Eyes Like a Wolf

by Evangeline Anderson

  Chapter Three

  “You haven't got much of anything,” I said to Genevieve reasonably. I counted it off on my fingers. “Two witnesses, one of whom is a junkie, saw him leaving the alley where he was relieving himself. They saw some salsa on his chin, found Chulo's body, and assumed the worst. But they didn't actually see anything. Did they?”

  She shrugged uneasily. “Well…”

  “Did they?” I persisted.

  “Okay, you got me.” She sighed. “You know, this isn't our usual conversation, Kemet. Usually we're working together to try and put the bad guys away.”

  “Only this time the bad guy isn't a bad guy,” I pointed out.

  “You sure you're not just saying that because he's your long-lost brother?”

  I stared at her sharply, and she shrugged again.

  “Hey, I got eyes. I saw the way you were hugging all over him.” She lowered her voice. “Charlie-boy did, too, and from the look of him, I'd say he wasn't too pleased about it.” She jerked her head at my fuming fiancé, a small grin on her face. Then she looked at me seriously. “Look, Kemet, I've never known your instincts to be wrong—I always say you would've made a damn fine cop.”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly.

  “So if you say he's on the up and up, I'll believe you,” she continued. “But this is an ongoing homicide investigation. Not that anybody's shedding a tear that Chulo bit the dust, but still.”

  “I understand,” I said, nodding. “You don't have enough to hold Richard, but you don't want him getting too far away either.”

  “Exactly.” She nodded.

  “Not a problem,” I told her. “He's going to be in town for a while—we have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “What hotel?” she asked, whipping out a notebook of her own.

  “My place,” I said immediately, surprising myself with the instant answer. After all, where was I going to put him? His lanky form was much too long for my dumpy secondhand loveseat, and I only had one bedroom. I pushed the speculation away—it felt right to have Richard with me, and somehow I didn't think I'd have to work too hard to persuade him.

  “Wow.” Genevieve was looking at me sharply again. “You sure you know him well enough to bring him into your house, Kemet?”

  “Of course I do—he's my brother.”

  “Your brother that you haven't seen in seventeen years,” she reminded me. “People can change in seventeen years. Change a lot.”

  “Not Richard,” I said stubbornly. I thought about going into the whole spiel about how Richard wasn't actually related to me by blood and decided that would just make her even more nervous. Let her think of him as my brother. After all, I did.

  She looked through the one-way glass again. His pale green eyes, so much like my own, were fixed on us. “He's a big guy,” she remarked in a low voice. “Tall and built, too. Nobody you want to mess with or find yourself on the wrong side of.”

  “Genevieve, will you stop worrying about me?” I said, exasperated. “I'm perfectly safe with Richard, I can promise you that. Besides, I'm doing you a favor. Do you want him where you can find him or not?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She nodded reluctantly. “You know I do, but I want you to be safe, too.”

  “Well, I'm touched by your concern.” I put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “But honestly, I'll be fine. Okay?”

  She sighed unhappily. “You say so.”

  “I do,” I said firmly. “Now just give me a minute to tell Charles, and then I'll take Richard home.”

  She glanced over my shoulder at my fiancé. “Huh. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I said with feeling. “I think I'm going to need it.”

  * * *

  “I still don't see why he has to stay with you,” Charles said for the fourth time as we faced off in the hallway.

  “I told you, Charles, it was the only way I could get Detective Marks to release him.”

  He looked at me coldly. “I'm not an idiot, Rachel—she couldn't make that sort of demand. She simply didn't have enough evidence to hold him. You're making an excuse because you want him with you.”

  My patience with my overly-possessive fiancé suddenly evaporated. “What if I do?” I said, my voice low and furious. “He's my brother, and I haven't seen him for seventeen years. We have a tiny bit of catching up to do, don't you think?”

  “All right, fine.” He threw up his hands. “But try to see my side of it, Rachel. I've known you for two years and tonight was the first time you even mentioned that you had a brother. Then, poof!—like magic he suddenly appears, needing your help and a place to stay.”

  “Charles,” I said, “he's family. Of course I'll help him. Of course I'll give him a place to stay.”

  “Fine, give him a place to stay. Let him stay at your house, and you can come stay with me.”

  “No,” I said at once. “No, I'm staying at my own place, and Richard is staying with me.” I looked at him closely. “What's your problem, anyway? Why are you so threatened by him?”

  “I'm not threatened,” he blustered. “That is to say…”

  “Spit it out, Charles,” I said flatly.

  “Well, it's just that…I have sisters, you know. Quite attractive, the both of them. But still, I don't…don't…”

  “Don't what?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

  Charles had gotten so red in the face he was practically puce. “The way you were hanging all over him,” he burst out at last. “And I saw the way he kissed you—don't think I didn't see that.”

  “He's my brother, Charles, for God's sake,” I said, barely keeping my temper under control. “And I know you saw the way he kissed me—I wasn't exactly trying to hide it, was I? You really can't hide anything in those one-way mirrored interrogation rooms.”

  Charles narrowed his puppy-dog brown eyes. “I thought you said he was only an adopted brother—that there was no actual blood relation between you.”

  I blew out a breath in exasperation. “My parents adopted Richard when he was three after his parents were killed in a car wreck, thinking they couldn't have any children of their own. He was five by the time I was born and a complete member of our family. He even took my father's last name—Kemet. He's always just been my big brother. That's all.”

  Charles sneered, an ugly look on his conventionally handsome face. “I think you're protesting a little too much, dearest. Who are you trying to convince—me or yourself?”

  “That's it. I am not having this conversation with you.” I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face him again.

  “Charles,” I said, in a low, measured tone. “Take your hands off of me right now.”

  “Fine.” He dropped my arm, and I rubbed it angrily, thinking I might have a bruise there the next day. It was the closest he had ever come to using any kind of physical force on me in our entire two-year relationship, and I was both hurt and enraged.

  “I knew you were jealous, Charles,” I said, still rubbing my arm. “But I didn't know you were this insanely possessive.”

  “Oh, so now it's insanely possessive to be concerned when my fiancée decides to take some strange man—a man, might I add, who's wanted for homicide—into her home? Rachel, dearest…” He took a deep breath. “Only think how it will look. I mean, we're going to be married in a month, and now you're inviting a strange man into your home. What will our friends say?”

  “I find my brother after seventeen years, and all you care about is how it will look if he stays with me for a while?” I couldn't believe him. “I don't care how it looks, Charles, I just feel lucky to have the chance to re-connect with Richard again after all these years.”

  He scowled. “Oh, yes, by all means re-connect. That's exactly what everyone who hears you have him in your home is going to assume you're doing.”

  I turned to go again, and this time he didn't try to stop me. “He's my brother,” I threw over my shoulder. “And until you can get over that, Char
les, maybe we shouldn't talk for a while.”

  “I don't believe this! Fine!” He was shouting now. “Go on your merry way, Rachel. Get chopped to bits in your bed by a criminal. See if I care!” He stormed off down the hall in a huff, ignoring the worried officers who poked their heads into the hall to see what the trouble was about.

  I felt my cheeks color at the scene he had caused, but I held my head high as I walked back to the end of the hall where Genevieve waited by the interrogation room.

  “That went well,” she said dryly.

  “Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “Look, can I just take him home now? It's been kind of a long night, and I have a rough day scheduled in court tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” She patted my shoulder. “If you need anything…”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “But I'll be fine, Genevieve. Don't worry.”

  She sighed. “The famous last words…” But she opened the door for me and nodded me into the room.

  Chapter Four

  “Well, this is it.” I threw open the door of my little purple house and nodded Richard inside. “It's not much but…”

  “I like it,” he said. He stepped inside the cramped living room and raised his head. It almost looked like he was sniffing the air. Strange memories of myself doing the exact same thing as a child tried to surface, and I pushed them down. That was silly—wasn't it?

  “Um, glad it meets with your approval,” I said, smiling up at him.

  “Charles lives here with you?” he asked as I locked the door behind him.

  I shook my head. “Heaven forbid. He has a mansion out on Bayshore in South Tampa—a much nicer part of town than this. Your little sister is marrying old money.” I tried to make a joke about it despite the fight Charles and I had just had.

  “But he was here tonight.” Richard sniffed the air again.

  “Well, yes…right before I got the phone call from Detective Marks telling me to come down to the station.”

  He suddenly seemed to realize he was behaving oddly. “Look, I'm sorry about causing a fight between you two.” He shrugged apologetically. “I mean, I have a hotel room I can stay in…”

  “No,” I said at once. “No, I want you here. With me.” I didn't stop to think why this should be so important; I only knew I wanted him near. “I mean…” I tried to smile. “We haven't seen each other in so long. Now that I've found you again, I guess I just don't want to let you out of my sight.”

  “I feel exactly the same way.” He turned and put his arms around me, hugging me tightly against him. I hugged him back, feeling that same quickening of my pulse I had when he'd touched me at the PD. I told myself I was just excited to finally have him near again after so many years.

  At last, Richard pulled back and looked down at me. “Sorry, I know I've been hanging all over you tonight.”

  “That's okay.” I smiled up at him. “I don't mind.”

  “I guess I just want to keep touching you—it's like if I let you get away for a second you'll vanish into thin air.” He grinned sheepishly. “Stupid, huh?”

  “Not stupid at all,” I said seriously. “We're both probably just having some separation anxiety. I mean, I remember the day Mom took me away from you like it was yesterday.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes looked haunted. “Me, too. I ran all over the house, but she'd taken all your things. I remember pressing my face against your pillow, breathing in the scent of your hair and praying you'd come back to me…”

  “Oh, Richard…” I disengaged from the hug, feeling like I was going to cry. I'd had enough drama in my life for one night; I needed to get control of myself. “How's Dad?” I asked to change the subject. “Are you two still close?”

  “He's…Rachel, I'm sorry but he's dead.” Richard sank onto the couch, and I sat beside him, feeling like I'd been punched in the gut.

  “When…when did he die?” I managed to ask. So much for no more drama.

  “A few years after Mom took you away.” Richard's voice was low and troubled. “He, uh…he committed suicide.”

  “No.” I put a hand over my mouth, my eyes wide.

  He nodded. “I'm afraid so. He just, well…he couldn't live without her.”

  “Couldn't he have found someone else? Someone new?” I still couldn't believe it. My father, the strong, black-haired man with the deep voice and the warm scent of aftershave and cigars…my father was dead. Dead so many years and I had never known it until now.

  “There was no one else for him but her. Just like there's no one else—” He shook his head. “Never mind. I'll spare you the trauma and let you know that I know Mom's gone, too.”

  “She passed away almost three years ago,” I said dully. “Some kind of fast-acting cancer. It was all through her almost before we knew anything was wrong. She got the diagnosis and a month later…” I shook my head.

  Richard looked troubled. “That's fast, all right. I'm sorry, Rache.”

  “It's okay.” I took a deep breath. “It wasn't long after that I met Charles. He was very understanding about the whole thing.” I twisted the huge diamond ring on my finger, wondering what was going to happen between Charles and me after tonight. We'd never had such an explosive argument before.

  Richard seemed to read the thoughts on my face. “Look, I can go,” he said, half rising.

  I grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down. “Don't you dare. Charles was just being petty and jealous. He'll get over it or…”

  “Or what?” he asked.

  “Or he won't.” I shrugged and changed the subject. “So anyway, after Dad died—you couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen. Where did you go?”

  “Well, there were no more of our kind around to take me in—”

  “Our kind?” I interrupted him.

  “Yes, our kind. The Amon-kai.” He looked at me closely. “You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?”

  I frowned. “Mostly I remember that Dad used to talk about it a lot. I always thought it was just his way of explaining that we were different.”

  “So…Mom never told you anything? She never passed down the teachings before she died?” Richard looked greatly upset.

  “Teachings?” I was disturbed by the oddly cultish word. “No, she never said anything about any teachings. I, uh, think she wanted to forget the past as much as she could. She'd forbidden me to talk about you and Dad, wouldn't let me refer to our old life. It was like she just wanted a fresh start.”

  He laughed harshly. “A fresh start? Damn, this is going to be harder than I thought.”

  I looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about? What's going to be harder than you thought?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “It's really complicated. Maybe…maybe we should leave it for later. It's just…I guess I assumed you'd know why I was looking for you.”

  “Because we're family, and we missed each other,” I said immediately. “You're my brother, and I love you. And don't remind me again that we're not really related by blood. That doesn't matter to me—doesn't change how I feel about you at all.”

  He smiled wearily. “I love you, too. More than I can say.”

  We were definitely in danger of having another mushy emotional moment. I thought he was going to hug me again, and my heart started pounding in my chest. But instead, he stood and began pacing the small area of my living room, much as Charles had been doing earlier that evening. He still looked upset.

  “I think we got off the subject somehow,” I said, wanting to get the conversation back on track. “What happened to you after Dad died?”

  He shrugged. “I bounced around from foster home to foster home.”

  “That's terrible,” I said. “If only child services could have located Mom—”

  “They did.” He stopped pacing to look at me. “She…told them to place me elsewhere.”

  “What?” I could scarcely believe it. “You're kidding me! I just don't understand why she—”

  “To keep us apart.” He
looked at me for a long moment and then picked up the tarnished silver frame with his graduation picture in it. “I see she got this, anyway,” he murmured. “The best I could do was send it to her last known address and hope they forwarded it.”

  “Richard, I'm so sorry.” I felt my eyes filling up with tears for the umpteenth time that night. “If only I had known, maybe I could have talked to her. I never understood why she took me away in the first place. I never understood why she wouldn't let me talk about you, ask about you…”

  “Of course you didn't.” He crossed the room swiftly to where I was sitting and sank to the floor on one knee in front of me. He cupped my cheek in one large, warm hand, brushing away my tears with his thumb. “You were only seven, Rachel. We were kids—there was nothing we could do.”

  “But…but I should've been trying to find you.” I was suddenly consumed by guilt. “Mom's been dead for almost three years—there was no one to stop me. Even before she passed I should have been looking. I just…” I looked at him. “I guess I waited for you for so long, hoping that you'd find me. And after a while it began to seem like a dream—like a fairy tale that could never come true no matter how much I wished. I…I think I made myself forget you as much as I could because it hurt too much to hope anymore.”

  “Oh, Rachel,” he whispered. “We're together now—that's all that matters.”

  “You're right.” I stood up abruptly, brushing the wrinkles out of my skirt, trying to get control of myself. “I swear I haven't cried so much since the night Mom died. I'm sorry I can't seem to shut off the waterworks.”

  He sighed and stood up. “That's okay. It's been a really long day, and I think I heard you telling the detective you had to be in court tomorrow?”

  “Well, yeah. Yes, I do.” I looked at him quizzically, wondering how he could have heard my soft conversation with Genevieve through the thick, supposedly soundproofed interrogation room door. “But how did you hear…?”

  “Eyes that pierce the night. Ears that can hear the snow fall. A nose that can scent the wind's least turning. The speed of the cheetah, the strength of the bull. By these things shall you know your brethren, the Amon-kai.” He sounded like he was quoting from some obscure biblical text.