True Nature (24 page)

“Let’s sit at the dining room table and pretend to be civilized,” I suggested as Evan brought in the pizza boxes.

The two men agreed, and they sat around the table with two extra large pies, one with anchovies and one without. They tried to stay off the hot button issues. Evan outlined the security plan for the memorial service and reception, and we made plans for the day.

It might have been okay. Except that Evan was sitting where I usually sat when I was here with Hunter. It was a small thing, and I was small for not liking it. But I couldn’t help it. No matter what he knew about ancient family feuds or what skills he possessed, I didn’t want him here. Hunter and I had been a team for more than half of my life. I wasn’t sure about a third wheel.

I felt so disheartened I didn’t even want a fourth piece of pizza.

“I’ll clean up.” Evan expertly stacked plates and pizza boxes and went into the kitchen.

I was grateful to be alone with Hunter.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” I said.

He grimaced. “Can we leave this all alone until after tomorrow? We’ll talk after the services and reception for Grandda. You heard Evan. All of us are going to be well-protected. Nothing’s going to happen. You don’t have to worry about being on guard, as well.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about that again. But it was actually something else I wanted to ask you about. About Kinley’s girls.”

He sat forward. “Is something wrong? I exchanged emails with Brad today about the hearing next week. Eric doesn’t seem to be pushing for custody, although his mother is having a fit. I’m a little worried, but I think Brad—”

“That’s not it.” I took a deep breath and told him about my conversation with Lydia and about Kelly whispering to her stuffed cat. I outlined the plan I’d been working on and chewed on my bottom lip while I waited for Hunter’s response.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Are you sure about this? Could it hurt Kelly?”

“I think it’s worth a try. We’re talking about a little girl who may be holding on to a secret that could damage her for the rest of her life. I think we can find a way to reach her.”

“I couldn’t forgive myself if anything more happened to either one of those little girls.”

“I feel very strongly that this could help Kelly.”

Hunter straightened in his chair. “Have you had a vision or something?”

I was beginning to hate the “V” word. “Just one of those ordinary, run-of-the-mill hunches I used to have before your grandfather appeared to me.”

He chewed his lower lip. “Give me some time to think.”

I agreed but was disappointed he wasn’t eager to help. So much had changed in a short time. Before his grandfather’s death, Hunter was as impulsive as I was. Not now. There was a distance between us and I feared it was growing.

“I need to go home.” I pushed away from the table. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“You should stay here.”

“I want to sleep in my own bed,” I protested. “Chymera hasn’t come after me. I don’t think he will.”

“You can’t count on that,” Evan said, stepping in from the kitchen.

I glared at him in resentment. Couldn’t Hunter and I have a private conversation?

Surprisingly, however, Evan was my ally. “Zoe should go home and be comfortable. She’s being protected.”

“I figured as much,” I grumbled. I hated, absolutely, positively hated that confident, knowing man. And I especially hated admitting to myself that I was relieved to know someone looked out for me as well.

He insisted on seeing me to my car, of course. I tried to argue, but Hunter got a stony, weary look on his face. So I decided to give it up. .

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I wasn’t unhappy to see the long, sleek car that fell in behind me, just as Evan said it would.

“Help me through this, God,” I prayed as I headed for home.

Chapter 19

More than a thousand people attended Fraser MacRae’s memorial service at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Stirling delivered the eulogy with genuine emotion that surprised Hunter. The bishop had conducted the funeral mass.

Now, for the family reception, several hundred mourners were streaming in and out of the Grand Ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria. Hunter sipped club soda and surveyed the opulent room.

Elaborate floral displays lined the walls. An open bar and hors d’oeuvres buffet were set up. Waiters moved through the crowd serving his grandfather’s favorites wines. A string quartet played quietly in the background. Hunter’s father was at Nana’s side. She was resplendent in a Chanel suit accented with a diamond brooch and earrings. Hunter could see her weariness, however, and he would be glad when she boarded the plane tomorrow for her return to Scotland. She needed to get away.

His mother was in her element, however, rubbing shoulders with “her” crowd of well-heeled New Yorkers. Meagan was mingling with long-time MacRae employees and sorority sisters. Zoe was talking with friends from their school days. Evan and his group of male and female guards patrolled, looking like Secret Agents in their dark suits and discreet wireless ear pieces.

Hunter wondered if any of the people here that he didn’t recognize were relatives. Shifters perhaps? He found himself thinking often about those far-flung cousins he hadn’t met. Being the only shifter left in his immediate family, he wanted to connect with others who shared his DNA burden.

Burden. The word made him sad. What he used to think of as a blessing seemed less so now.

He was happy, at least, that many of the attendees were people whose relationship with Fraser had sprung from philanthropic endeavors. Hunter had chatted with many people whose lives had been changed by Fraser’s generosity—a doctor who now worked with “Doctors Without Borders” and had recently had built a new clinic in Haiti; a young law student who planned a career in the DA’s office after escaping life in an inner-city gang; the mother of a mentally handicapped child who now had access to badly needed treatment.

Hunter realized anew what big shoes he had to fill since Grandda was gone. This fed into his anxiety about his future. What was he supposed to do with his life?

He walked to the front of the room and stood beside a life-sized portrait of his grandfather wearing the kilt of the MacRae hunting tartan. The painting, commissioned three years ago, was being sent to the family home in the Scottish Highlands.

A sudden murmur in the crowd made Hunter turn from his study. He followed the gazes of others to the main doors, where a group of men stood shoulder to shoulder. The noise of the crowd ceased. The musicians stopped playing.

Hunter growled when he recognized the man who stood in the center of the doorway with a polite smile on his lips.

Before Hunter could move, Evan was beside him with a hand on his arm. And a low, terse command, “Stay where you are,” into the small microphone of his headset, he murmured, “Get the music playing again. Now.”

Hunter fought the rage that swept over him as music once more filled the room. Not that it deflected from the main item of interest—Stirling was striding toward the slick-haired, tall, and imposing Lion of Wall Street, Michael Killin. The murdering bastard had dared show his face at Fraser MacRae’s funeral reception.

Fury simmering, Hunter shrugged Evan off and moved toward his father. Guards were fanned out on either side of Stirling. Hunter saw that others ranged themselves near his grandmother. No doubt the rest of his family was similarly protected.

Hunter and Evan reached his father’s side just as Stirling faced Killin in the almost silent room.

“Hello, Michael,” Stirling said, his tone mild. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I’ve known Fraser all my life. It seemed inappropriate to stay away.” The men behind Killin stood in a small semicircle with hands clasped in front of them. Killin smiled at Hunter. “ I don’t think we’ve formally met.”

Killin extended his hand but Hunter didn’t move. All he wanted to do was bite the hand and listen to Chymera scream in pain.

He heard a gasp. Zoe was beside him. Her brown eyes were wide as she touched his arm. She knew what he was thinking of doing to Michael Killin.

“You’re the reason we’re here,” Hunter said to him through gritted teeth.

Killin gave him an innocent look. “I’m sorry?”

Stirling stepped between Killin and his son. “Perhaps you’d like to see my father’s portrait.”

Nodding calmly to the murmuring crowd, Stirling led Killin toward the front of the room. Killin’s men remained in the doorway. But Hunter caught the faint but familiar scent of rot. Were they all chimeras?

Hunter spared one last look at their unflinching faces before following his father and Killin. Zoe and Evan flanked him.

“Would you like a drink?” Stirling asked Killin when they reached the portrait.

“Do you have some of Fraser’s twenty-five-year-old Macallan’s Scotch?” Killin asked smoothly.

“I’m sorry, no,” Stirling replied. “But we do have some nice Bella Vida wines from Dundee. Shall I get you a glass? Red, of course.”

Killin chuckled and nodded as he looked up at Fraser’s portrait.

Stirling signaled to a nearby waiter while Killin continued, “Fraser was quite a man. I feel honored to have known him.”

A warning look from Stirling silenced the angry words that rose to his lips.

“My father was a calculating and intuitive businessman who taught me the value of honesty and integrity,” Stirling said.

The server returned with two glasses and each of the men took one.

“To Fraser.” Killin raised his glass to the portrait.

Hunter noted that Evan’s people had formed a barrier between the crowd and the two men.

Stirling turned and looked directly at Killin. “Why are you here?”

“Paying my respects, of course.” Killin sipped his wine. “Excellent.”

Hunter couldn’t take the bullshit any longer. As he stepped forward, however, he saw his grandmother heading their way.

Isobel walked up to Stirling and took his arm, keeping her gaze on Killin. “Michael, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“My condolences, Isobel,” Killin said with cold politeness.

Her eyes flared with anger but she spoke quietly, “How’s Bethia?”

Killin looked into his drink, his face stiff, the muscles in his jaw clenched. “Mother is not well. She took to her bed after my brother was murdered.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Please give her my condolences and thank you for stopping by today,” Isobel said.

She signaled to Evan. “Could you escort Mr. Killin to the door? He’s leaving now.”

He stepped forward, moving as if to place a hand on Killin’s elbow.

Smiling, Killin kept his arm out of the guard’s grasp. He gave his glass to a hovering server, nodded to Isobel and Stirling, and hesitated slightly in front of Hunter.

Hunter met the man’s gaze, his nostrils flaring as the creature’s wild scent increased. There was something flat, cold, and inhuman in the other man’s eyes as Killin made his way to the door. Nervous conversation echoed through the crowd once more.

Isobel patted Stirling’s arm. “I hope you don’t mind, dear, I just couldn’t stand him being in the same room with people who care for Fraser.”

Stirling kissed her cheek. “Not at all, Mother, I think you handled that quite well. But you look tired. Can I get you anything?”

“I’d love a double scotch on the rocks if you can find one,” Isobel said with a smile.

“For you, of course,” Stirling replied and walked toward the bar himself instead of summoning a server.

Hunter escorted his grandmother to a seating area near the portrait. “Nana, please admit you’re tired and sit here for a while. Let everyone come to you.”

“Don’t you dare treat me like an old woman,” she said, although she sank heavily on a settee.

Zoe took a seat in the chair beside her. “This kind of thing is always exhausting,” she said. “You should rest for a moment.”

Stirling brought his mother’s drink. She took it and had a healthy sip. Hunter noted that color again bloomed in her cheeks.

“Nothing like Macallan’s.” She patted Zoe’s arm. “You’re right, these kinds of gatherings are exhausting. I’ll greet guests from my little throne for a while.”

When the last guest was gone, the family gathered in a suite to discuss the next steps. Stirling and Margaret sat on the overstuffed sofa and Meagan with her grandmother across from them. Hunter and Zoe occupied chairs nearby.

Isobel had invited Zoe despite raised eyebrows from Hunter’s parents. Evan, of course, didn’t need an invitation. He was rarely more than an arm’s length away, always confident about where he belonged. Three armed guards stood outside the doors.

Isobel clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath, “I don’t think any of us were surprised to see Michael Killin show up today. Frankly, I would have been surprised if he hadn’t.”

“Mother—” Stirling interrupted and stood.

“You know we need to talk about this. It’s not going to go away if we don’t.” She turned to Hunter. “What are you going to do?”

“What are you talking about, Nana?” Meagan asked.

“Really, Isobel, do we need to do this now?” Margaret asked, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her black Ralph Lauren dress.

“There’s a very serious clan feud going on, and we’re right in the middle of it,” Isobel said. “We’ve got to decide how to respond.”

She walked to Hunter and laid a hand on his arm. “As if we didn’t already know he was intent on murdering all of our kind, Killin’s appearance here today made a bold statement.”

“Nana.” Meagan faced her grandmother. “He can’t just kill Hunter.”

“Yes, he can, Meagan. That’s exactly what he can do,” Isobel said calmly. “Just like he killed your Grandda.”

Though she now knew about the feud with the Killins, Hunter’s practical-minded, accountant sister was still skeptical. “Well, if you know he did it, why not go to the police and let them handle it?”

“What proof do we have?” Isobel retorted, not unkindly. “Michael Killin is a feared but highly respected businessman. His name has never been associated with a public scandal. There’s nothing to indicate he’s the murderous animal that he is.”