziest shit I ever saw.”
“Ahem.”
“Sorry again. Craziest slat … oh never mind. This is Nucking Futz! Yet at the same time, it’s awesome.”
“Sorry about her,” Guppy said, shaking his head. “She’s still got a lot of alley cat in her.”
Sam spun around her in her seat to face Sid. “Tell me more about the werewolf.” Her green eyes gleamed. “Smoke wouldn’t talk about it, but you’ll tell me. Tell me everything.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sidney said, leaning toward the screen with the deader on it. “I’m curious. Do you think you can identify that guy?”
“Maybe, why?” Sam said, zooming in on the image.
“It might give us some more insight. Man, he’s huge. You don’t notice so much when they’re trying to kill you.”
Sam and Guppy gave each other odd looks. “Boy, Smoke is right,” Guppy said, “you really are a Hellcat.”
Sidney showed a wry smile. She squinted her eyes at another image on the screen with the tombstone. She pointed at it. “Zoom in on that.”
“Okay.” Sam zoomed in.
There was a figure with gleaming eyes peering at them from up in the tree. Its shape was fuzzy.
“Cat maybe,” Guppy said.
The shape was odd but familiar. “Pretty big cat. Are those wings on its back?”
“Probably an owl,” Sam offered.
Smoke crept back in the room and offered his insight. “Not a cat. Not an owl. It’s a gargoyle.”
CHAPTER 18
“Oh, please,” Sidney said. “It’s not a gargoyle.”
“Oh, please be a gargoyle,” Sam said, toying with her onyx and diamond necklace with her eyes glued to the screen. “Smoke, this is so much more exciting than the wife-beating drug dealers we’re used to.”
“And stopping those people isn’t a good thing?” Smoke said.
“Sure, but taking down wife-beating werewolves is so much cooler.”
“Am I missing something?” Sidney asked, staring at Smoke.
“She prattles. Don’t worry about it.”
“Hmmm, I think it is a gargoyle,” Guppy said. “Yep, I’m with Smoke. Gargoyle.”
Sidney recalled a bad movie she’d seen years ago with friends, called Gargoyles. It had really creeped her out then, and the talk of them creeped her out now. Strange bunch. Just a little too into this. “I think we need a little more proof. I’m sure forensics can find a scientific explanation for what that is.”
“Don’t be such a Scully,” Sam said, tilting back in her chair. “You’ve seen deaders and a werewolf. I don’t see any reason you can’t add a gargoyle to the supernatural kingdom.”
“I know what I saw, but we don’t really have proof of any of that, so don’t go calling the papers.”
“Not even the Enquirer?” Sam said with a huff.
“Or the Sun?” Smoke said with a laugh.
“Don’t forget the Weekly World News,” Guppy added.
“Sure, call the Lone Gunman, why don’t you?” Sidney said, laughing at herself. They all fell silent and stared at her. “Oh, it’s funny when you say stupid things, but not when I do, is it?”
Guppy shrugged his heavy shoulders. “We just weren’t of the impression that you were funny is all.”
Smoke nudged him.
Sidney folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “And why would you be under that impression?”
“Er, well …” Guppy scratched his head. “I think I hear something in the garage. I better go check it out. Probably them raccoons again.”
Smoke put his finger up. “I’m going to get a shower.” He tugged at the neck of his shirt. “Phew, I can almost feel what I’m smelling.”
Almost instantly, Sidney found herself all alone in the studio with Sam, whose decorated fingernails were a blur on the keyboard. Sid resumed her seat beside her. Everything about Sam was impeccable, from the type of shoe she wore to the onyx wrap that held her blonde ponytail in place.
“What?” Sam said, keeping her eyes on the monitor.
“Nothing,” Sidney said. “Well, not exactly nothing. I really like your fingernails.”
“Thanks. Too bad I can’t say the same about yours.”
“Excuse —” Sidney fanned out her hands. The maroon polish was dull and chipped off. Polishing her nails wasn’t one of her better habits. She was a little more practical about such things. “They do look pretty crappy, don’t they?”
“Yep,” Sam said, smiling out of the corner of her mouth. “But I imagine FBI girls need to be a little more practical, especially when you’re fighting deaders and such. You might want to sprinkle a little diamond dust on them though.”
“I suppose.” She nodded. “I have a question.”
“About me and Smoke I bet.”
“Yes.”
Sam turned in her chair and looked into Sid’s eyes. “We don’t have the right chemistry.”
Sidney locked her fingers in her lap and leaned back with an inner sigh. But another question pecked in her mind. She opened her mouth to speak.
“No, we haven’t done it,” Sam said, “and let’s just leave it at that. Smoke’s a special guy, but even he gets a little misaligned sometimes.” She resumed her pecking on the keyboard. “That’s all I can say, because it’s starting to get a little weird.”
“Fair enough,” Sidney said. “So, Sam’s short for Samantha?”
“My mom was a fan of the Bewitched show. Well, I was too, a decade later. Huh. There I go, dating myself.”
“I used to watch that with my mom and I Dream of Jeannie too.”
“Well, at least your mom had sense enough not to name you Samantha Jean.”
Sidney burst out in laughter.
“Yeah, laugh it up. Everyone else does.” She started to laugh herself. “I hated it growing up, but it’s kinda cool now. Goes well together. Don’t you think?”
“Sure, if you live in Alabama.”
“Ha ha.” Sam shook her head. “I went to one of those snobby private schools. I was a little heavy, really had a thing for Little Debbies and hot donuts as a kid. My parents never told me no to anything until after they were dead.”
“Oh.” Sidney stopped lau
ghing. “Sorry.”
“I’m just screwing with you. Made you stop laughing, though.”
“That’s messed up.”
“But it’s effective.”
It wasn’t half bad having a friend to warm up with for a change. For the most part, all she had was Sadie. Sam and Sadie. Now that would make one heckuva girls’ night out together.
“So, as I understand it, you have a file on this weird shit—I mean slat?” Sam asked.
“Yea, how’d you already know about that?”
Sam just looked at her.
“He’s really sneaky, isn’t he?” Sidney said.
“An oversized fox. Don’t underestimate him.”
Sidney made her way over to the kitchen table to pick up the charred remains of their case file. She noticed a coffee pot in the corner.
“I like the way you’re thinking,” she heard Sam say.
Does everyone have ESP around here? She found a pack of grounds, readied the pot, and returned to the computer station. She dumped the file on the desk. The envelope from the Bureau slipped out on the floor.
Sam snatched it up. “What’s this?”
CHAPTER 19
Sidney snatched the charred letter from Sam’s dazzling fingertips.
“It’s mine.”
“Secret orders, huh?” Sam’s eyes narrowed on her. “Now’s not the best time to keep secrets. You need to trust someone.”
The door to the garage opened, and Guppy bustled in, sniffing the air. “Is that coffee brewing?”
“Hey, Guppy,” Sam said. “You’ll never believe this.”
“Believe what?”
“Sid has secret orders.”
Smoke appeared out of the bathroom, drying his hair and wearing only a beige terrycloth towel. The strapping man’s muscles flexed as he breathed in the aroma. “Ah, coffee.”
Sidney unglued her eyes from his hard belly and turned back to the file on the desk. “We need to get going on this Night Bird case, before the jailbird back there has to go back to his nest.” She plucked out a picture of Angi Harlow and set it on the table. The edges were crisp. “I recall seeing some notes about her being a philanthropist of sorts. There were several similar locations that she had in common with Adam Vaughn too. That might be a starting point.”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 21