Animal Attraction (11 page)

I groaned. “Oh for heaven’s sake.”

The men laughed at me. Gerald pulled a couple
of bottles of BP9 from his jean jacket pockets and set them in
front of me. I opened one, certain the two goofballs were going to
push me to my limits with their jibes.

Meanwhile, Levi had the grill insert on his
stovetop sizzling hot. He pulled a couple of bloody steaks ...
didn’t my mouth water to see all that red ... and tossed them onto
the grill. They hissed violently like snakes ready to strike. I
pulled in a deep breath, enjoying the smell and wishing vampires
could digest food. I knew that if I tried to eat anything solid I
would instantly regurgitate it back up. I was so out of luck and
made a face at my bottled blood. Bummer.

Levi shoved a cup under the spout of a pod
coffee maker. I’d loved coffee when I was alive. The heavenly smell
joined that of the seared meat, reminding me of all the good stuff
I missed out on. I started to feel grumpy.

Levi turned the steaks. He grabbed the cup of
coffee and set it down in front of Gerald before putting on another
cup. The coffee maker gurgled as he plated the slabs of meat and
set them on the kitchen bar. While he got hold of knives and
flatware, Gerald eyed his plate with undisguised delight.

“Nice,” his said in an admiring tone. “I can
still hear it mooing.”

“No veggies?” I asked, my voice
disapproving.

Levi looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Do
we look like werebunnies to you?”

He grabbed his coffee and sat with us. The
two men got to work devouring their bloody carcasses. At least they
had the good graces to use their forks and knives.

I looked at all that bloody flesh and licked
my lips. I concentrated on drinking my first bottle of BP9 and
pretended it satisfied the cravings I had. Ha. Not even close. The
two buffoons sitting on either side of me would taste so much
better. And how they’d feel—

Nope. I put the thoughts of blood and lust
away. I had to keep working on weaning myself off my dependence on
Gerald. As for Levi ... no how, no way, not ever again. On that, I
was determined.

So I sucked on my bottle while the two
shifters chomped and made happy num-num noises as they did so. They
finished at the same time, pushing their plates away with identical
pleased sighs.

Gerald stretched, looking as content as ...
well, as content as a cat. “That was prime. Law enforcement pays
good to get steak like that.”

“Sure, on a federal level,” Levi said. He
rose and started clearing off the dishes. “Is Tristan Keith
shortchanging his security?”

“Naw. He pays well, but my kids get most of
it.”

I gave him a startled look. “You have
children? Oh, the program. I forgot.”

Levi cocked his head to one side.
“Program?”

Gerald sipped his coffee. “I mentor kids who
get hit by the Flu and are given up to the state by their parents.
Georgia’s Para Child Services budget is stretched to the limit. It
doesn’t always cover the basics.”

Levi gave him a shocked gaze. “Like what? I
thought by law that abandoned shifter kids got clothes, food, and
medical?”

Gerald shook his head. His long braids
whispered against his jacket. “Only to a point. The program is
strapped for funds. They can’t cover things like winter coats but
every couple of years. One of my boys grew a foot since last
winter, yet he was still supposed to do with last year’s coat.
Sleeves darn near shrank to his elbows. I’m always buying my kids
clothes.”

Levi fell to musing. “How many kids in Para
Care are without mentors?”

“More than I like to think about. No one
wants to foster them either, and that facility out by the airport
where they live is pretty grim.”

The werewolf scowled to hear such news. “Give
me a contact number. I’ll let my guys at the academy know they’re
needed. I’ll mentor and maybe foster someone myself, if I pass the
requirements.”

“You will with your background.”

“Even if I don’t, I can maybe get some
donations happening so no one is doing without.” Levi shook his
head. “New coats every two years. That’s ridiculous.”

Gerald nodded agreement. “Accidental shifts
alone do damage to their clothes. Normal wear and tear do not
apply. Any help would be good. Those kids need the support and
decent role models.”

“Done. I wish I’d known about this before.”
Levi dropped the subject like it made him angry. He looked at me.
“And now for our other problem.”

I handed him my empty bottle since I didn’t
know where his recycling bin was. “You said you had new
information?”

Levi opened a cabinet and dropped the bottle
in. “Could be. The two instructors who disappeared? It turns out
they had some bad stuff we weren’t aware of until the police did
some digging. Stuff that would have meant them being dismissed from
their jobs.”

“Like?”

“Like one had some illegal gambling debts.
I’m talking big money in some really shady operations, not a few
hundred dollars on football. The other guy supposedly blackmailed a
couple of prosecutors and judges to get them to swing some high
profile cases that he’d been involved in.”

“Swing?”

Levi started himself another cup of coffee
after Gerald shook his head and covered the top of his cup with a
hand. “He got them to suppress evidence that might have proved
accused people were innocent of the crimes they’d been charged
with. Getting convictions on those cases made him look good and put
him on the fast track to promotion.”

“And that plum instructor’s job with its good
pay,” Gerald surmised.

Levi jerked a nod. “You know it, Kitten. It’s
got me wondering if the disappearances have to something to do with
the missing being blackmailed.”

“Not revenge for their evil deeds?” I
asked.

Levi considered and shook his head. “There’s
no connection between the two matters. No, I think somebody got
wind of these guys’ pasts and told them to pay up in some way.
Instead, they pulled up stakes and vanished.”

Gerald stroked his chin. “To do what though?
Where are discredited law enforcement types going to go?”

Levi scowled at the air over our heads.
“Yeah, that’s the off part of this. Plus they both had families and
didn’t take any money out of their accounts to survive on. They
just up and disappeared.”

“Maybe they had bank accounts you don’t know
of.”

Levi smiled. “Point made, and I’m sure the
cops are looking into that. At any rate, it would be interesting to
know if the other missing shifters also had something hinky that
they didn’t want known. Something they wanted to keep hidden.”

I exchanged a look with Gerald. “We’ll check
that out. Thanks, Levi.”

“My pleasure. Thanks for nosing into
this.”

We got up. Levi and Gerald shook hands and
the agent said, “Stop by and tell me how it works out, Kitten.”

“I’ll do that, Pup. Next time, I’ll bring the
steak.”

They treated each other to real smiles.
Levi’s tone was enthusiastic as he said, “You’re on. Championship
playoffs start this weekend, you know.”

“Yeah. Who are you pulling for?”

I rolled my eyes and headed for the front
door, walking out on the budding bromance. “Don’t make me late for
the commission meeting, Gerald.”

Behind my back I heard Levi ask in a low
tone, “She still can’t fly, huh?”

Gerald sighed. “She’s a slow learner.”

I was at the door. I turned on my heel and
glared at both of them. “But I hear perfectly well, and you know I
haven’t got the hang of it because the vampires won’t help me.”

Gerald joined me and gave me a conciliatory
pat on the shoulder. He told Levi, “She’s right. They’re being
jerks.”

Levi shook his head, his tongue clicking
sympathetically. “Vampires are not the kindest creatures. Now the
poor girl is one of them.”

I opted not to grace that with a reply. I was
not a vampire, but I didn’t have time to set Levi right ... again.
With any luck, I wouldn’t have to deal with the werewolf any
longer. I would let his new best buddy Gerald keep him informed
from now on.

* * * *

I had to give the county commission meeting
one thing: it was not as boring as Jamus Percy’s writing. Not by
much, but it managed to be a teensy bit more interesting.

I was hard pressed to pay attention from my
front row seat where Patricia always sat in the chamber of the city
hall building. I even took notes, as she once had ... along with a
few doodles here and there in an attempt to make Gerald laugh. He
sat next to me, nudging me when I started to fidget. I was worse
than a toddler in church.

I had nothing to even glare about. Droning
reports from the county’s parks, then more boring stuff from the
water and sewage commission, and then more from other departments
that I had no interest in. Where was the backbiting and arguing the
county reps were known for? The slanders? The insults? They were
all playing nice.

I’d brought a little interest to the
proceedings with my entrance. Patricia’s absence had been felt all
right. The buzz of conversation that accompanied me walking down
the aisle with Gerald in my wake had promised some excitement. But
an hour later, that had fizzled out. No one cared now that the
meeting was rolling and everyone attended to his or her own
concerns.

I nudged Gerald’s foot with mine. In a low
voice that wove way beneath the snoozefest of a tourism report I
asked, “Are you still awake?”

Other than the twitch of a smile, his lips
barely moved. “That’s my job. Scintillating stuff, isn’t it?”

“I’m tempted to stake my own heart to get out
of this.”

That got a real snicker out of the
werepanther. Tristan’s black gaze flicked in our direction. As head
commissioner, he sat in the middle of the commission podium with
the other six elected officials on either side of him. Little signs
in front of them listed their names, and they each had a microphone
to speak into when they did speak. Tristan was the only non-human
sitting there.

Gerald and I composed ourselves. Tristan
returned his attention to the tourism board’s report.

Gerald’s voice was barely more than a breath,
but my keen vampire ears picked up his words fine. “You are a
terrible influence.”

“Sorry,” I said. I wasn’t. Getting a warning
look from Tristan had been the most riveting part of the meeting
thus far. I wondered what other shenanigans I could pull to liven
things up without getting into too much trouble. For once I wished
I was crashing face first in a field somewhere.

Tourism Dude wrapped up. Tristan thanked him.
The man left the small podium in the middle front of the aisle
between the two groups of public seating. The place was full, which
I found interesting given how slow the night was going. I had
already noted that norms and paras kept separate for the most part.
A few mundanes sprinkled in with the supernaturals, but our state
of integration was clear: not very good.

Feeling sad about the matter, I checked the
itinerary. Hooray, the last item for the night. Boo, it was
something about zoning. If that didn’t spell ‘bore me into a coma’,
nothing did.

Tristan checked his itinerary too and flashed
me another look. What was that for? I didn’t do anything to kill
the monotony of his meeting. Yet.

His smooth voice betrayed no hint of emotion
... a clue that he didn’t like something. I perked up to hear that
flat tone say, “We have a motion from the Fulton Falls Country Club
for a zoning restructuring. Is the representative of that concern
here tonight?”

A happy, hearty voice answered from the back
of the room behind me. “I am, Mr. Chairman.”

I bit back a groan as Tristan said, “Chair
recognizes Clifford Tattingail.”

He came swaggering up to the podium,
Tristan’s biggest political nemesis in Fulton Falls and Ford
County. When had that snake slithered in?

He smiled and greeted several people sitting
in the rows of chairs as he came, pausing to shake hands, pat good
old boys wearing caps with the rebel flag on them, and waste our
time.

Tattingail was the epitome of a southern
small town politician and tent revival preacher. Somewhere in his
fifties, he kept his receding hair trimmed and slicked back.
Attractive enough to be considered handsome but not unapproachably
so, he radiated that kind of smarmy good cheer that made you smile
back while checking to make sure your wallet was secured. His black
shoes were shined to a mirrored finish, and his tan slacks and
matching jacket spoke of good taste without airs ... the kind of
clothing found on the department store rack, but the most expensive
rack and not on sale. Tattingail had money, but he also had the
good sense not to wave it in people’s faces. Since he wasn’t
scheduled to preach a sermon, he wore a light blue button-down
shirt with no tie tonight. He knew how to appeal to people on a
surface level. It was when you dug in and really listened to him
that you figured out what a creep he was. There was plenty of good
reason why he’d never won an election against Tristan.

Tattingail’s briefcase was expensive but
slightly worn. He reached the podium and opened the case, taking
out a thick sheaf of papers. He looked at Tristan and didn’t bother
to hide a sneer. He never made any bones about the fact he detested
paras, a quality that endeared him to those rebel flag-loving
people who made up the bulk of his constituency.

His low, rolling voice was made for
preaching, which he does at his church out on the south end of
town. “Mr. Chairman, members of the county commission, I have a
request for a new zoning ordinance. This would allow for the
country club’s hunting group to extend our range on our property
for bow hunting.”

I noted a couple other commissioners rolled
their eyes. Tristan kept his gaze steady on Tattingail. “You have
the paperwork on that?”