by C. D. Gorri
“I can’t believe all these people are here for me,” Julietta squeaked from inside her hospital bed, and every protective instinct he had went haywire.
“Believe it, kiddo,” he replied with a kind smile. “You feeling better?”
“Oh yes,” she sighed. “Better now that I know you’re here.”
Uh-oh. The tiny female was staring at him with wide eyes. A little misplaced hero worship, he was sure. It sort of went with the territory. He shook his head and broke eye contact. Misleading the victim he’d saved? That was not part of his job.
2
Life had been hectic as all get-out from the moment Julietta’s car had been discovered with the spoiled remnants of her grocery shopping one day after her abduction.
She was so small. Sergio could hardly believe she was full grown. In truth, she looked no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. A cute kid, but still too young for him, even though he knew she had to be old enough to drive.
Dr. Finn was scowling as he took in the exchange. He turned around and grabbed her chart quickly. The action more telling than he’d have liked. Sergio was sure of that.
Still, his bull did not care for the doctor’s curt manner, and he growled at the python shifter. The man continued to work, unaffected. But he did not know why the doc should be so grumpy. Fucker needed to work on his bedside manner.
“Thank you, Sergio.” The little mouse smiled up at him and batted her eyes.
“Uh, no problem, kid,” he said, patting her hand before he left.
He knew she’d been checked for serious injury, and other than a massive lump on the back of her noggin, she was okay.
“You know she thinks you’re her personal hero, right?” Dr. Finn said without bothering to look up from his charts.
“What? No,” Sergio grunted uncomfortably. “She’s just a kid.”
“She’s twenty-six.”
“Really? Shit. Well, doesn’t matter to me. She’s the sister of a colleague, and the victim of a terrible attack. My job is to find the assholes who did this. Nothing else,” he informed the physician, who seemed to deflate once he gathered Sergio was telling the truth.
“Good,” Dr. Finn said then walked away, leaving Sergio to contemplate the odd encounter.
He was profoundly grateful for the doctor’s attentiveness to the victim. That Sergio had discovered the female safe and relatively unharmed gave him the satisfaction of a job well done. But that was as far as it went for him. Miss DiCarlo was no longer his business.
Whether it was pure luck or some integral part of a grander scheme he could not yet see, Sergio was glad he’d been on rotation when the anonymous tip that led him to the abandoned warehouse had come in over the wire.
Without it, he might never have found the young shifter. And saving shifters was what he did. Especially those girls who’d been ripped from the safety of their lives and locked away in a hellhole like that.
Sergio’s mind kept racing over what he knew about the DiCarlo missing case file. Technically, he wasn’t assigned to the growing task force dedicated to shutting down SCARAB.
Nope. He’d been on another case. Hot on the trail of an organization that seemed to profit from stolen identities. A bunch of veritable angels…not.
There were plenty of those types of miscreants going around, but these jokers had a predilection for stealing shifter identities. A little habit that got them noticed by PRICs, ASSs, and FUCs the world over.
It seemed they were getting more brazen in their crimes. Not only were victims’ identities being stolen, and credits ruined, but people, shifters, were disappearing.
Normally a warehouse fire, even a suspicious one, was not Sergio’s gig. But he was the next detective in line, or so Joe Canary, the boss’ secretary, had informed him when the call came in.
Before that he’d been working the Spirito identity theft case. One of their frequent clients, Mrs. Bernadine Spirito lived down the shore by Maccon City, one of Sergio’s favorite beach towns. She hired them to track down the person who’d been using her ten-year-old granddaughter’s social security number to open up a slew of credit cards and bank loans.
The villain had racked up tens of thousands of dollars in debt so far. But every good PRIC knew that was only the beginning. After weeks of searching for the thief, Sergio had plenty of information but no real leads.
He’d compiled a list of cases similar to the Spirito girl’s case and found several of them. All were still unsolved. There was one glaring difference, however. The young Spirito girl was about half the age of every other victim. The others were all college-aged shifters from various species all across the USA.
The most recent reports were from Pennsylvania, Oklahoma, Montana, California, and last, a young female college student, formerly from New Jersey, who’d gone missing over a year ago.
The woman, a Samantha Andrews, had told neighbors she and her grandmother were moving to Canada, where she’d applied to the Furry United Coalition Newbie Academy, but neither had been seen or heard from again. Months had passed since the first report of her absence, and things were looking grim for the females.
Then, an anonymous tipster had called the Private Resourceful Investigative Contractors Hotline, or 1-87-PRIC-TIPS, with the very information they needed leading to young Julietta’s discovery and rescue.
A win for sure. Just not his win. Not that he wasn’t more than thrilled to be part of the rescue. Still, something was bugging him. There was a part of this he just wasn’t seeing clearly.
How did the two cases, the kidnapping and the identity thefts, tie together? Why was he given the tip that day from the hotline?
What if SCARAB was responsible for both?
The idea held merit. But he needed proof before presenting it to his boss.
Snort.
Poor little mouse had been handcuffed to a cot in what was little more than a holding pen. The old warehouse had been used to house animals for transport between zoos and circuses. But it had been closed down for years.
The stink of its former inhabitants was buried in the walls. Hard to get that out of your nostrils when you had super-sensitive noses.
But Julietta was safe now. Thank FUC for that, he thought. Literally.
It was a genuine team effort. He only hoped for similar happy endings for his other cases. After checking in on the female one last time, he left her resting peacefully back at HOLE.
Sergio headed back to the office to fill out all the necessary paperwork in triplicate.
Snort.
Margot Leeds—Tony’s biological grandmother and the head of PRIC—did not trust computers. She insisted all the forms be filled out both online and by hand and filed accordingly.
Since it was a task force, he also had to copy every agency on his discoveries and his entire case.
Fucking hell.
He grabbed a large soft drink from the nearest drive-thru before settling in with a five-pound bag of baby carrots.
It was going to be a long night.
3
Furry United Coalition Newbie Academy, Canada
* * *
Six months earlier…
Samantha Marie Andrews barely held her anxiety in check. This was it. Her own personal D-day.
Sniff. Huff. Gasp.
Uh-oh.
She sniffed loudly, running her hands over her T-shirt and surreptitiously tucking it into her joggers. She wore her lucky Livin’ on the Hedge undies. They had the cutest little hedgehogs printed all over them, with the words scrawled across her bottom. Her Aunt Suzi had given them to her before the older woman went bonkers.
Nope.
She would not think about that now. This was too important. Sammi had one last task before she received her diploma from the Academy, and she needed to focus. It was her last chance to show the instructors she could run the tactical obstacle course without causing a disaster. This was her last chance to pass.
Sammi had dreamed of becoming a FUC agent for
most of her life. Aunt Suzi had been an inspiration to the young hedgie when she was just a hoglet. Being accepted to this super-intense program was one of her life’s goals. Now, having achieved that, she simply had to graduate.
To the public, they were ARSHOL. It was short for Animal Rescue Special House of Learning, but to shifters and others who knew of the paranormal world, they were FUCN’A.
Nerves assailed her as Sammi tried to steady her pulse. She really wanted to become a FUC agent. To be a woman of mystery. To lead a life of danger and excitement.
Sniff.
Okay, maybe not danger. But excitement, sure! Aunt Suzi used to tell the most amazing stories of her daring deeds. But that was before the nasty stuff happened. Back when the older woman used to be Sammi’s hero. Aunt Suzi was one hell of a FUC back then. At least, that was what Sammi’s parents always said.
Of course, she wanted to follow in her footsteps. Who wouldn’t?
The postcards her aunt used to send from faraway places had filled the young hoglet’s head with fantastical daydreams. For most of her life, Sammi had prepared to attend FUCN’A. She studied hard, worked summer jobs to save up money, and read everything she could on espionage tactics. She was going to be a great FUC. Just like Aunt Suzi.
Of course, as the saying went, the best-laid plans of mice and men, and hedgies, often went awry. After the incident, everything changed. Not that she ever learned what the incident was exactly.
Still, poor Sammi had developed a little bitty case of anxiety with dangerous situations. As in every situation a FUC agent came across.
Sigh.
See, it all started when Aunt Suzi came to visit just after Sammi started her classes at FUCN’A. Sammi’s mother’s sister’s last assignment was as a deep undercover agent infiltrating a tight-lipped group of feral cat shifters.
Like their wild relatives, some feline shifters tended to be haughty and of the opinion the entire world should bow down to them. Unfortunately, having a hedgehog as an ally did not go over too well with the extremists.
Once it was discovered Aunt Suzi was just another FUC, well, all hell had broken loose. Cover blown, she’d been treated to tortures the likes of which Sammi could hardly imagine.
All she knew was several of them had involved milk and, to a lactose intolerant hedgehog, the results were curdling.
After being rescued, the battered hedgie had been sent to Sammi’s parents’ house to recuperate from her ordeal. She’d received a medal for bravery and a commendation from her boss, but Sammi hardly thought it worth losing three toes and part of her left ear.
Physical scarring aside, it was the mental and emotional damage that truly scared Sammi. Aunt Suzi could not speak for weeks at first. She’d hardly ever come out of her room.
She was better now, barely, and still staying with the Andrews. Her bedroom was in the mother-in-law suite over the garage. Her window was adjacent to Sammi’s room, so Sammi couldn’t help but hear the woman’s ramblings and nightmares. Aunt Suzi had taken an early retirement after refusing to leave the house.
“C-cats,” she muttered often and non-stop. “Cats are everywhere. They see everything. Evil, evil, I tell you! Milk, only milk. That’s all they drink. They want to rule. I am not going back, I tell you, I’m not. Just let them have it all! And they can keep their filthy milk too.”
Sammi’s parents simply laughed away Aunt Suzi’s behavior, excusing it as just a case of overexcitement. They meant well, but Sammi was a bit more concerned. Would she lose her mind, too, if she became an agent? Would the danger prove too much?
So…okay. Maybe she was a coward. At least she would be alive and sane. Sane was the key word.
“Am I interrupting your personal vacation over there, Ms. Andrews?” Eliza Cogdill, assistant to the director of the Academy, pointed at Sammi with the hand that still held her ever-present smartphone.
The red-tailed chipmunk shifter chittered with her annoyance. She stepped into Samantha’s personal space, frowning deeply at her. As if she could somehow make her move by sheer will.
As it was, Sammi’s feet were glued to the floor. Even in the cute new sneakers she’d bought specifically to bolster her confidence, she found she simply could not move.
“I understand you’ve failed all of your other tactical training courses. This is your last chance to pass. Well? Move it, cadet!” Ms. Cogdill snapped her teeth closed aggressively for someone so small.
Sheesh. She sure was terrifying for a person of such minuscule stature. Not that Sammi should talk. At five-foot nothing, she was also considered a vertically challenged individual.
With more curves than was common for the average shifter, she’d heard all the slights and criticisms she cared to in her lifetime. Even tiny shifters like her hedgie didn’t need to be reminded constantly of her less-than-impressive size. She did her best not to criticize others’ physical appearances. After all, it was what was inside that counted.
Of course, what was inside Ms. Cogdill appeared to be as nasty as she was short. But maybe she just didn’t like her.
Sniff.
Oh well. You can’t make everyone happy. That was what her mom always said.
Sammi was at an important crossroads in her life. The firearms tactical training course was her last chance. The thing was Sammi would not be shooting guns this time around. Though her aim left something to be desired, she found her confidence much higher when she was standing behind an automatic.
This course was not about shooting. It was about ducking. As in, Sammi would be running and dodging bullets. And not in her cute new kicks, either. Nope. She would be doing all this in her other spikier and smaller skin.
“It is time. Now, run this course, cadet. FUC needs you!”
She nodded her head and took one step closer to the start of the training course. If she passed, that would mean she graduated from the Academy. Then Sammi would finally be eligible to serve all of shifter-kind as a FUC agent.
Mind made up, Sammi strode forward, praying like hell she could go through with it unscathed. After all, what were a few rounds of non-lethal ammo to a hedgehog? Their rounds weren’t live, right? She wondered, suddenly unsure.
Gulp.
She dropped down onto all fours and shifted into her beastie. Hoping like hell her newly developed allergy to all things dangerous stayed far away from her for the moment. So, what if she’d gotten a little accident-prone these last few months?
If her tires went flat whenever she drove over forty miles per hour, it was a coincidence. If the store ran out of her favorite brand of cereal when she had a craving, that was okay. And if the electricity seemed to fritz whenever she plugged in her laptop in the library, well, how could it be her fault?
Sammi was not jinxed. Even if her hair spiked up whenever she smelled smoke or gunpowder. That was just a reaction. No big deal.
And her aversion to hand-to-hand combat after she’d accidentally put four of her fellow cadets in the hospital, subsequent to sticking them with her spines on account of them getting a little too rough with her softish self, was well-founded. Could anyone really blame her if she wasn’t prepared to have her boobs and bottom assaulted in what she’d thought was a friendly sparring display?
Sniff.
She hardly thought the incident, or rather incidents, worthy of the terrible moniker her classmates had given her. Wedgie hedgie did not read well, no matter how you looked at it.
“Move it, Miss Andrews!” screamed Ms. Cogdill through her smartphone’s megaphone app, and the world suddenly erupted into a cacophony of bangs, booms, kapows, and yikeses!
As if in slow motion, Sammi spied dozens of weapons firing at her from every direction. Behind each gun and arrow was the snarling face of one of her comrades-in-arms. Several from the aforementioned sparring class.
Oops.
It wasn’t that she did not trust them not to harm her. It was just, well, she feared their intentions were not altogether peaceful.
As a resul
t, Sammi panicked. Her hedgehog’s feet, while small, were fast as she scurried across the uneven forest flooring that made up the training course.
She squeaked, ducking for cover as one arrow zipped straight across her tiny nose. Spines straightened as tall as they could go, she trembled violently as she ran.
Try as they might, her quills could not stop the incoming assault. Doing her best to dodge a spray of bullets that suspiciously appeared to be live ammo, Sammi ran straight into Melissa Olyphant’s left calf. For some reason or other, the rhinoceros shifter was still in her human form, leaving her soft skin susceptible to the sharp quills on Sammi’s back.
Her spines pierced the woman’s leg, causing her to scream and flail her arms wildly, which sent one of the tall, thin flagpoles marking the course crashing toward the observation deck where Miss Cogdill stood.
4
Sammi ran faster. Conscious of her overreaction, yet unable to stop herself, her tiny feet flew over dirt, rocks, and patches of grass. Her hedgie’s ears were hypersensitive to the sounds of bullets flying, training grenades exploding, dirt spraying, people shouting, and all the chaos that followed her faux pas.
Her hedgie’s heart was beating a bazillion times a second, but when she finally made it through all forty yards without further incident, Sammi was relieved. She shifted back to her human skin, quickly donning one of the several robes waiting at the end of the course.
Then she blinked. Uh-oh. Looking around at the broken, busted training course and the several moaning and groaning shifters could mean only one thing. She was getting a big fat F.
Sigh.
Sammi could not believe her eyes. Miss Cogdill was on a stretcher, having been hit in the head with the flagpole. Melissa, the rhino, was in one beside her, on her side. She was wailing in pain, with an estimated dozen of Samantha’s sharp needle-like spines sticking out of the back of her leg.