Secret of the Wolf (5 page)

He gave a nod. “I will.”

She lifted her hand in good-bye and headed back to the front where she retrieved her sidearm from the locker, dropped the key off with the guard, and went back upstairs.

 Ash was still in the break room. When she pushed open the door he looked up from a scandal rag he was perusing. “Did you know that you can tell a pret from a human by the hair between our toes?”

Tori pursed her lips. “Really?” Last time she’d looked, she didn’t have hair between her toes.

“According to this article.” He held up the paper. “It amazes me the crap people will believe just because it’s in print. Idiots,” he muttered, as he let the paper drop to the sofa beside him. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“The attacks going on in your quadrant.”

“Not you, too.” He scowled and shot to his feet. Dark blond hair lifted and then settled against his head. His eyes filled with the amber of the wolf. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“Whoa there, Bartholomew.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not judging you here. I just want some information.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “That’s different, then.” He plopped back down on the sofa and stretched long legs out in front of him. Slowly the wolf surrendered, the light going out of his eyes. “Don’t call me Bartholomew.”

She grinned. His full name was Bartholomew Maxwell Asher, but he preferred to go by the nickname Ash. She only called him Bartholomew when he was being a butthead.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

Tori sat beside him, one leg bent so she could face him.
Let’s just get this one out of the way
. “Do you think Barry’s responsible?”

“Hell, no. Why? Do you?” His look was disbelieving.

She shook her head. “No, but until I can check out his alibis on the days of the attacks, I really just have my gut to go on.”

Ash stretched one arm out along the back of the sofa. “Your do-gooder wouldn’t stray far enough away from his little lost sheep to run around biting people in the north quadrant.”

“I agree.” Both with the statement that Barry was a do-gooder and that he wouldn’t leave his homeless guys for very long. “What’s your gut telling you?”

Ash heaved a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair, frustration written in every long, lean line of his body. “I think it’s a clever SOB we’re after, and he’s not going to stop until we catch him. That’s what my gut tells me.” He stared at her. “If you’re asking me if I have a list of suspects…No, I don’t. And it’s frustrating as hell.”

“I hear the suspect uses bleach to break down his DNA.”

He nodded. “And drops about fifty gallons of ammonia at the scene to override his scent.” He gave a low growl. “Okay, I’m exaggerating. But the end result is I couldn’t smell a thing for about twelve hours after I left one of those scenes.” His scowl proclaimed his aggravation with that state of affairs. “Some damned werewolf I am when I can’t smell a damned thing.”

“Ammonia, too? Dante didn’t mention that.”

“Dante? MacMillan?” At her affirmation, Ash asked, “What the hell is MacMillan doing getting involved with something in District Four? He’s based out of District Two.” His scowl deepened. “Like you.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Tori muttered. “Some cop named Rivera called him this morning about Barry, wondering if it could be the same guy. I told Dante I’d talk to you.”

“Uh-huh.” A look crossed his face she couldn’t quite decipher. “Rivera’s getting desperate, too. His boss probably gave him the same ass-chewing I got from mine.”

Tori hunched forward and rested her chin on her fists. “So, why hasn’t a BOLO gone out on this?”

“A BOLO that says what? Be on the lookout for a werewolf who’s biting people?” He rolled his eyes and then stared up at the ceiling, his head on the back of the sofa. “There’s no fur, no hair, no fiber, no nothing. It’s like he’s wrapped in plastic, for God’s sake.”

That set Tori’s brain whirling. How would a werewolf, or even a human for that matter, keep from leaving bits of himself at a crime scene? Little booties would mask shoe prints. Latex gloves would hide fingerprints. But what about hair and skin cells? People shed hair and skin at a fairly rapid rate. For a crime scene to have none of that… “Maybe he
was
wrapped in plastic,” she mused out loud. “Or…he shaved?”

Ash seemed to consider that seriously. “Well, if he shaved all over, head to toes, he’d have no hair to lose. But humans and prets alike shed something like fifty thousand skin cells a day. Even if he was already in his wolf form, well, there’d be fur, wouldn’t there?”

“You’d think so.” Tori drew in a breath and held it a moment, rolling things over in her mind. Finally she shook her head in defeat. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ash. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Thank you! That’s what I was trying to tell
them
,” he said with a gesture in the general direction of the main chamber. “Not that they listened.”

“Yes, well, they often don’t, do they?” Tori pushed to her feet. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thanks.” Ash stood as well and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. “Let’s just hope someone else doesn’t take a page out of this guy’s book and decide to do the same thing in another quadrant.” He shot her a dark look. “Maybe
yours
.”

Tori walked out of the building, Ash’s last words tumbling around in her mind. And she was struck by one thought: Why had the werewolf decided on District Four? Why not the other quads? What was so special about the north?

T
he next morning Dante carried his travel mug of coffee out to the stables. Monsoon season was in full swing and while they wouldn’t see any rain until later in the day, the humidity was already in the fifties and climbing. He was used to humidity in the teens, or lower, so this was nearly unbearable, especially when coupled with triple-digit heat. But he couldn’t forgo his morning cup of coffee. Setting his mug on one of the flat-top rails, he pulled out his smartphone and re-read the e-mail Tori had sent him yesterday.

Ash said the suspect uses a lot of ammonia at the scene so determining his scent is impossible. The ammonia temporarily fries the olfactory sensors in the nose. I was able to check Barry’s alibis for the dates in question, and he checks out. He’s not the guy. Unknown suspect remains at large.

After he’d gotten the e-mail, Dante had called and left a message for Rivera, letting him know what Tori had reported. He could imagine the other detective’s disappointment. And dread. Since Barry wasn’t the suspect in the “werewolf incidents,” as Captain Scott called them, that meant there was another attack coming.

His Appaloosa nickered, obviously impatient for his grooming to begin. Dante put his phone away and picked up the rubber curry. “All right, Benny. All right.” He’d fed the horses about two hours ago, and this brushing was a weekend ritual he and Big Ben both looked forward to. On the other hand, his buckskin quarter horse, unlike the Appaloosa, merely tolerated being groomed, so he always got his grooming last. Even the little burro who acted as stable mascot enjoyed being brushed, but the quarter horse had his nose in his feed bucket, trying to get every last little nugget that might still be in there.

As Dante got started with slow circular motions of the curry on Ben’s neck, he reflected on yesterday’s incident. He was torn between feeling just a little aggrieved at being called out on a drunk and disorderly and feeling somewhat relieved that it hadn’t been anything more serious.

The vampire slayings he’d investigated earlier in the year had been gruesome, so much so that the images still scrolled through his mind every now and again. And while he, Tobias, and Nix knew who had been behind the murders and why, they hadn’t been able to make that particular report because of the uncertainty of the players’ identities. He and his friends had been victorious in the end and had managed to get their hands on the device the bad guys were using to communicate through the rift. But having been informed that some of the council members were at the very least aware of those communications and had seemingly been doing nothing about it had added a level of danger that made this particular tightrope hazardous to traverse.

In the end, they’d all decided that for the moment no one but the three of them—and later, Tori—needed to know they had the device, or that there even was a device. For now, the official report was that the slayings had been related to a group of rogue preternaturals but the motivation was unclear.

Tobias had held onto the apparatus and corresponding schematics, waiting for things to cool down. He’d given them to Tori within the last several days, asking her to look it over and see if she could figure out how it worked. But he hadn’t told her where he’d gotten it or from whom.

Dante had been itching to look it over, too, but he had held his tongue. This was more of a pret issue than it was a human one. And he trusted Tobias to do the right thing. If the new council member felt Dante needed to be brought into things, he’d call.

So Dante told himself to be patient. He’d soon enough get a chance to see inside that thing. And a chance to work with Tori on something unrelated to being a city detective.

Not that he should be looking forward to spending more time with her. She was a temptation he just didn’t have the luxury of giving in to right now. Because he knew as surely as he breathed that once he had a taste, it would be impossible to walk away.

Deciding he didn’t want to think about that now, Dante forced himself to concentrate on grooming his horse. He let himself be calmed by the motions and soon was lost in the rhythm of the process.

He’d just picked up a towel to wipe down Big Ben in the final step of grooming when his sister, Liliana, walked into the stables.

“How are my boys doing today?” she asked.

The burro brayed and shoved his head over the gate of his stall. Lily stopped and scratched his forehead, grinning when he draped his chin across her shoulder. “Hello, Sugar,” she greeted.

Dante noticed his sister looked a little pale this morning. He turned away before she could catch him staring, and he sighed, making sure the sound was vexed without any trace of the concern he really felt. “I don’t know why you insisted on givin’ him that sappy name.”

“Don’t you listen to him,” she crooned to the burro. “Sugarplum is a perfectly acceptable name for a sweet boy like you.” She glanced at Dante, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. “Besides, who’s the softie who adopted him from a Bureau of Land Management roundup three years ago?”

“Only because you wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”

“Uh-huh.” She let Sugarplum nuzzle her palm. “Look at this face. How could anyone resist it?”

Dante finished up with Ben and draped the towel over the top railing of the stall. He patted the gelding on the side of the neck and closed the gate behind him. Handing his sister the curry comb, he said, “Why don’t you groom this refugee from the glue factory while I take care of Stud over there?”

Sugarplum hee-hawed again.

“See? He wants it.” Dante walked over to the equipment storage area and grabbed another curry. As he went into the quarter horse’s stall, he asked, “How can you say no?”

She stuck her tongue out at him but went into the stall with the little burro. “Okay, sweetie. Let’s get you clean.”

Two hours later Dante put all the grooming equipment back in storage while Lily gave each of the horses a few slices of apple she’d had in a plastic baggie tucked away in one of her pockets. She gave Sugarplum a carrot and another scratch on his forehead. As she walked toward Dante, her shoe caught on a rough patch of cement and she stumbled.

Dante rushed forward, stopping at her glare. “What? I’m supposed to let you fall?”

She shot him a look. “Of course not. But even if I did fall, I’m not some fragile little thing you need to keep wrapped in cotton.” As she walked toward him she muttered, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” He kept his voice gentle. He knew how hard she’d found it to have to rely on him while she went through chemo and then radiation treatments for her breast cancer. But the stress of a divorce right after her diagnosis had sent her into a tailspin. Dante understood that her ill-humor was not directed at him so much as at her circumstances. “But having family means you don’t have to.”

She crossed her arms and stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then muttered, “You know, it’s really hard to be irritated at you when you act so sweet.”

He grimaced. “Now you’re just bein’ mean.”

Lily laughed and punched him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go fix some lunch.” She looped her arm through his and they went back into the house.

She took a clean dish towel from the drawer and ran it under the cold water, then held it to the nape of her neck. Dante tried to hide his continuing concern, but as she took celery from the fridge and started chopping it for the salad she insisted he eat at least once a day, she kept glancing at him and shaking her head. Finally, she turned toward him and propped one hand on her hip. “Out with it.”

He eyed the knife she held in her right hand. “What?”

“Just say it. Whatever it is you’re thinkin’, just get it out so we can talk about it.”

He cleared his throat and went back to forming hamburger patties. “And what makes you think I have anything to say?”

She waved the knife. “Don’t be cute, Dante. I can see it in your eyes.”

He tried to deflect the conversation. “It’s hard for me not to be cute.” He gave her a wink.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Oh, get over yourself already.” She turned back to the celery and started chopping again, her movements slow but steady.

Dante had to wonder if her knife strokes were controlled so he wouldn’t see her hands shake with fatigue. He rubbed the back of his neck. God, he hated this. He was helpless against cancer—he couldn’t intimidate it, he couldn’t punch it in the nose. Unlike her worthless ex-husband.

He smiled at the memory of the last time he’d seen Tony Fabrizio. The other man had been lying on the floor of the living room in the house he and Lily had once shared. The home to which Lily’s name had never been added to the deed. The plush cream carpet had been spattered with the blood from Tony’s broken nose, and Dante had walked out of the house with a hand that had hurt like hell.

The pain had been worth it. Now, though, fear gnawed at him constantly, and frustration that he couldn’t do to the cancer what he’d done to her ex. He had to be crazy to think he was anywhere near being ready to get involved with a woman, especially Tori.

God, the need to punch something made his hands ball up into fists. Where was Tony Fabrizio when he needed the bastard?

“What’s brought that smile to your face?” Lily asked with a sidelong glance at him. “It looks like trouble.”

He shrugged. “Just thinkin’ ’bout Tony.”

“Uh-huh.” She gathered up the chopped celery and put it in a bowl, then reached for a red bell pepper. The look on her face told him she knew exactly what he was replaying in his mind, and her next words confirmed it. “You’re lucky he didn’t file assault charges against you.”

She was probably right, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Tony had deserved much more than Dante had dished out. As far as he was concerned, the bastard was damned lucky all he’d ended up with was a broken schnoz. “We wouldn’t have had that little chat if he’d been a man and taken care of you.”

“I do
not
need a man to take care of me!” Lily slammed the knife down and turned toward the refrigerator. As she yanked open the door, she added, “The only thing the men in my life have done is cause me heartache.”

“Well, some of us are just tryin’ to help,” Dante murmured. He carried the burgers over to the counter and placed them on the electric grill.

Lily sighed. She closed the refrigerator and walked over to him, rubbing her hand across his shoulder. “I know, Dante. And I appreciate it, I do. You’ve given me the chance to focus my attention on getting better without having to worry about paying bills or taking care of a home on my own. I just…” She pressed her lips together and walked to the other side of the kitchen island. She heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. I realize I’m being defensive. But I hate this, having this enemy that’s eatin’ me from the inside out. The doctors say the cancer’s eradicated, but they won’t know if I’m in true remission for another couple of months.” When she looked at him her eyes shone with tears. “There’s just so much I want to do. I’m not ready to die.”

“Hey, now, none of that.” Dante put the lid on the pan and turned to face her. “You’re not gonna die. You’re gonna live long enough to be a little old lady who gripes about her eccentric, doddering older brother.”

A slight smile tilted one side of her mouth. “I do that now.”

He brandished the spatula. “I’m neither eccentric nor doddering. Not yet.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She gestured toward the dining room table. “What about all that crap?”

Dante looked at the computer parts lying on the table. “What about it?”

“It’s been on that table for over a month.”

“I’m working on it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?” She looked at the table again. “Every piece is in the exact spot it was in on the Fourth of July and hasn’t been moved in five weeks.” She shot him a look. “Hasn’t even been dusted.”

“So now you’re complaining about my housekeeping skills?”

“Not at all.” Her smile became more of a smirk. “I can handle a little dust. Besides, I’m sure you have other strengths, brother dear.”

“Hmph.” Dante was glad to see her smile, even if it was at his expense. He glanced at the table laden with a couple of hard drives, a motherboard, a quad-core processor, and a keyboard. “I’ve been busy.” He felt the need to defend himself.

“I know.” She tossed the chopped bell pepper into the salad bowl. Her tone was as placid as her expression. “Burgers are gonna burn.” She tilted her head toward the grill.

Dante rescued the hamburgers before they carried their food out to the covered patio. In the shade and with the misters and overhead fans going, the heat was almost bearable. Over the next hour their banter continued, and he did his best to coax his sister to eat more every time she put her fork down.

Finally, she gave a sigh and pushed her plate away, half of the burger and part of the salad uneaten. Before Dante could say anything, she held up one finger. “Don’t. I’m stuffed. At least I won’t be throwing it up,” she added on a sigh.

Her last chemo treatment had been six months ago and her dark hair had started growing back in a few months later. Right now it was about three inches long and as silken as baby hair. She missed having long hair, but he thought she looked adorable.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he said as he reached for her plate.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God. You
are
a human garbage disposal, just like Mom always said.”

He grinned and bit into her leftover burger.

“I still have salad, too.”

Dante pushed his food to one cheek. “I’m good.”

“Uh-huh. Your colon must love you.”

“My relationship to my colon is personal and not something I want to discuss with my sister.”

“Okay, okay.” She stood and picked up her plate and glass. “As usual, your grilling skills are the best, bar none.” She yawned. “I think I’m gonna go lie down for a few minutes.”

Dante shot to his feet. “Lily…”

“Don’t start.” She gave him a warning look. Dante knew her insistence on independence was a defense against the uncertain turn her life had taken. His sister went on. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” When his phone rang she gave a small wave toward him. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. You take your call.”