Spike (4 page)

I swallowed, but held his gaze. “It’s gone, Chance. You’ve got to move on.”

His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak again, but a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around.

“May I cut in?” Ben growled.

Chance’s composure slipped a notch as he glared at Ben. Then he smirked. “By all means.” He stepped back. Ben took my hand. Chance watched as Ben led me away across the dance floor.

“Thanks for the lovely dance!” Chance called. Then, quieter, “I’ll be seeing you.”

I tried not to wince. What did
that
mean?

“Jackass.” Ben was scowling full throttle.

“Be nice.” I nuzzled in close. “How was your twirl with Ella?”

“Humiliating.” Ben released my hand and began tugging at his collar. “She moves like a ballerina, and I’m a frozen caveman.” Then he blanched. “Not that—”

“Shut it, Blue.” Resting my head against his chest. “I’ve seen her dance, too.”

Ben put his mouth to my ear. “She had a lot of questions.”

I nodded without looking up. “Chance, too.”

He lifted my chin so I could see his face.
Should we worry?

I shrugged.
What’s the point?

But I remembered the look in Chance’s eyes.

Did he believe me? Was he suspicious we were hiding more? Was
he
hiding more?

The last thing we needed was Chance Claybourne on our scent again.

But ultimately, what could we do?

Blargh.

Business as usual.

The song ended, and we clapped politely with the other guests. A jaunty, bouncy tune came next. I squeezed Ben’s hand, putting Chance out of my mind.

This was my father’s wedding, damn it. I was going to have fun.

“One more?” I begged, rabbit-pecking his cheek.

Ben’s smile was sickly. “Sure. You know me. Dancing. Love it.”

A half hour of busting moves later, Chance was the furthest thing from my mind.

T
he cool evening air was refreshing.

I stepped from a covered porch, scanning the now-picked-over flower garden. A quarter of the rosebuds were gone, sacrificed to Operation Emergency Centerpieces. I felt terrible about the damage, but we’d had no other choice. Better a plundered garden than a suicidal bride.

Upon seeing our handiwork, the house manager had nearly fainted on the spot. Only Kit’s promise of full reimbursement—plus a hefty donation to the building’s annual arboretum fund—had smoothed his ruffled feathers.

I sat down on a stone bench. Heard a rustling in the bushes at the far end of the yard.

No need to call out.

Cooper already knew I was there.

Sister-
friend
. Coop emerged from the shadows wearing a wide doggie grin. I reached out and rubbed his head. He nuzzled my other hand, sniffing out the treat I’d brought for him.
Food?

I
wouldn’t forget abou
t you
. I unwrapped a half-portion of filet
mignon. Held it up for him to see.
K
it says you’re being
spoiled.

I tossed the meat in a short arc. Coop caught it easily, then settled at my feet and began gnawing his prize.
Food is shared. Keeps pack strong.
The wolfdog radiated contentment as he scarfed down the expensive steak.

I smiled.
Try t
elling him that
.

Coop paused. Cocked his head.
Can’t tell el
dest. Can’t hear. No
r his mate.

I know,
buddy
. I stroked his scruffy back as he resumed eating.
Be t
hankful for that.

Coop and I could communicate almost perfectly since . . .
what
ever
 . . . had happened when I swallowed Chance’s antidote. But some things—like sarcasm—simply didn’t translate. Our minds were too different for stuff like that.

I noticed a shallow cut on his snout.
What’s this?
I asked, tracing the wound with a finger.

Dev
il animal.
Coop gave me what I took to be a plaintive look.
Allowed to bite?

Sighing, I shook my head.
Sorry, boy. Banjo
belongs to Hi now.
You two have to find
a way to get along.

Foul beast.
Cooper bared his teeth.
Pretends friendship,
then attacks. Then
runs!

I chuckled, scratching behind his ears.
Banjo’s a cat.
That’s what they do
.

The music inside cut off. A slurred voice began droning into the microphone—no doubt an unplanned toast from an over-served guest. I was glad to be outside, away from all the hoopla. Chirping crickets sounded better to me than the raucous cheers in the ballroom.

A door opened, and one of the singers stepped out for a smoke. I sighed, nodded politely as he wished me a good evening. My moment
of solitude had lasted less than a minute. But one look at Cooper—a nearly full-grown wolfdog, topping one hundred and twenty pounds—and the man beat a hasty retreat, shooting me a wide-eyed glance as he stumbled back inside.

I snorted, though I couldn’t blame the guy. He probably didn’t expect to find an apex predator roaming the swanky grounds. Coop’s inclusion on the guest list had nearly cost us the booking, but I’d made Kit hold firm until the owners agreed to allow our “dog” the run of the garden during the event. I was extremely glad they hadn’t asked for a picture first.

Coop nudged my arm with his wet nose.
Pack comes
.

A moment later Hi and Shelton ambled outside, with Ben a short step behind. Spotting Cooper and me by the bench, Hi boasted, “I told you so,” as they moved to join us.

“The band ignored your request for a reason,” Shelton said to Hi, tossing me a half-wave as he unbuttoned the neck of his tuxedo shirt. “Nobody wants to
hear
‘YMCA,’ much less dance to it. It’s an objectively terrible song.”

“The Village People are a wedding staple!” Hi removed his jacket, raked a hand through his sweat-dampened brown hair. “Plus, I know how to read a room. That crowd was primed for some funky disco action.”

Shelton shook his head. Pointed to Ben without looking.

“Disco sucks,” Ben said.

Shelton nodded. “True story.”

“I’m surrounded by barbarians.” Hi glanced over at Cooper crouching in the grass next to me, and his brow formed a V. “Tell that mutt of yours to stop harassing my sweet angel. Banjo’s been in a terrible mood all weekend.”

“Your psycho cat is the problem.” Then I sent,
And tell
him yourself
.

“Cujo over there started it.” Hi jabbed an index finger at the wolfdog.
I saw you chas
e my darling kitty-c
at into the dunes th
is morning. Quit bei
ng a bully
.

Coop growled deep in his throat.
Deceitful creat
ure. Ambushed me
.

“Coop has scratches on his face,” I snapped. “Your stupid cat likes to jump out of the bushes and slash him, then bolt into the woods. One of these days, she’s getting chomped.”

“She better not!” Hi warned, crossing his arms. “I didn’t rescue Banjo from homelessness just to serve her up as wolf chow. Feline rights, yo. Cats matter, too.”

Whatever my response might’ve been was preempted by the sound of breaking glass, followed by high-pitched laughter. A guitarist strummed a few chords, then the whole band picked back up.

“Reception’s picking up steam.” Ben absently kicked a pebble. “Long night ahead.”

Shelton plopped down onto the bench beside me. “If it’s all the same to you guys, I might just hang out here for a while. People in there are acting like fools.”

“Not me, gents.” Hi elbowed Ben, catching a dark look in return. “I know
you’re
spoken for, but this party is a target-rich environment. I wouldn’t want to let the ladies down. Player’s gotta play.”

Shelton covered his eyes. “You need to stop.”

“Seriously.” Ben knelt and scratched behind Coop’s ears.

Outside the garden wall, a car door opened and shut. Seconds later an iron gate rattled less than a dozen yards from where we were gathered. The bars swung open and a man in a white chef’s uniform entered the garden. He closed the gate quickly and hurried toward the building.

Coop lifted his head, tracking the stranger’s progress. Then he yapped sharply, popping to his feet with hackles raised.

The newcomer nearly jumped out of his skin. He backpedaled a few steps, eyes darting, trying to pierce the gloom.

“Coop!” I scolded, grabbing his collar and pulling him back.

It must’ve been an odd scene to the late-arriving chef. While my friends and I could see perfectly well in the moonlight, to him we were four teens skulking in a dark garden. With a sizeable wild animal, no less.

“Kids and a freaking wolf,” the man muttered in astonishment, but his body relaxed. He was tall and bulky, with close-set green eyes and bushy red hair poking from beneath his chef’s hat. The name
BIGGS
was stitched on to his pure white smock, which was fully buttoned up, as if we’d interrupted him mid-shift. Gathering himself, the man nodded our way, then strode briskly for the door and disappeared inside.

Coop barked again. Hauled me a step closer.

Easy, fella
. I was surprised. It wasn’t often Coop menaced someone.

And yet . . . something about the cook’s reaction felt . . . off. Like he was relieved it was only us, despite the presence of a riled-up half-wild canine.

Was he avoiding someone? Everyone?

My earlier suspicions flared back to life. Dead flowers. Missing altar pins. And who was this random chef, showing up way late and sneaking in through a secluded garden gate?

The bulk of Corcoran’s security team had disbanded after the service, when the guests moved inside. Only the captain and two handpicked officers remained to “keep an eye on things.” And stuff their faces with free gourmet food, of course.

Coop gave a last snarl and settled back down. But I’d learned to trust his instincts.

I straightened, began chewing my bottom lip. “Huh.”

Ben’s head rose. “What is it?”

I scratched my cheek, thinking. “That guy was acting kinda weird, wasn’t he?”

Hi glanced at his watch. “Dinner ended almost an hour ago. If he’s
on tonight’s catering crew, he missed the job. Maybe he’s hoping no one will notice.”

I frowned. “Could be.”

Ben was now eyeing the door. “But you don’t think so.”

“It’s just . . .” I shook my head, unsure.

I looked at Coop.
That
man? Was there somet
hing wrong?

Coop’s head tilted, as if he struggled with how to respond.
Smell . 
. . off. Smell troub
le.

The others heard our exchange. Frowning, Shelton removed his clear-lensed glasses. He could see perfectly now, but had no idea how to explain that to his parents. “Lots of things going wrong at this wedding, huh?”

“Yep.” Hi gave me a significant look. “If we’re laying it out there, I’m still baffled by the liquid in those vases. How could a florist accidentally use chemicals that
kill
flowers?”

Ben cleared his throat. “Yeah. So. I’ve been thinking about the pins.” He glanced up and met my eye. “I can’t see how they could fall out on their own. The whole point of their design is that they
d
on’t
fall out.”

“You know, now that I think about it . . .” Shelton pointed a hesitant finger at the door the mystery cook had entered. “Weren’t the caterers wearing uniforms with blue stripes?”

My pulse sped up. The newcomer had been dressed in white from head to toe.

“That actually seems right.” Hi tapped his chin, making a show of considering Shelton’s words. “You think the guy’s working for HYDRA? Or is just drunk and lost?”

Snap decision. “Let’s go see.”

Popping to my feet, I headed for the door. The boys exchanged mental shrugs before rising and following. Cooper leapt to join me, but I placed a hand on his furry head.

Sorry,
boy. Out of bounds.
Wait here
.

He whined, but stayed put.
Ca
ll if need
.

Inside the door, the reception was straight ahead, but a covert scan of the ballroom failed to turn up our mystery chef. I ducked back out before anyone noticed me. “He’s not in there, which isn’t surprising.”

Hi pointed to our left, down a short hallway. “Only one other way to go.”

I nodded. The corridor led to the kitchen, which was empty for the moment. I paused in the doorway as doubt began creeping in. What was I doing, really?

Footfalls in an adjacent room. I looked to Ben, who shrugged. “Why not?”

We entered a small staging room connected to the ballroom by a pair of swinging doors. Music and laughter leaked through the cracks, but I only had eyes for our chef. The big man had his back to us as he hovered over Whitney’s triple-tiered wedding cake.

I put a finger to my lips, edging closer for a better look. The man was smoothing the cake’s frosting with a flat-bladed implement. He held something in his other hand I couldn’t see. As I watched, he glanced at a notepad lying on the cake’s rolling cart.

Nothing about this felt right.

“Hey!” I called out.

The man flinched, then spun around, keeping both hands hidden behind his back. He seemed to recognize us after a beat. His gaze darted to the kitchen door, then the doors leading to the ballroom. He blew out a shaky breath, once again looking relieved. “Yes?” he snapped in an annoyed voice.

“What are you doing in here?” I squinted at the notepad. Something was scribbled in cursive on its face.

Biggs noticed my glance. Eyes widening, his right hand shot out, ripping off the top sheet and crumpling it in his fist. The notepad tumbled to the carpet, ignored. “Just, uh, relaxing the frosting mixture,” he
stammered, eyes once again darting between the doors. “We don’t want it to, um, harden before the cake is served. Pretty basic stuff.”

His back was ramrod straight. Beads of sweat darkened his temples.

All my alarms were sounding at once.

Something was wrong.

Check
him out
, Ben sent, as if he’d read my thoughts. He may have.

I stepped closer to Biggs than most strangers find comfortable. Leaned forward and inhaled deeply, drinking the man’s scent. I detected the acrid stench of deception immediately.

He’s lying
.

Biggs reared back, watching me warily. “Did you just—”

The ballroom speakers squealed. Someone made an announcement.

Biggs seemed to forget I was there, eyeing the doors, an artery pumping in his neck.

I stepped sideways to get a look at the cake, a three-level monstrosity of pink curls and raspberry script, topped by a chocolate bride and groom. Beside it, a metal bowl half-filled with brown liquid rested on the cart. A pastry brush and plastic icing smoother sat beside it.