Blood of the Pride (9 page)

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The well-marked stir stick flipped into the empty cup. “But I knew I wasn’t going to be able to work like that anymore, doing the serious stuff, putting my heart out there in public. So I decided to do the silly stories, the fun stories, the ones that wouldn’t hurt anyone and wouldn’t do anything other than supply cotton candy for the mind. Nothing deep, nothing important.”

“Except now there’s a dead woman.” I picked up the second-to-last cinnamon nugget and stared at it. “And suddenly you’re not dealing with fun silly cases.” My voice took on a more serious tone. “What the hell did you think that picture was?”

“I thought it was a joke.” Bran’s elbows hit the table as he held his head in his hands. “I mean, it’s a dead woman, sure, but we changed it around enough to get away with it and we sure didn’t think it was real.” His head shot up, one hand landing on my wrist and pinning it to the table. “It’s real, isn’t it? That wasn’t any faked photograph. She was a real cat woman.”

At first I tried to pull away then decided to leave my hand there. “Now you’re a reporter again. A real one.”

“Maybe I’ve always been.” He gave a mournful smile. “Either way I’m going to get the whole story.”

“This time it’s not going to be about you.” I glanced toward the highway. “Time to hit the road.”

The traffic had let up a little, allowing us to find a sweet spot in the right-hand lane and putter along at just above the speed limit for most of the way up.

“You’re not going to tell me anything, right?” Bran said to the car window.

“Client confidentiality,” I mumbled.

“How about I tell you instead?”

The tires caught the edge of the shoulder, bumping us along for a few seconds until I yanked the steering wheel to center us in our lane.

“Ah. Hit home, eh?” Bran leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head. “See, I don’t think that was some furry mask on that woman. And I don’t think that you were attacked a few hours ago by some psycho wearing a cat outfit.” He dug in one pocket of his leather coat and pulled out the small plastic bag filled with fur. “I’m willing to bet that if I had this analyzed and matched up with the hair you found at the crime scene they’d not only be the same but of some weird half-human, half-cat hybrid.” He rubbed his hands over the plastic. “I’m just not sure where you fit into all this.”

I smiled back, hoping my bluff skill was at full force. “Sorry, not even close. And I’m still sore from that tumble down the stairs, so that’s why we just got a bumpy ride.” My eyes drilled into the concrete ahead of us. “I think you’ve been working way too long for that tabloid rag. Next you’ll be telling me that there’s alien hybrids looking to take over the world and talking via those tin foil hats.” The ache behind my eyes started again.

“Hey, I’m just connecting the dots.” Bran looked out at the countryside while we spun around the exit ramp.

“Right. File that right next to your Reptilian Overlords story.” I ignored the scowl and concentrated on the drive. The throbbing began to lessen behind one eye as I willed my blood pressure to drop and began to mentally compose my pitch to the Board. I glanced beside me a few minutes later to see Bran stretched out as much as he could in the passenger seat, his long legs awkwardly curled up in the small space while he snored fitfully, or at least pretended he did. I didn’t trust him one whit, which is why when we pulled onto the dirt road I made sure to hit every pothole and bump to make sure he was awake.

There weren’t many cars in the parking lot at the farm. Bran dusted off his jeans as he got out of the car and shaded his eyes from the bright sun.

“Nice place.” He beamed at Ruth, who was standing on the porch waiting to receive us. “Hello!”

“Hi there!” She trotted down the steps and extended her hand, not showing a hint of shock. “I’m Ruth. Always glad to meet a friend of Rebecca’s.”

“Really?” He wasn’t overly sarcastic, but I already wanted to thump him in the ribs. “Well, she hasn’t said a word about you or this place. So what relationship are you to her?” I could see the mental notebook flip open, blank pages waiting to be filled with personal information.

“Why, one of her aunts, of course! I’ve just cut up a wonderful apple pie. Let me get you a piece with a good cup of coffee.” The elderly woman slipped away from his questions as easily as if she were trying to dodge the old mangy mutt two farms over while raiding the cornfields. Probably did so quite a few times, when she was in her prime. She took hold of Bran’s arm and led him into the kitchen, babbling something about putting some meat on his bones and how handsome he could be if he just put on a few pounds, ignoring his slight protestations of not wanting to leave me alone.

I took the stairs to the top floor two at a time, wincing as my legs protested the exercise. Jess and Dennis sat in the Board chairs. The third remained empty.

“Where’s Davis?” The wheezing noise from my lungs was embarrassing. “I thought I was to present my findings to the entire Board.”

“What do you have?” Dennis’s voice was low and soft. A small line of sweat formed on his forehead. This didn’t look good.

“I know that Janey Winters was killed by a Felis, one with a white streak running down one side of his nose.” I drew my finger down my own face just in case they didn’t get the picture. “I know that because the asshole attacked me last night in my own house, in my own bed.” I was too tired and angry to play nice. “So I want to know which of your bastards have that streak.”

Jess stared at me. “You don’t come here and make demands, Reb.”

I glared at her, ignoring the rules, again. “You told me to find who killed her. I have. So now you know.”

“We don’t really ‘know.’” Dennis cleared his throat. “You’re making an assumption on what you’ve collected so far.”

My hand went to the egg-sized lump at the back of my head. “Sure felt like I ‘collected’ enough when the bastard flipped me down the steps.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to center myself. The silence between us continued for a whole minute while I worked on not throwing a major tantrum.

I opened my eyes and lowered my voice to a more dignified, calm tone. “What I need now is access to the records to find whoever has the distinguishing mark and either eliminate them as a suspect or continue further investigation.”

“And the man downstairs?” Jess demanded. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He’s the reporter who received the original picture and wrote the story.” The eyes of both Board members went wide. “I believe he didn’t do it, but the murderer dropped off the picture with him in order to expose the Pride. Now he’s seeking the rest of the story.”

“So he must be removed.” A note of sadness crept into Dennis’s words. He glanced sideways at Jess, who nodded her agreement. “Which is why you brought him here, of course. A wise move on your part.”

I’d forgotten how far the Pride would go to maintain their secrecy. I’d handed them Bran’s bare throat on a platter.

“No, you’re not going to ‘remove’ anyone.” I stood up and put my palms down on the table. “He’s not one of your misfits. He’s a human being.” Seeing no change in their expressions, I played my trump card. “While the cops might have slid Janey’s case into the cold case file, the murder of the reporter who first got the picture would probably provoke them to reopen it. With much, much more curiosity.”

The side of Jess’s cheek twitched, the waves rolling up the scar and back down again. “This isn’t really an area in which you can advise us.”

“I beg to differ.” I rapped the varnished wood with my knuckles. “If Brandon Hanover ‘disappears’ then it’s going to start a domino reaction that you won’t be able to control. As long as I keep him with me I control what he does and what he knows. I won’t let him report what would be damaging to the family.”

Jess’s eyes flashed to my hands, specifically the small scabs between my knuckles. Her eyes went wide for a second.

“So you’re prepared to deal with this man, if need be?” She chose each word carefully, jamming them into my face.

“If need be.” A sudden snowball of nausea lodged in my belly.

Jess sat back in the chair, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. “Keep in touch and give us updates as your investigation progresses.”

“And the files?” I remained standing.

Dennis frowned. “We’re going to allow you limited access. An envelope has been filled with the information you requested. It’ll be available downstairs for you to read before you leave.”

“I can’t take it with me.” I rolled my eyes. “Because, you know, that would make my job easier.”

“Don’t get all worked up.” Jess got to her feet, signaling the end of the discussion. “There’s only a handful of Felis who meet your description. I think you’ll be surprised.” Her eyes flashed again to my hands. “As are we, I think.”

I opened my mouth to respond then closed it. There wasn’t anything I could do right now that wouldn’t make things worse, and probably get Bran killed. I spun on one heel and made my way to the stairs.

I could hear Ruth’s voice through the entire house as she led Bran on a rambling tour of the huge first floor, detailing every nook and cranny. Considering the house had been in her family for more than two hundred years I wasn’t surprised at all. Maybe Bran could get an article out of it, something nice and mild and not dangerous in any way. On my way through to the kitchen I noted that the nursery had been discreetly removed, the cribs tucked away in a closet somewhere and the children cared for elsewhere.

I sat down at the small dinette table in the kitchen and opened the small postal envelope with a single piece of paper inside. Three names typed in capital letters, double-spaced.

Frank Langley. Jonathan Magee. Sven Hammerhold.

Nothing else. No locations, no ages, nothing.

I tore the page into small pieces, resisting the urge to shred it with my teeth. This was about as helpful as the Board was willing to get but at least I had a place to start. Now I’d have to rely on my investigative skills to fill in the blanks and determine which one of these three had charged in my window a few hours earlier and tried to kill me.

I tossed the envelope and the shredded paper into the garbage before walking outside onto the porch. The sun had just hit the high point in the sky and it was a clear, beautiful day in Northern Ontario. A breeze came in from the west across the fields, carrying the scent of the fresh corn and more than a few Felis wandering around.

“How did you do it?” Jess appeared beside me. I didn’t jump but shuffled my feet back and forth, scuffing the runners against the rough wood in my contained shock.

“You’re still too quiet.” I teased the older woman, hoping to change the subject.

“You tried to Change. Did it work?” Her voice was low.

I shook my head. “Not really. Claws, that’s all. Enough to keep me alive. Which is more than you’re giving me now.”

Jess leaned on the wooden railing and stared out at the dirt road leading to the house. Her denim work shirt had a few rips and tears in it, with her faded jeans. A light breeze ruffled her near-white hair.

“I’m glad it wasn’t Dennis.” She picked at a loose splinter in the railing with thick fingers. “That would have been hard to deal with.” She glanced sideways at me. “Just remember that your loyalty is to us, first and foremost.”

The pain behind my eyes flared up as I spun on her. “Loyalty? To the system that tossed me out when I was fifteen?” I slammed my hand down on the railing. “I’m loyal to the truth, wherever it leads me. And if that conflicts with your version of reality, well I’ll just have to live with the consequences.”

She turned toward me, her face calm. “You’ve done pretty well so far, Reb.”

We stared at each other in silence for a minute before Ruth and Bran walked out of the house. Bran had a piece of apple pie in his hand, partially wrapped in a napkin with a few bites already missing.

“This is the best pie I’ve ever tasted.” He mumbled through the crumbs, a childishly wide smile on his face. Ruth smiled and handed me a small cake box.

“I put the rest in here for you to take home. If it makes it there, of course.” She beamed as Bran’s eyes went wide. He stared at the box as if it contained hidden treasure. “We’ll see you again, I hope.”

“We’ll have to see.” I looked over at Jess. “Depends on where the trail takes me.”

“Best. Pie. Ever.” Bran called back as he made his way down the steps toward the Jeep. “Oh, we’ll be back.”

I hugged Ruth goodbye and nodded to Jess before walking off the porch. The box was warm and the odor of apple and cinnamon filled my senses as I loaded it into the back seat.

“Your aunt’s a pretty nice woman. If that’s really what she is.” Bran locked his seat belt in place as I turned the key in the ignition. He waved at her, receiving a gentle smile and wave back. Jess was still watching us, her stare firmly focused on Bran.

The wheels kicked up a cloud of dust that followed us back out to the main road and back to the highway. I kept a sharp eye on the rear-view mirror.

“So, what did you find out? Was that chick your contact? Another ‘aunt’?” Bran wiped his mouth with the empty napkin and tucked it into his pocket. “Damned fine pie.”

“Ruth makes fantastic pie.” I turned my head to the left, looking for an opening in the traffic. “As far back as I remember she’s always been baking. Cookies, pies, soup and stews. Anything you can think of she can make.” A tractor-trailer roared by, leaving enough of an opening for me to slip the Jeep in. I pushed the gas pedal down and watched the speedometer race up the dial.

Bran sat quietly for most of the way back, probably in a sugar coma. Suddenly he turned to me. “Which of them is the client?”

“I can’t tell you that.” I kept looking straight ahead. The traffic was beginning to get a bit thicker and the last thing I needed was to crack up the Jeep because I was getting into an argument.

“You can tell me.” I caught his bright smile out of the corner of my right eye. “It’s not Ruth. That much is obvious. Jess? Someone else?”

“None of your business.” It took a bit of restraint not to point out that my “client” had been willing to kill him and dispose of the body. There were plenty of places on the farm to hide a corpse and lots of machinery to make sure you never found a trace, despite what television would have you believe. Jimmy Hoffa may not have had Felis in the family, but the Family had some Felis in it.

“Rebecca!” The shout brought me back out of my reverie into the reality that I was about to rear-end the SUV ahead of me.

I stomped on the brake pedal, standing up with my head hitting the ceiling of my own car. Beside me Bran grabbed the dashboard with both hands. I wanted to scream that he would end up with broken arms if he did that and the airbag deployed, but my mind was racing and my body tensed up for the inevitable crash.

Somehow, someway, the truck ahead of me leaped ahead, accelerating away from us even as the brakes screamed and the wheels dragged on the asphalt. I yanked the wheel to the right and pulled onto the shoulder as we screeched to a stop. My right hand yanked the transmission into “park”, gears grinding in opposition to my rough treatment. Cars continued to speed by us, oblivious to the near-disaster I had almost caused.

Bran let out a low whistle and peeled his hands from the dashboard. “God, are you okay?”

“I’m not sure.” I lowered myself into the seat, tension shooting up and down my spine. A roaring filled my ears as I leaned forward and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. “I think you should drive.”

“You think?” He slumped back against the cushions. “I think I just lost the pie.” Bran gave a low laugh and unbuckled his belt. “Move over and I’ll walk around.”

I slipped across the seat and took up residence on the passenger side, watching Bran maneuver his way around the front of the car into the driver’s seat.

“Your place or mine?” The engine roared as he put it back into gear and pulled out into traffic.

“Mine. I still have work to do.” I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the small cushion. “I think I’m just tired.”

“I can believe that.” Bran’s voice came to me down a long dark tunnel. “I’ll buy that you don’t have a concussion, but I’m not buying that you’re okay. You’re running on very little sleep, a heck of a fall down those stairs and I don’t think that meeting went as well as you planned.”

I wanted to point out that I had just saved his miserable life, but decided it would be better to just take it easy, rest and ignore the traffic with its blaring horns. The smell of freshly cooked pie was so darned good and it better not be smeared all over the inside of that box and…

The car’s stopping jarred me out of my light sleep. I jolted upright and stared out the windshield at a gray wall that was definitely not my house’s narrow alleyway.

Bran turned toward me. “My underground garage. You’re going to sleep someplace safe.”

I opened my mouth, a plethora of excuses, arguments and curses about to surge out but instead a loud yawn broke loose, forcing me to cover my mouth.

Bran laughed when he opened my door, balancing the pie box in one hand and extending his other hand to me. “My point. At least get a few hours rest where we know no one’s going to break in and come after you. Or me.” He sniffed the box. “And we have pie.”

I let him lead me through the cement structure to the elevator, slumping against the wall as we rose through the condominium complex to his floor and to his residence. Between the headache and the stress of the past few hours I was shutting down physically and it was only a number of minutes before my mind would close shop.

He opened the front door and led me to the kitchen first, keeping one hand around my waist while he slid the pie box onto the marble counter.

“Now, to bed with you,” Bran said, walking me across the open floor to the bedroom. We stepped around the divider to a huge double bed, covered with a dark green fluffy comforter that called to me.

I fell face-first onto the bed, letting out a rather raunchy moan as I curled up into the softness, wrapping it around me. Part of me noted Bran pulling off my running shoes and placing them at the foot of the bed, but I didn’t care. I was in a soft, dark place where the pillows were cool and the quilt was warm and that was all I wanted right now.

The delicious smell of Ruth’s apple pie woke me, the deep rich scent of cinnamon almost overpowering my senses when I sat up quickly. I was still in the bed, bundled up in the comforter, but a fast glance to the windows showed darkness outside and the city lights sending crazy jagged silhouettes across the floor.

I moved around the bookshelf wall to see Bran sitting on a stool at a marble island in the kitchen, crouched over a large piece of pie.

“About time you got up. I was going to come get you in a few minutes anyway.” He grinned. “And this pie reheats beautifully.”

Muscles stretched and joints popped as I padded across the floor in my socks to join him. He slid a piece, possibly half of the original pie, across to me on a fresh plate. “Need to build up your strength.”

I took the offered fork and dug in, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind. The nap had done me a world of good, least of which allowing the information to marinate in my mind. The brown sugary mess I shoveled into my mouth was really helping me think.

“Tea? Coffee? Soda?” Bran grinned as he watched me devour the slice. “I was thinking about ordering Chinese, since we’ve already had dessert.”

“Soda. Whatever you have that’s diet,” I mumbled between mouthfuls, “and General Tso’s Chicken. And sesame noodles. And wonton soup.” A piece of crust got stuck on my lip. “And plenty of rice.”

“Good to hear you’ve got an appetite. I’m tired of women chewing on a single lettuce leaf and telling me that they’re full.” He pulled out his cell phone and hit one of the buttons. “Local place is on speed-dial and they know me pretty well.”

I watched him chatter off an order, half in English and half in Chinese. Wonderful. He could be ordering us a whole roasted suckling pig and I wouldn’t know it.

“Be less than an hour.” He spun around and picked up the cake box on the counter. “And I think Ruth makes great pie, but her garnishes are good too.” The lid flipped open as he pushed the box toward me.

A series of folders sat under the empty aluminum pie plate, bent and folded to fit the box. I snatched them up and flipped them open, one at a time. Three files, each displaying one of the names I had been handed.

“Yep, she makes good pie.” Bran leaned in, way inside my personal space again. “You’ve got a bit of apple just here.” His index finger touched the right side of my mouth, scooping it up. He retreated to his seat and popped the morsel into his mouth, giving me a wide grin.

I tamped down the heat rising in my cheeks and tried to ignore him, staring down at the pictures, at three men, none of whom looked like the one who had attacked me less than twenty-four hours ago. I spread the files out across the marble top island.