Catching Her Bear (5 page)

By the time he arrived at the house where he’d grown up, it was too dark to tell the condition of the place, but the trees sure as hell were taller. Tonight, his plan was merely to case the joint. The confrontation would happen later when he was more emotionally prepared for the fallout.

The road was fairly secluded and the homes were spaced far apart, which made it perfect for surveillance. The lights were on in the house, but it didn’t mean his parents were home. They could be having dinner out. From what he’d been able to tell, they’d been out of the country for some time, but from his mom’s Facebook posts to her friends, they’d recently returned. Wouldn’t she freak out if she knew he’d been pretending to be Harriett Longworth, an old time high school friend, in order to be accepted as her friend? If his mother had really cared about Harriett, she’d have known her old buddy was dead.

He ducked down the driveway then walked behind the line of trees, not wanting the lights from the house to cast any shadows. Close to the halfway point, headlights turned down the driveway. His heart racing, he plastered his back against a tree. When the car drove by, he dared to check it out. It was light colored and small, but he was unable to be certain of the model. He’d get a closer look once the occupant was inside.

A rather short woman emerged from the car, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Certainly wasn’t his mother. She was tall—or at least she had been to an eight year old. At this hour, it wouldn’t be any of the staff. It might be a lawyer or even their accountant, summoned to their home.

When the woman rang the bell, he deleted his mom from the list. Needing to see and hear better, he crept closer to the house. The leaves had yet to fall, making it relatively easy to move about quietly. As long as his parents didn’t have an outside dog, he’d be safe.

The woman was ushered inside and he slid to the side of the house where he could peek in the window that was part of the dining room but which opened into the living room. When he looked in, his stomach churned, his head swam, and bile rose up his throat. His parents were in the hallway speaking with the woman who looked rather young. As if she’d seen him, she turned her head in his general direction, and at that very moment, he was positive that he was looking into the face of his baby sister.

‡

K
alan took his
usual seat on the lounge chair at Rye’s house, keeping an eye on Izzy baking cookies a few feet away. “Those chocolate chip you making?” Kalan asked, his stomach grumbling. They were his favorites.

“Yup. They smell good, don’t they?” She smiled, but he refused to be sentimental at the domestic scene.

“Mouth-watering.” When he was about eleven or twelve, he’d woken up early one morning to the stench of smoke and charred ashes.

“What are you grinning about?” Rye asked.

He waved a hand. “Just remembering when Blair was about six, she decided to make some cookies before our parents woke up.”

“I take it they weren’t edible.”

He shook his head. “Let’s say the smoke alarms went off, and the cookie sheets had to be thrown out. Blair must have cried for hours.”

Rye chuckled. “Remind me not to accept any dinner invitations from your sister.”

“Amen.”

Izzy came into the living room and placed a small plate of cookies in front of him and another in front of Rye. “Thought you could use some of these given all the hard work the two of you are doing.” She winked.

“We’re about to start,” Kalan said stuffing the wonderful smelling dessert in his mouth. “Oh, these are fucking good.”

“It’s a special recipe I learned when I was in France.”

He glanced over at Rye.
“You lucky dog. She’s hot and she cooks?”
he telepathed.

Rye just grinned. Kalan snatched another cookie. He didn’t remember anything tasting this amazing since before his granny died. “Did you put red wine in these?” He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, attempting to detect what was different about them.

“Why would I put wine in cookies?” Her scrunched up nose implied she found the idea rather unpleasant. Little did she know.

“My dad’s mom used to bake the best chocolate chip cookies. After she passed, we found her recipe box. Her secret?”

“Red wine?”

“You guessed it.”

“You’ll have to be satisfied with my unadorned ones.” Izzy smiled and headed back into the open kitchen.

With the recipe exchange finished, Rye cleared his throat. “Are you thinking a Changeling is responsible for the Donaldson fire?”

It was what he’d been working on all day yesterday and today. Kalan didn’t often discuss police business with Rye, except when it might involve other shifters—both good and bad. “We have no leads as of yet. I have it from three witnesses who say Jack Donaldson was at a church social during the time of the blaze, but a new witness said he was very sure he’d spotted him at the hardware store around the same time.”

“It was a red moon. Could it have been a Changeling clone to throw suspicion his way?”

“Possibly.”

“Even though a shifter might be involved, I’ll let your department worry about it,” Rye said. “If you learn anything concrete, I’ll help.”

“I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Izzy came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. “I saw you and Elana talking at my party. How did that go?”

His insides tightened. Clearly, she was on a fishing expedition since Elana was her best friend. He had no doubt they’d spoken about his less than friendly actions. If he could change things he would, but it was as if something had invaded his body and turned him into a bumbling bear. “Fine, I guess.”

“She’s been my friend since grade school, you know.”

His stomach flipped, awaiting the speech about him being a jerk to her. He didn’t need to be having this conversation. Thankfully, hearing Elana’s name wasn’t causing any internal changes. “That’s nice.”

Izzy dropped down next to Rye and picked up a cookie from her mate’s pile. “Just so you know, she had a rough childhood and spent a lot of time with my family.”

Kill me now
. He didn’t need to learn this, and he definitely didn’t need to be engaging in this conversation. “That’s a shame.”

“Did you know her parents were out of the country for much of the time when she was growing up and left her alone with different housekeepers?”

Abandoning children really pissed him off. “Why have kids if you aren’t going to enjoy them and nurture them?”

“Exactly. Being of British descent, my family was admittedly rather prim and proper, but they loved Missy and me totally and completely. They were always there for us.”

He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like not to have his parents and siblings around. “Me too. Does she have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, which was why she practically lived with us. Elana and I were in the same class together.”

That put the scrumptious woman even further off limits, which might be a good thing. Kalan wasn’t good with long term anything—except being Beta to his Silver Lake
Were
Clan. “I hope she’s been able to work things out with her parents now that she’s grown.”

“Not really, which is why she stays away from them as much as possible. When they are back in town, they might do birthdays and holidays, but that’s it.”

Kalan tried to dismiss the ideas of being
alone, abandoned, and unloved
, but the pain from her upbringing altered something inside him. He swung his legs off the lounge. “I need to be going.”

“Already? You two haven’t done much work.”

“Izzy,” Rye said. “Let the poor man be.”

Rye couldn’t know how he felt about Elana, and he didn’t intend to tell him.

“Before you leave,” Izzy said, “I’ll make a care package of cookies for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He was surprised she wanted to, given she seemed to believe he’d mistreated her best friend.

“I know, but I want to. Give me a sec.”

She stepped behind the kitchen island and returned with a large tin. She slid the cookies he hadn’t eaten in there too. “Don’t eat all of them at once. Spread them out over a few days.”

He chuckled, never having witnessed this whimsical side of Izzy before. “You sound like my mom.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” With tin in hand, he left. Tonight might be a good time for a run. Lumbering around in his bear form would help clear his head and help wear off the calories from those delicious cookies.

*

Brian had waited
two long days before confronting his parents. What he expected them to say he didn’t know, but he steeled himself for their continued rejection. An apology would be too good to be true, but even if he received one, it couldn’t make up for the twenty-seven years of being in and out of mental institutions. His suffering over how they’d treated him had fucked with his head really bad.

The cab dropped him off at the house. This time he didn’t care if there was a log of his arrival. Because it was still light, he studied the home and the long driveway, which was bordered by maples and oaks that led to the huge white mansion with green shutters. He couldn’t help but look at the window where his room had been and to the roof access where he would often climb out at night. Seeing the old homestead was like a hundred knives stabbing his gut, but he refused to turn back now.

I can do this.
I just need to put one foot in front of the other.
His therapist thought this would be a good idea, saying Brian would never have closure unless he spoke with them. Now that the time was here, he doubted the wisdom of that decision.

At the front door, his hand shook as he raised it and knocked. They hadn’t even changed the lion’s head brass knocker or the color of the red door from when he lived there. Heart clamoring to escape, he lifted his elbows to keep his underarms from sweating.

The front door opened.

It was his mom, and a band around his chest threatened to cut off his air. She looked old. She might have dyed her hair blonde to halt the aging process, but he’d know her anywhere. She had the same beady eyes, long nose, and stern mouth.

“Yes?” she said in that haughty voice he detested.

“Hello, Mother.” At least that came out sounding almost normal.

She stilled, but the pulse in her neck did a rapid tattoo. Taking a few steps back, she placed her hand on the banister and called to someone upstairs. “Can you come down here, please?”

Holy shit. His fucking mother was actually scared of him. That put things in a different light. “May I come in?”

“Just one moment.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, or rather footsteps along with a thump of a cane. When a gray-headed man appeared, Brian didn’t recognize his father at first, but then the eyes gave him away. He’d always stood so ramrod straight, and now he was a gimp with slumped shoulders.

Dad moved next to Mom, presenting a united front. “May we help you?” his father asked.

“Richard, this is Brian, our son, or so he claims.”

Did she call him by name because his father didn’t remember? Unless he had a form of dementia, it reinforced just what kind of lame people they were.

“Do you have proof you’re our Brian?” his father asked.

The word
our
softened him. Maybe his dad had changed. “Look at me. I have your blue eyes and mom’s long nose.” He would have rolled up his sleeves to show the massive scarring from all the intravenous drugs they’d administered over the years, but they’d say he was some kind of drug addict. “Surely, you remember that you sent away your eight-year old son to the loony bin, because you were afraid I’d burn down the house or kill you.”

“Nonsense,” his mother said, her gaze looking everywhere but at him. “We were afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

That was a lie. “After years of therapy, I’ve been declared sane. I don’t set things on fire or harm animals either.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you want to come in?” The strain in her voice sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Her invitation took long enough, though now he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend any time with these monsters. After wiping his feet just as he’d been taught to do as a young boy, he entered, interested to learn what things they’d kept and what they’d changed. “I see the picture of Blue Boy over the fireplace is the same, but thankfully you got rid of those godawful flowered sofas.”