Hidden (Shifters Unlimited: Clan Black Book 1)

by KH LeMoyne

  The door closed without a sound behind her. She stood for a second, wrestling her body back into its normal calm and unaffected state. It didn’t work. In spite of his absence, a compelling male musk lingered beside her and sexual frisson prickled along her skin. With all that gold and rhythm going on around him, he was like some foil-wrapped confection.

  She gripped her car keys tight and shook her head. Son of a bitch. She needed a vacation.

  Regret registered from her father as an oppressive weight in the air and a sickly sweet smell. Margaret watched it pulse around him in clinging clouds as he closed the door and disappeared down the hallway toward Charlie’s room. Her two-and-a-half-year-old brother’s waking cries held the familiarity of nightly ritual, and for a moment, she focused on the calming house noises. But peace didn’t trickle back. What had happened this afternoon combined frightening with awesome.

  Out of habit, she followed her father down the hall, pausing to peek into Cabot and Samuel’s room. Her ten-year-old brother, Cabot, immersed in something on his laptop, earbuds wedged in his ears, didn’t even raise his head. She doubted the brief drama with the detective and Dad had even registered through his scholarly fog.

  Sam lay stretched on his bed in a position only the prepubescent could handle—hips twisted, one leg off the bed, pillow over his face, and one arm slung wide. His muffled snore reverberated through the room. One of his sneakers hung untied off his foot. The other peeked from halfway beneath his twin bed.

  She couldn’t achieve his twisted posture anymore. The last several days before her transition, no position had eased the ache in her joints. Afterward, she felt like she’d grown an inch and added several pounds of muscle. Big and awkward didn’t really accommodate pretzel positions.

  With a wave to dismiss Cabot’s too-mature glance, she closed the door. Her silent tread didn’t help her as she sidled into Charlie’s room. Her dad held the toddler, awake and wrapped around his neck, as he had every night since her mother’s death. Both stared at her.

  Her dad motioned toward the wide-open space on the carpet. “I want to see you shift. Doing it slowly will hurt a bit more, but I want you to concentrate on the sensations. Catalog them from your feet to your head and be ready to tell me what you feel.” She hesitated, and he glanced at the handcrafted clock he’d made years ago, featuring Snow White and her seven cats, then back at her. “I want you to hold your shift for fifteen minutes.”

  Sucking in a breath, she glanced at Charlie. Incited by anger and frustration with the boys after the library, she’d only lasted for a minute or two with the detective. If she messed this up, her baby brother would never want to shift. Worse, what if she hurt her family?

  “I’ve been there, Margaret. You can do this.”

  Her tight throat didn’t let her swallow. She sank to the rocking chair in the corner and focused on untying the sneakers. Detective Leggett would need her clothes back. Shoes too. Eyes closed, she lifted the sweat jacket off, leaving on the police-issue T-shirt beneath. “The police officer was nice.”

  The cool scent she’d registered from him earlier at the front door drifted out again. Hot damn. Dad wasn’t lying when he’d told them shifting would enhance all their senses. She had no idea scent could invade privacy. She’d heard his “wolves and bears” speech a hundred times, which was much more interesting than “the birds and the bees,” but she’d never paid attention. When she’d detected truth and honesty on Leggett—no, Dani, because, unlike her dad, she’d read the detective’s card—she’d wondered if she’d imagined a connection between scents and feelings. Then, it had happened again at the door with a way different scent. Huge scents. Pretty, delicious, never-before-smelled-in-her-house scents. Her dad had connected with the detective. Beyond trust, she suspected they had the potential for a stronger bond. She just knew it. And after everything her family had been through, she wanted that for him. It was the best thing to come out of her shifting this evening.

  “Focus, Margaret.”

  Not laden with the anger and desperation triggering her first changing, she now recognized and embraced the sizzle spawning in her fingers and toes. Mouth too, for her jaw bones tickled. Muscles rippled beneath her skin, issuing a bruising sensation as it built and spread. Her bones ached as they cracked and shifted. Teeth elongated through her gums. Everything registered as she concentrated on her body.

  Damn, she could do this.

  Tingles rippled over her skin. Itching urged her to claw, but she opened her eyes and blinked as her watery vision crystallized. Fur sprouted through her flesh. At first two-dimensional, the room deepened with more angles and emerging shades of light gray upon dark. Heat shimmers from the bodies reflected in her vision as brilliant scarlet streaks.

  Her father’s image burst and retracted in a burgundy swirl. Charlie’s chortle echoed in her ears as a sweet chirp. The impact of everything around her pulsed warm and soft. Her heartbeat slowed to a comfortable rhythm, one syncopating with those around her.

  No threat.

  Belly. Carpet.

  Roll.

  Rub nose.

  What!

  “Relax and feel your family, my beautiful daughter.” A hand covered her head and stroked.

  Yes. She turned her muzzle there and felt…tiny!

  “You won’t hurt any of us. Trust your beast. Search with your senses.”

  Charlie’s little hand ruffled her fur and—belly. Good. There. More.

  The little hand tickled, and she wiggled on her back along the carpet. A subtle brush of warmth preceded a second hand rubbing at her shoulder. The scent was different from Charlie, but familiar and cataloged in her senses. Not Dad. Good rub.

  “Hey, Mags.” Cabot worked his fingers to her neck and teased under her ear. Her tongue lolled as his fingers worked magic.

  “Umm, hey. I’m here too.” Sam’s voice rang by her ear, then a sneaker dropped by her head.

  She grabbed the sneaker in her mouth and flipped to her feet, her rump high in the air, her tail swishing playfully. Sinking to her haunches, she licked over the laces before she nudged the shoe toward Sam.

  “Gross. It’s got cat spit.”

  Words didn’t come, but her low, playful rasp echoed and ended in a long purr. She grabbed the sneaker again and dashed to the living room.

  “Bring that back.”

  Sam made it to the hallway and crouched.

  She dropped the shoe and stalked forward. As his eyes widened, she rolled and offered her belly again. It took him a few seconds. The whole time, she closed her eyes and inhaled her brother’s pine, rubber, and balsam scent.

  “She’s so going to eat you, Sam.” Cabot’s laugh reverberated above her father’s familiar rumble.

  “So not,” Sam said as his trembling hand brushed her belly. He leaned close. “You…like…know it’s me. Right, Mags?”

  She rolled a bit and ran her tongue from his wrist to his elbow.

  He jumped back but laughed. “Oh, gross.”

  Her father’s low growl stopped abruptly. “You made it twenty minutes. Congratulations, Margaret. Everyone go back to your rooms and let her change back.” He patted her head before he turned away. “Slowly.”

  2

  Bright sun and a thirty-minute drive to the Schmidt family farm didn’t cleanse Dani’s memory of the images from last night’s attempt on the teenage girls. Hank’s request for her to submit all her paperwork to seal the arrest by the close of business didn’t improve her mood either.

  She turned off the main road. The fence flanking the driveway sported fresh paint. Neat and tidy, trimmed end-of-season grass surrounded the ranch-style home. Windows, roof, and a barn visible in the distance all reflected dedicated maintenance and attention. Not a thing looked out of place, which was quite a feat for a small working ranch.

  She forced herself not to jump to conclusions, although she had a good idea where the rebellious instincts driving Tammy to fall prey to the boys last night might have come from. And b
ecause she was fairly certain Margaret Barduc had no interest in attention from college boys, that left Tammy as the instigator of poor choices.

  Granted, a major in psychology didn’t qualify Dani to profile anyone. But from Mrs. Schmidt’s clipped response to her request for a meeting, it seemed unlikely Tammy’s parents would be any more cooperative than Chisholm Barduc had been, leaving Dani to speculate on their motivations.

  She slid a fresh five-inch notepad into her pocket and stepped from her vehicle as the rambler’s front door opened. Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt stood side by side, stoic bookends in matching light denim buttoned shirts, and—no, it couldn’t be. Were those ironed creases on their jeans? Who did that?

  A reason for Tammy’s rebellion grew stronger in Dani’s thoughts, and she hadn’t even entered the house. Mr. Schmidt stepped aside and waved her toward the kitchen. His tight facial muscles and thin slash of mouth didn’t bode well for cooperation. Sun and scowls had etched fine lines around that mouth. Mrs. Schmidt sported a matching set of grooves between her brows. Fun household. For once, her inability to read the colors of adults was a blessing. Well, most adults.

  “Detective.” Unlike Chisholm, Mr. Schmidt stared at her with unrestrained hostility. If he was under the impression his displeasure would speed up her process, he should start rethinking that immediately. With a cop for a father, Dani had mastered ignoring the silent, commanding stare before high school graduation.

  She slid into a seat across from Tammy at the table. Shirt buttoned to her chin like her parents, Tammy fiddled with the end of her long brown braid. With plain features and a prepubescent body, she wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd. But from Dani’s experience, many interesting people started out with plain beginnings. Brains, confidence, and opportunity created appeal and a sense of glamour. Right now, she wasn’t sure she could credit the teenager with any of the three. Tammy’s muted colors of pale green and beige didn’t reflect budding confidence or hidden secret shifter identity.

  “Good morning, Tammy.”

  The girl didn’t respond. She slid her glasses up her nose and resumed her hand-over-hand pose at the table. Her parents claimed positions on either side, boxing her in. Dani normally considered such a stance protective, but neither reached a comforting hand toward their child.

  Ignoring the inhospitable atmosphere, she pulled her notebook free and clicked her pen. As if in response, Mr. Schmidt turned his wrist and stared at his watch.

  “Tammy, I need you to walk me through last night’s events.”

  The girl lifted her gaze and stared at a spot on the wall over Dani’s right shoulder. Mrs. Schmidt attempted her own distraction strategy, picking at nonexistent specks on the immaculate tabletop.

  “I was at the library to work on a class project.”

  “Alone?”

  A fingernail clacking on the table accompanied Mrs. Schmidt’s body twitch. “That strange girl wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  “The teacher teamed us together. She’s smart, Mom.” The tiny lift at the corner of Tammy’s mouth indicated too much satisfaction for the “teaming” to have been a coincidence. A brief flare of orange around Tammy added confirmation. For her own peace of mind, Dani made a mental note to ask Margaret how they’d ended up working together. She also changed her initial assumption about Tammy’s intelligence. Collaborating with a smart and pretty, if unpopular, peer indicated Tammy knew how to seize opportunity. There was hope for her after all.

  Dani just wished the girl hadn’t needed a partner to exploit, especially not Margaret.

  “Not smart enough.” Mrs. Schmidt waved one hand through the air, dispelling Tammy’s comment. “This kind of thing never happens here.” She tilted her head and looked away. “But the wrong element always attracts trouble.”

  Tammy nodded, on board with bleeding away her parents’ anger using Margaret’s differences. Bright orange flares turning to rust raced around her. “She gave the guys looks and pointed them out to me.”

  More likely, the boys expressed their interest in Margaret and Tammy leveraged another opportunity. “Did you know them?” asked Dani.

  After a quick side-glance from one parent to the other, Tammy shook her head. “Not enough to talk to them, but they graduated a few years ago. Back when my high school won the regional football title.”

  Football. That explained a lot. Dani hadn’t gone to school in this county, but even years ago in her public Chicago school she’d recognized the popularity and fame surrounding the athletic crowd. Older boys with a claim to fame packed a powerfully attractive pheromone punch. Not one Margaret found tempting, given she’d retaliated against abduction and threat. Tammy was a different story.

  Tammy glanced around as if framing the scene in her head. “They came right over to talk to Essence.”

  “A name like that just begs for trouble,” muttered Mrs. Schmidt.

  “Go ahead, Tammy,” encouraged Dani.

  Tammy’s mother slapped her palms on the table. “Isn’t the rest obvious?”

  Dani slowly made eye contact with Mrs. Schmidt. “This will go much faster if Tammy can finish her story without interruption.”

  Frowning between the two of them, Tammy took a breath and continued. “They—the boys—offered us sodas outside. I wanted to study, but Essence thought they were cute.” The pointed jab hung in the air. Tammy’s need to punctuate her lies got no response from her parents. Dani merely froze her expression and waited for the rest.

  “One boy went ahead. There were sodas on the table.” Tammy’s head drooped a bit as she cast a look at her father. “I started to feel funny after a few minutes. Thought I was going to throw up and wanted them to go home.”

  “How were you going to get home?” Dani asked.

  “They’d pointed out their car when we came out for the drinks.” Tammy followed her quick response with widening eyes. She swallowed hard as if she realized how premeditated her actions sounded. “Maybe it was Essence who asked if they could take us home. Once we were in the car, it took a while before I realized they were headed the wrong way. By then I felt so bad, I just wanted to lie down.”

  “And how did you and—Essence get separated?”

  “She grabbed my arm the minute we got in the door, and we ran to the first bedroom. They caught her, but I made it in and locked the door.”

  Precious. Leaving Margaret alone in the hallway to fend off two former football players by herself. Evidently, Tammy didn’t waste loyalty on people who tried to help her. With such a steely conscience, perhaps she’d grow up to be a corporate raider.

  The girl wiggled in her seat.

  “What happened next?”

  “I waited. One of the guys cursed. A lot. There was some banging around. The guys sounded pretty piss—I mean, angry at Essence. Then a door slammed.” She managed an affected snuffle and even squeezed out a few tears before she bowed her head over her clenched hands.

  “So, you waited,” Dani urged again.

  “I didn’t have my phone. I’d left it at home. And there was no other way out. After a bit, the police came.”

  Because Margaret had the common sense not only to bring her phone, but also to use it. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Nothing happened—” Tammy chimed at the same time her mother cut in.

  “We took her to our family pediatrician. She’s fine.”

  Her tone had the ring of an out-and-out lie, but Dani flipped her notebook shut. She’d finished the interview, and her time here with the Schmidts was done. “I have what I need for the report. If one of you could come by the station later to sign the paperwork for filing charges, we’ll be finished.”

  Mr. Schmidt leaned forward. “We’re not pressing charges.”

  Not entirely surprised, Dani did at least suppress her sigh. “Can I ask why?”

  “Tammy’s fine, and we don’t want to drag this out any further.”

  Right. No one in this household would knock former local athletes off their pedes
tals. Time to circle the wagons and pretend this never happened until these boys grew into men with bad habits they couldn’t cover up.

  She didn’t begrudge the family wanting to forget. Tammy was a victim. Teenagers made mistakes. But without Margaret’s quick thinking, Tammy would have become a brutal statistic, and all for the crime of craving attention.

  Unfortunately, karma had a habit of coming back to bite you in the ass. Dani hoped she wasn’t around to witness it.

  She stood without comment, gathered her stuff, and headed for the door. Pausing there, she deliberated for a second about letting them know Margaret was fine. Professionalism stopped her from making a point in the face of their lack of concern. It always did.

  Some days she just wasn’t cut out for this job.

  “He left no name. No location. No callback number. And I can’t gauge what kind of shifter he is over the phone.” Trim glared at the phone. Nope, she received no visual hallucination delivering the caller’s image. Not that she’d ever possessed psychic skills, but it would be damn nice every once in a friggin’ while.

  “Lion. No pride or affiliations.” Deacon tapped his lower lip with his steepled fingers and stared at the map filling the entire west wall of his office.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. How do you know? And I’m not buying that it just came to you.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted, the smile cracking the scar above his right cheek into a jagged, disconnected line. Still, it was as close as her alpha came to amused. “I have many secret abilities. However, Vendrick ran across this lion shifter a while back, and he never gives out my number without notifying me. I’ve been expecting Barduc’s call.”

  Vendrick. The unseen, unheard power to which all shifters owed their origins—or so rumor held. She’d never known anyone who’d seen the mythic beast, with the exception of Deacon. And his details were sparse and cryptic. Not sold on old myths and fairy tales, Trim ignored the subtle tease and waited for substantive information.

  “Despite his long life span, he’s long overdue to pledge himself to an alpha. Especially since lone male lions don’t usually survive without clans. They pose too much of a threat.” Deacon’s thumb brushed across his scar. “Yet this one has maintained a low profile and survived.”