Madoz kept talking, but Finn didn't hear him. He opened the file. There, on the top, was a picture of Robyn Peltier's dead husband: twenty-nine-year-old Damon Trent Peltier.
Thirty minutes later, Madoz had left and Finn was at his desk working when his ghostly partner returned.
"How long do you want me to sit on this - " "Trent" saw the open file on Finn's desk, and the photo in it. "Shit."
Finn didn't look up. "Is there something you want to tell me, Damon?"
"Shit." Damon slouched into the nearest chair. "I'm sorry."
"What? That I figured it out?" Finn turned his chair to face him. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
"No, I was just hoping it'd take a little longer."
"Like long enough for you to plant false leads and throw me off your wife's trail?"
"What? No. Absolutely not. I knew you'd figure it out soon, but before you did, I wanted to prove I could be useful - give you real leads. Like that one with the kid. That's totally legit. I can give you his description, the description of the officer he spoke to, hell, I can probably recite their conversation if you'd like." He walked over and sat on Finn's desk. "I'm here to help you find the truth, which I already know - that my wife had nothing to do with this. I don't need to throw you off her trail."
"Just try to sway me off pursuing her as a suspect."
"I - " He stopped. "Okay, that was stupid. Understandable, but stupid, and it won't help my cause or Bobby's."
"Bobby?"
"Robyn. Sorry. From here on, I will try to keep my opinions to myself and if I slip, you can tell me to shut up. And if I don't help you, if I mislead you or I'm a nuisance, you can tell me to get lost and I will. I just..." He shifted on the desk. "I need to help her, Finn. She's - "
Finn held up a hand. "For the next twenty-four hours, we'll see how it goes. Then you can tell me your story. For now - "
"Just shut up, do what I'm told and try to dig my way out of this hole."
Finn nodded.
* * *
ROBYN
Robyn awoke to the smell of breakfast sausage. Caught between sleeping and waking, she lifted her head with Damon's name on her lips; hot breakfasts had been his specialty. One bleary look around the motel room reminded her where she was.
Fighting the impulse to lie back down and pull up the covers, she tracked the smell to takeout boxes on the dinette, pushed aside to clear a spot for Hope's laptop. Hope sat with her back to Robyn as she read the screen. There was no sign of Karl. The bedside clock said it was past nine. So much for her resolution to jump into the investigation first thing in the morning.
Hope was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't hear Robyn approach. The file on the laptop display looked like records with dates and blocks of text. But before Robyn could get close enough to read it, Hope glanced up.
Hope closed the file window and stood. "Karl grabbed breakfast. It should still be warm."
"He's out already?"
Hope handed Robyn a coffee. "Just walking around the block, getting a feel for the neighborhood and stretching his legs."
A rap at the door.
"And there he is."
Hope checked the peephole before opening the locks. Karl greeted Robyn, then set his takeout coffee on the nightstand.
Hope's gaze followed him. "Everything okay?"
He nodded. "There's a convenience store around the corner and some restaurants a block over." He took a sheaf of pamphlets from his pocket. "I picked up takeout menus from the ones that were open." He turned to Robyn. "They all deliver. While I'm sure you're tired of being cooped up in here, you should stick to delivery for lunch. Keep the doors locked and only open them if you're expecting an order."
She glanced at Hope, who was dumping her leftover coffee in the bathroom sink. "You're heading out?"
"Just for a few hours," Hope said. "We'll be back after lunch."
"I'd like to go with you. Help out."
"You're safer here," Karl said, taking out his keys.
"I - "
"Hope and I need to attract as little attention as possible. It's better if you stay here."
She hadn't thought of that. "Then what can I do here?"
Hope and Karl exchanged a look.
"I want to do something."
"We have Internet access," Hope said. "There are a few things you could look up."
Scraps to make her feel useful. "Whatever will help. Just tell me - "
Hope's cell rang and she snatched it from the table, as if grateful for the interruption.
"Lucas, hey," she answered. A pause. "Yep, I got it last night. Thank Savannah for me. It's a match."
A string of uh-huhs. Hope grabbed her notepad and started jotting things down. Robyn tried to see it from where she sat, but Hope's writing was an illegible scribbled shorthand. She always joked it was so no rival could steal her notes, but Robyn knew she'd always written that way, her brain speeding ahead, pen scrambling to keep up. Like everything else in Hope's life, function came before form.
Karl seemed to be able to read it, though, murmuring questions for Hope to ask. Robyn had been able to read Damon's scrawl, too.
"Is that like a scheduled surrender?" Hope was saying.
Hope must be talking to her lawyer friend. Or wasn't it Karl's friend? It didn't matter. Damon's friends had been Robyn's, too. Or so she'd thought, until she'd been uninvited from a New Year's party two weeks before she left Philly.
She shook her head, scattering the memories.
"I'll call you later, then," Hope was saying. "I really do appreciate this."
Pause.
"Yes." Her gaze shot to Karl. "He's right here."
Her fingertips caressed the desktop, face averted as she listened. Then she handed the phone to Karl, gaze following as he took it outside.
"Did you say something about a scheduled surrender?" Robyn asked.
It took Hope a moment to answer. "That would buy us more time, but it won't work in a murder case. He's setting up a short-term scheduled surrender, if we don't find something by six."
Her gaze tripped to the window, as if trying to see Karl's silhouette through the drawn drapes.
"So we have - " Robyn checked her watch. " - just over eight hours. Show me what I can do."
* * *
HOPE
Karl had driven three blocks in silence before Hope spoke.
"I wish you wouldn't do that."
He made a noise in his throat, as if waiting to hear which infraction she was referring to before committing himself to a response.
"Sneaking around asking Lucas for updates on Jaz. It would be easier if you'd just give him your number, you know."
"I wasn't sneaking. I could hardly discuss it in front of Robyn - "
"And what was your excuse the last time? Or the time before that? Did you honestly expect me to think Lucas is just calling to chat?"
Another block of silence.
Karl cleared his throat. "About Jasper - "
"Is he dead?"
"No."
"Escaped?"
"No."
"In imminent danger of escaping?"
"No."
"Then I don't care."
She turned to the window, nails biting her palms. Did Karl really think she'd want to know how Jaz was doing? Did he think she'd care?
Last year, after their disastrous first attempt to shift from friends to lovers, she'd tried taking the rebound remedy. If there was one word to describe Jasper Haig, it was fun. He bounced through life with enthusiasm, and he'd pursued Hope with gusto, not caring how big a fool he made of himself. In short, Jaz was everything Karl was not - and exactly what she'd needed... or so it seemed at the time.
Jaz was currently incarcerated in a maximum-security Cortez Cabal prison, his execution stayed only while they studied his rare supernatural powers.
Hope knew Karl's main concern was for her safety. Like any good villain, Jaz had vowed to come for her when he escaped, convinced th
at she was still the girl for him.
And as hard as Karl worked to control his wolf side, there were two instincts that were as strong in him as in any werewolf Hope knew. One was the instinct to protect. As the only person Karl cared about enough to protect, she bore the full brunt of that.
The second was the territorial instinct. The feminist in Hope might be horrified at the thought, but she knew she was Karl's territory. To the wolf, she was his as much as he was hers, to be protected and defended against all comers.
Karl tried to be smooth about it, made jokes about his jealous streak, but when a man looked Hope's way, she saw his hackles rise. The first time he'd seen Jaz, she'd been drunk, straddling his lap and making out with him, as close to having sex as you could get with your clothes on.
Karl couldn't forget that.
It didn't matter that she'd come back to Karl, that she'd chosen him before she'd found out Jaz was a killer. It didn't matter that since his return, she hadn't looked at another man. The human in Karl knew he had no cause for jealousy, but the wolf couldn't forget that somewhere, out there, he had a rival plotting to take his mate.
"I'm sorry," Karl said finally.
They were at a stoplight. She looked over, meeting his eyes, searching for chaos vibes before tearing her gaze away. As tempting as it was, she shouldn't use her powers to read him and gauge his sincerity. Trust him or don't. No shortcuts allowed.
"I do check with Lucas periodically," he said. "His father is supposed to provide me with updates, but I don't trust Benicio to be prompt or truthful if it's not in the Cabal's best interests."
"Did you think I'd disagree?"
"I didn't think you needed the constant reminders that Jasper is still out there."
The light changed and he drove another half-block before adding, "And I don't want you to think I'm obsessing about him."
"Are you?"
"I think about him as little as possible, but I'll rest easier when the writ of execution is carried out."
"Agreed. Make a left at the next street." When he did, she went on. "What's the other thing you're keeping from me?"
Again his gaze shunted her way, trying to figure out which infraction was now the topic of discussion.
Hope sighed. "Are there really so many? Honesty, Karl. It's a good thing."
A twist of a smile. "Perhaps. But in my case, complete and full disclosure of everything I've done in the past would not be a good thing. If you're referring to recent events I haven't disclosed, though, there's only one, and it isn't a secret, just a subject I wasn't ready to bring up."
"Until you take care of him?"
He shot her a reproachful look. "Do you think I wouldn't warn you of a potential threat?"
"Another werewolf in L.A. isn't a threat to me - "
"Yes, it is." His tone was firm, almost sharp. "I know you think otherwise, but I'd appreciate it if you humored me on this." Another turn and he concentrated on it more than necessary, struggling to find a lighter tone. "What gave me away? A stray thought last night when I came back?"
"I don't need my powers to read you, Karl. I'll admit, I didn't notice anything wrong last night. I was too busy going along with the drugstore excuse for Robyn - which, by the way, was clever. Sorry I didn't get it right away."
"She didn't notice."
"So you smelled another werewolf last night, then went out this morning scouting. That's when I caught on, from your expression when you came back. Is he near?"
Karl shook his head. "If he was, I'd have moved us. I caught his scent last night, but it was in the air and I couldn't find it on the ground to track. I didn't have any better luck this morning. I suspect I miscalculated the wind and he was farther away than I thought."
"Do you want to go after him now?"
"No. We have work to do. I'll look for him tonight."
* * *
ADELE
Never trust a boy to do a woman's job, Adele thought as she marched toward Robyn Peltier's apartment door.
Colm was sweet and useful, but he could be as thick as a board. Not stupid, just inexperienced. When his plan to steal a personal item failed, he was stumped. His only backup plan was to try again tonight. She couldn't wait that long.
When she told him what she planned to do, he'd freaked out. It was crazy, dangerous. Colm didn't understand that to get what you wanted in life, you had to make bold moves.
It wasn't his fault. They'd been raised to hide, not make waves. They were one of the most powerful supernatural races and what did they use those powers for? Pandering to the cult of celebrity. It was humiliating.
She still smarted from last night's meeting with the phuri. Portia Kane had been Adele's first assignment, and she'd done a damned good job, earning her keep and contributing extra to the kumpania coffers. Remarkable for what should have been a training exercise. Even Neala had been grudgingly impressed.
So how did they reward her? By giving her a true celebrity as her next target?
"You've done such a fine job with Portia, Adele, that we'd like you to continue that with Jasmine Wills."
Jasmine Wills? She could have spit in Neala's face. Was she going to spend her life chasing spoiled, empty-headed twits?
If it hadn't been for that photo, she'd be free of the group by now. It didn't matter. She still planned to be free, hopefully before she had to produce results on this new assignment. The others might have better jobs, but they had no hope of freedom. They were too indoctrinated in the kumpania's culture of fear to ever leave the kumpania - they'd certainly never have the nerve or the brains to think of actually going to a Cabal and getting a job on their own terms.
For most in the kumpania, that indoctrination began almost from birth. As toddlers, kumpania clairvoyants underwent "the lessons," which instilled a terror of the Cabals so deeply embedded that they'd need only to glimpse a face on the street to start sweating. Instinct would take over and they'd flee or fight, doing whatever it took to escape. By the time Adele got the lessons, though, she'd been six - four years older than kumpania children. They'd given her a healthy fear and respect for the Cabals, but not the gut-level terror the others felt.
"Perhaps we should not be doing this," the super said, huffing as he hurried to keep up with her.
She fixed him with a wide-eyed look and affected a honeyed accent. "Oh, I don't want to get you in any trouble. If you'd like those officers to escort me, I completely understand. But they said it was okay. I don't think they wanted to be disturbed while they ate their lunch..."
"I guess if they said it was all right..."
"Or you can call Portia's momma. She's awfully upset right now, but I'm sure it wouldn't be too much of an imposition..."
His eyes rounded, hands lifting. "No, no. That poor woman. She has been through so much."
"She'll be so grateful to you for helping us out like this."
The portly little man blushed as he unlocked the apartment door. He paused before swinging it open. "Miz Peltier's things should not be disturbed. She is a very nice lady."
Adele touched his shoulder. "I know exactly what it looks like. Poor Portia wore it the last time I saw her, at the breakfast after our cousin's wedding." Adele sighed. "She looked so pretty. That's how I'll always remember her. Miss Peltier was real sweet to dry-clean it for her, but Portia's momma is worried that with all this nasty business, she might not get it back."
The super ushered Adele inside. She'd hoped he'd wait at the door, but the nasty little man kept right on her heels, twittering away about her family's tragedy while making damned sure she didn't mess up his precious tenant's apartment.
She opened the closet.
"Are you sure you know - ?" he began.
"Course I do. It's right here."
She grabbed a silk blouse that Portia Kane wouldn't be caught dead in, but looked expensive enough to pass muster with the super. As he bustled her out, Adele looked wistfully at the clothes hamper. Dirty clothing always worked better. But he wasn'
t going to give her any opportunity to snatch something. She could only hope Robyn was, like her, too frugal to send her blouses to the cleaners after every wearing.
Adele had been in her bedroom, clutching Robyn's silk shirt and staring at her photo for an hour, and all she knew was that Robyn was in a motel room.
Fucking lot of good that did. She didn't need the gift of clairvoyance to tell her that's where Robyn would be.
She watched the shimmering vision, trying to find a clue to which motel. Robyn sat at a computer, posture perfect, blond hair pulled back in a sleek, gleaming ponytail. Even on the run, her clothing screamed young urban professional. It made Adele want to shred the silk blouse with her nails.
It didn't help that she was trying to concentrate while listening to Lily and Hugh having sex in the next bedroom. Adele had grown up planning to marry Hugh. He was five years older than her and she'd been adopted by the kumpania for breeding, so naturally they'd pair her off with the only unmarried male close to her age. The fact that he was big and broad-shouldered and, in the right light, reminded her of a young Hugh Jackman only added fire to her fantasies. As for Lily, she was no competition. A silly ditz who had yet to successfully complete an assignment. Apparently, the kumpania disagreed.
Even after Lily and Hugh married, Adele hadn't given up hope. Kumpania law said that couples had a year to breed. Then they moved to "stage two," and if that ended with no pregnancy, the fault would be presumed to be the woman's. Lily would become a drone, and Hugh would be married off to the next available girl, which would be Adele.
For the last year, Adele had been feeding Lily birth control pills in her morning coffee. Ironic, then, that Adele herself should become pregnant. But when she did, she'd looked at her options and decided, as fine as Hugh was, there was a better life out there for her. Yet she'd kept giving Lily the pills. It never hurt to have a backup plan. The downside, though, was that the longer it took Lily to get pregnant, the harder they tried and the more Adele had to listen to it.
That soundtrack made watching Robyn at the computer all the more frustrating. What the hell was she doing? Her client was dead. She was wanted by the police and there she was, calmly working like it was any other day.
Living With the Dead Page 9