by Tina Gower
Yin pages through the files, looking and re-looking at each of my notes. The more I find on Pepper Amore, the guiltier she becomes.
“Give me permission to talk with her. I’ll go in not as a representative for your company, but I’ll say I’m following up on a breach for the insurance company. I work for Accidental Death and it can look official.”
“If this is true, she won’t want to admit what she did.” Yin scoots back from the files and crosses her legs, elbows on the armrests. “It could mean her job.”
I close all the files, stack them together, and tap them against my desk to keep them neat. “I have a way of telling if she’s lying,” I say, possibly lying. I have no way of knowing if Becker will meet me at Hickman’s and help me close this case. Considering it’s not an official case with my department, he could pass. Except he won’t. It doesn’t sit right using his protective instinct against him, but maybe I should take advantage and give him incentive to either get out, make better boundaries, or explain this whole relationship to me. Why should he get all the benefits while I assume all the risk?
Yin nods. “Okay.” She laces her fingers together. “Okay.” This time she says it much more firmly. “If you can get a read on her without tipping her off that the inquiry is coming from Ever After.” She retrieves her briefcase, sorting through some envelops inside. “But, Ms. Hale, if you manage to get caught, I will deny ever giving you clearance.”
My stomach dips. “Sure.” I swallow. I didn’t expect her to jump for joy that I’d continue to work the fringe of this case, but I did hope for a little gratitude.
I straighten. No matter. I’ll get recognition for busting the case open, for going above and beyond, for standing by the ethics of the job. I’ll solve this case and prove them all wrong for wanting to take the easy, less bumpy road. Gretchen will eventually have faith to give me more challenging cases. I am the next Michelle Kitman.
Speaking of, I gather the disks of the database specs for the project they contracted for me to do. I’m about to hand them over, except Yin has a strange expression, something close to the face Ali makes when she wants me to try one of her new recipes, but she’s unsure if it’s turned out because she never tested it herself. She’d rather me be the lab rat.
Yin clears her throat. “I did some investigating of my own.” Yin hands over a manila envelope. “It didn’t take too much to find your werewolf.”
“My werewolf?” I fiddle with a loose thread on my blazer, near my buttonhole. Once again I wish I had scissors in my desk. I tuck the offending string out of view. I meet Yin’s smile with an amused grin. “Last I’d checked, I don’t own a werewolf.”
Yin presses her lips together as though she’s caught me in a lie, but the way Ali does it, like one friend would tease another. “Oh, but Ms. Hale, it’s been a while since I’ve had to do this kind of sleuthing; however, I see that the only werewolf near enough in Angel’s Peak to require a pack for regulatory purposes also happens to be the liaison for your department. Ian Becker.” She watches me for a reaction. I look away too soon.
Yin re-situates herself in her seat, and it comes off more as a little victory dance. She’s part shifter, so she’s more sensitive to body language cues. Nothing I could do would deter her, not without years of practice.
She attempts to temper her grin, but it doesn’t work. She pats her envelope in-between us. “I carefully inquired of Gretchen about how often you’d worked together. I know you’ve only been here a few weeks, and she let it slip that you’d recently come off a very big, very intense case with Ian Becker.”
I’m careful to keep my expression very neutral. “We’re colleagues. Nothing more.” I sit very still, poised, waiting for the punch line. Is this how she expects to keep me in line? Is it a threat? Or does she really hope to give me what she believes is a gift?
She flattens her hand on the envelope and holds up her other palm as though to pause this line of query. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. This isn’t supposed to sound ominous. I just wanted to brag for a bit about how I came to the information, but I promise you that I didn’t go any further. I was disappointed when your cupid note came back inconclusive.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I ran it again with no luck.”
“That’s a shame.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but my heart beats faster. My fingers are numb. “I hear that can sometimes happen.” I don’t want my fateless status out as public knowledge. Some supernaturals had a harder time getting a probability to stick, but still some predictions slip through. With a Druid-witch as a cousin, I could fake being supernatural and somewhat resilient to regular forecasts.
“So instead I remembered you’d borrowed that book on werewolves and I had a feeling it had to do with someone you might have some…interest in? So…” She slides the envelope closer to me. “It’s not a list. That felt too intrusive.”
“And this isn’t?” I stare at the offending envelope as though it’s a bomb. It might as well be. How am I going to explain this to Becker?
“It’s only a description of the qualities of someone who would be the most compatible with him. It’s not conclusive, just a suggestion.”
He’s paranoid, overprotective, secretive to those outside of his pack. He placed a lot of trust in me a few weeks ago and this would definitely be a breach of that trust between us. After an almost kiss and an unconscious groping session he fled my apartment like it was the worst thing imaginable. And now I’m in possession of a slip of paper that explains his ideal mate.
“You can give it to him, keep it to yourself, or burn it. I left his name off and all his identifying information.” She stands, brushing her hands down her sides to smooth her suit. “He’d never know it was his, unless you tell him. If we are anything in this business, we’re discrete.”
Discrete. I frown at the package on my desk. There’s no way I’m going to open that package. None.
Yin smiles, but the edges of her expression waver, as she must have read my signals. I’m unhappy and there’s no way to hide it from someone with shifter blood.
Standing, I run my sweaty palms down my skirt and show her out. “Thank you, Ms. Fong. I’ll accept the gift in the spirit it was offered.” I manage to dull the edges of my voice. I’m downright pleasant in comparison to how I really feel.
It’s enough. She nods, acknowledging my efforts. “Very well, Ms. Hale. I’ll wait for word on the case.”
My phone rings, so she shows herself out. It’s someone internal; I can tell by the 666 prefix, but I don’t recognize the number.
“Kate Hale.”
“Ms. Hale. This is Damian from Human Resources. We have an issue we’d like you to clear up.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’d rather discuss this in person.”
“I’m rather busy on a case at the moment. I can come by at the end of the day—”
I look up to see a lady in a plain navy suit with sharp elvish features and a rather muscular lady troll in a tan pantsuit, short spiky hair combed to one side like an angry wave crashing against the shore. They sent women like these to fetch me after the last issue. The one where my ex threw me under a bus. It served as perfect foreshadowing to being reassigned to Traffic Predictions for the next few years.
But it can’t be that. Becker isn’t Kyle. He’s loyal. He knows this is the exact scenario we were careful to avoid. Gretchen stands in the hallway outside her office. I can’t read the look on her face. Is it annoyance? Frustration? Pity? Did I step over the line earlier and she was proving her point?
My personal cell phone rings as if on cue. It’s Becker.
The women enter my office without a knock.
“We’ll see you shortly,” Damian says.
The line goes dead. Fuck.
Chapter 15
When I’m anxious, weird facts pop into my brain. At a younger age, I’d blurt them out, but I’ve managed to become much more selective. In the tan and beige room with one cheap Formica table and fou
r of the world’s most uncomfortable plastic molded chairs, nothing sticks out as fact inducing, until Damian enters.
Damian’s part angel, part something else. His skin glimmers with a dusting of gold tinting, and there is a small hump in his back where I assume the stumps of his wings are hidden. Part angels have deformed chicken-like appendages where their wings would have grown. Most angels keep them as a sign of status. It’s not uncommon here in Angel’s Peak where the entire city was named for the large flat mountains to the west that served as launching sites for angels learning to fly.
According to historians, the wind current circled the geography of the area in the exact perfect way to ease the education process on wings that hadn’t yet gained enough muscle to withstand more extreme weather. A monotheistic village of humans worshiped the flocks as being sent by their single god to protect them. Which didn’t really work out so well when the now extinct volcano wiped them out and the angels flew off to safety.
It continued to serve as a rite of passage for the angel youth of the area. Closed due to the city’s concern for liability based on several predictions, the teens still manage to find a way onto the mountain. Most people look the other way. Just angels being punks. As usual.
I mentally take a breath from the outpour of information that did nothing to calm me. I blow some warmth into my cupped hands, while Damian flicks through my file on his tablet. He takes a seat without even a polite glance acknowledging my presence.
The air conditioner blows straight up my skirt from a ground vent. I cross my legs to keep myself from freezing, but I shiver anyway. It must look like I’m nervous. I’ve very small capabilities in masking my emotions. Maybe I should take Becker up on his offer to train me to hide it a little more. I glance at my phone that’s been set to complete silent. No vibrate, no sound. Becker has called three times in the last half hour. He has shitty taste in timing for his apology. Or maybe I’m in some danger from the shade, but if that were the issue, he’d be here or Lipski would have barreled in to whisk me away.
Something doesn’t feel right about all of this.
“Thank you for taking time to meet with us today.” Damian lays his palm atop his other hand.
I glance around the room. It’s just Damian and me. I don’t understand the “us.” Also, that I had no choice except to meet with them, but I don’t point that detail out.
“I see we recently elevated you to Accidental Death. How is that assignment working out for you?”
“I love it.” My teeth chatter. I rub my thighs to create friction heat. “It’s a pleasure to be challenged and use the investigative actuary skills I’d been trained and hired for.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.” Except he says it like he’s not happy. His face twists into a pained expression like he ate a bad wrap at The Griffin.
There’s a short pause. He blinks as though he’s waiting for me to continue.
I sit straight, hooking a flyway behind my ear. “I’m sorry? Did I miss a question?”
“No, Ms. Hale. I’m giving you an opportunity to explain why you think you might have been called in today.”
Now it’s my turn to blink. The procedure has changed from the last time I was brought to HR. Except for the part where they escort me during a walk of shame through my office while my coworkers look on with confusion. This time nobody whispered as I walked past, no smirks from peers like I’d gotten what was coming to me. The accidental death crew seemed as confused as I was.
“Well—” I swallow. I sit back, scratching my chin. Wondering if I should offer a few suggestions, but then I’d be showing my hand. I’d be offering all the things I’d like to hide from them. It could be that I’ve been taking lunches away from my desk, despite being set on probation. It could be my going rogue on a case and not alerting my supervisor. It could be that I’m sleeping with our department liaison. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Clearly.” He sighs. “This is your second offense. We take claims like this very seriously, Ms. Hale.”
Again, it gives me nothing. I have first offenses for just about every major infringement. My screen lights up with another call from Becker. My gut twists. Denial will only work for so long. The dots of sweat above my mouth feel extremely unattractive. I lick my lips.
He turns the tablet around. “This, Ms. Hale, is a problem.” It’s a photo of Becker climbing out my window. “We received this from an anonymous concerned source.”
My eyes go wide. “That’s not. That’s not at all what it appears to be.”
“You’ve been having a relationship with a supervisor—”
“He’s not my supervisor. We’re equals—”
“You report to him.”
“We work on cases together. This is not a sexual relationship. This isn’t any relationship.” My voice breaks on the truth-lie. It’s complicated and he’s making it all appear black and white. Open-shut accusation.
“Becker’s been following an assailant that has targeted my apartment complex. He’s eccentric. Surly. Any number of his coworkers can attest to that. He does things his own way.” My throat is dry. I rub the front of my neck. “I assumed it was some werewolf thing, but he prefers to go in and out of windows instead of using doors.”
Damian cocks a pencil thin eyebrow. “Your bedroom window? At three in the morning?”
“He was chasing an assailant! They don’t keep office hours!”
Damian swipes through a few more files. “According to our records Officer Becker began his investigation of Henry Ross a few days ago. This photo predates that.”
I squint, analyzing the photo. It could be from one of the first times he came to find me. In the photo Becker clutches the stairwell with fierce determination, the look of pain and regret is evident on his face. Those early weeks were a blur. He was so needy for touch. I can’t look at the photo. I can’t remember him that way, or what it means. Have I forced him into this? Was it like giving drugs to an addict?
Damian slides over the paperwork. “We would have rather the two of you come to us to sign the consent and acknowledgement forms and the form releasing our company of any liability should this relationship become the basis of a sexual harassment case. At this time we will keep you both at your current assignments until a change can be arranged.”
“A change? I don’t want to leave Accidental Death. I’ve barely got a foothold there—”
“Officer Becker might be reassigned to—”
“He shouldn’t be moved either!” It would be much easier if they knew it was a medical necessity for Becker to have skin-on-skin touch with someone he’s built trust with. Right now I’m his only option. A temporary option. We’d be careful to keep it professional. I almost spill with the details, but I can’t do to him what Kyle did to me all those years ago. When confronted with the accusation, Kyle gave them everything they wanted to hear. “This is as unfair to Officer Becker as it is to me. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Ms. Hale—”
“No.” My fingers curl into claws and I stand. My legs are numb from the chill of the air ventilation and the way the chair has cut into my circulation. “I won’t sign it.” Heat rushes up my spine. It’s like Becker’s hot breath on my neck. His tongue flat on my skin. “It’s not true.” When I close my eyes, Becker’s rough hands are on my stomach, sliding lower. “We’ve not had a relationship of any kind.” I stomp to the camera in the corner, staring right into it. “We don’t even like each other most of the time. We were working on a case.”
The air conditioner tick-tick-ticks off and the sound of his low rumbling chuckle at my attempt at cooking his dinner fills the void.
“There is also a matter of a weekend charge on each of your personal accounts at a gas station between Angel’s Peak and Turmoil.”
“We were there on a…” The word “case” falls from my lips. I can’t claim the case, since Yin didn’t fully back me up, and neither can my boss. If it were an official case I’d have used th
e company card. Damn it. Becker had wanted to pay for everything and if I’d let him…
The center of my chest warms with realization. “You can’t use personal account information to leverage a confession. I’m protected by the union rules, sub paragraph b. Section 304.” I press my lips together, thankful I read the entire manual and highlighted the parts that I should have known the last time I’d been in this situation.
“It’s not only the account information and the photo, Ms. Hale. We’ve received other claims…”
I twist around, facing him once again. “Other claims? From who?”
“We’re not at liberty to divulge—”
I whirl around in a huff. “Of course. Right. Forgive me, I forgot that claims from outside sources carry more weight that the actual people involved. I could get my cousin to verify on my behalf. Or Officer Lipski.” That suggestion hangs. I take a step back. Could it have been Lipski? Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense. “Or better yet, get Officer Ian Becker in here. I’ll wait.”
“We spoke with Officer Becker earlier this morning.”
I rub the bridge of my nose, eyes cast down and away. Of course, it’s the reason for all the calls. He wanted to warn me. “Then you know we’re not in a relationship.”
“He denied the accusation as well.”
“Then why am I here? This is ridiculous.” I blow out a frustrated breath and march over to grab my purse.
“But when we showed him the photo, he appeared to have strong feelings for you. Feelings he refused to deny.”
“He doesn’t—” Why the hell would he do that? Of course he has feelings for me as his pack mate. I understand he can’t outwardly admit that fact, but he can lie better than me. He knows my history with HR. He knows they’re waiting for me to make another offense. When the blowup with Kyle happened they’d gotten a prediction that an employee would use her male coworkers to sleep her way to the top and then she’d sue the government. As far as I know that prediction remains high—encroaching into prophecy. After a certain amount of time goes by without the prediction being fulfilled, and more vague predictions are cast that are similar over time, it becomes Prophecy. Not prophecy with a lower case, but Prophecy, and goes down in the long-term records as such.