A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (23 page)

Though it was warmer in the alley than on the windy street, I could still see my breath fogging the air and was glad I’d opted for the knee-high boots and gloves. At least I was capable of getting that much right.

“What do you want?” Stefan asked.

“To ask you about Brooke.”

“What about her?”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“I don’t know, a couple of weeks ago, I guess. We aren’t supposed to see each other.”

“Did she seem upset about anything?”

He shrugged.

I tried a different angle. “What about the last time you talked to her?”

“What about it?”

“What did you talk about?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

Another shrug.

“Come on, Brooke could be in trouble. I’m trying to help her.”

“I don’t remember. Usually she just talked about how much she missed me and that kind of crap.”

“So Brooke called you to babble about how great you are?”

He smirked. “What can I say—the ladies love me.”

I gave him a cold, unimpressed stare.

“Whatever, lady. I’m done talking to you.” Stefan turned to go inside but the door had no handle on the outside.

“Looks like you’re not.”

He scowled over his shoulder at me and pounded on the door.

“Her stepfather is dead. Did you know that?”

Stefan turned to face me with an expression that told me he didn’t.

“He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Stefan blinked at me for several seconds before saying, “Okay, listen, Brooke was planning on getting away.”

“From what?”

“I don’t know—she wouldn’t tell me. All I know is she told me to be careful. She was scared. For real.”

“Scared of who? Her stepdad?”

“Yeah, of him. But someone else, too—”

Music flooded the space around us as the door opened. The green bean guy stuck his amorphic head out and said, “Come on, man. They’re getting ready to start the foam.”

“Foam?” I asked.

“It’s the last thing they do before the party ends,” Stefan explained, catching the door before it closed. “They turn on the foam machines and fill up the whole place. You know.”

I didn’t, and had no desire to become acquainted with the process. Besides, I was pretty sure foam and suede would not mix well. Emma would kill me if I ruined her designer boots.

“Are you coming?”

“I think I’m going to pass.”

He shrugged then paused halfway through the door. “Listen,” he said when his friend was out of earshot. “I don’t know where Brooke is. I hope she’s okay. If you find her, tell her to call me. Okay?”

I nodded, the door
thunk
ed closed, and I turned and started down the alley toward the street. I hadn’t made it far when a figure materialized out of the darkness to block my path.

He moved toward me and I took a step back.

“Stop!” I shouted.

He did, just as he stepped fully into the light.

Mancini.

Great.

My heart began to hammer hard against my rib cage. I was trapped in the alley with a man known as the Machete.

“I’m sorry, Miss Wilde. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

He angled his head. “The same thing you are. Trying to find our Brooke.”

The way he said “our Brooke” shot a chill through me.

Could this guy get any more creepy?

“You look a little like her, you know,” he murmured in a soft voice.

Apparently, he could.

I tried to talk myself into remaining calm.

Be cool, Grace. Everything is okay.

Just chatting with a complete psychopath in a dark alley.

Totally normal. Not alarming in any way . . .

All the while, my heart raced as I tried to come up with an exit strategy.

I could scream. I was pretty sure the front door was close enough that someone might hear me. Whether or not they’d come to my rescue was another question.

Mancini stepped closer and I shifted my weight, ready for the attack.

“Back off, Mancini, I’m not in the mood.” My voice wasn’t as calm as I’d hoped and he responded to my fear like a shark sensing blood. Smile widening, he slid closer.

Get a grip, Grace.

If I wanted to make it out of the alley I was going to have to stay calm and . . . what?

Retreat wasn’t my goal but I took a step away from him anyway. I needed room to move, although where I would go was unclear.

I was seriously regretting my decision to leave my Glock in Bluebell and beginning to feel the first cresting wave of panic when the door opened with a bang that made me choke back a scream.

Goliath.

He was covered from the waist down in puffs of white suds.

“The foam party started,” he informed me with a frown.

“Well, wouldn’t want to miss that.”

Thanking the powers that be, I turned my back on Mancini, and without so much as a backward glance, linked my arm with Goliath and waded into the froth.

• • •

By the time I made it to the condo, the sun was rising over the Atlantic in a burst of fiery colors. I would have been awed if I hadn’t been so tired.

I’d only had one drink with Goliath at the party, but I was beat. Not wanting to have to worry about another missing girl, I’d insisted on taking Caitlyn home, which turned out to be a half-hour drive out of the way.

Rather than spurring me awake, the chilly morning air brought on a wave of longing for a bed prewarmed by an oversized canine. Fatigue made my eyelids feel like they were made of sandpaper. I had a hollow ringing in my ears from the music.

I was so focused on making it to my bed, I didn’t notice the man standing next to the stairs until he spoke.

“I didn’t figure you for the party-till-the-break-of-dawn type.”

I whirled around.

“Logan.” I glared at him. “First Mancini, now you? You guys are like cockroaches.”

“Mancini? You saw Vincent?”

“Oh please, you know you’re tag-teaming me.”

Logan’s brows arched and he gave me what might have been a smile—which for Logan was a slight quirk of his lips.

He slipped his gaze over me and said, “I don’t share.”

Oookay.

“What do you want, Logan? Or are you here to mug me again?”

The hint of amusement I’d seen on his face vanished.

“Mug?”

“Yep. By one of your buddies. Unless, of course, it was you.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Look, sweetness,” he said, “I don’t pick on little girls.”

“Sweetness?” I’d been called a lot of things, but sweetness certainly was not one of them.

Ignoring my frosty tone he said, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Someone came here to snatch Brooke’s purse while holding a gun to my head. That’s what happened. And you know what? You and Ozeal were the only people who knew I had her purse. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”

As I spoke, his expression became darker. Finally, he said, “I came here to warn you.”

“Well, in that case, you’re a little late.”

“No. I’m not. You need to stop looking for Brooke. There’re things happening in our . . . organization. Frank has been making subtle moves to try to take over.”

“Ratting on your boss? Isn’t that frowned upon in your business?”

“I don’t work for Frank Ferretto.” Though his voice was soft, anger rumbled through the words. A warning. Logan’s face was cold but those golden eyes burned with ferocity.

Wolf eyes.

Usually, I know better than to poke at angry, wild things, but I was cold, irritated, and too tired to think straight.

“That’s right,” I said. “Sartori asked you to keep an eye on Brooke. Too bad she got kidnapped on your watch.”

Instead of reacting to my barb, Logan asked something that caught me off guard.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“You’ve been running around like crazy looking for Brooke—why? Why go to the trouble for a girl you’ve never met?”

What could I say? The truth was I wasn’t really sure.

“I don’t know. I guess I would want someone to do the same for me.”

“Look for you if you went missing?”

“Give me the benefit of the doubt. Without passing judgment based on what someone thinks they know about me.”

He regarded me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Frank has given Vincent permission to do whatever it takes to find Brooke. If you keep looking for her, you’re going to cross paths with him again, which would be a bad thing.”

“Why does Frank want to find her? To use as leverage against Sartori?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why come here and snatch her purse?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?” I wasn’t buying it.

“Really,” he said. “I don’t know what Frank is after or why he wants Brooke. But I can tell you one thing. You’re in over your head, sweetness. Time to get out of the water.”

Before turning to leave, he flicked his gaze over me.

“Nice outfit, by the way.”

I stood and watched him for a moment before climbing the stairs and heading inside.

I wasn’t sure I trusted Logan. If Frank and his goons were holding Brooke somewhere, Logan could have been sent to issue a warning so I’d back off. Which would mean I was getting close.

So was that why both Mancini and Logan were following me? To make sure I didn’t figure out where Brooke was and get her into protective custody before they could get their hands on her?

Moss lifted his head as I entered my room. He and Voodoo were snuggled together on the bed. Moss watched me for a moment as I struggled to pull off the damp boots. Then he yawned, stretched all four legs out with a trembling groan, and relaxed with a sigh before drifting back off to sleep.

Somehow, even with all the questions zooming around my head like a hive of bumblebees, I managed to fall asleep, too.

What seemed like a millisecond later, my sister’s voice was snatching me from my sleep.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s almost noon.”

I grunted and rolled over, stuffing my head under my pillow.

“Come on, your phone has been ringing like crazy for the last half hour. Did you have an appointment this morning?”

I was having a hard time remembering what day it was, much less if I’d missed an appointment.

With a sigh, I eased the pillow off my head and blinked up at my sister. The scent of fresh coffee hit me at the same moment I spotted the mug in her hand.

Locking eyes on the coffee, I let out a pathetic whimper, and she handed me the mug.

Emma eyed me as I sat up to take a sip.

“I noticed you were gone when I got in around three. I also noticed you raided my costumes. And is that a wristband?”

I glanced at the plastic band. “Costume—foam party.”

“And I was not invited to participate for what reason?”

I explained Caitlyn’s phone call and gave my sister a rundown of my night.

“So, this Mancini guy, do you think he was there because he’s been following you or Stefan?”

It was a good question, reminding me of Logan’s warning. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he wanted to chop me into little pieces.”

“I thought you and the mob flunkies were on the same side.”

“Not according to Logan.”

“Who?”

“Yard Guy.”

“Right. He’s mob flunky number two.”

“I don’t know what he is, aside from scary.”

“Scarier than a guy who’s known as the Machete?”

“Logan’s an unknown quantity. At least I know Mancini’s nuts. I’m not sure about Logan.”

Emma’s gaze flicked to a spot at the foot of my bed and froze.

“Are those my Louboutin boots?”

I glanced at the floor, where the boots lay in a heap.

“Um . . . I didn’t have a choice. It was either walk into the foam with Goliath or get hacked into bits by a psycho. I took them off as soon as I could. They didn’t get too foamy.”

Emma didn’t respond; she just stared at the boots.

I followed her gaze. There were some splotches here and there but it didn’t look too bad.

“I can have them cleaned,” I said.

Silence.

“Emma?”

Just when I feared I’d signed my death warrant by choosing to wear her boots, my sister said, “What if the same thing happened to Brooke?”

“What?”

“Maybe she was faced with a choice—like you were. Staying at Happy Asses was dangerous, so she took off.”

“She didn’t run away, Emma. Boris—”

“I know, he said she was taken. But what if she had to make the choice suddenly? She was on the outside of the fence, right? Maybe she saw someone and knew she had to run? Boris sensed her fear and that’s what stuck with him.”

I thought about the flash of memory I’d gotten from the tiger that first night. Brooke had been turning to look back, as if someone was behind her.

“I don’t think that’s what happened. But even if she had decided to run, why leave her purse?”

“Maybe she didn’t have time to grab it. Or she knew she’d be safer without it—look what happened to you.”

“So she just runs, no money, no phone . . . holy crap!”

A thought struck me like lightning and I bolted out of bed.

“What?”

“I’m an idiot!”

“Okay—and?”

“Her phone!” I said, shoving my mug into Emma’s hand. “I have her phone. I plugged it into Bluebell to charge. I can’t believe I forgot about it.”

My excitement had caused Moss to let out a short, confused howl as I charged through the condo and out the door.

When I returned a minute later he was trotting around Emma in the kitchen, woofing up at her.

Grace? Grace! Moss out.

“Sorry, I don’t speak mutt,” she told him.

“It’s okay,” I said to him, breathless.

He scrambled to me with a little hop. Then threw back his head and let out a longer howl just to let me know he didn’t appreciate being startled into thinking something was wrong.

“Meeoooooooowoooo!” The kitten’s cry, as drawn out as the howl, sounded from the living room and a moment later Voodoo came bounding into the room and tumbled to a stop at Moss’s feet.

“Great—she thinks she’s a mini-Moss, doesn’t she?”