Touch the Sky

by Kari Cole

  Vaughn wasn’t about to help the guy out, but Mary Jo was made of kinder stuff. “The bleeding’s stopped, Mr. Klaas. Why don’t I take your statement now?”

  Before the guy could say anything else, Vaughn gestured for Diego to follow him into the hallway that led to his office. It would suck to be arrested for assault in his own station.

  “That’s it?” Diego asked, his voice dropping to a hiss. “You’re going to let that jackass human talk to you that way?”

  Vaughn bristled. “What would you like for me to do? Rough him up? Let him see the wolf behind my eyes? Show him I could break him in half without exerting myself? How would any of that help?”

  Without waiting for a response, he continued walking to his office. The station was small compared to the precincts he’d worked at in Seattle, but in addition to the standard evidence lockup, weapons safes, mini-lab, and other storage facilities, they had a breakroom with a kitchenette and a tiny locker room with an even smaller converted janitor’s closet that they’d jammed a set of bunk beds into.

  As soon as they reached the office, Deputy Tim Slechter rushed around the corner, a stack of folders in his hands. He stopped when he saw them, wary eyes fixed on Diego. “I see you’ve found the sheriff, Agent Moreno,” he said.

  “Obviously,” Diego said.

  Tim’s eyes narrowed a bit more, but he turned his attention to Vaughn. “Sheriff, sorry we had to interrupt the run. The agent here wouldn’t tell me or Deputy Simmons what he needed.” The chiding in Tim’s voice was unmistakable, surprising, but not unjustified. Surprising because Tim wasn’t the most dominant of wolves, but like many in the pack, he wasn’t happy with the Authority.

  “This is above your paygrade, deputy,” Diego said, like the IA asshole he now was.

  Vaughn met the male’s gaze in challenge. “That’s my call, not yours.” Diego bristled and opened his mouth to argue, but Vaughn shut him down. “You guys already put out a request for help finding Sharon Beck, you can hardly claim the hunt is classified now.” He turned back to Tim. “Agent Moreno has reason to believe that one of the subjects in the RFIAs is here in the territory.”

  “Why?” Tim asked.

  “He won’t say.”

  “Typical. Wait... Sharon Beck. I remember that one. Blonde, midforties, wolf. The RFIA was for a missing persons. There wasn’t any mention of a crime.”

  Again, Diego stiffened, his stubborn jaw turning to stone. He glared at Tim, the scent of Eagle rose in the air, setting off Vaughn’s own, who stretched and squawked, eager to be set free to fly with his aeriemate. Vaughn squeezed the cuff on his arm, using the pain of the metal digging into his flesh to rein in his beast.

  Unaware of the struggle inside Vaughn, Tim rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Sheriff, I’m running diagnostics on the computer system now, but you can still log in and file reports. My stuff’s in the background.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Vaughn said.

  “I’m heading back out on patrol now. I just stopped in to drop off a couple of drunk knuckleheads to BJ and Mary Jo. The guys got into it at Buster’s Tavern over a spilled beer.” Tim shook his head. “Idiots. They broke a chair and knocked over a table. You know how Buster is about property damage. They’re lucky he didn’t break their skulls with that Louisville Slugger he keeps behind the bar. I got there in the nick of time. It’s crazy out there.”

  Vaughn sent him off with a good luck and led Diego into his office. The last thing he wanted was to be shut up alone with his former best friend; it hurt just to look at him. But he sat behind his desk and gestured for Diego to take a seat in the visitor’s chair in front of it. The male shut the door and then leaned against it, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. With the dark beard, the expression made him look sinister.

  It still seemed strange to see that look directed his way. They’d grown up together, played together, discovered females together, gotten into tons of childish trouble together. All of Vaughn’s best memories of Arizona revolved around Diego and his younger sister Elena. The siblings shared the same dark brown eyes that tilted down at the corners. The same wide smile. But Diego wasn’t smiling now, and his eyes were hard and narrowed. Just like the last time they’d seen each other.

  Vaughn’s temples throbbed with an oncoming headache. He leaned back in his chair and stared at Diego. He wanted to tell him to cut the attitude—he’d come to Vaughn, not the other way around. Wanted to tell him to fuck off. Wanted to grab him in a hug and laugh like they used to.

  Finally, he asked him the question that had been burning in his gut from the second he’d seen the male standing across the Gathering Circle. “How’s Elena?”

  Unfriendly anger morphed into fury in a split second. “You don’t get to ask about her, you bastard. Don’t even speak her name.”

  Vaughn took the hit without moving a muscle. He refused to give the male the satisfaction, no matter how much he wanted to know if Elena was all right. Was she happy?

  He doubted the rest of the conversation would improve the situation any, but again he pointed to the visitor’s chair in front of his desk and focused on the job. “Tell me about Sharon Beck.”

  Diego snorted. “You’re an asshole.”

  “So you’ve told me. A lot. You made your position on me and your family clear ten years ago.”

  A mirthless laugh like a gunshot exploded from Diego. “I should have done a lot more than what I did, you sonofabitch.”

  Slowly, Vaughn rose from his chair. He leaned over, putting his hands on the desk as he met Diego’s eyes. “Don’t ever insult my mother.”

  Seconds ticked by as they glared at each other. Diego’s eyes lightened, but he kept his eagle under control. Vaughn’s beasts were strangely quiet.

  After what seemed like an hour, Diego blinked and relaxed his stance. “Rose is all right, then?” he asked.

  Vaughn didn’t point out the hypocrisy of inquiring about his mother when Vaughn wasn’t allowed to do the same. He nodded once. “She opened a pub with my aunt a couple years ago.”

  “The Golden Claw, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  They stared at each other in silence. Was Diego as confused and heartsick as him? Vaughn didn’t know what to say or how to make it any better. He hadn’t known all those years ago, and time and distance certainly hadn’t granted any insight. What he did know was he’d been reckless and naive. In his case, the truth was not his friend and he never should have shared it with Elena.

  Vaughn tipped his head toward the station bullpen. Multiple voices spoke at once, the phones were still ringing. “You may have noticed, we’re swamped and I’m short-staffed. Let’s pretend we’re just colleagues. Tell me about the case.”

  After a few more awkward seconds, Diego sat opposite him. They may have wanted to rip each other apart, but they had work to do.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning, Hannah woke before sunrise to find Frost staring at her impatiently from the foot of the bed. He was standing, looking like he might pounce on her if she didn’t get up in the next ten seconds. Some days, having an early riser for a living companion was a pain in the butt.

  “All right, all right,” she said, fighting back a yawn. “I see you. I’m awake. Do not pull that WWE stunt of yours. Do you hear me?”

  He rolled his eyes and jumped to the floor.

  As she got out of bed, the wound on her side throbbed like a runner’s stitch. She grunted and Frost whipped around to sniff her in concern. “I’m fine. Go ahead. I just moved too fast. It doesn’t even need a bandage anymore.” She flexed her gloved hands. At least there was one benefit to being half witch. A normal werewolf would still be at the healer’s.

  The healer... She hoped Dean was just being solicitous when he said his mate would want to see her again today. She wasn’t worried that Sarah would react poorly to realizing Hannah was of mixed blo
od, but there weren’t that many female werewolf/witch half-breeds running around. An innocent comment in the wrong company could bring the hunters down on her head.

  Frost left and she threw on the shorts she’d worn last night. As she finished up in the bathroom, she heard the screen door creak open and clap shut. Cabinets opened and closed and dishes rattled.

  Hannah sniffed cautiously as she walked into the kitchen. Wearing worn jeans that had a hole in the right knee and a collared shirt that bore the Mills Nursery & Florist logo on the chest, Jessie drank a mug of coffee. Even now, first thing in the morning, she smelled like rich soil, tomato plants, and roses. She leaned against the counter where she’d been last night and cocked a brow at Hannah. Heat flooded Hannah’s face remembering what she’d walked in on then.

  “Your wolf let himself out,” Jessie said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Your wolf let himself out the back door,” Jessie said again as if Hannah had hearing problems.

  “He does that,” Hannah said. “Can I have some coffee, please?”

  “Weirdos,” Jessie muttered, but she got down another mug from the cabinet and filled it so Hannah didn’t complain. She passed the orange mug over. It was emblazoned with the words You say witch like it’s a bad thing.

  After taking a long sip of the hot coffee, Hannah sighed.

  “Better?” Jessie asked.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She cleared her throat. “So, um, your friend’s gone?”

  Jessie set her mug on the counter. It had a stereotypical witch wearing a pointed black hat on it. Beneath the figure of the witch flying on a broomstick, it read Witches do it on broomsticks. “Yes, Becca’s gone. She had a breakfast thing to go to. You can relax.”

  “I hope she didn’t leave on my account. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to get an eyeful of you two in a private moment last night, but I heard you moan and something fall, and I got all wolfy protective. Sorry. Really.”

  Her cousin studied her. “So your reaction wasn’t because Becca’s a woman?”

  “No! Of course not. I mean, I was a little surprised—I knew you’d been married to a man—but no.”

  Everything in Jessie’s posture relaxed. “Do you need a bowl for Frost? For his kibble or whatever?”

  “Thank you, no. He catches his own meals.”

  Jessie did a double take toward the backyard. “What? Like right now?”

  “Presumably.”

  “Like what?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Around here? Hmm, probably squirrels, opossum, or rabbit. Don’t worry, he knows better than to eat someone’s pet. He can smell if they belong to people.”

  Jessie blinked at her. “Bunnies?”

  “Probably.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “What do you think I eat when I run around on four legs?” Hannah asked.

  “What? Eww.” Jessie shuddered. “But you loved the little rabbit hutch Gran had in her yard.”

  “Well, duh. They were soft and cuddly and adorable. Who wouldn’t love them and their twitchy noses?”

  “You just said—”

  “The wolf eats them. And a wide variety of other things I, the human, wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole without the benefit of an excellent chef and judicious use of heat.”

  “Oh.” Jessie shook off her disgust and picked her coffee back up. “You weren’t out very late last night. I didn’t expect to hear you roll in until the wee hours of the morning, if at all.”

  “Yeah, Vaughn got called away on an emergency or something.” Something that had nothing to do with her. Raze had said so. Like a little girl clinging to the notion of Santa Claus, she was going to hold on to that belief, and pray like crazy he was right.

  “Vaughn, huh?” Jessie waggled her brows. “Can’t say I blame you. That male is hot as sin.”

  “No kidding. You know how beautiful his eyes are, all dark and brooding like him?” Hannah asked. Jessie nodded. “You should see them when he smiles.”

  “Vaughn smiles?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, her voice a little dreamy. “He has dimples, Jess. Dimples.”

  “What? Get out.”

  She sank into a kitchen chair with a sigh. “There is no fairness in this world.”

  “Not a bit,” Jessie agreed. “How can a woman be expected to resist tall, dark, handsome, employed, and dimples? That’s impossible.”

  It was. How could anyone fault Hannah for being drawn to the sheriff? Even if he could ruin everything for her.

  Jessie hiked herself up to sit on the counter, her socks a pink so bright they should come with a warning. “Please tell me you were at least able to enjoy that gorgeous male for a little while.”

  “Very little.” Hannah pouted. “Dean came to find him right as we were getting to the good stuff.” She narrowed her eyes at her cousin’s hoot of laughter. “Then I came back here and had to listen to you have all the fun I wasn’t. All damn night. You know...your cackling is not endearing you to me right now.”

  “Oh God, that’s awesome.”

  “You’re an evil woman.”

  Jessie wiped her eyes. “Yes, but I’m also the woman who’s going to teach you to control your abilities so you can stop wearing those ridiculous gloves. I think I have an idea to help.”

  Hannah sat up straight. “You do? What?”

  “Finish your coffee and grab a shower. You’re going to need to be at your best.”

  * * *

  Vaughn woke with a start, nearly falling off the couch in his office. The weightless free fall sensation from his dream lingered, leaving him shaking. He rubbed his eyes. Damn. He’d thought—okay, hoped—the freaking thing would go away with time, but the dream was getting worse, not better.

  For most of his life, he’d become the eagle when he fell asleep at night. He’d guessed it was because he’d never been able to give the creature real form. The dreams were usually thrilling and fun. Didn’t everyone want to soar through the skies like a bird, or at least Superman? But since the day his former packmate, Rick, had shot him, causing Vaughn to fall off a cliff and almost die, the dream had turned into a persistent nightmare. Every night, he fell, over and over again, with no hope of ever sprouting the wings he needed to live.

  With a grunt, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Screw the wallowing and melodrama. He had too much to do. Though it was early, around six thirty, sunlight was already streaming into his office through the spaces in the window blinds. It painted stripes of gold across his floor, desk, and chairs. He had a county full of mischief-making people, a dead bear shifter to identify, and a pain-in-the-ass IA agent to assist. He stood and stretched the kinks out of his back.

  After taking a quick shower and changing in the locker room, he grabbed a cup of coffee and last night’s stack of incident reports. They contained the usual: drunk and disorderlies, three minor auto collisions, the bar fight Tim had mentioned, two missing wallets.

  When he started reviewing the last report, he choked on his coffee.

  He covered the distance to the small room with bunk beds in record time, flung open the door, and kicked the end of the bottom bunk. Diego shot out of the bed, hair sticking every which way, fists raised, and a snarl on his face. He blinked at Vaughn. “What the fuck?”

  “You got more guys here?”

  “What?”

  “Do. You. Have. More. Guys. Here?”

  Diego shook his head. “I have no idea what—”

  “Enough with the bullshit, asshole. Last night, two guys accosted a woman. One of the women was here in the station when we arrived last night, as a matter of fact.”

  “Vaughn—”

  “The guys grabbed this lady—this human lady, Karen Wilson. Can’t your IA buddies tell the difference between a human and a werewolf?”

  “What—”


  “They grabbed this blonde human and tried to drag her off.” Anger drove Vaughn closer to his former friend, the adrenaline bringing both his beasts to the surface in search of a threat. “They would have succeeded, too, since there were two of them and they were a lot stronger than her, like”—he read directly from the witness statement—“‘freakishly strong.’ One guy picked her up by the back of her shirt with one hand. But her friend, a Ms. Renee Hill from Helena—you know, the other woman in here making a witness statement to my deputy—realized Karen suddenly wasn’t behind her when she stepped into the back entrance to Buster’s Tavern. So she went back out expecting to find that her friend dropped her purse or something. Instead she finds Karen being carted away by two strange, ‘freakishly strong’ men.”

  “Why the hell do you think this has anything to do with me?” Diego asked. Vaughn could smell his anger, but also the muddy scent of confusion.

  “Because they called her Sharon.”

  “So?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Jesus, Vaughn. There are other women named Sharon in the world. Some of them are even blonde.”

  “Are you kidding me right now? You know, if I’ve learned anything this last year, it’s to trust my gut. The coincidence of you showing up here out of the blue, hunting Sharon Beck, and a couple of assholes grabbing another woman who matches her description are too good to be true.”

  “I told you—”

  “Shut up and get dressed.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to see the Alpha. You can try your bullshit on him. Doubt it’ll fly any better for him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You’re kidding.” Hannah looked down at the pile of gloves on the living room table in confusion. Frost sniffed them and sneezed. There was everything from heavy canvas gardening gloves to thin dollar store costume ones. “I thought we were trying to free me from having to wear gloves.”

  She picked up one of the gardening gloves. It was as pliant as a stick. Probably something Jessie wore for pruning rosebushes or hauling around spiky plants. “How’s this better than what I’m wearing?”