by Jackie May
“What? The difference for what?”
She looks down at her hands inside the sleeves. “I don’t know. I was going to say the difference for everything, for the world. But if I’m honest, I probably just mean that it could be the difference for me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you two have a way of attracting change—positive change—in others. Brenner’s got his life back because he met you. And look at what you two brought out in Elle Harrington. Look at Brenner’s partner.”
“Russo?”
“Moved all the way out here to work with Brenner again. There’s just something about you guys that others need.”
My face burns red and not because of the hot cocoa. “But…I don’t…I didn’t mean for any of that. Brenner and Elle, I just needed them for my own selfish reasons. Trust me, I wasn’t trying to help anybody but myself.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Deny praise.”
“That’s not praise. It’s responsibility, which I’m happy to avoid, absolutely.”
“Just look at the facts: Brenner and Elle were one way before you got involved, and they were another way after.”
“Because that’s what happens when monsters try to kill you. I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s not what you do, Shayne. It’s who you are that changed them. Trust me.”
“Bullshit. What’s even happening right now? Where is all this coming from? You know as well as anybody what a big game I play. The bravado, the attitude—it’s a poker face. It’s my big bluff, because that’s what a little fox has to do in an alpha world.”
“Is that what you think?”
“You know I do! You saw right through it the second we met.”
“Is it always this hard for somebody to give you a compliment?”
“Well, I don’t need handouts, is all. I’m tired of people trying to put me in a place I don’t deserve. Elle and Brenner put me on some sort of superhero pedestal, my mom thinks I’m a basket case, you’re trying to make me out as some sort of guidance counselor, and half the underworld thinks I’m a full-blown traitor. The reality is, I’m none of those things. I’m just…” I shake my open palms in front of me, searching them for the answer. “I’m just…a fox. That’s all.”
Hillerman nods slowly. “Let me ask one more thing?”
“You’re asking my permission? Are you feeling all right?”
“Just one more thing.”
“Fine, but only if you let me ask one more thing.”
“Sure,” she says.
“Okay, shoot.”
“You and Brenner aren’t rogues. You formed your own pack.”
“That’s right.”
“So who’s the alpha?”
I suppress a groan. This topic is annoying, and doubly so coming from a human who can’t possibly understand. “That’s easy. Don’t have one, don’t need one.”
“Foxes can’t be alphas?”
“Yes, they can, but…”
“But not you?”
“I haven’t felt anything. It would have awakened in the process of leaving my pack.”
“And it didn’t?”
“No. But Brenner’s stronger than anybody thinks.”
“So you just default to him?”
“Look, this may be hard to believe, because he doesn’t seem it, but if humans could be alphas, he’d be one. And that’s no bluff.”
“I believe it. Have you told him yet?”
I grit my teeth. “You said one more thing.”
“So you haven’t told him? Is it dangerous?” Hillerman raises her hands in defense. “No judgment. I’m really asking.” She points at herself. “Demon expert, remember? Pack behavior’s not my jurisdiction.”
I wipe a stray drop of hot cocoa from the side of the mug. “No, I didn’t tell him that it can be dangerous for a pack to have no alpha. It can be provoking to stronger packs. Their alphas would be tempted to assert themselves, to put it nicely. Thank you so much for pointing out what weaklings we are.”
“I don’t think you’re weak at all. In fact, I think you’re an alpha, whether you feel it or not.”
“Sorry, I know you hate to be wrong, but it just doesn’t work that way.”
“We’ll see.”
“You know what, let’s go back to being mean to each other. It’s less weird than this.”
“Go ahead and ask your question.”
“No, I changed my mind.”
“C’mon, I asked my one more thing, now you ask yours.”
“Forget it. I know when I’m being played. The only time you ever pretend to be nice to me is when you want something. If you’re leading up to another offer for me to join your task force, the answer is still no. Not now or ever.”
She takes a moment to think, then says in a soft voice, “I think it’s time I apologized. I know this may be hard to believe, Shayne, but the truth is, she genuinely likes you.”
All my senses go on high alert. “She likes me?”
“I know it doesn’t seem that way, but she does. Trust me.”
“Okay, but she who? Who’s ‘she?’”
“Charlotte.”
I shoot to my feet so quickly that my chair topples backward with a loud bang against the kitchen tile. Hillerman flinches at the sound, leaning forward to plant her chair on all four legs. She seems dazed, looking around as though she doesn’t know where she is. Spotting the bowl of ramen noodles, she shoves it away in disgust. Whipping the sunglasses off, she gives me a distrustful glare. “What happened?”
It takes every ounce of self-control to keep from blurting, You’re possessed by demons! That’s what happened! Ruby was right; it takes one to know one! Either that, or you have multiple personalities, because the person I just had a whole conversation with was not Agent Hillerman.
Or was it? Maybe I just talked to the real Hillerman, and the manipulative bitch who is now staring me down is the demon. Maybe I’ve been dealing with her demons all along. What will she do if she realizes I know? I don’t want to find out, so I just say, “Sorry; you dozed off, so I was trying to be quiet. Epic fail.” I pull my chair upright.
“Did I say anything?” She watches me closely.
I feel like I’m taking a polygraph test. I say “No,” half expecting a loud buzzer to signal that I’ve failed.
“Because I do sometimes,” she explains. “I talk in my sleep. I walk in my sleep.”
“You make noodles in your sleep?”
“No, I remember that. Must have dozed off, like you said. I’ll pay you back.”
“You think I eat that shit? If it don’t got meat, I don’t eat.”
Hillerman sits down, noticeably relaxing, which means I beat the polygraph. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m sure it’s no shock to you that I don’t do a lot of sleepovers.” I don’t have a response for that. After a moment of awkward silence, she asks, “Did I wake you up?”
“No. Brenner did.”
“He and Russo head out?”
“Yep.” We sit in more awkward silence. I’m sure she must be getting suspicious of my short answers. Any second she’ll ask if I’m absolutely sure nothing weird happened in her sleep. I need to move on to another topic, or go back upstairs—something!—but my mind is bogged down with the difficult options before me.
On the one hand is the obvious: if Hillerman’s some kind of demon, then I can’t trust her, even more than I already didn’t trust her. So I should get Brenner and myself as far from her as possible.
On the other hand is the gamble: Hillerman doesn’t know I know, and she’s the only person in the world who can take me where I have to go. I need her for this case, so I should play dumb and keep her as close to me as possible.
Hillerman narrows her bloodshot eyes at me. “Are you sure nothing weird happened—”
I cut her off. “Are you done sleeping? Because we should have hit the road the second Brenner and Russo wer
e out the door.”
Hillerman pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Is that so?”
“You said it yourself. You and I are federal agents. The boys can poke around crime scenes all they want—we both know we only let them play cops to get them out of our hair, so we can do the real work.”
“Are you saying you want to join my task force?”
“No. I’m saying you and I partner up, just this once.”
“Off the books?”
“Obviously. This is going to take off-the-books kind of work, starting with off-the-books questions, which you’ll give off-the-books answers to.”
“Such as?”
“Arael Moaz.”
Hillerman’s drowsiness flees in an instant. She stands to meet my gaze with a kind of impressed twinkle in her eye. “What about him?”
“Still alive, yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“And you know where he is?”
She raises one cocky brow. “I put him there myself.”
I square my shoulders to match her attitude. “Good, then you can take us there.”
Without batting an eye, she fires back, “You bet your ass I can. Just as soon as you change out of your blanket.”
I look down at the bed comforter draped over me like a robe. From beneath it, my fuzzy pink slippers poke out. Hillerman is wearing ripped jeans, a tight tank top, and a shoulder holster.
With a sigh, I trudge toward the stairs, and just so she knows who’s the boss in this partnership, I mutter, “It’s not a blanket. It’s a comforter.”
Forty minutes later, I’m white-knuckling my seat belt in the cabin of an FBI helicopter as it banks into a steep dive. My heart races up into my throat, blocking the scream that wants to come out. Icy wind screams through the cabin, whipping my hair. I have to press my feet together to keep my shoes from getting sucked out the open side door.
“You really don’t have to show off on my account!” I shout over the noise.
Hillerman, sitting calmly with one leg crossed over the other, taps her headset.
Mine has fallen down around my neck. I clap it into place over my ears and move the microphone down to my mouth. “I said, ‘Are we there yet?’”
Hillerman’s voice crackles through my headphones. “Ten seconds.”
“A forty-minute flight south, southeast. I’m guessing Cleveland?”
She points out the door, where I can now see the city lights of Cleveland far off on the horizon. “But that’s the shore way over there! Which means we’re still over…” I lean to look out the open doors, and I see nothing but moonlit water racing up at us. “Are you crazy?!”
The chopper plunges toward Lake Erie at rollercoaster speed. I shut my eyes and brace for impact, but at the last second, we pull up and touch down gently on solid ground. I first open one eye, then the other. We’re still alive, and my shoes are still on my feet, but I can feel that my hair has become a windswept lion’s mane.
Hillerman leaps out of the cabin. I don’t trust my shaking knees, so I sit down first, then slide over the lip and drop to the ground. The second I’m out, the chopper lifts off again, disappearing into the black night.
“I thought you go fast,” Hillerman says. “You race cars.”
“On the ground,” I clarify. “Flying is not really my thing.”
“How about boats?”
“Hell no. Boats are even worse than…” My voice trails off as I look around.
We’re now standing on the deck of a massive cargo ship. It’s got to be as long as several city blocks and as wide as a freeway. I’ve seen plenty of these monsters trudging down the Detroit River, but I’ve never been close enough to see how big they really are. At one end of the ship is a five-story tower with lots of windows. The rest of the deck is covered with giant, flat domes, like airplane hangars.
I follow Hillerman toward the building. “Are you telling me the supersecret underworld prison I’ve been hearing about is somewhere on this boat?”
“The prison is not on the boat. It is the boat. Seawaymax bulk carrier. We can take this sucker anywhere in the world.” She points at the flat domes. “Those are retractable roofs. Under each one is a cargo hold the size of a three-story house. Perfect for cell blocks.”
“So this is why you’ve been stationed in Cleveland?”
“During shipping season, we keep to Lake Erie. But she’ll be completely frozen over four weeks from now. We’re on the move north to Lake Huron. Why do you hate water?”
“Besides it being cold and wet and not solid ground?”
“Is there anything besides that?”
“Nope.”
“You ask me, foxes seem a lot more like cats than dogs.”
“It’s true. More crafty. More calculating. More precise.”
She opens the door for me. “I was thinking more fussy.”
We enter a long, warm hallway with bright lights that make me squint. Hillerman leads me through a door into a mess hall echoing with the clatter of metal trays being set out on a counter by the cafeteria staff.
“Full service. Coffee, eggs, donuts, whatever. If you need anything before we head downstairs.”
One of the cafeteria workers is a pretty woman, maybe a few years younger than me. She’s got dark hair and smokey eyes, which gives me an idea. “They’re getting meals ready for the prisoners?”
“That’s right.”
“Who takes it in? These people?”
“No. Cafeteria staff isn’t authorized downstairs. Why?”
“None of the prisoners have ever seen any of these people?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Perfect. I’ll take that one.” I point to the good-looking brunette. She catches us looking at her and freezes.
Hillerman is baffled. “What, her?”
“Her, yeah. But not dressed like that. Tell her to wear street clothes—”
“I’m not telling her anything unless you tell me what for.”
“You can’t know, or this won’t work. I don’t get to see your script, and you don’t get to see mine.”
“What script? There is no script.”
“Exactly. I’m going to play my hand, and you’re just going to have to read the table, be on your toes, and improvise. We need natural reactions. It can’t seem rehearsed.”
“And for your part, you need her?” Hillerman points at the girl, who is now starting to raise her hands, as though under arrest.
“Her, yes. You said I could order anything. But not dressed like that.” I shout across the mess hall. “You got anything else to wear? Street clothes?”
The girl looks to Hillerman for permission to speak.
“What’s your name?” Hillerman asks her.
“Mandy.”
“Mandy, stop what you’re doing and change into your street clothes—”
I interrupt. “Ask her if she’s got a hoodie.”
“She can hear you.”
“You got a hoodie?”
“Yes.”
“Wear that. Oh! How about makeup. Got makeup?”
“Er…a little.”
“Put it on. All of it. And take your hair down. We’re going for sultry. Like a seductress, you know?”
Hillerman pulls me toward the door. “We’re done here.”
“Meet us downstairs,” I call over my shoulder.
“She’s not authorized, I told you.”
“Well, then you better authorize her, and now, because I need her for this to work.”
“You just met her two seconds ago.”
“Which is exactly when my whole plan came together. So what?”
“So what? So what were you going to do if you hadn’t seen her? What was your plan going to be then?”
“Something else, obviously.”
“You think geriatric Arael Moaz, hooked up to ventilators and chained to a bed, is going to respond to seduction? He’s not a glutton, he’s a warmonger, dammit. This is the best you can think of?”
“It’s nothing so obvious or simple as you’re thinking, and you know it, or you wouldn’t have brought me here. You’re just pissed because I won’t tell you, and little Miss Control Everything can’t stand it. Now do your job and order that nice cafeteria worker to meet us in the prison block looking like she’s ready for sexy time.”
Hillerman skewers me with a glare before turning to the cafeteria worker and barking, “You’ve got five minutes.” The girl drops her tray and scurries out a back door.
Downstairs, we enter an operations room full of monitors showing video feeds of different prison cells full of underworld lowlifes. Most are in human form—men and women dressed in orange prison garb—but some are shifted into various animals. I see several wolves and, in a double-size cell, a giant grizzly bear.
Hillerman’s sudden appearance in the room sets the FBI staff on edge. Conversations abruptly cut off. One lady scrambles to take a seat in front of a monitor. A guy with his feet up on a desk nearly falls backward in his chair upon seeing us approach. At his desk is a single monitor showing a massive cargo hold with nothing but a small hospital bed under a spotlight. An old man lies unmoving on the bed.
“There he is,” Hillerman says.
“He gets an entire cell block?”
Hillerman turns to address her staff. “Listen up. This is unscheduled and unauthorized by Washington. If anybody is uncomfortable with that, take a lunch break right now.” Nobody moves. I don’t think anybody has dared to breathe since Hillerman came in. “Divert all audio-visual to our VIP. We’re going in.”
“I’m going in,” I correct.
“We’re going in,” Hillerman presses.
“We are going in eventually. I am going in first.”
Hillerman clenches her jaw. I see several eyes widen and jaws drop. Apparently it’s not a usual thing to see some girl in a Detroit Tigers jacket talking over their boss. How fun.
“This is Agent Davies, FUA Double-D.”
I clap Hillerman on the back. “Otherwise known as the girl who crashed Arael’s party and gift-wrapped him just for you.”
“They’re aware,” Hillerman says flatly.
“Oh, we know all about you,” one guy says with a goofy grin. “C’mon, is it true you actually jumped your car through a second-story window?”