Heart Secret (21 page)

He winced—thought of the hideous nightmares of sweat and sickness and bloodred and wet and rotting people. Still, no defense for what he'd done. He jerked a nod. “You're right. Unnecessarily cruel. I apologize again.”

With a tilted head she studied him. “Probably a bad night.”

He grunted.

Her lips compressed and brows came down; she touched above her full breasts. “You hurt me.”

No use, he had to say it until she understood he was sincere. “I apologize for being cruel.”

“But you meant what you said,” she said quietly. “You don't want me as a HeartMate.”

He scraped the answer from his throat. “No.” After a cough, he jerked his head up. “So you get some free shots.”

Her lower lip curled and she settled into her stance. “All right, then. But since it was an emotional hurt, I get to inflict the same on you.”

He shifted his shoulders; he'd rather have a few jabs in the gut. But she wouldn't want to injure her hands.

“You love Dinni.”

“Yes.” The words came automatically. “I did. I don't know—”

“And she was . . .”

Easy answer, “My childhood girlfriend and first lover.”

“But not your only.”

That was a blow. He kept anger from his tone. “I was true to her while we were together.”

Looking sad and determined, Artemisia said, “Dinni had a son.”

He would
not
remember his last sight of the baby. Better to let his mind fog with the grayness of old despair. “Yes.”

Artemisia said, “Do you realize that you always speak of Dinni as a girl, Garrett? But Dinni was a woman. One who married and had a child. And I'm not a girl, Garrett. I'm a woman, with a woman's heart and feelings and needs.”

Needs
. He couldn't catch his breath, dreading what was coming. Artemisia and her needs that he didn't want to think about.

“And since you can't provide what I need—love and partnership and children—I'll find someone who can. So now we understand each other.”

He watched her sweet backside as she walked away.

And without her, the day dimmed and he became aware of an awful ache and a terrible hollowness, and the idea that he'd made a hideous mistake.

Twenty

G
arrett teleported back to his office, hoping there would be cases to take
his mind off this latest disaster, his emotions that were even more tangled this morning than the night before. Stuff he couldn't wrap his mind around.

He knew only that he had to figure out his life, and he had to keep Artemisia in it. At least she was still stuck with her liaison job with him.

When he got to his office, the first message in his scrycache was from the guards confirming the murdered man was Modoc Eryngo. The second was a notice from his bank that an incredible amount of gilt had been deposited into his account. Enough to make him thump down into his chair.

His creaky chair with the hard cushion.

That would go.

And cats were warbling demands outside his shut door. He had to feed his feral brigade, and soon.

Easier to deal with details, do minor things, than to acknowledge a deep truth. His life had changed, wrenched into a new shape. Completely and irrevocably.

Not just having the gilt to do whatever he wanted. That was so secondary to meeting his HeartMate, learning about her, and his revelation to Artemisia of their HeartMate bond.

And her words that had cut into revealing
stuff
that he didn't want to think about, either. Insights that would work on him—awake and asleep.

The cat yowling was getting fierce, so he stopped the playback of his messages, rose stiffly—he'd need some workout time soon; a good bout of fighter training would sweat crap out of him—and went to the door.

As he opened it, Black-and-White trotted in and Sleek Black waited with the other five cats outside the door in the hallway. Garrett didn't ask how they'd gotten in . . . the building didn't have a Fam door so they all must have teleported. Better not to ask or know. Asking would mean he'd have to pay for the info, and, besides, Fams were not allowed in the building.

We have been very good. We have much information. And We need food,
Black-and-White said.

“All right, follow me. I'll check out the food trough.” Still, he glanced at the color of the next message on the flat scry panel and wasn't too surprised to see that it was from Laev T'Hawthorn. Garrett raised his brows a little when he saw the call had come in late that morning. Must be about the murder.

He moved to the threshold and the line of cats opened for him. Black-and-White trotted after him.

In the back courtyard, he filled the trough with dry cat food, then sat on a greeniron bench that was bolted to the back wall. It was almost too hot, but he appreciated being outdoors. He stretched luxuriously, rotating his shoulders, extending his legs, even flexing his feet.

Alive and outside.

And rich.

The fact that he was financially free began to filter though his consciousness. Pure relief. His business was occasionally dangerous and he'd worried that he'd take a disabling wound that the Healers couldn't mend.

Now he could select the cases he wanted to work. More like, he could turn down those cases that didn't appeal.

When final belches signaled the cats were done with their food, Garrett sent them telepathically,
I am most interested in what went on in Apollopa Park the night before last.

One of the younger female cats squeaked, “Eeeee,” and bolted under the bench to shiver behind Garrett's legs.
Mean and angry one walks at night. Hunting, hunting.

Garrett's heart thumped.
Did you see this mean and angry one?

Not good. Felt a lot. Was stalking the man who was killed, heard the mean scary one went after raccoons this morning.

Stalking?
Garrett pounced on the word. Stalking implied that the murderer had known who Modoc Eryngo was, which confirmed the theory that the man's own murderous past had caught up with him.

Yes, stood in shadows, prowl after.
She pressed against the backs of Garrett's calves.

Where did you first see the killer and the murdered man?

Late, late at old airship park. Bright lights. Prey left old ship. Killer saw and followed. I watched, but soon close to Turquoise House and did not want to be near the big red anger. You were at Turquoise House and food and the soft Healer to feed us and pet us and was much nicer than scary killer.

He imagined so.
You didn't go to Apollopa Park?

Park with pretty mirrors stuck in stupid water and old Temple full of smells? Raccoon den? No.
She snuck back out from under the bench, stayed close, but began grooming her whiskers.

Garrett grunted. One of his talents was the ability to meld minds with a Fam, but he didn't do it often, and this cat was skittish enough to harm them both if he tried. He mulled over her words. “Why would he go after the raccoons this morning?”

Because they are ugly and nasty,
said Sleek Black, not even bothering to look up from cleaning his stomach.

The newest cat, a gray tabby tom with big eyes and ratty ears crept closer to Garrett but stayed out of kicking range. Garrett had gotten the idea that this one had been abused. The cat's voice was no more than a whisper in Garrett's mind.
Because raccoons took something the killer left by the prey.

And killer went back to park this morning to search,
said Sleek Black between licks on his stomach hair.

So there were three cats who'd seen something of the murder and aftermath. The young female cat, who'd seen Modoc Eryngo arrive in Druida and be stalked by his killer; the abused gray tabby, who had seen something of the killer and his prey; and Sleek Black, who had been in the area that morning, a full day and night after the murder.

First things first, the most important item, the murder itself. Garrett stared at the new gray tabby tom. He shrank back a few steps, huddled in on himself.

You were near Apollopa Park when the murder happened?

No!

But soon after?

Maybe.

How soon after?

The cat's glance slid away, but not enough that he didn't keep an eye on Garrett's feet.

Maybe I saw a strange bundle in park that looked like prey. Maybe there was a shadow dancing around the fountain, admiring self in mirrors.

The image of a capering killer sent a chill down Garrett's spine.

Do you think the bundle was dead?
he asked.

Another shift away a few centimeters, one whisk of his gray-and-black-ringed tail.
Maybe. Not moving.

Though tension had tightened his muscles, Garrett strove to seem relaxed, easy. He couldn't afford to scare the cat away.

Tell me exactly what you saw.

The cat hunched into a crouch, watching Garrett, ready to shoot out of the courtyard and into the alleys. All the other ferals moved closer, ears rotating, curious. They were all nearly as curious as Garrett.

Gray Tabby swept his glance around the rest of the cats, probably hoping that they might protect him from Garrett. The cat had joined the band only a couple of weeks past, and Garrett thought it had watched for an eightday or two before that.

Garrett had never hurt a cat deliberately—trod on a tail that he hadn't seen, little incidents like that, but never had hurt one, or any animal. Would never hurt an animal. Well, would never hurt any sane animal . . . a mad cat or something, that was a different situation.

Gray Tabby's claws flexed, scraped against the flagstones. Again he gazed at Garrett, then his eyes focused on the food trough—yet holding enough for several meals—and back at Garrett.

Apollopa Park is a common area for many animals,
the cat sent telepathically, this time with a cool and precise accent of Noble Druidan, though the Flair power behind the thought remained slight. Very interesting.

I was trotting to the park to sniff the scents of those who den there.
A quick flick of eyes at the rest of the band.
I do not sleep with these others. I was looking for a nice hollow. Cool and dry and something that smells good. I prefer a burrow near herbs, chamomile or even lavender. A hardy fragrance herb garden was once planted around the old Temple.

Black-and-White snorted.

“Go on.” Garrett flipped a hand at Gray Tabby and he cringed. Garrett couldn't link deeply with this cat's mind, either.

The cat continued.
I went by way of the main street in the front of the park. The path you and Healer Artemisia took yesterday morning. There was a small family of intelligent raccoons, a sire and dam and two kits, who were living at the park, but I thought that they might be moving.

“Um-hmm.” Garrett encouraged.

I did not want to interrupt. A raccoon mother is fierce.

“Most mothers are fierce.”

I saw the bundle on the ground.
Hesitation now.
I do not think the prey was dead. But the dancing shadow was a threat. There was nothing I could do.

The cat could have yowled and summoned help, or run for help.

Perhaps if you had been available, I would have told you. But you were sick and Healer Artemisia was watching you and is too soft to deal with such a fellow.

Chills slid through Garrett at the thought of Artemisia confronting a crazed killer. She'd have immediately gone to the fallen man, would have Healed him. And been new prey for the killer.

Nausea burned up his throat, bittering his mouth. He dragged a breath through his nose. “You did right,” he said, since the gray tabby trusted only him and Artemisia.

A shrug rippled through the cat, as if it didn't care for Garrett's approval, or, more likely, the tabby had already accepted that what was past was past and he couldn't change it.

Something the cat—all cats—could teach Garrett. Something he'd have to learn.

The hunter danced until the prey died, then went back to him and gloated. Then the killer put a man-claw that was shiny and nasty and sharp—next to the dead prey. Did not eat the prey.

Garrett frowned. “I don't recall seeing a man-claw—a knife?—by the body.”

I do not know a knife that shape,
said the cat stiffly. He rocked back to his haunches, licked a forepaw in arrogance, still watching Garrett.
There was no man-claw by the body because a raccoon took it.

“Ah.”

Sleek Black, now done cleaning himself, ambled to the toes of Garrett's boots and stared up at him. With a cock of his ear, he indicated the gray tabby.
Gray Tabby ran from the green place and back to TQ and has slept there since.
A sniff.
Before sunrise this morning, he tells of hunter and prey. I went to see.
A pause and a shiver.
Killer was there. Fury. Search for the man-claw. Found den of 'coons. Found man-claw. Kicked and kicked the burrow and all the 'coons ran. Waved the man-claw. I did not want to stay. Returned to TQ for food.

“I understand,” Garrett said.

The gray tabby scratched cobbles again and Garrett looked toward him.

His big eyes got bigger; the whispery telepathic voice was back.
I talked to you for a long time and gave you big news, yes?

Yes.
Garrett nodded.

Then big news means big treats.
A small pink tongue slipped over his muzzle.
I haven't had furrabeast steak in a long time.
A pause with intent scrutiny.
They say you have nip.

“That's right.” Garrett stood, stretched again. When he moved, his tunic released a slight herbal odor. He'd sweated and his bespelled shirt was sending his perspiration into the air.

The gray tabby smiled.

Garrett liked the fresh odor, too. It occurred to him that he could now buy a wardrobe of bespelled clothes. Of course, when he was sneaking around on his job, he would like the odor absorbed.

Come inside and I'll give you your treats,
Garrett said.

Me, too!
said the young female.
I gave news of stalker and prey.

Also true,
Garrett said.

Sleek Black watched Garrett with narrowed eyes.
I should have a treat for data about the raccoons. I also ranged the dens of the rich in Noble Country.

Anything regarding the murder around there?

Saw, smelled, felt no angry hunter,
Sleek Black conceded.

The slightest tension in Garrett relaxed. Nothing worse than setting himself against a FirstFamily Noble.

With a draft of cool air, the back door of the building opened and a fashionable woman came out. Gray Tabby and another cat scattered. A couple went back to the trough and slurped more food. The rest gathered near Garrett.

The woman, a mind counselor who officed in the building, tsked and frowned. “Really, Garrett, how often have I asked you not to hold your little meetings—” She broke off as her eyes widened and she took in the sight of him. Obviously noticing his appearance had changed a bit—he'd lost weight. He'd hoped the lines in his face hadn't gotten deeper, but since she stared, the grooves must be more noticeable. A hint of slyness slipped into her eyes, and when she walked toward him, it wasn't her usual professional stride, but one that had her hips swaying. “I'd heard that you had helped out Primary HealingHall . . . and gotten a grant from the FirstFamilies. I hadn't quite thought—”