Bloodlines (37 page)

“What you need is someone this person doesn’t know. What do you think you’re going to do, just burst through the front door?”

Jed shrugged. “The thought had occurred to me, yes.”

“That might get you a fist fight for your trouble, but I hardly think it will give us the information we need.” Randall took a step forward. “Put on nicer clothes, present yourself as a potential business client, and you’ll get a lot further.”

Snorting, Jed finally glanced over at Randall. “This guy ain’t interested in my clothes.”

“Yes, but
this guy
isn’t who you need to get past. Secretaries and assistants run the world. They’re the ones you need to be able to charm your way through.” Randall’s eyes darted between Jed and Redford. “Take me with you. I look harmless, which is to your advantage in any situation, and you know you can rely on me.”

Jed looked like he very much wanted to protest. With a heavy sigh, though, he waved his hand. “Fine, whatever, come along. Keep your mouth shut and do what I say.” Jed seemed to be sizing up Randall’s outfit, the neatly tied tie, the buttoned up cardigan, the pressed slacks. With another irritated exhale, Jed dug through his own clothes, pulling out one of his few dress shirts and a pair of trousers. “Fucking hate dressing up,” he muttered, flinging off his clothes and tugging on the nicer outfit.

Jed, Redford thought, should really dress up nicer more often. They’d done a few cases before where Jed had worn a suit, and while he’d bitched and complained about it the whole time, when they’d gotten home, Redford hadn’t wasted any time in getting that suit off him. Jed definitely hadn’t complained about that.

He supposed he’d need to be in nicer clothes too, so he set about retrieving the appropriate shirt and pants from his bag. Redford didn’t think he cleaned up nearly as nicely as Jed. He figured it had something to do with the scar on his face, or his hair, that he’d never managed to force into a style that wasn’t messy.

“Just be careful,” Victor cautioned them all, but he was looking at Randall in particular. “The last thing any of us need is for you to wind up dead.”

“Well, if I do bite it on this perfectly safe mission where there is a high likelihood that I won’t even draw my gun, you can’t have my stuff.” Jed grabbed his bag and checked it over. No matter how many times Redford had packed for him, no matter even if
he’d
done his own packing, Jed always double checked. There was some story Jed would tell about Budapest and having to make his own knife out of a soda can, but the point was, Jed was slightly paranoid.

“Pity,” Victor said dryly. “I was so looking forward to inheriting a gun collection of such enormity that no one man could ever hope to use it all.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Randall agreed. He was giving Victor a sideways look, as if unsure if he should pay attention to the concern in Victor’s voice. “And you do know that guns are often used as a compensation for smaller genitalia.”

“Yes, I was aware.” Victor didn’t even need to look at Jed to make his words pointed.

“They’re also often used as payment for smaller jobs,” Redford said, feeling the need to defend Jed. Not that Jed really needed any defending—the last time someone had inferred that he was compensating, Jed had pulled down his pants right then and there.

This time, though, Jed just gave a faint snort, ducking down to tie his shoes. “We ready?”

Redford was still holding his nicer clothes in his hands. “Um. Give me a second.” He closed the bathroom door behind himself as he hid from sight, and got changed quickly. A glance in the mirror revealed that he looked, as usual, completely out of place in more formal clothing. But it would have to do.

When he emerged, he instinctively looked over at Jed for confirmation on his outfit choice. Despite Jed being strangely quiet and despite the strain between them, Redford still caught that familiar flare of heat in Jed’s eyes. The corner of Jed’s lip barely curved upward, but he nodded, hesitantly meeting Redford’s gaze.

It made Redford want to call the whole investigation off so he and Jed could get some alone time together. Surely if they just
talked
about this, then they could figure it out. Redford could promise he would get some more help for his instincts so Jed didn’t have to be wary of him. He’d go see Dr. Alona every day, if Jed wanted.

But time was of the essence here. There were hunters gathering around the pack, and they needed to find who was giving them orders. If Redford called time-out to sit down and talk to Jed, that was another few hours more that the pack was in danger.

“Ready,” Redford said.

Randall had been fussing with the books, standing closer to Victor and asking his advice on various things that didn’t seem entirely relevant to what they were doing now. Like how he’d categorize some of the research and if he preferred footnotes or references on the back page. “Hm?” He looked over to find both Jed and Redford standing at the door, waiting. Knievel wound her way around their legs, chirping at them before making a beeline toward Victor. “Oh, right. Yes, I, um, I’m ready as well.”

“Let’s head out, then.” Jed led the way to the van, Randall’s limp not preventing him from keeping up. The van looked beaten up, and that was about the kindest thing Redford could say about it. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, but there were still chips of burnt wood stuck in the windshield wipers, heavy dents along the side where branches had hit. As long as it still ran, though, it didn’t matter if it looked pretty. That was what Jed had always told him.

They piled in, and Jed pulled out onto the dirt trail. There were wolves running alongside them for a few moments before they vanished off into the woods. A few turns later, they passed the gate, and then it was like there wasn’t anything out there but trees and silence. It took them a while to even hit the main road, though Redford was grateful when they got back onto pavement. It’d been so long, it felt, since he’d ridden in the car on anything but overly bumpy rough trails that driving down the highway was like being on a cushion of air.

Over the next two hours, Redford contemplated turning the radio on several times, but they were so far out of major civilization that the only two stations available were a talk show and a country music station. Redford quite liked country music, but Jed hated it.

About halfway into the drive, Jed had to stop for gas. He didn’t ask either Redford or Randall if they wanted anything when he got out of the van, but when he came back he had a plastic bag. For Randall he’d purchased a glass bottle of iced tea on the basis that Randall clearly liked British things—Randall had given Jed a
look
, needless to say. And for Redford he’d bought Pixy Stix.

Even when things were tense between them, Jed still brought him his favorite gas station snack. This time Redford didn’t feel that same relief and hope in him, not after an hour of sitting in tense silence. He was already exhausted from his thoughts running around in circles, desperately trying to figure out the situation and ways to solve it.

After eating one of the Pixy Stix and getting a blue tongue, though, he did lean over and lightly press a kiss to the corner of Jed’s lips. It was a rule in their household, although the rule—and Jed—usually tended to demand much more intense kissing.

This time, however, Jed didn’t immediately haul Redford back for something more. He did, though, gently take Redford’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his palm so lightly it was almost no contact at all.

The next hour of the drive passed with less mental exhaustion for Redford as he tried to get his mind on track. They were going to talk to the man who was manufacturing silver bullets for these hunters. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. And more than anything, he couldn’t afford a repeat of yesterday, so he had to keep his instincts locked up tight.

He wished he’d had time to call Dr. Alona. He wished he’d
thought
of calling him earlier. Even if the man would just sit and quietly listen, he always seemed so calm. Redford could do with a little bit of calm right then.

When they pulled up in front of a tall, bland office building, Jed didn’t immediately get out of the car. He peered up at it through the windshield, fingers absently drumming against the wheel in a nervous rhythm.

Randall had spent most of the drive with his nose buried in a book. He marked his page and stretched, looking around them curiously. “Are we going to go in?” he asked. “Or just sit out here and think real hard at him.”

“I’m formulating a plan,” Jed growled.

“Nothing like thinking ahead.” Randall sat back in his seat, idly fiddling with his tie. “I don’t suppose you could just call and make an appointment.”

“Doesn’t work like that.” A few more long moments of quiet stretched over them, Jed muttering under his breath, lip caught between his teeth as he thought. Finally, though, he nodded sharply and opened the door. “Okay, kids. Everyone in the pool.”

Jed had taught Redford a few things about body language. He straightened his shoulders, tipped his chin a bit higher, and did his best to look like he truly belonged in the clothes he was wearing. He wished he’d put on a tie; everybody looked respectable in ties.

The interior of the building was just as bland as the exterior. The lobby was decorated in whites and grays, chrome against marble, but it looked cheap, as if whoever decorated it had been trying to make it look like the home of a millionaire with a quarter of the budget. Jed went straight to the receptionist, a woman who looked exactly like the decoration—tastefully made up, but her earrings weren’t real silver, and her scarf was
trying
to be silk but clearly failing.

Redford took a deep breath. Showtime.

“We’re here to see Buck Cambridge,” he said to her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Redford saw Jed giving him a questioning look, silently asking him how he’d figured it out. Redford waited until the secretary was looking away and tapped his nose. Jed’s lips quirked, and he ducked his head, but Redford didn’t miss the look of pride that had broken through his indifferent work expression.

“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist’s voice was bored, and she hardly seemed impressed with any of them, her gaze on her computer.

Randall gave the woman a slight, apologetic smile, rolling his eyes as if he was just
so very over
everything that was going on. “It’s a last minute thing,” he explained, sighing. “I am so sorry. I know he’s probably booked, but is there
any
way?”

The receptionist softened, just slightly. She clearly didn’t like the look of Jed, and Redford was getting the same suspicious glance, but Randall looked almost boring, completely harmless with his glasses pushed up and his bow tie. “He’s got a small window, but….” She hesitated.

“Could you tell him Jed Walker’s here?” Randall asked with another smile. “I would
really
appreciate it.”

The name would definitely get Buck’s attention, although Redford hated the very idea of using that ploy. The first time they’d met Buck at a gun show, Buck had pawed at Jed like he’d been contemplating dragging him around the back of the stall for a quickie. And Jed hadn’t entirely been against the idea, either. That had been before Jed and Redford’s relationship had been solid, but Redford still hated the memory.

The woman sighed at them, lips pressed tight together, but apparently Randall had thawed her enough that she turned to the phone and punched in an extension. “Melody? I have a Mr. Jed Walker and company here for him.” A long moment of silence and then the receptionist nodded, eyebrows rising slightly. “Okay. I’ll send them up.” She hung up the receiver and gestured toward the elevators. “Third floor. He’s waiting for you.”

Jed muttered, “I’ll bet he is,” under his breath.

Randall stepped in with a quick smile, nodding and cutting Jed off. “Thank you very much.” Redford was glad for his tact. He wasn’t feeling very gracious himself, not with the thought of seeing Buck and Jed together in the same place again.

The elevator was playing some kind of classical music as they stepped in. Redford wrinkled his nose and traded a glance with Randall. The smell that had been all over the box of bullets was stronger here. It was even worse on the third floor. It wasn’t an offensive smell; it was just odd for a box and now this building to smell like a cow. Randall actually coughed, lightly pressing his sleeve to his nose, like he was offended by the stench but too polite to point it out.

Buck’s office was at the far end of the third floor hallway. They passed a few other closed doors, each with their own nameplates. Redford still hadn’t managed to figure out what this building was even for—he hadn’t seen a company name outside, and there were no immediate clues inside.

“What do you think he does here?” he said lowly to Jed.

“He fixes things,” Jed said quietly. “He makes bad situations go away.”

“By hiring people like you?” Randall asked.

Jed’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting over to Redford. “Yeah,” he sighed. “By hiring people just like me.”

They reached the door. Redford had a brief vision of putting his fist through the glass. It would certainly be satisfying to ruin something of Buck’s. Instead, he knocked as politely as he could. There was no sense starting the meeting off with carnage.

“Come in.” The voice sounded the same as Redford remembered, and when he opened the door, Buck was sitting behind an expansive desk, raising his gaze from his monitors to the three of them. He brightened when he saw Jed, immediately standing up to greet them. His suit was ill-fitting, the jacket straining to fit around the bulk of him. “Jed!”

“Buck.” Jed extended a hand to have it engulfed in both of Buck’s. “Thanks for seeing me. I know it’s sudden.”

“Nonsense.” Redford and Randall might not have even been there for all the attention Buck was paying them. “I always have time for you, Jed, you know that.” Buck still hadn’t let go of Jed’s hand. He was beaming at him as if a particularly fat fly had wandered into his web. “Sit, sit, please. What can I do for you?”