Green-Eyed Envy (24 page)

Same ole Meritton, at least: squeaky, high-pitched voice and overweening sense of pride. Some things even a brush with death couldn’t beat out of a person.

I couldn’t resist asking, “Paul, what happened to your security detail?” A stubborn expression came across his face, and I shook my head. “Don’t tell me you gave them the slip?”

He scowled. “I needed some alone time, for Christ’s sake. Ten bloody minutes without someone staring at me or telling me what to do. Is that too much to ask?”

Trinity took over the
good cop
persona. “Of course it isn’t, Mr. Meritton, but what’s important right now is catching the person who attacked you so you can get your privacy back for good. Can you tell us anything about what happened?”

“Of course I can.” He shifted on the gurney, glaring at the medical staff poking and prodding him. “Would you leave me alone for a gods-damned second so I can
think
? ” I nodded, and they slipped out of the room, seeming relieved rather than annoyed at having their work interrupted. Meritton turned his attention back to Trinity. “I took the private exit from my office and stepped into the back for a cigarette. Just needed to
breathe
for a minute. Yeah, I know it wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to do but . . . ” He looked suddenly exhausted and unsure of himself. “My father was just diagnosed with a disease the Oracles aren’t sure they can treat. They give him six months if he’s lucky, and there’s not a damned thing my millions of useless dollars can do about it.”

Well. Even misogynistic assholes had their soft spots. I found myself glad for the Meritton family that they wouldn’t have to face the loss of
two
of their members in such a short period of time and managed to keep my voice more even-tempered. “So you stepped outside in the alley to sneak a smoke, and then what?”

“Nothing at first. Was on the second cigarette when I had the feeling someone was watching me. Had time enough to curse myself and turn for the door when that shithead
stabbed
me in the neck and started wailing on me. I got a little woozy but was able to give as good as I got—the money I spent on that black belt in tae kwon do didn’t go to waste, I can assure you—and we made enough noise the bodyguards tracked us down and scared off the shithead.”

“Did you get a good look at your attacker?”

“I tried, but whatever he shot me up with made my vision blurry. All I could tell was he wore black clothes, biker boots, and a ski mask so I couldn’t have made out his face anyway.”

“Height? Build? Race?”

“Hard to say. More than five six, less than six foot. Average build. Race I couldn’t say, because he had on that mask and gloves.” He frowned as if just recalling that detail. “Yeah, leather gloves the same color as the jacket, although he had slits in them where his claws came out.”

That had both Trinity and me leaning forward eagerly. “Claws?”

“Yeah. Funny how I just realized that. The whole thing happened so fast.” He gestured to the bandages on his arms and chest. “He clawed the hell out of me, but I was doing the same thing to him so I guess we’re even.”

Trinity and I exchanged glances. “Would you say your attacker was a Cat, then?”

Meritton hesitated. “His claws were more like a Cat’s than any other type of shifter, but his eyes . . . they weren’t colored or slitted like a Cat’s, and our pupils
always
slit if we shift enough to get our claws out. Mine sure as hell did.” He gestured, and I consciously noticed what my subconscious had already picked up on. His eyes were still greenish-yellow with the telltale slitted pupils of the Bastai.

“Do you remember what color his were?”

He squinted in concentration, before nodding confidently. “Yellow. Not like a Cat’s, more orange-yellow. Like a—”

We said the last word in unison. “Hound’s.”

I cursed under my breath, since that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Instead of a civil conversation with Penn about the parchment paper he’d bought, we might be dragging his ass back to the MCU for an interrogation. Because, just like his cousin Scott, Penn possessed amber-yellow eyes typical of many Hounds. Add that to his link to the parchment paper the death threat came in on, and things weren’t looking too good for Mr. Adonis.

Harper was
so
going to kill me for cracking her wedding bells . . .

SCOTT CONVINCED ME NOT TO BREAK OUT the sledgehammer just yet, reminding me that another Hound could be the culprit. I would have put my money on dear Aunt Rashida except for that whole keeping-an-openmind thing.

Trinity made a face when I suggested she ride back to Harper’s condo in the undercover van with us, and I rolled my eyes. “What, you too good to ride in anything but your
Porsche
now, Nana-nana?”

She had the grace to flush and give in, knowing I would give her never-ending piles of grief otherwise. The dashboard clock read four forty-eight by the time we made it back to Harper’s parking garage. Her text had indicated she’d be working until six thirty or seven, so we’d have just enough time to
chat
with her fiancé before he had to pick her up. Hell, depending on how the conversation went, we might just be able to pick her up on our way to an MCU interrogation room.

Not exactly a ride I’d be willing to take in this (or any other) lifetime.

The three of us stepped out of the van and headed to the entrance to Harper’s building, only to stop when Scott grabbed my arm and pointed to a Lexus SUV pulling into an empty space a couple dozen feet away. “Isn’t that—”

“Penn’s
fine
brother, Tariq,” Trinity finished before I could. She met my amused glance with a defensive, “What? He’s single; I’m single—there’s no crime in looking.”

“No, there’s not.” My eyes narrowed when the logical realization hit. “If Tariq is pulling into the garage
alone
, that means Penn is upstairs. Alone.”

Scott shook his head in disgust. “What an idiot.”

Trinity blinked, making the connection as well. “Meaning not only did he put himself at risk staying alone in Harper’s place, he may have no alibi for the attack.”

Gods save me from those who refused to save themselves. “Bingo. So, lover girl, care to distract Tariq long enough for Scott and me to catch his brother by surprise? Give us, say, ten minutes if you can.”

She smoothed the lines of her jacket over her curvehugging black slacks. “Sugar, there’s no
if
to that statement. Ten minutes are all yours.”

Poor Tariq. No way could he see the potential heartache coming his way. Then again, knowing my partner the way I did, he wouldn’t want to run even if he
could
.

Penn couldn’t see the trouble breathing down his neck, either. When he nonchalantly opened Harper’s door without uncovering her peephole or asking who was knocking, I had to clench my fingers to keep from wrapping them around his beefy neck. Here we were, running ourselves ragged to keep him safe, and he couldn’t be bothered to take the most basic of precautions to secure his
own
ass. That indicated one of two things: more than enough arrogance to get himself killed or lack of worry because
he
was the killer. Possibly both.

He didn’t seem overly surprised to see us. Interesting. “Marissa, Murphy.” Of course he sneered the second word. “I’m afraid Christabel’s not home yet.”

My tone was deceptively conversational when I replied. “Thanks for sharing, but we already knew that. We’re here to speak with you, not her.”

“Well, come on in, then.”

He stepped back and let us pass through to the living room. I chose to remain standing this time, manila folder held at my side and eyes glued on him as I tried to read his emotions. He didn’t seem overly concerned that we’d paid an unexpected visit to see him at his fiancée’s home. No accelerated pulse, no quickened breathing, no beads of sweat breaking out where they shouldn’t. Either he had no clue what had just gone down, or he was a damned good actor.

That second option got my blood pressure boiling. “So, care to explain what the
hell
you’re doing here alone when you know there’s a psycho killer gunning for Harper’s lovers stalking the city streets?”

Penn scowled and shot me a stubborn look. “That’s not really your concern, now is it, Chief Holloway?”

Oh, from “Marissa” to “Chief Holloway.” Our boy was too arrogant for his own good indeed. He needed to be cut down a peg or two, and fortunately I was more than up for the task. “Actually,
Mr.
Banoub, it is
entirely
my concern considering that we’re in the midst of a serial murder investigation and you have now made both my life and your fiancée’s far more stressful.”

“I’ve been perfectly safe while my brother’s been running wedding errands for me. I had the most cutting-edge of arcane and mundane security systems installed several days ago—I knew the moment you stepped into the hall and that you were friendly.”

Friendly
was pretty much the last adjective I’d use to describe my feelings for him in that moment.
Frustrated
, maybe.
Disgusted
, sure.
Fed up with
, oh yeah.

“While I am overcome with joy to hear
you’ve
been perfectly safe, Pennington, I can’t say the same for Paul Meritton. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? One of Harper’s exes—who was attacked a couple of hours ago not
all
that far from here. By someone who could fit your general description, come to think of it. Luckily
you
have an alibi, since you’ve been with your brother all morning. Oh wait. You
don’t
have an alibi because your brother needed to go
run errands
. ”

He had the sense to go pale and fall back onto the pristine white couch behind him. “Oh gods, another murder?”

Interesting that he said
murder
rather than
attack
. The killer should have known he’d botched things with Meritton: None of the superficial wounds he’d suffered were life-threatening, and the drug dosage had been way too low to put him in any danger on that front, either. Even more interesting, Penn looked every inch his typical clean, wellpressed self, with no signs that he’d been in a recent life-ordeath struggle. No scratches or cuts, no bruises or black eyes. Well-groomed fingernails without a trace of blood or skin beneath them. Even if he’d taken the time to wash up and change clothes after the attack, there should have been
some
mark on him after a fight with a full-grown Cat, especially since there’d been nowhere near enough time for him to visit a magical Healer
and
get back here to clean up.

I leveled a tight-lipped expression his way, staying silent long enough to make him squirm before responding, though not to his question. “Can anyone verify you’ve been here the entire morning, Pennington?”

Color flooded back into his cheeks, and he shoved to his feet. “You can’t possibly think that
I
had anything to do with this!”

My brow arched meaningfully. “Is that a ‘no, they can’t’? ”

He cursed under his breath, turning pleadingly from me to his cousin. Which spoke to his desperation, since he never failed to disparage Scott at every single opportunity. “Murphy,
you
know I’m not a murderer. No Banoub would—”

Scott smiled coldly. “Oh, so
now
I’m a Banoub? Don’t look at me to save your ass, cuz. You got yourself into this mess, you can damned well get yourself
out
of it. Or not, it doesn’t really matter to me so long as Harper’s safe. Something she hasn’t been for a moment since hooking up with
you
.”

Penn’s face paled again, and his body sagged from the force—and truth—of Scott’s words. “I swear I had nothing to do with Meritton’s attack. If I had a problem with one of Harper’s exes, I would take it up with him face-to-face, man-to-man. Not attack him from behind and drug him senseless.”

“Like you did with your last Cat lover’s old-flame-turnednew?”

His cheeks flushed. “
Who
told you about that?”

“Never mind my sources, Penn.”

He let out a loud sigh. “Yeah, like with Jillian. Though
he
attacked
me
when I went to get my grandmother’s ring back from her.”

I let that information sink in for a moment, adding it to all the other bits and pieces floating around. True that, in many ways, Penn made the
perfect
suspect. His recent outbursts over the smallest stressors. The fact he resisted the idea of hiring a full-time bodyguard and had conveniently sent his brother out to run wedding-related errands just before another Cat was brutally attacked. Not to mention his link to the parchment paper used for the most credible death threat.

Speaking of which . . . I opened the folder in my hands, withdrew the Ziploc-wrapped parchment, and dangled it in the air, rear side facing him. “Does this look familiar to you?”

He stepped closer and peered at the parchment intently. At first he seemed puzzled, but then recognition lit in his eyes. “Looks like the stationary Aunt Rashida asked me to get the last time I visited Elliana at Hounds of Anubis.”

Bingo.
I flipped the paper around so the text spelling out the threat showed clearly. He mouthed the words as he read them, his expression growing darker the further along he read, until his lips pressed into a furious line and his fists clenched at his sides.

“I can’t—she wouldn’t—no.” He shook his head as denial replaced anger. “My aunt would not say such ugly things.” Oh, but she would—as “Sierra” had already witnessed firsthand. “She would never hurt me like that. Besides—” Penn seemed to grasp at straws as his worldview that family was all and the Banoubs stood on a lofty pedestal was challenged. “She would never have the strength to torture and kill all of those men.”

Now that
last
statement was one I could actually agree with, but I had two words for him:
hit men
. Having been on the wrong end of murder-for-hire contracts more than once, I was living, breathing proof that money could buy the brawn that nature did not grant. And money was not the slightest bit of a problem for Rashida Banoub.