Claws Bared Page 7

“Trace Bryson.” He held out his hand.

  I took it, relishing the cool thrill running over my skin before reality chased it away. It wasn’t a coincidence he’d walked in here and sat next to me.

  “Green truck?”

  He slipped his hand out of mine, the calloused fingers falling away.

  “Yep. That’s mine.”

  His beer arrived just in time to let him stall for a second to sip the cool brew.

  I allowed myself a scowl. “My shadow.”

  He took another mouthful and swirled it around, thin lips curving into a smile. “Yep.”

  I sipped my coffee. “If I told you to go to hell would it make a difference?”

  He shook his head. His blond hair was just long enough for a woman to get a good grip.

  “I hate to tell a beautiful lady like yourself ‘no,’ but...” He spread his hands. “You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble with my uncle, right?”

  My heart sank. “McCallum.”

  Trace smiled, showing bright white teeth. “Yep.” His tongue flicked out and ran over his lower lip. “Gotta do what the Board says.”

  “That’s really beginning to annoy me,” I growled. “So what are your orders?”

  He leaned back, the well-worn jean shirt tight on his frame. “Follow, watch, seduce... Oh, wait, I wasn’t supposed to say that one out loud.”

  I didn’t smile.

  Trace pressed his lips together. “Tough audience.” He drained the rest of the beer in a single gulp. “I’ll be seeing you later, I guess.”

  He peeled off a handful of bills and tucked them under the empty glass before leaving.

  The bartender came over and arched one eyebrow as he collected the money. “Trace ain’t so bad.” He nodded at the swinging front door. “Can do a lot worse.”

  I finished off the coffee. “It’s not the player, it’s the game.”

  It took me a few minutes to find Carson’s home address with my cell phone and allow myself time to finish my coffee and slow my pulse down.

  The bar was slowly filling with a mixture of blue collar workers and a slew of younger women who eyed me as the competition. I kept my eyes down and watched the mating ritual at work, noting the number of Felis hanging around. It hadn’t been that long since we’d discovered Felis could impregnate and be impregnated by humans, resulting in half-breed children, but it seems the news hadn’t reached this crew. Or if it did they weren’t taking it too seriously. I made a mental note to mention it to the Board, as well as to Jess. The last thing I needed was a call to find another rogue half-breed.

  I slipped through the crowd and out to my rental car. Trace was sitting in his truck and watched as I typed in the request on the onboard GPS. It kicked out a route easily enough and I was on my way.

  The green truck stayed behind me as I wove my way through the streets, keeping a respectful distance. I wasn’t sure that’d continue when he figured out where I was going.

  The house sat on a good three acres of land not too far from the edge of town, a small two-story home with a yard that would have swallowed up my own house three times and then some. A small garden shed in back held at least one riding mower and a slew of tools, at least from what I could see through the open door.

  The flower beds were laid out in beautiful, tasteful rows of bright reds and yellows. A handful of ancient farm machinery spotted the lawn, continuing the rustic look.

  I parked at the end of the curved driveway and waited.

  Chapter Five

  Trace’s truck slid in behind me. A second later he turned off the engine and got out.

  I met him halfway, at where our bumpers touched.

  “You can’t go up there.” He slid his hands into his front pockets and gave me a sad smile. “No personal visits.”

  I nodded. “So I’ve been told. But I’m going up to talk to her.”

  He shook his head. “Not advised.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” I rolled onto the balls of my feet. I might not be able to Change but I sure as heck could still fight.

  Trace grinned. “Well, I could toss you over my shoulder and take you back to the bar for a drink—” he paused and dragged his eyes up and down my body, “—to start with.”

  I couldn’t help smirking. “Aren’t you full of yourself?”

  He shrugged and tilted his head to one side, giving me a smoking smile.

  “Is that a ‘no’?” Trace drawled. “Or a ‘maybe’?”

  “I don’t do charity.” I spun on my heel and headed up the driveway. I glanced back over my shoulder to see him leaning on the hood of his truck, waiting.

  I’d dodged the bullet. For now.

  The front door opened before I reached the house.

  “You must be Rebecca.” She held out her hand. “April Carson.” Her blond hair fell over her shoulders in long, luxurious locks, unlike the limp ponytail flopping against my back.

  I hated her right there.

  “Dax said you might be sniffing around. I thought I was going to meet you at the farm later on today.” She waved me in, swaying in purple yoga pants and matching shirt. The large glass of red wine in her hand danced to an unheard tune.

  “I guess I misunderstood,” I replied.

  The inside of the house was decorated in various shades of brown and red, fancy paintings hanging on the walls next to dried flowers and potpourris giving off a fruity smell. Most of the furniture was a basic wood built, probably Amish from the functionality winning out over flash. A few pieces were flashy expensive ones, to be adored from afar and not actually used for anything.

  It seemed to be a mixture of showing off her wealth and reassuring visitors that she was just one of them, a common woman who got lucky.

  I wondered what she’d done for money before marrying the chief.

  She led me to the living room and the brown leather couch. A well-worn lounger sat in the far corner, obviously Carson’s man-cave chair.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” She made as if to head for the drink cart set in the far corner of the room. The red wine sloshed perilously close to the edge of the wine glass.

  I held up my hand. “No, thank you.”

  She settled in beside me. The cushions burped their acceptance as she settled in. “So, about Mike.”

  “About Mike,” I repeated.

  I waited. I was getting used to it.

  April crossed her legs and placed the glass of wine on the table in front of us. “Dax and I have a very open relationship.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m about ten years younger than he is and I still have a lot of, ah—” she fluttered her hands in the air, “—sexual energy.”

  I nodded.

  “We married because Dax needed to be married, to have a woman in his life. He loves being the police chief and I love being a kept woman.” She paused. “Before this I worked at the diner, believe it or not. Not in the front—slinging hash in the back. Used to make a good grilled cheese sandwich.”

  I nodded. Wasn’t hard to imagine her toasted.

  She flipped the blond tresses back. “I go to the Cat’s Meow a few times a week and yes, I liked Mike. A lot. But we never did the dirty.” Her petite mouth twisted into a frown. “I don’t do humans.”

  The cold coffee taste in my mouth turned bitter.

  April entwined her fingers and rested her hands on her knee. “I don’t fool around on Dax. I know a divorce would embarrass him and he’d lose face with the family. Besides, I like what I have here.” She gestured around at the paintings on the walls, the misshapen art pieces on redwood shelves. “I’m not going to give all this up for a piece of human tail.”

  “And Dax knows this.”

  “Dax knows.” She smiled, showing off artificially whitened teeth. “Dax goes off and does what he does and I do what I do. As long as we come back here alone we’re fine.”

  I didn’t need to take notes. “How do you feel about Dax’s side of this ‘open’ marriage?
Does he like human women?”

  Her lips curled into a tight smile. “He might look but he doesn’t touch. He’s a good boy.”

  I knew she was telling the truth. A number of times I’d smelled the lying on my clients before they even opened their mouths. Felis didn’t take mating lightly and divorces were practically unheard of. I’d starve if I waited for jobs involving infidelity from the family.

  “Tell me about Mike.” I leaned back on the couch, enjoying the squeak of fresh leather. “Was he a player? Popular with the women?”

  “Honey, anyone who works there is a player.” April laughed. “We had fun. I stuffed dollar bills in his thong and he gave great lap dances.”

  “To you and a lot of other women.”

  She shrugged. “I never expected him to wait for my visits. He’s got to make money and that’s his business.”

  “Did he have any favorites among the rest of the women? Anyone who he spent more time with than anyone else?”

  April giggled, a high tinkling sound sending me into an instant migraine. “Oh, he had them lining up for a chance to break him down, make him theirs. But we all knew his heart belonged to no one. He made that clear.”

  “All of them?” I gave her what I hoped was a “we women” look. “So no one had a mate getting all grumpy ’cause she was putting it in Mike’s g-string?”

  She shook her head. “No one that I knew of. Of course, being married to a Board member means I didn’t get all the gossip.” She leaned in. “Jealousy and all that. Don’t want me ratting ’em out to Dax.”

  The throbbing behind my eyes grew. If this was what commitment was all about I didn’t want any part of it.

  “Tell me your thoughts on the Board.”

  Her eyes widened. “The Board?” she squeaked.

  I nodded. “Dax is an important man. Both as chief and as a Board member. How does he get along with the other two members?” I added another dimension. “How do you get along with them?”

  April popped her index finger into her mouth and sucked on it. Didn’t chew the nail, didn’t roll it around in any sort of sexual move. It was the reaction of a kit when faced with a difficult question.

  I hated myself for enjoying her discomfort.

  The finger popped out with a wet sound. “Plussey’s a nice guy. His wife has this faboo recipe for marinating deer meat, takes all the gamey taste out. McCallum, well, he’s a bit of a prick at times. Orders Dax around to do this and that, when they’re all supposed to be equals.” She pursed her lips, nervous at revealing her thoughts. “But he’s got the best interests of the Pride in mind so Dax kinda threads between the two of them.”

  I got to my feet and headed for the door. “Thanks for your time.”

  She beat me to the entrance, swinging the heavy oak door open with ease. “I’ll see you this evening. Wear good shoes.”

  I nodded, resisting the urge to return Penscotta’s Pig Out with interest. There might be a place for women like this in the human world but I’d hoped never to see one in a Pride.

  Trace was inside his truck when I wove my way down to my car, fireworks going off behind my eyes. I kicked it in gear, praying he wouldn’t call the cops on me for drunk driving the way I meandered over the line. I needed to get someplace nice and quiet and dark and shuffle what I had so far. With medication, if at all possible.

  There was a drugstore on the way back to the hotel with an understanding pharmacist who helped me find the strongest over-the-counter painkiller before I went blind. I hadn’t brought anything with me because I hadn’t planned to have a major-grade headache.

  Idiot me. I should have known anything to do with Jess and the Felis was migraine territory.

  Trace, God bless him, kept his distance and stayed in the truck, watching from the parking lot. Either he was afraid I was buying “feminine products” or worried that I’d deck him right there in the store.

  It took all I had to maneuver the car back into the parking lot and make it to my room without throwing up. I didn’t look for the green pickup and didn’t care if it was there or not.

  I rolled onto the freshly made bed, dry-swallowing the pills I’d wrestled out of the child-proof container. As I waited for the headache to subside I went over what I had in an attempt to get my mind off the pulse-pounding pain.

  It took all of a minute to figure out I had diddly. Less than diddly if that were possible.

  Mike Hansa played with fire the second he stepped on that stage, playing to Felis women whose instincts were to hunt and kill in and out of the bedroom. He’d crossed the wrong woman and paid for it with his life.

  I wrote April off as soon as I’d spotted her hands. Clean, manicured masterpieces. No way was she going to get her fingers dirty by digging her claws into someone. I suspected if she called them out I’d find them neatly clipped and painted a bright pink to match her fingernails. She probably hadn’t hunted in years.

  My eyes closed, shutting out the dim light battering my senses. I couldn’t ask all the women to show me their claws and see which ones dripped blood. Any Felis worth their salt washed after a kill, cleaning up the mess. With every hour that went by it became more and more likely any women who knew Mike Hansa would share notes and compare stories, making it almost impossible to trip them up.

  It might not even be intentional—one phone call, one gossiping woman and everyone would be chattering and nattering on the party line about how Mike had done this or that. It’d turn into a general gabfest and in the middle would be the murderess, putting out false information to throw an investigator off the trail or at least muddy the waters.

  The truth hit me with startling clarity.

  The pills must have kicked in.

  I was being set up to fail. Or, if not to fail, at least put an official stamp on the death and allow the Board to put in their records that they’d attempted to find the offender, done their best by dragging me down and letting me play at being a hunter. The report would move up the ranks to the Grand Council, who would shuffle it into a file. The local Pride would send me a check and everyone looked good. Except for me for failing, but I was an outcast—who would care?

  The little voice in the back of my head whispered, Mike Hansa and his family and friends, that’s who.

  Sometimes the little voices help. Sometimes they’re just really, really annoying.

  There was still something wrong, a niggling feeling digging at the back of my hollow skull.

  How had Hansa ended up here in a dead-end town working as a stripper? With his physique he could have gone to Vegas, gone pro. What kept him in Penscotta?

  The throbbing lessened, the pressure behind my eyes easing up. I held back yelps of joy and rolled over the morning’s events in my mind.

  His apartment was spotless. Almost like...

  I forced one eye open and looked around my hotel room. Generic table, generic bed, generic toiletries in the bathroom. No pictures of family, no pictures of friends. Nothing but bare walls.

  Like the rooms on each side of me.

  Like it wasn’t his real home. Just a way station.

  A gentle rapping came at the front door. “Miss Desjardin?”

  I got to my feet, thanking the pharmaceutical gods.

  It was the young kit from the front desk, a wide grin on his blushing face. “Ma’am, the chief wanted me to give this to you. It’s the directions to the meeting tonight.” He handed me a slip of paper, the block letters laid out by an invisible ruler. “He says everything’s set up for you and they look forward to seeing you there.”

  I gave him my cutest smile as payment. He flew back down the hallway as if I’d taken his virginity.

  Ah, youth. Right now I had too many men in my life as it was—I didn’t need one who had barely been potty-trained.

  The headache subsided enough to allow me to grab a fast shower before re-dressing and heading out.

  Every Pride kept a secure compound where their members could Change and hunt without fear. It was a
sanctuary for kids to learn how to deal with their unusual skills and for adults to rest and relax away from the pressure of human society. It wasn’t like everyone got furry and jumped into an orgy but it felt nice to just sit and be Felis, to act and react to the smells and scents around you. Lie in the tall grass while Changed and enjoy the bright sunbeams warming your fur. Go for a hunt and snag the slowest rabbit or squirrel just because you could. Sneak off with your lover and have a wilderness rendezvous.

  I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as I thought of Trace waiting outside for me. I was tempted and I’d be a fool to lie to myself and say I wasn’t. But down that path lay madness, and not just because he was American and I was Canadian. I had no idea how to live as a Felis wife and wasn’t sure if I even wanted to try to learn.

  The scars on my back ached. I rolled my shoulders, the ghost memory of Brandon’s soft backrubs chasing away the pain and injecting a sharp dose of guilt.

  I sighed and pulled on my leather coat. Maybe a bit of fresh air would help clear my mind.

  The kit didn’t look at me as I strolled through the lobby.

  Trace stayed behind his wheel, making it easier for me to get into my car. I didn’t need another confrontation with my babysitter/would-be suitor, not before I got some work done.

  The directions agreed with the GPS, pointing me to a small farm a half hour away from the hotel, the rolling fields around the scattered buildings pulling in at least one small mountain ridge and a large forest running out of sight over the hills.

  Over a dozen pickup trucks and a slew of SUVs filled the gravel parking lot. I parked at the far end, giving me an easy exit. Depending on how I was received I might need it.

  The green pickup parked beside me, the wheels spinning gravel projectiles into the fields.

  Trace got out with a smile, his work boots crunching the small stones. “Welcome to our farm.” He frowned. “You look pale.”

  “I’m Canadian.”

  “No, really pale.” He stepped closer and reached out, cupping my chin in one palm. “You okay?”

  His touch scorched my skin. I resisted the urge to dip my head down, wallow in the warmth.

  “I had a bad headache,” I muttered. “Took some pills to chase it away.”