Fox Dish (Madison Wolves #6)

by Robin Roseau

  Finally Will Walters grew tired of the chase. He gestured to his wolves, and six of them corned and captured Brody. They pulled him back to the center of the room where I waited calmly. Then his wolves set up a circle, leaving Brody on his knees in the middle.

  "Get up," I told him. "I promised you would die for what you did, but I have made sure Johnny Mack will not be a problem for anyone else. A death at my hands is cleaner than you'll get elsewhere."

  Slowly he stood. And then all at once, he rushed me.

  I stepped under his lung and let his own momentum bury one of my daggers in his chest. I wasn't sure whether I got his heart, so I pulled a knife from an ankle sheath and waited for him.

  He went down to his knees. I stepped up behind him and slit his throat, then I slammed my knife into the top of his skull.

  I broke my hand in the process, but I didn't care.

  Brody fell over and I stepped away, panting.

  I glanced at both bodies. I was sure they were both down. "Mr. Walters, would you be so kind as to have your wolves verify this issue has reached a conclusion."

  He gestured, and four wolves stepped forward. They rolled each body over, and it was clear I had been thorough. One of the wolves pulled my knives from Brody then crossed to me, handing them to me.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "This issue is concluded," Mr. Walters declared.

  I nodded to him. "I thank you, Mr. Walters, and I thank the Dubuque pack. The Iowa City pack, or whatever is left of it, is now short one alpha."

  "I thought you were claiming it for Madison," he said.

  "No, I am not. How Iowa wishes to be ruled is up to the wolves of Iowa. But if any further strife reaches Wisconsin from Iowa, I will return. I would rather not do so."

  "If you do, it won't be to Dubuque," he replied. "We mind our own business. We are not interested in the goings on of anywhere but the area immediately surrounding Dubuque."

  I bowed briefly to him. "Might I ask two more small favors? Is it possible to clean up before I depart? And once I gather my things, could you arrange for my vehicle to be returned to Madison?"

  "There are bathrooms," he said. He gestured, and a wolf stepped forward. I followed to a staircase up to a second floor at one end of the warehouse. I was shown to the bathroom, where I cleaned as best I could. I cleaned my knives as well, returning them to their sheaths, and then followed the wolf back downstairs.

  Will, two of his wolves, and Wendy followed me to my car. Wendy collected the case with my sniper rifle. I collected my clothes. I then handed the car key to Will.

  "Are you not returning to Madison?" he asked.

  "I am not welcome," I said.

  He nodded. "I will contact your alpha and arrange for your car to make its way there."

  "Thank you so much, Mr. Walters. And thank you again for hosting this event."

  He nodded, and I followed Wendy to her rental car.

  It wasn't until we were in the air that I began to sob.

  Part Two

  Boulder

  Greg met Wendy and me at the airport when we landed. Along with him were Daniel and Brooke Bancroft, the Boulder alpha and his daughter and heir.

  Daniel officially welcomed me into his territory but verified I was not applying for membership in his pack.

  "No," I told him. "I am not a wolf."

  The Lima Consulting compound was east of boulder, out in the scraggy plains. Greg gave me a brief tour.

  Compared to the pack lands, the compound was small, consisting of the land that would formerly have been a farm, perhaps, one square mile. There were several buildings devoted to housing, a mess hall which doubled as a movie theater, a squat building with offices, and a variety of buildings devoted to training. There was a gym, a track, a rifle range, and an obstacle course.

  I was introduced to Donna Olson, a human who "runs the compound with extreme efficiency." She took over from Greg and showed me to a small but comfortable room that was to be mine whenever I was at the compound. She gave me the schedule for meals and other activities.

  "The gym is always available," she said. "The hours for the firing range are posted at the range." She ran over a few more rules then asked if I had any questions.

  "I'm sure I will," I said.

  "The rest of the day is yours. Greg wishes to meet with you in the morning; he will want to debrief you on your recent activities."

  I nodded dully, and Donna left me to myself.

  I took a shower and climbed into bed, curling into a ball. I had made my babies safe, or at least safer, but at a cost I would rather not have paid. It all settled in; I was banished. I was no longer welcome in Wisconsin. I may never see Lara again. I may never see Rebecca and Celeste again. I had lost my mate, my babies, and all my friends, everything that mattered to me

  I hadn't felt this alone in nearly three years.

  I eventually slept, and once I slept, I didn't wake for fourteen hours.

  When I did wake, it was to knocking at my door. I stumbled from the bed and answered it. Wendy was waiting there. I blinked at her.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you would be up."

  "What time is it?"

  "Six-thirty," she replied. "You have time for a quick shower and a bite to eat before your debrief."

  "Five minutes," I said. "I don't have much in the way of clothes."

  "Whatever you have is fine," she said.

  I gathered a few things and stumbled down the hall to a shower I shared with my most immediate neighbors. I showered quickly and dressed even more quickly before following Wendy to the mess hall.

  There were only a few people eating. "Am I behind everyone else?"

  "Not that many people are in residence right now," she said. "Some days this will be full. Other days it's like a ghost town."

  I nodded, collected a small plate of food, and ate quietly.

  Wendy escorted me to Greg's office. "Do I need an escort?" I asked her.

  "No. But perhaps a guide."

  We knocked, and she showed me in. "Thank you, Wendy," Greg said to her. I stepped in and took the chair he indicated.

  "I already asked Wendy about the events from yesterday," he said. "Congratulations."

  I shrugged it off. I didn't feel much like I had won anything.

  "This is going to take some time. Do you need anything?"

  "No, thank you," I replied.

  "If you need a break, say so. If you need something to drink, ask."

  I nodded, and the questions began.

  I spent most of the day with Greg. His questioning was very thorough. He asked for an overview of everything, and I told him about my planning, how I had left Madison, and briefly what I had done in Iowa. After that, he drilled down, extracting every possible detail from me. He took notes on his computer the entire time.

  We took a brief break every couple of hours but ate lunch in his office.

  By late afternoon, we had analyzed every detail and discussed what I had done correctly and what I had done wrong.

  "I do not like the way you fought Johnny Mack," he said at the end.

  I shrugged. I had won. That's all that mattered to me.

  "Wendy told me you were terrified."

  "I wanted them overconfident," I said. "I did everything I could to make sure I smelled insanely terrified. I don't know if it helped make him overconfident or not."

  He nodded. "Unless you have anything else, I believe I have everything. I am going to print out a summary of events, and I would like you to sign it. I just need a few minutes."

  I sat back and waited while he worked at his computer. Ten minutes later, his printer began making noises, and then he slid a stack of paper to me. I skimmed through them. "Initial each page and sign the last one," he said. "If you see errors, let me know."

  Everything seemed accurate.

  "You may have a few days to settle in," Greg said. "You will start additional training on Monday. I may have missions for you very soon."
>
  "What should I expect?"

  "I don't know yet. You'll need to be flexible for now."

  I nodded. I was fine with flexible.

  "I have a small amount of paperwork for you." He pulled a manila file folder from his desk and extracted the top page. "Donna will have more, but I handle this form myself." He slid it across the table to me. "The death benefit for all our employees is an even one million dollars. We need to know who to pay it to."

  I glanced at the paper.

  "Do you need to think about it?"

  "Of course not," I said. He handed me a pen, and I filled in two names: Celeste Elisabeth Burns and Rebecca Angel Burns. I added contact information and handed it back.

  Greg barely glanced at it. "Please fill in the alternates."

  I didn't like the implications; we would only need alternates if my babies were dead. I looked at him with pain in my eyes, but nodded. I listed Lara, Elisabeth, and Angel. There was room for one more and I wrote in Bree Callahan. I checked the box that these were to be considered one after the other, not sharing. If something happened to me and the babies, then Lara would receive everything.

  Greg looked it over before sliding the single sheet of paper back into the manila folder. "I expect you to do what you must to make sure I never pay this out, Michaela."

  I took a breath and nodded.

  * * * *

  I spent the next several days wallowing. I missed Lara. I missed my babies. I missed my friends.

  I was terribly miserable.

  I ate; I slept; I took care of my most immediate needs. By the weekend, I asked for directions to the gym. I worked myself until I dropped.

  On Monday I received a notice to report to the gym at nine. My training began.

  I spent Monday shuffled between various Lima Consulting employees, all wolves, all much, much bigger than I was. I decided they were probably all ex-military. They evaluated my hand-to-hand skills, my physical prowess, and my ability with weapons. They didn't seem impressed.

  By late afternoon, I was beat. I had just gotten my ass handed to me in another sparring session. Greg stopped by, Wendy in tow, and one of the wolves asked, "Why is she even here?"

  The four wolves gave Greg a rundown of my shortcomings. "She can barely shoot," one said. "She knows nothing about procedures," said another. "Her combat skills are, at best, poor," said a third. "She has no strength, even less reach, and her technique is amateur."

  I hung my head. Everything they had said was right.

  "Cameron," Greg asked of the last one. "What's your body count?"

  Cameron puffed out his chest. "I don't like to brag."

  "I believe yours is the highest here, isn't it?" Greg asked.

  The four wolves conferred with a look, then Cameron said, "Yes."

  "What is it?"

  "Twenty-seven," Cameron replied.

  "Jordan?" Greg asked.

  "Seventeen."

  "Bryce?"

  "Eleven. Three were wolves."

  "Wait," I said. "Cameron, how many of yours were wolves?"

  "Four."

  "How many of those four were in hand-to-hand combat?"

  "None."

  Greg grinned at me. "Michaela, what is your body count?"

  "One-hundred and sixteen," I said.

  "She's lying!" Cameron exploded.

  "How many were wolves, Michaela?" Greg asked.

  "One-hundred and sixteen," I replied.

  "She's a fucking liar!" Cameron said.

  "How many were in hand-to-hand combat?" Greg asked.

  "I don't know," I said. "I suppose it depends upon how you define hand-to-hand combat. I usually prefer to lure them into traps."

  "Wendy," Greg asked. "How many wolves have you personally witnessed Michaela kill in single combat?"

  "Four," she said. "All males, all huge. One of them jumped her with no warning. The other three were challenge fights."

  "Bullshit!" Cameron said.

  Wendy stood up straight and stared at him. "Are you calling me a liar?"

  "Well, no," he said immediately.

  "Michaela," Greg asked. "How many times have you shifted today?"

  "None," I said.

  "So in spite of this underwhelming vote of confidence, you didn't need to heal?"

  "Cameron broke my ribs," I said. "And my wrist. I healed them."

  "Bullshit!" he said. "She never shifted."

  "That's what I said," I replied. I sighed and turned to Wendy. "Break my arm."

  "No," Greg said immediately. "Perhaps a less violent demonstration will suffice."

  I nodded. Wendy pulled out a knife and walked up to me. I held out my left arm, expecting her to cut my hand. Instead, she plunged the knife into my forearm.

  "Damn it!" I screamed. Wendy stepped back, her knife embedded in my arm. I hissed and pulled the knife out. Blood poured from the wound. I focused on it and slowly it healed. When it was done, I slumped. "I'm going to need to eat soon," I said, panting.

  "Fuck," said Cameron, staring at my arm.

  "Michaela, why did they give you such a poor combat rating?"

  "Because I wasn't using my knives," I said. "I wouldn't want to hurt them."

  Cameron scoffed.

  Greg tossed me a knife. I was still holding Wendy's, my blood coating the edge. I caught the one he threw me. "Cameron," Greg said. "Try not to let her kill you."

  He flew at me.

  I barely evaded. I was sore, tired, and needed food.

  But he was a wolf. He was slow.

  I ducked under him, slashing with Greg's knife as I slid past him, scoring a cut on his side. I stabbed backwards with Wendy's knife, embedding it in his buttocks. He spun, howling and pulling the knife from my hand.

  "Michaela normally has four," Greg said. He threw me another knife, which I caught.

  Cameron wrenched the knife out and came after me with it. He was good, of course he was. I evaded him but took a punch in my side and went flying.

  I healed the cracked ribs as soon as I was on my feet.

  "I need food for this, Greg," I said quietly.

  "Don't get hit again," he replied.

  Cameron came after me. I avoided him, backing away, ducking, twisting, moving backwards in a circle.

  "Greg, I don't want to kill him!"

  "Your knives aren't silver," he said. "He'll heal."

  I barely avoided a slash from the knife, then didn't quite avoid the next. I hissed as Cameron scored a line across my forehead.

  I backed away. "Fuck this," I said. When Cameron launched his next attack, I slashed his knife arm rapidly, scoring four long, deep slashes before he even registered the first. I slammed the knife in my left hand into his gut but didn't press towards his heart. Then I spun around behind him, leapt up onto his back, and ran the hilt of the other knife across his throat.

  Then I backed away, panting.

  Cameron slowly turned around, a hand to his throat.

  "I used the hilt," I said. "It might hurt, but you're not dying. And I didn't go for your heart. Greg, end this."

  Greg stepped forward, interposing himself between Cameron and me. "Go heal," he said quietly.

  Cameron nodded.

  "We're done today," Greg said. "Wendy, get Michaela cleaned up and some food into her. We'll discuss this tomorrow."

  * * * *

  Tuesday morning, a very subdued Cameron gave a fair and accurate appraisal of my skills. It was far more positive than the one from Monday afternoon. When he was done, Greg asked, "All that, and the reason she is here is for her scouting abilities."

  They made a training plan. It involved weapons, unarmed combat, and various forms of skulking and hiding. I wondered if they had hiding tricks I didn't already know.

  Over the next week, I discovered they did. But I had a lot they didn't know. I didn't share.

  I performed poorly with the handguns. The wolves tried to teach me, but I just did poorly. But there were humans on Greg's team, including a small
woman named Gina Fisher. Gina saw me on the firing range and stepped over. She watched for a while.

  "Bryce," she said when I had emptied another clip. I was hitting the target, but I was firing slowly and my groupings were poor. "Why are you giving her such a big gun?"

  "It's the smallest I have," he said.

  Gina nodded then pulled a gun from a shoulder holster. She checked it, pulling the clip and ejecting a round from the magazine, then handed me the gun. She inserted the round back into the clip and handed that to me.

  It was a small gun, and when I looked at the rounds, they were small, too.

  "Twenty-two," she said. "Try it."

  I slid the magazine into the handle of the gun, chambered a round, and then sighted down the firing range at my target. I squeezed off a shot. Then three more. Then I emptied the clip. The slide locked back, letting me know the magazine was empty.

  It was a lot of rounds.

  When I was done, I was smiling. I had just emptied the entire gun into a group far tighter than anything I had done so far. I turned to Gina and smiled.

  "It's small," she said. "It won't punch through body armor. It can easily bounce off a think wolf skull. But it's small and accurate. Load it with silver rounds and you can easily take down a roomful of wolves. Just make sure to put several rounds into each.

  I turned to Bryce.

  "I'd rather you carried something with some real stopping power."

  "I'd rather stick to my knives, but if I have to carry a gun, I would prefer something I can shoot."

  He nodded. "I'll get you one."

  "She can have that one," Gina said. "I have more, and it's company issue. But you'll need to get your own holster."

  After that, I practiced daily with the gun. I grew comfortable firing it at a variety of distances and conditions, but I never grew comfortable carrying it.

  I trained heavily through the end of the week and into the weekend. This kept up until lunch on Sunday. Greg stopped by my table where I was eating alone, quietly. He sat down.

  "I need you in my office at three today," he said. "I believe I have an assignment for you."

  "Already?"

  "Yes." He paused. "We haven't talked about this. You have a short temper."

  "I've kept it in."

  "I know. But you are going to meet a client today."