by AE Jones
“Tim, they’re here.”
He turned toward us, looking even more worn down than his wife. “Jean Luc, Ms. McKinley.”
We sat down across from his desk, while his wife remained standing behind him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Where Stephanie was blonde and fair, Tim was dark, with brown hair and eyes.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.”
I leaned forward. “How’s Trina?”
He swallowed hard. “She’s not well. She’s haunted by the memory of that man and what he threatened to do to her.”
I gritted my teeth. A poacher had grabbed Trina on the eve of her twelfth birthday, when shifters normally change into their animal forms for the first time. The scum had told her that when she changed into her animal, he was going to skin her. Virgin pelts, as the poachers called them, were worth a lot of money. Luckily the pack had found her and taken care of the poacher, pack style. I hadn’t asked for the details.
“You want me to remove the memory?”
“Yes, but first, I owe you an apology.”
I shook my head. “No you don’t. You were trying to protect your daughter. I was a stranger who came into your home and announced I was going to mess with her memories. I can understand why you said no.”
“I should have listened to my heart at the time. I…” He hesitated. His wife squeezed his shoulder supportively. “I was afraid to go against Griffin.”
Jean Luc explained for my benefit. “He is their leader.”
I glanced between the two men in confusion. “I thought you were the pack leader.”
Tim nodded. “I am one of the pack leaders. Griffin is the leader for the entire region. I report to him, as do all the other pack leaders. When he found out what happened, he didn’t want any outsiders involved. He instructed us to close ranks. Again, I’m sorry for not giving you a chance.”
“Griffin has agreed to me helping you now?”
He continued to avoid eye contact. “He’s overseas. I can’t wait until he returns. It’s been a painful two weeks for Trina.”
“I understand.” This Griffin sounded like a piece of work.
“Would you be willing to help our daughter?” Tim finally met my eyes.
“Of course. But you need to know this might not work.”
Stephanie spoke up. “Why not?”
“Sometimes I can’t change memories for a supernatural. Plus, Trina was taken two weeks ago. This means it’s now a long-term memory, and those are harder to change. I don’t want you to lose hope, I just want to be up front about what’s possible.”
Tim reached up and placed his hand over his wife’s. “We want you to try. We’ve been telling everyone she’s sick. She’s hasn’t left the house since that day and isn’t sleeping at night.” He hesitated. “And she hasn’t had her first change yet.”
That couldn’t be good. “What happens if she doesn’t change soon?”
Stephanie choked back a sob. “She might never change.”
“I know this is going to be painful, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened on the day of Trina’s abduction. I want to be fully prepared before I try to scrub her memory. Also, I need to see your entire house, including Trina’s bedroom.”
* * *
Stephanie and I walked slowly into the back sunroom, the only room I hadn’t seen yet. Trina sat on the couch painting her toenails. She was small for twelve, with long brown hair held back by an orange hair band that matched her flowered sundress.
It would have been the perfect picture of childhood bliss if not for the fact that she cowered when we approached her. She watched me with terrified chocolate eyes. My chest tightened and my skin tingled as anger percolated just beneath the surface. I wanted to bring that poacher back to life so that I could kill him all over again.
Stephanie sat down and attempted to sooth her daughter in a voice tinged with desperation. “It’s okay, baby, Kyle’s here to help you.”
Trina’s eyes met mine again, appraising me with a wounded look too old for her years. Damn.
I pushed my emotions away and locked them in the small room in my brain I used when I needed to regain control. Smiling, I sat down across from her and pointed to her toes. “That’s a cool color. What is it?”
She picked up the bottle and read the label. “Purple Passion.”
“Nice. I may have to dye my hair purple.”
Trina smiled slightly, then seemed to catch herself and stopped.
“Would you paint my fingernails for me?”
Trina glanced at her mother, who nodded. I leaned forward and held my hand out to her. She eyed me warily for a moment, then pulled the brush out of the bottle and ran a single stroke over my index fingernail. I sat deathly still, afraid any movement would cause her to bolt from the room. She titled her head in concentration as she carefully ran the brush along either side of my nail.
“I need you to think about something for me, Trina.” The nail brush hesitated in the air, shaking slightly. “You don’t need to talk about it out loud. I just need you to think about the last time you were walking home from camp. Just for a second.” Trina’s breathing accelerated and I continued in what I hoped was a calm voice. “That nail looks good, keep going.”
Trina’s head jerked slightly in what I hoped was a nod. Shoving the brush roughly back into the bottle she pulled it out and painted my middle finger. I went to work, imagining Trina walking from camp. But in my version, instead of being grabbed by the man in the van, she made it home. She walked into the house and told her mom she wasn’t feeling good.
Then I filled in memories of lying in bed for days while she recovered from the flu, her mom not far from her side. This took a little imagination on my part, since I didn’t know what it was like to have your mom take care of you when you were sick. Telling her to “stop crying, you’re going to wake up Momma’s newest boyfriend” was not a memory I would inflict on any child.
I worked the memories slowly into her as she painstakingly painted my nails. By the time she had finished the second coat, I was done. She sat back and smiled at me.
“How are you feeling, Trina?”
She bobbed her head. “Good, I had the flu but Mom’s been taking care of me. When I don’t feel good she makes me cinnamon toast.”
“Sounds good.” The knot in my stomach loosened, but I kept the door to that room in my head closed. I glanced over at Stephanie who was fighting back tears. “Do you think she’ll make us some?”
“Mom?”
“Sure, I’ll be right back.” Stephanie grinned and rushed out of the room.
“Sorry to hear you were sick on your birthday.”
“Yeah. I wonder if Mom will let me have some friends over this weekend.”
“You’ll have to ask her, but I bet first she’ll want to make sure you’re feeling better.”
“I feel much better today.” Trina’s smile illuminated her face. “Maybe she’ll let me go to camp tomorrow.”
I looked quickly at my hands, but they blurred as my eyes filled. “You did a great job on my nails.”
* * *
Jean Luc and I made it back to the office in record time. He dropped me off and left to do some sort of vampirish errand after I insisted I was fine. When I stepped into the reception area, Dolly glanced up expectantly. I simply nodded and she smiled. There really wasn’t anything to say. I continued to the back office. Misha and Dalton were sitting in front of laptops at the table.
“So what have you guys found?”
Misha spoke up, “Not much yet. How’s Trina?”
“She’s good. Is there any coffee left?”
“Yep.”
Dalton stood and stretched, picked up his mug and followed me to the counter.
I reached for my mug, hip-blocking his way, and smiled. “I get the first cup.”
The pain came without warning, shooting up the back of my neck into my head and back down again. I lost the grip on my mug and it fell to the ground, shatt
ering.
Dalton gripped my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Damn it. I loved that mug.”
“Kyle, what’s going on?” he persisted.
“I’m getting a migraine. No big deal.” I bent down to clean up the mess and my head swam.
Misha rushed over. “I’ve got it. Why don’t you go home? You have to be exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
Instead of listening to me, Dalton grabbed both of my arms and forced me to sit down.
I tried to jerk away from his grip. “I told you I’m fine. This happens sometimes.”
“Your nose is bleeding.”
I reached up and wiped my hand under my nose. Pulling it away, I stared at my crimson fingers, and a small trickle of fear crept up my spine. Well, that was a new one. Dalton handed me some paper towels.
“Lean your head forward a little and pinch your nose shut.”
I sat that way for a few minutes until the bleeding stopped. In the meantime, Misha had cleaned up my mug and was hovering, while Dalton’s facial expressions alternated between concern and irritation.
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” Dalton asked.
“Positive,” I replied, although I was far from it.
“Is this from using your power?”
“I think so.”
He growled, “Why would you risk yourself that way?”
And right then, the fear I was suppressing changed to anger. Sir Galahad needed skewering. “Because it’s part of my job and you can’t stop me from doing it. You’re not my boss. As a matter of fact, you aren’t even a permanent team member, so your vote doesn’t count around here.” I stood. “I’m going home and, before you ask, I can drive myself. See you tomorrow, Mish.”
After I found a fairly close parking space at home, I sat for a moment with my eyes closed. The migraine pain thrummed on my right side and nausea threatened. Nervousness tightened my chest. It had never been this bad before. A rap on my car window made me jerk in my seat. Vinnie’s wide eyes stared back at me through the glass. I rolled down my window.
“Didn’t mean to startle you, Kyle.” He held up a bag. “Dad sent me.”
I shook my head. “I can’t eat anything too spicy right now.”
“It’s cream of wheat. Dad said put a little sugar on it. He also said to pull your curtains and block the light out of your bedroom before you lie down.”
I should know better than to doubt Tony. “Thanks, Vinnie.”
I ate about half the cream of wheat and then settled in my bed. I was just dozing off when my cell phone rang. Reaching for it on the bedside stand, I checked the screen. Dalton. I powered down my phone, turned over and went to sleep.
Chapter 10
My doorbell rang at three a.m. and I reached for Stanley—the nine millimeter I kept behind my headboard. I wasn’t naïve enough to think my power could stop a crazed killer before he maimed or killed me, so Stanley was my trusty sidekick whenever Jean Luc or Misha weren’t within shouting distance.
I flipped off the safety and walked quietly to my front door, adrenaline kicking my nerves into hyperdrive. I eased slowly up to peer through the peephole. Misha waved at me. I took a deep breath to calm my heartbeat, put Stanley’s safety back on, and yanked open the door.
He grinned and pointed to the gun resting against my leg. “What’s the deal with Stanley?”
“I don’t know, maybe because it’s the middle of the night and you’re pounding on my door?”
“We tried to call you, but your phone keeps going to voice mail. Grab some clothes; Jean Luc is double-parked out front.”
“What’s going on?”
“Dalton called. He needs us at the city morgue. Says it’s related to our case.”
“I’ll be right down.”
I dressed in five minutes flat and ran down the stairs. Jean Luc was parked out front as promised. Three college girls standing outside the all-night bakery were giggling and waving at him. He was an undeniable chick magnet.
He screeched away from the curb once I was inside, and I snapped on my seat belt out of sheer self-preservation.
“What do we know?” I asked.
Jean Luc started. “Dalton called. The Coast Guard pulled a body from Lake Erie tonight.”
“Is it a supe?”
“Dalton is not sure, but he wants us to examine it. How are you feeling? Misha told me it was worse this time.”
“I’m fine. It was a lot of memory to scrub.”
Jean Luc shot me a sideways glance. I wasn’t sure he bought it. We arrived at the morgue and drove around back, where I spotted Dalton’s SUV. When we parked, he got out, and we all followed suit, walking over to join him.
“Thanks for coming. We’re going through the back service entrance so we don’t draw attention.”
The morgue was never a fun place to be, and at three in the morning it was downright depressing. The interior was poorly lit and painted a dingy green, which was not a good choice for morgue-chic. We walked into the main work area. Thankfully the exam tables were empty.
Dalton went over to the counter and opened a container of menthol gel, smearing some under his nose. He held the container out to me and I smeared a glob under my nose as well. If big rough, tough cop thought he needed it, what was coming must be bad, and I wasn’t about to argue. He held up the container to Misha and Jean Luc who both shook their heads. He then pulled a pair of gloves out of a box and snapped them on.
Walking over to the bank of drawers in the wall, Dalton pulled out the middle drawer. God almighty, it was disgusting. The poor guy must have been in the water for quite a while. Just breathe in the nice menthol and concentrate on what Dalton is saying.
“The coroner thinks he was in the water for at least a week.”
Jean Luc studied him. “I do not think he is supernatural.”
Dalton nodded. “I didn’t think so, either. I brought you here for this.”
He reached down and turned the guy slightly so we could see his back. There was a red mark on the base of his neck in the shape of an eight.
“Is it what I think it is?” Dalton asked.
Misha pulled out his phone. “I’m going to take some pictures and send them to Doc, but I’m pretty sure this guy was tortured with straends. What does your coroner think it is?”
“He doesn’t know. Said it might be some sicko’s idea of branding the guy.”
“Do we know who he is?” I asked.
“Not yet, but the detectives are on it.”
I took a shallow breath through my mouth. “If we find out who he is, maybe we can figure out why Hampton would torture him.”
Dalton shut the drawer with a resounding clank. “We’d better get going. I don’t want anyone to find us in here.”
We slipped out, and when we reached our cars, Dalton turned to us.
“Sorry to bring you all here in the middle of the night, but it was the only time to be sure we could examine the body. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Jean Luc drove the van back to work since there was really no point in going home. I lay down on the couch to catch a few more hours of sleep. Minutes later mumbling voices woke me. I sighed. Could they not cut me some slack and let me sleep for a little while?
I opened my eyes. A blanket covered me. When did that happen? I looked around. Dalton was sitting at the table working on the laptop.
He glanced over at me. “Good morning.”
“Morning. What time is it?”
“Around nine-thirty.”
“What?! Why didn’t you wake me?” I sat up quickly.
He shrugged. “You needed the sleep. I haven’t heard anything from the detectives on the John Doe they pulled from the lake, so we let you sleep.”
“Where’s Misha and Jean Luc?”
“Misha’s out buying supplies and Jean Luc went into his office and shut the door. Said he couldn’t stand your snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Sure, whatever you say. Are you ready to hit the road?”
“Where to?”
“I want to go back to the alley behind the bar and see if we can talk to Sam again.”
“You think he knows something more?”
“I think we have better questions to ask now.”
“Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you at your car.”
* * *
We walked slowly through the alley behind the bar, searching for Sam, but couldn’t find him. I nodded toward the cross alley.
“Do you want to look for Peter?”
“Yeah, hopefully he will be more receptive today.” Dalton stopped. “I have one of those police-issue rain ponchos in the car. Do you want to put it on first?”
I shook my head. “When did you become a comedian?”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
We walked into the alley and checked the doorways, hoping to find Peter squatting in one of them. When we came to the last door, he was sitting on a wooden box snoring softly.
Great. I really did not want to startle him. Dalton and I glanced at each other and took a careful step back.
I whispered his name. “Peter?”
He slowly opened his eyes and stared up at us. I smiled at him, praying we wouldn’t have a repeat performance of the other day. I held up my hands in front of me. “Peter, we are not going to hurt you. Can we talk to you for a minute?”
He looked down, shamefaced. “I’m sorry about the other day, miss. I was scared, and when he came at me”—he pointed at Dalton—“I didn’t know what to think. Afterwards, Sam told me who you were.”
“It’s okay,” I responded. “Why were you so scared?”
“The night before, I saw what happened in the alley.”
“Can you tell us about it?”
“I was going over to check on Sam before I turned in for the night. Before I made it around the corner, I heard a loud bang. When I peeked around, I saw the metal door to the bar had been slammed into the wall. I was shocked to see a Pavel come storming out the door, and in his demon form.”