The Wolf Within (2 page)

For a few long seconds he just looked at me, and then something that might have been pain shimmered through his eyes. Shimmered then disappeared, leaving cool silver glass behind. He nodded once. “If that’s the way you want it.”

I felt like screaming at him.
Nothing
was the way I wanted it when it came to me and Dan. Nothing could be that way ever again. And I’d worked a long time on convincing myself that was fine by me.

Why hadn’t he just left me alone?

No snappy comeback rose to my lips. No pithy little phrase to casually let him know that he was less than nothing to me now. I was never that good a liar. I just dug deep for the poker face that let me regularly fleece my friends at our monthly card games and hoped he wouldn’t push things any further.

He didn’t. Instead he reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a business card down onto my desk. “Meet me at my office. Nine a.m. tomorrow.”

Nine a.m.? Was he joking? My office hours are set to deal with my clientele. All species. Most of the vamps work around the sun but there are some who stick to tradition. I work midday to midnight. “Fat chance, I’ll be asleep.”

“This is important.”

I shrugged. He was right but I wasn’t going to let him push me around. Not even for Tate. I’d agree to help. I’d agree to spend more time with Dan than I wanted to. But I wasn’t going to let him order me around. “And I need my beauty sleep. I have a business to run here, Daniel.” My voice should’ve frozen him to the chair.

“I have
murders
to solve.” His voice rose a little.

“Then get one of your little FBI accountants to help you. I can’t just drop everything because you crook your finger.”

His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, the leather denting. I was surprised the arms didn’t crack. Weres are strong, even in human form. But most of them have pretty good self-control. Particularly the ones that work for the FBI. So it was interesting that Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected was showing the strain. I wondered whether it was the case or me. Then cursed myself for even thinking it.

“Fine,” he gritted. “What time can you come?”

I took my time consulting my calendar. I still had a long night of trawling through balance sheets, asset listings and many, many pages full of tiny numbers trying to unravel the Anderson mess ahead of me. Divorce is ugly at the best of times. But being undead adds a whole new dimension. That of long, long, periods of time.

In the Anderson's case, both spouses had been squirreling away assets for over a century and now didn’t want to share. I was meeting Mrs. Anderson—who prided herself on being the modern vamp—at one p.m. the following day. I’d planned a couple of free hours after that for a massage and a workout. I’d need both after dealing with Elena Anderson. Now it looked like I’d get neither. “I can do two thirty.”

Dan nodded again. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

He stood and I did the same, fighting against the little pang inside that said, “
Don’t go. Stay. Tell me what you’ve been up to. Do you miss me?
” That little pang was the voice of insanity. I locked it back up in the mental rubber room it deserved.

“I guess you will.” Hardly a zingy goodbye but it was better than nothing. Dan sighed, sounding more irritated than upset, then he shrugged and walked out. Leaving me staring blankly at the door. For a whole thirty seconds until Jase opened it.

“Before you say anything,” he said. “I brought you chocolate.” He put a brownie in front of me and then plopped himself down in the chair Dan had just vacated, looking penitent.

“Chocolate doesn’t come anywhere near close.” But I took a bite anyway, figuring sugar might calm my pounding heart. I was too thrown from seeing Dan to yell at Jase for not being a mind reader and knowing not to let Dan in.

“So that’s the guy, huh?”

I choked on my brownie. Then coughed and spluttered. “What do you mean?”

“The one who got away or whatever.”

I took a mouthful of cold coffee to wash down the brownie crumbs and shook my head as I swallowed. “Dan is old news.”

“You still have a picture of him in your house.”

“I do?” I frowned, trying to remember.

Jase nodded. “Yep. There’s a group photo on your mantel. He’s the guy next to you. The one hugging you.”

Oh,
that
picture. Stupid vampire eyes. And memory. Not much got past Jase. It made him a great PA but an annoying friend. It also explained why Jase had let Dan into my office. He was matchmaking. He thought I needed a life. Maybe he was right but I couldn’t have one with Dan.

I’d tried that. It hadn’t worked.

“Group pictures don’t count.” Or at least, that’s what I told myself every time I attempted to throw that picture away. I never could. I’d pick it up, even get so far as the trash can but then I’d look at it and remember being happy. And carefully carry it back inside.

My answer earned me an eye roll from Jase. Jase was very good at eye rolls. Normally they made me laugh. Today not so much. Still, I summoned a smile to try and prove—probably to myself more than Jase—that I was okay. Jase was one of the few exceptions to my ‘let’s keep the supernaturals to business only’ rule. We’d been friends before he’d been turned. And after? Well, I’d lost too many people to supernaturals in one way or another. I didn’t want to lose another. Besides, vamps are safer than werewolves. They can’t infect you with just one bite. Besides which, Jase wasn’t likely to want to bite me—I needed a Y chromosome to be his type. He was safe. I needed safe.

“Uh huh. So what does Mr. Old News want?”

I pushed what was left of the brownie around the plate. “He needs some help with a case.”

“Fraud?”

I shook my head. Fraud would be easy. But McCallister Tate was nothing as ordinary as fraud. “Murder. A rogue.”

Jase frowned, looking suddenly less like a safe best friend and more like an overprotective vampire. “Why do they need an accountant?”

“Cold case. The guy vanished. They froze his assets and now someone’s finally tried to tap one of the accounts.”

Jase looked even less happy. “Cold? How cold. . .wait a minute, old flame. Cold case. Tell me it’s not Tate?”

I looked down at my computer screen.

“Fuck, Ashley. Tell me you’re not stupid enough to go after Tate. He’s not a normal vamp. He’s pure evil. I never would have let him in if I’d known it was about Tate.”

He’d gone pale—hard for a vampire. In fact, he looked so horrified I figured he really hadn’t known why Dan had wanted an appointment. That made me feel a little better. “What do you know about McCallister Tate?” It was hard to say the name without letting my mind summon the images. But I managed—just. I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky once I was lying in bed alone in the dark.

“I read the newspapers the same as everybody.” He tugged at his immaculate pale green silk tie, loosening it and pulling it off-center. Which meant he was
really
upset.

“Tate’s old news,” I said. I hoped. Hoped the FBI was wrong and Tate was dead.

“He might be old news but I remember. And vamps talk. There are some scary mothers who don’t like to say Tate’s name too loud.”

I shivered. I couldn’t help it. A rogue vampire was bad, bad trouble. And Tate was one of the most sadistic on record even though in vamp terms he was young—not even fifty. Supposedly he’d been a psychopath before he’d been turned. Some vamp had made a huge mistake in picking him as a good candidate to become a vampire. It was said that one of the first things he’d done after turning had been killing the vamp who’d made him. Which was pretty much unheard of in vamp society.

Tate was the real deal. The big bad. A bogeyman to all species. Or he had been until he’d disappeared twelve years ago after committing his worst atrocity. Thirty murders in one small town in one night. Including my parents, my little sister and my best friend.

I shivered again. It didn’t matter how scary Tate was, or what going after him might do to my life, I couldn’t pass up the chance to bring him down.

Chapter Two

“There’s coffee on your desk,” Jase said as I walked into the office the next day around midday. I didn’t bother to take off my sunglasses, despite the fact the UV screens made the lighting dim compared to the blaze of summer sun outside. Tate and bad memories had made sleep elusive, and I’d had about three too many glasses of red wine in an attempt to chase them away. So now I’d be dealing with Daniel and with a hangover. Not one of my finest plans.

“Thanks.” Maybe caffeine would help. “Do we have aspirin?”

Jase reached into his drawer and tossed me a bottle. I managed to catch it, just. He’d obviously slowed down his throw in deference to my condition. Though how he knew what my condition was before I walked in the door was something I didn’t want to think too hard about.

Jase was a mere baby vamp. He’d turned voluntarily three years ago when he found out he had pancreatic cancer. He’d only been twenty. Not ready to die. Most people who’ve been vaccinated and then try deliberately to turn have limited success. Which is kind of the point of the vaccines in the first place, to make being turned, voluntarily or not, difficult. Some don’t change, some die, some become vamps with lesser powers (but on the plus side they get higher tolerance of sun and reduced need for the red stuff), a few start off weaker and gradually strengthen as they age (if they survive that long).

Of course some people who get the vaccine are turned by it, which is why it’s not terribly popular yet. Even the lycanthropy one—which is somewhat more reliable—occasionally changes someone.

One day they’ll make both vaccines more effective and then the vamps will have some thinking to do. At the moment they do okay. The law-abiding ones drink the manufactured blood or have willing donors and humans generally leave them alone unless they’re thrill seeking or looking to be turned.) What will happen when the vaccinations become more effective and the pool of potential new vamps starts to shrink is anyone’s guess.

Werewolves don’t have the same problem. They don’t rely on humans for food. Plus wolves can be born as well as made.

But when it came to choosing to turn, Jase had won the lottery, at least from his perspective. He had the full suite of vamp powers. Including, as much as he tried to hide it from me, what I was starting to suspect was a pretty impressive psychic ability. It was kind of spooky to think my PA had the potential to become some sort of vamp leader if he chose. But that was something I didn’t have the headspace to think about right now.

For now, I could just about manage to focus on the fact that he made great coffee. I gulped down the mug he’d left on my desk, willing the caffeine to kick my brain into gear. I took another swallow to take the aspirin and then drained the cup. After a few minutes my headache had receded a little. Not quite enough though. I wandered back out for a refill.

“Rough night?” Jase asked.

I pushed my sunglasses up onto my forehead. “Now why would you think that?”

“Ash, if you don’t want to deal with Daniel or Tate then pull out of this. You don’t need the money.”

No, but I did need the chance at revenge. “It’s not about money.”

“I know,” Jase said. “That’s what worries me.”

“I’m human but that doesn’t mean I’m fragile,” I pointed out. “And I’ll be safe. It’s not like accountants go out in the field.”

“Just make sure you don’t.”

“I’ll be surrounded by FBI agents. Taskforce agents, if you want to get picky. I’ll be fine.”

Jase muttered something that sounded like “you’ll need more than a taskforce,” but I ignored him and returned to my office with my coffee.

***

Two and a bit hours later my head was throbbing with renewed vigor and my stomach churning. But I couldn’t blame it on the hangover or the painful hour I’d spent with Elena Anderson trying to pry info from her that would help me track down her soon-to-be ex’s money. No, this time, the pain was all about the rest of my day and what I was about to do.

Revisit the past I’d run so hard from.

The Taskforce has its headquarters in one of the nondescript, don’t-even-think-about-a-government-agency-being-here buildings that the FBI has around Seattle. It was gray and square and boring. As long as you didn’t notice the high number of cameras pointing at you as soon as you walked in the door or the higher than usual number of guards manning the lobby.

I made it through the scanners, submitted my briefcase and purse for inspection and then walked to the reception desk.

“Ashley Keenan. I’m here to see Daniel Gibson,” I said, not knowing if that was the right way to ask. Was it Agent Gibson? Or Special Agent Gibson?

“Yes, ma’am.” The guy behind the desk had a crew cut and a suit stretched uncomfortably over a body built like a bulldozer. “I’ll call you through.”

He picked up a phone and a few minutes later an icy looking blonde emerged from one of the elevator banks and made her way over to me. “Ms. Keenan?”

I nodded.

“Come with me please.” She pivoted neatly on her three-inch heels and, without looking to see if I was following, headed back to the elevators. She moved with the kind of innate grace that made me think she wasn’t human. But as I hurried after her, I didn’t quite get close enough to judge whether she was vamp or were. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

She was beautiful whatever species she was and I was busy telling the tiny part of my mind that was all “Daniel works with
her
?” to shut the fuck up. And thanking the stupid side of me which had tried on about five different outfits this morning before settling on my favorite don’t-mess-with-me-I-do-designer suit. And the heels that brought the top of my head just about up to Amazon girl’s chin. And I’m five nine in the heels.

But once we were in the elevator, heading down rather than up, it became perfectly obvious she was a were of some kind. She wasn’t still enough to be a vamp and standing next to her made my skin tingle in the way I associated with shifters. Something to do with their aura or magic or whatever it is that lets them change or perhaps their revved up metabolisms means weres tend to give off energy. Some people feel it and I’m one of them.