Frostbitten (15 page)

* * * *

At eight forty we were outside Joey’s office waiting for him to arrive. We stood across the road, under the shadow of a crab shack awning. As Clay scanned the streets, his face was immobile, but I knew what he was feeling—dreading the horrible news he had to break to Joey, yet looking forward to seeing his old friend.

“He’s coming,” I said when I caught a werewolf scent on the breeze.

Clay pivoted, searching. “That’s him. With the bald guy and the older lady.”

If we hadn’t been looking for Joey Stillwell, I would have never noticed him. He blended with everyone else on the street, one of those cookie-cutter businessmen who filled every American business core at this hour.

He was average height. Slender, though softening at the edges as he settled into middle age. I knew Joey was only a few years older than Clay, but he really
could
pass for fifty. He was bespectacled and serious, with frown lines that said serious was his usual expression. His brown hair was shot through with even more gray than Jeremy’s, making me wonder if he dyed it trying to look his true age.

“Go on,” I said to Clay.

“Come with me. We should—”

“Go. I’m in charge now, remember?”

He smiled and loped off. We’d decided earlier that Clay should approach Joey alone. It seemed right—he came from a part of Clay’s life before me. Even if Dennis had told Joey about me, I didn’t need to complicate the reunion.

“Joey!” Clay called as he jogged across the road.

Joey should have heard him, but he kept walking as if not recognizing the old diminutive.

“Joseph!”

Now even his companions heard, both turning, the older woman catching Joey’s elbow as he kept walking. Her lips moved, telling him he was being hailed.

Joey glanced over his shoulder. He saw Clay. No sign of recognition crossed his face. I’d met Clay a few years after Joey left the Pack, so I knew Clay hadn’t changed much. Hell, other than aging, he hadn’t changed at all, from his hairstyle—close-cropped gold curls—to his fashion sense—jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket.

Joey kept walking. I tensed. But Clay only broke into a jog again, not slowing until he was close enough for Joey to smell him. He laid a hand on his shoulder, in a quick squeeze.

“Joey,” Clay said. “It’s Clay. Clayton Danvers.”

Still Joey’s expression didn’t change. In a voice so soft I could barely hear it from across the road, he said, “I’m afraid you have the wrong person.”

Clay grinned. “Sorry. It’s Joseph now, isn’t it? A bit old for Joey. You never much liked it as a kid either.”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

Before Clay could respond, Joey gave a curtly polite nod and strode back to his coworkers.

“He seemed to know you,” the man said as they approached the office doors.

“Does that accent sound like anyone I’d have grown up with?”

The woman laughed. “It’s damned sexy, though.” She glanced back, admiring Clay’s rear view as he walked away. “You couldn’t pretend to know him for my sake? Invite him to coffee? Make an old lady’s day?”

The other man laughed and they headed inside.

* * * *

Another day, another cappuccino. And another unique and wonderful place to enjoy it. If we had more caffeine-fill-up locations like this back home, I’d become a total coffeehouse nut.

This cafe doubled as a Russian orthodox museum and was across the road from the museum where Reese had been attacked. We were the sole patrons that morning, the silence broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation between the clerk and a Russian Orthodox priest.

I had hoped the quiet surroundings and the religious artifacts would draw Clay out. But we were almost done with our coffees and he had yet to say a full sentence.

“Waylaying him like that might not have been wise,” I said finally. “I wanted to tell him about his father—and warn him about the mutts—as quickly as possible, but we caught him off guard. He’s used to hiding that part of his life, so he did it instinctively in front of his coworkers.”

Clay said nothing.

After another minute of silence, he spoke. “I should have made contact years ago.”

“He could have done the same.”

Clay shook his head. “I was pissed off when he left and I didn’t make any secret of it. It was up to me to make the first move.”

“Which you just did.”

“Too little too late.” He sipped his coffee, his gaze disappearing into the cup’s depths.

“Well, we still have to talk to him, whether he wants to chat or not. He needs to be warned about the mutts, if he doesn’t already know they’re here.”

“He doesn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be carrying on, business as usual. We’ll talk to Jeremy later. Get his advice.”

I was about to say I could handle this—if I was going to be Alpha, I had to make simple decisions like this—but as gung-ho as Clay had been about the transition last night, change didn’t come easily for him. By nature, he deferred to Jeremy and right now, it was best to leave him in his comfort zone.

As we drank, I noticed a community bulletin board beside the counter. Prominently displayed was a mini-poster with pictures of three young women.

The clerk had vanished into the back rooms, so I excused myself and went over. If Clay noticed, he gave no sign.

As I suspected, the poster was for the three missing women the reporter had mentioned yesterday. They ranged in age from seventeen to twenty. Two were Native, one Caucasian. All three had gone missing from Anchorage on Saturday nights.

The poster listed the streets where they’d last been seen, but not the exact locations. I’d venture a guess and say they were in bars, despite being underage. The women’s group that printed the poster had left that bit of information off because they knew it wouldn’t rouse the right degree of sympathy. It shouldn’t matter. At that age, what was wrong with visiting a bar on Saturday night? Yet it wouldn’t invoke the same reaction as saying they’d gone missing from the library.

I looked at the three photos. All the girls were pretty, but in that average way that most young women are. Cute enough to catch a guy’s eye. And they had caught
someone’s
eye.

Did they leave the bar with the wrong man? Did someone follow them home? Did their disappearances have anything to do with the mutts? That was the million-dollar question.

The dates overlapped with the supposed wolf kills. I’d been ready to dismiss the connection earlier because the city disappearances were too different from the forest kills, but now I wondered.

Different, yes. But two distinct types of victims serving two distinct purposes: one for hunting and one for sex. Both would end up dead. In the forest, though, there was no need to hide the body—blame would fall on the wolves.

Yet if people found the same partially eaten victims within the city limits, concern would leap straight into panic, with every gun-owning citizen ready to shoot the first large canine he saw. Even the cockiest mutt wouldn’t dirty his bed that badly.

“You think there’s a connection?” Clay said as he came up beside me.

“I’m not ruling it out.” I turned to him. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. Got a lot of stops to make today. Better get moving.”

“Let’s start with an easy one.” I leaned over the counter to get the attention of the clerk, who was counting stock in the next room.

The priest stepped from his office. “May I help you?”

“Sorry. We were just hoping for tourist information.”

“Such as…”

“A museum of natural history maybe? Or a children’s museum? Someplace we’d find wildlife displays.”

“The Federal Building.”

“The…”

He laughed. “Yes, not the first place you’d look, is it? As you can see…” He gestured from the cafe to the museum. “We Alaskans have eclectic tastes in our pairings. The Federal Building has an excellent collection of wildlife displays. It’s free to the public and only a few blocks from here.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

* * * *

Museums and truck stops weren’t the only places to find lattes in Alaska. In fact, I was beginning to wonder whether a city bylaw required all businesses to have an espresso machine.

“Oh, look,” I said, pointing as we walked. “Faxes, copies, postal services… and espresso.”

Clay jerked his chin toward a window across the road. “Hunting licenses, ulu knives…”

“And espresso. Just what you need when shooting and carving up big game. Do you get the feeling Alaskans like their coffee strong?”

“Long, dark winters, darling. They need something to keep them going.”

We found the Federal Building a mere block from our hotel. At the foot of the steps, a young man was setting up a sausage stand, the meat already sizzling on the grill, the smell making my stomach growl. Then I saw the sign.

“Reindeer sausage?” I said.

“Works for me.” Clay pulled out his wallet. “You want one?”

“Sure. We just won’t tell the kids we ate Rudolph.”

The federal building did have an excellent display of stuffed beasties. We found wolverine and several subspecies of bear. Getting a scent from a taxidermy version is less than ideal, but we could smell enough to know that none of the creatures there had been the one that attacked me.

As for what
had
attacked me, we both suspected our best source would be the notes we’d taken from Dennis’s cabin. So, exercising my new powers as Alpha-in-training, I sent Clay back to the hotel room to get a closer look at Dennis’s work while I grabbed supplies—energy bars, fruit, water, brandy, all the little extras a werewolf needs to call a hotel room home.

When Clay hesitated, I reminded him that he’d been the one to suggest the shift in roles. “So that’s what I’m doing,” I said.

“And that’s what I’m doing,” he said. “There’s one area with Jeremy where I get to argue a call. Personal security. We can both get the stuff, then both go to the hotel.”

“A waste of time. As you said, we have a lot to do. I’m heading that way.” I pointed down the road. “I saw a shop a block away. The wind will be at my back. No one can sneak up on me.”

He grumbled, but eventually gave in. I headed in the direction I’d indicated… and kept going to Joey’s office. I’d planned to go inside and ask for him, but as I rounded the corner, I saw him ahead, a tray of coffees in his hand.

I jogged up behind him before he reached the doors.

“That was a shitty thing to do this morning,” I said.

He jumped, sloshing coffee and cursing. I waited while he cleaned up with napkins from his pocket. He took his time and didn’t so much as glance at me until he was done. He knew I was a woman and a werewolf—my scent would give that away—and I was pretty sure he knew who I was, but when he did look up, he still seemed startled. His nostrils flared as he drank in my scent. Then he rubbed the back of his sleeve over his nose, as if clearing away the smell.

“Normally I’d apologize for making you spill your coffee,” I said. “But I shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you like that, not coming upwind.”

“What do you want?”

I took the coffee tray, walked to a marble-topped raised flower bed and set it down, then sat beside it. Joey stayed standing.

“I’m Elena.”

“I know who you are.”

“And you know who Clay is, despite that stunt you pulled this morning.”

His mouth tightened. There’d been a time I’d never have talked to a stranger like that. I could blame all those years with Clay, his attitude rubbing off on me, but the truth, as I’ve come to realize it, is that being with Clay just gives me an excuse. Years ago, I might not have talked to Joey this way, but I’d have wanted to.

I continued. “Maybe he caught you off-guard, and we’re sorry for that. But you could have come out after your coworkers were gone.”

From Joey’s expression, he wouldn’t have done that even if Clay had suggested it.

“You need to speak to Clay,” I said. “If only for a few minutes. He has something to tell you. Something important.”

“Then you can tell me.”

“Clay really should.”

He picked up his coffee tray.

I caught his elbow. “Please. It
is
important.”

“Then say it and go. I’m not interested in a reunion.”

I moved in front of him. “Whatever Clay did or said twenty-five years ago—”

He looked up sharply, his frown cutting me short. It took a moment before he seemed to understand what I meant.

“That’s over,” he said.

“I know you didn’t part on the best terms.”

“The terms were fine. He was annoyed, but we worked it out, and we parted. The key word there is
parted
.” He glanced at me. “Didn’t Clay get all those birthday cards I sent?”

“No, he never—”

“Because I didn’t send any.” He adjusted the tray, holding it in both hands now, between us like a shield. “Clay thought I was running away from trouble with the Pack. I wasn’t. I was running away
from
the Pack, from all that werewolf crap he’s obsessed with—they’re all obsessed with. I only stayed as long as I did for my father’s sake. I was happy for the chance to leave and now I have no interest in resurrecting past ties. Whatever Clay came all this way to tell me, you can get it over with and go.”