Second Nature (7 page)

In the picture, Griffin Westmore was wearing the sage green pants and the tan uniform shirt of the US Forest Service. A tag over her left breast pocket had either her title or her name written across it. Jorie couldn't read it due to the low quality of the picture, but she guessed it to say "wildlife biologist."

She's the real deal,
Jorie admitted.
Maybe meeting with her could help me figure out a few things. It doesn't even have to be a long getting-to-know-you chat. Asking her a few well-prepared questions will make sure I don't waste either of our time, and it's better than sitting around and waiting for this damn writer's block to pass.
With one last glance at the photo, she started to write an e-mail to Griffin Westmore.

CHAPTER 4

 
G
RIFFIN LICKED A drop of rain from her lip. It tasted earthy, like fall, very different from the rain in Arkansas. Once again, it reminded her that she was in a stranger's territory, out here in the rain, waiting for hours. Not that she minded the rain or the waiting. She had inherited her Puwar mother's love for water, not her Kasari father's hatred of getting wet. And like all cat-shifters, she had the patience to wait out her prey.

Stalking through the forest surrounding the house also let her know that in the last few days, no shifter had passed this place. No Wrasa scent clung to the bark of the trees. If a traitor had visited Ms. Price's house, he had taken a different route.

The shadow of the woman crossed in front of the window, then again in the other direction as if she was pacing back and forth.

Griffin didn't move. The darkness and the dense foliage of a group of trees kept her well hidden while she watched the house. The constant movement of the writer made her twitchy like a cat that was forced to watch a mouse dart back and forth right in front of her paws.
I wonder what got her so unsettled. Is the leak someone in the council or a saru, someone who told her she's in deep trouble? Or is she just an insomniac?
It was two o'clock in the morning — or rather in the middle of the night — but there was still a light on in the small house at the edge of town. While Griffin felt wide-awake, she knew most humans didn't keep that kind of hours.

The woman's shadow passed in front of the window again but didn't return this time.

She's going to bed
, Griffin thought.

But instead of the light being turned off, the front door creaked open.

The woman's scent tickled Griffin's nose before she stepped outside.
No perfume
. All Griffin detected were the smells of fabric softener, coffee, and a shampoo with a pleasant coconut scent. And underneath it all was the woman's own scent — slightly floral, with a hint of something muskier. It was a clean, soothing scent, like prowling through the forest on a warm spring day, with all the trees in full bloom.

The door swung back farther, and the woman appeared in the doorway. The light from the house illuminated her from behind, making her look like a vision out of a human fairy tale.

Distracted, Griffin shook her head. The image of the forest elf disappeared, but still, Marjorie Price was different from what she had expected. Instead of the elderly recluse, the woman looked like a college student in her faded jeans.

No. She's not a student.
Griffin's predatory gaze took in the self-assured way she moved.
Early thirties, maybe
. Moonlight revealed the lithe, lean build that Griffin had sometimes envied when she was younger, before she had learned that her height, strength, and an intimidating look worked well for making people leave her alone. The writer shoved back a strand of shaggy, black hair that fell rebelliously into her eyes. Griffin wasn't close enough to make out the writer's eye color, but she guessed them to be of the dark brown that was so common among humans.

Just imagining the writer's eye color brought another image of the forest in spring — the damp earth coming to life with the first flowers of the year.

"Will?" Marjorie Price called. "Emmy?"

Griffin cocked her head and let the rich, warm tones of her voice trickle through her.
She's calling her cats
, she realized.

Two felines darted out from beneath the car in the driveway, where they had sought refuge from the rain and the scent of a dangerous predator lurking in the neighborhood. They greeted their owner by rubbing against her calves.

"Stop that," Marjorie Price chided but didn't move away. "I'm not a towel."

A moment later, woman and cats disappeared inside the house, leaving behind the scent of coconut and wet fur.

Only when she had to sharply inhale did Griffin notice that she had been holding her breath.
She's not exactly the old woman I imagined
. That posed additional problems for her assignment.
If she suddenly disappears, no one will believe she died of old age
. She shoved the thought away.
Let's hope that no one will have to die, of old age or otherwise.

The writer's silhouette appeared in front of the window again. Marjorie Price stared out into the darkness.

Griffin stepped back behind a tree, then scolded herself.
She can't see you in the darkness. She's human
.

The light in the house went out, and Griffin turned to go. She had a lot of work to do tonight.

*  *  *

Jorie turned off the light but stayed where she was. She stared out the window and into the darkness beyond. Not that she could see anything.
Because there is nothing to see
, the reasonable part of her said. Still, her instincts told her otherwise.
There's something out there. Watching.
The thought made her shiver.

Earlier, she had thought she had seen something move in the shadows of the forest and had strained to make out the shape without much success.
Oh, come on. Now you're getting paranoid. Use your overactive imagination for your writing and not to scare yourself, stupid! Maybe I should try my hand at writing horror stories, not paranormal romances.

She flinched as something brushed against her leg. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. Her gaze darted down.

Will's gleaming yellow eyes looked back at her.

"Jesus, Will, you scared me half to death!" She rubbed her breastbone. As her heartbeat slowed, she began to feel silly. "All right. I'm coming; I'm coming. Your pals better not have taken up all the space in my bed again." With the cat trailing after her, she moved to the bedroom, knowing she wouldn't sleep much anyway.

*  *  *

Griffin stretched out contentedly in front of the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the softness of the blanket she had wrapped around herself. It was just September, and the local humans probably thought even the chilly nights in Michigan didn't require a warming fire yet. Griffin thought otherwise. There was nothing wrong with indulging herself every once in a while. The council was paying the bill for her stay at the bed-and-breakfast after all, and if they wanted her here, the least they could do was make her comfortable. So far, the home-cooked meals, the whirlpool tub, and the gas fireplace had provided all the feline comforts Griffin could wish for.

Back to work,
Griffin ordered herself.
There'll be time for a catnap later.
She stretched out on her belly in front of her laptop and opened her e-mail.
Ah
. A satisfied grin curled her lips when she saw a new message from J.W. Price.
So that's what she was doing up at two a.m. — writing e-mails. It seems writers are nocturnal creatures too. So let's see what she has to say.

She clicked on the e-mail and started to read.

Dear Ms. Westmore,

I realize we don't know each other, and I'm normally not one to send an e-mail to people who don't know me from Eve, but Allison DeLuca told me you might be able to help me with my research. I'm a writer of paranormal romances. Right in the middle of working on my newest novel, my muse decided to leave me for a younger or better-paid writer, and I thought getting a few questions answered by a zoologist might be helpful.

So if you have the time and access to the Internet while you're on vacation, let me know if you are willing to help me with a few questions.

Sincerely,

J.W. Price

Griffin read the e-mail again, carefully analyzing what it told her about the writer.
She's polite, but straightforward. Clever and careful. Openly copying the e-mail to her beta reader instead of just blind-copying her was a really smart move. She's letting me know that she told someone about contacting me. She also didn't tell me anything about herself or her book that I didn't know before. This is not going to be easy.

The excitement of the hunt prickled along her skin.
Good.
The challenge of the investigation, the back and forth between herself and a worthy opponent was what she liked about her job.

Now it's the cat's move. Let's see.
She scanned the e-mail again.
For a human, she has a great sense of humor.

She had noticed it in Ms. Price's books too, and Griffin decided to reply in kind and use a little humor to make the writer feel more at ease with her. Hitting reply, she thought for a moment before she began to type her response.

Dear Ms. Price,

I'm not an expert on unfaithful muses, but if I can help in any way with my zoological expertise, I'd be happy to let you pick my brain while I'm in the area. Since I only have sporadic Internet access while I'm on vacation, why not meet in person?

Just name the time and place. I'm not on any schedule, so whatever you suggest should be fine.

Griffin Westmore

Her cell phone rang just as she clicked send. She glared at the device.
Of all the human inventions, why did we have to adopt this one? Without this thing, a cat could have some peace and quiet to investigate without a certain wolf's meddling.
No doubt it was Jennings, asking for a progress report. "Westmore," she answered.

"Hello, Griffin," came a voice that was not her commander's. "It's Leigh."

Griffin groaned.
Now, isn't this nice. First Ky and now Leigh. What is this — an investigation or a family gathering?
"Leigh. What do you want?" she asked.

"Me? You should know by now that I don't want anything from you," her half sister answered. "You are the one who wants something from me."

"Bullshit. I'm in the middle of an investigation; I don't have time for..." Griffin squeezed her eyes shut when a thought occurred to her. "Don't tell me you are the techie they picked to hack into Marjorie Price's and her beta reader's computers?" While Leigh was not officially a saru, they sometimes requested her help when they needed a computer specialist.

Leigh growled. "Hey, it's not like I volunteered. The council wanted the best for the job, and so they called me."

Modesty had never been the Kasari's strong suit.
Give her a break, Griff. It's not like anyone ever accused you of having an inferiority complex either.

"Kylin was the one who convinced the council to hire me," Leigh said. "Unlike your twin sister, I don't stick my muzzle in other people's business. If you want nothing to do with the family, that's fine with me."

Griffin raked her nails over itching skin that was as irritating as her half sister. It was a good reminder that she needed to calm down and act like a professional. "Okay. So the first thing I need you to do is hack into Allison DeLuca's computer and see if there's anything suspicious going on," she said. Jennings had sent her a report about his interview with Allison DeLuca. Nothing pointed at the beta reader as Ms. Price's secret informant, but Griffin didn't want to take any chances.

"Already done. Apart from ordering large amounts of doggie treats online, there's nothing suspicious about the activities on her computer. Do you think she eats them?" Leigh asked.

Is this a serious question, or is she joking, trying to break through my reserve?
Griffin realized she didn't know Leigh well enough to tell just by the sound of her voice. "You're asking me this in all seriousness?"

"Sure. I always wondered what living with humans might do to a Wrasa's sanity." Working from home and living in her fathers' pride, Leigh had little contact with humans. She preferred it that way, but apparently, that didn't stop her from being curious about Allison Deluca's computer activities.

Griffin didn't want to discuss Allison's eating habits. Spending more time undercover and among humans than any other saru, she had seen human food that made dog biscuits seem appetizing in comparison. "I couldn't care less," she said. "Having strange eating habits is not against the First Law, but giving information about shape-shifters to a human is. Are you sure she didn't help the writer with her research?"

"If she did, she didn't do it by e-mail," Leigh said. "Allison pointed out things like run-on sentences, missing hyphens, or violations of point of view in her e-mails, but she mostly didn't comment on the content of the story."

"Mostly?" There was no room for doubts with that kind of investigation.

"Once or twice, the beta reader suggested that Ms. Price should take the story in another direction. She tried to get her to change a few things that were too close to the truth, but it seems this human is pretty stubborn." It sounded like a compliment. Stubbornness was a common trait in cat-shifters, and up to a certain point, it wasn't seen as a bad thing. "She seems to know exactly where she wants to go with the story."

Yeah,
Griffin thought moodily.
Right into her grave.
"Then I need you to get us access to Ms. Price's computer," she said.