Claws Bared

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Instead of 911,” Trace said in a low voice. I threw him a warning glance.

  “I didn’t want anyone to find out it was me,” Sophia babbled. “I called Carson. Told him I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  “Was Mike still alive when he arrived?” I had to ask.

  Sophia looked off to the side, her eyes focused on a distant, unseen target. “He fell over onto his back and gasped a bit. He didn’t look at me.” Her breaths were shallow and strained. “Carson pulled in ’bout then. He got out of the car and leaned over Mike, said something to him.”

  Patty, Trace and I exchanged glances. If she had seen Carson’s claws...

  “What did he say to you?” I knelt down by the broken woman. “What did he do?”

  She looked down at her own jagged fingernails. “Told me to go inside and get a drink, forget the whole thing ever happened. He pulled out a knife, told me he’d make it look like an animal attack, take care of everything. Be our own little secret.” She popped the bloody finger into her mouth, talking around the injured flesh. “I went to the bar and didn’t come outside until the cop showed up saying he found a body in the back.”

  “How did you make sure no one else found him?” I asked.

  Patty interrupted the trembling manager. “She told us there was a problem with the Dumpster—it was overflowing and she didn’t want anyone getting hurt if they slipped on garbage.” She let out an annoyed huff. “There’s so few of us at the end of the night and no one smokes. It was just easier to head out.” She glanced at Sophia. “I balanced my till and left.”

  Sophia nodded. “Carson told me he’d fix it all up. All I had to do was play along.”

  The reality slapped me across the face like a cold northern wind. Carson knew everything, had known everything all along. We’d been played from the minute I got on the plane in Toronto.

  “So where is Carson?” Patty tilted her head to one side, keeping a wary eye on the broken woman.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  A Felis is a hunter. And like all hunters, we go for the weakest in the herd. Cut him out, get him alone and then kill him.

  “Oh God.” I pushed Trace away and stumbled toward my car, fishing in my long coat for my keys. “He’s going for Bran. He’s going for the easy kill.”

  The keys fell out of my numb fingers and bounced along the gravel.

  Trace’s hand landed on my shoulder. “You can’t drive.” He picked up the keys. “Patty, keep ’er safe until we clear this up.” He hustled me into the passenger seat, taking precious seconds to do up my seat belt. “I’ve got to call my uncle.”

  Patty nodded, keeping guard over the hysterical woman. “They’ll want an update.”

  They being the Board. The Board being the people who hired me. One of which was as corrupt as you could get.

  I gripped the dashboard with both hands, trying to slow my breathing. It’d been right in front of me and I’d failed to see it, failed to see the obvious.

  “Carson’s the one taking the bribes from the club and funneling them to the corrupt politicians, using his position to avoid questions.” I wheezed as the tires skittered over the small stones before leaping onto the highway. “It wouldn’t be odd to see him at the club, see him talking to Sophia. Same when he paid visits to the councilors to give them their cut. Goddamn bastard was probably taking payoffs from everyone for everything.”

  Trace tapped on his cell phone as we bounced over a railroad crossing. “Keep talking. Keep breathing.” He glanced at me. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t Change.”

  I started to curse him back but snarled instead. “He’s going to kill Bran. He’s going to kill Bran and take the laptop and we’ll never be able to find Hancock’s notes again.”

  “I meant it,” he roared, spinning the car around a corner. “Stop it.”

  I growled again, about to remind him I couldn’t Change until I spotted my hands on the dashboard.

  The long Felis claws dug into the dark blue plastic, scarring the blank surface. I clenched my teeth and tried to slow my breathing, take command back. It was one of the first things we learned as kits—to control our Changing and do it when and where we wanted.

  I wanted.

  But I couldn’t. I held my breath, working through old exercises like a feeble boxer trying to remember how to work the bag.

  The claws retracted through the punctured skin slowly and painfully, the only evidence I’d ever manifested my Felis heritage the small wounds between my knuckles. Blood oozed from the cuts but I knew that’d heal quickly enough.

  “It’s Carson. He’s the killer,” Trace snapped into the cell phone. He glanced at me as we fishtailed around a corner. “Martin killed Hancock by accident but Carson fixed it to look like a Felis did it.” Another sideways look. “Carson’s been running bribe money to the town council to keep the club open.”

  “Good work. We’ll take it from here.” The gruff voice did nothing to cool my temper. “We’re calling a hunt. Won’t take long to find him.”

  “You’ll fucking get Bran killed,” I shouted.

  Any answer McCallum gave was cut off by the tires squealing as we hit the hotel parking lot, bouncing over the curb and skidding sideways toward the entrance.

  I undid the seat belt, flung the door open and threw myself out, tucking and rolling like I’d done this all my life. The leather duster took the worst of the abuse and my left shoulder throbbed from even more abuse, but I was up on my feet and running for the hotel door.

  “Reb!” Trace’s voice came from behind me but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

  The hotel clerk’s eyes went wide as I raced past him, the same young kit from earlier. If there was anyone else in the lobby I didn’t see them, my tunnel vision aiming only for my hotel room, our hotel room.

  The door was open when I hit it with my shoulder, slamming through into the bedroom.

  It was empty.

  The overturned table rocked from side to side. A water bottle lay on the floor, the clear liquid rocking back and forth at my approach. Cracks spread out to the edges of the television set from something or someone hitting it dead center.

  I smelled Carson.

  I smelled Bran.

  I smelled Bran’s blood.

  The dark smear on the carpet screamed at my senses as I knelt down and touched the damp fibers.

  “Kit at the front desk says Carson told him he was here to bust a drug dealer.” Trace appeared in the doorway. “He said he had a warrant for Hanover’s arrest. That’s why no one challenged him.” He shook his head. “Man’s still the police chief.”

  “He’ll need more than a title when I get hold of him.” I stood up, ignoring the throbbing in my shoulder. “What’s McCallum say?”

  Trace shook the cell phone in his hand. “Everyone’s gone on high alert all over the town and throughout the county.” He locked eyes with me. “If he pokes his head up we’ll have him.”

  “He’s gone to ground with a hostage. He’s not going home to wait for us to visit.” I pushed by him back into the hallway. “He’s going to negotiate Bran’s life for his own. For immunity for covering up Hancock’s murder and for taking bribe money.”

  “Shit.” Trace’s voice followed me back down the corridor. “This isn’t going to end well.”

  I stopped in the lobby. The kit was nowhere in sight and a handful of black pickups were pulling into the parking lot.

  “This is going to end in blood,” I rasped.

  Chapter Fourteen

  McCallum got out of the first truck as I approached the truck posse. He looked greyer and older than the last time I’d seen him.

  “We’ve got Sophia sequestered in her office under guard. Patty’s closed the club down—story’s that there’s electrical problems, too dangerous to open ’er up for the public.”

  Plussey got out of another truck. Mike and Dave, the twins, out of a third. They didn’t look at me or Trace, moving as one to stan
d behind Plussey.

  “I’ve called Carl Stanford,” Plussey said to us. “He’s on his way.”

  I glanced at Trace.

  “State trooper,” he offered. “He can move in here and take care of the situation without anyone poking around more than they have to.”

  Translation: another Felis who could help cover the tracks.

  “He’ll be here in a few hours.” Plussey turned toward the twins. “Where is Carson?”

  Dave answered first, sputtering as he rocked from side to side. “He didn’t tell us nothing.”

  Mike nodded. “Nothing, boss. We ain’t seen him since the diner.”

  I stepped up in front of the pair, moving far within their personal space.

  “If I smell Bran’s blood on you,” I snarled, “there is nothing in this world that’s going to stop me from taking you both apart.” I curled my fingers into a fist. “Claws or no claws I’ll flay the skin right off your miserable hides if you’re lying.”

  Dave flinched under my gaze. Mike stared straight ahead as if I wasn’t even there.

  I closed my eyes, leaned in and inhaled. Sweat and a faint whiff of beer—but no Bran.

  “We ain’t seen Carson,” Mike repeated as I stepped back.

  McCallum moved up beside Trace. “Think he went to his hunting camp?”

  Trace shrugged. “If he’s going to ground it’d be a place to check.” He moved toward his truck, still in the parking lot. “Might want to talk to April first.”

  “Already got some women with her,” McCallum said. “She ain’t going nowhere.”

  “I’ll take the camp,” Trace replied. His shoulders drew back, the predator in him taking control. “Creep in from the side, take the trails.”

  “I’m going with you.” I turned my back on the twins. “Where’s this camp?”

  Trace froze.

  McCallum opened his mouth a fraction before clamping his lips shut. He glanced at Plussey, the sharp look sending the second Board member at me like a bullet.

  I let him move in front of me, paying respect to my elders. “You wanted me to find Hancock’s killer and I did.”

  “And we’re grateful for that. Now we’ll take care of it.” Plussey put as much authority as he could into his voice. “It’s our problem now.”

  “No.” I sliced the air with one hand. “I’m the one who let Bran get into this situation and I’m going to be the one to get him out.”

  Dead or alive, the small voice in my mind said.

  A smile tugged at Plussey’s thin lips. “Jess said you were a handful.”

  “She understated the obvious.” I headed for my rental car, watching what the other men did. I didn’t want to fight my way out of the parking lot but I would if I had to.

  McCallum gave Trace a nod, sending him after me.

  He intercepted me before I opened the door. “This could get messy.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” I clasped the handle tight. “You’re either going to help me or stop me. If you’re going to stop me you’re going to have to knock me out.” I nodded toward the twins. “And I’m not above ball-busting to get what I want.”

  Trace’s right eyebrow rose. “Tempting. Very tempting but I’m not into that much kink.” He reached over and plucked the keys from my hand. “I’ll drive. We can get to the camp faster than me giving you directions.”

  I slid into the passenger seat. Trace jammed the key into the ignition and we were off.

  Trace said nothing until we were well clear of the parking lot, speeding along the narrow road far above the posted limit. The trees sprang up on each side of us, splitting the sunbeams into narrow daggers stretching across the road.

  “We should have figured it out earlier,” he said so softly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him. “Damned idiots.”

  I wasn’t sure who he was referring to. I didn’t care.

  Trace’s phone squawked. He looked down at his lap where it lay and gave a snort.

  “Roadblocks already set up by the troopers. Told them Carson took a hostage. He’s not getting away from us.” He slipped it back into the holder on his belt.

  I bit down on my lower lip, holding back my response. I might be a city girl now but I knew how easy it was to disappear in the wilderness.

  “How many back roads are there out of the county?” I asked.

  A low growl answered me. “Enough. But he’s going to want to stick to the highways for the first bit to gain ground on us. He can drive faster than he can jog, especially dragging a hostage with him.” He smacked the steering wheel with the heel of one hand. “Why did the bastard run? If he’d brought it to the Board, fessed up, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “He killed a man,” I stated. “He killed Hancock to keep his bribery secret. There’s no excuse for that.”

  “We could have fixed it,” Trace said. “We could have done it right.” He gritted his teeth together. “No reason we couldn’t have.”

  I tamped down the anger bubbling up near the surface.

  A blast of music came from the cell phone, some trite pop tune. Trace looked down.

  I turned my attention from the dense trees back to the road.

  “Trace!” I shouted, grabbing at the dashboard.

  He glanced up from the small screen and slammed on the brakes. His knuckles went white as he wrestled for control of the steering wheel, gripping it with all his strength.

  The car twisted and lurched from side to side with the smell and scream of burning rubber filling the air.

  We fishtailed for a good fifty feet before coming to a stop. Pain pulsed through my shoulder as I leaned back in the seat, the pressure of the seat belt grinding against my skin.

  “You okay?” Trace unsnapped his belt. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah,” I gasped, undoing my own seat belt. “I wasn’t using those lungs anyway.”

  The police cruiser lay on the shoulder of the narrow road, the front end smashed in. A dump truck sat before it with an elderly man sitting on one crushed bumper, shaking his head. He seemed unharmed and confused.

  We both bolted from the car. Trace headed for the old man, I for the police car.

  I stopped at the open driver’s door. Blood on the windshield, blood on the steering wheel. Airbag deflated and hanging limp from the dashboard.

  Carson.

  Blood on the back seat. A few drops smeared across the hard plastic seat shells.

  Bran.

  “I swear I didn’t do anything wrong,” the driver stuttered to Trace, his cigarette trembling in one hand. “I put out the flares like I was supposed to.”

  I glanced behind the cruiser. The safety flares continued to spark and smoke where they lay scattered in the brush.

  “Saw the lights flashing and he come right down the road, fast as blazes. I thought he was gonna pull over and help me. Instead he goes all wild, jerking back and forth across the road.” The man’s hands flew back and forth as he illustrated the car’s frantic movement. “Then he smacks into the back of my truck.” The cigarette bobbed up and down. “I was broke down before—now I’m crashed as well. Boss is gonna be pissed.”

  “What happened then?” Trace continued the interrogation, his hands flying over the minute keyboard on his phone.

  “I goes over to see if he’s okay, you know?” The well-worn Pittsburgh Steelers baseball cap bounced as his hands continued their pantomime. “I sees the officer slumped over the wheel. Fella wasn’t buckled in or nothing—I thought they was supposed to follow the law same as us.”

  “Then what?” Trace demanded. He wasn’t going to be sidetracked.

  I walked around the other side of the car, edging into the deep brush. The trail was there, easy for any half-assed tracker to find.

  One man on the run, one following.

  “Officer wakes up, starts screaming about getting away. I open the door and pull him out onto the road.” He rubbed the bristles on his chin. “Thought car was gonna blow up.”

  “A good
decision.” Trace nodded, encouraging him on. “Then what?”

  “The guy in the back, he’s pounding on the window. I figure he’s hurt or something and I see he’s handcuffed so I let him out.” The trucker turned his head and let loose a stream of liquid tobacco into the dirt.

  I whirled around. “Pounding on the window? His hands were in front of him?”

  Trace shot me a curious look. “Carson is a pro. He would have cuffed him in the back.”

  “Bran must have gotten them down around his feet and up in front.” My pulse increased at the mental image of him wrestling in the back seat. “Then he must have attacked Carson somehow, made him crash.”

  The trucker looked from Trace to me to Trace again, licking his lips. “Is he a murderer or somethin’? I didn’t do nothing wrong, right?”

  Trace patted his shoulder. “You were checking to see if they needed medical attention. That was a wise decision.”

  The older man’s forehead furrowed as he continued. “The guy from the back, he starts wrestling with the cop’s belt. I figure he wants to get the gun so I grab him and tell him to back off.” He looked at me, trying to judge my reaction. “He grabs something off the cop’s belt and runs into the woods.”

  “What did he take?” Trace prompted.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t the gun. I wouldn’t have let him go off with that, no siree.” The baseball cap shook back and forth. “So suddenly the cop wakes up and he’s all shaky. I tell him what happened and he draws his pistol and stumbles off into the brush. Don’t even thank me for keeping the fella away from his gun.” The driver wiped sweat from his forehead with a filthy dingy-grey handkerchief. “I called after him, said I was gonna call 911 but he didn’t say nothing back.”

  Trace stepped back, fingers dancing as he frantically texted the information to the hunters.

  I patted the older man on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help. Someone’s going to be here in a few minutes and give you a hand.” My pulse pounded in my ears as I muttered something else about the weather.

  “They’re coming in from the north and east.” Trace touched my arm. He looked at the trucker, raising his voice. “There’s going to be some state troopers coming here to help out.”