Bite Deep (19 page)

‘You'll keep your distance from Karla,' Vaughn told him, a growl entering his voice.

‘I can't help it if she comes here to see me,' Jericho said, watching the Enforcer's body tensed, his jaw tighten.

‘What happens at Crystal Waters is none of your business, mutt,' he said between clenched teeth. ‘And for your information, my business is to make an assessment of your capabilities in leading this place.' He leaned closer to the fence. ‘But just between you and me? It wouldn't make a difference to me if you'd had no reverts this year. You don't belong here. I always maintained it was a mistake to let you live. You're a mutt, you should never have been give the role of Enforcer.'

‘I'll keep that in mind,' Jericho said. ‘Are we done?'

‘No,' Vaughn replied sharply. ‘And you will watch your tone. As far as I'm concerned, your days here are numbered. Considering what's been going on here the last few months, I wager it will only be a matter of days before council gives the green light for your title to be stripped from you.'

The rebuke was edged with warning and Jericho inclined his head stiffly, staying silent. He'd rather die than apologise for his
tone
. Tension made his jaw ache, and it was all he could do to keep his heartbeat steady. Vaughn's threat echoed loud and clear through him, and anxiety struck through him like a bullet. If his title was taken from him, what would that mean? What purpose would he have? He shoved the fear deep and embraced the rush of anger that followed. He'd worked too hard to let the Dog House go without a fight. Vaughn would have to tear his Rehabilitator role from his dead, lifeless hands. For now, though, he had to buy time, try and find out what Vaughn's angle was.

‘Naturally, I will respect and obey any wishes from the Enforcer.' He tried to keep back his sarcasm, but a sharp glance from Vaughn told him he hadn't been successful. The Enforcer stepped closer still, bringing his face up to the fence.

‘Open the gate, Jericho,' he said.

‘No one enters the compound unless they have a full background check.' Jericho jerked a thumb behind him. ‘And I'd be very careful about making any threatening moves. One of the best snipers in the world is tucked away, a scope pointed at your head.'

‘Are you threatening me?'

‘I'm letting you in on my security measures. I thought you'd be impressed.' Jericho shifted forward, lifting his hands and lacing his fingers through the wire. ‘But I do think you should leave now.'

Vaughn said nothing for a long moment and it took all of Jericho's self-control to keep his breath steady. There were many things he should be reporting right now. The Hunter, Coulter, arriving in town and Lydia's blood ties to him. But he held his tongue and held Vaughn's searching gaze with his own steady one.

‘Are you sure there's nothing else you want to add?' Vaughn asked softly.

Jericho's top lip curled as violence bubbled in his veins. For a moment, he fantasised about giving Frost the signal, then watching a high-powered bullet explode Vaughn's head like a watermelon. His fingers twitched and it took some effort to keep his hands still. This wasn't about his revenge. He owed the new king, Drake Malthus, his life and possibly the redemption he found at the Dog House. If Vaughn was killed, then Jericho would be stripped of everything anyway. All his work here destroyed, the trust and brotherhood he'd built, gone to dust.

‘Very well,' Vaughn said, and he returned to the van without another word.

Jericho watched the van turn and drive off, worry uncoiling through him. By not warning Vaughn about the Hunter in town, he'd committed something close to treason.

Turk stepped up beside him, lighting a cigar. ‘You want to tell me why you didn't say anything about the Hunter being in town?'

‘Because I don't trust him.' Jericho turned to him. ‘We'll take care of Coulter ourselves.'

‘And how are we going to do that?'

‘We're going to watch and wait for now,' Jericho said. ‘My bet is he's someone's handler. Sooner or later, he's going to make contact and then we'll take both of them out.'

‘I see.' Turk took the cigar from his mouth, smoke leaking from his lips. ‘Don't go worrying about Vaughn too much. He can't come here and cause trouble without serious blowback from the council. This year's been bad, but it's a stretch to say it's your fault. We'll figure out what's happening with the men and fix it soon enough. And what went down between you two? That was a different life.' He took a few quick puffs, then added, ‘I still remember when you showed up here. Nearly every bone in your body knitting to heal. You were broken more ways than one, brother. But you came alright. Don't let him take you down again. We need you to be strong now and keep an eye on what's important. The Dog House. Our pack brothers. That's all that matters.'

Jericho grunted, not bothered by Turk's reminder that Vaughn once took him down hard. When the ambush had slammed into them eight years ago near the King's own residence in Japan, Vaughn had started by kneecapped him with a steel rod, breaking both his knees and legs. But that pain had been nothing as he'd been forced to watch Drake Malthus plunge a dagger into the heart of his King, a man he'd sworn to protect to the death. The knowledge that he'd been bested by a piece of shit like Vaughn still haunted him, time healing that wound crooked.

Turk shoved the cigar back in this mouth. ‘And I'm not sure what's going on between you and your cop girlfriend—'

‘She's not my girlfriend,' Jericho said, exasperated.

‘—but you put some distance between you two, okay? ‘

‘She's not a threat, Turk.'

‘Don't matter if she is or isn't. Won't do her any good if she comes poking around the club again. Especially if those Enforcer assholes are on the lookout for any reason to take you down.'

‘She won't come back here,' Jericho said with certainty. He'd make sure of that, personally.

Chapter 18

By Sunday morning, Lydia still hadn't figured out what to do about Novak's drunken stunt the night before. All she knew was he could thank his lucky stars Thomas Coulter had arrived in time to stop things from escalating, because she had been seconds away from shooting Novak in the balls.

She had risen early and killed time over coffee before she thought it was a reasonable hour to disturb the Solbergs. By the time 9 am ticked over, she was well caffeinated and beyond curious about Coulter's interest in her mother's old files.

She hurried down the short track that led to the cottage the old couple had rented for the last ten years. The sandstone cottage was hemmed by a well-tended garden, ringed by fragrant roses, lavender bushes and apricot trees. The garage attached to the cottage was empty, but she knocked on the door anyway. Footsteps sounded, then Dominic answered the door, a paintbrush stuck behind one ear. He was a tall man, with a quiet reserve that seemed to hold up well against his wife's strong nature. His face broke out into a smile when he saw her.

‘Lydia, how lovely to see you.' He stepped back, motioning her inside. ‘Come in, come in. Would you like a coffee?'

‘Sure.'

Inside the small home, bookshelves lined the walls, cluttered with tattered books on animals and anatomy. Twisted tubes of acrylic paint lay about, with paintbrushes tucked into a variety of chipped cups. The faded blue couch was covered with a black and yellow quilt and a thread-worn Turkish rug sat under a Balinese-style coffee table.

The cottage kitchen was cosy and Lydia sat down when Dominic pulled out a chair for her. He began to bustle around the kitchen, placing a stovetop coffee pot on a hotplate.

‘Greta baked bread this morning, can I offer you a slice with some homemade plum jam?' he asked.

‘Sounds great.'

The silence between them was comfortable, and soon Lydia had a rich coffee in front of her, and was biting into a piece of soft bread topped with a sweet jam.

Dominic sat down across from her, stirring sugar into his own coffee. ‘How are you finding things?'

Lydia swallowed her mouthful. ‘Fine, I suppose.'

He shook his teaspoon at her. ‘Ah, you say this to me, but I see some worry in your face.'

Lydia deflected. ‘I have a lot on my mind at work.'

‘Yes.' A shadow of sadness passed over Dominic's face. ‘You mean the death of the young woman? Such a terrible tragedy.'

‘Greta mentioned that you used to be a priest. Is that right?' Lydia asked.

‘Yes.' Dominic placed his spoon back beside his cup carefully. ‘I was a Jesuit until I was in my forties.'

‘Then you met Greta?' Lydia meant it as a light comment, but then immediately worried she'd stumbled onto a delicate subject.

But Dominic just shrugged. ‘By then I was no longer with the faith.'

Still worried it was a sensitive matter, she sipped her coffee, nearly going cross-eyed at the punch of caffeine, and tried to think of a new topic.

‘Greta came by last night,' she said, pouring more milk into her coffee. She usually had it black, but what Dominic had poured for her was too strong to drink it straight. ‘She mentioned she'd found some of my mother's things when she was cleaning last night.'

Dominic nodded. ‘Yes, yes. You would like to see them?'

‘Sure.' Lydia stuffed the rest of the bread in her mouth and followed Dominic as he walked into the cottage hallway. At the end, a narrow ladder led into the attic. He motioned her towards it.

‘I might let you look for yourself. You don't need me peering over your shoulder.' He headed back to the kitchen. ‘You just call if you need me for anything.'

Coffee mug in hand, Lydia stepped up the ladder, pausing as it creaked under her weight. Lifting an arm, she opened the trapdoor above her head. Stepping up another few rungs, she waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the attic before stepping all the way up. The cramped room smelled of dust and a small round window let in the soft morning sun, dust dancing lazily in a golden beam of light.

A pile of taped-up boxes sat in one corner, the name Gault scrawled on the sides in thick red marker. Lydia placed her coffee on the floor and tore the sticky tape off the first box. Stuffed toys and children's books tickled old memories like a gentle caress. She quickly taped it back up and put it aside, not wanting the trip down memory lane yet. The second had vases and crystal figurines wrapped carefully in newspaper, while the third box revealed carefully stacked folders, smudged black print on the spines.

She sat in front of the box cross-legged and pulled one folder out at random. The first half held what looked like blood-work results and detailed reports. Flipping beyond that, she found pages and pages of her mother's neat handwriting, combined with pencil sketches and photographs of plants and wildlife. Lydia frowned and held up one of the sketches. At first she thought it was a leaping wolf, but quickly realised it was a sketch of a snarling nightmare, standing on two feet. Underneath the drawing was written ‘
homo lupus
'.

She gave an amused snort. Was this some sort of story her mother had been working on in her spare time? She pulled out another folder and flicked through, seeing what looked like myth and legend combined with the history of Camden. A photo fluttered out of the folder and she picked it up to see it was of a group of women, her mother in the middle. Each woman bore a large smile and held Champagne glasses in a celebration of sorts. She turned back to the files; her eyes ran over phrases, trying to make sense.

… unique genetic traits from the infected are inserted into the DNA of human hosts through saliva …

… hypertrichosis and altered skeletal structure which aids hunting habits …

… contact made, possibility of co-existing …

Lydia shook her head and put the folder back into the box. Whatever her mother was up to, it was a mystery to her. She turned to the remaining two boxes, but found nothing more than remnants of a past she'd left behind after her mother's death.

Below her, the front door closed and she heard Greta's muffled voice. There was an exchange in the kitchen with Dominic, then the footsteps came closer and paused.

‘You alright up there?' Greta called up. The ladder creaked and moments later, her head appeared through the open trapdoor.

‘I was just checking out those boxes you told me about,' Lydia said.

‘Find anything interesting?'

‘Just bits of the past.'

Greta's eyes softened. ‘I picked up some fresh blueberry Danishes from the bakery in town. Why don't you sit down and have something to eat with us?' Her eyes took on an evil glint. ‘You can tell us all about your big date tonight.'

Lydia arched an eyebrow, before remembering her conversation with Jamie the Fireman the night before. She pulled a face. ‘I almost forgot about that.'

‘You can tell me later,' Greta chuckled. ‘Then I can tell you all the details of our travel plans as well. The places I want to visit. So many of them.'

From the kitchen, Lydia could just make out a groan from Dominic. Greta winked at Lydia, then disappeared back down the staircase. Lydia chuckled at the old woman's unexpected humour and dusted off her hands, heading downstairs and leaving old memories behind.

* * *

Jericho walked out of the back door of the wholesale grocery store with Corbin, loading supplies for the Dog House into a van, his bike parked nearby. Around them shadows grew long, dusk settling as a brisk breeze sprung up.

‘That's the last of it,' Corbin said from behind him, arms loaded with crates of fresh apples. He eyed the half-loaded van critically as he shoved the crates in. ‘Are you sure this is it?'

‘Yeah,' Jericho answered, ‘This is it.'

‘I'm not sure the cook will be able to make this stretch for the month,' Corbin said. ‘Even eating pasta every night.'