Blood of the Pride (19 page)

“If not now, when?”

I chewed slowly, putting my energy into shredding the meat. “How about after we find this kid?” I couldn’t help letting my annoyance slip through.

Bran nodded. “Okay. I get that.” He pointed at the couch with his knife. “Am I there or in my own bed tonight?”

“Are we fighting?” I smiled, tipping the bottle toward my mouth.

“I don’t know.” He chuckled. “Are we?”

“Only if it’s foreplay.” I waved my fork. “And before you even go there, no—Felis are not more prone to S&M than anyone else.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.” His right eyebrow arched upward. “But, now that you mention it,” he said, “as you know, I am open to new experiences.” His eyes caught mine. “And I like exploring all angles.” He drew his eyes down and over my body, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

I pushed the near-empty plate away from me, feeling a delicious tingle begin to surge through my veins. A good slab of meat in my belly and a handsome man across the table. Yeah, I could make this work.

I glanced at Jazz. “You’re on guard duty tonight. Don’t mess up.” She answered with a long, leisurely stretch of each toe to its full extent, reaching out with one leg then the other. I turned back to Bran. “We’re good.”

He tipped back his own bottle of beer, finishing it off. “Bet I can make you purr.”

“Felis don’t purr.”

“Bet I can make you.” He leered at me, sending a thrill up my spine.

“Just don’t forget to set the alarm clock.”

The next morning we were standing in front of David Thomson High School at seven o’clock, both of us bleary-eyed and less than bushy-tailed. Brandon handed me a Starbucks cup of coffee, shuffling his feet from side to side.

“Your own fault.” I shook myself awake again.

“Well, I think it was worth it.” He grinned at me. “Now I know what makes you purr.” His attention returned to the scene in front of us, ignoring my blush. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he mumbled, taking a sip of his own brew.

“No. But it’s a good place to start.” I gestured toward the empty school parking lot. “As long as I stay upwind of this kid, I’ll be fine. He won’t be able to tell that I’m anyone other than just another adult.”

“Except that we’re technically trespassing,” Bran said. “Sooner or later someone’s going to tell the office that there are two people hanging out near the parking lot and we’re going to be chatting to the police about how we’re not predators.”

“Except by then we should know who the kid is. Besides, we’ve got identification and a good reason to be here. Cops won’t mind. Much.”

“When we know who the kid is…” Bran took another sip and shrugged, adjusting the light jacket lying across his shoulders. “What do we do? Can’t just walk to the cops and tell them that he’s the killer ’cause he smells bad.”

I looked at Bran. “He doesn’t smell ‘bad.’ Each Felis has their own individual scent.” I turned my attention back to the parking lot. “You’ve got one. You just don’t know it.”

He sniffed his armpits, making a scene of it. “Oh, I can tell.” His hand reached over and down to pinch my bottom. “And you smell pretty darned good yourself at times.”

I slapped his hand away despite the wanton thoughts intruding into my mind. “Work, Bran. Work. I’m hoping we can just talk to this kid and reason him into custody.”

“How do you figure that? He’s killed one woman and attacked you, as far as we know. Not exactly a poster child for hug therapy.”

“He’s a lost, confused kid.” The school buses had begun to arrive, accompanied by a fleet of minivans as parents dropped off their precious cargoes—that couldn’t or wouldn’t ride the buses. “It’s likely he’s got no self-control to start with, no idea of what’s going on in his mind and body. Like I said—puberty’s tough enough without being a Felis.”

“Yeah. I remember those days. Except I wasn’t running amok and killing my teacher.” Bran nodded when a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls strutted by, ignoring us with a toss of their collective heads. “Just as I remember.”

“Huh.” The yellow buses began to discharge their cargo. I looked up and sniffed the air. “Still good. As long as the wind doesn’t change, we’re good.”

Bran nodded, scanning the growing crowd of students. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise this could be a very bad scene.”

A light breeze drifted over us and I caught the familiar odor.

“There.” I pointed toward a cluster of young men, jocks by the looks of them. Varsity jackets with the usual stream of lettered patches down one arm, a bunch of surly faced, pimply annoying little men, and one of them was my boy.

The wind shifted, sweeping my breath away as the different scents dragged over my senses and reversed, taking them to the crowd. None of which would notice unless they were Felis.

A tall young man peeled out of the crew and stood to one side. He dropped his backpack to the ground and raised his face to the sky.

He was just a little taller than Brandon, jet-black hair cut into a shaggy mass and long, lanky arms pushing the limits of his team jacket. He began to spin around, his dark brown eyes searching for the source. His nose was twitching, pulling in the scent of the woman he’d attacked.

He saw me.

I saw him.

He broke into a run, sprinting away from the student crowd. I threw down my coffee and followed, ignoring Brandon who had no chance to catch up.

A herd of clucking seniors appeared in my path when I charged down the sidewalk, nattering about some reality show. I pushed my way through despite their cursing and gestures, knocking more than one expensive electronic gadget to the ground.

He was picking up speed. I dashed out onto the road, hoping the pavement would help me make up the distance. I ignored the shards of pain shooting up my right hamstring, focusing on keeping him in sight.

My pulse began to sound in my ears, my running shoes hitting the pavement in a perfect rhythm. The boy’s scent was strong in my nostrils and I was on a hunt, slipping back into old routines as if I had just been on the farm yesterday tracking my first hare. The slap-slap of my leather jacket on my shoulders rang true as I dodged around a car door, carelessly flung open by a woman who hadn’t checked her rear-view mirror.

The young man ducked down an alleyway, picking up speed and then losing it again as he leaped over scattered boxes and debris. His steps were becoming slower and labored with his staggered wheezing flying back to my ears. He hadn’t trained for a long distance chase and certainly not for being the hunted, not the hunter.

The alley wasn’t too far from where he had killed Janey. It stank of urine and feces—and not just the animal type. Stacks of cardboard boxes lined the walls, soaked and disintegrating sodden masses, threatening to catch my toes and send me flying. I was gaining on the kit.

The dark-haired kid slammed into a wire mesh fence so hard I wondered if he had knocked himself out. It sure would help. I was beginning to reach the end of my adrenaline-fueled rage and needed a break.

The boy spun around and roared, Changing so fast I nearly impaled myself on his claws as I skidded to a full stop.

He had the light stripe down one side of his face, identical to Frank’s, but he wasn’t an old man on the downside of life. He was young, eager and untrained, and had already tasted blood. Not the rabbit blood or deer blood from my youth. Human blood.

Facing him was a crippled Felis who couldn’t Change. A woman with fifteen-plus years on him—most of which had been spent without the ability to Change.

I knew who I’d put my money on, and it wasn’t the old broad.

He ripped off his jacket and snarled at me, revealing a set of gouges on his forearms from our previous meeting. His face contorted and finished Changing as he yelled again, fangs now fully visible.

“Look…” I put out one hand and tried to look and sound as comforting as I could—Ruth trying to console an upset kit. In my mind’s eye I flashed back to her trying to tell me my parents had died and that I was on my own but not really alone. There was always family.

“Look, I’m like you. You know that.” I spread my hands out, palms exposed. “I know we got off on the wrong foot before, but we’ve got this in common. Let me take you to someone who can help you learn about what you are, who you are. I can do that.” I forced myself to smile. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to be.”

“You’re a cop.” The low growled response came. “You want to put me in a cage.”

“No.” I studied the kid. “I’m like you.”

“You say you are. You smell like you are. Show me.” He motioned me forward with one furred hand, his claws catching the dim light in the alley. “Show me your claws again. Show me some fur, cop. Or are you just trying to trick me with some fancy smells and special effects?”

I cursed silently. “Look, it’s a long story but I can’t Change. Trust me, I’m just like you. And I want to…”

The young boy charged at me, roaring with both arms outstretched.

So much for talking him down.

I stepped to one side just at the right moment, dropped and swung my leg around, catching him in a vicious trip. At the speed he was going it would be a miracle if he didn’t snap his neck.

Which he didn’t, thankfully. Instead the kid skidded several feet in the muck and mire, landing in a jumbled heap against the wall about twenty feet from where I stood. He was precariously close to the main street and exposure as a Felis in broad daylight.

It was a stupid move, a child’s move, and one that any experienced fighter could have dodged or avoided. Except this kid was running on adrenaline, hormones, action movies and as many video game moves as he could memorize. In the fantasy world you don’t end up face down in a pool of piss. Well, at least not too often.

He sprung to his feet and spun around to face me again, angrier than ever. His face glistened, the fur highlighting every bit of moisture. The T-shirt was soaked, clinging to his muscled form along with his faded jeans. If nothing else, I had managed to make him smell even worse.

A figure appeared behind him, silhouetted in the daylight.

“What’s going on?” The policeman stepped forward, one hand on his belt and the other outstretched into the darkness of the alley. “Both of you, hold it!”

The boy spun around, still partially in the shadows. His hands flexed open and shut once, twice.

“I said, hold it right there!” The cop was young, blond and just started to shave. His eyes were wide and blue and I could smell his fear. Great.

His hand fumbled with the small strap covering his holster. “I said, hold it!” His voice rose with the last word, edging into squeaky girl mode.

The rogue stepped toward the policeman, his face still in the shadows. He’d reach the policeman first unless I did something.

I dashed toward the front of the narrow alley as the cop pulled his automatic pistol free, the barrel shaking in the daylight. His other hand went to the radio mike secured to his right shirt epaulette. “C234, I need some backup here at McDonald Street, near Sanderson. Two people fighting in an alleyway, attempting to put them under arrest.”

My hand dipped down into a thick pile of something-I-didn’t-want-to-think-about, coming up with a baseball-sized mess. I tossed it at the policeman, trying hard not to breathe as the stinky, slimy mess left my hand. It soared past the rogue’s head and splattered dead center on the cop’s chest.

The astonished man looked down at the soggy stinking garbage soaking his uniform shirt—ignoring the kid for a second. “What the…” His nose wrinkled, the smell of the alley’s debris almost overwhelming him.

The kid turned around and glared at me. I could see his mental wheels spinning, going over his options. Stay and fight and get shot and arrested or flee.

He charged down the narrow lane past me, slowing down just enough to scoop up his jacket. He leaped to one side, bouncing off the walls to get enough height to clear the fence at the far end.

I watched as he dropped back down onto the pavement. He looked back at me, shook his head and sprinted off into a side alley.

The policeman wiped his shirt with his free hand, the pistol still pointed at me. “You…”

“Hey.” I raised my hands. “I’m good to go.”

An hour later I sat on the wooden bench at the booking area of Station 14, beside a Parkdale hooker who hadn’t been able to tell a cop from a potential customer and a drunk with a bloody nose who kept falling asleep on the prostitute’s shoulder.

Hank Attersley appeared at the front counter, his face beet-red while he talked in a low voice to the sergeant. A lot of hand-waving ensued, with more than a few references to “that woman” being made. I suspected they weren’t discussing the one next to me with more false parts than the Bionic Woman.

Finally the sergeant threw up his hands and pushed a piece of paper over to the detective, which he signed and pushed back. The older man approached me, his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure whether to be upset or laugh,” he rumbled from deep in his gut. “That poor fellow is going to spend a fortune getting that uniform dry-cleaned.”

“He’d be better off tossing the entire thing out.” I offered my handcuffed wrists. “Please?”

He didn’t move. “We’re going to go back to my desk to talk.”

“You can talk to me.” The young woman next to me batted her eyes at the police detective. “And I won’t even charge ya for it.”

Hank rolled his eyes as he reached down and undid the cuffs. “Follow. Now.”

The old desk was scratched and battered, at least ten times older than the computer it held. Off to one side a snapshot of Hank and his wife riding horses sat in a stainless steel frame, one I had sent him at Christmas.

Hank dropped into the wooden chair with such force the wheels screamed for mercy. “What the hell are you doing?” He rubbed his temples. “Actually, don’t tell me too much. I don’t really want to know.”

“Look, I’m sorry about messing up the kid’s uniform.” I sat down in the interview chair next to the desk. “But geez, Hank—are you getting them out of high school these days? That kid’s barely old enough to shave!”

He closed his eyes again then opened them. “Right now I wouldn’t push your luck, Reb.” His gaze focused in on the two riders. “Assaulting a police officer is still a crime.” He looked at me, putting the full intensity of his twenty years of experience behind those steely blue eyes. “What was that all about?”

I drew a deep breath, feeling an ache in my ribs. Not as young as I thought I was. “The teen’s involved in a case I’m working on.”

“The Winters case?” Hank motioned for me to continue.

I stayed silent.

“Reb, if this kid’s a suspect and you let him go…” One hand reached over to open a desk drawer. “I’m trying hard not to hear this.”

“It’s only a lead.” I watched him grab a plastic bottle of warm water. “If anything, your officer interfered in our discussion and enabled him to escape.”

“As I understand it, you two were tussling in the dirt and he wasn’t sure who was attacking who.” His forehead furrowed. “Or is that ‘whom’? I always get that screwed up.” He twisted the small blue cap off and took a deep swig of the clear liquid. “Look, tell me what you know about the kid. Let me put that into the Winters file and get it re-opened.” The portly detective held up the bottle and let out a deep sigh. “If you had ever told me growing up that I’d be paying a buck a bottle for water, I’d have said you were nuts.” He turned back to me. “So…what’s going on?”

“It’s a possible lead. I don’t want to turn over the info to your boys right now because it may be nothing.”

“We don’t want to check out ‘nothing’?” His eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that scummy reporter downstairs waiting for you, does it?”