Bran huffed, mock anger on his face. “Why, I never!”
“Probably. But you can be taught.” Strolling to the computer desk, I hit the buttons to activate the system. “And don’t forget the diet soda.” My jeans were draped over the back of the office chair and I shuffled my way into them. “Actually, forget the diet part. Full caffeination is what I need right now and I’ll work off the sugar later.” I settled into the chair, trying to tune out the man hovering nearby. “And put more clothes on, please.”
I closed my eyes and I took a series of deep breaths, trying to reach that quiet place again. Ruth had been in my life for as long as I could remember, helping me through the difficult years after my parents died and through the trauma of dealing with the Change. She had been the one to dress my wounds after that last, horrible Challenge.
“You stay in touch with me, no matter where you go,” she had murmured, pressing cool moist strips against my burning skin. I had flinched under her touch, tears running down my face.
“But the rules say—” I had bitten down on my lip, stifling another yelp as the bandages shifted. The social workers had been called, the front story arranged to say my parents had just died and I’d been injured in the car crash that left me alone.
“I don’t ‘do’ rules. You stay in touch with me. Send me one of those April Fool’s cards every year. I’ll know who it’s from.”
And I had. Every year on the first of April I had sent out a generic card with no return address. I never received any cards but she knew I was alive and that would have to be enough.
Closing my eyes, I forced the memories back. Ruth’s death would be meaningless if I couldn’t find a way to connect it to Langley, and Langley to Janey’s killer and my attacker. I stared at the computer screen, fingers resting on the keyboard. Time to get my head into the game.
An hour later I had little more than I had started out with. Bran frowned when I banged the dark oak desk with one hand.
“Hey, don’t blame the messenger.” He sprawled on the couch, his phone up to one ear. At least he had read my mood enough to keep his distance, choosing to hog the lines and work his own angles. “I’m still trying to get through to my contacts in the RCMP. They might have a file on this guy.” Unable to stay still, Bran hopped back up and began to pace around the floor as if we were on a Hunt together.
“Except it’s not really him.” I stared at the screen as if my scowling would bring up the information I wanted. “It’s not quite him, it’s some sort of relative. I can’t exactly explain it or put it better than that.”
“I don’t really get it, but okay.” He came up behind me, pushing the ponytail out of the way to kiss my neck. “By the way, where’d your tail go?”
“My what?” I was still distracted by the lack of progress on the screen.
“Your tail.” Trapping the phone between his chin and shoulder, he wiggled his butt at me, waving his free hand in the air. “That long thing that keeps getting trapped under rocking chairs and all. You said you didn’t have one now, so what happens to it?”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand, middle finger extended. “Surprised you remember that bit of the conversation. Actually, that disappears after the first few months as a baby. We don’t have them as adults at all.”
“Dang. Make a nice little fashion accessory.” He pranced on by, encouraging me to reach out and hit him in the centre of his back with a slap.
My cellphone began to ring. Flipping it open I put it to my ear. “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Ms. Desjardin. This is the Toronto Police Service.” It wasn’t Hank or anyone I had worked with.
“You’ve got her. What’s up?” I steeled myself for yet more bad news. Unfortunately, I was right.
“Do you still reside at 333 Triller Avenue?”
“Yes.” My pulse began to increase exponentially with each word. “I’m at a friend’s right now. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that someone broke into your house last night. Neighbourhood Watch reported the incident and a patrol car arrived soon after. We were unable to find an intruder but we did secure the scene. How soon can you come home?”
“I’m on the way.” I pushed the chair back from the computer desk with such fury I think it left skid marks.
“Merde!” I grabbed my jacket, startling Bran who was still waiting on his own connection. “I have to go.” I wheezed as I struggled to get my shoes on.
“What happened?” Flipping his own cellphone shut and tossing it onto the couch, Bran bounced to his feet and walked over to me. “What’s wrong?”
“My place was trashed last night.” Digging in my back pocket, I found my wallet. My fingers trembled as I checked the contents. All my credit cards were there, my house and car keys in my jacket pocket. At least I didn't have to worry about identity theft, not right now. “I have to go see what’s left. Five bucks says that Attersley’s there as well, wanting to know why I’m suddenly the new choice of all the crack-heads in Parkdale.”
Chapter 12
“You shouldn't drive.” Bran plucked the car keys from my numb fingers, dropping a fast kiss onto my lips. “It’ll be fine.” His words were low and soft. “It’ll be fine.”
“No, no it won’t.” I shook my head, looking back toward the folders on the table. “I’m not sure if it’s ever going to be fine again.”
Bran pulled me into a bear hug. “It’ll all be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I chuckled into the shirt, smelling both of our scents on the fabric with an unhealthy amount of sweat. “Don’t try to play the tough guy. It doesn’t work for you.”
“Oh, sure. Mock my inherent manliness.” The exaggerated sigh tickled my ear. “At least let me pretend to be your protector.”
I nodded, pulling away. “Just don’t get in the way if it gets rough. You have no idea how rough Felis can be.”
Hanover grinned, patting his back with one hand. “Oh, I think I have some idea...”
Blushing furiously, I jerked a thumb toward the door. “Let’s get going before something else happens.”
While we made our way to the elevator and down to the parking garage, I tried to slow down my racing heart, knowing I wasn’t going to do anyone any good if I freaked out. I didn’t think I’d have the patience to sit in the back of a cab while it meandered through traffic, racking up the dimes and dollars by taking the longest route possible.
We drove in silence, Bran allowing me to be alone with my thoughts while he manoeuvred the Jeep along King Street. We got stuck behind a streetcar that was obviously not the real Red Rocket, the driver spending an inordinate amount of time at each light and stop. Must have been trying to make the end of the line on schedule, except it was pissing me off big-time. Bran glanced over at me and yanked the wheel to one side, racing up a side street and pulling us back onto Queen Street with more than a single car honking at us. I grinned my appreciation and flipped the bird out the window when we accelerated.
There were two police cars in the narrow street, one of the uniformed officers leaning on his car’s hood and scowling as a prostitute walked by, waving at the man with a wide grin. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that “she” was a “he” who had better legs than most women I knew, including myself. Cosmic injustice.
The plainclothes detective met me at the space previously occupied by my front door, a young pup who stared at me as if I were naked and waving a sign advertising my prices. “Yeah?” He scowled in a vain attempt to intimidate me.
I wasn’t in any mood to play with a kid. “Get Hank down here.” I scowled back, knowing mine was much better. Not to mention Bran standing behind me on the narrow path passing for my front yard looking more pissed than I did, if that were possible.
The young man stared at me for a second before deciding to do the right thing. Cupping his hands around his mouth he turned and bellowed behind him up my stairs. “Hank? Some woman here to see you!” He returned to his p
revious position of leaning against the wall while studying his notes.
“Hey.” Spreading his hands with a sad smile, Attersley let out a sigh as he trotted down the stairs. “Sorry you had to come home to this.” The balding overweight detective scowled at Bran. “You gotta be Hanover.”
“Good to know my rep’s still going ’round the station.” Bran pointed his index finger at Hank, firing an imaginary gun as he caught up with me.
The front door, well... wasn’t. It had been kicked in, the wooden door blasted off the hinges and lying in my hallway, heavy shoeprints all over it. The forensic peeps were still all over it, pulling up samples. Hank nodded at me.
“I called in a few favours. Don’t need this to be a regular happening, you know?” He glanced at the reporter for a second, then back to me. “Any reason why someone would want to break into your place?”
I shook my head. “Between thee and me, Hank, nothing I was working on would create this sort of reaction. Nothing.” I hated to lie to him but I had no choice. As it was, staying at Brandon’s for the night may well have saved my life.
A white blur sped by one of the CSI men, startling the dark blue coveralls enough to have him jump back a foot and scramble for his pistol. The ghost resolved at my feet—Jazz, wide-eyed and bushytailed.
I reached down, allowing her to climb into my arms at her own speed. She wasn’t a young kitten anymore and just a bit arthritic, so it took her a little bit longer to do anything. The burst of energy we had just witnessed might have just burnt her out for the day.
Snuggling into my chest she began to purr, a rumbling torrent of happiness at finding me again and of relative safety. I stroked her long Persian fur and mumbled to her while I waited for the investigators to finish. Her body began to go slack, getting heavier as the old girl began to relax.
“No idea what they took, if anything. Looks more like they just trashed the place from top to bottom, destroyed a lot of stuff.” The senior officer talked to Hank, within earshot of the two of us. “Got a good set of footprints, but without something or someone to match them with, well...” He shrugged, closing up his metal chipboard. “I’ll get back to you with the lab results.”
“Right.” Resting his thumbs on his bulging waistline and belt, Attersley turned to the two of us. “They’ll be out in a few minutes. I’d call up the insurance adjuster and then see what you can salvage.” He handed me a card. “They’ll come and help board up the doors and windows. Tell them you know me. Get you a good rate.” He scowled again at Bran. “Be careful about the company you keep, Reb.” Walking away, the stout detective stumbled over a loose piece of stone, recovering in time to strut toward his unmarked bronze sedan. The two police cars eased their way out of the narrow street with enough three-point turns to make a puzzle expert green with envy.
I looked at the gaping maw of the front door while the remaining investigators packed up their tackle boxes and walked away. Except now I had to walk in. Jazz purred loudly from her position in my arms, her claws digging into my jacket.
“I have to go in now,” I whispered to the white cat. “You just behave yourself, okay? I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” She let out an angry meow, as if to challenge my assessment of her attack abilities.
Stepping onto the front door, I entered squinting, while my eyes adjusted to the dim light. My night-vision kicked in just in time to be confronted by the devastation.
It looked like I had been hosting a frat party for the boys from hell, my couch’s cushions torn open and the stuffing scattered everywhere, my office desk’s drawers smashed into kindling and anything resembling a piece of paper torn and shredded.
“Wonder what they were looking for.” Bran appeared beside me. He reached out for Jazz, pausing as she surveyed the outstretched hand, her nose twitching for a few seconds. Her purr skipped a beat then continued when he stroked her head. “Hey, sweetie. Glad you’re okay.”
I took a deep breath, exhaled. Deep breath, exhaled. Jazz let out a growl, her claws digging into the leather just enough to let me know that she knew and agreed with my assessment.
It hadn’t been a random break and enter, no mob of crack-heads looking for something to hock for a few rocks.
It had been him, and he had been looking for something.
Brandon saw my face, flinching when he looked away. “Let’s get out of here.” He stepped over a piece of wood once belonging to my couch, jutting into the air like a flagpole. “Do you need anything from here? I mean, right now?” Struggling through the debris, he returned to my side. “Come back to my place. You can deal with this later.”
I took another deep breath. “He was here looking for me. For any information I had that could lead to him.”
“Probably.” Bran stroked Jazz under her chin, encouraging her to loosen her grip. “And with you not here he started searching. And probably got mad when he realised that they weren’t here.” He glanced toward the kitchen, spotting the remains of the Brown Betty on the floor just after I had.
“Damn.” My stomach was sore, as if I’d been punched in the gut. “That belonged to my mother.”
Jazz trilled for attention, her blue eyes catching mine. She pawed at my arm once before pushing her way under my jacket, next to my warm body.
She had the right idea, sort of. “Let’s go back to your place.” I looked down at the white bundle nestled in the crook of my arm. “Does your corner store deliver?”
“If they don’t, now they will.” Bran pulled his cellphone out. “Name it.”
“First let’s call these guys.” I handed him the card, still cradling the fuzzaloid. “Just dial it and hand it to me. I don’t think I want to let her go right now.”
The workmen assured me they would have the house sealed up within the hour, instantly snapping to virtual attention when I mentioned my police reference.
“Just secure it. I’ll worry about getting back in later.” I shifted the dead weight in my arms. She had fallen asleep. “All I’m looking for right now is making sure that no one wanders in before I get a chance to get the insurance people out here.” The supervisor responded by saying the workmen would put a padlock on the front door then drop the key off with Dan, my new favourite doorman, within the hour. Flipping the phone shut, I handed it back.
“We’re good.” I drew in a sharp breath, looking around me. A bowl filled with dried flowers had rolled across the hardwood floor, dumping out the cheap potpourri inside. My stomach lurched at the image of some man searching through my bedroom, my bathroom.
“Let’s go.” Bran’s arm went around me, pulling me slowly out of the debris. “We can wait in the car if you want until the guys arrive.”
“No, let’s go.” My voice was an octave higher than normal. “I don’t want to be here right now.”
We strode back out into the yard, sidestepping a rather nasty piece of wood that must have come from the doorframe, nails sticking out. Bran helped me into the passenger seat of my car yet again, stroking Jazz’s head where she lay on my lap sound asleep.
She remained that the entire drive back to the condo, probably in part because I couldn’t stop petting her. The old street cat had moved in years ago and it was difficult imagining my life without her.
Dan nodded with a tip of his hat when we stopped at the front desk on our way up, not even raising an eyebrow at the sight of the white bundle in my arms, listening to the details and stating he would be waiting for the workmen. Bran unlocked his door and swung it upon, letting me walk through.
“What do you need?” He picked up the receiver when we settled onto the couch.
“Litter box, litter and food.” I looked down at the cat with a smile. “And just so you know—she snores.”
“Just like her owner.” Bran chuckled while he tapped the buttons.
Less than an hour later Jazz let out a loud meow as Bran filled a huge soup bowl with dried cat food, dropping her face into it as if she hadn’t eaten for days. I rolled my eyes from where I sa
t, back on the leather couch.
“Drama queen.” I turned my attention back to the Langley file, now spread out in front of me on the coffee table. The other two had been tucked away out of sight in what Bran called his “safe place”—a wall safe that probably could be broken into by an experienced safecracker, but I didn’t want to discourage the man.
Frank Langley, from what I had gathered, had a pretty boring life. He had left the local Pride back in 2002 and gone to North Bay to raise a nice little family with Kelly Purvis, a member of another Pride from out West. They had no children and nothing of note in the file. Even if he had access to a private jet, he couldn’t have travelled down to Toronto and back out again multiple times to accomplish the killing and now the various attacks on me. Not to mention his wife being sworn to expose him if he dared to put the Pride at risk. And no motive to speak of—I doubted he had ever even heard of Janey. She was too young to have been with him in the same group playing in the cribs and he was too old to have much to do with a kit like her.
No children. I ran my finger over the printout, looking for anything that would explain how his scent, slightly warped and diluted, ended up in my house and on Janey Winters’s body. There were no children on record.
“We should get going.” Bran’s voice jolted me out of my reverie, low and sad as his hands landed on my shoulders, squeezing lightly. “I’ll drive, if you want.”
My mouth opened and closed. I had totally forgotten about Ruth’s funeral. Covering my face with both hands, I shook my head. “I didn’t even look at the clock.”
“It’s okay.” He leant down to stroke Jazz’s back as the white cat settled beside me on the black leather couch. “Been a rough few hours.”
“You said it.” Getting up, I gave a low laugh as the feline moved over, curling up in the warm spot in a satisfied ball of fur. “I’ll drive.” I nodded in response to his concerned glance. “I need to do something right now.”
What God and Cats Know Page 14