Dog with a Bone

by Hailey Edwards

  I blinked free of the camouflage, and the outlines of houses rushed back into clear focus. “Against my better judgment.”

  “Good. No offense.” She pushed a button on her key fob, and the garage door opened. “But your mom’s car is on its last leg—wheel? She should put it out of its misery. It would be a mercy killing, seriously.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Mom’s sedan was older than I was, but it had lasted this long. Parts of it anyway.

  With a shake of her head, Mai slid behind the wheel of her celery-green coupe, a graduation gift of the nonreturnable kind, stomped on the gas and spun wide, almost sideswiping me in the process.

  My knees were still knocking from my near-death experience when she lowered a window.

  Patting the tiny bucket seat beside her, she called, “Hop in.”

  I opened the door, folded myself inside and grasped the seat belt. Groping under my hip, I finally located the receptacle and rung the slot. She spun out before I took my right foot off the ground.

  “Sorry,” she chimed. “You said we’re in a hurry, right?”

  I nodded, compressing my lips while fighting to keep down my breakfast.

  “Does it strike you as odd that two days into your OJT, Shaw found a way to whisk you away to a fancy-schmancy hotel for a night?” she mused. “In Dallas? Far away from prying conclave eyes?”

  The next turn had me swallowing hard. “It was my idea,” I muttered from between tight lips.

  She cut her eyes my way, which did terrible things to my blood pressure. “Nice.”

  “Nothing is going to happen.”

  She clicked her tongue. “Not with that attitude.”

  “He’s my partner.”

  She waved one of her hands. “Before that he was a friend and then he was your instructor.”

  Wrong. Shaw had never been my friend. He had been the super-hot guy the conclave called in to chaperone the field trips I went on with other fae children when Mom flaked on me at the last minute.

  “I don’t get the resistance,” she grumbled. “You’re a Class R fae—a freaking Rarity, babe. That means you can have any guy you want, and the conclave can’t say boo about it. Under the Bylaws of Earthen Cohabitation, any rare fae born on Earth is granted unrestricted access to the mate or—” she wiggled her eyebrows, “—mates of their choice. If you want Shaw, you can have him. No red tape.”

  “The last thing I need is to be that girl.” I huffed. “Entitlement looks good on exactly no one.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. “But don’t you wonder what it would be like?”

  Every time I look at him. “This trip is for work.”

  “Playing is more fun,” she chirped in a singsong voice.

  “So says the fox.” I snorted. “Speaking of work, have you decided on your next move?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” She sat up straighter. “I’ve spent so much time talking you off ledges that the perfect job just popped into my mind.” She patted the accelerator. “I’m going to be a counselor.”

  How to respond to the announcement my screwed-up childhood inspired my best friend’s calling? “Wow.”

  “Fae youth are struggling more now than ever to adapt to the duality of their existence.”

  I did a double take. “Someone spent quality time with Google last night.”

  “You laugh, but this is serious. On one hand, we tell children to embrace their fae heritage. On the other, we teach them to be secretive and mistrustful. Some fae are so deep in the closet their kids don’t know they are fae.” She cast me a sharp look. “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that is.”

  “This new career path sounds great,” I groused, “but could we make this not about me?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, as a conclave employee, all our future conversations will be considered privileged information.” Mai slid her eyes off the road long enough to wink at me. “So if you want to have a chat about what happens between you and Shaw tonight, it will go no further than my nonexistent office.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I didn’t notice before.” Her brow puckered. “You look different. Is saying you look radiant too cliché?”

  Pretending interest in the view, I shifted so I could rest my elbow on the door. “I fed yesterday.”

  Mai took one hand off the wheel, which almost gave me a coronary, and put it on my thigh. She didn’t speak. She understood what it meant to me, how much I hated that part of myself. Honestly, I think that’s why she shipped me and Shaw so hard. Even if I hadn’t been nursing a crush on him for years, she saw the commonalities, but I wasn’t as sure that two soul-suckers could be soul mates.

  His hunger wanted me all right. Maybe more than the man himself did.

  Chapter Seven

  Several hours and apartment tours later, I greeted Shaw with a spring in my step.

  “What’s with that smile?” He leaned against the passenger-side door of his rental car.

  I rolled my suitcase around to the rear bumper and fished a set of keys from my pocket. “Ta-da.”

  “Nice.” He popped the trunk and added my luggage to his. “What do they go to?”

  “An apartment in Rolling Hills.” I jingled them. Music to my ears.

  He laughed until I put them away. “I guess I don’t have to ask where your bonus went.”

  “Nope.” I rounded the car. “Now I’m financially back to square one. So this trip better pay off.”

  Shaw jogged to get ahead of me, opening my car door like the gentleman I was sure he wasn’t. I used the moment of silence while he circled to his door to pull on my game face. He seemed like the same old Shaw to me. What he meant or didn’t mean last night was in the past. Forget it. Move on.

  When Shaw slid into the car, a faint whiff of earthy patchouli followed him.

  I tried very hard not to wonder where he had come from just now. It made sense for him to fuel up before taking a long trip into the city. I wish I hadn’t known anything about it.

  “Check under your seat.” He strapped in, skimmed his gaze over me to make sure I was settled, then merged into the light evening traffic.

  I groped the floorboard until my fingers bumped a stiff edge. I was guessing a manila folder. After scooping it up, I cracked the thick file open across my lap and began skimming the front page.

  “That’s everything we could find on the Richardsons. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.”

  “I doubt that,” I murmured. I caught his pleased smile from the corner of my eye. Guys were so easy.

  His fingers drummed the wheel. “You’ve got six hours to mull it over before we reach Dallas.”

  My back ached thinking about it. “Explain again why we couldn’t fly?”

  “On a scale of one to five,” he said with a dollop of sarcasm, “you and I are threat level fours.”

  “That’s bogus.” I huffed. “We’re marshals. We’re the good guys.”

  “We’re also predatory species who could do a lot of damage to the few hundred humans trapped with us in a tin can in the sky.” He sounded resigned. “It sucks for our kind, but them’s the breaks.”

  I didn’t correct him. I didn’t have a kind. Like Mai said, Mac was unique. That made me one of a kind too.

  “Huh.” I shifted my attention to the Richardson file. “Bethany was born in Hastings, Nebraska.” I grabbed my phone and accessed a map. “What are the odds that Hastings is spitting distance from Lebanon, Kansas?”

  “It’s an hour drive,” he said without hesitation. “Spitting distance is out unless she’s part llama.”

  Oh ha-ha. I hadn’t expected the location to be breaking news. He would have spotted the nearness to the conclave’s U.S. headquarters right off the bat.

  “The missus is what—mid-forties?” I pocketed my cell then flipped to her picture and bio. “A very well-preserved forty-six.”

  “You’re reaching,” he cautioned.

  “There were riots i
n Lebanon during the mid-seventies when the first wave of trolls was granted the right to use the tether between realms to cross into the mortal realm and make their home here.”

  “That’s circumstantial evidence at best,” he cautioned. “The conclave crushed the riots and spun the news coverage so humans thought a religious cult had imploded. Bethany was seven. I doubt she showed any undue interest in the news at that age. Nice catch, but you have to dig deeper.”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  Chuckles rumbled from his throat. “No offense meant.”

  “None taken.” I smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t want to bark up the wrong tree.”

  “I see what you did there,” he said dryly.

  I smirked into the folder. “It’s okay when I do it.”

  “Of course it is,” he said in his I know better than to argue with a woman voice.

  High on smugness, I sank into reading the file, devouring the typed pages before asking Shaw to help me decipher some of his handwritten notes. By the time we reached Dallas and checked into our hotel room, yes, as in singular, I was exhausted. I was also an expert on one Bethany Marie Richardson.

  Chapter Eight

  Normally, I’m the opposite of a morning person. In fact, I have been known to growl at them on principle. Waking up to find Shaw standing half naked in the doorway to our bathroom with only his towel wrapped around his hips perked me up faster than an injection of double espresso to the heart.

  I peeked at him from under my lashes, watching as he paced while brushing his teeth. His phone occupied his other hand. Furrows in his brow deepened the faster his thumb stroked the screen.

  Shaw stopped with his back to me, giving me time to admire all the hard muscle packed onto his tall frame. Water pooled in my mouth. I wiped the back of my hand over my lips and faked a yawn.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  I checked the alarm clock and groaned. “It’s six o’clock.”

  He crossed to the bathroom, spat and rinsed while I was trying to convince my bladder we could roll over and go back to sleep without me having to climb out of a comfy bed to make a pit stop first.

  “The magistrates’ office emailed.” He raised his voice over the running faucet while he prepped to shave, which made my bladder situation worse. “The Richardsons have given their statements and been cleared to leave Odessa, provided they agree to make themselves available for future inquiries.”

  I pushed upright and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “What does that mean for us?”

  His gaze traveled from my sparkly coral toenails up my calves to my knees. “What?”

  Flipping the sheet over my lap, I tried again. “What does that mean for us?”

  He killed the faucet. “I couldn’t hear over the water.” After giving that lie a moment to stink up the room, he pulled the door almost closed. “They can drive the twenty minutes to Midland, catch a ten o’clock flight and touch down at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport at a quarter after eleven.”

  “Can we get a confirmation from the marshals in Odessa?” I wondered.

  “Already made the call,” he yelled. “They’ll ring us if/when the Richardsons hop a plane.”

  I nibbled my bottom lip. The ranch was swarming with marshals. I couldn’t think of one good reason for them to go back there. Escape to Mrs. Richardson’s second home was their best bet. Or at least hers.

  Now that they had been cut loose in Odessa, the marshals could watch them and let us know which way they ran.

  “We’ve got five hours.” I tossed the cover aside and shoved into the bathroom with him. “Sorry, but you’re the one who wanted to share.” Pushing him over the threshold, I slammed the door closed on his heels. Pounding on the door caught me with my sleep shirt halfway over my head. “What was that?” I cranked up the hot water until the shower became a dull roar and grinned evilly. “I can’t hear over the water.”

  My pulse sprinted as I ducked under the steam. Not even a sneak peek of Shaw’s abs had given me this sort of rush. A shiver wracked me. I was in serious danger of falling in love with my job.

  Mrs. Richardson’s apartment was located on the eighteenth floor of a skyscraper in downtown. A man with nondescript features wearing a sedate gray uniform held the door open for us on the street. I was mildly surprised he let us pass until I caught a whiff of spice on the air. The scent tightened my gut, but it also kept the doorman smiling. When the uniformed man behind a desk in the lobby noticed us, he jumped from his chair and chased us to the bank of elevators. Shaw dialed up his lure, hooking the poor guy so hard he shuffled back to his seat with a dopey grin on his face. He was waving his pinky at us as the elevator doors closed.

  “Don’t say it,” Shaw muttered under his breath.

  I fanned the residual fragrance away from my face. “Say what?”

  He leaned against the wall, letting his head hit it with a thump. “Whatever it is you’re thinking.”

  “Other than hoping we don’t plummet to our deaths in a freak accident, my mind is blank.”

  “That’s comforting.” He straightened as a chime indicated we had reached our floor. “Ready?”

  I gripped my satchel’s strap. “Yep.”

  We had exited the lift together and paused to gain our bearings when it hit me. A sickly sweet scent. Decay. “There’s a body.” I inhaled again. “Definitely fae. Recent too. Coming from this way.”

  I put my nose to use and followed the pungent aroma to apartment three-twenty-two.

  “That’s the Richardsons’ apartment,” Shaw confirmed. “Stand back.”

  He dug in his pocket until he produced a weathered brass skeleton key.

  It had a vaguely familiar look, like I had seen one in a picture once. “Where did you get that?”

  His smugness level shot off the charts. “From a certain bean-tighe who no longer needed her all-key.”

  “That’s Mable’s all-key?” Each bean-tighe was sent out in the world with one. A key that could open any door. So when they found their true home, they could enter without violating the building.

  Shaw focused on the lock. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

  “I thought it was a one-time-use deal?”

  “It is, for them.” He lined the bulky key up to the sleek lock. “I’m not a bean-tighe. The key will work for me until I vow to remain inside the four walls of a building for life, which ain’t happening.”

  “I’ll be sure to add one of those to my Christmas list.”

  “Aren’t you a little old to believe in Santa Claus?”

  “Have you seen Mable?”

  “Point taken.”

  Hovering at Shaw’s shoulder, I watched him press his elongated key into the slit on the knob. It shouldn’t have fit. Metal should have hit metal and called it a day. Instead, the lock gaped like one of those cartoon mouths and devoured the key. Shaw turned it, opened the door and then stood there for a good thirty seconds uttering threats involving hammers at the doorknob if it didn’t return his key.

  Ptui. The lock spat out the key and its thin lips puckered into its previous shape.

  “This is all very Alice in Wonderland.” I trailed him into the white-on-white living space. “Well, if she skinned the White Rabbit for her couch.” There were matching ivory chairs too. “I guess those were his cousins?”

  Shaw locked the door behind us. “According to their website, all one-bedroom floor plans have a home office or office nook.”

  “You take the office.” I sniffed out the foul scent trail. “I’ll take the bedroom and work my way out.”

  “Wear these.” He tossed me latex gloves. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

  I snapped them on, and the cool tingles of an activated spell swept over my hands.

  A king-size bed sat catty-corner opposite me. The bedroom was painted white, but the comforter was crimson. Small black velvet bird appliques swarmed in the center. I’m not much for art. I’ll c
onfess the deeper meaning of the twisted comforter was lost on me. Maybe death to all swallows?

  Speaking of death... The faint essence of decay lingering in the hall shrouded this room. It smelled ground into the accent rugs, and no amount of plug-in air freshener could mask it from a nose as keen as mine. I followed the sharpest whiff of odor straight to the bed and ripped back the covers. The center of the bed, where the sheets should have been white, was a rusty-brown color and crusted with dried blood.

  “Shaw,” I called.

  He padded down the hall, stopping when his shoulder brushed mine. “Is this what you smelled?”

  Easing around the side of the bed, I lowered my face six inches above the mattress and inhaled. I straightened slowly, processing the puzzling information. “No. It’s not. Someone—or something—else was in here.” I gestured toward the stains. “This is old, faint. Human. What I smelled in the hall, and in here, it’s hard to describe. The stench has seeped into the walls from constant contact with whatever it is.”

  His gaze bounced from the en suite bathroom to the closet. “Do you think it’s still here?”

  “Unless it’s hiding in the walls...” which, I’ll admit, was a possibility with fae, “...no.”

  “Then keep searching.” He cleared the bathroom and closet. “We’ll set a perimeter spell when we leave. I want to monitor the foot traffic in and out of this place for the next forty-eight hours.” His gaze swept around the room. “Call if you find anything else.”

  “Will do.” I tugged the mattress off the box spring then stood it against the wall. Stains covered the base and, when I shuffled it aside, more blood had congealed in a puddle on the hardwood floor.

  I read once the human body contained five and a half liters of blood.

  I bet every ounce of it had spilled here.

  Nothing worth noting in or under the bedframe. I kicked aside the crimson area rug and examined the contents of Mrs. Richardson’s closet. More shoes than a Payless, but no secret compartments, odd stains or odors.

  The bathroom proved less interesting. Jars and tubes filled each drawer, the labels all printed in French. I collected a few hairs from her brush and bagged her razor. Her nail clippers also got tagged. Nothing unusual so far. Okay, so the freaky stuff only happened in the bed. Didn’t it always?