by E. A. Copen
“No, you won’t,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll take care of Mia. Han is hiding behind Marcus Kelley, which makes him untouchable so long as you’re one of the Kings. Something tells me you don’t want to be on their bad side, Sal. Or Marcus’.”
“There has to be something we can do.”
I pressed a finger to my lips. “Let’s wait to hear a diagnosis before we go looking for a cure.”
A long moment passed before Doc brought Mia back into the room. He stopped to offer her a sticker from the kiosk before Sal picked her up so he could look her over. She didn’t resist, too busy folding her sticker over and over. “What’s wrong with her?” Sal insisted.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Doc said, his voice hesitant. “She’s in good health overall, but I’m sure you’re aware she’s missed some milestones over the last year. The poor coordination is your main concern, right?”
I nodded. “Does she need special shoes? Physical therapy?”
Doc crossed his arms. “I think what you’re looking at is only one piece of the puzzle. Normally with a kid who’s missed so many milestones, I’d recommend a developmental specialist or a pediatrician who’s more familiar with this sort of thing.” Doc shrugged. “A child psychologist, maybe.”
Sal reached out and grabbed Doc by the arm. Doc let out a loud yip, and his eyes widened as Sal ground out, “Just say it already!”
“Sal,” I said in a warning tone, “let go of the doctor.”
He didn’t like it, but he let Doc Ramis go just the same.
Doc grabbed at his chest and staggered back a step before reaching up to adjust his glasses, which were askew on his face. “First of all, like I’ve been telling you all along, I’m not a specialist, and a specialist might have something different to say. All I can tell you is what I know in a general medical sense, but keep in mind I’m not qualified to give a full diagnosis. My background is in internal medicine, not developmental delays in kids.”
“Out with it, Doc,” I said before Sal could bark the same thing.
He looked from Sal’s face to mine before continuing. “I can’t find anything wrong with her physically. Out in the hall just now, she walked just fine. She plays just fine with Leo according to you two, and while she’s a little behind verbally, it’s not enough to raise a lot of red flags yet. Socially, she makes eye contact and responds to her name.” He sighed and pushed his glasses up his pointed nose. “I think Mia’s condition is psychological. She has been through a lot.”
Sal wrinkled his nose. “What are you saying? She’s depressed or something?”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder wouldn’t be a stretch, and that’s just for starters.” He grabbed a prescription pad from a drawer and started scribbling on it. “I’m going to refer you to a child psychologist I know. She’s very good, very affordable. Discreet, too.”
Sal clutched Mia tighter to his shoulder. “I don’t need your shrink, Doc.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Doc said, tearing the top paper from the pad. “You’re thinking that Daphne Petersen can handle this. Well, you’re wrong. I know Ms. Petersen’s got a degree in counseling, but her area of specialty is addiction, not child psych. Trust me when I say you need a specialist. Someone impartial would be even better.” He held the paper out to Sal. “Mia needs to talk about what happened. Honestly, you all do. But since I know you won’t listen…”
Sal leaned forward and showed his teeth. “Listen carefully, Doc, ‘cause I’m only going to say this one more time. Mia. Doesn’t. Need. A shrink. If you’re going to dismiss everything as mental, fine. Just do it. But I’m not going to let some asshole fuck up my kid’s brain and pump her full of drugs! Now, if you don’t have anything else to say, we’re done here.” He pushed past me and strode out the door.
I turned to Doc, searching for the right way to apologize. Sal just wanted what was best for Mia. Modern medicine hadn’t done her any favors yet, and Sal was extremely distrustful of doctors as a whole, especially since Mia’s incident. He was just being overprotective. Again. Forming that into words to explain to a professional like Doc, though, felt impossible.
My mouth fell open, and I stuttered through the beginnings of several explanations before Doc raised both palms in a gesture to stop me.
“It’s okay, Judah. I understand. He’s not the first overprotective parent I’ve run into.” Doc offered a tired smile and held the paper out to me. “But maybe if you could talk to him, get him to see how much it could help Mia. You of all people should know how important mental health is with werewolves. I don’t want Mia to be another statistic.”
I took the paper from between Doc’s fingers and felt my face redden. “I’m sorry he’s so difficult.”
Doc shrugged. “He can’t be anything other than what he is. Which reminds me, how is he? He didn’t give me time to look at his shoulder. Is it healing okay?”
“Slow, but it’s not swelling or changing colors, so I don’t think it’s infected. Have you ever seen a blade that isn’t silver cut someone like that?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “And if it was silver, there’d be some necrosis in the tissue. That cut into him as if he were a regular guy instead of an alpha werewolf. I figured if anyone knew anything about it, it’d be you.”
“Sorry, Doc. I’m as lost as the rest of you when it comes to this case.” I waved the prescription paper. “Thanks for the referral.” I turned my back and walked to the door.
“Judah, wait.”
I paused with my hand on the door and turned back, waiting for Doc to add something else, maybe hand me another prescription for antibiotics for Sal, just in case. Instead, he stepped up to me and gripped my shoulder. “Mia’s not the only one who’s been through some traumatic experiences lately. How are you, really?”
My eyebrows shot up, and I fought the urge to laugh. My boyfriend had taken a sword to the ribs, Mia probably had some serious mental damage from everything she’d been through, and he wanted to know how I was doing? Me, who had taken down giants and wendigos, who had faced vampires and demons head-on? I’d seen more terrifying monsters than he’d probably seen corpses and lived to tell about it. I couldn’t tell Doc that, though. He meant well. Doc was one of the good guys.
“I’m fine, Doc,” I said with a tight smile.
“Fine isn’t the same as good. Losing Chanter was hard on everyone, but you were there.”
“I’m a cop. I get shot at a lot, Doc. Buried a lot of friends, too.” My throat felt a little tight with that last sentence, but it was true. Forming connections at the academy was frowned on, and I’ve never been what you’d call a model government employee, so I’d never lost friends in BSI. But there were others who wore the badge, innocents. Alex. I swallowed the invisible cotton stuck in my throat.
“I had an uncle who was a cop,” Doc said. “Worked vice. Some of the things he saw... Well, he worked himself through three wives before he married his whiskey and put a bullet in his head. I know all about cop therapy, Judah. Burying yourself in your work so you don’t have to face that empty feeling of loss.” His fingers squeezed on my shoulder.
I shrugged his hand away. “Look, Doc, I appreciate your concern, but I really am fine. I’d love to stand here with you all day and chat about my feelings, but I’m late for work. Thanks again for the referral.”
He nodded once. “Of course. Anytime you need me, Judah, just call.”
I shoved the script into my pocket without folding it. The paper wrinkled and crumpled there, which was probably all the use it was going to get. No amount of talking would ever change Sal’s mind. He wasn’t about to take Mia to a shrink. Maybe if Daphne encouraged him to, but I doubted it. The Silvermoons liked to handle things inside the pack. Taking her to a stranger would mean admitting weakness, defeat. Injury. Predators don’t do that, not unless there was no other choice. At the very least, maybe I could get her to talk to Daphne. Sal trusted her.
I met Sal in t
he parking lot, leaning against his truck with his back to the door. A long trail of smoke drifted up to dissipate several feet above his head.
“I thought you said you were going to quit smoking.”
He flinched as I spoke. He must have been deep in thought if he didn’t hear me approach.
Sal pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at the smoldering end of it. “Yeah, I should, especially after…” His voice trailed off.
Chanter. The unspoken name hung between us, heavy like six feet of dirt. Neither of us had spoken it since that day. We’d buried his name with him. That was their tradition—to not speak of the dead. Sal believed they couldn’t rest as long as the living kept bringing them up. I’d never told him how Chanter had helped me the day I saved Mia. If not for him, I would not have survived the spell. Even in death, Chanter had given everything to protect me, something I’d never felt like I deserved.
Sal put the cigarette back in his mouth, took one last long drag, and then dropped it to the ground to crush it with his shoe. “You know, I can’t help but wonder how things would be different if he was here. He would’ve loved being a grandfather. Mia would have been his world.” His fingers jerked up to crush against his palm until the knuckles turned white.
I slipped my arm around his and leaned into him. He released the fist. “I’m sure he’d be proud of you and never say it. You two’d be bickering about everything just like you always did, but deep down, he’d be proud. He always was.”
“It doesn’t feel the same since he’s been gone. Nothing does.”
Not knowing what to say, I just stood there. The silence felt hollow. Something chewed at my gut, and a new heaviness settled in my chest. In the distance, a car backfired. I felt Sal’s arm jerk at the sound as he jumped at it.
He cleared his throat. “You think I should take her to Doc’s shrink, don’t you?”
“I think Doc knows what he’s talking about. I also think you shouldn’t throw away an idea just because it’s different. But you’re her father. You know best.”
He tilted his head, resting his cheek on the top of my head. “If it were Hunter, what would you do?”
I’d taken Hunter to counseling after he’d been kidnapped by a wendigo. Mostly, that resulted in an hour of him sitting across from the shrink, shrugging his shoulders and crossing his arms. He didn’t want to talk, and I couldn’t make him. After a while, getting stuck with the ninety-dollar-an-hour fee once a week got to be a waste of money, so we stopped going. It didn’t help him.
The last shrink I’d seen was the one BSI sent me to in Cincinnati. She told me I should spend less time at work and more time focusing on myself. Yoga, she told me, would help calm my body and mind. I never followed through. The only reason I went was so BSI would clear me for duty.
I sighed. “It’d be easier if it were Hunter. He’s older. I know he wouldn’t cooperate. It might help Mia. One or two appointments can’t hurt, can it?”
“I suppose not,” Sal said and turned to kiss the top of my head. He tugged open the passenger side door of the truck and held it. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift to work.”
I slid in next to Mia, who offered me part of a mushy graham cracker she’d found in her car seat. She stuck it in her mouth when I declined.
I suppose if I’d been a perfect stepmom, I would have taken it away from her and wiped her face and fingers with some designer baby wipes. In real life, though, you choose your battles. A mushy graham cracker wasn’t going to kill her, and I’d never sprung for designer wipes. That’s life as a parent. You always start out with the best intentions, but exhaustion and expenses often dictate more decisions than you care to admit. Real-life parenting is dirty, messy business with lots of gray.
Sal climbed in behind the wheel and shook out another cigarette. He put it in his mouth and tugged the lighter from his pocket. I cleared my throat, drawing his attention, and pointed my chin at Mia.
“Right,” he grunted and plucked the cigarette from between his lips to tuck it behind his ear.
I frowned. I hadn’t seen him smoke two cigarettes in a row for a long time. The stress of everything was getting to him. He needed an outlet, a life away from the kids and me. He needed friends, something the Kings had provided for him before Mia came along. I didn’t want him to hang with them any more than he had to, but he needed somewhere to be without the expectation of responsibility. He needed space. I couldn’t give him that, not with this case landing on my lap. There wasn’t much of anything I could do but be there.
I reached across the seat and put my hand on his. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, leaning back in his seat and staring straight ahead. “I screw up everything I do.”
“You didn’t screw me up. You saved me in more ways than one.” I offered a smile he didn’t return.
Sal blew a breath out through his nose and started the truck. “You’re late for work,” he said.
I withdrew my hand. Dammit, why couldn’t I find the words to make everything better?
Mia’s appointment had been before hours. It was early when Sal dropped me off, so the station wasn’t alive yet. It was mostly cops from the red-eye shift, dragging themselves to coffee pots or filing their last reports while waiting for the morning shift came in. I got a few nods of acknowledgment but not much else on my way to my office on the second floor.
My office had either been a very large broom closet or a punishment room at some point. Nobody gives a cop a corner office that tiny as a reward. I had enough space to hold my six filing cabinets and my desk only if I stacked the cabinets. There was a window, though, and that was the room’s only selling point. In the colder months, it was freezing, and Hell was probably cooler in the summer. The wi-fi was spotty and I’d shooed away more than one mouse who decided to make my bottom drawer home. But it was my office, dammit, and the door should not have been standing open at nine o’clock on a Friday morning.
I stopped just short of the door when I heard papers shuffling inside. A filing cabinet drawer rumbled closed. Whoever was in there wasn’t trying to be covert.
The door creaked when I pushed it open wider. My intruder was a man of six-foot-three with a crooked nose and wavy, chin-length hair. He’d stripped off his long leather duster and hung it on the back of my chair. A wide-brimmed leather hat sat amongst the unsorted mail on my desk. A black leather vest, black pants, and black boots rounded out the nice goth look that went with his pale skin. He held one of my files and was flipping through it with a very unimpressed look on his face.
His gray eyes danced with a smile that his face didn’t betray when he flicked them up at me. “Dobroe utro, Agent Black. You are late.”
Chapter Eight
“Abe,” I said, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “What are you doing here? And why are you in my files?”
He closed the folder and gestured at me with it. “Your office is a mess, Judah. How do you find anything in here?”
I dropped my purse on the floor behind the door and kicked a cardboard box full of more files further into the darkest corner of my office. I was pretty sure there was a colony of man-eating spiders back there. “Mess? It’s pronounced organized chaos.”
“Do you even have a filing system?”
“Yeah, it’s called Windows and control F.” I grabbed the file folder out of his hands and dropped it in the closest drawer. “Most of these are just paper backup copies of stuff I’ve already digitized.” I put my hands on my hips. “So, why are you here?”
Special Agent Abraham Viktor Helsinki was one of BSI’s top agents and a liaison between the agency and several foreign vampire clans. We’d worked together on only one occasion, though I’d consulted him over the phone several times since then. I didn’t usually get along with my co-workers inside the agency, especially letter-of-the-law guys such as Abe, but the half-vampire had his own unique charm that made him hard not to like. Since he was technically my superior, I was obligated no
t to trust him.
As far as I knew, Abe only worked high-profile cases, and I didn’t have any of those on my desk that he might be interested in. An abandoned house burning might have been big news locally, but it probably didn’t even make the statewide papers, let alone the national news.
Abe’s face sobered. He placed his hands on either side of him, gripping the desk as if he were supporting himself. “I am here for two reasons. After several incidents across the country, BSI has opened an investigation into the Vanguard of Humanity.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A formal investigation?”
“The brass currently feels the group here in Concho County does not represent the organization as a whole. This investigation does not have wide support within the upper echelons of government.”
One of the lower drawers in my filing cabinet was sticking out, so I kicked it closed. “In other words, the only reason an investigation is happening at all is to placate a minority, and nothing’s likely to come of it.”
“Just so.” Abe inclined his head. “Unless someone was to find irrefutable evidence that could not be buried. BSI has sent me without specific instructions. It was heavily implied, however, that burying any evidence I found would be a wise career move.”
Dammit. That was even worse. I liked Abe and could trust him to a degree, but he walked on the right side of the line. If BSI had sent him down for a cover-up, he might just do it. Or, maybe he wouldn’t. Not following those unspoken instructions would be career suicide. Who knew what BSI would do if their poster boy gave the board of directors the finger?