2 Blood Trail

by Tanya Huff

  “Bruised thigh, bruised head, shoulder’s healing.” It was frustrating more than painful. Especially with her blood so close.

  “You’ve got that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “Like you’re listening to something.”

  To her heartbeat. To the sound of her blood as it pulsed just under the skin. “I’d better go.”

  She stood with him.

  “No, Vicki.”

  Just in time she remembered not to raise her brows. “No, Vicki? Henry, you need to feed, I need to relax. I’m a grown woman and if I think I can spare you another few mouthfuls of my precious bodily fluids, you have no room for argument.”

  Henry opened his mouth, closed it again, and surrendered. Healing had used up whatever reserves he had and the hunger was too strong to fight. At least that’s what he told himself as they climbed the stairs.

  “How dare you! How fucking dare you!” Barry Wu couldn’t remember ever being so furious. “You goddamned fucking son of a bitch, you actually believed I’d do something like that!”

  Colin was trying desperately hard to keep his own temper, but he could feel himself responding to Barry’s anger. He’d been pulled out of the car for special duty tonight, and this was the first chance they’d had to talk. “If you’d listen—I said I didn’t believe you did it!”

  Barry slammed his palm down on the hood of Colin’s truck. “But you didn’t believe I didn’t! It took a fucking Toronto PI to convince you!”

  “You’ve got to admit the evidence. . . .”

  “I don’t have to admit shit!” He stomped off half a dozen paces, whirled around, and stomped back. “And another thing, where the fuck do you get off searching my place?”

  “What? I was supposed to just sit on my ass and wait for the guy to strike again?”

  “You could’ve fucking told me!”

  “I couldn’t fucking tell you!”

  “Hey!”

  Neither of them had heard the car pull up. They spun simultaneously, shoulder to shoulder, dropped into a defensive position, and went for their guns.

  Which neither of them are wearing. Celluci lifted a sardonic eyebrow. How lucky for all three of us. “You two might want to find another place to have your disagreement. Police officers screaming profanities at each other in the station parking lot looks bad to civilians.” If he remembered correctly, a sergeant had once said the same to him and Vicki.

  Neither Barry nor Colin wasted a moment wondering how the stranger had known they were police officers even out of uniform. They were young. They hadn’t been on the force very long. They weren’t stupid.

  “No, sir!” they replied in unison, almost but not quite coming to attention.

  Celluci hid a smile. “I’m looking for someone. A woman. Her name is Vicki Nelson. She’s a private investigator from Toronto. She’s working for some people who own a sheep farm north of the city. I figure by now she’ll have contacted the police, for information if nothing else. Can you help?”

  Colin stepped toward the car, trying to paste a neutral expression over concern. “Excuse me, sir, but why are you looking for her? Is she in trouble?”

  Jackpot first try. She’s probably had this poor kid breaking into police files for her. “I’m a friend. I have information about the man she’s traveling with.”

  “About Henry?” The concern broke through. Information about Henry could mean trouble.

  Barry frowned at the tone but moved forward, ready if Colin needed him.

  “You know him?”

  “Uh, yeah, I do.” Barry looked a little surprised at the change in Colin’s voice and more surprised when he continued with, “I’m Colin Heerkens. Henry and Vicki are out at my family’s farm,” and then proceeded to give detailed directions. There was an undercurrent of amusement about Colin’s whole attitude that made Barry very nervous.

  As the car pulled away, Colin gave a shout of laughter and slapped Barry on the back. “Come on,” he yanked open the truck door and climbed in, “you’re not going to want to miss this!”

  “Miss what?”

  “What happens when he gets to the farm.”

  “What happens?”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “Christ, Barry, I know your nose isn’t worth much but I don’t believe you didn’t smell that. That guy was so jealous he was practically green.” He leaned over and opened the passenger door. “You know, if you’d learn to read nonverbal clues you’d be a better cop.”

  “Yeah?” Barry swung up into the truck. “And if I’d wanted to be in the canine corps, I’d have joined it.” He settled back against the seat cushions and buckled in. “I still want to know what happens when he gets to the farm.”

  “Beats me.” Colin shot him a grin as he pulled out onto the street. “But it oughta be interesting.”

  “You think this is pretty funny, don’t you?”

  “We think most of you humans are pretty funny. Laugh a minute.”

  “Sheep-fucker.”

  “Yellow peril.”

  “You know, Colin, your uncle’s probably not going to be too thrilled by you sending this guy out to the farm.” Barry drummed his fingers against the dash and shot a look at his partner. “I mean, you lot aren’t big on company just generally and right now. . . .”

  Colin frowned. “You know, you’re right. I guess I was reacting to his scent and the situation. Uncle Stuart’s going to have my throat.” He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. “I guess I just didn’t think.”

  “It’s your least endearing trait.” And one that would keep him from promotion; keep him on the street, in uniform. Barry doubted that Colin would ever rise any higher than constable and sometimes he wondered how the wer would manage when he moved on.

  “Barry, I did want to tell you.”

  “I know. Forget it.” And he knew that Colin could, the wer lived very much in the here-and-now. It would take a little longer for him.

  Ten

  This is ridiculous. It’s 11:30. Vicki’s likely asleep. Celluci sat in his car and stared at the dark bulk of the farmhouse. Or at least in bed. He decided not to take that thought any further. The lights are on in the kitchen. Someone’s up. I could at least make sure this is the right. . . . “Jesus!”

  The white head staring in the driver’s side window belonged to the biggest dog he’d ever seen. It looked to be part shepherd, part malamute, and, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear, part wolf. It didn’t look angry, just curious and its eyes. . . . Unable to decide if the eyes were as strange as he thought or if the glass was distorting them somehow, he cracked open the window enough for the head, but not the shoulders, and kept his finger on the switch in case the beast should lunge.

  Not so much as a whisker crossed the edge of the window, but the wet black nose twitched once, twice as the cool air inside the car flowed out into the night.

  The eyes were strange; it wasn’t just the glass. Celluci wasn’t quite sure what the difference was but he’d never seen a dog of any kind with eyes that looked so human.

  Suddenly, the big dog whirled and ran barking for the house, its pale form flickering like a negative image against the night.

  Realizing his choice had just been made for him, Celluci shut off the engine. He’d been announced. He might as well go in.

  “Vicki. Come on, Vicki. Wake up.”

  Vicki tried to ignore both the voice and the hand gently shaking her shoulder but, in spite of her best efforts, her body betrayed her and began losing its hold on sleep. Finally she surrendered, muttered an obscenity, and groped for her glasses. Cool fingers gripped her wrist, guiding her search. She didn’t bother opening her eyes until she actually had the glasses in place—not much point when she wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway.

  In the dim spill of light from the hallway, she could just barely make out the darker outline of a man. It had to be Henry, not only was he the only adult male in the house who habitually wore clothes, but the temperatur
e of his touch was a dead giveaway.

  “Henry, I’m flattered but I’m exhausted. Get lost.”

  She could hear the smile in his reply. “Next time I’ll be able to do more of the work. But that wasn’t why I woke you. We’ve got company and I think you’d better get up.”

  “What time is it?”

  “11:33.”

  Vicki really disliked digital watches, only race horses and defense attorneys needed to time life to the second. “I just got to sleep. Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “All right.” She sighed and swung her legs out from under the sheet. “Who is it?”

  “Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci.”

  “Say what!”

  “Detec . . .”

  “I heard you the first time. Close the door and turn on the light.”

  He did as she requested, shielding his eyes against the sudden glare.

  The clothes she’d worn this afternoon would have to do, Celluci had certainly seen her look worse. “Are you sure?”

  “Very. Cloud checked out the car when it first pulled up. She said she could smell a gun, so I took a quick look. It’s Michael Celluci. Keeping in mind how we met, I’m not likely to forget him.”

  Vicki had very little memory of how Henry and Celluci had met, but considering that she was tired and bleeding and about to become a demonic sacrifice at the time, that was hardly surprising. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Henry leaned back against the wall and waited while she pulled a T-shirt over her head before he continued. “But I thought you might like to be there when we found out.”

  “Be there?” She stuffed her feet into sandals and stood, running both hands through her hair rather than search for a brush. “You couldn’t pay me enough to miss this explanation and if something isn’t very wrong that I have to know about immediately—and I’ll be damned if I can think of what that might be—I’ll have a few words to say in return.”

  Because Henry had every intention of living for another four hundred and fifty years, he kept his initial response to that clamped firmly behind his teeth.

  “Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci, ma’am. Is Vicki Nelson here?”

  “Yes, she’s here. Henry’s gone to wake her.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Henry must’ve seen him approaching the house and recognized him. He’s got eyes like an owl if that’s the case. I couldn’t see my hand a foot in front of my face out there, cloud cover’s got everything blocked off. “It’s late. Now I know this is the right place, I can return tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense.” The woman stepped back out of the way and motioned him into the kitchen. “You’ve driven all the way from Toronto, you might as well wait. She’ll be right down.”

  If they’d gone to get her up, he didn’t really have a choice. The only thing worse than having Vicki dragged out of bed, would be having her dragged out of bed and not staying around to explain why. Slipping his shield and his ID back into his pocket, he followed a gesture into a chair, keeping a wary eye on the huge white dog who watched him from across the room. This is ridiculous. One more night isn’t going to make a difference. And she’s not going to be happy about being woken up.

  A red dog came out and sat beside the white. It looked less than happy to see him. It also looked larger although, considering the size of the first, Celluci found that difficult to believe. He shifted a little in his chair. “What, uh, kind of dogs are they?”

  “They’re descended from an obscure European hunting breed. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “Something like wolfhounds?”

  “Something like, yes.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, pinning him under a curiously intent gaze. “My name is Nadine Heerkens-Wells, my husband and I run this farm. Vicki is working for us at the moment. Is there something I should know, Detective?”

  “No, ma’am. This doesn’t concern you.” In fact, Celluci was having a little trouble dealing with a friendship between the man he perceived Henry Fitzroy to be and this woman. Although physically she was quite striking, with her widow’s peak and sharp, almost exotic features, the quality of her surroundings said poor white trash. Her wrinkled sleeveless dress looked as if it had just been picked up off the floor and thrown on. And there’s enough stuff scattered around to dress a half a dozen people, provided they’re not too fussy about the condition of their clothes. None of the furniture could be less than ten years old, clumps of hair had piled up in every corner, and the whole kitchen had a kind of shabby ambience that indicated money was scarce.

  Of course, all their spare cash could be going into dog food.

  He heard footsteps on the stairs and stood, turning to face the door leading into the hall.

  “All right, Celluci, what’s wrong?” Vicki stopped barely a handspan from his chest and glared up into his face. “Someone had better be dying. . . .” Her tone added, or someone’s going to be.

  “What the hell happened to your head?”

  “My what? Oh that. I was in a car accident this afternoon. I guess I hit the dash.” The fingers on her right hand patted the air over the purple and green swelling. “The hospital says it’s just a bump. Looks bad but no real damage.” Her eyes narrowed, glasses sliding down her nose with the motion. “Your turn.”

  Henry, standing just inside the kitchen, hid a smile. Vicki obviously thought Celluci was entitled to hear about the accident; while she was telling him, the challenge dropped from her voice and posture. The moment she finished, it was back.

  Celluci drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can we talk somewhere privately?”

  “Privately?”

  He glanced over her shoulder at Henry. “Yeah. Privately. As in I’d like to speak with you alone.”

  Vicki frowned. She’d seen that look before. Politely translated, it meant he was ready to make an arrest. Why he should be aiming it at Henry. . . . “We’ll go out to your car.”

  “I thought you couldn’t see in the dark?”

  “I know what you look like.” She grabbed his arm just above the elbow and propelled him toward the kitchen door, throwing an “I won’t be long” to the room in general as they left.

  The moment they were clear of the house, Peter stretched and said, “I wonder why she didn’t want to use the living room?”

  Henry grinned. “Where you could’ve heard every word they said?”

  “Well. . . .”

  “Vicki has a pretty good idea of how well the wer can hear.” He walked to the window and stared across the dark lawn at Celluci’s car. “And she knows how well I can.”

  “Well?”

  He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Where to start? “It’s about your friend, Mr. Fitzroy.”

  Vicki snorted. “No kidding.”

  “I did some checking into his background . . .”

  “You what?”

  He ignored the interruption and continued. “. . . and there’re a number of discrepancies I think you should know about.”

  “And I suppose you had a good reason for abusing police privilege?” The tension in her jaw pulled at her temple, sharpening the pain and spreading it out over her skull, but Vicki didn’t dare unclench her teeth. If Celluci had discovered Henry’s secret, she had to know about it and couldn’t risk it getting lost in a screaming fight. Later.

  Celluci could hear the suppressed anger in her voice, could see the tightening of her lips in the pale oval of her face. He had no idea why she was hanging onto her temper but he knew it wouldn’t last so he’d better use the time he had.

  “Your reason, Celluci.”

  “You think what happened last spring wasn’t reason enough?”

  “Not if you just started searching now, no, I don’t.”

  “What makes you think I just started searching now?”

  He could see the lighter slash of her smile. It didn’t look friendly.

  “Y
ou drive all the way from Toronto, you barge into a strange house at 11:30 at night, you have me roused from sleep and dragged from bed, and I’m supposed to believe this is information you’ve had for months? Cop a plea, Celluci, the evidence is against you.”

  “Look,” he turned to face her, “your friend isn’t what you think he is.”

  “What do I think he is?” This didn’t sound good.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Celluci drove both hands up through his hair. “Hell, yes I do. You think he’s some sort of exotic literary figure, who can wine you and dine you and offer you moonlit nights of romance . . .”

  Vicki felt her jaw drop.

  “. . . but he’s got holes in his background you could drive a truck through. Everything points to only one answer; he’s got to be deeply involved in organized crime.”

  “Organized crime?” Her voice came out flat, no inflection.

  “It’s the only solution that fits all the facts.”

  She sputtered. She just couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  Celluci leaned toward her, trying to read her expression. When she got over the initial shock, she’d want to hear what he’d found.

  Vicki managed to repeat organized crime one more time before she lost it.

  He watched her laugh and wondered if he should smack her. He could always use hysteria as an excuse.

  Finally, she managed to get hold of herself.

  “Are you ready to listen?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  Vicki shook her head, reached up and brushed the long curl of hair back off his forehead—she didn’t have to see it to know it was there. “Leaving aside your reasons for the moment, you couldn’t be more wrong. Trust me, Mike. Henry Fitzroy is not involved in organized crime. At any level, of any kind.”

  “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

  So much for his reasons. You are mine resonated over, under, and through that question. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deal with his archaic perceptions right now; this was too potentially dangerous for Henry. “What does that have to do with this?”