“Not my boyfriend.”
“He was naked in your bed!”
“Platonically nude. Like a kitten and nothing more.” Okay, now I was full of crap. “He was beaten nearly to death and dumped in my yard without clothes. This is the first moment he's been full flesh since.”
“You can't use mutt information to call an FBHS raid.”
“I'm not going to.”
“You just said—”
“Of course, I did, but you didn't test the BS with your Kaidlyn-filter. When I said I'd call in a raid, what I meant was me with thirty pounds of Ag rounds and the trusty AR-10, no FBHS included. I can't order a hit on a mysterious mutt without raising all sorts of incriminating questions.”
“Instead, you plan a solo hit off the books? Crazy and stupid.”
“Iago beat Clifford so badly I shoveled his eye back into his skull with a serving spoon. So no matter what your argument is, I automatically win. Plus, Iago dumped him on the lawn as a warning to me and the boys.” I pointed at his nose. “Don't tell me I'm being crazy.”
We stood eye-to-eye, giving me plenty of time to stare down his pearly blue gaze. I wanted to explain how awful the mess of Clifford’s body was, how it felt to put his ragged pieces back together again. Somehow, Sarakas understood simply by seeing my face.
“It was that bad?”
“I had to push his ribs back into his body. Poking out like weeds.”
“Exactly my point. You can't take on this Iago guy, especially if he's got a gang of mutts willing to hurt people so badly.”
I flapped my hands. “Do I let gang beatings and brutal initiations continue? What if he decides to make an example of Davey? Wanna see that play out?”
“If this mutt is so violent, we'll get him on something. Yoshino can scour the system as a potential's acquaintance. He'll be tagged when we have man hours.”
“We never have man hours.” And I already tried.
“What's Iago's last name?”
“Don't know.”
“Well, what does he look like?”
“Dunno.”
“Not helpful.”
“No joke. If I can convince Clifford to turn on the guy—”
“Then Clifford's people will consider him a traitor. He'll be a pariah at best, killed at worst.”
“Granted, I hadn't considered it, but Iago will be dead. Ends, means, and justification all wrapped up nicely with a peaceful bow on top.”
“Wait, Kaidlyn. Give us time to help without jeopardizing your life.”
I looked into his pale blue eyes. “Do you really want to help or are you only talking me down?”
“I'm still here. What do you think?”
“You're right,” I sighed. “I'm being impetuous.”
He grinned. “Did you just admit that I'm right?”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“While I'm on a roll, I’ll say, it's none of my business what you do—”
“Let me get a pen. I've got to write this down.”
“Kaid, be careful with all these wolves. I understand where you’re coming from, I do, but you have to be more cautious. Not every stray is a loyal companion. Eventually, one of them will turn on you.”
“I hear you, but it’s hard to care. I mean, no one is safe anymore. Loyalty is hard to find.”
“So I hear.”
“Sarakas?”
“Yeah?”
“Remind me why we do what we do?”
“Someone needs to stand for something or the whole planet goes to shit. We protect humanity from the monsters because no one else dares. We kill what everyone fears.”
“Don’t worry. You’re still my best friend, no matter how many canine-inclined individuals are around.”
“Wise ass.”
“Speaking of asses, I don't suppose you have spare clothes in the Tahoe.”
“Only jeans and some gym stuff. Why?” His eyes narrowed. “You want the naked non-boyfriend guy to wear my pants?”
“It's not a metaphor! Stop being such a baby and hand over the goods. He won't fit into any of Davey’s things; he's got fifty kilos on him.”
“You’re his height. Give him a pair of yours.”
I grinned. My jeans would hug Clifford's ass in tight, pornographic ways. And as far as asses went, he had a very fine one which I had recently seen naked.
“Oh my God,” Sarakas said. “The idea turned you on! Unbelievable. You're driving me crazy.”
“You seem extra mad. Did you sleep here last night? Did something else happen?”
“Something is always happening—”
“Does Vanessa know you’re here? She’s gonna be mad at me, Andreas.”
“God. Women.” He stormed to his vehicle, grabbed the jeans and some flip flops, stomped back, and thrust them into my arms so hard it rocked me back.
“Thanks!” I said.
He mumbled under his breath and stalked back to the Tahoe. He drove away, his brow lowered and lips grumbling. One day, he and I would have another uncomfortable talk. I bit my lip and looked down the hall to make sure Clifford didn't sneak up on me, naked.
Davey said, “You've got man troubles.”
“Yeah? Well, so do you.”
He narrowed his eyes. I wasn't in the mood to be analyzed or lectured, and he shouldn't have brought it up. Last thing I wanted was another discussion of my life, feelings, or intentions. Granted, deflecting the subject to Peter was not the kindest move on my part. I had no strength to argue. Davey faced love's potential disaster, and he didn't need an additional fight with me.
“Sorry. I need a nap.” I backed out of the room.
Clifford was asleep in my bed, but he stretched himself awake when I came in. He stood, completely naked and completely at ease with his body's morning rigidity. I didn't turn around. Firstly, this was my room, and secondly, I think he wanted to make me uncomfortable. I impressed myself by not blushing.
Full frontal Clifford was everything a girl could hope for. I considered dragging him into bed, recovery be damned, and taking the visual offering to a new sexy level. He may have sensed—or smelled—my intentions because he sucked in a breath and his dick bobbed. He turned around and reached for the pants while I tried not to mope about the rejection.
The pants fit, nicely snug in the hips and ass. The flip-flops were almost too narrow. I gave him a green shirt from my closet. It stretched tightly over his chest, but at least his six-pack was covered.
“I should be going,” he said. “I need to see my mother.”
“What?”
“I had a near-death experience, Kaid, and I'm going to see my mom. Haven't talked to her in quite some time, and the reunion is long overdue. I have been avoiding this for too long. I'm going to tell her about my disease.”
“Bad idea. Way, super bad idea. People don’t always respond well. She might panic.”
“Panic?” He snickered. “Clearly you don’t know my mother.”
“You’ll regret it.”
“Probably.” He would do it anyway.
“Let me know what happens.” Or I'd read about it in the news.
“Yeah.” He tried to smile. His whiskey eyes burned like two gentle candles in a window amid the blackest storm. I should stop him and convince him not to trust people. It seemed like a lot of work and more than a bit hypocritical.
I wanted to hug him. Clearly, the semantic result the nightmarish world we lived in. I reached out, both hands flopping wearily, and he met me in an embrace. It was still and strong. We pushed each other away in the same instant, not hostile, but like we had to set that boundary down again. He gave a wave and walked out the front door.
I knew, I knew in my heart, that I would never see him again.
Chapter 35
My phone erupted with calls and messages. Apprehensive, I answered Contrell’s call first.
“Are you watching the news?” he said.
“Just tell me.”
“There’s a head with yo
ur name on it hanging from a power line in Red Sector. The head is female.”
“Oh, crap.” Svetlana? Someone else? “Who?”
“We have suspicions which are in the process of being confirmed. Your name is carved in blood on the victim’s forehead. Some of the officers who aren’t as familiar with your, uh, personage, ahem, I mean scars…they thought it was you.”
“Contrell, c’mon. Who is it?”
“When is the last time you spoke with Jasmine Elyea?”
“Jasmine?” I floundered. Who? Finally, it came to me. I gasped. “No.”
“You were close?”
“She’s a barista at a coffee shop. We talked a few times. Jesus. God. I saw her two nights ago. She was fine. They hung her head? Where’s the rest of her?”
“I’m not done with my questions, please,” he said. “Your tag puts you at her place of employment on a regular basis. Were you intimate?”
“No. I mean, maybe we almost kissed, but nothing happened. And don’t you dare get judgmental with me, Mr. Jesus-pants. She was a sweet person. We flirted, and I walked her to her car. Wait, since when do you have the authority to pull my tag pings?”
“Corpses have appeared with your name on them, Durant. Duh, I’m investigating you. The bureau was reluctant to release the information, but they loosened up after you punched a fellow agent while on leave.”
“I hit Rosco while helping at your crime scene. Probably saved his life.”
“This has to stop, Durant. I’m pursuing all avenues. What did she drive?”
“A green Kia. Uh, maybe ten years old.”
“Any idea what she’d be doing in Red?”
“No. I mean, she seemed like the high on life sort, not the kind to get high or do illegal things. I can’t really speculate since we weren’t close. Were there bite marks on her? Small imprints, not a wolf but maybe a vamp?”
He sucked in a breath. “Are you suggesting vamps, who are church-protected and god-sent creatures, did this to Ms. Elyea?”
“I hate to speculate, but yes. Hell yes. Jesus. Jasmine. She was so lively. Contrell, mutts and vampires are behind this. They’re working together—”
“Kaidlyn, hush. You can’t say that to anyone. Not the press, not the FBHS, no one. If vampires are involved, the church will be neck-deep in this, and they already threatened your life.”
“Pfft. They threaten me a few times a year.”
“This is serious. I need hardcore, solid, irrefutable evidence.”
“It will never be enough. You could have live videofeed of those leech assholes fang-deep in a virgin and they wouldn’t give a shit. The world does not care. We need more. Can you find any evidence of anyone else, vamp or human or leprechaun, who might have been in the area during the murder?”
“Most of our surveillance research is outsourced to AmeriFreeCorp. I can ask them—”
“What?”
“AmeriFreeCorp. A surveillance—”
“PD outsources research?”
“Sure. I mean, that’s how anyone gets past the intense labor costs of doing everything themselves. Any company who can’t afford to waste payroll outsources.”
“Jesus. Outsourcing. That’s the answer.”
“What?”
“That’s why the murders haven’t matched the villain I had in mind. Contrell, the bad guy is outsourcing his murder. He’s fucking paying someone else to do his bad deeds. Jesus. Everything makes sense now. Why would a mutt use a serrated blade to sever a boob? The answer is, he didn’t. He paid humans to do it for him. God. This is worse. Cheap. Dirty—”
“Can you come in and give me a written statement, not via email but in person—oh shit. They’re here. The church is here.”
“As good a confirmation as any.”
“Gotta go.” He hung up.
The church would claim the crime scene, boot Contrell, eliminate evidence, generate a cover story, and kill anyone who said otherwise. They’d done it before, they’d do it again. The police couldn’t help. Jasmine’s killers would get away with it, protected by the current holy order. I sent a follow-up text to Svetlana, Peter, Rainer, and Erik: Urgent, need to talk.
I rolled up my sleeves, went to the gun safe, and opened it. I dragged out three boxes of Ag rounds in .45, two of Ag .38, and two Ag .380 and set them on the table. A long knife came from the safe next, and I strapped it to my left ankle since a gun holster already occupied my right. Finally, I slid into a Kevlar vest and threw a shirt over it.
I pulled out my phone to see if I missed an alert during all the clunking of ammunition. Nothing. Christ, they left her freakin’ head. I should have gone with her. I should have followed her home and seen her safely to the door. I hadn’t. Hell, I had barely remembered her name.
Jasmine.
Totally my fault.
Storming to the living room, I dragged the shotgun from under the couch. Then I scrounged my bedroom for my Colt M4. Yes, I kept serious firepower near my bed. Any self-respecting government merc has a few tricks up her sleeve. I added these to the stockpile of goods on the table.
I slipped the Jericho 941s out of their holsters and laid them on the table. They were ugly-beautiful, like pugs and most infants. Somewhere in their makings was a tag which monitored my firearm usage. I could disable it, but that would set off an alarm. Better to go in with guns blazing and create a cover later. If I lived. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. I replaced them with untagged, highly illegal Glocks.
I checked my phone. Neither Rainer nor Peter had texted me back. I called Svetlana and she didn’t pick up her goddamn phone. I dialed Erik and the bastard ignored me. Enough. I was done.
I stomped to Davey’s room and pulled the sound-blocking headphones off his ears. “You have to leave.”
“What?” he said, dropping the sketch he was working on.
“I’m serious. Get out. Now. Go to Peter’s. I’m buying you a plane ticket to Michigan, and you’ll stay at the dog house until it is safe. Git. Now.”
“Kaidlyn, I’m not going any—”
I pulled my sidearm. “I ain’t kidding.”
“You won’t shoot me.”
“I will, just a little bit. You’ll heal.”
“Kaid—”
I clicked the safety off. His eyes widened, nostrils flared, and he decided I was serious. I called a taxi for him while he packed a small bag under duress. On the way out, he saw the artillery weighing down my kitchen table. His skin grew clammy and he gasped. I shoved him into the taxi before he could argue.
“Call me in the morning.” He made me promise, like I was simply in a mood and needed time to get over it. I closed the taxi door, sent him on his way, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Returning to the house, I put arms akimbo and stared at my supplies. Not nearly good enough for me. Fortunately, I had grenades stashed away for times like these. I took the items out to my truck, set them behind the seat, and hid the mess with a blanket. I backed out of the garage. Zelda and Nancy loitered in the front yard, playing on the swing. I waved.
Might not see them again.
I clicked the DNAcoy, a gizmo from Rainer which dropped my tag signal and kept my movement off the radar. Contrell, and anyone else watching, would think I remained at home.
My good explosives were stashed in a getaway car I had hidden in a junkyard next to a chop shop. The yard, mechanic shop, and tavern belonged to a loveable criminal named Brutus.
I drove up to the door and strolled into the bar, the Brethren’s Balm. The bar was as colorful as the man himself. Only an old guy with a mullet and gold teeth could surround himself with cross-dressing taxidermy without it being unforgivably weird.
“Goddess!” He stretched his arms in the air. “Boys, say hello to the lady!”
A pair of fat, tatted, obvious ex-cons punched tunes into the jukebox. They nodded at me as I approached the bar and sat down.
“What will it be today, young lady? Coffee? Soda?”
“Whiske
y, double, no ice.”
He blinked. “Well, now, I didn’t expect that. What happened to AA?”
“I shot my sponsor.”
“I can’t decide if you’re joking.”
I shrugged, and he poured the drink. He had meat tags on his knuckles, the name Brutus in age-smudged jail ink. I didn’t snoop into his past and he didn’t snoop too far into mine, and he was solid. Potentially dangerous, sure, but solid.
When he set down the whiskey, I took my first tentative sip. I expected something caustic, but he’d given me the good stuff.
“I need to check on the Buick,” I said.
“Why do I get the awful feeling you’re about to do something stupid?”
“Hey, now, I would resent that if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious.” I winked.
“Can’t help but notice the bulletproof vest. Interesting fashion statement.” He crossed his beefy arms over his big gut. Man loved his bacon and doughnuts, for sure. A guy after my own heart. “So, whatcha mad about?”
“Everything, apparently.”
“Should take one of my bikes out. Get some wind in your hair. Feel the stress float right off ya. Hundred-thirty on open road and you’ll see the world anew.”
“World looks fine from where I’m sitting.”
“Boy, you’re really mad,” he said, topping off my whiskey. “Wanna tell me about it? Maybe Uncle Brutus can help.”
My eyes slipped up and caught his. Whatever he saw in my gaze wiped the humor from his face. He nodded, put an empty glass on the bar, and set the bottle within arm’s reach. Then he circled the counter and heaved his bulk onto a barstool. He politely kept about five feet between us and poured himself a drink.
He sipped, I sipped.
“Those boys and I would be happy to help you get where you’re going,” he said. I glanced over my shoulder. The big ol’ biker boys stared, leaning on pool cues, watching to see if I wanted to ride out with a posse.
“’Preciate it,” I said. “But it isn’t that kind of ride.”
“What kind do you think I mean?”
The sort someone comes back from. “Can I see my car or what?”
“There’s a penalty, seeing as you missed happy hour. You owe me interest.”
Bait and Bleed Page 28