Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel (10 page)

Running away is a natural response in every creature, human or otherwise. Fight or flight. I turn away, prepared to get the hell out of Dodge, then something dawns on me. I'm not the weakling I was when Tom Dawson attacked me. I'm not helpless. I've got fur, dammit! I wheel around to confront the man, but he's gone. My gaze darts frantically among the people on the street. I don't see him. Sniffing the air, I realize I don't smell him, either. Was he ever there to begin with?

Shaken and worried I might sprout fangs or some other abnormality, I start for home. I fight the urge to keep looking over my shoulder. Did I see and sense what I thought I did? Or has Shay managed to flood my subconscious with paranormal delusions? I desperately want to believe the latter. Every human and inhuman instinct I have tells me that would be a lie.

*   *   *

A hot shower and a good shoulder waxing usually calm my nerves. I search the kitchen for something to eat. My fridge needs stocking and I settle for yogurt and pretzel sticks. No matter how calm I pretend to be, inside I still quake. I can't forget the feeling of his eyes on me—of his scent or my reaction to it. I realize the sense of control I thought I had over my life during the past seven years is a false one. For a split second today, I was transported back to prom night. I lost control.

A few pretzel sticks dipped in yogurt later, I still shake. My snack has absolutely zero calming effect. A girl needs chocolate and lots of it for immediate stress relief. Maybe a big fat cheeseburger and fries. A milk shake or two. My stomach growls and I take consolation in the fact that it's a normal response to hunger. Growling from the throat is not normal.

Placing the food aside, I move into the bedroom and stare at Shay's card. I'm tempted to call him, but for all I know, he's part of the problem. He could have messed with my mind today. Either that, or maybe he's the one who's psychic. The light blinks on my answering machine. I'm hesitant to push the button. What if I hear heavy breathing? I realize I'm being ridiculous and reach out and push the button.

Kane's voice blares back at me. “Hey, cupcake, got a lead on something. Meet me at the club tonight around nine and we'll talk about it.”

Beep.

End of messages.

My excitement level rises a notch to know that Kane has information for me. Enthusiasm fades when I realize he just told me to meet him at the club. I'm not in the mood to go out; then again, maybe it would be good for me. I'm still not sure if I really saw what I think I saw today—if the man on the corner was stalking me, if the danger was real or imagined. I do know that once a person allows fear to take control of her life, it's hard to break free. I'm not going to cower in my apartment. I'm not going to cower ever again.

While I decide what to wear, I admit I'm not as brave as I often like to believe. I'll ask Cindy to go with me. She's the logical choice since she knows all of my secrets. Maybe we'll grab that cheeseburger and fries before we meet Kane. Just the thought of grease has a calming effect on me. I find my beauty bag, dig out my phone, and call Cindy's cell.

“Hello?” she answers.

“What's up?” I ask.

“Karen and I are in Red Wing smelling new work-boot smell.”

Cindy can't see me roll my eyes. “At least you're not somewhere smelling old work-boot smell. Hey, I want you to go to Freddie Z's with me tonight. Kane has information for me.”

A pause on the other end of the line. “You sure you want to mess with this guy? What if it's incriminating information?”

“Karen isn't listening to you, is she?” I immediately demand.

“No, she's flirting with the salesman. She's acting like she's actually interested in buying herself a pair of work boots.”

Amusing. “When are you coming home?”

Another short pause. “It might be a while. Karen's really jerking the guy's chain and it's fun to watch.”

I wish I were there to see that. I could use a laugh. “Do you want to meet me later at Burger Joint? We can go to the club from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don't invite Karen. You know this is private.”

She sighs. “I'm not an idiot, Lou.”

Dial tone.

I had that coming. Cindy's scatterbrained at times, but she's certainly not an idiot. Tonight I'll dress down, low-key, no attention grabbers. I decide on jeans and a T-shirt, tennis shoes and a pullover. Getting ready takes me into the evening. At seven I call down and have the night doorman order me a cab.

When I first step out on the street, I feel a moment of trepidation. I glance around me. Nothing looks out of the norm. The cab waits for me, and I find even that threatening. I get a grip and march over and open the cab door. I'm relieved when I recognize the cabby. He's picked me up several times, never sprouted fur and fangs or tried to jump me in the backseat. I climb inside and tell him where to take me.

Burger Joint is well lit and crowded. I'm relieved to see Cindy already seated. Should I tell her about the incident today? Is it even worth telling anyone about? It could have all been in my imagination. But no, my reaction to the man was not my imagination. He triggered something in me. Something bad. Maybe Cindy can help me sort through what happened today.

CONFESSION NO. 8

Rock and roll is here to stay. Or is it here to slay?

Freddie Z's is a typical smelly, sweaty rock and roll bar. The place does have a seventies feel to it, complete with wall-to-wall posters and black lights. A third-rate band is playing tonight. I hope Kane's band is better than this one.

“The only thing worse than a meat market is a less than prime meat market,” Cindy says, curling her lip.

I raise my drink in salute. “Got that right. We must have come on loser night.” There was a time when Cindy and I were both less than prime cut. Braces and contacts fixed Cindy. Becoming a werewolf fixed me. Neither of us are girls a man would take home to meet Mom, however, so I guess we don't have room to talk.

“So where is this guy?” Cindy shouts over the noise. “I'm tired and want to go home. Besides, you had two outbreaks today. We probably shouldn't be out in public.”

Cindy's right, and who knows where Kane is among a sea of sweaty bodies. I'm not in the mood to hunt for him, but I do want the information. “I haven't seen him yet,” I answer Cindy. “I'm sure he'll shimmy out from under a rock at some point.”

“Talkin' about me, cupcake?”

My head snaps up. Kane stands behind Cindy. The strobe lights in the bar remind me of the blink-blink-blink of a neon sign. They catch the blond streaks in his hair. Has he highlighted it? He wears a mesh T-shirt and black skintight pants. I'm sure he has the cowboy boots on his feet. Introductions are in order.

“Morgan Kane, this is my friend Cindy. Cindy, Morgan Kane.”

Kane nods toward Cindy, then asks, “You sure you want witnesses, cupcake? I thought you wanted to keep our business private.”

Cindy blinks at me and mouths, “Cupcake?”

I shrug. “She's okay. I don't keep secrets from her.”

He glances between the two of us. Cindy doesn't hide the fact she's gay. She's wearing a man's sweater right now, no makeup, her brows need to be plucked, and the dial is lit up on her big ol' sports watch. Kane flashes the dimples at me.

“I see. You ladies into threesomes?”

Stefan thinking I'm gay annoyed me. Terry thinking I'm gay devastated me. I realize I could care less if Morgan thinks I'm gay.

“Cut the crap, Kane,” I say. “Let's just get down to business so we can go home.”

He pouts for a minute, then makes a jerking motion with his head. “Follow me. There's an office upstairs where we can talk without having to shout.”

Cindy and I leave our drinks and follow him. By the time we reach a rail staircase toward the back of the bar, I wear the sweat of too many people I've had to brush up against. Heightened senses may sound like a turn-on, but in some cases they are not. This is one of them.

My ears ring and, yes, I do have the urge to howl in pain. I climb the stairs. When I reach the top landing and walk into a small room, Cindy has already seated herself on a black leather couch. The room doesn't resemble an office. There's a wet bar and lots of red velvet.

Against my better judgment, I step inside and pull the door closed. Considering what probably takes place on the black leather couch, I choose to stand. Kane is behind the bar, fixing himself a shot of Wild Turkey.

“What's the information?” I get right to the point.

Sipping his whiskey, Kane walks from behind the bar. He joins Cindy on the couch. “I was hacking around on my computer today, did a search on you, and something interesting came up.”

I'm not impressed. “I've done a vanity search before. I'm a top fashion model. There are pages and pages on me.”

“Yeah, on Lou Kinipski,” he agrees. “No surprises there. But I'm not talking about Lou Kinipski; I'm talking about Sherry Billington.”

Hearing my real name always makes me flinch. I pull myself together. “You don't think I've looked? I didn't find anything.”

He takes another sip of his whiskey, and I think it's rude that he didn't offer me a shot. I could use one after the day I've had.

“That's because the average person doesn't know how to dig,” he informs me. “It takes a certain skill.”

Like playing air guitar? I want to ask, but refrain. I'm in the mood to humor Kane if it will get the ball rolling. “Okay, so what did you find?”

Patting the seat next to him, Kane says, “Join us and I'll tell you.”

If I sit on the couch next to Kane and Cindy, in his demented mind, he's going to somehow connect that to a threesome. Humoring him is getting more difficult, but I suck it up and go sit next to him.

“Isn't this cozy?” He glances between Cindy and me.

“I think you got some scales on me,” Cindy mutters, staring down at Kane's snakeskin boots. “You do know that a nice pair of leather work boots would be more practical?”

Gah! Cindy should just go to work for Red Wing.

“I'm not a work boots kind of guy, babe,” Kane responds. He turns to me. “Didn't figure you for a work boots kind of girl, either, cupcake. But I like a woman who keeps me guessing.”

I can't do it. I just can't keep sucking up to him. “If you call me ‘cupcake' one more time you're going to find out exactly what kind of girl I am. Let's just get this over with before you make me mad enough to pull out your nipple ring.”

Now Kane's the one who flinches. “Fine. While I was doing the search on Sherry Billington, I found out someone else was doing a search on her, too.”

This is something new. My immediate response is to freak out. When one is a murderer, never mind being a werewolf, one doesn't like surprises, or private searches for oneself.

Rising, Kane heads back to the bar and sets his glass down. I expect him to pour himself another but he doesn't. Instead he leans against the bar facing me. “Any idea why a lab out of Nevada would be looking for you?”

A lab? I feel certain someone would like to get me and my screwed-up DNA under a microscope, but maybe I'm being paranoid. “Could one or both of my biological parents work for this lab?”

“Possible,” Kane answers. “The thing is, if I contact them about you, they're going to know you've hired me to do some digging around. Sometimes people find out more than they really want to know about themselves while searching for answers about their parentage. Sometimes people only think they want to know, and once they do, they wish they had left things alone. I just want a go-ahead from you.”

My first gut reaction, like Kane, is to jump at the chance. I would if I were normal. Maybe the lab doesn't have anything to do with my biological parents wanting to find the child they gave up for adoption. Maybe the lab is responsible for what I am. Maybe my parents don't work for the lab. Maybe they are in cages at the lab. Although Kane asking for my permission is the first semblance of professionalism I've seen from him, I'm torn about asking him to proceed. And he's going to find that odd.

“Maybe you should think about this for a couple of days, Lou,” Cindy says. “Maybe Mr. Kane is right and you don't really want to know about your biological parents.”

I glance at Cindy. I could kiss her. By expressing her opinion, she'll make my response seem more believable. “Maybe.” I glance back at Kane. “Could you just concentrate on getting the records unsealed for now and let me think about this development with the lab for a while?”

He straightens from his leaning position against the bar. “You're kidding, right? This is a good, solid lead. You want me to back off before we even get started?”

So much for thinking he wouldn't find my response odd. “I want to go slow, is what I'm saying. I'm still not sure I've made the right decision in hiring you in the first place. Thinking about doing something and doing it are two different things. Like you said, sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Kane shakes his head. He does have highlights. A little amusing that he took my advice about that. Nothing else about the meeting is amusing, or about my day. I keep thinking about the hooded figure on the street corner. Cindy, not in jeopardy of turning into a werewolf or being involved in murders, and therefore more rational, said she thought Shay has made me paranoid. I hope she's right. I'll take being paranoid over being stalked any day of the week.

“The lab might have nothing to do with your biological parents,” Kane says. “It's not unusual for people who adopt a child to have tests run on the baby before agreeing to the adoption. You know, looking for possible defects or medical conditions that might end up costing them a lot of money? I know it sounds cruel, but it is done. It could be something like that, although I don't know why they would be looking for you now.”