by RJ Blain
“He’ll probably beg you to take his job. No matter how hard we try, you’re disgustingly responsible. When I last checked the dictionary, your face was next to ‘good cop.’ Live a little!”
I shuddered at the thought of being in charge of a bunch of maniac werewolves, their loved ones, and a city full of rednecks with odd hobbies and a love for high-powered weaponry. “I never thought I’d be thankful for my low magic rating. I’m very thankful right now.”
“Admit it. You want to take one for a drive. One-sixty, Shane.”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to let you have a little fun while we play cops. I’m off duty. I’m just doing exactly what I was told I shouldn’t do.”
Maybe if I closed my eyes and took a lot of long, deep breaths, everything would go back to normal. “You’re disobeying orders, aren’t you?”
“Well, the chief didn’t say I couldn’t go chasing after your parents. He may have said something about not chasing after your shooter. He may have also said something about not getting involved with a criminal organization larger than the Lincoln police force could readily handle.”
“So basically, you’re planning on using me to lure them out so you can honestly say you didn’t actually chase after them. We’re just going on a joyride looking for Mom and Dad, and we might happen to draw the wrong sort of attention. And since you’re my loving, concerned godfather, you suggested I should bring my mother’s gun as an insurance policy.”
My godfather grinned and hauled the first of the mutant dirt bikes from the bed of his truck. “Admit it. You want to know if these can do one-sixty.”
Would I look better splattered alongside the red death trap or the yellow death trap? I considered my choices and pointed at the yellow one. “I think my blood and guts will look better with that one. What do you think?”
“I think you have a morbid sense of humor.”
“Lewis, have you ever met my parents?”
“Good point. Forget I said anything. Sure, you can take the yellow one. Just watch her on the turns. She’s a bit of a bitch and needs a tune-up. For some reason, she views the speeds between one-twenty and one-forty as optional and prefers to go straight to one-sixty. You might want to keep her below one-twenty until you’re used to her.”
“Dare I ask what’s wrong with the red one?”
“She’s just an asshole and views everything up to one-sixty as an obstacle to overcome.”
“These aren’t street legal, are they?”
“Sure they are. Would a respectable cop like myself drive something not street legal? They’re legal. They’re just slightly modified.”
“Please tell me you have a plan.”
“We need a plan?”
“A plan would be helpful.”
“I thought I already told you. I’m going to use you as bait, lure them out, and deal with them. Violently. Then we’ll save the young lady and make sure she gets home. I’ll even be nice and let you take all the credit for the daring rescue.”
“Am I the only sane man in this town?” I complained, peering into the back of Lewis’s truck for a helmet. Fortunately, I spotted a pair and grabbed the one matching the yellow death trap. I shoved it over my head, muttering curses as I tightened the straps.
“No. You lost your right to say you’re sane the instant you decided to actually go along with this.”
I hated he was right.
Chapter Seven
Did it count as grand theft auto if I was stealing from my godfather? The little yellow death trap was coming home with me, and that was all there was to it. I’d also have a long talk with him about saying mean things about the most beautiful piece of machinery I’d ever laid my hands on.
The bike purred beneath me, and true to my godfather’s claims, she was a bit of a bitch on the turns, hated being restrained, and begged for me to put her through her paces. Until I got her beyond the normal patrol area of the local cops, I’d keep her near the speed limit. The last thing I needed was someone spotting me with Lewis and calling my parents.
“You can’t steal my bike, Shane.”
Damn it. How did he always know when I was contemplating something illegal? “Are you a closet telepath?”
“No, you’re just muttering to yourself. The mic in your helmet is really sensitive. I might consider letting you buy her for a reasonable price.”
“Dare I ask?”
“How about a promise to enter the dating world and lose your virginity before you’re thirty?”
“Did it ever occur to you I wouldn’t even care if I stayed a virgin until the day I died?” I did care, but it wasn’t anyone’s business why I waited.
I knew I could turn myself into a whore if I wanted, but I didn’t. When I did settle down, I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps. Maybe my parents were more than a little crazy, but they were still together after so many years.
That’s what I wanted, and I wasn’t going to ruin my chances by being a dick—or thinking with it. There were plenty of girls in the world who reduced me to drooling, but I recognized the difference between love and lust.
I wanted the kind of love that resulted in a pancake-stained ceiling and a child willing to clean up my messes. That sort of love took a special woman, and I wasn’t going to find her unzipping my pants every time a pretty lady took a second look at me.
“Where did we go wrong?” Lewis mock sniffled.
“You really aren’t going to give up, are you?”
“Not without good reason.”
I sighed. “Fine. I want what Mom and Dad have, and hopping from bed to bed isn’t going to get that for me. So, no. I won’t turn myself into a man whore. I’d rather wait for the right woman.”
“What if she never comes?”
“I die sad, alone, and a virgin. Shit happens.”
“You’re making it very difficult to tell you to rebel and do all the crazy things you missed out on as a teen, Shane. How am I supposed to do my godfather duties if you insist on being so responsible?”
Since I didn’t trust my one-eyed vision enough to shoot a glare at Lewis, I concentrated on the road. I had no idea where we were going except my godfather seemed to believe we’d find trouble east and south of town. Of course, with few main roads connecting the scattered cities and towns of Nebraska, we could be headed west and north via a very scenic route destined to add eight hours to the trip.
With Lewis, I never knew.
“You wouldn’t have dragged me out of the house with a busted up shoulder unless you had a good idea of where we’re going. What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
“Have your parents ever told you you’re a spoilsport?”
“No, they just tell me I’m an awful child.”
“Well, you are.” Lewis laughed. “Actually, you’re just an awfully responsible child. We wish you’d come out of your shell. I’m following a hunch. Six months ago, a few sex trafficking rings were busted in Des Moines. Since there was an established network there, it’s possible that those rings were related to the one in New York. If so, we might be able to find a lead.”
“That sounds like a pretty cold lead to me.”
“Please don’t tell your parents this, but I may have installed tracking software on their phones. I have been tracking their location with this software, and they beelined it for Des Moines. I figured I’d just piggyback off their hard work.”
I really should have known. “Have you done anything nefarious with my phone?”
“Not yet.”
“I will consent to tracking software installed on my phone in exchange for my new bike.”
“Pull over and pay up.”
Torn between laughing and groaning, I obeyed, letting the engine idle while I dug my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to my godfather. “I’m only doing this because the chance of this trip going south fast has occurred to me. That, and I really want this
bike.”
“Of course you do. She’s fast, she’s beautiful, and she doesn’t talk back, unlike every other woman in your life, right?”
Considering my mother was one of the few women in my life, I nodded. “How does this tracker work?”
“It’s something the force has been playing with. Since everyone carries their phones with them, the chief thought it might be a good idea to have an extra layer of protection. Anyway, the cars are tracked, and some of our gear is tracked, but people rarely remember phones are tracked. So, one of the forensics guys wrote an app that lets us keep track of each other. I’ll install the app on your phone and authorize certain officers to track your location. For now, I’m giving myself, your parents, their partners, and the chief tracking access. The chief tracks everyone who uses the software. This’ll make them feel all nice, warm, and fuzzy knowing where you’re at. When this blows over, we can uninstall it.”
“I basically just sold my soul and privacy to the devil for a motorcycle.”
“Yeah, not your brightest move, kiddo.”
“But it’s a really nice bike, right?”
“Keep telling yourself that. Now, try to keep your phone charged because we’ll only be able to get your last known location if the device shuts off. It’ll kill your battery a bit faster than you’re used to, so keep an eye on that. Did you bring your charger with you?”
I shot him a glare. “Does it look like I brought anything with me? I have Mom’s gun, extra ammunition, my wallet, and my phone.”
“Wallet equals cash equals charger. And a change of clothes. Maybe I should have told you to bring an overnight bag.”
“Getting shot put a damper on doing my laundry.”
“Yet you cleaned your parents’ kitchen.”
“Toxic wasteland. Priorities, Lewis. The biohazards in their kitchen might have killed me. A little dirty laundry never hurt anyone.”
Lewis sighed. “That bad?”
“There were pancakes on the ceiling.”
“Maybe I underestimated their stress levels.”
“Maybe?”
“Definitely. I definitely underestimated their stress levels. Change of plans. Let’s hunt your parents down, make sure they aren’t about to go on a rampage, and then lure out our bad guy and deal with him.”
“I’m telling you the same thing I told them, Lewis. ‘Arrest him’ does not mean ‘beat him within an inch of his life.’ Restraining also does not mean beat him. No unnecessary force.”
“You seriously take all the fun out of life, Shane.”
“Are all werewolves whiners?”
“Yes.”
“How wonderful. If I get infected, does that mean I’ll become a whiner, too?”
“We can only hope.”
I flipped my middle finger at Lewis and muttered so many curses he laughed.
According to Lewis’s phone, my parents were at a hotel in downtown Des Moines. We stopped at a shopping center to buy some extra clothes and get me a new charger before hunting them down. Luck was with us; the place had vacancies. While I understood the reasoning behind sharing a room with my godfather, the werewolf snored so loudly I doubted I’d be getting any sleep for a while.
“Let’s wait for them at the elevators. They’ll come down eventually,” Lewis suggested.
I snorted, pulled out my driver’s license, and held it out to the woman behind the counter. “Can you tell me which room the Gibsons are staying in? They’re my parents. My godfather and I are surprising them. If you need more proof, my godfather can show off his badge.”
The woman chuckled. “Normally, I wouldn’t be able to do this, but as Mr. Gibson was rather vocal about his son, who happens to have the same name you do, I’ll make an exception. They’re in room 406.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
I smirked at my godfather and headed for the elevator. “Wise men take the path of least resistance.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you only got away with that because you’re a good-looking man with doting parents who sang your praises? If I were a better cop, I’d write her up for that.”
“But you’re not. And I’m not a good-looking man, Lewis. The whole missing an eye and scar thing disqualifies me.” The elevator opened when I pressed the button. Selecting their floor, I considered the best way to surprise them.
Showing up would definitely do the trick, but I’d be a bad son if I didn’t try to make my appearance extra special.
“I’d have gotten around to flashing my badge to find out which room they were in.”
“Only after we spent a few hours waiting for them to go through the lobby.”
“This does not follow the spirit of a stake-out.”
“Good thing this isn’t a stake-out.”
My godfather glared at me. “Spoilsport.”
“Think if you knock and I hide to the side and jump out at them we’ll get a good reaction?”
“Probably.”
“You knock, I ambush.”
Chuckling, he nodded and went ahead of me down the hallway. When we reached my parents’ room, Lewis listened at the door for a few moments before gesturing for me to come forward. I took my spot beside the doorway, ready to pounce on my mother or father.
After the third knock, the door cracked open. “Lewis? What are you doing here?” Dad growled.
“I visited your child, and since he was worried, I offered to tail you and help out.”
By claiming he’d visited me, Lewis explained why my scent lingered on him.
Dad fell for it hook, line, and sinker, opening the door and taking a single step into the hallway. In his human form, he was taller than me by a few inches and had plenty of muscle to withstand my full weight slamming into him. I caught him completely by surprise, and we hit the floor hard, giving me the advantage, which I used to pin him beneath me. “Hi, Dad.”
“Shane Abraham Gibson!” my mother shrieked. “What are you doing here?”
I sat on my father’s chest cross-legged and grinned up at her. “I stole Lewis’s motorcycle. It’s pretty cool. I also conned the surgeon into letting me out of prison early. Some weirdo came to the house after I’d finished cleaning the kitchen. Apparently, I’m the bait.”
Dad snarled, hooked his arms around my waist, and tossed me over his head. I yelped, tucked, and rolled, landing on my back hard enough to drive the air out of my lungs. Since turnabout was fair play, he jumped me, braced his knee against my right shoulder, and pinned me down in an iron grip. “I left you in the hospital safe and sound this morning. This is not the hospital. This is not safe or sound. What are you doing here?”
If my father had been in his hybrid form, his looming over me with his teeth bared might’ve been enough to scare even me.
Lewis let himself into the room and closed the door behind him. “Harold called the station to report your brat had escaped. He was worried. Said Shane looked pale and tired, so while he didn’t want to impose and barge in, he didn’t want to leave him alone, either. The chief suggested I take some time off work and keep an eye on things. When I went to your house, your boy had done a top to bottom cleaning of your kitchen. I couldn’t leave him unsupervised. I even put him in a bullet-proof vest before we left. He’s already proven himself quite useful, as he charmed the nice lady working the front desk into give us your room number.”
“Lewis!” my father snarled.
I tilted my head back and waved at my mother with my left hand. “Hi, Mom. Miss me?”
Yanking my parents’ chains came with risks, and my mother planted her bare, smelly foot on my face, digging her toes into my chin. I considered myself lucky she didn’t break my nose. “I haven’t washed my feet in at least two days.”
I shuddered and tried to avoid breathing. It didn’t work very well. “I can tell. That’s almost as disgusting as your fridge. Come on. Just because I got shot doesn’t mean you have to abandon basic hygiene. For fuck’s sake, go take a shower. You’re going to announce yo
ur presence to everyone within a block if you leave here with your feet stinking worse than a skunk.”
My parents had the decency to blanch and look embarrassed, with the added bonus of my mother moving her foot to my left shoulder. “You looked in the fridge?”
“Looked implies I, like you, closed the door and ignored its contents. No, I cleaned your fridge. I deemed every pot and pan in there a biohazard and got rid of them. I also scraped two more pancakes off the ceiling. You two are grounded until you can act like the adults you’re supposed to be. Obviously, you can’t be left unattended, so I’m here to keep you from being dangers to yourselves.”
My parents exchanged long looks before Dad sighed, got off me, and hauled me to my feet. The room had a pair of double beds, and he shoved me onto the nearest one. “You do realize we’re here tracking down the man who shot you, right?”
“He’s aware. He was quite happy to come help. We come bearing gifts of new information.” My godfather took his leather jacket off and tossed it onto the other bed. “The NYPD called. There’s reason to believe Shane was a target because of Sally, who’s probably a transformed young woman in the process of being sold in a sex trafficking ring.”
My parents’ eyes widened. My mother turned a sickly gray. “Sex trafficking ring? What sex trafficking ring?”
“One involving a New York City mafia with probable connections to a ring here in Des Moines. The NYPD was able to identify Shane’s shooter from the sketch. His name’s Mark O’Conners, and he’s a second-generation Irish-American with known ties to the Italian mafia in New York.”
“And you brought my son where it’d be easier for them to get him?” My mother’s voice went up a full octave, and I grimaced.
“Mom, I’m fine. I’m armed. Oh, you can arrest me later. I stole one of your guns from your cabinet.”
“Shane Abraham Gibson! What has gotten into you?” She towered over me, planting her hands on her hips. “You did not steal one of my guns. You would never do something so irresponsible.”
I lifted my right arm and revealed the holster containing her leopard print Desert Eagle. “Why did you do such a terrible thing to such a respectable gun, Mom?”