Furred Lines

by Renee George

  “Jesus.” Dom frantically patted me down, my arms, my shoulders, neck, and face. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine.” I put my hands over his. “The bullet missed me.”

  A loud voice came over a megaphone. “This is Judge Harold Holt. I’m with Sheriff Taylor and other law enforcement to serve a warrant. Put your weapon down. Open the gate and clear the way.”

  “Is that you, Harry?” a man shouted. “Sorry. Sorry. No one’s hurt, are they?”

  “We’re fine, Cal. Now put the weapon down and come out here.”

  The metal gate hummed as it slowly opened. The silhouette of a man stood in the opening. He had his hands raised high. “I’m sorry. I thought you all were trespassers. We’ve been getting some weirdos out here lately.”

  “That’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black,” I whispered to Dom.

  “Anyhow,” Cal continued as he stepped closer. “The thunder startled me, and I accidentally squeezed the trigger on my rifle.”

  Cal was Calvin Riggs, a long time TSS member. I’d seen him in town over the years but didn’t know much about him other than what he looked like. I stood up and glanced over at Deputy Thompson, his yellow poncho streaked with mud, and shook my head.

  Duck when you see the yellow man. Was this Sunny Trimmel’s prediction fulfilled, or was it a coincidence? My mind leaned toward coincidence, but my gut told me I should watch the ground for cracks.

  My dad and the judge were talking to Cal, who was doing a lot of nodding, gesticulating, and looking contrite.

  “We should go introduce ourselves,” Dom said. He balled his fist as anger rolled off him like steam off a warm pond in the snow. “This is our investigation, and that idiot is going to spend the night in jail tonight for attempted assault on an FBI agent.”

  I held my hand out to stop him. “I want to get in there as bad as you do.” Because Cal had earned a punch in the mouth from me. “The guy’s a total dumbass, but we’ll get further with these bozos if we let Dad do his thing. They won’t trust you or me.”

  I noticed his fists were shaking with barely contained rage as the muscle in his jaw rapidly flexed. “He could have killed you.”

  I calmed my own anger with a deep breath. I let it out slowly and said, “But he didn’t.” I touched Dom’s face to direct his gaze off of Cal Riggs and onto me. “I’m fine.”

  Dom’s stormy expression didn’t waver. “When this is over, him and I are going to have a talk.”

  “Agreed. But right now, he isn’t our priority. We have three suspects to round up, and we can’t afford to divide our attention.” I smiled. “Besides. My dad’s jail only has two cells. There isn’t enough room to round up everyone you’re going to get pissed at before the night is over.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” His hands had stopped shaking. Good.

  “Indeed.”

  “Nic. Agent Tartan,” my dad shouted. He waved us over. “We’re clear to go in.”

  “We’re up, puddin’.”

  I glared at Dominic. “Shut up.” While I acted aggravated, really, I was relieved he’d relaxed enough to tease me.

  We followed Cal into the compound, and I’m ashamed how fascinated I was with the place. It would have made a great research project for my undergrad degree. The psychological issues associated with walling yourself off from everyone and everything beyond your small community was rooted in deep paranoia. The rain had turned into a bearable but unpleasant mist. My stylish boots were scraped and muddy, and my pants were ruined—although Mom had been known to work laundry miracles.

  I counted at least a dozen bright-white buildings. Even though my raccoon vision was excellent, I didn’t need it to view the structures. A flash in the sky revealed a large water tower off to the right. I shielded my eyes as large stadium-like lights turned on around the compound. Two men stood in an open doorway of the first building. The welcome wagon, if I had to guess.

  As we drew closer, the two men went inside, and we all trailed in after them. There was no floormat to wipe our feet on, but the muddy and wet tracks on the smooth, gray concrete indicated the TSS didn’t care whether we mucked up their floors. Twelve folding, metal picnic tables filled the interior space. On the far end of the wall was a table that held one of those silver, 30-cup percolator coffee pots and a stack of foam coffee cups. To the right of the door was a counter, and beyond the opening, I could see a stove and a refrigerator. A community kitchen, maybe?

  The place reminded me of an AA meeting I attended once with a friend my junior year of my undergrad. It had been held in V.F.W. building with a similar setup. It made me wonder if some of the TSS might have a military background. I made a note to ask my dad if he could do background checks on some of the old-timers. Or maybe the judge would know. He’d grown up here, after all.

  The two men—one short and thin, with dark hair and eyes, the other medium height, with an average build. The average man’s only stand out feature was his almost colorless blue eyes that contrasted heavily with his black hair. His eyes reminded me of opossum shifters, but they tended to have white hair as well.

  He took off his jacket, and there was a lanyard holding eyeglasses around his neck. It confirmed my hunch. Opossums had a great sense of smell, but lousy eyesight. They were one of the few therians I knew whoever had to wear glasses.

  “Have a seat,” the man said. “I’m Andy Lark, and this is Lloyd Evans.”

  The small guy had the same last name as Mallory. Wow. The family tree must’ve been split somewhere because she was much larger. “Are you and Mallory Evans related?”

  All eyes shifted in my direction.

  Dom cleared his throat. “Please answer the question.”

  He looked at my dad and the judge. The judge nodded.

  Evans glared at me. “She’s my cousin. The daughter of my Uncle Tibor.” He took a small plastic container from the breast pocket of his T-shirt, pulled out a thin, white toothpick and stuck it in his mouth. He worried it between his teeth with intensity.

  The judge sat down at the table. “How is Ti? He had a bum knee the last time I saw him.”

  “It’s better, Judge. I’ll tell him you asked.” Evans gnawed the plaster even harder.

  “How long has it been?” I asked.

  He frowned at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Since your last cigarette,” I said.

  “About five minutes past mind your own fucking business,” the small man quipped.

  Before I could respond, the judge rapped his knuckles on the table. “Why don’t we all sit down so we can discuss the current situation?”

  My dad stayed on his feet. He passed the warrant across the table to Lark. “We have a warrant for the arrest of Mallory Evans, Gary Davis, and Darrel Tolliver. You can either encourage them to come in with us of their own volition, or we can search every building on your compound.”

  “Our home,” Lark insisted. “We’re not a cult.”

  “This isn’t exactly the suburbs,” I noted.

  He bared his teeth at me. “We are a gated community.”

  “I’m betting the homeowner dues are ridiculous.”

  Before I could say more, Dom intervened. “Will those three turn themselves over for questioning or do we need to start tearing this place apart?”

  “Now, just hold on there,” the judge said. “No one is going to tear anything apart. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Why do you want them for?” Evans asked. “Mallory has never been in trouble a day of her life, and Gary and Darrell are as law-abiding as the day as long.”

  My dad spoke up this time. “There is evidence that suggests one or all of them at the scene of a crime in Springfield. We’re not at liberty to discuss more with you.”

  “I don’t like it, Harry,” Lark said. His pale eyes narrowed to slits. “Who is this guy?” He indicated Dom.

  “Relax, now,” said Dad. “He’s a bear shifter.”

  “I
’m Special Agent Dominic Tartan with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Lark said incredulously. “A damned integrator?”

  “Dom’s also an investigator for the Tri-Council,”added Judge Holt.

  “We only recognize our own authority here,” said Lark. “You know that, Harry.”

  “Believe what you want,” said the judge. “But you know as well as I do that the TSS is under the auspices of the Tri-Council.”

  Lark expression blackened. He turned a hateful gaze onto Dom but kept his silence.

  Evans apparently had less sense than his friend. He kicked under the table at the open chair near my dad and sent it sliding across the concrete. “How could you bring an integrator into our community, Harry?”

  “There is nothing I can do about it, Lloyd, even if I wanted to. The law’s the law.”

  Evans glared at Dom. “Human lover.”

  I looked at Dom with a shocked expression. “Is that true, partner? Are you a human lover?” I shook my head. “Say it ain’t so.”

  “I love everyone,” Dom said seriously.

  Evans stood up. “This is bull shit.”

  Dom reached across the table quicker than I thought possible for a man his size and grabbed Evans by the front of his shirt. Dom put his face near the now sputtering man’s and growled. “Except this guy.” He shook his head. “I don’t love this guy.” Evans’ eyes bugged as Dom let him go and settled back into his own seat.

  Deputy Thompson and Eldin, who had both hung back, were now moving toward the table, their hands on their weapons. Dad held up his hand. “Mister Evans, I’d hate to haul you in tonight as well, considering there is only enough room in Deputy Thompson’s backseat for three prisoners.” He pulled the chair back to the table and put his foot upon it for effect. “Of course, I’ve always liked hood ornaments. Would you like to be my hood ornament?”

  This time, Evans was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  Judge Holt nodded his approval. “If Mallory, Gary, and Darrell have alibis for the time of the crime, we can rule them out. They are not doing themselves any favors by hiding.”

  “Fair enough,” said Lark. He glanced at Evans. “Go get them.”

  A few minutes later, the three suspects were delivered to us. Eldin and Tyler handcuffed them and read them their rights before we all returned to our cars.

  When I was back in the driver seat, I looked at Dom. “Didn’t that seem a little too easy?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve seen it go down that way before. Sometimes, it is what it is.”

  “Maybe.” I tapped my chin.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I think that the preppers are people who don’t give up their freedom for any reason. It goes against the whole doomsday philosophy they live by. I just think it’s strange that Lark and Evans turned them over without a fight.”

  “Do you think Brandon Messer is at the compound?” He shook his head. “Whoops, I mean gated community.” He finger-quoted the final two words. “Seriously. Who does that jackass think he’s fooling with that crap?”

  “Probably nobody. It seemed more rote propaganda than anything he actually felt strongly about. I’d say it was part of their recruitment speech.” I mimicked Andy Lark. “Join our gated community and live out your days safely behind stone walls topped with razor wire as the rest of our kinds burns at the hands of humans.” I glanced at a wide-eyed Dom. “Or something to that effect.”

  “They are nuts.”

  “Well, I think there’s a couple of squirrel shifters in there.” I looked at the time on car’s rearview mirror. It was already ten o’clock. It was going to be a long night if we planned to talk to all three of them. “This day is never gonna end.”

  “Your dad’s guys will get initial statements and try to collaborate alibis. No sense in talking to them yet. Let them cool in jail overnight. A stint behind bars might make one of them break.”

  I snorted. “My dad’s jail is like staying at a motel. Not an upscale one, mind you, but it’s not going to scare anyone straight if that’s what you think.”

  “Still,” Dom said. “We’ve been on the road since nine this morning. I think we should sleep on this. Have our minds fresh for tomorrow.”

  Reluctantly, I nodded as a yawn escaped me. “I really am tired.”

  “Then as the senior agent of this team, I’m going to insist.”

  “Fine,” I said, starting the car. “I’d hate to be insubordinate on my first day.”

  Dom snorted. “Too late for that.”

  Chapter Nine

  I stretched, inhaling the sweet scent of raspberries. I gathered my covers to my face and embraced the feeling of home. The shower turned on in the bathroom next to my room, and I heard a baritone voice singing Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.”

  My throat felt thick and dry as I imagined hot, soapy suds sheeting down Dominic’s back and over his muscular butt. I crossed my legs as my lower bits began to ache. All kinds of diabolical plans for “accidentally” opening up the bathroom door as he stepped out of the shower played out in my head. There wasn’t a single one that wasn’t a cliché, but my throbby parts just didn’t care. I bit back a groan as the singing stopped after two verses and several rounds of the chorus.

  “I will not drool over my partner,” I whispered. “I will not drool over my senior partner.” I wiped at the small amount of spittle that wet the corner of my mouth. “I stand corrected. I, apparently, will drool over my partner.” Ugh. I hated myself.

  A soft knock at the door froze me in place.

  It came again, along with Dom’s voice. “You up?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked then normalized my voice, and repeated, “Yes. I’m up. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Meet you downstairs for coffee. I think your mom made blueberry and currant scones.”

  “Sounds good.” I was still full from pigging out on carbs the night before, but there was always room in my tummy for scones. Nothing like breakfast pastries to get my mind off of sex. “Gah!”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Shit.” He was still at the door. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll be down in a few.” I threw the covers over my head then threw them back and slung my legs over the side of the bed. Hello, day. Time to adult.

  I’d showered the night before, so all I really had to do was wet my hair a little, pull it back, brush my teeth, get some mascara on, and a little concealer around my eyes. It took thirteen minutes from bed to breakfast. And, oh my gosh, mom’s scones were woke!

  Dominic took a sip of coffee from a mug that said, You have the right to remain silent... at least until I’ve had my first cup of coffee. He twirled his index finger at me. “Agent Taylor, you’re peppering your pants with crumbs.”

  “Snacks for later,” I told him and shoved the last bite of my current scone in my mouth. I washed it down with the chai latte mom had made special for me with her new one-cup brewer. She glanced at me from the sink where she was doing up a few dishes. “This is awesome, Mom. All of it.”

  “Since I forced you to stay here, the least I can do is make it hospitable.”

  “More than,” Dominic praised. “I haven’t been treated this well in, well, ever.”

  “You mean there’s not a woman somewhere waiting to take care of you, Agent Tartan?”

  I snorted chai out my nose and started coughing as a result. Mom gave me a worried glance. “You okay, Puddin’?”

  My eyes bulged at the nickname, but I couldn’t complain because I was still choking on the hot liquid. Dom walked around the center island and proceeded to slap me on the back. Mom tried to make me drink water as if more liquids would help. Finally, I wheezed in a breath. “Enough!” I slid off the stool and took a few steps away from both of my hapless saviors.

  I dusted my pants off. “We need to get down to the jail.” I wiped the choke tears from my eyes, grateful my mascara was waterproof, or I’d hav
e resembled my animal side. I got called bandit once in school after a band event in the rain and my mascara blackened my eyes. After blaming my mother, like a teenager will do, I learn to not make that mistake again. When I could see again, I grabbed a paper towel to get the snorted chai off my face.

  “You okay,” Dom asked.

  I nodded, but couldn’t look at Dom. I was too embarrassed, so I kept my head down and tried not let it show. “Let’s go. Time’s a’ wasting.”

  “Nicole’s right, Mrs. Taylor,” Dominic said to my disappointed mother. “But to answer your question. No, there is no one waiting to take care of me at home.” I didn’t want to feel pleased by his relationship status, but I was. Damn it. Dominic bent down and gave my mom a quick peck on the cheek. “And please, call me Dom.”

  “Thank you, Dom. You can call me Mrs. Taylor.” She winked at him. “For now, anyhow. And for future reference, the guest bathroom downstairs has a working shower.”

  Dominic blanched.

  I almost choked again, this time on laughter. Had he really showered in my bathroom to get my attention? He’d underestimated my ability to resist peeking at him naked. Hah! I guess I showed him. I didn’t even get out of bed. Nope. I just hid under the covers like the mature, young woman I am.

  “You got it, Mrs. Taylor.”

  When we got to the car, Dom paused behind the open passenger door. “Your mom is one cool customer.”

  God love the woman, she knew how to unsettle people when it suited her. “She certainly is, partner. And observant. Believe me, I get away with nothing around her, and neither does anyone else.”

  “I will keep that in mind.”

  On the way into town, I couldn’t get the TSS out of my head. “There’s something fishy going on with those preppers.”

  “All the victims have been integrators. Maybe the TSS has decided to start taking out shifters that they think are human lovers.”

  I shook my head. “So far, the murders have the hallmarks of one killer. The MO is the same—especially with the taking the pinky toes as souvenirs. A group effort wouldn’t be that clean. If they wanted to take out integrators, why not a more concerted effort with more victims?”