Claws Bared

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Ah.” His blue eyes sought mine out, the concern on his face ripping at my barriers. “You going to be okay to work then? Or just—” the edges of his mouth twisted up, “—play?”

  “I’m here to find Hansa’s killer.” I took a step back, retreating from his touch. “That’s all.”

  “Right.” Conceding defeat for the moment, he nodded toward the gathering. “Let’s go get some food. You look like you could use a good meal.”

  I followed him down the well-worn path to the open field.

  It looked like a lawn party with a large pavilion set up at one end of the meadow, not far from the barn. The white plastic tables under the tent groaned under aluminum foil trays of fried chicken, potato salad, cabbage rolls, pierogies and various side dishes. A bevy of women gathered at one end, fussing as they set out stacks of paper plates and napkins. Off to one side lay a stack of metal folding chairs, brothers to the ones already set around some of the empty tables sitting out in the sun.

  A series of coolers stacked in the corner of the tent sweated water.

  “Five types of beer and seven types of pop,” Trace volunteered. “Name your poison.”

  “Ah...” My throat ached for a cold drink until I turned and spotted Carson. Even at a distance I could see the anger in his stride, each step ripping a divot in the grass.

  My desire for a drink faded, replaced by a small kernel of fear taking root in my belly. I’d bearded the lion in his own den and he wasn’t happy.

  Trace cocked an eyebrow as Carson approached us. The chief’s face was red and blotchy. It didn’t take Felis skills to see he was pissed.

  “Reaping what you sow.” He glanced at me, then back at Carson.

  I saw the confusion in his eyes. Carson was a Board member and his senior in the Pride. I was neither but he wanted to protect me. It wasn’t just a play to get in my pants; male Felis had a natural urge to protect females.

  Except I wasn’t any regular female Felis.

  “Go scout out the food,” I said, giving him an easy out. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” I put on my tough guy look. “I’ll be fine. Can’t be any worse than telling some guy his wife left him for his sister and they’re headed for Cancun with his credit cards.”

  Trace chuckled before accepting defeat.

  “I’ll see you later.” He nodded before heading off toward the tables, trotting away from what we both knew was going to be trouble.

  Carson shot a glance toward Trace before coming to a stop in front of me. He was visibly shaking as he wagged a finger in my face. He’d changed out of his uniform and now wore a light blue T-shirt and jeans. His cowboy boots dug into the ground in front of me, scattering dirt clumps on my running shoes.

  “You went to my home. You went to my wife,” he sputtered. “We told you—”

  “You told me what you wanted. Then I did what I needed to do.”

  “You answer to the Board,” he snarled. “You answer to us.”

  I crossed my arms. “No, I answer to the law.” I paused for a second, wondering how far I could push it. “As you do. And if I’m running a murder investigation I’ll do as I see fit.”

  “Jess said you were a bitch. I want you out of here tonight. I want you on the next fucking plane back to the tundra.”

  “I don’t think so.” I jerked my thumb back toward the nearly full parking lot. “You get the Board together and you vote on it. Then you call Jess up and explain how you’re tossing my ass out before I finish my work. And then you can get your report ready for the Grand Council and repeat all the earlier bullshit.”

  “Get. Out,” he screamed, drawing more spectators to our little discussion.

  “Make me.”

  It was a calculated gamble. If I didn’t draw the line here I’d have no chance of finding Hansa’s killer with all the Pride laws and restrictions. There had already been too much lost time thanks to the bureaucracy blocking my way.

  Carson Changed, his features shifting and warping into feline mode. Light brown fur covered his face as his teeth extended forward, showing me a great set of fangs. The tips of his ears grew tufts of fur as they became more pointed, his bald head disappearing under short grey fuzz blending in with the rest of his brown coloring.

  I didn’t move.

  His claws shot out from between his knuckles, the sharp nails inches from my legs. He let out something between a hiss and a growl, slitted eyes locked with mine in a duel of wills.

  I resisted the urge to yawn. There was only so far you could push a Felis before he or she snapped, and I was at a major disadvantage, being unable to Change.

  “Back off, Dax.” The familiar voice came from behind me. I didn’t turn to look. I couldn’t afford to look.

  The wind shifted, sending a number of scents my way. Harris McCallum.

  Trace must have sent him my way to defuse the situation. If he could.

  “She spoke to April after we told her not to. She went to my house.” Carson thumped his chest with one furred hand. “My house.”

  “I know. But giving her a beating isn’t going to fix that.” McCallum moved into my field of vision on my right side, unChanged. “Go get yourself a beer. Let me take care of this.” His voice was a low purr, a soothing tone I suspected had wooed many women into bed.

  If Trace had the same ability I was in deep, deep trouble.

  I held my breath, waiting to see what Carson would do. If he attacked me there’d be no defense, no escape.

  His nose twitched.

  “Bitch.” He spun on his heel and stomped away, growling at a pack of kits nearby who scattered to the four winds.

  McCallum took his place. “I’m sorry about Dax. He takes his privacy very seriously.”

  “I got that impression.” My voice was steady, unlike my nerves. I felt like I’d mainlined a dozen cups of strong coffee.

  “You shouldn’t have blown us off. We have rules for a reason,” McCallum said, a touch of disapproval in his voice. He shook his head. “I know you’ve got your own way of doing things, but you’ve got to respect our ways.”

  “April’s a possible suspect. I wanted to get her side of the story. Not going to get that with him standing right behind her.” I looked after the retreating chief. “I didn’t know it’d upset him so much. I’m sorry.”

  McCallum nodded, pressing his lips tightly together. “Dax lost his first wife to cancer. Married over twenty years. Happened fast. Six months and she was gone. They were high school sweethearts, inseparable. Dax mourned for a year before starting to date again. Met April a year after that and got remarried. Been together for three years now.”

  I felt like the mud under my running shoes.

  “Since he married April he’s been sensitive about people thinking he went for a young, stupid one. Anyone makes fun of her he’s right there. First year they were married he fought three challenges.” The older man chuckled. “It was a rough year for the kits.”

  I chewed on my pride for a second. “Can’t blame him for being sensitive.” I looked over to Carson, who sat alone at a nearby table. He hadn’t Changed back. “Should I apologize?”

  “Nah.” McCallum shook his head. “He’ll get over it.” His mood lightened. “Now, let me get you settled over here at a table with some food and I’ll send the women over one by one for you to talk to.”

  He maneuvered me over to a side table just far enough away from the herd to give me some privacy, and waved over Trace, who had been hovering just out of earshot.

  “Trace, get ’er some food.” McCallum beamed, his thumbs jabbed in the waistband of his jeans. “Give her a taste of real cooking, not that pulverized crap from the city.”

  I settled in behind the white paper tablecloth and pulled out my notepad. A good pen and paper will never crash on you or die suddenly in the middle of a storm.

  Besides, I still hadn’t figured out how to use half the features on the new smartphone Bran had given me.

  Trace returned a few minutes later wi
th two plastic food trays. “I figured I’d get you a good sampling of what we’ve got.”

  I gawked at the stack of fried chicken, barbecued ribs, cabbage rolls, pierogies, potato salad, macaroni salad, coleslaw, a pair of rolls and two types of pie on my tray along with a single can of beer.

  Trace sat across from me with his own tray filled with the same items. “Let’s take it from the top and forget today.” He cleared his throat. “So you’re a private investigator, Miss Desjardin.” He pronounced it the right way, day-shar-dan.

  “Please, call me Reb.” I studied the food tower, unsure how to attack it. The first thing I did was pop the top on the beer. It was cold and wet, meeting two of my major requirements for beer.

  “You’re here for the dead stripper.” Trace stripped a drumstick in less time than it took for me to unfold my napkin.

  “Exotic dancer.”

  We both grinned.

  “So, you’re single. I’m single. Let’s get married,” he said through a mouthful of coleslaw.

  Chapter Six

  I choked on a thick chunk of chicken before grabbing my beer. It took half the can to wash the surprise down.

  “What?”

  He let out a low chuckle. “Thought I’d get that out of the way. I’m awful with the foreplay.” His long slender fingers danced over a chicken thigh, pulling off the crispy skin with ease. “If you need my help with anything just ask.”

  I dabbed at the edge of my mouth with a napkin. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Good. I hate kids.” His smile was infectious. “Don’t shoot the messenger. They wanted someone watching your back and I was available.”

  “In more ways than one.” The potato salad had chopped scallions in it and just the right amount of mayo and mustard. My stomach sang with happiness.

  He shrugged. “Lost my wife five years ago to a drunk driver.” His hand went up, palm-first. “Please don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone is. I understand. And I’m okay with it. Kid driver died in the crash and there’s no one left to blame.”

  I worked on tearing the chicken wing apart. “Right.”

  “The Pride thinks I should be ready to remarry. And you’re here and single and not a blood relation, so...” He frowned, a hint of humor bouncing on his lips. “I don’t think you look much like a farm wife.”

  “I’m outcast.” I never thought I’d be using the phrase to fight off a possible suitor.

  Trace nodded. “So I hear.” His gaze traveled outward over the clusters of women nearby. “I’ll be honest—I don’t want kids and there’s not a whole lot of choice ’round here unless I go for jailbait or widows.”

  “You could go to another Pride.”

  “I could.” He smiled. “But you’re here and I don’t like to travel. And I don’t give a shit about your status up in Canada. If you can live with it I can, and hang the rest of them who can’t.”

  I coughed to hide the tears building up behind my eyelids. If nothing else Trace Bryson was a good man. “Thank you. I’m sort of spoken for at the moment.” I chewed on the non-business end of the plastic fork. “What do you know about Mike Hansa?”

  “Never met the guy personally but I saw him about town. He liked the ladies and got paid to do it.” Trace laughed. “Hell, half the men in the Pride would be up on that stage in a second if we weren’t banned from working there.”

  “Banned?”

  “Board says it’d be too tempting to hook up with a human woman, grab a one-night stand every day of the week.” Trace waved his fork in the air. “Avoid temptation and all that. Keeping it pure.” The fork landed in the macaroni salad. “Ain’t no law against marrying humans as you know. But the Board figures we should try to keep it at home as much as possible.” He gave me a sly look. “Besides, it’d make the human men jealous.” His hips shifted against the table. “Not a fair competition.”

  “And no one worries about the Felis women dating the dancers?”

  Trace chuckled. “You’ve met April. Her attitude toward humans, especially males, isn’t unique. We tend to stick to our own. Play hard, party hard, but bring it home to your Felis mate at the end of the night.” His voice dropped to a low purr. “Then play hard again.”

  I wrestled with a fat piece of potato, hoping I wasn’t blushing too loudly. “We can breed with humans, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He gave me a curious look. “Most interesting.”

  “How do the men feel about the ladies going to the club?” The tartness of the macaroni salad pulled my lips together. “Any jealousy? Anyone upset their girlfriend or mates are going to watch semi-naked men shaking it?”

  “At the beginning there were a few spats here and there, especially among the younger ones. You know how couples are.” He sucked on his fingers. “Got worked out. No one went to the hospital, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So everyone’s good with the club?”

  “To a degree.” He loaded up his fork with potato salad. “Can I say I’d be happy if it weren’t there? Sure. Not too happy ’bout the morality play going on when the license comes up for renewal from the town council. But the area needs money and we need businesses to invest in the town. They pay taxes and as long as the license gets renewed every three months they’re going to be here.”

  “Three months?” I reached for the napkin, resisting the urge to lick my own fingers. “That’s really short for a business license, isn’t it?”

  “Special provision of the club being allowed to open up. Every three months it comes up in front of the town council and they vote. Idea was that it’d be a good way to judge the public reaction and deal with any problems before it got too serious. Every time they’ve voted it’s been three to two with the mayor and one other councilman casting the negative vote.” He let out a soft laugh. “Langstrom may be a tough bitch but she’s reliable. She’s never going to vote for the club.”

  I wrestled with a chicken bone. “When does she come up for re-election? That might screw her out of a job if the club is successful and making money for the public.”

  “Another year. But people like an opposing view ’round here. Keeps things stable, balanced.” He demolished a drumstick while I watched. “All ’bout keeping things level.”

  “Anyone ever think of running for mayor against her?” I nodded toward his uncle sitting at a nearby table. “McCallum, for example.”

  Trace chuckled. “He wouldn’t go for that. He likes being on the Board too much to take on a major position in the outside world.”

  “You can do both.” I dismembered a thigh with my fingers. “Carson does.”

  “True. But keeping the law’s different than running the political gauntlet. Besides, we’ve already got one Felis on the town council. I don’t think we need to go whole hog trying to take ’em over.”

  “Who’s on the town council?” I resisted the urge to drop my chicken bone and scramble for my notebook and pencil.

  “Lisa Darning.” He looked around, getting partially to his feet as he scanned the growing crowd of Felis. “Don’t see her ’round. She’ll be here though—she always loves good chicken.”

  “What’s on the schedule for today? After we stuff ourselves silly?”

  Trace snapped a chicken bone in half and examined it. “We get together like this once a month. Have a big meal, chat and go for a run. Good way to keep in touch with everyone and if the Board has something to say they can tell us here without sending out emails or anything that could be intercepted.”

  I munched on a piece of crispy skin. “What’s the vibe going ’round about Hansa’s death? Deserved, not deserved, what a pain in the ass...”

  His mouth twitched. “No one’s really sure what to think. One of us killing a human, that’s something big. Not to be done lightly if at all.” He licked his fingertips again. “Unless he was a threat, and I can’t see how that’d happen. I mean, a human—what could he do to threaten a Felis?” The pride in his voice was obvious.

>   I coughed back a comment about not underestimating humans, not taking their weaknesses for granted. True, Felis could move faster and we came with our own natural weapons, but I’d seen some pretty nasty fellows in my time who could give some Felis men a run for their money.

  I spotted a woman walking toward us and opted for the easy way out of what could be a sticky conversation. “I think this is my first interview. I hate to toss you out but...”

  Trace got to his feet and picked up his near-empty tray. “No problem. I’ll swing by later on before the run.”

  I watched him walk away. He might be widowed and a bit pushy but he knew how to dress.

  Those jeans were tight and showcased his ass in all the right ways.

  The petite woman slid into his still-warm chair. “I’m Mandy.” She didn’t offer her hand, crossing her arms in front of her in a pretty obvious indication she didn’t want to be there. “Got told you’re looking into Mike’s death. Got told to come and talk to you.”

  The twenty-something had short red hair, a fraction of an inch over her scalp. Well-defined muscles under her “Girlz Rule!” T-shirt told me she was a hunter and not just in the forest.

  “Yep.” I wiped my mouth with the napkin, hoping I didn’t have greasy chicken smears all over my face. “So how well did you know Mike?”

  “Well enough.” She shrugged and scraped her nails across the hard plastic surface. “He danced, I paid. Nutting more d’an dat.”

  A whiff of alcohol brushed over me. She was a few beers ahead of me.

  “Are you married?” I didn’t see a wedding ring but that didn’t mean anything these days.

  “No. Not looking either.” A glimmer of a smile appeared on her face. “Dumped my boyfriend a year ago and not racing into anything.”

  I nodded. “Anyone ticked off at Mike that you know of?”

  Mandy frowned, her eyes focusing on the ripped-up grass under our feet. “All the women liked him. Some of the men too but he didn’t swing that way. Mike was just a dancer and everyone who met him knew that straight up. He danced, you paid and everyone went home happy.”