Heart of the Wolf (8 page)

Not that Ren minded. He loved to drive, and the CL600 was a sweet car. He took taxis for the most part in town because what cars did in this damn city wasn’t really driving anyway. But out here, even with the snow piled several feet high all around, it was a thrill. Maybe even more so. The dangerous conditions only added to the high of speeding down the gloomy, empty roads going a good fifty miles over the limit.

The Mercedes came to a sliding stop on the street outside Westgate’s house. There was a wall, naturally. Men like Westgate would want the facade of exclusivity that a wall provided, keeping the menials and lowlifes away from his perfectly manicured stretch of lawn, which was an unbroken blanket of white as Ren studied it through the wrought-iron gate.

He considered using the intercom but decided he’d give Westgate a little thrill of his own instead. A few minutes’ work and the gate released, sliding open silently on well-oiled rails. Ren pushed it closed behind him. One wanted to be polite, after all. He grinned and started up the snow-covered drive, which was only marginally clearer than the yard. But then that was why he’d changed clothes. His boots provided solid footing even on the slick snow.

He walked by the big front window on his way to the door and could see Westgate inside watching television. The rest of the house was dark, but Ren waited a few minutes, listening and scenting the area before ringing the doorbell. As far as he could tell, the lawyer was home alone tonight.

Westgate answered the door himself, looking surprised and not altogether happy to see Ren on his front porch.

“Mr. Roesner, how…” He looked over Ren’s shoulder, clearly wondering how he’d gotten through the locked gate.

“Your drive wasn’t cleared,” Ren said. “I parked on the street and walked up.” When Westgate made no move to invite him in, Ren added, “My client’s in a hurry.”

“Oh, well, yes, of course. But I—I wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s a bit cold out here, Westgate.” Ren wasn’t really cold, but the lawyer reacted predictably. He stepped out of the doorway and, ever the good host, invited Ren inside.

“My wife is out of town, and the housekeeper went home early. I’m afraid—”

“This isn’t a social visit,” Ren said, cutting him off. “My client agreed to your terms. So let’s get this done.”

Westgate was clearly flustered, not used to being ordered around in his own home or probably anywhere else. His eyes wandered to the slender briefcase in Ren’s left hand.

“Laptop,” Ren explained. “Modified satellite uplink, two-fifty-six bit encryption. You tell me the bank, and I can have your money transferred and the deposit confirmed in real time.”

Which was bunch of crap, but Ren was counting on Westgate not knowing that.

The lawyer nodded and said, “Let me see.”

And Ren knew he had him.

* * * *

Ren set the case on the desk in what he assumed was Westgate’s home office. The whole room was done in a fussy French provincial style not to Ren’s taste, but then he wasn’t here for the decor.

“Let’s see the disc first.”

The lawyer went over to a tall media cabinet and opened a door to reveal an inset safe. Shielding the keypad with his body, he entered a six-digit combination, reached inside, and withdrew a single
DVD
case.

“The original,” he said, handing it to Ren. “The other was the only copy.”

Ren popped the case and slipped the
DVD
into his computer. He pulled up the origination data first to verify that this was indeed an original, and not a copy, and then took a quick look at the video itself. Satisfied, he turned to face Westgate.

“Name your bank.”

The other man straightened from where he’d been bent over writing on a notepad, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to Ren. On it was a bank name and account number. It was a matter of a few minutes and a few more keystrokes, and Ren had, to all appearances, transferred the sum of ten million dollars.

“Your confirmation,” he said and spun the computer around for Westgate to copy the pertinent data while Ren eyed the open safe behind him, verifying the absence of any further discs or, for that matter, a weapon. Not that he thought Westgate had the balls to use one.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” the lawyer said, folding the paper and sliding it under his desk pad. “Tell your client—”

“Let’s not pretend this is anything but what it is.” Ren snapped the briefcase shut, then turned around, pulling himself up to his full height and letting a little of the wolf show in his eyes. “I don’t trust you, Westgate. You’re the kind of man who’d take advantage of a woman for money, which pretty much makes you the scum of the earth in my estimation. Unfortunately, my client wants this clean, so you’ve got to be breathing when I walk out of here tonight.”

Westgate’s smug grin faded, and he backed up, putting the desk between him and Ren. “This was business, Roesner, and I only made the one copy. I didn’t want that video getting out any more than you do.” He was sweating. Ren could smell it.

“Besides,” Westgate continued. “I’ve never told a soul what’s on that disc.
Preston
only gave it to me in the first place so I could see for myself, so I’d understand about
Edmonds
, about the silver—” Westgate paled visibly and his mouth snapped shut.

“What was that?” Ren asked softly, taking a single step closer to the desk. Westgate backed up until the windowsill bit into his thighs.

“Nothing. That is, nothing important. You’ve got what you came for. Now I think—” He gave a high-pitched squeak as Ren suddenly appeared right next to him.

“There’s something else you want to tell me, isn’t there?” Ren crooned. He grabbed Westgate, jerking him away from the window and stepping around behind him to wrap an arm around his neck. Slapping a hand over the lawyer’s mouth, Ren let his claws run out on his other hand and stroked gently along the terrified man’s jaw and down to his neck. “Something about the person trying to kill Kathryn, isn’t that right?” He pushed hard enough to dimple the skin, making certain Westgate could feel it, but using only the backs of his claws. He didn’t want to draw blood, didn’t want any evidence of his presence beyond Westgate’s hysterical memories, which no rational person would ever believe.

Westgate squealed beneath Ren’s grip and nodded frantically, sucking in a gasp of air when Ren lifted his hand. “You’re one of them,” the human whispered in a voice hoarse with horror. When he looked up, there were tears mingled with the sweat pouring off his brow. “I didn’t believe it when I saw her, but you’re one of them, too.”

“Let’s not waste time on the obvious. Who’s trying to kill Kathryn and why?”

“I had nothing to do with—” He screamed as Ren shifted a little further into Wolf, letting his jaw lengthen, cracking it wide open to reveal sharp, white fangs. “
Edmonds
,” Westgate shrieked. “Please, God, his name is Gerald Edmonds. I don’t know where
Preston
found him. I swear I don’t. He had me draw up the contract and told me to call
Edmonds
after he died.”

Ren smelled the sharp, bitter scent of urine and released Westgate, steeping away in disgust as he forced his face back into its human aspect. “Where’s the contract?” he growled.

“There,” Westgate gestured desperately. “It’s right there in the safe.”

“Get it.”

Westgate scurried over to the safe, his hands trembling so hard he had trouble picking up the envelope before handing it to Ren.

It was an unsealed manila mailer, no letterhead, no return address, nothing at all on the outside.

“What about the money?” Ren asked, turning the envelope over in his hand. “How does
Edmonds
get paid?”

The lawyer pressed himself against the wall and began sidling toward the door, clearly thinking to escape. “Escrow account,” he wheezed, rubbing his throat. “It’s all there.”

Ren flipped open the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper. Reading over the documents quickly, he raised his gaze, pinning the lawyer in place.

“You know what this says?”

“Yes,” Westgate said, nodding vigorously.

“Why?”

The man wasn’t stupid enough to pretend he didn’t understand the question. “It enraged him to think she would live forever, enjoying his money.” He swallowed nervously, looked around for something to drink, glanced at Ren and clearly thought better of it. “I only met
Edmonds
that once, and I never talked to him again. I left a message on his machine after
Preston
died. The money’s already in escrow. That’s all I know.”

Ren took a step closer, towering over the terrified man. “You know, Westgate,” he said. “I believe you.”

* * * *

Ren closed the front door behind him carefully. Westgate had expected to die. Ren had seen it in his eyes when he’d taken hold of him that last time. And if it had been up to Ren, that’s what would have happened, too. That scum had tried to kill Kathryn…or close enough. But Ren had told the truth when he’d said his client wanted the lawyer left alive. Bad enough someone was trying to kill Kathryn, even worse the killer was using silver bullets, although so far the police didn’t know that. But the last thing Dom wanted, at this point, was Preston Avinger’s lawyer turning up dead so soon after Avinger’s own death. So Ren had to settle for knocking the guy out. He’d used a blood choke hold, which left no evidence, but had dropped Westgate to the floor like a pile of wet rags. Stinking wet rags, to be precise.

Besides, giving the cops documentation that implicated Avinger and Westgate both in the attempt on Kathryn’s life would help close the case for the human authorities. They might keep looking for
Edmonds
, but they’d never find him. Not if Ren had anything to say about it.

He stepped off the porch into the snow and pulled out his cell phone, punching buttons as he walked down the driveway.

“Maietta,” the police detective said, answering.

“Detective,” Ren said, pulling the gate open and stepping through to the street. “Renjiro Roesner, here. I have a name for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Lewis Westgate.”

“Avinger’s estate lawyer.”

“You know him.”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to run an investigation, Roesner. We interviewed him the day after the funeral. Probably for the same reason you did. So why are you bringing me his name?”

“Lewis has been a very bad boy,” Ren said. He beeped open the locks on his Mercedes and slipped inside, turning the key and bringing the engine to life with a smooth purr of sound. “Preston Avinger hired someone to kill his wife, or more precisely, his widow. And Lewis Westgate helped him. Apparently the old man didn’t want Kathryn to get any of his money.”

“Jesus, that’s cold.”

“Yeah, well, by all accounts, Avinger was a pretty cold guy.”

“How does Westgate come into it?”

“He drew up the contract. He also set up an escrow account to pay the killer. It went active the minute Avinger died.”

“Can you prove it?”

“I wouldn’t be calling you if I couldn’t. I’m outside the city right now, but I’ll messenger the documents over when I get back. You might want to move fast on Westgate, though. He strikes me as a runner.”

“Where’d you get this stuff?”

“Let’s just say certain parties were motivated to share.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that. And please don’t feel you need to explain. Will you be around if I have questions?”

“Probably not,” Ren said and heard Maietta sigh.

“I take it these mysterious documents of yours are pretty conclusive.”

“You could say that.”

“Fine,” the detective said in a resigned voice. “No offense, Roesner, but I hope we never see each other again.”

“None taken, Detective. And the feeling’s mutual.”

Ren disconnected and shoved his car into gear. He had to get back to the city and messenger the docs over to the cops—after making copies for himself, of course. And then, the real hunt would begin. Westgate was taken care of. The cops would see to that. But the killer was still out there.

Chapter Twelve

On his way back to the city, he called Paul Jorgens, his former commander at Clanhome and Dom Bartek’s head of security.

“Gerry
Edmonds
?” Jorgens said. “Fuck me, Roesner, where’d you hear that name?”

“You know him?”

“I know
of
him. He’s a bounty hunter. If he’s in town, it’s bad news. What’s this…ah, shit, is that who’s after Kathryn? Damn it, Ren, she’s got no one with her. I’ll send—”

“She’s got me.”

“No offense, but that might not be enough. Dom—”

“I’m all she’s got. Let’s hope it
is
enough.”

He disconnected and almost threw the phone onto the seat next to him, catching it in his fingers at the last minute when it started ringing.

“Yeah.”